Dead Before Dark

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  Lucinda knew it was out there when she was here last month, but she never got to see it, as it was perpetually shrouded in dense gray clouds. The weather has been beautiful since she landed in Seattle a few hours ago. Maybe it’s a good omen.

  Considering that today is Friday the thirteenth, she won’t count on it.

  Last night, for the first time in her life, she turned off her bedside lamp.

  Under cover of darkness, she strapped on her backpack and slipped out the window, closing it after her.

  As she scuttled away into the night, she expected someone to fall into step behind her: the FBI—or him. The Night Watchman. Even though the full moon is still a few days away.

  But no one followed her. The agents weren’t expecting her to turn off the alarms and sneak out the back, giving them the slip.

  She didn’t breathe easily until she’d gotten through security at the airport.

  Before dawn, she flew from Philadelphia to Chicago.

  From Chicago, she changed airlines, then flew to Denver.

  There, she changed airlines for a third time, and flew to Seattle.

  If, by chance, they trail her, they’ll think she’s retracing the Night Watchman’s steps, and that her journey ends here.

  This is where they’ll look for her.

  But they’ll never find her—and neither will the Night Watchman.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “Vic? Are you even listening to me?”

  Jarred back to his telephone conversation by Kitty’s voice, Vic turns away from the view of Philadelphia’s night skyline beyond his hotel room window.

  “I’m listening.”

  No, he isn’t.

  He’s thinking about the fact that across the ocean in Norway, June eighteenth has already dawned.

  Vic is almost convinced that Eugene Fox has abducted Lucinda and somehow taken her overseas. They’ve got her photo plastered from Oslo to Nordkapp, but so far there hasn’t been a single sighting.

  The trouble is, it doesn’t make sense for a killer who murders at sundown to transport his next victim to a place where the sun doesn’t set at all during the summer solstice.

  And he was moving from east to west across the United States, from one time zone to the next. If he planned to keep going now that he’s finished this continent, wouldn’t Alaska or Hawaii be next? Why Norway? Even crossing the Pacific to Asia would make more sense than that.

  “Vic! Did you hear me?”

  “No,” he confesses. “Sorry, Kitty.”

  She sighs. “I’ll just let you go. It’s late, and it’s a work night, and you’re busy—”

  “No, wait, don’t hang up yet.” He needs the connection to his wife. He needs to be reminded that there’s a normal life out there waiting for him when this is all over. “What were you saying?”

  “How much did you hear?”

  “Not much.”

  Kitty sighs. “Well, for one thing, Dave Gudlaug called today.”

  “Did he ask where I was?”

  “Of course.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you went away to finish your book in peace and I’m under strict orders not to tell anyone where you are.”

  “Well, it’s not a total lie. The second part is true.”

  “He wanted to know if we’ve given any more thought to a cruise with him and Louise this winter. I said we have, and we’d love to go.”

  “Kitty, I don’t know.”

  “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  “It doesn’t sound fun, playing bingo with a bunch of old farts and eating at buffets and—”

  “You don’t have to play bingo or eat at buffets.”

  “Oh, right, you can play bridge instead, and eat in a tuxedo at the same time every night with strangers at your table.”

  “Dave said it’s not like that on this cruise line. Norwegian has freestyle dining. You eat wherever you want and whenever you—”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, it’s not like that.”

  “Freestyle.”

  “Yes, that’s what they call it in the brochure. Didn’t you read it?”

  “Freestyle…Norwegian…Kitty, I have to go.”

  “What? Vic—”

  “I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll call you back later.”

  Freestyle.

  That was the brand of all five watches.

  Norwegian.

  Ibsen was a Norwegian playwright.

  There was a Norwegian krone next to Kelly Patterson’s body.

  All this time, Vic had been thinking of Norway…land of the midnight sun.

  Heart pounding, he dials Annabelle.

  June eighteenth.

  Not the longest day of the year, but almost.

  And it sure has felt like it.

  All day, she’s been uneasy.

  All day, she’s felt as though he were here with her, watching her.

  But that, of course, is impossible, unless he’s out there floating on an iceberg.

  Standing on the balcony of her suite, the doors open behind her so that she can listen for the steward’s knock, Lucinda watches the sun sink low over the vast Gulf of Alaska.

  It’s almost over.

  Not just the day.

  The nightmare.

  The sun set hours ago in Philadelphia.

  By now, the FBI will have the Night Watchman in custody.

  They would have been staking out her apartment since she left, regardless of the fact that she’s not in it. Perhaps they even sent in a lookalike decoy to pose as Lucinda for the past few days.

  They were undoubtedly lying in wait tonight for the Night Watchman to make his appearance.

  And when he did, they would have gotten him.

  She hopes Vic Shattuck was there to personally slap on the cuffs—or pull the trigger, if that were the case.

  With any luck, the story will be in the press in a day or two. She’ll pick up a newspaper in one of the ports of call.

