They left before Bryce looked at a single comic.
* * *
When Bryce arrived home at four-forty-five, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. A sheriff’s car sat in front of the house.
He thought about driving on past and coming back after it was gone.
But he quickly realized this couldn’t have anything to do with what he’d done; it was impossible for the police to know and be at his door, at least not yet.
So if this wasn’t about him, it had to be his mom. Had she been picked up for a DUI in the middle of the day? God, had Bren come home after school to this?
When he bolted through the front door, his mother was in the living room with a deputy sheriff. They were both standing there, looking at him. His mom’s eyes were bloodshot and wet with tears.
He felt his neck get hot. Cool it. They can’t know.
His mom’s voice sounded all jittery when she said, “This is my son, Bryce.”
The deputy nodded. “Do you drive, Bryce?”
“Yes, sir.” He glanced at his mom. She was looking at the floor and biting her thumbnail.
“And you attended your grandmother’s funeral on Wednesday?” the deputy asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Where were you on Wednesday night between two and three a.m.?”
His mother said, “I told you he was here in bed. It was a school night, for heaven’s sake.”
The deputy continued to look at Bryce.
“I was here,” Bryce said. “I didn’t leave the house after we got home from the funeral.” I couldn’t have been out then if I’d wanted to; it’d have left Bren alone.
“Did you attend school on Thursday?”
“No.” Why did this guy give a shit if I’d gone to school or not?
“Why?” the deputy asked, looking sharply at him.
“I overslept.” Bryce shrugged. “So I decided to stay home. It had been a crappy week with the funeral and all.”
“All right,” the deputy said. “Thank you both for your time.”
Bryce’s mom walked him to the door.
When she returned Bryce asked, “What was that all about?”
His mom went into the kitchen for a tissue. He followed.
“Kyle Robard.” She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. “This is just so awful. He was so young….” She sniffled. “His poor father….”
“Why was that deputy here?” he pushed.
She straightened. “They’re looking for someone who was at the accident scene. Apparently Betsy Whitman’s daughter, you know Abby, the florist, was involved. But they think there was another car.”
“What does that have to do with us?” he asked, searching her eyes for a lie.
There it was. Deceit. A flash behind a shadow. Bryce had seen it enough to recognize it.
She said, “Nothing, baby. Nothing at all.”
His stomach was slowly tying itself into a pretzel. “What did you tell them when they asked where you were that night?”
“I told them I was at home, of course.” She spun and walked out of the room. “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”
Bryce stood there openmouthed. He thought he just might puke.
All of the talk at school today had been about how twisted Kyle Robard’s motorcycle had been; there’d been a photo on the front page of Thursday’s newspaper. Kids had been speculating on how fucked-up Kyle’s body must have been if his bike was such a mess. There was even a pool going on whether or not the casket would be open or closed at the funeral.
It had made him sick. But not as sick as realizing that his mom had just lied to the police.
The telephone rang, startling Abby out of a deep sleep. She looked at the clock. Six-thirty p.m. She’d been asleep for two hours. Her alarm clock was set for eight p.m. so she would have time to work on the Ostrom wedding flowers. It seemed somehow safer to sleep in the daylight.
She answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Dad just called. He said you took him to a psychiatrist. Said you’re trying to prove he’s crazy. What the hell, Abby!”
She closed her eyes and rubbed them with her thumb and forefinger. When did this all get twisted in her dad’s mind? When she’d left him he’d been accepting of the idea that he needed more tests.
“I’m not trying to prove he’s crazy, Court.”
“But you made him go to a psychiatrist?”
“It’s not like I tied him up and dragged him there. I asked and he agreed to go.”
“Why did you ask? What’s going on?”
“He’s been forgetting things… getting confused. I just took him for an evaluation. It was no huge deal.”
“Bullshit! You think he’s losing it and it’s no big deal!”
“Court—”
“Why didn’t you call me! Didn’t you think I should know he’s got Alzheimer’s? I should have been part of this. I certainly could have figured out a way not to upset him so much.”
“We don’t know he has Alzheimer’s at all. And he was fine when I left him.” He’d been convinced it was all unnecessary, but he hadn’t been upset. “Was he still upset when you got off the phone with him?”
“No. I got him calmed down. I promised him I wouldn’t let you stick him in some nursing home.”
“Jesus, Court, I never said anything about a nursing home. Is that what he thinks? Did he say it?”
“Not directly. But I know that’s what he was worried about. So I nipped it right there.”
No, you planted the idea. “There are several things that could be causing his symptoms, so he’s getting more tests.”
“Were you ever going to call me?”
“Yes, after I had some idea what was going on. I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”
“He’s my father, too, Abby. You can’t just go around making these decisions by yourself.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was making decisions without you. It just seemed—”
“Like you could do it all your way. Just like Mom’s funeral. Listen, if you don’t want to take care of Dad, I’ll bring him here to live with me.”
