by Marie Force
“Maybe I should be worried about him. He wasn’t in the car, either.”
Michael shook his head. “This guy likes girls.”
“But if your theory is true, the guy you’re looking for might be jealous of Brian. Maybe he was after both of us.”
“Possibly,” Michael conceded. “However, because you’re here and Brian isn’t, I’m more worried about you.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small can, putting it on the table in front of her.
With the lift of her chin, she asked what it was.
“Pepper spray. I want you to carry it with you everywhere you go. If you step outside your door, I want you to have it with you. Use it if you feel even the slightest bit threatened, and even if it’s someone you know and think you can trust.” He leaned in, his forearms resting on the table, and took her hands. “It’s going to be someone you know, Carly, someone we all know. Hesitating, even for a second, could make all the difference. Trust your gut. If it’s telling you you’re in danger, you probably are.”
Carly freed one hand from his hold and ran her fingers over the can.
Michael showed her how to use it. “Aim for the face, the eyes preferably.”
She shuddered and stared at the can for a long moment.
“What are you thinking?”
Picking up the pen, she wrote, “I’m scared.”
“I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe. All right?”
Her face pale and pinched with anxiety, she looked him in the eye and nodded.
Chapter Eleven
May faded into June, and the tension in Granville was as thick as the humidity that settled like a wet blanket on the small town, making its annual announcement of summer’s return to northwestern Rhode Island. Over picket fences, at the post office, in the shops along Main Street, at the counter at Miss Molly’s, and at the car dealership on the outskirts of town, people speculated nervously about who among them was the monster.
A collective sigh of relief went through a town full of brittle nerves when Granville High School graduated the Class of 2010 without further incident. Recovered physically from her injuries, Tanya Lewis received a warm welcome from her classmates at commencement. As summer vacation began, petrified parents monitored their daughters’ comings and goings. The girls, accustomed to the freedom that came with high school, chafed against the restraints.
That chafing kept Michael Westbury awake at night, waiting to hear that one of the kids in his town had reached her limit, had gone out alone, and had been attacked by a predator who was waiting for the chafe to become unbearable. With the investigation stalled, his officers, with backup from the state police and FBI, could only watch. And wait.
A court order had compelled Gleason’s to turn over its list of men who special-ordered larger-sized shoes. The list had yielded four possible suspects, but each had been ruled out. One was in his sixties and didn’t fit the profile. Another had been out of the country when two of the rapes occurred. The other two men had solid alibis. The few names Brian and Carly had given him from their yearbooks hadn’t panned out, either. Most of them lived out of state, one had died, and another was crippled with multiple sclerosis.
Michael had officers patrolling everywhere kids gathered in the summertime—Columbia Park, the town common, the beach at the lake, the movie theater, and the bowling alley. If they saw a girl walking alone on a town road, they’d been instructed to offer her a ride home.
As the weeks passed, Michael noticed people losing the initial burst of interest that came with big news in a small town. They’d talked a blue streak about it and had finally run out of steam on the subject. He was concerned that the first wave of panic had abated, and folks had relaxed a bit. He didn’t want them relaxed. He wanted them worried and afraid so they’d be vigilant.
If they were in fact dealing with an anniversary perp, he had six more months left in 2010. He was probably high on the success of the first half of the year and enjoying the goose chase he was leading law enforcement on. The task force believed he would strike again before the year was out. So while others in his town relaxed, Michael didn’t.
The heat was stifling, the tension debilitating, the watching tedious. But the waiting . . . The waiting was hell.
Carly loved to clap. Joining in a round of applause gave her the feeling, even for the briefest of moments, that she was just like the other people in the bleachers expressing their approval of her niece Zoë’s strikeout. Zoë’s ponytail of auburn curls—the same curls all the Holbrook women had—was pulled through the back of her ball cap, and her long legs looked even longer in white baseball pants as she prowled around the pitcher’s mound.
“I keep hoping she’ll start acting like a girl one of these days,” Carly’s sister Cate muttered as they watched Zoë strike out the side.
With a delighted wave to her family in the stands, Zoë pranced into the dugout full of boys.
“She’s all girl, and the boys love her,” Carly’s mother Carol said, defending her granddaughter.
“They love her fastball,” Cate said.
Carly smiled at the old debate. Zoë had insisted on joining Little League as a six-year-old and had played every year since without any regard for the fact that she was the only girl in the league. Now, at fourteen, she was a star in the summer Sandlot League.
With a huge smile on his face, Cate’s husband, Tom Murphy, climbed the bleachers to where they were sitting. “Did you see that? Struck out the side! That’s my girl.”
Embarrassed by his effusiveness, Cate tugged him down next to her and told him to hush. “Everyone’s looking at you,” she whispered.
“So what?”
Their exchange amused Carly. Tom was a big teddy bear of a man who loved his wife and kids passionately and didn’t care who knew it. Carly was struck with a familiar pang of envy over her sister’s happy marriage and beautiful family.
“Dad, can we go to the concession stand?” asked ten-year-old Steve.
“Sure, let’s go,” Tom said.
“No more soda,” Cate called after them. “And bring something for Lilly.”
