Lucy took a deep breath. 'Okay.'
Mr. Costa opened the door. Lucy took off her coat and stepped inside. It was like a confessional. Inside was a small bench. She sat down. When Mr. Costa closed the door, it was pitch black. She heard him sit down on the other side.
He began to speak, and — suddenly she was back there. The darkness around her did not change. But she sensed that she was under. It was different from the first two times because this time she knew. It was like when you were dreaming and you knew you were dreaming, and therefore you could not be hurt. For the first time in nine years, she felt strong.
Are You Alone?
No.
Who is there with you?
Another girl. A girl my age. Her name is Peggy.
Tell me about her.
She has on a spangly dress. And make-up. She's too little for make-up.
Are you wearing make-up?
I don't know. I can't see myself. But I am wearing high heels. They are big for my feet.
What is the other girl doing?
She's crying.
Are you crying?
No. I don't cry.
What else do you see?
I see candles. Candles and moonlight.
Why do you see moonlight?
Because I am running now. I'm running through the trees. The smell of apples is everywhere.
Is it an orchard?
Yes. It's an orchard.
Is the other girl with you?
No, but I see her. I see her up by the lake.
What is she doing?
She's not moving.
Why is she not moving?
I don't know.
Can you see the man's face?
I can't. But I know who he is. Is he the man in Room 1208? Yes. It's him.
You are certain?
Yes.
Did you place the note in his room? The note you wrote here last time?
Yes.
Good. Now I'm going to ring a bell for you. Is that okay?
Yes.
Can you hear the bell?
I can hear it.
It's a special bell, Lucy.
A special bell.
There is no other sound like it.
No other.
When you hear this bell at the hotel, there is something you have to do. Something you have to do for me.
Okay.
You will tell no one about this.
No one.
Remember the bell, Lucy.
Chapter 65
The drive across southeastern Pennsylvania was energizing. The rain had stopped and it was a bright and sunny day. A lot of people think that the best place to view fall colors in the United States is New England, and they have a point. But the rolling hills of Pennsylvania, painted in scarlet and gold and lemon yellow, might well give New Hampshire a run for its money.
For a long time neither Jessica nor Byrne said much. Both were lost in the events of the past four days and the possibility of a break in the case, a break located far out of their jurisdiction.
Before leaving Philadelphia, Jessica had gotten Byrne to stop at his apartment, shower and shave, change clothes. He looked like two-thirds of his old self again.
They stopped for coffee on the way. When Jessica got back in the car she remembered something she had been meaning to ask her partner. It was about as far removed from the case as she could imagine.
'You didn't happen to find a piece of green yarn in your van, did you?'
'No,' Byrne said. 'Are you talking about the yarn that was around the box with your mom's things in it?'
Jessica nodded. The thought of having lost the yarn made her sick. 'I looked everywhere, asked everyone. It's gone.'
'Maybe it'll turn up.'
Jessica didn't hold out much hope for this. It was only ten cents' worth of yarn, but it had belonged to her mother. And that made it priceless.
The town of Garrett Corners was a notch on the map off 1-80, set among rolling farmland. If you lived here, and you wanted something that could not be obtained at the local general store, hardware store, or pair of diners, there were a few larger towns within thirty or so miles where you could find a Wal-Mart, a Lowe's, or a Bed, Bath amp; Beyond. Dinner on Saturday night or special occasions was at Max and Erma's or Outback.
The police department of Garrett Corners was three officers strong. In addition to the standard duties involving processing civil matters such as court orders, writs and orders of possession, there were mortgage foreclosures and township auctions. Rarely did they deal with homicide.
The town itself was an intersection, twenty buildings deep in four directions. The municipal building was a featureless block of limestone, housing the police department, courthouse and public agencies. It was every small- town city hall east of the Rockies. Jessica and Byrne were instructed to meet the chief of police, a man named Rogers Logan.
The woman at the desk was in her fifties and had a lacquered, highly complex hairdo, cantilevered to one side. She also had about her an air of small-town bureaucratic efficiency that told Jessica there was no doubt who ran the office, if not the lives, of the three police officers stationed there. Her name was Helen Mott. There was a plate of Halloween-themed cookies on her desk.
Jessica and Byrne announced themselves, showed ID, and took a seat on the worn oak bench across the room. Jessica scanned the walls.
Affixed to them with yellowed tape were mostly outdated posters for D.A.R. E and other community drug and outreach programs. After a few minutes the door to the back opened, and a man walked out.
Rogers Logan was a fit sixty: military flat-top, big hands and farmer's shoulders. He walked with a purposeful gait. Behind him was a young woman in full uniform and Sam Browne.
'I'm Chief Logan,' he said. 'This is Officer Sherri Grace.'
Handshakes all around.
Officer Grace was in her late twenties, stout and surly. She was maybe fifteen pounds over her prom weight, and Jessica knew why. Cop hours and cop food would do it to you if you didn't fight it hard. Jessica waged the battle
