Until Dark

by Mariah Stewart

  “Thanks, but I’ll walk. I really need the exercise.”

  He takes this as a sign, and readies himself.

  Soft, steady footsteps on the graveled path, a stone tumbles ahead, kicked by the toe of her shoe. She is deep in thought, her brows knitted together. What, he wonders briefly, is on her mind?

  Mentally he shrugs off any concern. He knows that soon, very soon, it will no longer matter.

  She passes close by, close enough that he can smell her perfume. He counts her steps, knows exactly when to spring.

  In a flash, he’s upon her from behind, one arm looped around her neck, the other positioning the stun gun.

  And then she jabs him, hard, with her elbow. The unexpected blow knocks the gun from his hand. She spins, karate-style, preparing her defenses. With one punch to her jaw, he takes her out.

  Panting from the unexpected exertion, he stands, hands on hips, and stares down at her.

  Then he bends and lifts her, carries her over his shoulder down the path. Down, down, to the cave that he’s prepared for her arrival.

  His nerves are on edge. She wasn’t supposed to do that. He was going to have to show her a thing or two.

  He closes his eyes, remembering . . .

  Then, later, the scene on his imaginary screen shifts.

  It is dark now, and it’s done. Karen has paid the price and is of no further use to him. She’s to be disposed of. He’s left her in the cave while he goes up the path to the parking lot to see what’s going on. He gets to the top of the path, then stands quietly, sniffing the air like a dog. There are no cars in the lot now, no one about at all. Pleased, he moves the van close to the path, then returns to the cave for Karen.

  He is halfway up the path, Karen slung over his shoulder, when he sees the light. He pauses, then steps off the path into the shadows. The light is a small dot on the ground, moving toward him. He stares, motionless, as the flashlight approaches, curious at first. Slowly, he lowers to the ground, still holding his burden, and crouches in the dark, watching the light move closer.

  She is almost past him, when the light falls to his side of the path.

  She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. He tosses Karen like a sack, leaps for his new prey.

  He closes his eyes, remembering . . .

  The knife in his hand, though he had no recollection of having removed it from its sheath. The knife at her throat. He could almost hear his own voice warning her to be quiet. To settle down and she’d live to tell about it.

  Not that he’d considered for a minute not killing her, but she didn’t need to know that at that moment.

  But had she listened to him? No. No, she started to scream for help. So what could he do?

  He slit her throat, then carried her to his cave.

  But there he’d lost control, something he’d never done before. Not ever. The knife had slammed down, over and over and over. . . .

  He takes a long, slow breath, and stares at the screen, bringing back the images, savoring every one.

  Chapter

  Eight

  “Selena, I’m so sorry.” Kendra looked up with eyes red from crying as Selena entered the room. “I am so, so sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Selena, her own eyes brimmed with tears, hugged her. “If you hadn’t called Mark when you did, we could have lost Lola. I owe you for saving her life.”

  “Mark thinks she was poisoned. They’re still trying to determine what it was.”

  “That’s what he said when he called me. He said it could have been an insecticide, but he isn’t sure.”

  “Lola’s too smart to eat something with insecticide on it.”

  “Lola is a dog. If the chemical was strong enough, maybe even licking it could have made her sick. I just can’t figure out where she could have gotten into something that strong. I don’t have chemicals around my house.”

  “Neither do I. And as far as I know, she didn’t eat anything except the dog biscuit that I gave her—”

  “And the sandwich she found in your yard,” Selena said slowly.

  The women stared at each other in silence. Then Kendra stood up and walked toward the door.

  “I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” she told Selena. “The trash men don’t come until Thursday.”

  “Why would anyone lace a sandwich with insecticide?” Kendra asked.

  “And then leave it in your yard?” Selena shook her head. “Makes no sense at all, does it?”

  “Well, turning it over to the police was a good idea. And thank God, Lola’s going to be all right. It’s lucky that you took the sandwich from her before she had a chance to finish it off.”