Tom raised a hand to let his wife know he had heard her.
Six-year-old Lilly was curled up in one of her favorite places—Carly’s lap.
Carly tickled the girl and delighted in the belly laugh she was rewarded with.
“There’s Auntie Caren,” Lilly cried, dashing off to meet her cousins.
Looking frazzled, Caren made her way from the parking lot with four-year-old Justin and two-year-old Julia in tow.
Carly watched Lilly take Julia’s hand and lead her to the bleachers. Justin and Julia gunned for Carly’s lap, and she wrapped her arms around them.
Lilly ceded her coveted spot to her younger cousins and plopped down next to Carly with a long-suffering sigh.
Carly buried her nose in Julia’s fragrant blond curls, wallowing in the sweet scent of baby shampoo.
“What’s the score?” Caren asked.
“Six nothing, us,” Cate replied. “You just missed Zoë striking out the side.”
“Damn!” Caren said.
“Damn!” Julia repeated, and the adults cracked up.
“She’s like a parrot lately.” Caren poked her daughter’s ribs playfully. “She couldn’t decide what dress she wanted to wear, which is why we’re late.”
“Pretty dress,” Julia said.
“Very pretty,” Carol agreed, reaching for the child. “Tell Auntie Carly she has to share you with Grammy.”
Carly tightened her hold on Julia, and the girl’s peals of laughter delighted her as she handed Julia over to her grandmother.
“Look!” Justin cried. “Zoë’s up!”
“Come on, Zoë!” the others hollered.
Carly clapped Justin’s pudgy hands together while they watched Zoë patiently wait for her pitch. She had worked the pitcher to a full count when she finally connected, sending the ball deep into left field. Two runs scored as she rounded
the bases and barreled into the second baseman, sliding in just ahead of the throw from left.
“Mother of God,” Cate groaned, hiding behind her hands.
With a huge smile on her face, Zoë leaped to her feet and shook a victorious fist at the dugout where her teammates were celebrating. The other team’s second baseman was still flat on his back in the dirt.
Watching Zoë, so tall and lovely, so full of life, filled Carly’s heart to overflowing, and for once, she was perfectly content.
Carly was walking with her mother to Cate’s house for a cookout after the game when her cell phone chimed to indicate a new text message. A week earlier, she had finally caved in to pleas from Chief Westbury and her parents and had gotten the phone, which included a GPS device. The thought that she might one day need to be located was terrifying, so she tried not to think about it.
She flipped it open to read the latest message from the chief.
“Where R U?” His use of teen message lingo never failed to amuse her.
“With my mama,” she replied.
“Just checking.”
“Relax,” she wrote back.
“Is that Michael?” Carol asked.
Carly rolled her eyes and nodded.
“He’s worried about you. We all are.”
Carly hooked her arm through her mother’s.
Carol stopped walking and turned to study her daughter. “You’re not sleeping well, are you? You look tired.”
Carly shrugged in reply.
“I haven’t been sleeping too well myself. Are you sure we can’t convince you to come home until this is over?”
With a smirk, Carly shook her head.
“I know, I know. We threatened to kick you out, and now we’re begging you to come home. I see the irony, don’t worry.”
The party was in full swing by the time they arrived at Cate’s house. Caren’s husband Neil had come straight from work and was pushing Justin and Julia on the swings. He waved hello when Carly and her mother came in through the back gate.
Carly’s dad joined them a short time later after playing golf with some friends. With a cell phone pressed to her ear, Zoë came bursting through the sliding glass door that led to the deck. She had showered and changed into a denim skirt and tank top. Carly put her arm around her niece, pressed a kiss to her wet curls, and was startled to notice the mascara and eye shadow she was wearing.
Zoë closed her phone and caught Carly looking at her eyes.
“How does it look?” Zoë asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
Carly gave her a thumbs up.
Zoë kissed her aunt’s cheek and said, “Don’t tell my mom.” As Zoë raced off, Carly decided Cate would be thrilled to see her tomboy daughter wearing makeup.
They ate, played a cutthroat game of croquet with the kids, and were toasting marshmallows over the outdoor fireplace when a group of Zoë’s girlfriends came into the yard through the gate.
“Mom!” she called. “Can I go to the movies?”
“How’re you getting there?”
“Walking?”
“No way!” Tom bellowed. “I’ll drive you.”
“But Dad . . .”
“Nonnegotiable, Zoë Ann. We’ve talked about this.”
Zoë kicked at the grass. “Sucks. I’m a sophomore now, you know.”
“You’re not getting any help from us, baby girl,” Steve Holbrook said, kissing his granddaughter’s forehead. “We’re on your dad’s side.”
“It’s a conspiracy,” Zoë said with a good-natured grin. She never stayed mad for long.
“Let me get my keys,” Tom said. “You ladies tell your parents where you’re going and that I’m driving both ways.”
“Okay, Mr. Murphy,” they said in a girlish chorus.
After Tom left with the girls, Caren said, “I feel sorry for them.”
“We all do,” Carol said. “It’s a terrible way for everyone to have to live.”
