His voice was preternaturally calm and very quiet. “Maddie, I’m sorry to do this to you, but I’m sending you a photo of a body and I need a positive ID.”
She sank into her desk chair. “Who is it?”
“Maddie…”
Of course she knew who it was. “Andrew.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you find him?”
“In the morgue in Las Vegas.”
“How was he killed?”
“Stabbed and dumped in a backstreet.”
“By who?”
“There have been no arrests. Have you got the photo yet?”
Her phone vibrated in her hand. “Yes, it just came in.”
“Is it Andrew?”
I don’t want to look. But she did. She looked at the picture of her brother’s still, white, stern face. “That’s him.”
“I’m sorry, honey. So sorry.”
“Um…” Her voice shook. “Um, why was he in Las Vegas?”
“He had a gambling problem.”
“Gambling?” No. “He … years ago, he got in trouble because of his gambling. But he told me he had quit.”
“Also he was in Vegas because … he got married.”
Maddie felt as if she were being punched over and over with one truth after another. “Married? To who?”
“To his girlfriend, Barbara Ulrich. Do you know her?”
“I never heard of her. He told me he wasn’t with anyone.”
With an edge to his voice, Jacob said, “Andrew has told you a lot of lies.”
She swallowed. “I got that. But why?”
“For the money. You make a great deal of money with your writing. He spent it.”
“All of it?”
“He’s in debt.” With his tone, Jacob condemned him. “Where are you now?”
“At my house. I needed my sketches.” She braced herself for anger or disappointment.
But Jacob surprised her. “I know you want to get more of your things, but not now. Listen. I’m on the plane. In a few minutes, we’re going to take off for Seattle. From there, I’ll get to Virtue Falls as fast as I can. But you need to get to safety.”
“What do you think is going to happen?”
Again Jacob lowered his voice. “Andrew’s wife murdered him. She’s going to try to murder you, too.”
“Why? Why kill me?”
“Because when you’re out of the way, she’s Andrew’s heir. The royalties for your books are substantial and she could live well on them.”
Maddie felt almost dizzy with the assault of information. “I’ll go back to your house and lock the doors.”
“No, Maddie, call the police.”
“I’ve got my gun.”
“You don’t want to shoot anybody.”
That was true. She didn’t.
“Besides, I don’t even know whether to tell you to watch out for a tall woman or a feminine-looking man.”
“Andrew married a man? No, he would never…” But she had thought he would never deliberately harm her, never steal from her or lie to her. So what did she really know about her brother?
“In the wedding pictures, there were no good shots of her. She was the bride, which means she deliberately hid from the camera.” Jacob sounded troubled. “But her hands on the bouquet looked large and muscular. Call the police. Ask them to come and get you and take you into protective custody.”
She stiffened. She had been in protective custody before, in the mental hospital after Easton’s murder and twice here in Virtue Falls. The police thought she was crazy, shooting at a phantom. They thought she was venal, poisoning a dog. They treated her the way they would treat a serial killer: watchfully and with an unpleasant edge. She wouldn’t call them. She wouldn’t take the chance they would put her back in jail. And Moen would try to take the call, and he was a sort of a stalker himself. “No.”
Jacob started talking faster. “You have to. The coroner gave me Andrew’s effects, including his phone. The battery was dead, so when I got to the airport I charged it. When I turned it on”—he took an audible breath—“a text came in from Barbara.”
That did not make sense. “You said she killed him.”
“She did. No doubt.”
“What did the text say?”
“You’re gone. She’s alone. She’s finished the book. Now I can do the job without you whining. Andrew, your sister will be with you soon.”
“She sent him that text—and he’s dead? She’s happy to … to hurt me? Kill me?” Maddie took a frightened breath. “She’s crazy.”
“No doubt about that, either. She’s ahead of me, she’s had time to get to Virtue Falls, and she’s been observing you. She knows you, Maddie, and I’m afraid for you.”