  For now, though, she’ll stay hidden away in her cabin, where she’s been from the moment the ship set sail from Seattle on Saturday morning. Not because she doesn’t feel safe here, miles out at sea. This is the last place anyone would ever think to look for her. She never mentioned the rebooked cruise to anyone, having resolved not even to think about it, much less discuss it, until the case was solved.

  For five days now, she’s been thinking of Randy—and Neal, too—constantly. She knows how worried they must be, wishes she could reach out to let them know she’s all right.

  She doesn’t dare. Not yet.

  Not telling anyone where she was going—or even that she was leaving—has been the most difficult thing she’s ever done in her life. It doesn’t matter that it was for their own good as much as—or perhaps more so than—her own. It felt wrong.

  Yet she could never ask or expect Randy or Neal to lie to the FBI. Never.

  That would have been even more wrong.

  Hearing a knock on her cabin door, Lucinda steps inside the stateroom, leaving the doors to the balcony open to let in the cool sea air. She’s been doing that as much as possible, not accustomed to being cooped up in a small space day after day like this.

  She keeps the lights on, of course, as always. All day, all night. The television, too. She likes to keep it tuned to the station that broadcasts the ship’s position, the weather, the time. It’s nice to keep track of how far they’ve come, where they are—and how far they still have to go.

  “Room service,” a voice calls.

  Lucinda peers through the peephole to make sure, feeling a little foolish. As if the Night Watchman could suddenly beam himself to a ship three thousand miles away from Philadelphia.

  Nope. It’s the cabin steward who’s been taking care of her for four nights now.

  Lucinda opens the door. “How are you, Eduardo?”

  “Just fine. You’re eating late tonight. I thought you were upstairs at the big chocolate buffet, but
maybe you have other plans, eh?” He gives her a sly look. “Maybe you’re expecting company? I could bring some wine, some champagne….”

  “No, it’s just me.”

  He gives her an “if you say so” shrug that she doesn’t really understand. Does he think she has a secret lover stowed away on board?

  “Well, if you change your mind, the buffet is the highlight of the cruise. Everyone on the ship is there. Well, almost everyone. It’s really something. Chocolate-covered strawberries, chocolate-covered everything you can imagine, chocolate sculptures, chocolate fountains…Don’t you like chocolate?”

  “I love it.”

  “Then you should go.”

  “Maybe I will, after dinner.”

  After sunset.

  As if reminded why he’s here, Eduardo rolls the room service cart, elegantly draped in white linen, into the suite. “Where would you like this? Would you like to dine outside and watch the sunset? It’s beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

  She follows his gaze to the balcony.

  High overhead, the endless arc of midnight blue sky is filled with swirls of clouds, melding with streaks of reddish orange as the sun descends toward shimmering water. A vivid strip of yellow rides across the horizon, radiating from the sun’s fiery dome.

  “In just a few hours, the sun will be rising again,” Eduardo tells her. “Have you noticed that it never really gets dark here in Alaska at this time of year?”

  “I have definitely noticed, and that’s fine with me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I’m afraid of the dark.”

  He grins at her.

  Ha, you think I’m kidding, Eduardo.

  “Then if you ever come to Alaska in the winter, you’d better bring someone to hold your hand,” he advises, tongue firmly in cheek. “It’s just the opposite at that time of year. It never really gets light.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Will you be needing anything else?”

  “No, I’m all set.”

  As Eduardo moves to leave, something drops out of his pocket.

  It’s a wad of dollar bills.

  Watching him scoop up the money, Lucinda wonders if she should be tipping him now. Obviously, somebody is. She thought it was policy on this line to wait until the end of the cruise. She’d better double-check that with the concierge in the morning.

  She locks the door behind Eduardo, and slides the chain.

  There.

  Safe and sound.

  Lucinda glances at the television screen with its convenient statistics.

  They’re cruising off the Alaskan coast at 20 knots, having just left Skagway’s port at 59.75 135.53, over a thousand miles from Seattle—and three times as far from home. It’s 10:19 P.M. The sun will set in exactly five minutes.

  Thank God she listened to her instincts and fled Philadelphia last week. Thank God she took charge of her own life, the way she always has.

  At the open balcony door, the sheer draperies flutter in the stiff wind off the water.

  Looking uneasily out at the setting sun, she reminds herself that she’s safe here.

  Still, maybe she won’t leave the doors open tonight after all.

  Come on, that’s ridiculous. Buck up.

  She shivers. It’s not just that she’s anxious. It gets really cold out here on the water at night. In fact, it isn’t all that warm during the day, either.

  She’s spent hours sitting on the teak deck chair wrapped in a blanket, gazing out at the sea.

  Hours thinking about what she’ll do when she gets back to Philadelphia.

  About the changes she’s already made; the changes she’ll continue to make.

  Her mother was wrong.

  She hasn’t been grown-up all her life. She’s been a child: willful and carefree.

  But maybe it’s time to grow up.

  With a sigh, Lucinda glances at the statistics on the television set.

  It’s 10:20 P.M.

  She looks at the room service cart, wondering why she even bothered to order dinner—and a heavy one at that: steak, potatoes, salad, dessert….

  She frowns, realizing there’s something extra on the tray, tucked in the shadow of a bud vase amid the silver-domed plates, utensils, cutlery.

