Somewhat to Madison’s surprise, there is a clue in this. If the children had departed to live with their grandparens, Cheryl’s free ride would have been over. So Cheryl did capitalize on Dad’s death—keeping the kids so that she could keep her job. But that does not mean that Cheryl would kill to keep the job.
Smithy and Diana are trying to catch up with each other. “How long have you had this car?” Smithy asks.
“Dad picked it out for me when school started,” says Diana. “I was so surprised. I wasn’t sure they’d let me drive at all, never mind give me my own car.”
Mr. Murray. Reed Fountain’s friend. Close friend. “Diana,” says Madison slowly. “Your dad and our dad were tennis partners. They played golf. They barbecued. Do you think your dad might know something about why Cheryl did”—she speaks carefully in front of Tris—“what we think she did?”
* * *
That’s ridiculous. How could her father possibly know anything about Cheryl Rand? Diana does not want to bother him. He’s still at work. He’s like Mr. Fountain—long hours, extra days, big distances. Luckily she can get out of this easily. She nods toward Tris. They are all talking in circles so he won’t follow the conversation.
Smithy interferes. “Tris, want to go down on the sand with me and find the best seashell to bring home?”
“No.”
Jack tries. “Would you find me a seashell, though? I need one.”
“And me,” says Madison. “I need a seashell.”
Tris looks at Diana, as if she’s babysitting and has the last say. This does not go over well with Madison or Smithy. Diana sighs. “Seashells are good,” she tells Tris. “I bet Smithy is a good shell hunter.”
“I’m a good shell hunter,” says Tris immediately.
“Better hurry,” says Jack, and once again, Tris vaults out. On her own, Diana wouldn’t let him. It’s getting dark. The sand will be very cold. The waves will be high and frothy. But Smithy is his sister. It’s time for her to be the babysitter and keep him safe.
“Here,” says Jack. “Look.”
Diana lines up the photographs. She stares them up. Rearranges them. Whispers captions. Then she looks at Jack. “How can you sit here in some stupid parking lot? You should be at the police station!”
“No. We don’t want Tris back in the news. We don’t want the police, Diana.”
They cannot possibly leave the police out of this.
But Jack is a puppy, begging. Diana melts. She adores him, of course, all the girls do. She has the advantage, living so close and babysitting so often. Sadly, in Jack’s eyes, she’s just a replacement sister. But a girl has to work with what she has. Diana calls her father’s cell phone.
“Hey, sugar,” his voice booms. “Home from school? How was your day?”
“Hi, Daddy. It was good. Do you have a minute?”
“I have five,” he says, and knowing her father, he means this precisely. “What’s up?”
“Jack and I were talking and I was sort of wondering. Daddy, did Jack’s father ever talk to you about Cheryl Rand? Was she, like, a problem of some kind? To Mr. Fountain in particular?”
“What was your conversation with Jack that you’re asking about this?”
“Smithy’s back. So everything’s on the table again.”
“Smithy’s back? That’s terrific! How’s Jack taking it? He’s been a trooper and she’s been a shit. It won’t be easy to be buddies again.”
Good thing Smithy is not in the car to hear this. “But I was wondering. Did anything happen the last month or so before Mr. Fountain died? Was he mad at Cheryl or anything?”
“Well, I don’t think he was mad, but he was uncomfortable. She began hinting that she wanted to marry him. He was looking around for a replacement nanny or housekeeper, but he hadn’t taken action yet.”
Marriage? Cheryl thought she could replace five-star Laura? It is in Diana’s nature to feel sorry for Cheryl, hoping to be a good wife when Mr. Fountain just wanted a good maid.
“Then came the accident,” her father continues. “Talk about good luck—Cheryl was still around. Who else was there to take care of the kids? Of course, the grandparents, they wanted the kids, but they wanted them to move to Missouri, and everybody thought it was better for the kids to stay in the same house.”
“Everybody thought so, Daddy? Who is everybody?”
“Oh, the psychiatrist and the doctor Cheryl took the kids to.”
