My fingers curled around its plastic barrel. I pulled myself up and moved uncertainly toward the front of the greenhouse, like an old woman feeling her way along the pews of a church. The open area by the entrance would allow me to take aim at the glass from a safe distance.
I stopped where the benches ended, about six feet from the front wall, and hurled the flashlight toward a pane. But my body had become as sloppy as my mind from the poisonous gas. The flashlight glanced off the metal frame without making a crack in the glass.
Unable to walk without support, I got down on my knees and crawled to the flashlight. I knew I’d get cut, smashing the glass at close range; the best I could do was turn my face away. Kneeling close to the window, holding the flashlight like a hammer, I banged against the glass relentlessly.
Shards fell like a shower of prickly leaves, stinging my arms. I knocked the two-foot square out cleanly, then dropped the flashlight on the grass. Standing up, thrusting my head through the opening, I gulped my first breath of fresh air and felt the cold breeze on my sweaty skin. Then I blacked out.
“Lauren? Lauren?”
I opened my eyes and quickly shut them again, drawing back from the bright light shining in my face. It clicked off.
“Lauren, can you hear me?” Nick asked.
A long dog tongue licked my face. Reaching up, I put my arms around Rocky and sat up slowly. I felt sick and scared.
I wished Nick would hold me and be as gentle as he was with Nora, but I wouldn’t ask for his comfort. I buried my face in the dog’s fur.
“Your arms are cut,” Nick said. “I want to check them.”
Without looking at him, I held out one, then the other, and felt him probing the skin.
“Nothing deep,” he told me, “mostly scratches. Still, you should soak in a tub to make sure all the glass is out,” he added, his voice sounding almost clinical. “What happened? Why did you break the window?”
“Someone was trying to kill me.”
“What?”
I petted Rocky until I felt in control. “I was out walking,” I said, “and saw a light on in the greenhouse, the flashlight you’re holding. I went inside. It was hot and stuffy. I couldn’t ventilate the place. The fuses were pulled, the fan sealed, the vent crank broken. Space heaters had been left on.
When I tried to leave, I found the door locked, locked from the outside.”
I gazed up at Nick’s face, waiting to see the flicker of realization. Behind him, the house lights came on. Nick glanced over his shoulder, then back at me.
“Don’t you understand?” I said, but I could see by his face that he didn’t. He wouldn’t allow himself to believe that someone in Wisteria was a murderer.
“Understand what?”
“Nick, someone tried to kill me — to poison me with carbon monoxide!”
Another light went on downstairs, and three figures came out on the porch.
“What’s going on?” Holly shouted to us. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” Nick called back to her.
Fine, I thought wryly. Aloud I asked, “Why are you here, Nick? Did they call you?”
“Someone did,” he said.
“Nick, is Lauren out there?” Holly asked. “She’s not in her room.”
“She’s here, she’s fine,” Nick replied. In a quieter voice he said to me, “After I got home someone telephoned my house three times and hung up. The Caller ID listed Jule’s number. I thought Nora might be upset and trying to reach me.”
“She was upset,” I told him, “and sleeping in Aunt Jule’s room tonight — at least, she was supposed to be.” I saw Holly hurrying toward us, followed by Aunt Jule and Nora.
“So why did you come to the greenhouse?”
He hesitated. “It made sense to check here first. Nora spends a lot of time here.”
I gazed at him doubtfully.
“And I saw the flashlight on,” Nick added.
“When I used it to break the window, it was off.”
“I don’t think so,” he replied.
“I know so.”
Nick glanced away. “You’re too groggy to remember anything clearly.”
Holly stopped a few feet away, noticing the broken pane in the greenhouse wall and the pile of glass shimmering in the grass. Her jaw dropped. Nick stood up quickly and went to her, but I was still too dizzy to move.
Aunt Jule caught up. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “Lauren, are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Nick?” Aunt Jule said, turning to him. “What happened?”
He repeated his story about the phone calls, then recounted what I had told him. Aunt Jule and Holly glanced back at Nora, who was peering at me from behind them.
“Lauren seems to be all right,” Nick concluded. “I saw the glass shattering, then her head come through. I lifted her all the way out. She wasn’t unconscious for long. And the cuts are superficial.”
Aunt Jule leaned down and reached for my hands, stretching out my arms to study them. “I don’t understand.
What was the point of all this?” she asked.
“To kill me,” I answered bluntly. “To poison me with carbon monoxide.”
She let go and took a step back. Holly looked incredulous, but then her face grew thoughtful. If there was anyone I could make understand, it was she.
“I don’t believe it,” Aunt Jule said. “This is the nonsense Frank planted in your head after your accident. Who would want to kill you?”
“I don’t remember,” Nora said softly.
“The same person who killed my mother,” I answered Aunt Jule.
“Don’t tell,” said Nora.
Aunt Jule ignored her. “No one killed Sondra, Lauren. It was an accident.”
“I used to think so.” Holding on to Rocky, I rose to my feet
“So why are you all here? Who got you out of bed?”
Aunt Jule glanced at Holly.
“Nora woke us,” Holly admitted. “She said something was happening outside.”
“How did Nora know that?”
“She always has difficulty sleeping,” Aunt Jule replied defensively.
“Yes, she had difficulty the night my mother died,” I said. “I went to see Dr. Parker tonight.”
Holly looked surprised. “Is that where you went? Oh, Lauren, you should have told me. I didn’t realize you were that upset.”
“We talked about the knots,” I continued.
Holly glanced at Nick, and he put his arm around her.
Aunt Jule and Nora listened, both of their faces pale.
“Dr. Parker said the knot-tying could be poltergeist activity.”
“What?” Holly exclaimed.
“He said that most of the time the phenomenon is caused by an adolescent, someone who is very upset. It’s a way of dealing with intense, suppressed emotions. Often it’s not even conscious. The person doesn’t know he or she is responsible.”
Holly frowned and shook her head slightly.
“My mother’s things were tied in knots just before she died. Tonight, my things were.”