In the background, she heard the flight attendant start the announcement.
Jacob said, “They’re shutting the cabin doors. I’ve got to go. Maddie, it’s all up to you. Get yourself to safety.”
“Okay. I will. Right now.”
“Maddie, call Sheriff Kwinault. She’ll keep you safe.”
“Jacob … I love you.”
She heard a strangling sound, then quite loudly he said, “I love you, too.”
“You be safe, Jacob. I will be, too.” She hung up. She supposed distracting him with her first I love you wasn’t fair, but if she was in danger—and that text clearly said she was—she needed him to know how she felt. Plus it had served its purpose.
Now he was on his way to her and she was on her way out the door. She glanced out the window.
The clouds skittered across the sky, masking the setting sun, revealing it, then masking it once more.
To get to town before dark, she would have to hurry.
Her nerves tightened. Maddie, it’s all up to you. She gathered her computer and her drawings. She needed her computer case, stored in the bedroom walk-in closet. She went in, flipped on the light—and nothing happened. Was the lightbulb burned out?
She walked to the bedside, checked the lamp. It clicked. No light.
Night was coming.
The electricity was off.
She returned to the closet, stood in the doorway, struggled with the onset of panic that tightened her chest and restricted her breathing.
But she wanted her laptop and her sketches, and to carry them safely she needed that case. She rushed to the dark closet, grabbed the bag strap, and pulled the bag off the top shelf. A pillow and blanket fell on top of her.
Panic bit harder. Her skin prickled. Was someone in the house with her?
Giving in to what some would say was good sense, she called 911.
The operator answered and, as always, they knew who it was. “Yes, Miss Hewitson. Please state the nature of your concern.”
“Can I speak to Sheriff Kwinault?”
“She’s left for the day.”
“Can you reach her? Tell her I need to talk to her?”
“Miss Hewitson, we have many capable police officers who are on duty and able to take your call.”
“But Sheriff Kwinault—”
“Had a difficult day. It is, in fact, Election Day, and Sheriff Kwinault deserves to spend the evening as she wishes.”
Maddie persisted. “Do you know where she is?”
“I believe she went to the Oceanview Café. Why? Do you want to poison her, too?”
Maddie felt as if her face and her insides had shriveled.
Before she could reply, the operator said, “I’m sorry. That was unprofessional. Nevertheless, if you feel in danger, I suggest you allow me to send one of our on-duty officers to help.”
“No. Thank you.” Maddie hung up. Tears prickled her eyes, but more than ever before, she knew Jacob was right. Maddie, it’s all up to you.
On the bed, she slid her laptop into the padded pocket, stuffed the drawings beside it, all the while glancing around her, watching, waiting for the terror to return.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. Movement, dark and stealthy.
She froze, unable to move, until at last she turned her stiff neck enough to see … a man’s dark shadow slithering across her white wall toward her. Instantly she swiveled and swung her bag at it.
He was here. The monster was back.
But no. Her bag slid through it. This monster was nothing but a projection created by electronics. It was not an illusion created in her mind. She didn’t have to cower. She didn’t have to fear.
Except whoever was tormenting her was somewhere close. Too close. Watching. Andrew’s wife.
Andrew’s executioner.
Barbara Ulrich, who knew Maddie better than she knew herself.
Who could this Barbara person be?
Maddie slung the bag over her shoulder. She started toward the front door. And stopped.
No. Not the front door. When she went into town, she always took the same route through the streets. She shouldn’t do that now. Barbara had been studying her. She would expect Maddie to follow the familiar pattern.
Maddie turned toward her back door, veered back to her desk, and picked up the baseball bat. She scurried through the back door, through her backyard, unlocked the gate, and slipped into the alley. She slunk past backyards, garbage cans, and fences, making her way toward the ocean and the wide-open horizon. When she passed the last house and the last wooden fence on the block, she looked both ways at the path that wound its way along the cliffs. It was empty. Had she escaped Andrew’s killer?
