"Young man!" The nun's voice was close now.
"Leave it, or we'll all be in deep shit!" Pete yelled over his shoulder as he sprinted into the woods. Corey looked like a deer caught in headlights, statue-still, his eyes darting between Mark and Pete.
Mark started pulling out of the blue jacket just as the nun arrived. As he yanked his arms from the sleeves, her face appeared, pinched and angry. ''Boy," she said, in a voice crackling with cold, ''stop right there."
All Mark thought in the brief instant before he was free was that the nun had too many teeth. Even though she was small, she looked like she could chew him up and spit him out, then whittle his bones down to use as toothpicks.
"Let's go!" he cried, yanking Pete along with him. He could feel the nun's eyes boring into his back as they ran into the forest.
"Stop a minute," Corey breathed, after they were deep in the woods.
They'd gone farther than any habit-wearing nun could go, so Mark pulled up short. He turned to face Corey, who was bent over, breathing heavily. "You okay?" He was winded himself and his voice hitched over the words.
Corey straightened slowly. "Yeah. Jesus, did you see that nun? She looked like the Wicked Witch of the West."
''Yeah, Corey. I looked at her, and she looked at me. And she's got my jacket. Cripes." He dug in his pants pockets frantically. "My wallet was in the jacket. She'll call my dad. I'm sunk."
Corey was staring at him, his mouth not quite shut.
"Don't worry," Mark told him. "I'm not gonna rat on you."
"She heard Pete yell, so she knows there's more than one of us." Corey sat down on a rock.
Mark nodded, resigned to his fate. In the distance, the Falls roared. He looked around at the trees, feeling them close in on him, feeling those hidden eyes again. He turned his gaze to the forest floor in time to see a dim ray of sunlight angling across his Nikes suddenly wink out. Abruptly, wingbeats broke the silence; then a horrible screeching nearly burst his eardrums. The hawk or owl, or whatever it was, was gone in a heartbeat, its next cry sounding somewhere to the south.
''What the hell was that?" Corey asked, trying to joke, despite the tremble in his voice.
Mark forced a grin. "It's probably that old nun flying around looking for us."
"On her broomstick," Corey said nervously. ''I'll bet Pete'll be sorry he's by himself when he hears that thing."
''Yeah." The thought was satisfying. From somewhere in the distance another cry sounded, but this time it seemed almost human, dissolving his satisfaction.
He was about to tell Corey their rest period was over when he heard a twig crack. Goosebumps pimpled his arms and neck as he looked at his friend and saw that he'd heard it, too.
He rose slowly as another bit of underbrush crunched. Footsteps. Mark could hear them clearly now. Quickly he stepped behind a large pine, then motioned Corey to get down behind the rock. Either Pete was getting ready to scare them, or the nun had followed them, after .all.
The footsteps came closer, light and swift, the sound of someone walking very quickly. Cautiously he peered around the tree.
"Kelly!" he cried, recognizing the red-haired girl.
She about jumped out of her skin as Mark stepped out from behind the tree and Corey stood up. "Mark! What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?'' he countered.
"I was at Minerva's."
"We went to St. Gruesome's and this wicked-looking nun saw me," he told her. As he described the woman, Kelly's eyes widened.
"That wasn't just any nun," she told him. "That was Mother Lucy. She's awful. Does she know who you are?"
"His ID was in his jacket," Corey said, his voice doing an adolescent hitch.
"You're dead meat," Kelly said sympathetically. "Your father will beat you, for sure."
Mark stared at her. "No, he won't. He'll ground me forever, though." He wondered if Kelly's father used to hit her. Maybe the nuns did. He wanted to ask but didn't have the nerve, especially in front of Corey. "Hey," he said instead. "You didn't see another guy around here, did you? He took off ahead of us."
Kelly smiled knowingly. ''You mean, he turned yellow and left you behind?"
Mark shrugged, but Corey nodded.
"No, I didn't see anybody. Sorry."