Oh yeah, the emotionally crippled taking care of the mentally impaired.
Abby immediately wanted to slap herself for that thought. After all, it was her fault Courtney was emotionally crippled.
“You’re jumping way ahead,” Abby said, forcing a calm in her voice she didn’t feel. “See, this is why I didn’t call you. You always get all dramatic—”
“So which is it, Abby?” Courtney’s voice was razor sharp. “You wanted to protect me? Or you didn’t want me to get all dramatic?”
Both. “I knew you wouldn’t want to come to Preston. And it just seemed better to do some of the preliminary things before I called you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to feel shut out.”
Courtney was silent for a long moment. “When is he getting these other tests?”
“I’m not sure. Dr. Coble wants to refer him to a doctor with a good track record with this kind of thing. He’s doing some checking for us.”
“I think you need to take him to Savannah. Maybe even Columbia.”
“Relax, I’m sure it’ll be someplace other than Preston.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Abby bit her lip. “Nothing. I’ll let you know as soon as I have a list of doctor’s names.”
“Well, you’re not going to leave dad by himself until then, are you? You should stay with him.”
Under the current circumstances, it was probably more hazardous for her father to be sleeping under the same roof with her than staying alone. “I have his car at the moment, so he’s not driving.”
“Well, we both know how dangerous home can be, don’t we, Abby?”
Abby squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. She pretended she didn’t get Court’s innuendo. “I don’t think he’s in danger. He’s just… slipping. I don’
t want to make him feel worse by hovering.”
“Honestly, Abby, I don’t understand you at all.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. I have a wedding, so I’ll be in town early to check on Dad.”
“I’ll be waiting.” It sounded very much like a threat.
After she hung up the phone, she buried her face in her hands and growled in frustration. Then she threw her head back and yelled, “God, she pisses me off!”
Since the day Courtney was born, Abby’s relationship with her had been a disappointment. At three, Abby had been so excited about a baby sister that she and her mother had crossed off the days on the calendar in the month before Courtney’s arrival.
Had she known the upheaval that was ahead, Abby might have relished those final days as an only child.
Courtney had been a difficult, colicky baby who had grown into a stubborn—and occasionally spiteful—child. When she was seven, she’d taken all of Abby’s stuffed animals, including the Pound Puppies, and thrown them down the old well because Abby wouldn’t give her the giant blue teddy bear she’d won at the carnival. That bear had been a cheap-ass thing that really hadn’t meant anything to Abby (certainly not as much as her Pound Puppies). She should have just handed it over. She’d lost all of her beloved collection and been left with the garish blue monster whose color rubbed off on the wallpaper as a constant reminder.
It wasn’t that their parents hadn’t tried to curb Courtney’s behavior. But no amount of punishment seemed to have any effect.
Then came the fire. And punishing Courtney for anything became unthinkable.
Abby went into the bathroom and washed her face with cold water.
She had work to do. Happy work. She couldn’t let her anger with Courtney bleed over and ruin Alexa Ostrom’s wedding arrangements.
Abby grabbed a snack from the kitchen to take out to the shop. Then she retrieved the key for the double-key deadbolt she’d put in today from the little china box on her coffee table. Before she opened the door, she turned off the electronic alarm she’d also just installed. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it had given her enough peace of mind that she’d been able to rest.
Too damn bad Courtney had had to wake her up and ruin it.
At four a.m. Abby had the flowers finished and tucked safely in the cooler. If she went to bed now, she could get a couple of hours’ sleep before she had to load up and head to town. Working with her dad’s Explorer instead of her van it was going to take two trips.
Her body screamed for a long and deep sleep. But two hours was all she’d chance. Fewer REM cycles, less chance of sleepwalking.
As she walked across the dark space between the carriage house and her cottage, she sensed movement off to her right. She turned quickly, but didn’t see anything under the big trees lining the lane to the main road. Most of this property had grown quite wild in the past fifteen years, since the loss of the main house. The woods pressed close and the undergrowth was dense, although this early in the spring it wasn’t as solid as it soon would be.
She waited a moment, straining her eyes in the darkness.
Too tall to have been a gator or a raccoon. Must have been a deer.
Even as she had the thought, the skin on her neck tingled. She walked just a little more quickly toward her cottage. As she moved, she cast glances over her shoulder, in the direction of that shadowy motion. She listened carefully for movement and heard only normal night noises and her own exaggerated breathing.
Once inside the door, she locked it behind her and turned on the alarm. Without turning on the lights, she looked out the front window. She spent a couple of minutes searching for a sign of that deer—just to assure herself that it was a deer.
Finally, she turned away unsatisfied. She left the lights off. Her eyes were well acquainted with the darkness; navigating the short way to the sofa was easy.
She did little more than kick off her shoes before she lay down. Going through her bedtime ritual and climbing into a real bed felt like a surrender to sleep. She would not completely surrender.