  “Lucky that she’s as obedient as she is. Any other dog might have gobbled it down.” Selena leaned over the railing of her back porch to look down at Kendra, who stood on the grass below. “But I still don’t understand why someone would do something like that. I mean, spray insecticide on a sandwich.”

  “Could have been an accident.”

  “How do you accidentally get insecticide on your lunch?”

  “Maybe someone was making the sandwich and sprayed at something—bees, maybe, or a fly—and maybe the window was open and wind blew the spray back and it landed on the bread.”

  Selena stared at her.

  “How do you come up with this stuff?”

  “I’m trying to think of a logical way that this could have happened. That’s the only logical thing I can think of.”

  “Even you would have to admit that that’s pretty remote,” Selena said dryly. “And how would this accidentally tainted sandwich end up in your backyard?”

  “Maybe the person with the sandwich was canoeing downstream and eating at the same time. Maybe just as he was passing my place, he took a bite out of the sandwich and realized it was contaminated and he tossed it”—she flung her arm as if throwing away the imaginary sandwich—“without thinking.”

  “I’m trying to remind myself that you’re actually an intelligent woman.”

  “What other explanation could there be? Unless someone was trying to poison, say, the raccoons . . .”

  “No one around here would do that, regardless of how annoying the raccoons are. No one around here would deliberately try to poison an animal.”

  “Which means it had to have been accidental.”

  “Well, accidental or not, I’m lucky to have my dog coming home tomorrow. Are you still willing to have her stay with you over the weekend while I run up to Trenton to see my brother?”

  “Are you still willing to leave her with me, after what happened?”

  “Kendra, I’d trust you with my life.” Selena smiled for the first time in hours. “And with my dog’s. Besides, what are the chances of someone tossing another poisoned sandwich into your backyard?”

  Kendra wasn’t expecting to find another poisoned sandwich, but she did give the yard a thorough going-over before Selena dropped Lola off on Friday afternoon. Her ordeal apparently forgotten, the dog did her best to plant a few sloppy kisses on Kendra’s face before racing off after a chipmunk.

  “You’d never suspect we almost lost her just a few days ago, would you?” Selena observed.

  “She certainly doesn’t appear worse for having spent two days in the doggie clinic,” Kendra agreed. “Even so, I’m not letting her out of my sight all weekend.”

  “That may be tough. She isn’t one to stay in one spot for long.”

  “I intend to do my best to keep her amused and close to the house, all the same.”

  Selena slid behind the wheel of her car and closed the door. “You have my cell phone number if you need me, but I don’t expect you’ll have any problems. Mark promised me that, except for a possible sore throat from the chemicals, Lola should be as good as new.”

  “Oh, that reminds me. I got a call from Ray Kilmer at the police station this morning. They got the results back from their lab. It seems the chemicals used were your basic household variety of spray insectic
ide, just as Mark thought. You know, Bugs-Away, or whatever they call that stuff.”

  “Curious,” Selena said as she began to back her car out onto the road.

  “Selena,” Kendra called to her.

  When the car stopped, Kendra walked to the open driver’s side window and asked, “Did you have any . . . feelings, or anything about this?”

  “No.” Selena shook her head. She paused, then added, “But there was something . . . I don’t want to call it a premonition . . . on Tuesday afternoon. Before you came back. It wasn’t anything I could put my finger on. Just a, well, a chill would be the best way to describe it. I have no idea what it meant. If, in fact, it meant anything. You know that it’s sometimes hard to tell, sometimes hard to interpret . . . and you know how hard I’ve tried all these years not to have premonitions.”

  “I know you’ve never been comfortable, well, knowing things.”

  “And I know people like to think that, because I’m a little sensitive, I can always see the future or predict things. It doesn’t always work that way. Sometimes things just pass you by.”

  “That’s because you try to ignore your gift.”

