She was going to have to rent a car. Not that that should be a problem—she had money and credit on her own. She didn’t touch the allowance David gave her to run his perfect household.
She wouldn’t have to think about that anymore. She wouldn’t have to think about allowances, and lightbulbs, and vegetarian meals and washing three times before David would have sex with her and then pretending she liked it. She and Sophie were going to be free. And she threw back her head and laughed out loud at the very idea.
The phone book had to be in his office. The door to his office was locked, which was odd in itself, but she knew where he kept his keys, tucked behind the King James version of the Bible. As an English professor, David said only the King James would do, and he assumed his boneheaded wife wouldn’t touch it.
That was his mistake. His wife was neither boneheaded nor incurious. Her father had been a proponent of some new translation, which always seemed to be full of dire warnings, and one day she’d pulled out the King James to see if it was as bad. She’d fallen in love with the music of the words, reading it for an afternoon, and when she went to put it back she noticed the keys.
She’d meant to say something to David about them, but she’d forgotten all about it. Until she’d come up against an unexpectedly locked door.
For some reason she felt nervous, edgy, like Bluebeard’s wife, as she fumbled with the keys. Would she find seven dead wives inside? No, that was ridiculous. It was David’s brother who killed women.
She opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief. It looked as it always did, neat and orderly.
She moved over to the desk, pulling the leather chair back and sitting in it. The phone book lay on its side beneath the utilitarian telephone, and she took it out, pushing the neat pile of papers out of the way.
And then froze. They were newspaper clippings, all referring to one thing. A string of murders.
Tessa’s was the fourth from the top, and she looked into her sweet, cheerful face and wanted to weep. Her hair was pulled back with the tortoise-shell barrettes Sophie had given her for her fifteenth birthday, the barrettes that were missing from her body when they pulled it out of the Bay. No one had thought anything of it—her body had been in the water long enough that even identifying her had been difficult.
But now those missing barrettes seemed far more sinister, according to David. Were they really up at Caleb’s dilapidated half-built house, locked away so he could gloat over them, stroke them, remembering choking the life from poor Tessa?
“No.” She jumped, then realized she’d said the word out loud. The house was still and empty. She shook her head, as if to clear it, and shoved the newspaper clippings away from her, unable to bear looking at them. She could understand David’s morbid fascination. After all, he was trying to do the unthinkable, to catch his beloved older brother in a series of crimes so unthinkable that Rachel hadn’t even been able to read about them.
She started thumbing through the Yellow Pages. Silver Falls wasn’t large enough to have a car-rental agency, but if she could find one within fifty miles then she could talk Maggie into driving her there. She’d have to pick a time when David wasn’t around, so he wouldn’t try to stop them, or, even worse, go with them.
Maybe she was overestimating her importance. But something told her he wasn’t going to let her go easily—his sweet demeanor only went so deep.
He’d left the BMW behind and gone out in his beloved Range Rover. It wouldn’t be that awful if she took the BMW and drove to the car-rental place three towns over and left it there. People wouldn’t think very highly of her, abandoning her poor husband during such a difficult time, and abandoning his car, but she was tired of caring what the small-minded people of Silver Falls thought of her. They were the same ones who’d condemned Caleb without proof.
But they had been right about him after all, hadn’t they? So why was she fighting it?
She closed the phone book without calling anyone. She had a sick, restless feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she couldn’t figure out why. She picked up the clippings again, looking into the sweet face of Jessica Barrowman, moving past to the articles about the missing librarian with the mane of blond hair, the young girl in Portland, almost a clone of Sophie, the dead girl from eighteen years ago, another student from the college, her glittery butterfly barrettes giving her an oddly frivolous look.
She went through the papers, looking at each face, trying to somehow honor them as an act of penance, when she froze. Elizabeth Pennington, from Santa Fe, New Mexico, found raped and strangled in 2003. Her blond hair was pushed back from her sweet face, held in place by a pair of silver barrettes. The same barrettes Rachel had left on Sophie’s dresser.