Stretching out her aching muscles and resting her head on the toss pillow felt so good she let out a little moan.
She was asleep before she drew two more breaths.
She was driving through the fog and she was unnaturally afraid. She slowed her van; the road was nothing but twists and turns. Her hands ached from gripping the steering wheel so tightly
A deer leapt from the woods beside the road.
She hit the brakes.
The tires squealed.
She stopped just short of the deer, her heart beating rapid as hummingbird wings.
The deer stood there for a long moment, just staring at her through the windshield. The fog rolled around his shoulders like a cloak, then wreathed his head like a halo.
His lips were moving. She watched them intently, trying to figure out what he was trying to say.
Something startled him and he leapt away, disappearing into the night.
But the halo remained. It glowed white, then red.
Abby drove toward it, but never seemed to get any closer.
Then the red and white halos separated.
And suddenly they weren’t halos any longer. They were taillights. Right in front of her.
She swerved—
An electronic screaming startled Abby awake. She sat up, blinking. She was in her living room. On the sofa.
The front door was open.
The piercing wail of the alarm stabbed her ears.
She jumped up and hurried to the door, reached up, and flipped the switch that turned off the alarm.
Had she…?
No. She’d been on the sofa when it started; there was no delay on this alarm.
She looked out into the darkness.
Was that movement near the carriage house?
She slammed the door closed. As she reached to lock the deadbolt, she realized the key wasn’t in it. Hurrying to the little china box on her coffee table, it was there, right where she’d left it.
I could not have opened that door.
She checked the frame and the lock. Everything appeared intact.
With trembling fingers, she slid the key in the deadbolt and locked the door.
She snatched up the cordless phone and dialed 911. As she did, she hurried from window to window, her heart racing.
Nothing. No movement. No lights from a vehicle in the lane.
She stood frozen near the front door, eyes never leaving the lane outside as she waited for the police.
CHAPTER 11
The sun wasn’t yet up as two officers from the sheriff’s department—fortunately, neither of which were Deputy Trowbridge—searched outside Abby’s house with flashlights. Then they combed the nearby woods. They didn’t discover a prowler. She hadn’t really held much hope that they would; not after that screaming alarm. Even if he hadn’t made a clean getaway, it was way too easy to hide in the acres and acres of dark woods.
The officers went to check the carriage house while Abby waited inside her locked cottage. She watched them move across the yard in the blue and red strobes of their cruiser lights. She clutched the edge of the draperies when they separated and she saw their flashlights disappear around opposite corners of the carriage house.
Just days ago she’d thought she would never feel more vulnerable than she did when she’d discovered she’d been sleepwalking again. She’d been so wrong. This was a million times worse. Vulnerable, violated, and victimized.
What if I hadn’t installed that alarm?
Images of rape and murder raced through her mind, hitching her breath in her chest.
She didn’t breathe easily until the officers reappeared together at the nearest corner of the building. They moved back toward her cottage, flashlights sweeping in wide arcs around the perimeter of the yard.
She let them back in.
“The carriage house is locked,” Jones, the deputy who’d arrived in the first car, said. “All
of the windows are intact. I’d like you to come out and walk through with me to make certain nothing was taken from inside. Officer Bigelow is going to take a look around the rest of the property. Are there any other lanes that lead in from the road?”
“No. This is the only one.”
Jones nodded and Bigelow left.
She asked Officer Jones, “If the carriage house door is locked and the windows aren’t broken, why do we need to go through it?”
“You said the deadbolt on the house here was locked, is that right?”
“Yes. As I said before, I was a little spooked when I came in. I’m certain I locked it.”
“There’s no sign of forced entry on this door. Either the guy used a duplicate key, a bump key, or picked the lock. Could have done the same on the carriage house.”
“No one has keys. I just changed the lock.” Her stomach turned thinking of someone huddled out there in the dark picking her lock.
She got her keys and walked beside Officer Jones to the shop. That same skin-prickle feeling of being watched that had bothered her more than once recently settled on her. Her imagination, she knew. They’d searched the area already. There were no vehicles parked nearby. Still, she moved just a little closer to the officer.
A thorough search of the carriage house yielded nothing amiss. They returned to her cottage. Officer Jones took fingerprints from the door.
“I’ll need to take yours for comparison,” he said to her when he’d finished.
“Unfortunately, you already have them… from the accident Wednesday night.”
“Ah, yes, the senator’s son.” He packed up his fingerprint kit as Abby fought to block out the image of Kyle Robard’s broken body. “Ms. Whitman, do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“An ex-boyfriend?”
“Not unless you go back a very, very long time. What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s looking like this was personal. If they’d been after money or credit card numbers, they’d have broken into the shop. With the car outside, unbothered, they knew you were here—”
“It’s not my car, it’s my father’s.” She realized even as she said it, it was a ridiculous statement.
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