  “I don’t know that I’d call it a gift, Kendra. I’ve never been able to decide how I really feel about it.”

  “Must make your counseling sessions interesting, though.”

  “It might, if I let it. I am very, very careful not to ‘hear’ my patients unless they are speaking out loud.” Selena waved and completed her turn, then honked her horn as she drove off down the road.

  “Come on, Lola,” Kendra called, not wanting the dog too far out of sight. “Let’s go inside and get a cool drink, would you like that?”

  Lola, who’d been investigating some scent at the edge of the woods, loped across the lawn at the sound of her name. Though a bit slower than normal, one would be hard pressed to tell that she’d been so ill just forty-eight hours earlier.

  Kendra filled Lola’s water bowl and set it on the kitchen floor, and the dog drank eagerly.

  “Lola, you’re a mess,” Kendra said as water dripped onto the floor. She reached for the paper towels to mop up. “Now, we’re going to have a nice, quiet weekend. After the week I’ve had, after dealing with everything from a serial killer to a sandwich poisoner, I want no more excitement in my life than what I get from paying my bills and reading the book I picked up at the drugstore last night.”

  And for the most part, the weekend was uneventful, the only moment of note coming on Sunday morning when Kendra opened the barn door. Having missed her daily canoe trips into the Pines, she’d decided the time had come to resume her forays. She’d take the larger of the two canoes so that Lola could accompany her. But after she’d swung back the unlocked door, and before she could step inside, Lola began to growl, a long, low, threatening sound from deep inside.

  The hair on the back of Kendra’s neck stood straight up, and she took several steps back.

  “What is it, girl?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”

  Even as Kendra stepped back, Lola advanced slowly, sniffing the air and growling as she entered the barn and paused as if listening. Kendra stood in the doorway and took stock.

  The two canoes stood up against the right wall, and toward the back of the barn was an old lawn mower and a new bicycle. Several rakes and a shovel or two stood near the door, and a row of paint cans stood in a neat line awaiting proper disposal. Light from the open door spilled onto the floor, and it was plain that there was nothing there that shouldn’t have been.

  “Do you smell a fox, maybe, or a raccoon?” Kendra patted the dog on the head. “There’s nothing here, Lola.”

  Confident that the dog must have caught the scent from an animal that somehow had found its way in—and out—overnight, Kendra dragged the canoe out through the double doors and down to the stream. She’d had to clap her hands to get Lola’s attention, though, and was tempted to leave the dog at the house when Lola, still visibly agitated, finally arrived at the stream.

  “Oh, that old fox or whatever it was is long gone now,” Kendra said as she pushed the canoe from the side of the stream. “You just sit back there and relax, and we’ll see what’s going on upstream today.”

  Kendra paddled as far as the first big lake, noting that the number of early-morning canoers seemed to increase with every mile. That the Pines had become such a popular place was a good thing, she reminded herself. The more people who enjoyed the protected areas, the more likely it was that those areas would remain protected. But still, for one accustomed to having endless stretches of waterways to herself, she regretted having to share this Sunday morning with strangers, friendly though they might be. After the violence that had engulfed her over the past week, she needed the healing serenity that she always found in the rhythmic paddling on her solitary ventures into the heart of the Pines.

  Lola, who’d been obediently sitting at the front of the canoe and taking in the sights, stood up and began to fuss at a flotilla of kayakers. Kendra waved at their greeting, admonished Lola to sit back down, then reluctantly acknowledged that it was time to start back to Smith House. In an effort to buy herself a bit more peace, she sought the more remote branches of one of the rivers on her return. But even here, in the more far-reaching tributaries, she met the occasional soul who’d ventured from the established channels to seek the calm of the woods, much as she was doing. Usually, Kendra was happy to share the beauty of the Pines with others who sought this same refuge. Today wasn’t one of those times.