Diana knows, because she and Smithy were close friends back then, that no psychiatrist and no doctor saw the Fountain kids until much later.
“The doctors felt those poor kids were so traumatized,” her father goes on, “that shipping everybody and their stuff across the country would be another death. I have to run, honey. We can talk more tonight.”
Diana’s phone call is over. She closes her cell phone like a clam shell, as if to hide the news in there.
Jack is shaking his head. “Dad? Marry Cheryl? If Cheryl proposed to me, I’d start laughing.”
“That could be it,” says Madison seriously. “Even I might run over a person who laughs at the idea of marrying me. Maybe they’re out there on the driveway, and Dad leans out of the Jeep and tells Cheryl he’d rather be dead than marry her, so she says fine. You’re dead.”
Jack actually grins. “No. If Cheryl proposed to him in the driveway, Dad would just roll his eyes and drive off. He wouldn’t take the time to discuss it.”
“I have to agree. Still, it gives us a reason why Cheryl could be mad enough to hurt Dad. Now we need a reason for Dad to get out of the Jeep.”
This is not Diana’s affair. She should stay on the sidelines. Speak only when asked. But Jack and Madison are so busy figuring out the logistics of their father’s death that they are forgetting their immediate situation.
Tris and Smithy appear over the sand dunes, heading back. Diana is embarrassed to find that she is relieved, as if she really thought Smithy would not be sufficiently careful. Then she talks fast. “When Cheryl knows what you have, when you show her those photographs, when she sees there is proof of what she did—you can never let Tris be alone with her again. You can’t be alone with her either. Think of every cop show you’ve ever seen. People who murder once find it easy to murder twice. And you can’t discuss this in the morning. In the morning she’ll be in control again, and you’ll just be kids under her roof. Starting tonight, it has to be your roof. You have to make it clear that she has no choice except to leave. And not only does she have to leave tonight, she has to leave without a scene. Because in the Fountain family history, scenes bring television crews.”
* * *
The sun is gone.
The day is done.
They have two cars, a bike and no car seat.
They have a plan, which has little chance of working, but it’s all they can come up with. If Cheryl is alone, maybe they can pull it off. But if Angus or the crew is there, they are crippled. “TV is like an occupying army,” says Madison. “We’ll never get them out.”
“A TV crew has to be paid,” argues Jack. “Since we never came home to be filmed and since there are probably breaking stories to cover, they’re long gone.” Jack is lying faceup on the backseat of Diana’s car, with Tris lying facedown on top of him. Tris has distributed his gifts of shells and pebbles and is sleepy again. He’s not quite out. Jack rubs his back. Please go to sleep.
“Even so, Angus might still be around. And Gwen,” says Madison.
“It’s four-thirty on Friday. I bet they want their weekend as much as anybody. I bet they’re gone.”
“I’ll call and ask,” says Diana. She dials the Fountain house phone. No one answers. Cheryl never lets a phone go unanswered. “It’s weird she’s not home.”
“Probably out shopping,” says Smithy.
“When all four of you are missing? When she doesn’t know where Tris is and she’s selling herself as the loving aunt?”
“Out for dinner, then,” says Madison. “Angu
s took her, I bet.”
Jack can’t see that happening. The television producer already owns Cheryl; he doesn’t need to buy her a thing. And it’s early even for early-bird specials. Angus Nicolson seems more like the type to eat dinner at nine o’clock than at four-thirty.
“Maybe they’re at the day care, filming,” offers Smithy.
“No,” says Jack. “We’ve got the star. They’re not going to waste time unless the star is there.” Tris’s breathing is deeper. He doesn’t know he’s the star.
“It doesn’t matter,” says Madison. “In fact, it solves one of our problems. We can get in the house without anybody knowing and we can get started.”
Smithy locks Jack’s bike to a picnic table. If there is anything normal in their lives in the morning, they will come back for it. Smithy rides with Madison.
Jack folds Tris into a damp little package on his chest. However minor it is—transporting a toddler without a car seat—it would be evidence Cheryl could give a judge; that Jack, Madison and Smithy cannot be trusted with Tris. Maybe they won’t be noticed, but the main job of a TV crew is to notice. Diana is driving very slowly, hoping to avoid police attention. In Jack’s opinion, she’s driving so slowly that she will attract police attention.
