“I don’t want you to get cold,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He climbed into the driver’s seat and stuck her keys in the ignition. Keys. Her keys. She’d wanted to hide her keys.
“To Beau Lac,” he said, reversing out of the garage. “Your favorite spot for tranquility and communion with nature.”
“That’s a nice place,” she said. “Camille and I like it.”
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t have killed Camille. Or Dante. In the accident. You killed Dante. And Wade.”
“I didn’t want to kill any of them. But you get stuck on some roads, and there’s no exit for miles, right? So you keep driving. No choice.”
“You’re going to kill me,” she murmured.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry, Nat.”
Chapter 31
Still no answer from Natalie. Gideon shoved his phone in his pocket. Time to go ring her doorbell and pound on her door. If she called the police on him, fine. He could treat Turner and Bartholomew to a late-night slice of pie before they arrested him for disturbing the peace.
He grabbed his keys and jacket and sprinted to his car.
At Natalie’s house, the porch light was off, but interior lights were on. He rang the bell. Nothing. Pounded. Nothing. If Natalie had gone to bed, would she have left lights on?
Knowing he was long-jumping past civilized behavior, he tried the doorknob. Locked. He rang again.
No answer.
He headed for the side gate and rushed to the back door. The kitchen lights glowed. Through the glass panes on the door, he could see the kitchen was empty. He knocked loudly on the glass.
Nothing happened. He tried the handle. Unlocked.
Lights on, back door unlocked, no response from Natalie? She was in trouble.
Gideon opened the door and stormed into the kitchen. “Natalie?” he yelled.
Silence. He hurried through the house, alert for any hint of her presence—or hint of an intruder. Nothing in the living room. Downstairs hallway—nothing. As he passed the bathroom, a white towel lying halfway out the door snared his notice.
White streaked with red.
He yanked his phone out and called Turner. As the phone rang, he stepped carefully past the towel into the bathroom. The floor was wet, and an empty hypodermic syringe lay in the puddle. An empty soap pump was on the floor, and the basket of carved soap flowers had spilled into the tub. Her mother’s soap flowers, her last gift.
“Turner.” The detective answered the phone. “What’s up, Radcliffe?”
* * *
A few old lampposts made weak gray patches of light on the asphalt, but the rest of the parking area at Beau Lac was dark. Natalie sleepily scanned the black trees surrounding them. The city should install better lighting. No, too much light would interfere with stargazing.
“Camille and I liked to stargaze here,” she said. “Not in the parking lot though. By the lake, off the old pier.”
“Yep, the stars are great.” Skyler pulled the keys out of the ignition, reached over, and stuffed them into the pocket of the coat draped over Natalie. “You’re going to need these.”
The keys. Yes. She would need the keys to drive. She tried to look at her wrists, but her coat was in the way. How could she drive with her hands tied? Maybe she should ask him to free her.
He won’t. Focus. He’s going to kill you.
Skyler exited the car and closed his door. Natalie fumbled to reach the keys. Keys could be a weapon. They were metal and pointy.
Skyler opened her door. “You doing okay?”
“You can use keys as a weapon,” she said.
“I’ve heard.” He had an open pocketknife in his hand. She studied it in the illumination from the car’s dome light. A short blade, shiny and sharp. It would be a better weapon than her keys.
He sawed through the zip tie around her ankles, then removed the winter coat spread over her, and freed her wrists. Good. It would be easier to drive now. No, she shouldn’t drive. She was too woozy. Why was she woozy?
“Let’s walk to the lake.” He released her seat belt. “You can show me where you and Camille liked to stargaze.”
Camille. He’d killed Camille. Fear swelled, pushing awareness into her brain. She didn’t want to go with Skyler. She couldn’t go with Skyler.
He took her arm to help her out of the car. She pulled out of his grasp, flopped across the center console, and clutched the steering wheel.
“Let go,” Skyler said. “We need to get to the lake.”
Get to the lake. Why? It was night.
Stargazing. But Camille was dead.
Skyler leaned through the door, gripped her arm, and tugged with more force.
