“C’mon out,” Vic growled. “I want to talk to you!”
“The door’s stuck,” Laura called. “The knob won’t turn. Try it on your side.”
She didn’t hear any movement on the other side of the door. “Give it a good pull!” Vic said.
Laura tried, and Liam even attempted to help her. “It’s impossible,” she said loudly. “The doorknob’s stuck!”
She heard Vic chuckle. “And it’s going to stay stuck the rest of the night. We’ll let you out in the morning.”
“What?” Laura yanked at the doorknob, but to no avail. She couldn’t figure out how he’d locked them in. “Wait a minute! My children haven’t had any dinner. Joe?”
“Joe’s not going to help you,” Vic replied. Then he murmured, “Come on, kiddo.” From the floorboards squeaking, it sounded like they were moving down the hall—toward the stairs.
“Wait!” Laura yelled, twisting and pulling at the doorknob. She finally gave up.
Then she heard the TV downstairs blaring again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Monday—10:11 P.M.
For dinner they all shared a package of Gummi Bears and a pack of Rolos from Sophie’s desk drawer. The Rolos tasted fine, but had a chalky film on the chocolate shell, and Sophie confessed she didn’t know exactly how old the pack was, but it had made the trip from Seattle. No one complained.
James finally drifted off to sleep around seven-fifteen—without his stuffed tiger, George. He was briefly awoken by some hammering downstairs. Sophie thought Vic might be nailing shut another window, but then Laura remembered he’d said something earlier about blocking their access to the basement. The pounding lasted only two or three minutes, and then James drifted back to sleep after that.
They were careful about what they said aloud. Laura had a whispered argument with Liam, who was hell-bent on trying to escape out Sophie’s bathroom window. He was convinced he could make the jump onto the trellis—and then to the ground. Laura thought it was way too risky. The trellis roof was too weak to withstand his body weight—especially if he leapt onto it. He was liable to crash through the thing and break his neck. The noise would certainly alert Vic, and an escape attempt tonight would probably put Vic over the edge. Liam might not have Joe to step between him and Vic the next time. So Laura wouldn’t allow it. When Liam had excused himself to use the bathroom about an hour ago, she’d given him a “Don’t Even Think About Trying It” look.
Sophie stayed busy cleaning up. But Liam was going a bit stir-crazy without his smartphone or a computer or the TV. They had Sophie’s clock radio, but there were only two stations that came in clearly: one country and one easy listening. Liam liked neither. And they couldn’t even have a decent conversation because they knew Vic was listening in.
At least they each had a place to sleep. James was all set. Laura had insisted Sophie take her own bed. She would sleep on the window seat, where she now sat with one of Sophie’s books in her lap. Sophie had an old sleeping bag in her closet—left over from sixth grade. It had pink, white, and purple tulips on it. Liam said he’d sleep in the bag, but he pointed out that if Vic changed his mind and decided to kill them all in their sleep, he’d die of embarrassment when the police found him in that thing.
“But you’ll already be dead, stupid,” Sophie pointed out.
She’d finished straightening up the room, and now sat on her bed, reading one of her books. “And God, would you stop pacing around? You’re driving me crazy!”
“I can’t help it. I’m bored!”
“Well, why don’t you take one of your famous ninety-minute showers? I’d like to know what you do in there for so long. In fact, wait a minute. On second thought, I really don’t want to know.”
“Oh, screw you!”
“Hey,” Laura gently interrupted. She frowned at Liam. “Language. And we’re stuck here until morning, so try to get along. If you two start bickering, I’m really going to lose it.”
Sophie looked over the top of her book at her. “Honestly, Mom, I don’t think there’s another person under eighty who uses the word bicker.”
Laura ignored her. “You know, none of us may have a chance to shower tomorrow. If neither one of you wants to take a shower, I could sure use one. I could use a change of clothes, too. Sophie, you don’t happen to have a pullover or a . . .”
Laura trailed off. She heard someone coming up the stairs.
Sophie put her book down.
They all watched the door and waited.