She had moved quickly; it was only a mile to the cutoff that led into downtown Virtue Falls … a lonely mile marked by nothing more than a few remote houses, a beach access, and a single windswept tree known as the Bear.
Out on the ocean, a storm brewed in a swirl of ragged, bloody clouds.
The setting sun turned the light gray and gold.
The shadows grew longer, the coarse sea grass waved like taunting fingers, and the ocean waves rolled through their own unceasing, uncaring eternity.
Maybe she should call the police to come and get her. Surely she could stand protective custody for a few hours.
She inched in the direction of the dead end of Dogwood Blossom Street and peeked around the fence.
No monster lurked there. Instead, as he had so many times before, Moen had backed his police cruiser up to the guardrail. He sat drinking coffee from an insulated cup and staring up the street toward her house.
No. No police. No Moen. He wanted too much from her. She could not save him from his fate.
Maddie ducked back and crouched down. Somehow she had to get past him. Pulling out her phone, she called 911.
The same operator answered. “Yes, Miss Hewitson. Please state the nature of your concern.”
“I need a policeman at my house right away. Can you do that?” Whoops. She may have sounded a little too sure of herself.
“Can you state the nature of your problem?” The operator sounded patient. Hugely, mightily patient.
This time Maddie put a quaver in her voice. “My lights have gone out and I’m afraid.”
“Our officers are not electricians.”
Maddie felt as if she were reciting the lines to a well-rehearsed play. “Someone did it on purpose. Someone is after me!”
The operator sighed heavily. “All right. I’ll send one of the on-duty officers. Not Sheriff Kwinault!”
“That’s fine.” Maddie hung up. She watched Moen’s silhouette, saw him dip his head as he heard the call, saw him reply and start the car. She waited until he pulled up to the curb and opened the door. Then she scampered across the end of the street and onto the well-trod dirt path that led into Virtue Falls.
The fresh wind off the ocean moved the rough sea grasses and buffeted Maddie as she hurried, almost running, along the path. She had to get to town, to lights and the Oceanview Café and Sheriff Kwinault. She needed to escape Barbara—Barbara, who had married and murdered Andrew and, according to Jacob, had been tormenting Maddie for months. She had enjoyed tormenting Maddie, had preyed on her bloodiest memories and her deepest fears. And why? Why? What was there to gain from such cruelty? Money, yes, but this harassment bore all the hallmarks of a personal vendetta. Had Andrew’s wife hoped to drive Maddie to suicide? Or into a nervous breakdown and back into the mental institution?
Abruptly, Maddie stopped.
Damn it. Since age eleven, when her parents died, she had been a victim. The victim of tragedy, of mania, of senseless murder … and now of illusion.
She started walking more slowly.
Why? She had done nothing to deserve any of this. She had never had the chance to become an adult. Not because she wasn’t capable, but because her growth had been stunted by bearing the constant burden of fear.
She put her hand on the grip of the revolver, pulled it from the holster, released the safety, and immediately felt the potential power contained in the small, precise piece of metal. That bolstered her courage, and with the revolver held low at her side, she continued down the path with renewed confidence.
Courage and confidence; it had been a long time since she had encountered either of those emotions, and she liked them—a lot.
She passed the Williamsons’ clapboard house, built to face the ocean and battered by salt and rain. Mrs. Williamson sat in her porch swing, huddled under an afghan, watching the sunset.
Maddie raised the hand holding the bat.
Mrs. Williamson waved back and called, “Are you taking up baseball?”
“Not … really.” Thank God Maddie hadn’t waved the hand with the gun. She suspected that not even Mrs. Williamson wanted to see Mad Maddie brandishing a weapon. That made Maddie remember Jacob’s warning—use your revolver only as a last resort. Carrying it provided her with courage, but it was false courage. Real courage came from within, and she had to nourish it by facing her fears.