Wingbeats again filled the silence between them, and then came another screech, which was answered by one farther away. Kelly folded her arms around herself and looked up at the treetops. "I hate those things."
"I wonder what they are. Have you ever asked Minerva?"
She shook her head no, smiling awkwardly. "I'm afraid of what she might tell me."
''Yeah, I know what you mean." Mark tried to smile, too, and found out how hard it was.
''Well, I'd better get back." She took a few steps, then turned.
''What's your jacket look like?"
"It's blue. Why?"
"And your wallet?"
"Black, the Velcro kind. Why?" he asked again.
"If I find it, I'll take it to Minerva's. Okay?"
"Don't get in trouble for me."
"I won't. 'Bye!" With that, she disappeared into the woods.
"Who was she?" Corey asked.
"One of the orphans. She's friends with Minerva"
''Is she your girlfriend?"
"Heck, no. I only met her once before. Let's go."
They began walking, too tired to run. Mark saw Corey repeatedly glance around as they made their way through the woods, which seemed to be growing darker despite the fact that it was only mid-afternoon.
Though he tried not to, Mark kept looking around, too. The oppressiveness of the place bore down on him, making his arms and legs feel heavy despite the adrenaline that continued to course through his system and the goosebumps prickling up the hairs on the back of his neck.
At last, they plodded through the cold water of the stream separating the dark woods from Witch Forest. Eager to leave St. Gruesome's property, they hadn't even discussed finding a narrow place to jump, or at least, one with a fallen log to walk or boulders to hop. The soggy shoes and pants were worth it because the moment Mark set foot on dry ground, everything seemed lighter, safer. One of the unseen hawks screeched in the distance, but even that didn't seem so ominous now.
"She likes you," Corey said, only the barest trace of nervousness left in his voice.
"Huh?"
''That girl with the red hair, she likes you."
''Come off it." Mark tried to shake some of the cold stream water from his shoes, but his feet still felt like they were squishing in slush.
"No, really, she does. She wouldn't try to get your wallet back for you if she didn't, would she?"
Mark shrugged. "She hates the nuns so much, I think she'd do anything to bug 'em." He looked around, then cupped his hands around his mouth. "Pete! Pete!" After a long pause, he turned toward St. Gruesome's forest and repeated the calls. No answer came. He turned east, then south, Corey adding his voice, but still there was no reply.
"Do you think something happened to him?"
Mark looked at his friend. saw real concern in his eyes. He felt it. too, but told himself he was overreacting. Pete Parker, of all the guys he knew, was probably the most capable of taking care of himself. "He's okay, Corey. He's probably watching us right now, hoping we'll worry about him." As he spoke, he realized he was angry with Parker for running off and leaving them on their own. ''That really was a chicken shit stunt he pulled."
"Yeah, I know." Corey gave him a genuine grin. "Maybe we can get back at him at the Haunt."
"Yeah, we'll scare the piss out of him. Hey, you want to go see the waterfalls?"
Mark considered. "Heck, why not? Pete's the one who had to be home by two. He'll be there waiting and then he'll have to worry about us." Besides, he knew, it might be his last taste of freedom for a long while, once his dad found out he'd been caught by a nun while sneaking around the abbey.
They turned to follow the distant rumble of the Falls.
<
br /> Thirty-seven
"Nothing? There's absolutely nothing?"
John studied Sara Hawthorne's pale, earnest face and wished he could give her something, some tidbit of information, wished he could find some bit of proof that would let him put more faith in her story. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "I even had the county coroner check his records. He didn't find anything, either."
"Then you must think I'm out of my mind."
Her straight-on gaze had him trapped. "No, Ms. Hawthorne. But without some kind of proof, well, I trust you understand my position,"
"I ... I know someone who could back up what I'm telling you," Sara told him in a slightly strangled voice.
"Who?"
"A groundskeeper. He was my friend when I was a student. He knew about Jenny. And he still works there. I spoke to him this morning."
"Are you talking about Basil Boullan?" John asked, surprised.
