by John Faubion
Her gaze turned toward Rachel. “Your name’s Montalvo? Your family from around here?”
“No, we’re from up in Indianapolis. We heard there was some history here with the Montalvo family.”
“That’s what you’re here about? ’Bout what happened to Tony?”
“In a way. Mr. Ranger said maybe you could help us.”
“Well, Harold’s a good man. If he sent you up here, then I don’t guess it would be any problem telling you.” A faraway look came into her eyes. “It was in May, when kids was getting out of school. Tony’d gone over across town to help his brother with some gutter work. The way they tell it, Ed was gone when Tony got there and Tony was home alone with Marie.”
“Marie?”
“Marie was his sister-in-law. Ed’s wife. He’d been over there longer than he needed to be.” She shot Scott a hard look. “Men got one thing on their minds. You cook, you clean . . .”
“What happened, Rose?” Rachel asked.
“That’s when she killed him.” She pushed her jaw out, neck muscles tightening. “That’s when she killed my Tony.”
Rachel’s eyebrows rose. “Marie? Marie killed Tony?”
“No, not Marie. What did Harold tell you? Marie got it too. She killed both of them. Killed her mother, killed my Tony.”
She bent down, picked up a twig from the grass and snapped pieces of it off. “Next year after that, Ed was gone, too. Killed himself, they say. I say was she that did it. Took everything he had away.”
“Who, Mrs. Montalvo? Who did it?”
Yellow teeth showed briefly behind a pitiless smile. “Police say Tony killed Marie, then killed himself. They were wrong.”
“How do you know they were wrong? Do you really know who did it?”
“Sure I know. She came here and told me what she done. Thought I’d understand.” Her laugh came cold and hard. “Understand? Oh, yeah. Know what I understand? I understand what it means to live alone in this old house. I understand what it is to live every day in pain, knowing she’s still out there somewhere.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“They thought I was crazy. Told me I was a Gypsy liar. Said it was all over. All closed up neat as you please.”
A cold flame burned in her eyes as she turned to glare at Rachel. “I think it’s time you told me why you’re really here.”
Rachel looked to Scott. He nodded once. “Tell her.”
“Mrs. Montalvo, my name is not Lucy. It’s Rachel. I’m not a Montalvo.”
“I knew that right off. Hair’s wrong. Skin’s wrong. Keep going.”
“I believe a woman named Montalvo tried to kill me. Poison was put in place of some medicine I was taking and I almost died.”
Scott took her hand, held it tight.
“We came to Blairsville to see if we could find some kind of connection. Find out what’s really going on.”
Rose Montalvo closed her eyes, nodding slowly. “I knew this would happen. Had to. How old’s this woman tried to hurt you? Maybe thirty-three, thirty-four years old?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
Scott rose and wrapped his arm around his wife. “Please tell us what you can, Mrs. Montalvo. We’re trying to protect our family. Our little boy, our little girl.”
A bitter smile formed on her lips. “It was my niece.”
She looked up, eyes searching. “She’s the one ruined my life. Took away my husband. That’s right. My niece, Melissa Montalvo.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Snip
Melissa sat cross-legged in the darkness, a warm cup of coffee in her hands. Reflected light from the kitchen range hood cast spectral shadows through the room.
One full week. Scott had not logged back on to talk with her.
The world outside appeared gray through the bay window. Indistinct forms passed by on the street. Pale yellow streetlights shone dully on the sidewalks and curbs.
Rachel. She should have been dead by now, forgotten. Instead, she was with Scott. It wasn’t right. The discoloration around her eye was darker than ever. It hurt her eyes just to open them wide. She couldn’t let Scott see her this way. Her tablet lay next to her. She’d sent Scott an e-mail at work every day since the debacle with The Other. Did he suspect anything?
No, of course not. Rachel talked to Suzanne just three days ago.
Scott knew she was real, though. Why hadn’t he tried to contact her? Didn’t he know how much she needed him? He wasn’t like other men. He’d told her he loved her. He was the center of her life. Without him she had no purpose.
Surely he wouldn’t have said anything to Rachel. She would have received an angry e-mail or something. Some kind of communication from one of them.
The great, yawning emptiness inside her cried for satisfaction. It swelled and clawed its way into her every thought, every action. It dominated her world. She couldn’t keep going like this.
She looked down at the cup, now cold in her thin fingers. Fewer cars passed by now, never more than one at a time. People were home with their families. Mothers and daughters baking cookies. Fathers and sons working on projects in basements and garages.
All she had was this grasping, gnawing void inside that threatened to consume her.
She forced herself to her feet.
In the kitchen, Melissa set a stainless steel skillet on the stovetop. She pressed the knob, watched the flame pop and hiss into a steady heat. She turned it down low, poured some olive oil into the pan, and waited for it to warm.
The oil moved in little eddies as the temperature increased. It was hypnotic, watching the whirls and designs the fluid created on the shiny steel surface. The heat forced the oil to move against its will. It had no choice but to try to escape the relentless pressure of the flame beneath it.
