The Bone House

dial for their home phone.

'Hey, I've been trying to reach you,' Mark said.

'Yeah. Sorry. I was picking up dinner at a restaurant, and then I was talking to Terri. I couldn't grab the phone.'

'No problem. I miss you here.'

'Me too.'

'Is everything OK? You sound strange.'

'No, I'm fine,' she murmured, but she wasn't fine, and she didn't want him thinking that she was. 'Actually, babes, it was a tough afternoon.'

'How so?'

Hilary steeled herself. Say it. That was how it was supposed to work between them. No secrets, it looks like Cab Bolton has a witness. Someone who saw you on the beach with Glory.'

'Son of a bitch,' Mark said. 'I was afraid of that.'

'There's more.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, the witness saw you and Glory kissing.'

Mark was silent. She could hear him breathing. Finally, he said, 'That's why you didn't come home. You believe it.'

'I don't know what to believe.'

'Do you need me to deny it? OK, I'll deny it. It didn't happen. I didn't touch her. But if you're not sure, I don't know if it's going to help for me to say so. How can I prove it to you?'

'You don't need to prove anything to me.'

'It sounds like I do.' His voice was cold and disappointed.

'I was wrong to doubt you. I was wrong not to come home. It just knocked me for a loop, coming out of the blue. I needed to get my head together.'

He was slow to reply. When he did, the angry edge was gone. 'Hil, I'm sorry. You've stuck by me in the past year, when most wives would have sent me packing. You've never wavered. I can't blame you for wondering if you've been a fool when you hear a story like that. All I can say is, whoever this witness is, he or she made a mistake. I did not kiss Glory. No way. I told you that she put her arms around my neck and scratched me, because she was drunk. Maybe that's what this person saw. He misinterpreted.'

'That's probably it.'

'It drives me crazy to have this coming between us, because I can never do anything but ask you to trust me.'

'I do.'

'You feel really far away,' he told her.

'I know. I'm sorry.' Hilary heard the beep on her phone that told her another call was coming in. 'Can you hang on? Someone else is calling. Don't hang up. I want to keep talking.'

'I'll be here.'

Hilary pushed the flash button on her phone and said, 'Hello?'

She heard a young voice she hadn't heard in years. 'Hilary? Thank God. It's Amy. Amy Leigh.'

Amy spoke in hushed tones into the phone in Gary's upstairs bathroom. What was she doing? Her voice slurred, and she was afraid that Hilary would think she was drunk and playing games with her. A few sips of wine, and she was drunk. She tried to concentrate on her words, but she found that her brain and her mouth kept missing each other.

'I was at the — that is, I was down on — in Florida. Last week.'

'Yes, I know, Amy, I was there too. You did great. Congratulations.'

Amy tried to think. Tried to figure out what to say. 'I know what's going on with you. I'm really apology. Sorry. I mean, sorry.'

'Amy, are you OK?'

'I don't know.'

'Have you been drinking?'

'I guess. That's — that must be it. My coach.' 'What?'

'My coach. My coach. Do you know him?'

'I've heard of him,' Hilary told her. 'What's his name? Johnson?'

'Jensen. Gary Jensen. Yes. Gary.'

'What about him?'

Amy heard his voice again. He was at the base of the stairs. His voice was suddenly low and suspicious. 'Amy?' he called again. 'Amy, are you up there? What are you doing?'

She heard him climbing the twisting steps. Getting closer to her.

'Florida,' she said into the phone.

'Amy, you're not making any sense,' Hilary told her.

Amy banged her knuckles against her head. The words wouldn't come. She felt as if she would throw up. Her tongue felt thick. 'Gary,' she murmured. And then: 'Glory.'

'What?' Hilary's voice was insistent. 'Amy, did you say Glory? Are you talking about Glory Fischer? What about her?'

Amy couldn't feel her fingers. The phone slipped from her hand and dropped to the tile floor. The plastic back popped off, and the battery skidded away. It was dead. She heard Gary knocking on the closed door. He was inches away from her.

'Amy?' he called.

She backed up. The knob turned; he was coming in. She grabbed the shower curtain, and the rings popped from the rod one by one, and she followed the curtain to the floor. The door opened. He stood there, watching her from the doorway. His face showed no emotion or surprise. He knew; he'd been waiting for this to happen. She had to run. Get up, get past him. Except there was nowhere to go.

Amy crawled two steps, and her knees gave way. She was unconscious as her face struck the floor.

PART THREE VENGEANCE IS MINE

Chapter Thirty

Mark Bradley made the ferry crossing through Death's Door and drove to their favorite open-air market between the towns of Ellison Bay and Sister Bay. It was one of the few farmers' markets that was open year round, baking hot pies daily and lining the shelves with produce canned in the kitchen at the rear of the store. He loved the smell of sugar and flowers and the samples of mustards and cheeses between the open wooden bins. He carried a paper bag through the aisles, filling it as he went. Some of the locals stared at him, but he shrugged it off. He didn't care what anyone thought of him.

He only cared what one person thought. Hilary.

The morning had felt like a turning point between them after a bad, bad night. He'd slept alone, feeling her absence. He hadn't blamed her for doubting him, but he'd worried that doubt was like a genie you couldn't put back in the bottle once it was free. Every day for the rest of their lives, he feared that she would look at him and a single