'You've wet your pants.' A hint of amusement, a hint of disgust. He pictured the ghastly smile he'd seen for just an instant before he'd been knocked unconscious what seemed an eternity ago. 'Not attractive. You wouldn't set any female hearts aflutter now. Natalie St. John wouldn't wipe her feet on you.' Pause. 'You do want her, don't you?'
A needle jabbed into his arm. Something stung its way into his body, something that robbed him first of muscle control, then of consciousness.
His eyes were closing as a soft, insidious voice said in his ear, 'I guarantee, Jeff, that Natalie St. John will never forget you.'
Natalie awakened with a sense of dread. Something is wrong, her mind seemed to say before she'd fought her way completely through the last level of sleep. What was making her want to squeeze shut her eyes, hold Blaine tightly, and pull the covers over both of them for the rest of the day?
Viveca had called back at four to say Alison had survived surgery and was now floating in and out of consciousness, mumbling 'magic midnight, golden dreams.'
'Her father used to say 'magic midnight,' ' Viveca explained. 'And Eugene Farley once told her to have 'golden dreams.' Sad memories, but I think it's encouraging that she does remember the phrases, don't you?'
Natalie agreed heartily that it was very encouraging. She put her father on the phone to discuss Alison's condition in more detail. This time the killer had been unsuccessful. But what about the next time? And who was next? So far Ted Hysell was right-all the victims had been children of people involved in the Eugene Farley tragedy. Tamara, Warren, Charlotte, and now Alison. That left her and Lily.
Andrew had been outraged that Natalie hadn't told him immediately about Alison. He didn't know until Viveca called with the news that Alison would survive. He wanted to go to the hospital immediately and urged Natalie to come with him so she wouldn't be alone. 'Dad, I'm too exhausted to move,' she'd protested. 'You go. It'll be daylight in a couple of hours and I'll be fine.'
So off he'd gone and she'd lain in bed until dawn broke, then fallen into a deep if brief sleep. Now the clock told her it was eight. At nine o'clock the locksmith would be here. Time to rise no matter how much her tired body protested.
The coffee smelled especially delicious as it dripped with maddening slowness into the pot. Natalie poured a mug before the pot finished filling, took a bagel from the toaster, spread it with cream cheese, and sat down at the kitchen table. Yesterday had been gray and dismal. Today a periwinkle-blue sky lay above the calm waters of the lake and a pale yellow sum warmed the tender green grass of early summer. Once again Harvey Coombs sat out in his rowboat, ancient hat jammed on his head as he fished for famous Lake Erie perch. The scene looked like a calm, lovely painting. Murder had no place here.
But it was here.
'I will not think about it this morning,' Natalie said to Blaine as the dog finished her breakfast and Natalie went to the front door. The newspaper lay on the lawn. She sighed. The paperboy was a star pitcher on the high school baseball team, but he could not seem to get the rolled newspaper anywhere near the front porch. Ever. Natalie clutched her robe around her and padded down the front walk on bare feet. A white car was parked across the street. A man sat behind the wheel. He paid no attention to her, but embarrassed in just her robe, she turned and quickly ran inside.
She sat down at the table with a second cup of coffee and unrolled the paper. Headlines screamed the news of Alison's attack. The story was scanty-reporters had had barely enough time to gather a few details before the paper was put to bed at ten o'clock. By now they were besieging Viveca at the hospital. Natalie could imagine her distress as reporters dug for details of Alison's background and mental history, and she was oddly relieved that her father was there to help Viveca, since Oliver seemed to have stepped out of the picture.
She glanced up at the kitchen clock. 8:45. The locksmith was due at nine. Natalie hurried through a shower and pulled on jeans and a tank top. Her hair hung long and wet as she rushed to answer the doorbell. A middle- aged man with graying curly red hair and a gold front tooth faced her. 'Gary of Gary's Locksmiths!' he announced, grinning ferociously. A locksmith on speed, Natalie thought. Or maybe he just loved his job. Or perhaps he was showing off his gleaming tooth. Whatever the case, Andrew had described Gary to her, so she didn't worry that he was the killer posing as a locksmith. 'Come right in,' she said. 'We need a new lock on the front door, the back door on the garage, and the sliding glass doors leading to the patio.'
'Yep. Doc already told me. I'm gonna put a bolt on the sliding glass doors. Slickest thing you've ever seen.' Gary grinned again, looking expectantly for an ecstatic reaction to his amazing sliding glass door bolt. 'I'm rarin' to go!'
Good Lord, Natalie thought. She motioned him in, glancing at the man in the white car. He sat perfectly still, looking straight ahead with his head tilted slightly to the left. Maybe he was waiting for the young couple who had recently moved into the gray house across the street. But he'd been waiting for twenty minutes.
And he hadn't moved a fraction.
Natalie stepped past Gary onto the front walk. She gazed at the man, transfixed as an icy feeling settled in her stomach, radiating shuddery cold. Suddenly she felt as if she could stand under a white-hot desert sun for hours and still not feel warm.
Slowly she walked toward the car. From what seemed a great distance she heard Gary yapping about replacement pins and tumbler cylinders. Natalie ignored him. If he'd started shouting at her she still wouldn't have turned around. Something waited for her in that car. Something as irresistible as it was awful.
Natalie halted at the car and stared in the window. No movement. The unnatural angle of the head. The white shirt with a blood-soaked collar.
Unable to stop herself, she clasped the door handle. Pausing, she drew a deep breath, then opened the door.
The body of Jeff Lindstrom tumbled from the car, landing at her feet, his glassy brown eyes staring up at the beautiful blue sky.
18
'Good God Almighty! What the hell! Is he drunk?' Gary blustered from the doorway. Harvey Coombs' wife Mary had materialized in the street. She took one look at the gaping neck wound, gagged, and ran for home. Natalie kneeled and lifted a wrist searching for a pulse. The arm was beginning to stiffen. Given the temperature, she would say Jeff had died about three or four hours ago. She glanced in the car at the congealing blood covering the cloth upholstery seat. So much blood. His throat had been slashed in the car where he'd been left to bleed to death.
All of this ran through Natalie's mind as she pressed lightly on his lids, closing his eyes. She knew she shouldn't touch the body, but she could not leave those sightless eyes open, vulnerable like Tam's had been.
She looked up. Gary still stood gaping at the front door. 'Call the police,' she yelled. He didn't move. ' Gary, call the police! Ask for Sheriff Meredith or Ted Hysell. Tell them to get here immediately.' Gary was frozen. ' Gary, now!'
Gary jerked as if jolted by electricity. The young couple from the nearby house appeared on their front walk, dressed in identical red-white-and-blue running suits. Both were tall and blond and looked like brother and sister. The young man walked toward Natalie. 'What's going on?' He circled around the front of the car, looked down at the bloody body and quailed, all color draining from his ruddy face. 'Did you do this?'
The absurdity of the question snapped Natalie out of her numbness. 'Do you think I'd cut this guy's throat, then leave him outside my house so I could stand over him, gazing at my handiwork?' she asked coldly.
The young man backed off, obviously considering more strongly the possibility that this loony woman had indeed killed the man. 'I was only trying to help.'
'I didn't hear any offer to help.' Tears suddenly filled Natalie's eyes and she began to tremble. 'Do you have a blanket we can throw over him?'