She lifted the skillet’s handle just a degree. The oil ran to one side, but it ran toward the heat. Pushed down by gravity, unable to escape the fire.
Helpless. There were no choices. Only irresistible forces demanding surrender.
It wasn’t enough to eliminate Rachel. Scott’s mind and heart had been too divided. It all had to go. Then he can be mine.
The children were the problem. It wasn’t Melissa’s fault the way their mother used them to hold on to Scott, to keep him away from Melissa. Poor Angela. Scotty. It wasn’t their fault either.
The flickering flame glinted off something metal lying on the countertop.
Cut them away, and they’ll be gone. Just cut them all away. Scott will understand. Our love will be so strong he’ll forget all about them. He loves me. He’s confused now. I can help him. We’ll hold each other and he’ll forget all those other things. I can help him forget all those people that don’t matter.
The faces of Rachel and the children formed in her mind. They looked like an old black-and-white photograph, edges worn with age. Long slivers were being sliced away. It was disappearing, the pieces tumbling away into nothingness.
Gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Gray House
Should I pretend to talk to Suzanne again?”
Scott looked up at Rachel across their dining room table. “Maybe. I’m not sure. We’ve got to keep her from getting suspicious.” He looked at his hands, seeming to study them. “She has to be wondering why she hasn’t heard from me.”
“Maybe you should contact her as Alicia. I don’t like it, but I could sit with you while you did it.”
Scott considered, then realized he couldn’t look Rachel in the eyes. “No, I still don’t think it would work. There’s no way I could have the same sort of conversation with her that I did in the past. She’d know something had changed.”
Rachel said nothing. She understood. He’d gone far, far over the line in his relationship with Melissa. There was no way he could ever restart it now. He couldn’t pick it up where they had left it.
“I can e-mail her. I’ll tell her things have really been hectic. That I’m sorry and I’ll talk with her as
soon as I can. She’s probably been e-mailing me at Castle.”
Copies of articles from the Blairsville Voice were spread out over the table. After their meeting with Rose Montalvo, they had gone back down to the dusty old newspaper office. Harold Ranger had allowed them to copy everything they had needed. There had been much more than any of them had imagined.
Melissa’s name showed up twice in print. In one, she was listed as the only survivor of her father’s suicide, the year after the double murder. The other, as a survivor in the gruesome double homicide that ended her mother’s life. Always a survivor. Was it really a suicide?
Scott picked up the clipping, and his finger traced halfway down the column. “Melissa was on her way home from college the day her mother was murdered. Her uncle and mother were both found dead on the floor of her house. It happened the same day she got back.”
“Do you think she really did it? Do you think Rose was right?”
“Why wouldn’t she be right? She said that Melissa told her she’d done it. Thought she ought to be thankful.” He shook his head. “I can understand killing someone else in anger. It happens all the time. But then, to be so cool about it that you go to the wife of the dead man and expect to be thanked? That’s way too strange.”
“We’re at kind of a dead end, aren’t we? I mean, we know a lot, suspect even more, but there’s still nothing we can do about it. And this is old news now. Thirteen, fourteen years ago. If we’re right, she killed her mother, her uncle, and maybe her father. Then when she gets here she kills her predecessor at the company and then tries to kill me.”
Scott rubbed his forehead. “I know. I don’t like it at all. There’s no way I want the kids back here the way things are right now. Why would she quit trying?”
Rachel shuddered. “I can handle myself in a dangerous situation, but Scotty and Angela? Oh, Scott. We have to figure out something. What can we do?”
He slapped his hand down on the table, shaking it with the impact. “I’ve got to do something.” He pushed the chair back. “I’m going over to her house.”
Rachel’s mouth dropped open.
“No, I don’t mean I’m going to talk to her. I’m just going to park outside and watch, see what I can learn. You keep going over all this stuff, learn what you can. I’m going to see what I can learn over there.”
“What could you learn? What else is there?”
“The woman has a life, right? I mean, there must be other people. Places she goes. No one lives entirely alone. Maybe someone will come over, and we can pick up on some new connection in her life. I don’t know. But I can’t just sit here waiting for something to happen. Actually, rather than be here alone, why don’t you go with me?”
Rachel pressed her lips together. “No, I need to get some things picked up and put away around here. But if she’s not there, then come right back, okay?”
“Yes. If I can tell she’s in there, I’ll know you’re safe here.”
“Keep your cell phone with you. Call me if anything happens. I’m going to worry about you, you know?”
Scott came up behind Rachel, put his arms around her, and kissed her cheek. “You’re the one I care about. You, Scotty, and Angela. I can’t just be passive about this. I have to do something.”
“And if you hear anything, anything at all, you call me, okay?”
The garage door whirred down. Scott waited for it to close securely, then pulled out of the driveway.
I’ve got to protect them. They are everything to me. Oh, God. You made me the man in my home, the leader. God grant me wisdom, help me to end the threat to the family I love. You said, “Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house.”
I claim that, Lord. Save my house.