He doesn’t want this confrontation with Cheryl. He’s afraid of himself, not her. His anger is swelling and bloating. His hands don’t want to pat Tris; they want to strangle Cheryl.
He reminds himself that everything so far is a guess. They don’t know anything for sure and they’re never going to. Cheryl won’t admit anything. There’s a faint hope that Dad wrote something down on paper and it’s in the briefcase, or electronically and it’s on the laptop.
Doubtful. If Dad, for example, e-mailed Mr. Wade about how awkward Cheryl had become, Mr. Wade probably reacted like Mr. Murray and thought how lucky it was that when the accident happened, Cheryl was still around.
Going through that fat, stuffed leather satchel and checking every file in the laptop will be a lengthy task. There is certainly no time tonight. Jack has the passing thought that at least it’s Friday. What if he were juggling school tomorrow and homework?
* * *
Madison has no faith in the plan.
And even if the plan works—which it won’t—then what? Four kids on their own? Are they going to take on grocery shopping and laundry and banking and changing the oil in the car and measuring Tris’s feet for new shoes? Even if they try, the Murrays and the Emmers will figure it out before the weekend is over. No matter what Jack wants, some sort of authority will be brought in. No matter what these authorities decide—whether it’s charging Cheryl with murder or scolding the children for being dramatic liars and attention-seekers—the media will be there. Angus will be there. Gwen. The crew.
In fact, whether Cheryl gets away with murder or she doesn’t, she’ll still get the publicity she wants.
Next to her, Smithy bounces, eager to get started. Madison feels a thousand years old.
* * *
Diana turns onto Chesmore, an unlikely locale for a lurking police car. She whips out her cell phone. “Mom, do me a favor?”
“You do me one. Where are you? You said you’d be home in a minute and you never showed up.”
“Did you go over to the Fountains’ to look for me?”
“No. Why would I do that? I’m just working away and waiting for you.”
Her mother didn’t even notice that Diana was stating names, time and place in case of a major crime. So much for protection through cell phones. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve been babysitting for Tris. We’ll be home in a while. Mom, would you look out the front window and see if there’s any action at the Fountains’ house?”
“What kind of action?”
“Oh, you know. Police, fire trucks, TV crews. The usual.”
“Diana, you can be so annoying.”
“I know. But do it. Please?”
“Fine. I’m walking over to the upstairs window. There are no lights on in the Fountain house. No cars in the driveway. No sirens, no crowds, no picketers.”
No lights. This is outstanding news. Cheryl not only turns on every light in every room, she often doesn’t turn them off at night.
Diana shivers. Cheryl, who is darkness: is she also afraid of darkness? Because evil knows evil?
“Have you given any thought to explaining what’s going on?”
“Oh, Mom, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. The best stuff is going on. Smithy and Madison are both home! We’re having a reunion. I’ll tell you everything later.”
“Oh, that’s such lovely news! Hug the girls for me. Maybe everybody can come over for lunch tomorrow. Tell Jack I’ll make his favorite ham and cheese.”
“That sounds great. I’ll ask. Bye, Mom.” Diana passes the Fountain house. “No car in your driveway,” she reports to Jack, whose view is limited to the interior car roof. “Everything is dark. I’m going to park at my house.” She bumps over the slight gap between the driveway and the road, and heads up the slope of the driveway, less steep than the Fountains’ but longer.
Tris doesn’t wake up when Diana turns off the engine. The interior car lights come on automatically, but Jack is ready and has his hand over Tris’s eyes. Diana cuts the lights.
Madison pulls up next to them. There is no motion sensor attached to the outdoor lights at the Murray house. As soon as they’ve doused the headlights, the drive is dark. In the shadows between the cars, Jack uncurls and manages to get out without waking Tris.
This is Olympic-level brothering. This is the gold medal.
Diana wonders if Madison and Smithy have any idea what Jack has sacrificed for his brother.
