Exposure

tomorrow.”

What was she supposed to do tonight? How was she supposed to sleep tonight?

“I met with a funeral home,” her mouth said. “You wanted that information so they’d know where to take Martin?” Her mind flashed a picture of his bloodied face. Could they clean him up for an open casket? He had two holes in his head.

“Yeah, I’ll take that information right now if you like.”

Lorraine pushed off the bed and reached into her purse for the card from the funeral home. She read the address and phone to the detective. “I’ll probably go back home just long enough to pick up some things. If I can find someone to watch Tammy.”

And then what, Lorraine? What about tomorrow, and the next day, and the next? Where would she and Tammy live? How could they feel safe anywhere in Atlantic City?

She should whisk her daughter away. Move anywhere — to a town in another state. Start a new life.

But she had no money to do that.

“All right,” the detective replied. “You’ve got my number if you need it. And I’ll be checking in with you as needed.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Lorraine hung up the phone and put her head in her hands.

Minutes later she called the preschool. She kept her back to Tammy, speaking in low tones. The director had heard the news of Martin’s murder and told Lorraine again and again how sorry she was. And how was Tammy? Lorraine’s automatic responses slipped out as if some other person spoke them. How odd her mind felt, as though fog wrapped itself around every thought. She needed to think clearly. But clarity seemed so far away.

One of the preschool teachers, a young woman about eighteen, said she could watch Tammy for the evening at her parents’ home. Lorraine could bring Tammy in half an hour. “And don’t worry about dinner — I’ll feed her,” Michelle said.

Lorraine’s shoulders sagged in relief. That would make Tammy happy. Michelle was one of her favorite teachers. “Thanks so much.”

Tammy giggled at the TV. Lorraine glanced over her shoulder to see Oscar the Grouch popping into his trashcan. She turned back, putting a hand over her mouth to further muffle her voice. “And Michelle? She doesn’t know yet. I just . . . haven’t figured out how to tell her.”

“Okay.” Michelle’s voice weighted with sadness. “I understand.”

Lorraine put off the call to Mr. Houger. She’d do that from the apartment, when Tammy wasn’t around.

Tammy was ecstatic to visit Michelle at her house. “What color’s her bedroom, Mommy?” The little girl’s eyes shone as Lorraine buckled her into the car.

“I don’t know. You make sure to tell me.”

Handing her over to Michelle, Lorraine promised it would only be a couple of hours before she returned.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be having fun.” Michelle smiled down at Tammy and squeezed her hand. “Right?”

Tammy grinned. “Uh-huh.”

Grief cut through Lorraine. She didn’t want Tammy to lose that happiness. She didn’t want Tammy to know her daddy wasn’t coming back.

At five forty-five Lorraine drove alone to her apartment, nervous and trembling. Even though the news reported she was staying away for the night, she couldn’t feel safe. She went around the block twice, down Huff Street, around and up Starling, craning her neck at the north and south entrances to check out the lot. She saw no one.

Lorraine pulled into her regular parking space around the corner from the front door and stared at Martin’s Pontiac. It looked so normal. As if he might come out any minute and drive off.

She wrenched her gaze away.

The yellow crime-scene tape was gone, and the police and technicians. All the storage units across the concrete seemed so eerily quiet. She could almost tell herself none of this had happened. It was morning on a healthy day for Tammy. Lorraine had just taken her to preschool and was returning. Martin was working at the bank.

As she got out of the van, Lorraine slid her gaze toward rental unit number seven.

She hid her purse underneath the front seat and locked the van. Slipping its key into her jean pocket, she walked around the corner to her front door. As she stood at the threshold to her apartment, she felt that storage unit behind her. Its contents throbbed under the late afternoon sun.

Lorraine inserted her key into the lock of her home. Her jaw flexed. For a moment she stood, one palm on the doorpost, her forehead resting against the wood. She imagined Martin inside, sitting on the frayed couch, watching television. “Hi, honey. Where’ve you been?”

What kind of life would she give her daughter? All she could see was darkness and fear.

Lorraine had never been much of a praying person, but she prayed now — for the strength to go on and to raise her daughter. When her eyes reopened, one final thought hovered, even though it may not be one God approved of. Vengeance. Martin’s killer needed to pay.

She turned around and stared at unit seven.

A minute later, gathering what courage she could find, Lorraine stepped inside the apartment.

THIRTY-SIX

At four-thirty Kaycee, shaky with hunger, was headed for Tastebuds inside the drugstore. She’d ridden down to East Main in the back of Mark’s car, the chief in the passenger seat. By the time she was done eating, a tech should be ready to dust her house for fingerprints.

Flyers of Hannah now plastered the Main Street storefronts. The sight of one in the drugstore window brought Kaycee to a standstill. She hung there, staring at the poster.

“She must have been picked up in a car at this spot,” Seth had told Chief Davis as his hound paced aimlessly on Walters Lane. “Her scent just vanishes.”

Kaycee opened the door and stepped inside the drugstore.

The familiar smell of pizza wafted as she crossed the black-and-white checked floor toward Tastebuds. Behind the red counter Liz, the owner, was sliding a pizza onto a white plate. Two customers — looked like college students — sat on a couple of the eight red-topped stools. Three of the four booths, with their old-fashioned pull- down red seats, were occupied.

A child had been abducted — and life went on.

Kaycee sank onto the stool nearest the end and propped her feet on the footrest.

“Oh, Kaycee.” Liz hustled over and peered at her. The countless times Kaycee and Hannah had sat at this very counter were reflected in Liz’s worried expression. “How are you?”

Kaycee smiled wanly. “I’ve had better days.”

“We all have.” Liz sighed. “What you need’s a soda.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned to whip up Kaycee’s favorite feel-good concoction, flavor — vanilla. Woodenly, Kaycee watched as Liz scooped real ice cream into a large glass, added vanilla syrup and finished it off with the fizzy liquid that made it a true old-fashioned. She placed it in front of Kaycee with a straw and long-handled spoon. Kaycee bent her head and took a long sip. She closed her eyes. Comfort.

Liz pressed a hand over hers. “I heard what happened with the track dog. We’re praying, you know that. The whole town’s praying.”

“Thanks.”

She squeezed Kaycee’s fingers, then drew away. “Which one today?”

No need to check the menu. Kaycee knew each Tastebuds pizza by heart. Hannah had always been enthralled at the fact that she could recite every ingredient. Besides the typical pepperoni and sausage, Liz had