  Easing her canoe into the narrow waterway that would take her home, she tried to focus on the gentleness of the morning, the soft bird sounds, and the greening up of the undergrowth. Last night’s rain had left behind a slight mist that the morning sun had all but burned off, and the patches of sunlight and shadow on the water pleased her eye and soothed her spirit. In spite of her disappointment at finding so much activity in the Pines that morning, she felt refreshed. The muscles in her arms stung slightly from not having worked a paddle for close to a week, but other than that bit of discomfort, she was feeling refreshed by the time she approached her property line.

  The first thing she’d do was to make that sign she’d promised herself.

  She dragged the canoe onto the soft bank, stepping aside as Lola jumped past her and took off, returning reluctantly at Kendra’s command. The canoe resting against the side of the barn to dry, Kendra unlocked the back of the house. Insisting that Lola accompany her, she went inside, refilled the dog’s water dish and grabbed a bottle of chilled Deer Park from the fridge while on her way into the study.

  She’d prefer a more permanent wooden sign, but for today, she’d have to be content with something makeshift. Temporarily, a message in black marker on a piece of cardboard nailed to the tree would do. She searched the closet and found a cardboard box from which she cut the lid. In block letters she printed NO TRESPASSING on the cardboard and held it up to admire. It would serve the purpose just fine.

  She found a nail and hammer in the tool box she kept in the back entry, and tucking the sign under her arm, went back outside, Lola at her heels. The dog cast a wary eye at the barn, but stayed close by Kendra, even when Kendra waded into the shallow part of the stream to nail the sign to the section of tree trunk that would be most visible from the water.

  “There,” she said to Lola. “I’d say that’s pretty clear, wouldn’t you?”

  She waded back toward the narrow clearing when something fluttering in the light wind caught her eye. A scrap of fabric had been tied to a low branch of one of the shrubs that grew along the bank. Knowing that it was not uncommon for the canoers or kayakers to mark their way along the streams by tying something onto the trees or bushes so that they could find their way back, and harmless as the scrap was, she left it there, thinking that whoever had tied it there, could have picked a more noticeable color. That pale, slightly faded green would be difficult to spot. Had the wind not brought it to motion, Kendra wouldn’t have seen it at
all.

  She flipped on the small television in the kitchen while she made lunch, after which she discovered Lola had a fondness for green grapes. She was just tossing one into the air for the dog to catch when “News Week in Review” came on. The opening segment promised news about the Soccer Mom killer who was stalking women in eastern Pennsylvania. Kendra’s sketch was featured as part of the teaser.

  She pulled a chair out from the table and sat down to watch as the reporter went through the killings that had dominated the news for the past week. An FBI spokesperson appeared to give an update, followed by film of the scene in the park where the last victim had been found.

  “. . . and in spite of the fact that this latest victim did not fit the pattern the killer had established, the FBI believes the same man is responsible for all four murders.” The reporter stood at the point where the two park paths joined, the exact spot where Joseph Tursky said he’d seen the man in the composite. “Police think the murderer had lain in wait here,” she pointed behind her to a heavily shrubbed area, “until Karen Meyer started through the woods on a shortcut to her home, which is in a small development just to the south of the park. They believe the killer overtook her, perhaps knocking her unconscious, then carrying her to a cave down this path.”

  She stepped aside and pointed to the path beyond the yellow tape.

  “Then, after raping and murdering the young mother of three, the killer apparently carried her body up the path toward the parking lot I’m standing near, possibly intending to leave his victim elsewhere. It is believed that it was during this trip back up the path that he encountered nineteen-year-old Julie Lohmann. Police think the killer attacked Ms. Lohmann, then returned to the cave with her, where she was viciously murdered. Her body was then taken to the stream that runs through the park, left on the bank while, sources tell me, he may have washed up in the swiftly moving water. . . .”

  A photograph of Julie Lohmann flashed on the screen. Her high school senior photo, Kendra suspected, that of a pretty, dark-haired girl whose smile confided her belief that a life brimming with endless possibilities lay just beyond graduation.