She shook her head bitterly. ''Heavens, no. In fact. I think Boullan's one of the reasons my friend doesn't want to come forward." She paused. "He seemed to be afraid of him. He warned me to watch what I say and to be careful about who I talk to." She paused. ''In fact, he told me I should pack up and leave."
"Your friend might be right," John agreed, though he didn't really want to. "Maybe you should leave."
"I'm not leaving." Sara tilted her chin up defiantly. "And, forgive me, Sheriff, but if you don't believe me, then why do you agree with him?"
"I didn't say I don't believe you. I said there's no record. No proof."
"Can't you demand to see Dr. Dashwood's records?"
"I saw them. Remember?"
She looked puzzled. ''Remember what? What are you talking about?"
''I arrived just as Dashwood was helping you out of his infirmary," he said, slightly alarmed. "You looked very ill, but we exchanged hellos." She stared at him, and he added. ''How are you feeling now? You're a little pale."
"I'm fine." She hesitated. "And of course I remember."
She was a terrible liar. "The doctor said you'd had too much excitement and he'd given you something for your nerves. Was that true?"
She blushed and looked down at her hands. ''During his exam I got a little dizzy."
"Exam?"
She still couldn't look at him. "Yes. You know, a, ah, pre-employment physical."
''But did he give you something? A tranquilizer?" He knew she was covering something up.
"I- I don't remember." As she spoke, she finally met his gaze, her cheeks still red. "He ... he brought me chocolate truffles later." She blushed harder. "I mean, if he told you he gave me a tranquilizer, then I'm sure he did. That is, I really was exhausted. I even thought I saw ... my eyes were playing tricks on me before I saw the doctor, and I was very anxious about being back there."
"What did you think you saw?"
''Nothing. It's stupid. It was just my imagination playing tricks on me." She drew herself up in the chair, her effort at self-control obvious. ''But Jenny Blaine's death wasn't my imagination."
She looked ready to bolt, so he let it drop. "I get the impression that you trust Dr. Dashwood." The remark about the truffles was eating at him, but he didn't even want to admit it to himself.
"Yes. I suppose I trust him. I mean, he's nice."
''Nice?"
She lifted one eyebrow. "You don't like him, do you?"
"Well, I can see that he possesses a certain charm," he said carefully.
"Are you implying that I was swayed by his looks?"
"Is it possible?"
For a moment, he thought she was going to get angry, but when she spoke, her voice was soft. ''I hate to admit it, but you might be right."
She spoke so matter-of-factly that he could only stare at her in astonishment.
''All the sisters start batting their eyelashes when he's around, and the girls, well, they're even worse. Her nose crinkled in amusement. ''Why should I be immune to his charms?"
He suddenly wanted to believe Sara Hawthorne more than anything else in the world. He'd been attracted to her from the first moment they'd met, but now her unexpected frankness reeled him in.
"Sheriff?" she asked. "Did I say something wrong?"
You said something right. He shook his head and smiled at her. "Your honesty is refreshing."
She shrugged, a slight blush returning to her heart-shaped face. "Thanks ... I think."
''Ms. Hawthorne," he said, before he could stop himself. "It's nearly one o'clock, and I'm starving. Can I take you to lunch? We'll continue our conversation, of course."
"Yes," she said solemnly. "That would be fine, Sheriff. But please, call me Sara."
''John," he told her, rising. He opened the door for her and was, to be as honest as Sara, a little disappointed that Bobby Hasse's shift had ended. It would have been nice for Bobby to see him with a woman for a change, instead of the other way around. Instead, there was Dorothy, reading Fate Magazine at the desk. "I'll be out for about an hour, Dorothy."
She looked him and Sara up and down, a knowing smirk on her plump little face. "Are you two going to lunch?"
He almost didn't answer because the last thing he needed was Dorothy prying into his personal life, trying to create romances for him, giving him advice, watching his every move for clues about his emotional life. Then he decided to take Sara's lead and be frank. Maybe that would diffuse her interest. "Yes, we're going to lunch," he said, escorting the teacher to the door. "Is there a problem?" he added, pushing it open.