Scream. You need to scream. Natalie inhaled.
Skyler released her arm. Had she screamed? She couldn’t remember. She should scream again. She’d love to sleep right now, though the edge of the center console pressed into her side. She could tip the seat back. That would be more comfortable . . .
“All right, relax your hands.” Skyler stood on the other side of the car, leaning through the driver’s door. His gloved hands massaged her fingers, peeling them off the steering wheel. She wanted to hold on, but her muscles were cramping, and she was tired. Why was he wearing gloves? It wasn’t that cold tonight.
Skyler dragged her past the steering wheel and out of the car. Her feet touched the ground, and she tried to stand, but her shoes wobbled. High heels. She shouldn’t have worn heels, no matter what Camille had said about the way they flattered her legs. No, she wasn’t wearing heels. Felt slippers. They had rubber soles that were good for traction, but the felt would get dirty.
“I need to change my shoes,” she said.
“Your shoes are great. Let’s put your coat on.” He helped her into her coat and buttoned it for her. Her thicker winter coat, not her new coat with the shawl collar. The police had that coat. Camille’s purse had been in the pocket.
She leaned against her car and gazed upward. The sky was black with tiny star-sparkles. “Beau Lac means ‘beautiful lake,’” she said. “In French.”
“I know.” Skyler drew her arm across his shoulders and clamped his other arm around her waist.
“I don’t speak German,” she said.
“Me neither.” Skyler prodded her forward. She took a few steps, but the asphalt squished and jiggled under her feet.
“I need to sit down,” she said.
“You can sit down at the lake. You can lie down if you want. Lie on the pier and find constellations.”
A cool wind smelled like dried leaves and pine needles. She was too hot in her coat. Why was she wearing her heaviest coat tonight?
Skyler steered her toward the paved trail that led down a slight hill to the water.
“Stop dragging your feet,” he said. “You can walk.”
“Once I saw a fish jump all the way out of the lake,” she said. “Like on a National Geographic special. It wasn’t a dolphin though.”
“Girl, you are completely loopy. Walk. Pick up your feet.”
“That was nice of you to bring me coconut bread.”
“No problem.”
“Kirk wants to try it.”
“I know.”
She stopped. “Why are we going to the lake?”
“To stargaze.” He tried to nudge her into motion.
She pressed the treads of her shoes harder against the ground. Stay focused.
Focused on what?
Don’t go with him. She tried to twist away from his arm, to head back toward her car.
“Wrong way. Hey, no, we’re going to the pier.”
“I don’t want to.”
Skyler pushed her forward. She pushed backward. “I want to sit down.”
Skyler bent and lifted her off her feet. She didn’t want him to carry her, but it was easier than walking. She closed her eyes, enjoying the night breeze against her face. Her head drooped back.
“Put
your arms around my neck and hold on,” he said, panting. “Come on, you’re dead weight.”
She steadied her lolling head and wrapped her arms around his neck. “This isn’t appropriate,” she said. “You’re engaged to Vicki. Thank you for the coconut bread.”
“Vicki won’t mind. She’d want me to carry you if you got tired. I’ll put you down when we get to the dock.”
“I like Gideon.”
“Good choice. Seems like a decent guy.”
“I need to change my shoes.”
Skyler grunted and kept lumbering along the trail. Natalie realized her head was on his shoulder. She didn’t want it there but didn’t know where else to put it. Her neck couldn’t support it.
Rocks gritted and clicked beneath them, and Skyler staggered, jarring Natalie, almost dropping her. She clung to his neck; he cursed, regaining his footing on the rocky beach.
Boards creaked as he stepped onto the pier. Moonlight glimmered in a silver stripe across the lake. Skyler carried her to the end of the pier and set her on her feet.
With her arms still around his neck, she tried to steady her legs. The wooden planks beneath her gave familiar squeaks.
“Pretty . . . moon . . . right?” Skyler was out of breath.