• • •
MELISSA PULLED THE CAR off the road near the house and sat in the darkness. She took a deep breath, and picked up the tablet computer from the seat next to her, watched the display whirl into view, and pressed the pre-programmed link to open the mini-console.
“Activate suzanne 48b7b9a6.” A message box appeared on the tablet display.
“Send e-mail colon rachel.”
The prompt in the message box turned green, along with the word Ready.
Melissa spoke distinctly. “Rachel, are you home this evening? I’d love to catch up on things with you. Are the children in bed yet? Love you, Suzanne.”
She touched the DONE button. The box cleared as the e-mail went out over the net. She sat back to wait.
• • •
SCOTT TURNED OFF the main road onto Melissa’s street. He made out the gray house with the bay window. A pale glow from the window illumined the tops of some shrubs beneath it.
He parked the car along the curb and shut off the lights and engine. From his vantage point he could see into the interior of the house. A bookcase, some light from the back of the room. There were no lights on in the front room itself.
Nothing moved. He cupped his hand over his cell phone and looked at the display. It had a full charge. The camera lay on the seat next to him. In this darkness it would not be much help, but there was no way of knowing what could happen.
What if she wasn’t home? His eyes stayed on the house. Should he get out of the car and walk closer? Would anyone notice him?
Movement in the window attracted his attention. A woman’s form, moving across the back of the room. So she was there.
He shielded his phone under his jacket and texted Rachel. She’s here. I’m watching.
Minutes passed with the slowness of hours. He was going to have to do something. What if nothing else happened? If no one came?
His eyes went to the garage door. It looked secure. If she left, then he would know. He forced the tension out of his body. As long as she was in the house, then Rachel was safe. Scotty and Angela were in another state. Everything was okay for now.
He waited.
• • •
RACHEL REORGANIZED THE CLIPPINGS and notes on the tabletop for what seemed like the hundredth time. There had to be some kind of pattern, didn’t there? What were they missing? Surely the Lord would give them something. There was no way they could go on like this.
A soft ding sounded from the other room. An e-mail from someone. She rose from the chair and walked over to the computer.
Mail from Suzanne. She clicked the e-mail and read it. Her face flushed with anger as she read the question about the children.
Relax. We’re way ahead of her.
Forcing calm, she replied.
I’m here, and the kids are asleep already.
What’s on your mind?
She didn’t want to do a video chat. The e-mail would have to be enough.
A sound from the garage startled her. It was the familiar whirring of the garage door opening, then lowering. Had Scott forgotten to close the door?
Scott would have called me.
Her chest constricted in fear. She raced back to the dining room, snatched the cell phone off the table. Behind her the knob on the back door turned and clicked.
The stairs.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Things Are Not Always
She was back, closer to the window now. In silhouette, he could see all he needed to. It was the same long hair, the same slender body. She stood in the window, looking out at the road.
Was she looking at him? If he could see her, then she could certainly see him. He slid down in the seat. Would she look away?
A long minute passed, but she continued to stare in his direction. Of course—she knew his car. What a fool he was. Even if she couldn’t make out his face from this distance, she would know the car. And now, here he was, all slunk down in his seat like a coward.
He shook himself. Time to man up.
She was still in the window, looking his way.
He swung the car door open. The brilliance of the car’s interior lights startled him. He jumped out, slammed the door, and looked back toward the window.
&
nbsp; No one was there. If she’d had any question about whether or not it was him, then she didn’t any longer. What was she thinking? Did she think he was here because he loved her, wanted her?
He patted the cell phone in his pocket for reassurance. That was his only link to the rest of the world. And what was he worried about? If anyone in the world was safe, then surely it was him. Hadn’t she told him she loved him?
He walked across the street. The honey-colored light from the old streetlamp casting a long, dull shadow in front of him. Thirty more feet would take him to the door.
They were adults, right? He could sit down with her and tell her that it wasn’t going to work, that he loved his wife, and that was all there was to it. They could walk away amicably, couldn’t they?
The acid taste of fear filled his mouth. Why lie to himself? The woman had killed two times that he knew of and had tried to kill Rachel. No, it wouldn’t be that easy. But it was time to be a man, time to put an end to the danger he had brought into his home.
He walked up the short steps, the walkway, onto the porch. No sound came from inside the house.
He raised his hand to knock on the door, but as soon as he touched it, the door swung open an inch. Light from the entryway flooded onto his shoes, up into his face, momentarily blinding him. He stepped back, but the door didn’t move any more.
Tentatively, he pushed it farther with the tips of his fingers. It swung noiselessly open, wide enough to admit him.
Was she there? Was she still inside?
He bent forward, slipped his head inside the house. “Melissa?”
The pain erupted in his head with the brightness of a thousand exploding suns. The last thing he saw as the blackness enfolded him was a woman’s hands, reaching down to pull him roughly inside.
• • •
MELISSA PUSHED THE DOOR open and stepped into the short hallway that led to the dining room.
The sound of someone running upstairs. She heard a door slam shut somewhere in the house.
So she knows I’m here.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
She turned into the dining room. Newspaper clippings and notepads were spread out across the table. What? The Blairsville Voice?