"No." His honesty had flustered Dorothy. "Have a nice time," she called, as the door closed behind them.
''What was that all about?" Sara asked, sliding into the passenger seat of the patrol car.
"Dorothy's been trying to fix me up for eight years." He swallowed hard. "Ever since my divorce." He turned the key in the ignition and the engine hummed to life. "There's a nice little cafe a few blocks away. All they make are burgers and fries, but there are about twenty different kinds, and they're all good."
"Sounds wonderful." She paused, locking her seat belt. "I don't mean to pry … "
"Pry away," he told her.
"Your divorce. You sound very bitter. Was it that bad?"
"The worst." He glanced at her. "Except that I have sole custody of my son. Have you been through one, too?"
''Not a divorce, but I was in a long-term relationship in college that turned, well, weird. When I tried to break things off, Eric started phoning and sending me letters, threatening to commit suicide if I didn't go back to him."
"How'd you handle it?"
''Well, first I developed an ulcer, but then I got angry. I called a suicide hotline and gave them his number, but that just made him worse. And that made my ulcer worse, which made me angrier at him."
''Why did that make you angry?"
''Could you stand the idea that someone else had so much control over you that it affected your health?"
He shook his head. "It took me years to get rid of the rage I felt toward Barbara for all the lying and cheating she did. For leaving me and Mark. Then I realized Barbara was all I thought about. I was practically possessed by her. I suddenly 'came to' one day while I was daydreaming about putting my hands around her neck and strangling her." He glanced at Sara. "Strangling her! Can you imagine?"
''Yes, actually, I can. How did you turn off your anger?"
"I realized that she was still controlling my life. She was winning and I decided I wouldn't let that happen. I didn't want her to have the last laugh. So I exorcised her." ·
''How?"
He smiled slightly. ''By chopping enough wood for several winters. With every stroke I envisioned the hate pouring out of me. I kept it up until it was all gone."
"I thought you were going to say that you pictured her neck under the ax."
He was taken aback for a moment. ''Well, maybe a little of that, too." He paused for a stop sign. "You're the most straightforward person I've ever met."
''Is that a compliment?" she as
ked, a trace of uncertainty in her voice.
"Absolutely," he replied firmly.
"Thanks. Did it work? Chopping wood?"
"Except for the occasional bout of self-pity, it's worked great. And how did you exorcise your boyfriend?"
''The next time he called and threatened to kill himself, I told him that if that's what he wanted to do, he should go ahead and do it. He sputtered, and I hung up."
"What happened?"
"Two weeks of hell. He didn't show up at school and I didn't hear from him. Every day I was sure I'd find out he'd committed suicide and left a letter blaming me for it. Then he returned to school, on the arm of the campus slut, and, well, before long, I was back eating all the catsup and pickles I wanted." She paused. "But I didn't have as much invested in Eric as you did in your ex."
"Maybe not, but I'm still impressed." He pulled into the small parking lot at Pippin's Cafe and parked. Assuming the story Sara had just told him was true, she had a lot of backbone and that somehow lent credibility to her tale about Jennifer Blaine. It sounds to me like you're not especially easy to manipulate, he added, as they got out of the car.
''Thank you for thinking so." She smiled up at him as he held the cafe door open. ''This place smells like heaven on earth."
His favorite booth was free, the one by the comer window that gave the best view of the town, so he led her there and handed her a menu. ''Like I said, the food's great."
She consulted the menu, then put it aside. "Sheriff- "
"John," he reminded her.
"John." She tried to smile, but faltered. "The sisters are masters of manipulation."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I think I've been manipulated." She picked up her napkin and twisted it back and forth. "I shouldn't even admit this to you, since I know my story's not very credible to begin with, but I'd prefer complete honesty."
''I'd prefer it, too." The waitress chose that moment to take their orders and he waited until she bustled away to speak again. Please, continue. The nuns manipulated you in some way?"
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