The tiles were hard beneath my knees. Even through my pants, I could feel warmth radiating through them. My left knee straddled two uneven tiles. One made a crunching noise beneath my weight, an indication that the tiling job was a joke.
If the tiles were cracked, if water could seep through, then—
It all happened very quickly. Sally tossed the gun onto the counter next to the sink, then pounced on the upper half of my body. She threw all her weight onto my shoulders, forcing my head over the edge of the tub.
All I managed to say was “Jesus, no—” before my head went into the water.
I guess I was expecting it to be warm, like bathwater, but it was ice cold. My mouth and nose filled instantly. Panic at not being able to breathe overwhelmed me.
I knocked her off me for half a second, raised my head above the water and gasped. But then Sally was on me again, one hand grabbing hold of my hair to keep my head down, the other grabbing hold of my belt at the back of my jeans, trying to tip me forward. Even though I didn’t have my arms free, water was being splashed everywhere.
Let it splash.
My mind was racing. With what little mental faculties and oxygen I had left, I was desperately trying to figure a way to get out from under Sally. The edge of the tub was acting as a lever for her, helping her keep my head under the water. She was expecting me to fight her, to try to push back, and she was well positioned to keep it from happening. I wondered if I could throw her off if I suddenly stopped resisting and allowed the rest of my body to fall into the tub.
I gave it a try.
Suddenly, I let my head go forward even deeper into the tub. My forehead banged the bottom. I felt Sally’s hand slip free of my belt, and then I twisted around and rose up, bringing my head above water. Now I was sitting with my butt on the bottom, my back against the wall.
I gasped again, trying to get as much air into my lungs as quickly as I could.
Water swelled and coursed over the edge of the tub, spreading across the floor and dribbling down into the heat vent and the numerous cracks between the tiles. I threw my body around, forcing more water out of the tub. Not only would that make it harder for Sally to submerge my head, it was getting the water out where I wanted it.
Fingers crossed that Theo’s work was consistent.
I pulled my legs back, then shot them forward, catching Sally hard in the chest. The motion knocked her back onto the floor and tipped me sideways into the tub. One of my legs was still dangling over the edge of the tub.
Sally had thrown her hands back to break her fall. Her palms landed flat on the tile surface, water nearly up to the top of her knuckles.
Something happened.
There was the sound of sparking. Suddenly, Sally seemed to freeze. Her eyes opened wide.
Then the lights in the bathroom shorted, then went out. But there was faint illumination from a hall light. Enough to see Sally’s body fall onto the floor with a soft splash.
She lay there, staring at the ceiling, not moving a muscle.
The heated floor. The water had shorted it out and electrocuted her.
That sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen if it was wired in correctly, if the proper parts were used. If the tiling was any good.
Theo. Master electrician. God bless him.
Staggering, I managed to get myself into a standing position in the tub. My shoes, and all my clothes, were soaked. When the lights went out, I knew the breaker had popped, and that it was safe to step out.
I weaved my way down to the kitchen, backed up to a drawer and managed to get out a knife. If I’d been sober, I might have been able to cut through the tape in a minute or two, but it took me nearly ten. I kept dropping the knife.
Once I was free, I went to Sally’s phone and made two calls. The second was to 911. The first was to Kelly’s cell.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I said. “Everything’s okay, but there’s been a little accident at Sally’s, and I’m going to be a while.”
EPILOGUE
I pulled the tape gun across the top of the large cardboard box, then said to Kelly, “Run your hand along there and make sure it’s stuck good to the flaps.”
She pressed both hands down on the strip of tape, rubbed it all over several times. “That’s really on there,” she said.
“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” I said.
She looked up at me and nodded. There was sadness in her eyes, but certainty, too. “I think Mom would want us to do this,” she said. “She liked to help people.”
“Yeah,” I said. “She was all about that.” I looked inside the nearly bare closet. “I guess this is the last one. We better get it to the front door. They said the pickup would be between ten and noon.”
I carried the box downstairs and set it down with four others of similar size just inside the front door. I supposed I could have put everything into garbage bags, but that seemed wrong. I wanted everything properly folded. I didn’t want everything all mashed together when it got to its destination.
“Do you think that homeless lady in Darien will get any of these?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe not. But there might be someone here in Milford who will, and if we hadn’t seen that lady the other day, and felt bad for her, then someone in our own town would never get these.”
“Then what about the other lady?”
“Maybe someone from Darien will have seen a person needing help in Milford, or New Haven, or Bridgeport. So when she donates some clothes, it’ll go to that woman.”
I could see that Kelly was not convinced.
Together, we got the five boxes onto the front step. Kelly wiped her brow dramatically when we were done. “Can I ride my bike?” she asked. I’d been pretty protective lately, keeping her close.
“Just along the street here,” I said. “Where I can see you.”
She nodded. She went over to the garage, which was open, and wheeled out her bike.
“Emily’s dad is out of the hospital,” she said.
“I heard that,” I said.
“They really are moving. Emily’s dad has relatives in Ohio, so they’re going to go there. Is Ohio far?”
“Kind of.”
She didn’t look happy about that. “Is Grandma still coming today?”
“She said so. I thought we’d all go out to dinner.”