“Yes.” Sitting here with Camille, looking up at the stars. Meandering along the shore, dipping their toes in the cool water. It wasn’t summer though, and the water would be cold. Deep and cold. Felicia and Sheryl Chapman and an overturned rowboat. An impressionist rowboat.
“Felicia didn’t mean to kill Sheryl,” she said.
“Uh, right.” His hands closed around her forearms. “Let go of me.”
“The rowboat was an accident. I mean the cat. The cat on the book with the poems.”
“Natalie.” He tugged at her arms. “Let go.”
“I thought Felicia killed Camille. She didn’t.”
“Uh-huh.” He kept tugging.
“I don’t want to fall in the lake. Felicia thought I’d killed Camille. I didn’t kill her either.”
“Let go.” Skyler’s voice stayed quiet, but it roughened. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Hurt you. Hurt Camille. Skyler had murdered Camille.
Skyler released her forearms and locked his gloved fingers around her wrists. Gloves. He wore gloves because he didn’t want to leave fingerprints.
“Did you wear gloves when you killed Camille?” she asked.
His hands were vise-tight around her wrists, pulling hard. She interlocked her fingers. The lake. He’d brought her to the lake. If she fell in the water, she’d die. Like Sheryl Chapman.
That had been an accident. Dante had died in an accident. No, that hadn’t been an accident. Skyler had wanted to kill him. Wade’s fall hadn’t been an accident either.
Skyler ducked, trying to escape the loop of her arms. She clung tighter, lowering her body with his. If she let go, she’d lose her balance and fall into the water, cold water; she’d sink, her heart would stop, she’d drown, Skyler killed Camille, killed Dante, killed Wade, killed Natalie wearing gloves, silver moonlight, the needle in Skyler’s hand drugging her . . .
Bright, fizzing lights filled her head. Pain smashed into her stomach, and she was airborne, flying, zero gravity.
Double gravity, falling.
Ice engulfing her, her clothes anchor-heavy, her thoughts twilight darkness.
* * *
Gideon’s tires screeched as he sped into the parking area at Beau Lac. Natalie’s car was the only one in the lot. He swerved close to it, stomped the brake pedal, and jammed the gearshift into park. He ripped his keys from the ignition and raced toward the trailhead, straining his muscles, pouring every trace of strength into galloping toward a nightmare. He was too late . . . he’d waited too long to check on her . . . she was dead . . .
He sprinted along the trail, a sloped path illuminated by the light on his phone and an occasional security light so useless that if there was anything in his way, Gideon would trip over it.
At the end of the trail, he shot off the pavement onto the lakeshore. Pebbles and larger stones rolled under his shoes; he flapped his arms, stumbling as he tried to keep up his pace on unstable ground. The pier wasn’t lit at all, but the moonlight exposed it as empty. He halted and shone the light from his phone around the beach.
“Natalie!” he yelled.
Through his panting for air, he heard a softer version of the same noise he’d made: a fast gait disturbing rocks and pebbles, momentary silence when feet hit sand, more thudding and scraping of rock against rock. Following the sounds, he swung his light to the left, but the beam didn’t hit anyone. Beyond the light, he glimpsed a black silhouette running along the edge of the water. One shape, not two, and too big to be Natalie. Skyler Hudson. Instinctively, Gideon leaped to pursue him but stopped; Hudson didn’t have Natalie, and if there was any chance she was alive—
Gideon rushed onto the pier, lungs and legs scorched from overexertion. He swept the beam of light over the water. Not far from the end of the dock, just beneath the surface, he saw dark fabric, dark hair, a white face tilted upward, arms spread wide.
He dropped his phone, tore his jacket off, and plunged into the water. With a few frantic strokes, he reached her. He seized her from behind and hoisted her head and shoulders above the surface of the water. Kicking hard, he paddled toward the pier, Natalie limp against him. He wanted to scream her name but didn’t want to waste effort on noise. Was she alive? He thought he’d seen her arms moving, but that might have been the motion of the water or his own wishful thinking.