The door creaked and then seemed to bow inward again. Laura wondered what Vic was doing to make the knob stick. She also wondered what he wanted at this hour. They hadn’t been making much noise at all.
The door opened. Vic was alone. He carried a crowbar in his hand. All Laura could think was that he was going to beat one of them to death with it.
He pointed to her and then crooked his finger. “Come with me, Teach,” he muttered. “Your old man called and left a message. You need to call him back.”
Laura got to her feet. She warily stepped out to the hallway with him.
Liam took a step toward them. “Mom?”
Vic shut the door—practically in his face. He took the crowbar and wedged it into the doorframe—near the doorknob. He gave it a little shake to make sure it was snug in there. Laura realized the taut pressure against the door immobilized the latch and kept the knob from turning. It was very resourceful. She’d been right earlier: He wasn’t as stupid as he looked.
He led her down the hall to her bedroom. She reached for the light, but he swatted her arm away. “You can talk to him in the dark,” he said. “Sit on the bed . . .”
Stumbling over some clothes on the floor, Laura made her way to the bed and sat on the edge. Vic plopped down beside her—so that their legs were touching, almost pressed together. This close, she smelled his breath and his body odor. He took her phone out of the pocket of his cargo pants and handed it to her. “Okay, you can listen to his message.”
Laura pressed the code to play back her messages.
“You have one new message at ten-oh-seven p.m.,” the automated voice announced.
“Hey, babe,” Sean said. “I’m bummed I’ve missed you. Damn. Well, I hope you’re just in the shower or something, and you can call me right back. It’s a little after ten your time. I don’t want to head out until I’ve talked with you. I miss you. I miss your voice. Okay, call me. Love you.”
The beep sounded to signify the end of the recording.
Hearing his voice, Laura wanted to cry. But she refused to break down in front of Vic—or rather, beside Vic. His shoulder, arm, and hip—the entire side of his body—were pressed against her.
“So call him back, and let him know everything’s fine,” Vic said. “I’ll be listening. I want to hear everything you say to each other. If you give any indication there’s trouble here, believe me, there will be. Now, go ahead, dial the number.”
She speed-dialed Sean’s number. It rang only once, and he picked up. “Hey, babe, I’m so glad to see your name on the screen . . .”
“Hey, you,” she managed to say. “How’s Europe? Where are you now? I think your itinerary said you were in Paris.”
“Actually, I’m in Burgundy right now. I’ll be in Paris tomorrow night. Never mind that itinerary. I screwed up on it. I miss you. I miss the kids. Are they still up?”
Vic’s head was practically against hers as he listened in. “Ah, Sophie’s on her phone talking to Matt,” she said. “And Liam’s taking a shower. So—I’m afraid you’re out of luck if you want to talk to either of them.”
“Liam needs to figure out some other place to have his Liam-on-Liam action sessions. He’s using up all the hot water.”
“Yeah, I know,” Laura murmured.
“So what happened to the phone yesterday—or rather, today? I guess it’s still your today there.”
“I’m not sure what happened, but it’s still out. I called the utility company, and they
said it might not get fixed until tomorrow afternoon. They didn’t say what the problem was. Anyway, how’s everything there?”
“Fine,” he said. “Actually, no, I miss you, and—well, you sound like you’re upset with me. I can always tell—even when you’re trying to cover it up. What’s wrong?”
Laura could smell Vic’s breath. She wished she could turn her head away from him. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just bushed. It’s been a long day. The phone line going kaput was one of many little disasters today, nothing really worth going into here.”
“You know, I thought about you all day yesterday,” he said. “It was your first day completely alone there, wasn’t it? Was it a little scary?”
“No, it was fine.”
“Well, when you called and left me that message, you seemed a little shook up about something. What happened?”
“Nothing, really, I can’t even remember. But everything’s fine now.”