Fiona was moving, too, but not to Ohio. She was getting a condo in Milford so she could be close to us. Close to Kelly, anyway. She hadn’t gone back into her house since the incident. She’d been staying in a hotel. She had the place on the market and was hiring movers to sort everything out so she wouldn’t have to set foot in it. She’d also started divorce proceedings against Marcus, who, once he was released from the hospital, was going to move in to a nice cell while prosecutors built a case against him in the death of Ann Slocum. So far, no one had rushed to post bond for him.
No charges had been filed against Fiona for attacking Marcus, and weren’t likely to be. Turns out, had there been, she’d have had plenty of money to hire the best lawyer. Marcus had been lying when he said she’d lost money in that huge Ponzi scheme. He just didn’t want Kelly coming to live with them, and figured if I thought Fiona really couldn’t afford to send Kelly to a private school, I’d make sure it didn’t happen.
Kelly put on her helmet, snapped it into place, and rode down to the end of the drive. She hung a left and pedaled madly.
She really was her mother’s daughter. It had been her idea to donate Sheila’s things to one of the agencies in town that provided clothes to the disadvantaged. There were a few things we both wanted to keep. Sheila’s jewelry, such as it was. She wasn’t much for diamonds, although perhaps if I’d bought them for her more often, she might have been. She’d had a red cashmere sweater Kelly said always felt nice against her cheek when she snuggled in with her mother on the couch when they watched TV. Kelly wanted that.
She didn’t want any of the purses.
&nb
sp; Kelly was back at school, where things were much better. The papers and newscasts had a lot to do with that. Once the truth, in particular the fact that Sheila was not responsible in the Wilkinson deaths, came out, the other kids started leaving her alone. And Bonnie Wilkinson had dropped her $15 million lawsuit. Not much of a case anymore. I had Kelly seeing a counselor, to help her with all the tragedy that had happened around her, and so far, it seemed to be helping. Although I was still sleeping on her floor every other night.
Charges were dropped against Doug Pinder, who was back working for me. Betsy stayed in her mother’s house, and Doug found a one-bedroom apartment on Golden Hill. They were heading for divorce, but no nasty fights over property were expected.
I didn’t know whether I’d ever be able to make it right with him. I’d accused him of things he hadn’t done. I hadn’t believed him when he’d professed his innocence. I tried to apologize, in some small part, by paying, from that stash of money in the wall, Edwin Campbell to expedite the process of his release.
What made me feel most guilty was Doug’s forgiving attitude. When I attempted to tell him how bad I felt, he waved his hand and said, “Don’t worry about it, Glenny. Next time you’re in a burning basement, I’ll grab a beer first.”
There were still things to be worked out. I was still battling it out with my insurer over the Wilson house. I was arguing that far from being negligent, I was the victim of a crime. Edwin was hopeful.
Business appeared to be picking up. I’d been out this week giving estimates on three jobs, and I was interviewing for someone to work in the office and keep us organized.
Kelly had been up to the corner and was pedaling back. “Watch!” she said. “No hands!” But she was only able to release her hold on the grips for a second. “Wait, I’m going to do it again.”
A cube van was working its way down the street, slowly, the driver checking addresses. I stood and walked down the steps from the porch, waved and caught his attention.
He stopped out front and slid open the back door before coming across the lawn toward me.
“Nice day,” he said. “But who knows, in a couple of weeks we could have snow.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“All these boxes?” he said.
“That’s right,” I said.
“Good to get rid of stuff, isn’t it?” he said cheerfully. “You clear out the closet, wife’s got room for new stuff, am I right?”
We managed all the boxes in one trip. Setting the last one into his truck, shoving it down next to the other bags and boxes of donations, he said, “This one’s kind of heavy.”
“That’s the one with all the purses,” I said.
He slid the door down, said “Thanks” and “So long,” and got back into his truck. It started up and began to pull away from the curb.
And then I heard her. It wasn’t like the other times, where I could imagine what she might say. This time, I could hear her voice.
“You’re going to be okay.”
“I should have known from the beginning,” I said. “But I blamed you. Doubted you.”
“None of that matters. Just take care of our girl.”
“I miss you,” I said.
“Shhh. Look.”
Kelly flew past on the sidewalk, arms outstretched. “No hands!” she squealed. “For real!”
And then she grabbed the handlebars and brought the bike to an abrupt, skidding halt. She put both feet on the sidewalk and stood there, straddling the bike, her back to me, her head all helmet, and watched the truck go to the end of the street and turn the corner. She kept watching for a good ten seconds after it disappeared, hoping, maybe, like her father, that it would come back, that we could change our minds.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m glad all I had to do was write this book. So many others helped bring it to fruition. In particular, I’d like to thank Juliet Ewers, Helen Heller, Kate Miciak, Mark Streatfeild, Bill Massey, Susan Lamb, Paige Barclay, Libby McGuire, Milan Springle, and The Marsh Agency.
I also want to thank my son, Spencer Barclay, and his Loading Doc Productions crew—Alex Kingsmill, Jeff Winch, Nick Storring, Eva Kolcze—for the book trailers they’ve been cranking out for me.
Last, but definitely not least, the booksellers and readers. They make it happen.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LINWOOD BARCLAY is a former columnist for the Toronto Star, and the author of nine novels, including Never Look Away, Fear the Worst, Too Close to Home, and No Time for Goodbye. He is currently at work on his next thriller, to be published by Doubleday Canada.
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