Their street has something called Neighborhood Watch, which is supposed to cut down on crime. There isn’t much around here, but not because the neighbors are watching. If a single neighbor has seen a single thing, they haven’t said so. All these treks around the house, in the woods, through other people’s yards? Nobody sees a thing. They’re at work, they’re watching TV, their blinds are pulled, they don’t have their contact lenses in. Who knows?
Madison, Smithy and Jack with Tris in his arms wait while Diana walks down the street to the Fountain house. She goes straight up to the front door and rings the bell. Nobody comes. She uses her own key and steps into the front hall. The house is unlit and silent. Cheryl would never sit home alone in the dark without the TV on. She isn’t crouching behind a sofa, ready to pounce. Nevertheless, Diana tiptoes into the kitchen. She’s intellectually certain that the house is empty, but the kitchen seems full, as if the shadows have weight. She moves through the glass porch and opens the door into the garage.
The folding stair has been folded back up. Cheryl’s car is parked beneath it.
Diana leaps backward, shutting the garage door and bolting it.
What am I doing? I looked into Cheryl’s eyes. I do believe she could kill. And I’m alone in the dark looking for her?
Diana comes to her senses. It’s early for dinner, but just right for happy hour, especially on a Friday. If the TV guy is taking Cheryl out, they went in his car. Diana doesn’t turn on the lights, which would signal the others to come.
Cheryl could be in her bedroom, which is in back. Its lights wouldn’t show from the street.
Upstairs, Diana smells Cheryl’s perfume, as if the woman is wafting by. The five closed doors of the bedrooms seem to contain things; awful things, listening things.
The ring of her own cell phone drills her heart.
“What’s taking so long?” demands Jack.
“Sorry. There’s nobody here.”
“We’re on our way. Tris is awake,” Jack adds glumly.
Diana is at the top of the stairs. Let them go into the bedrooms. She looks down. Jack and his sisters come in the front door. Jack glances up. He is the ghost of his father.
TRIS WHIRLS AROUND THE HOUSE, SLAMMING INTO STUFF, falling down and laughing wildly. He had had a ton of sugar, hardly any nap and lo
ts of fresh air, excitement and surprises. He is going to have a meltdown.
When Cheryl gets back, they do not want her to realize that they’re inside. They move into the kitchen, where they put on only the stovetop light. They pull the shades and drapes and shut the door from the kitchen to the front hall.
“Tris, you have to hush,” says Jack, putting his finger to his lips.
“Hu-u-u-u-shhhh!” screams Tris, loud enough to peel off the wallpaper. He ricochets from one side of the kitchen to the other, loses his balance and falls forehead-first against the rounded wood corner of a chair. He’s not cut, but the last remnant of his self-control is gone. Sobbing and screaming, Tris writhes on the floor. “I want lunch!” he shrieks.
Smithy, who wants both lunch and dinner, tries to pick him up. Tris screams and rolls under the table and out of reach.
Madison doesn’t even try to deal with Tris. Neither does Jack. He hasn’t had anything to eat, either, and if they’re going to have something hot and good, he has to fix it. He cannot do one more thing.
Diana squats down, grips Tris’s ankle and hauls him out. “You and I are going to fill the tub with water.” She lifts him against his will. He kicks. Diana immobilizes his feet as if he’s a dog at the vet’s and heads for the stairs. “You can have three tub toys. I pick the tugboat, the mommy duck and the measuring cup.”
“No! I want the beach pail! And the whole duck family!” Tris sounds like the last person you’d want to live with.
Jack summons a molecule of energy. “This is good,” he tells his sisters. “We can’t be dealing with Tris. We have to deal with Cheryl. Tris is fine with Diana.”
“He should be fine with us,” says Smithy.
“You made choices,” snaps Jack. “They can’t be undone.”
* * *
Madison has lost her momentary status as older sister. She is close to hating Diana and even hating Tris, because Diana has no right to be here, and Tris is not lovable right now. Once again Madison has to follow Jack’s example. She’s sick of how he’s always the good guy doing the right thing.