“Oh, God, you are upset with me, aren’t you? I can tell. Is it because I didn’t want you along for this trip? Laura, honey, it’s work, and it’s been pretty tedious so far. Yesterday, I drove four hours to some vineyard in Alsace to listen to this gentleman farmer who looked like Gérard Depardieu talk about mildew and mealybugs for ninety minutes. His English was even more terrible than my French, and I could hardly understand him. I spent the whole time nodding and fake-smiling at him until my face hurt. Believe me, babe, you’re not missing a thing.”
“Okay, so you’ve convinced me,” Laura said weakly. “Sorry you’re not having a better time, and really, I’m sorry if I sound a little grumpy.”
She couldn’t help wondering how much of what he’d just said was true. Or had he spent all of yesterday with the other Mrs. Gretchell? Maybe he wasn’t meeting this woman until tomorrow night, when they were supposed to check into the Grand Royal Palace Hotel together—or whatever the hell the name of the place was. Sean talked about reading the tone of her voice. Well, she could tell from his tone that he wasn’t being completely honest with her.
Vic’s knee nudged against hers, and he sighed impatiently. He twirled his finger in front of her as a sign to wrap up the conversation.
“Listen, I need to take a load out of the dryer before it starts to wrinkle,” she said. “That’s why I missed you earlier. I was down in the basement. We’ll talk more tomorrow night. I promise it won’t be so rushed—and I’ll be in a better mood.”
“Well, don’t forget that package is arriving tomorrow between three and five, and you have to sign for it.”
“Oh, that completely slipped my mind,” she murmured. He’d sent her a text about it yesterday. “Well, if I’m not here, one of the kids will sign for it.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. “Um, two questions,” he said finally. “Where do you have to go? And why aren’t the kids in school tomorrow?”
“Oh, of course,” she said. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Of course I’ll be here.”
“You have to be, because you’re the only one who can sign for it, and it’s very important.”
“Okay, I promise,” she said. “Honey, I really need to go. I’m sorry. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I love you,” he murmured at last.
“I love you, too,” she said. “G’night—or rather, good morning.”
She clicked off. Once again, she wanted to cry—and she might have, too, if she were sitting alone in the darkened wreck of a bedroom. But she wasn’t alone, and now Vic’s body seemed to press harder against hers. She could smell his breath again.
Laura handed him the phone and quickly got to her feet.
“Joe told me you’re making some demands about this trip tomorrow,” he said. “You want to call in every couple of hours or some such bullshit like that.”
“Yes, I’ll need to make sure my kids are okay.”
“Well, that’s just peachy with me, because we’d planned on something like that all along. This morning, we bought you a cheap, prepaid phone at Wal-mart to use on the trip tomorrow. We want a progress report from you every two to three hours.”
Laura squinted at him. “Really? So you were planning on that? Joe didn’t say anything.”
“Well, you know Joe,” he said. Laura could see him smiling in the dark. “I mean, you can tell just looking at him, there’s something a little off . . .”
That was almost an exact quote of what Sophie had said in the bedroom earlier. Did Vic want her to know he was eavesdropping on them? Or was he just amusing himself?
“Where is Joe?” she asked.
“He nodded off on the sofa downstairs,” Vic said.
“Do you think I could get some cookies, crackers, or fruit to bring back to the bedroom?” she asked. “My children haven’t had any dinner. And they’ll fall asleep faster on a full stomach.”
Vic shook his head. “Nope, bad kids go to bed without their supper. You tried to get me drunk. Junior smashed his camera, and the Princess has been shooting me superior, dirty looks since she first set eyes on me this afternoon.” He got to his feet and shoved the phone in his pocket. “You’ll all just have to go to bed hungry.”
He nodded toward the hallway, and Laura took that as a cue. She stepped over a pile of clothes and headed back down the corridor.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “If your buddy Joe was here, he’d give you and the kiddies something to eat, maybe even cake and ice cream . . .” Vic tugged at the crowbar and pulled out the flat end from between the door and its frame. “It’s true,” he continued, “Joe’s very fond of you and your brood. I’ll bet you think that’s lucky, because he’ll protect you from me, the big, bad bogeyman. Well, let me clue you in on something. He was real fond of Sherry Singleton, too—and her tribe.”