Careful not to show her hand, she clicked the safety and holstered the weapon.
Mrs. Williamson came to the porch rail. “Want to come in and sit a spell? Walter fell, hurt himself; he’s in bed and feeling sorry for himself. He’d welcome the company.”
For a moment Maddie wavered. She could go to the Williamsons and ask for sanctuary. She knew they would provide it. They would call the police and Maddie would bet if they asked for Sheriff Kwinault, they wouldn’t be denied.
Yet their home was isolated and not easy to reach, and Mr. Williamson was hurt. The monster who hunted Maddie was not a figment cast up by her tortured mind, but a person who was in truth fearsome, tricky, large, and dangerous. She couldn’t involve Mr. and Mrs. Williamson in this battle; they were good people who had been kind to her. And in her life, enough good people had been killed. She would not risk the elderly couple.
Maddie, it’s all up to you.
She was alone. And she would survive.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Kateri supposed that some candidates spent Election Day shaking hands and kissing babies.
Some candidates were not sheriff of Virtue Falls, a town where two of the men running for a vacant seat on the school board got into a shouting match in the city park in the town square. That started a fairly polite riot among all the school board members; highlights included pushing, shoving, and name calling. Kateri and her officers had it under control until the city council members, who had come out of city hall to watch, found it in their hearts to step in to smooth things over. Within three minutes Stefanie Westerholm had slapped Councilman Venegra and, in front of his wife, accused him of screwing that slut Mona Coleman.
Mrs. Venegra slapped Stefanie first. Then she gut-punched her own husband.
While he was wheezing on the ground, Mona slapped Mrs. Venegra and called her frigid.
That’s when the real riot started.
Arresting the city council, the school board, and her administrative assistant in front of the cheering Virtue Falls citizens involved more tact than Kateri knew she contained.
She took pride in the fact that she never once laughed.
Then, while she was writ
ing up the reports, Officer Chippen came in looking grim and as if he’d lost the coin toss.
He had.
The Terrances—John Senior and John Junior—had been in the Virtue Falls jail waiting to be conducted to a federal prison, and in the confusion of placing respected politicians, angry wives, and indignant mistresses in their cells, the Terrances had escaped.
Kateri put her head in her hands, bade a final farewell to the election results—no one was going to vote for a sheriff who couldn’t properly contain violent drug-dealing prisoners—then told Officer Chippen to get the bloodhounds in here because they had a manhunt to conduct.
Officer Chippen suggested that, because of the Terrances’ proclaimed threats, she enter protective custody.
“In my spare time,” she replied testily.
“Really, Sheriff, the guys and I talked it over and we agree it’s a good idea.” Chippen looked honestly worried.
“Chippen, tomorrow I won’t be sheriff anymore, and as a private citizen I can accept protective custody. Right now I’m the sheriff and I’ve got a job to do, which now includes whatever Mona did around here. Thank God she did pretty much nothing!” Kateri took a calming breath. “Also, the Coast Guard just called with a report of a stolen speedboat, so let’s assume that right now the Terrances are racing away from Virtue Falls toward China.”
“Okay. Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, that they would have stolen the speedboat, not that they’re going to China. I’ll tell the guys to watch the nearby inlets for activity.”
“Thank you, Chippen. That’s a good idea.”
Chippen lingered in her doorway. “We really are worried about you, Sheriff.”
Translation: they might not be voting for her, but they liked her. “I know, Chippen, and I appreciate that.”
That concern sustained her when she hit the road to answer a call about an aggressive black bear holding a carload of tourists hostage. Next she dealt with an abandoned and starving dog that had to be coaxed into a crate, a campaign manager shrieking because she had missed a speech at the Eagles lodge, and a fire in the library set by two eight-year-olds hiding in the bathroom to smoke their first cigarettes. It was almost 8:00 P.M. when Kateri walked into the Oceanview Café.
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