  It’s a gift box.

  They really spoil you in first class.

  The first night, there was a bottle of champagne from the concierge.

  The second, a box of chocolate truffles.

  The third, an invitation to the Captain’s private reception—to which, of course, she sent her regrets.

  Last night, a fruit basket.

  Now what?

  She eyes the box with apprehension.

  Today is the eighteenth. You’re confusing premonition with paranoia.

  Still…

  The gift is wrapped in shiny red paper and knotted with red ribbon.

  Red.

  But lots of gifts are wrapped in red paper. The ship’s logo is red. It makes sense.

  Lucinda picks up the box, feeling foolish for being so hesitant.

  Come on. What do you think it’s going to be? A bomb, courtesy of Eduardo and the Night Watchman?

  Tick, tick, tick, sunset, boom!

  She glances at the open doors.

  A wedge of sun still sits on the horizon, but it’s sinking fast.

  Open the damned present. At least it’s something to do. It’ll take your mind off everything.

  Lucinda slices the ribbon with the steak knife, tears off the paper, opens the lid, and the world skids to a screeching halt.

  Randy’s footsteps are hollow on the hardwood floors of Lucinda’s apartment as he walks through the rooms, taking one last look around as the FBI support agents pack up.

  June 18 came and went without a visit from the Night Watchman, without a sign of Lucinda.

  Eugene Fox must have abducted her days ago, catching her off guard.

  It shouldn’t have, though. Lucinda was wary. She knew she was a target.

  The FBI was here, ready for anything.

  Not Vic Shattuck, though. He’d been taken off the case. That was a surprise. Randy had expected him to see it through, for Lucinda’s sake if nothing else. He didn’t even say goodbye before he left.

  It’s been a rough couple of days, coming to terms with the fact that Lucinda is gone.

  Randy kept thinking that maybe she had run off of her own accord, that the Watchman would show up here tonight after all.

  They were ready. The whole damned neighborhood was staked out; the apartment was occupied by a decoy who, at least from a distance, looks like Lucinda.

  At 8:32, they waited, all of them, holding their breaths.

  Waited.

  Waited.

  All night, into the morning.

  Randy stops pacing, leans his forehead against the wall in despair.

  Lucinda.

  How the hell did the Watchman get to her last week, when she was under surveillance, behind locked doors? How did he slip past the agents? How did he disarm the alarm?

  Does it matter?

  It’s June 19.

  The sun will rise in a few hours.

  It’s too late for Lucinda.

  Trembling, Lucinda lifts the wristwatch from the box.

  The hands are stopped at 10.24.

  She turns it over.

  June 18

  135.5

  59.7

  “Surprise!” a voice croons out of nowhere, and she looks up to see a figure standing at the balcony door, silhouetted against the setting sun.

  Cam cracks the door to the nursery.

  She can see Grace, asleep in her crib, bathed in the nightlight’s pink glow.

  Satisfied, she closes the door and slips over to Tess’s room.

  No nightlight here, but the shades are up. Light from the fat full moon illuminates the room. Tess, too, is sound asleep in her bed.

  She looks so sweet and innocent in slumber. Like a litt
le girl again.

  So different from the young woman who, just days ago, attended her first prom and came home head over heels in love—again.

  Cam closes the door and tiptoes past the master bedroom where she left Mike snoring.

  All is well in the Hastings home tonight.

  She just had to be sure. Even though she was well aware that the reason she hasn’t been able to sleep tonight has little to do with anything going on under her own roof.

  It’s Lucinda.

  Sometime after Cam left her on Thursday afternoon, she disappeared.

  Neal Bullard told Cam that the FBI believes she might have been abducted by the Night Watchman.

  No.

  That’s not what happened. Cam is certain Lucinda took matters into her own hands. She’s alive, gone into hiding.

  Cam has a strong sense that she’s somewhere out West.

  Somewhere overlooking the water.

  But she hasn’t told a soul about her psychic impressions. Not even Neal Bullard or Randy Barakat.

  There’s a reason Lucinda didn’t tell anyone where she was going.

  If Cam is right, and Lucinda is safe, then they’ll all find out soon enough.

  And if she’s wrong…

  Until tonight, she didn’t think that was possible, so powerful was her intuition.

  But as she lay in bed trying to fall asleep, an equally powerful sense of foreboding crept over her.

  Be safe, Lucinda. Wherever you are.

  Of all the great moments in Eugene Fox’s life—his vengeance on Scarlet; his release from prison; his initial discovery of Lucinda Sloan—this is, by far, the greatest.

  Even she, the all-knowing psychic detective, with all her supernatural powers, is no match for him.

  She thought she was so smart, running away.

  She thought she had outwitted them all.

  But she herself has been outwitted by the master. Her brilliant idea was his own; he controls not just her movements, but her thoughts, as he set out so long ago to do.

  He booked the cruise for Lucinda months ago and reserved a room for himself right next door, with the adjoining balconies separated by a thin plexiglass wall. Crossing over the rail from one to the other was laughably simple.