“Even after this guy is caught, we’ll all be much more cautious than we used to be,” Caren’s husband Neil said. He had kicked off the boots he wore to work at the construction company he co-owned with his brothers. They had teased him earlier about his mid-shin tan line.
“Luckily the younger kids won’t know what they’re missing out on because they’ll never have the freedom Zoë’s had,” Cate said. “It’s been hard clipping her wings just as she was starting to spread them.”
“Whatever it takes to keep her safe,” Steve said.
Carly was saddened by the conversation. Until the killer was caught, her nieces and nephews wouldn’t know the simple pleasure of a walk on the beach in the moonlight or a kiss under the willow tree. The man they were all afraid of had done much more than kill and terrorize young people. He had forever altered Granville’s small-town fabric.
Chapter Twelve
Carly was working her final shift before the Fourth of July weekend. Tony Russo, Luke McInnis, and Tommy Spellman were in their usual booth, chugging water rather than coffee.
“Freaking stifling out there,” Tony said as Carly delivered their lunch and refilled their glasses.
“Are you going to the reunion, Carly?” Luke asked.
She shook her head.
“Why not?” Tommy asked. “It won’t be the same without you.”
She shrugged, wondering what the point would be. It wasn’t like she could talk to anyone or had anything exciting to tell them, even if she could. Besides, the last thing in the world she felt like doing was hearing how successful and happy her classmates were. She was the one who should have been happily married with children she adored—Brian’s children.
Until recently, very little of her time or energy had been expended on bitterness about something she had no control over. But living in fear of the man who’d taken so much from her and her friends had stirred up old feelings she thought she’d long ago put away for good.
The guys each tried a different tactic to convince her to go to the reunion, but Carly just shook her head with amusement at their campaign and moved on to other tables.
As her friends were preparing to leave, Luke walked over to her. “Are you sure you won’t come to the reunion, Carly? You, um, you can go with me if you want to. It would be fun.”
Startled, Carly looked up at him. Is he asking me out? She was so out of practice with such things she couldn’t be sure, but it certainly seemed like he was.
“Everyone would love to see you,” he added.
The only person in their class she had any interest in seeing wouldn’t be there, but she couldn’t very well tell Luke that.
“Thanks for asking, Luke,” she wrote on the back of her order pad. “But I’m going to pass.”
The disappointment on his handsome face surprised her, but he recovered quickly. “You don’t know what you’ll be missing,” he said with a cajoling grin.
She shook her head.
“All right. Have a good Fourth.”
“You, too,” she wrote.
She walked home from work, aware of the subtle presence of a Granville police officer watching her and the activity on Main Street. The stores and homes along the street were decked out in festive bunting, and the stripes down the middle of the street had been painted red and blue in preparation for the parade. For reasons she didn’t quite understand, the festive atmosphere depressed Carly. When she got home, she sent her mother a text message to let her know she had a headache and wouldn’t be going out again that day.
The checking in was irritating for someone so fiercely independent, but the alternative was much worse. Her parents and Chief Westbury always knew where she was. She supposed it was a small price to pay for staying safe.
After taking an Advil, she stretched out on sofa and fixed her eyes on the jukebox that took up a whole wall in her small living room. A few years ago, she had walked past Toby’s parents’ house and found the jukebox by the curb with some other furniture they were getting rid of. She had plopped herself d
own in an orange plaid chair she remembered from the basement and waited.
Toby’s dad had been startled to find her there when he got home from work. He’d aged significantly since Carly had last seen him, and she noticed right away that, like Brian’s parents, Mr. Garrett wore the pain of his loss in his eyes.
“Carly? What’re you doing here?”
She had rested a hand on the jukebox and looked at him with what she hoped were imploring eyes.
“You want that?”
She nodded.
“Mrs. Garrett is redoing the basement, and this old thing was taking up too much room. We don’t use it much anymore. If you’d like to have it, it’s yours.”
She gave him a spontaneous hug that seemed to take him by surprise.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Do you have room for it in your place?”
With another nod, she clapped her hands with delight.
Amused by her glee, Mr. Garrett said, “I’ll get a couple of friends to help me bring it over on Saturday, okay?”
The jukebox had lived in her apartment ever since. At first, the memories that came with it made her sad, and she wondered if she’d done the right thing by asking Mr. Garrett for it. But over time, the memories had softened, and now she was glad to have such an important souvenir from the best years of her life.
Perhaps it was because she knew Brian was thinking of her and worrying about her safety, or it could be all the talk of the class reunion. Maybe it was the holiday, which was always tinged now with melancholy, since the last time she made love with Brian had been on the Fourth of July. But whatever the reason, she wanted to give herself permission to think about him, to remember them, and the love they’d shared before disaster stole their every hope and dream.
Getting up from the sofa, she went over to the jukebox and turned it on. For the first time since she had owned it, she selected D8 and then returned to the sofa to let the music transport her back to that last exquisite moment a lifetime ago.
She could almost feel Brian’s arms around her and smell the musty scent of Toby’s basement. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she made no move to brush them away as she listened for the soft giggles that never came from the other couples dancing to Van Morrison’s “Tupelo Honey.”
