door leading into the house. “Let’s look around for a minute, see if we can trace his steps.”
Sally closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall for a moment. She gave out a long, slow breath. “At least there’s nothing here that would tell him where she is. I was really careful about that.” Opening her eyes, she continued, “And Nameless, just fighting him, you know, the way he did, that was probably more than enough to chase the son of a bitch out of here.”
Hope nodded, but inwardly she was less sure. “Let’s just look around.”
Another splatter of blood was in the hallway leading into the small library and television room.
Hope let her eyes sweep about, searching for telltale signs that O’Connell had been in here. When her eyes fell on the telephone, she gasped and took a step forward. “Sally,” she said quietly, “look there.”
Several crimson blood drops were on the telephone.
“But it’s just the phone…,” Sally started. Then she realized that the red message light was blinking. She pushed the playback button.
Ashley’s cheerful voice filled the room.
“Hi, Mom, and, hi, Hope. I miss you. But I’m having a great time with Catherine. We’re heading out to dinner, and I was just wondering if I could sneak down there in the next couple of days. Catherine will let me borrow her car, you know, maybe pick up some warmer clothes? Vermont is beautiful during the daytime, but at night, it’s getting chilly, and I’m going to need a parka and maybe some boots. Anyway, that’s the idea. I’ll talk to you later. Love ya.”
“Oh my God,” Sally blurted. “Oh no.”
“He knows,” Hope said. “He knows. For sure.”
Sally rocked back and spun around, her face stricken, her heart frozen in fear.
“That’s not all,” Hope said softly. Sally followed her eyes to a bookcase. The second shelf was filled with family pictures-of Hope and Sally, of Nameless, and of all of them with Ashley. There was also an elegant shot of Ashley, caught in profile, hiking in the Green Mountains, just as the sun was setting, the luckiest of pictures. It was a favorite of theirs because it captured her right at that wondrous transition from child to adult, from braces and bony knees to grace and beauty.
The picture usually occupied the center of the shelf.
It was no longer there.
Sally choked and grabbed at the phone. She dialed Catherine’s number, then stood helplessly as it rang over and over, without answer.
Scott had chosen that night to drive over to one of the other nearby colleges and attend a speech by a constitutional rights scholar from Harvard Law School, who was giving a presentation as part of a lecture series. The topic had been the history and evolution of the rights to due process. The speech had been genuinely lively. He was energized, and when he stopped on his way home to pick up some chicken lo mein and beef and snow peas at a Chinese restaurant, Scott was looking forward to the remainder of the evening, alone with student papers.
He reminded himself to call Ashley at some point that evening, just to check in, see how she was, see if she needed some cash. He was a little uncomfortable that Catherine was footing the bill for Ashley’s stay. He thought he should find some equitable financial understanding, especially because he was a little unsure how long Ashley would have to be there. Not much longer, surely. But still, she was probably something of a burden. He didn’t really know whether Catherine was wealthy. They had only met once or twice, on blessedly brief, overly polite occasions. He did know that she was fond of Ashley, which made her basically okay in his book.
The lo mein had started to drip through the paper bag when he came through the door and heard the telephone ring. He dumped it on the kitchen counter and grabbed the phone.
“Yeah, hello?” he said abruptly.
“Scott, it’s Sally. He was here, he killed Nameless, and now he knows where Ashley is and I can’t reach them on the phone.”
Her voice burst over the line, the words rushing toward him.
“Sally, calm down,” he said. “One thing at a time.”
He could hear his own tones. Calm. Reasonable.
Inside, he could feel his heart, his breathing, his head, all spinning and accelerating, as if he were dropping suddenly through a sullen, windswept sky.
Ashley and Catherine walked slowly through Brattleboro back to Catherine’s car, coffees in hand, observing a row of artisans’ studios, hardware stores, outdoor-gear outlets, and bookstores. It reminded Ashley of the college town where she had grown up, a place defined by the seasons and their modest pace. It was hard to feel uncomfortable or even threatened in a town that bent over backward to accommodate differing points of view.
It was a twenty-minute drive from the town out into the countryside where Catherine’s house was nestled between hills and fields, isolated from the neighbors. Catherine made Ashley drive, complaining that her eyesight wasn’t nearly as sharp at night as it once was, although Ashley figured that she just wanted to enjoy her latte in peace. Ashley was happy to hear the older woman go on this way; there was something fierce about Catherine. She wasn’t willing to allow any of the aches and pains of aging limit anything she did, as long as she got to rail against the process.
As they drove, Catherine gestured toward the road ahead. “Don’t nail some deer. Bad for the deer. Bad for the car. Bad for us.”
Ashley dutifully slowed the car and took a glance in the rearview mirror. She could see a set of headlights coming up fast behind them. “Someone seems to be in a hurry.”
She tapped her brakes once, just to make sure that the car behind them saw their lights.
“Jesus Christ!” she burst out.
The car behind them had roared up to their rear bumper, closing the distance with a screech, tailgating them, only inches back.
“What the hell?” Ashley shouted. “Hey, get back!”
“Stay calm,” Catherine said coldly. But she had dug her fingernails into the seat.
“Stop it!” Ashley shouted as the car behind them suddenly flicked on its high beams, filling up the interior with light. “God damn it, what are you doing?”
She could not see who was in the car, nor could she make out the make and model. She seized hold of her steering wheel as they maneuvered down the isolated country road.
“Let him pass,” Catherine said, keeping as much alarm out of her voice as she could. She pivoted in her seat, trying to look out the back, but she was blinded by the headlights and restricted by her seat belt. “Just pull to the side, first place you see. The road gets a little wider up ahead.” She was trying to remain calm at the same moment that her head was calculating rapidly. Catherine knew the roads in her community well; she was trying to think ahead, trying to envision how much space they might have.
Ashley tried to speed up, just to gain some separation, but the road was too narrow and twisted. The car behind them accelerated, keeping pace. She started to slow down.
“What the hell does he want?” she shouted again.
“Don’t stop,” Catherine said. “Whatever you do, don’t stop. Son of a bitch!”
“What if he hits us?” Ashley asked, to prevent herself from screaming.
“Just slow down enough so he goes by us. If he hits us, hang on. The road forks right, a mile ahead, and we can take that turn and head back towards town. It’ll take us towards the fire station, and maybe the cops, too.”
Ashley grunted in agreement.
Catherine did not tell Ashley that nearby Brattleboro might have twenty-four-hour police, ambulance, and fire service, but her little town relied on the state police after 10 p.m. or volunteers, who had to be summoned by radio. She wanted to check her watch, but was scared to release her grip on the handholds.
