Hush

Lake’s mind began to reel. Flirting didn’t seem like much of a motive for murder. But what if Rory didn’t know the whole story? Maybe Keaton had been interested in Harry’s daughter. Maybe he’d even seduced her. He’d been so slick-it wasn’t hard to imagine. And then, in a rage, Harry had killed him. Perhaps this explained why Harry had tried so hard to tune into what Lake was feeling-he’d suspected she’d been with Keaton and knew something that could incriminate him. Maybe he was the one who’d shaved Smokey and put the catnip in her bag. But then who was the man who had forced her to jump in the river? Was the embryo stealing a whole separate issue?

Lake took a quick sip of tea to steady her nerves. “Have you told the police this?” she asked bluntly.

“The police? You don’t really think Harry killed Dr. Keaton, do you? Just because of what his daughter said?”

Lake didn’t answer. She was trying to get a grip on their situation. Harry had asked Rory what she was doing this weekend. He knew she was home alone. She’d have to convince Rory that staying at her apartment was the right thing to do-at least for a night or two.

A bolt of lightning lit up outside again, followed by an instant crack of thunder. The lights in the house flashed off and then on again.

“Oh God,” Rory said. “If the lights go out, I’ll die.”

“You’ve got flashlights, I hope,” Lake said. Her heart was beating fast now. She didn’t like being here. And she would like it a hell of a lot less, she realized, without any electricity.

“Somewhere,” Rory said. She jumped up and yanked a couple of kitchen drawers all the way open. “I don’t see them. Well, I know I have candles-probably in the living room.”

As Rory hurried into the other room, Lake pressed her fingertips to her lips, thinking. She doubted she’d have any more difficulty persuading Rory to leave. She took one last sip of tea and poured the rest in the sink, setting the cup there. As she turned, the yard outside seemed to explode in whiteness, as if it was being lit by a strobe. Thunder rolled over the house and the lights flashed off and on again. Lake could now hear that it was pouring hard outside.

Rory scurried back into the room, carrying a smudged cellophane-covered box with two white taper candles inside. It looked like it had been purchased in some other decade.

“This is it? You don’t have any more?”

“Yes. I mean, no, I don’t have any more.”

“All right-I’ve got a flashlight out in the car,” Lake said, digging her key out of her purse. “Have you got a slicker I can throw on?”

“Yes,” Rory said, following her to the door. “It’s in the hall.”

“I’ll only be a minute. As soon as I get back, we really need to pack up and leave.”

“Okay,” Rory said, squeezing her arms tightly around her bulging belly. “There’s no way I’m staying here now.”

There were just two coats on the hooks in the hallway-a lightweight woman’s jacket and a green slicker. Lake pulled the slicker over her head, and with her car key in hand made a dash from the door.

The rain seemed to be coming down in rivers. As she plunged across the muddy yard, trying to scan the surroundings with her eyes, she didn’t know what she was more afraid of-being attacked out there or hit by lightning. She unlocked the car with her key from fifteen feet away, yanked open the door, and quickly locked it again once she was safely inside. Her hands trembled as she hit the button on the glove compartment. She felt overwhelmed with a sense of foreboding.

The flashlight was where she remembered it to be-wedged behind the owner’s manual-but when she turned it on she saw that the battery was low and the light was a dull beam. Maybe Rory at least had batteries inside.

She pulled the slicker hood over her head again and jumped from the car. As she staggered through the mud, all the lights in the house went off again-and this time they stayed off. Damn, she thought.

“Rory,” she called out as she entered the darkened entranceway. “Have you got any C batteries?” She quickly locked the door behind her and kicked off her muddied clogs.

“Did you hear me?” she called out as she felt for the peg and hung the slicker. “I need batteries.”

There wasn’t any answer.

She trained the flashlight through the doorway to the living room and let it bounce around. It lit up only the first several feet of the room, and beyond that was only darkness.

“Rory,” Lake called again. “Where are you?” Maybe she can’t hear me from the kitchen, Lake thought. And yet something didn’t seem right.

She edged her way through the living room, her anxiety mounting. Finally she reached the kitchen. She ran the flashlight in an arc around the room. There was no one there.

From what she’d been able to see earlier, there were only two main rooms on the ground floor-the living room and the kitchen. But a doorway at the far end of the kitchen seemed to open onto some kind of mudroom. Lake walked toward it and pointed the flashlight into the space. It was actually more of a pantry than a mudroom, with shelves of canned and packaged foods-and a door to the outside. Had Rory fled the house in a panic? she wondered.

I’ve got to get out of here, she thought desperately. But first she had to find Rory. She turned and inched back into the kitchen. The light from the flashlight seemed even fainter now, and she knew it might be only seconds before it went out all together. She flicked the light toward the table. She could just make out the package of candles. It had been ripped open and one of the candles was missing.

Squeezing the flashlight in her armpit, Lake pulled out the other candle and then turned and squinted at the stove. To her relief she saw that it had gas burners. She fired up a burner and thrust the candle into the flame, lighting it. Suddenly there was a sound behind her. She spun around. Rory was standing there, a burning candle in one hand and a box of matches in the other.

“God, Rory, where were you?” Lake blurted out.

“I’m sorry. I went upstairs,” Rory said. “I thought I heard a noise up there.”

“What kind of noise?”

“It was this sort of knocking sound. It really scared me. It turned out to be just the drapes in the bedroom-they were flapping against the wall.”

“What do you mean?” Lake asked anxiously.

“The window was open a little. The wind was blowing them.”

“But I thought you said you’d locked all the windows,” Lake said. She could barely hide her irritation.

“I know-I thought I had. But I must not have noticed that one because the drapes were closed.”

“And you’re certain you’re the one who left it open?”

“Yes. But it’s closed now and locked.”

“Fine, okay, you’ve got to pack now. What do you need besides clothes and toiletries?”

“I take heparin for my pregnancy. I have to get that.”

Suddenly Lake felt overwhelmed by a wave of fatigue. She took a deep breath, trying to summon her strength. “It’s going to be tough for you to pack with a candle. Do you have any C batteries?”

“I’m not sure. But I remembered where my husband keeps the flashlights-in the basement.” As Rory spoke she cocked her head toward a wooden door across the kitchen that obviously led downstairs. “He’s got a workbench down there with flashlights in the drawer.”

“Good,” Lake said. “Take a seat at the table. I’ll get the flashlights and then I’ll help you pack your stuff. We can be out of here in ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Rory replied, but she stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen, staring at Lake.

“What’s the matter?” Lake said.

“Are you all right?” Rory asked. “You look funny all of a sudden.” Rory’s face was drawn with concern, her pale skin like a mask in the flickering glow of the candle flame.

“I’m-I’m just tired. And I just want to get out of here.”

“Me, too,” Rory said.

Lake crossed the kitchen. After opening the basement door, she instinctively felt for the light switch and flipped it up. Dumb, she thought. She stared below. With the light from the candle, the basement looked like an empty black pit that went on forever. At least there was a railing to grasp. With one hand sliding along it, Lake made her way tentatively down the wooden stairs.