One Last Scream

She started for the exit, and he called to her, his voice rising above the noise inside the cafe. “I’ll just have to chase down your client and talk to her,” he said ominously.

Karen headed out the door, and pretended not to hear him.

“You have-no-messages,” said the prerecorded voice on her answering machine.

“Damn,” Karen muttered, hanging up the cordless phone in the study.

Amelia still hadn’t called her back. Karen felt so torn. She’d just returned from the coffeehouse, where she’d argued Amelia’s innocence to that cocky cop. Yet, while walking home in the light drizzle, she’d repeatedly looked over her shoulder for that broken-down black Cadillac.

How could Amelia be so innocent, and at the same time be a potential threat to her? Could she really have multiple personality disorder?

This other Amelia had never emerged during any of their sessions. Sandpoint View was the only place Karen had seen her. Why there of all places?

Biting her lip, Karen picked up the cordless phone again and dialed the rest home. One of the night nurses answered: “Good evening, Sandpoint View Convalescent Home.”

Karen recognized her voice. “Hi, this is Karen Carlisle. Is this Rita?”

“Sure is. What’s going on, Karen? I heard someone was stalking you this afternoon down in the laundry room or something. What’s up with that?”

“Beats the hell out of me, Rita. But it’s got me a little nervous about my dad. Would you mind checking on him for me?”

“Don’t have to. I just saw him five minutes ago in the lounge, watching TV with a bunch of them. Frank’s just fine.”

“Could you check on something else for me, Rita? Could you take a look out at the parking lot and tell me if you see a…an old black Cadillac with a broken antenna?”

“Sure, no sweat. I’ll just go look out the side door. Hold on a minute.”

With the cordless phone to her ear, Karen wandered to the front hallway. She glanced up the stairs to the darkened second floor. She hadn’t been up there since leaving the house early this afternoon. She kept staring up at the second floor hallway. Suddenly a shadow swept across the wall.

She gasped and started backing away from the stairs. Then she saw the shadow race across the wall again and realized it was just a car passing outside, the headlights shining through the upstairs windows. She let out a sigh. “You idiot, Karen,” she muttered to herself.

“Karen, are you still there?” Rita asked, getting back on the line.

“Yes, Rita?”

“I didn’t see a Cadillac in the lot, or parked on the street, either. Does this have anything to do with the whacko who was stalking you?”

“It might. Listen, how late are you working tonight?”

“Until midnight, lucky me.”

“Could you give my dad an extra check now and then for me, Rita?”

“Of course I will, Karen. Don’t you worry about Frank. I’ll make sure he’s okay. You look after yourself, girl. Do you have pepper spray? I don’t leave home without mine. If you don’t have pepper spray or mace, you should keep a knitting needle in your purse.”

“Well, I’ve had a minicanister of mace in the bottom of my purse for years, but I’ve never had a reason to use it.”

“Better make sure it still works. Test it, girl.”

“I will. Thanks, Rita. Thanks a million. And if you happen to notice a black Cadillac in the parking lot, would you call me?”

“No sweat. Your cell number’s right here at the nurse’s station.”

After she hung up, Karen was still worried about her father, so feeble and helpless. Visitors wandered in and out of that rest home all day. And there were plenty of temps on the nursing staff. Amelia could have easily passed as one of them.

If there was a photo of Amelia by the nurses’ station, the staff could keep a lookout for her, and Karen would feel a lot better. But she didn’t have a picture of Amelia. They’d done a pretty good job of keeping her photo out of the newspapers last week.

George McMillan certainly had a picture of his niece among the family snapshots. Karen needed to call him anyway. Even if he didn’t like her, she had a good reason to phone him right now. Maybe he had an idea where Amelia was.

Jessie had left the McMillans’ number by the phone in the kitchen. Karen went in there, and called him.

George picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Jessie.”

Karen balked. “Um, this isn’t Jessie. It’s Karen Carlisle.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Your name came up on the caller ID, but I just figured it was Jessie.”

“No, it’s-it’s me, Karen,” she said, feeling awkward. “I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner.”

“No, we just finished. It was spaghetti, the only thing I know how to cook that my kids like. What can I do for you, Karen?”

“I’m wondering if you know where Amelia is. I’ve been trying to get ahold of her.”

“She’s incommunicado right now,” George replied. “Shane phoned earlier today, all worried about her. He just called back an hour ago. Amelia’s roommate said she mentioned something this morning about needing to get away. It looks like she just took off someplace for the weekend. She used to pull this on her parents every once in a while, and it drove them crazy. I hope she’s not drinking again. She was doing so well this week, considering everything she’s been through.”

“Listen, would you mind if I came by tonight? I need to talk with you, and I don’t want to discuss this over the phone.”

“No problem, Karen,” he said. “When can I expect you?”

“I’m leaving the house right now.”

“I had a bellyful of Koehler myself,” George said. He stood at the kitchen sink, scrubbing a saucepan. Karen stood beside him with a dishtowel in her hand. Despite George’s protests, she’d insisted on helping him clean up. His daughter, Stephanie, was in bed, playing with her stuffed animals. Jody and a neighbor friend were watching TV downstairs.

“When he came by yesterday, I thought it was official police business,” George continued. “So I let him in, and talked to him for a while. But then Koehler started in about Amelia, saying she could have killed her parents and my wife. He even insinuated that Amelia and I could have been having an affair. He pointed out that, after all, she isn’t a blood relative, and niece or no niece, a hot-looking 19-year-old is hard to pass up. That’s when I threw him out on his ass.”

He handed Karen the saucepan. “Then I called Dennis,” he said. “Dennis Goodwin, he was that detective who was here last Saturday. We drove to Wenatchee together. He turned out to be a pretty nice guy. I could tell he liked me, or at least felt sorry for me. He told me Koehler’s on leave-”

“Paternity leave,” Karen interjected. “His wife just had a baby.”

“Mazel tov,” George grunted. “Anyway, apparently Koehler thinks he’ll make a big name for himself if he cracks this case wide open. He was talking to another cop about the potential for a book deal and movie rights. Anyway, he’s not afraid of treading on anyone’s toes on the force, because he’s very well connected with the powers that be. I guess I didn’t do myself any good by pissing him off, but I really don’t care.”

“Do you mean that?” Karen asked, studying him.

He let out a little laugh. “Well, actually I am a bit worried about what he might do. I’m thinking about Amelia, mostly.”

Karen nodded. “So am I. Remember what we talked about last week? It took a lot of persuading on my part to assure Amelia she didn’t kill her parents, and your wife. I’m not sure exactly how much I succeeded in convincing her. She’s probably still pretty confused. If Koehler goes to work on her, God knows what she’ll end up telling him.”

“Then he’ll go to the media, and make Amelia out to be a deranged killer.” George reached over and turned