The star-speckled sky overhead went black, and the splashing of water echoed. What was—you idiot. Swimming backward in the darkness, he’d swum right under the pier. Cursing himself, he swam to the side until he cleared the pier and could see stars again. Natalie’s long coat kept twining around his legs as he kicked, but it would be impossible to simultaneously get the coat off her and keep them both afloat.
He didn’t know if there was a ladder from the pier to the water; he’d be better off heading straight for shore. He glanced around to orient himself to the dim trail lighting and saw instead blazing lights. Footsteps thumped on the pier, and light flashed across the water.
“Radcliffe!” Bartholomew bellowed his name. “Catch!”
Gideon turned his head toward the detective’s voice. A pale shape flew through the air and smacked him in the shoulder. A life preserver. Gideon looped one arm through it, shifting his grasp on Natalie to keep her head above the water.
“Got it!” he yelled. Natalie’s head lolled from side to side, then fell onto his shoulder. In the strong beam of Bartholomew’s flashlight, Gideon saw her eyes were open but unfocused. “Natalie,” he said. “Can you hear me?” As the police towed them to the pier, Gideon bent his head, trying to get his ear near enough to her mouth to hear if she was breathing; he held his own breath so he wouldn’t hear himself inhaling and exhaling.
Her streaming hair stuck to his cheek, and her head tipped forward. Frenziedly, Gideon jolted her, tipping her head back, adjusting his one-armed hold on her, and locking his arm more securely around the life preserver. Her face turned toward his neck, and against his icy skin, he felt the lightest brush of air. Warmer air. Was that—
A rasp, nearly obscured by the splash of the water. Another rasp.
“She’s alive!” he called, the words more of a wheezy squawk than a yell. “She’s breathing.”
A flashlight shone in his face; he averted his eyes. The light shifted to the side, and he squinted at Bartholomew, suit coat off, lying on his belly with half his torso over the edge of the pier. Behind him and next to him were the shadows of other officers.
“There’s no ladder,” Bartholomew said. “Hang on to that life ring, and we’ll pull you up.”
Gideon doubted the physics of this plan were going to work. Without the buoyancy granted by the water, he wouldn’t be able to cling one-armed to the life ring and support the weight of two waterlog
ged people. “You’d better drag us to—”
The ring moved upward, hauling Natalie and him out of the water. Before either of Gideon’s arms could fail, Bartholomew reached downward, grabbed the ring, then grabbed Gideon’s arm. Another cop grabbed the front of Natalie’s coat, and multiple hands hoisted them onto the pier.
Two of the officers lifted Natalie out of Gideon’s grasp. He sat dripping, winded, trying to see what was happening. Bartholomew stepped into his line of sight.
“I saw—” Gideon swung his left arm toward the shore. “Someone running away, that direction.”
“Turner radioed,” Bartholomew said. “Skyler Hudson. They got him. He slipped in the dark, hurt his ankle. Nice job on noticing those notes Dr. Marsh left. Does Turner need to get his ears checked, or did you really say they were carved on soap?”
“Soap, yeah.” Gideon’s teeth chattered. He couldn’t decide if he’d be warmer in or out of his soaked sweatshirt, but his aching arms were heavy. Peeling off a wet sweatshirt would be too much work.
More flashlights flickered on the path to the lake, and a flashing display of red and blue lights illuminated the sky above the parking lot. Footsteps jarred the pier: two paramedics were racing toward Natalie.
“How’d you even notice soap?” Bartholomew asked.
“Long story,” Gideon said. “They were . . . carved soap, a gift, important to her. When I saw that towel in the bathroom doorway, blood on it . . . I checked the bathroom . . . needle on the floor . . . the soaps weren’t where they were supposed to be . . .”
“Good eye. You okay?”
“Yeah,” Gideon said. “As long as Natalie’s okay, I’m great.”
Chapter 32
“I should have brought flowers.” A flush polka-dotted Gideon’s neck as he stood on Natalie’s porch. Behind him, a quiet afternoon rain drizzled on her leaf-strewn lawn. “Or chicken soup or something. I flunked out of class school. Uh, the school of class. Classiness training.”
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