Vic opened the door for her. “Joe liked all of them—right up until he hacked them to pieces.”
Laura scowled at him, but couldn’t quite look him in the eye. She stepped into the bedroom, and the door slammed shut behind her.
* * *
Joe was awake.
From the window seat in Sophie’s bedroom, Laura watched him outside. She was half-sitting up, huddled under the blanket and bathrobe that served as her bed-covering. Joe had come around from the back of the house. He carried a shovel. Laura realized he must have just buried Dane in the vineyard. She could see Joe’s breath in the moonlight. Leaning on the shovel, he gazed up the driveway toward the road in the distance. After a minute, he hung his head and his shoulders began to shake. She realized he was crying.
“Mom?” Sophie whispered.
Laura glanced over at her daughter, sitting up in bed.
“Can’t you sleep?” Sophie asked. “Do you want the bed? Because it doesn’t matter to me . . .”
Laura shook her head. “I’m fine, but thanks, sweetie. What time is it?”
Sophie glanced at her clock radio on the nightstand. “Ten minutes to two.”
Laura looked out the window again and saw Joe head toward the back of the house. Maybe he hadn’t finished digging Dane’s grave yet. Maybe he’d just been taking a break.
She listened to Liam’s snoring. He was in the sleeping bag at the foot of James’s bed. She’d been worried about Liam because there were no EpiPens in Sophie’s room. But she didn’t want to ask Vic for one. He would have said no anyway.
Pulling back her bed-covering, Laura got to her feet. She nodded at Sophie and then pointed to the bathroom. “Why don’t you try to go back to sleep?” she said—for Vic’s benefit, in case he was awake and listening in. She crept to the bathroom, switched on the light, and waited in the doorway.
Sophie climbed out of bed and joined her. She closed the bathroom door.
Laura had borrowed one of the oversized T-shirts Sophie usually slept in. This one was old with a wash-faded photo of the band New Direction on the front. Sophie wore a nightshirt that had “Property of Cascade Kodiaks” across her chest. Sitting dow
n on the edge of the tub, Sophie yawned. She smoothed her curly hair back from her face, which was dabbed with acne medication. “How long will you be gone tomorrow?” she asked quietly.
Laura lowered the toilet lid and sat down. “Most of the day, I’m sure. You’ll be in charge of things here while I’m gone. I’m counting on you, honey.”
“I think Vic is the one who’ll be in charge of things,” Sophie murmured. She rubbed her arms. “What do you think your chances are of actually tracking down this person who’s supposed to prove Joe didn’t kill anybody?”
Laura had been awake this whole time, wondering the same thing. For all she knew, Joe could have invented this Zared person that he’d sketched. The name even sounded fanciful, like a comic book super-villain. As a kid, Joe used to concoct elaborate excuses for why he’d forgotten his homework or come to school on a cold November morning without a jacket—and he always seemed to believe his own stories. Laura wondered if this waitress, Martha, even existed. Maybe she was a figment of Joe’s imagination, too.
She looked at her daughter and sighed. “I’d say my chances of making any headway at all are between ten and twenty percent.”
“Mom, this whole thing doesn’t make sense,” Sophie whispered. “I mean, even if you find this person and she has a perfect alibi for Joe, he and that . . . that reptile are still guilty of beating up that guy in Anacortes and stealing his car. They’re also guilty of kidnapping and breaking and entering or whatever you’d call this home-invasion situation . . .”
“It’s even worse than that,” Laura whispered. “Vic killed someone. One of the workers unexpectedly came by this morning. Remember Dane?”
Gaping at her, Sophie nodded.
“Vic killed him.”
“How?”
Laura hesitated. “Vic slit his throat. He has a switchblade on him—in addition to the gun.”
“Where was this?”
“It happened behind the house—by the garage. I saw the whole thing. Vic washed away the blood on the driveway. Dane’s pickup is parked behind the garage, and Joe’s burying his body in the vineyard right now.”
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