She didn’t think, she moved. The drawer beside her was locked, and none of the keys worked. She picked up David’s letter opener, one in the shape of Excalibur, and forced it open, breaking the blade, scarring the walnut of the desk. She yanked it open, to see the pile of confidential student papers, just as David had told her.
She looked at them for a moment, a feeling of dread washing over her. David would never forgive her, he’d kill her—
She yanked the folders out and threw them on the floor. There, at the back of the drawer, was a tiny velvet pouch, like the kind used to hold jewelry. She drew it out, her hands shaking, and emptied it out on the desk.
Thirty-six barrettes. Counting Sophie’s, that made thirty-seven, the number David had given her. The supposedly random number. She reached out a hand to pick them up, then pulled it back. She didn’t want to touch them.
She pushed away from the desk. Caleb had been right all the time. He wasn’t the serial killer or a sociopath. He was Jack the Ripper’s brother, trying to put an end to murder. She picked up the telephone, her hands shaking, planning to call Maggie.
There was no dial tone. Somewhere in the distance she could hear a door close, and she froze in place. She wasn’t alone in the house after all, and the man she’d been stupid enough to trust, the man she’d been stupid enough to marry, was coming for her.
The window behind her was locked. She looked around her for a weapon, but there was nothing, and at the last minute she grabbed David’s chair. It was heavy, but she managed to lift it, using all her strength, and fling it through the window. The glass shattered, the mullions smashed, and the chair ending up on the flagstone patio. And she followed after it, feeling the shards of glass rip at her arms, disappearing into the wet afternoon just as a shadow appeared in the ruined window, calling after her. Her name was lost in the wind as she ran.
Sophie knew how to get around Silver Falls. The light rain gave her the excuse to pull the hood over her hair, and she walked with her head down. She dumped her backpack in the playground on her way—too bad if someone took it. She was bored to tears with the schoolwork anyway—even the college-level courses were too easy.
She was heading straight for the one place she had any chance of getting an honest answer. Straight for the Old Goat.
He was sitting in his wheelchair in the study, reading a techno-thriller, one he immediately put down when he saw her standing in his door. “How’d you get in?” he said, sounding less than welcoming.
“The door was unlocked. I want to know about your sons.”
The Old Goat had recovered himself. “Why don’t you come over here and sit beside me and we’ll talk…”
“I can hear perfectly well right here,” she said in a stony voice, no longer bothering to do her Miss Charm thing. “I don’t trust you.”
The Old Goat looked affronted. “What are you accusing me of? You think I’m a child molester?”
“No. You’re just a dirty old man who thinks he’s a lot more interesting than he is, and I don’t want to get any closer. Where’s David?”
“Your father is—”
“Not my father,” she snapped. “And you’re not my grandfather. Where is he?”
Stephen Henry managed a dignified pout. “I have no idea.
He said he had some arrangements to make. This has all been extremely difficult, and I know what a sensitive child you are. Let me call your mother…”
“I’m not sensitive, I’m pissed off. Why is Caleb in jail? You know he didn’t kill anyone.”
“Do I?” he replied, refusing to meet her accusing stare. “I’m not sure what I know. I’ve never been certain.”
“Certain about what?”
He leaned back in his chair, and it was clear he wasn’t going to give her any answers. “I don’t think they’ll hold Caleb for very long,” he said in stead. “They can’t have any proof.”
“Why are you so sure of that?” Sophie persisted.
Stephen Henry looked at her with clear dislike, something she much preferred to his fawning.
“Did anyone ever tell you you were too inquisitive for your own good?”
“Next you’ll be saying curiosity killed the cat. My mother has always encouraged me to have an inquiring mind.”
“Your mother needs to learn not to be so impulsive,” Stephen Henry said in a grumble. “Things were doing fine until she came here.”
“I beg your pardon?” Sophie said, still trying to be polite. “What’s my mother done?”
“Set him off,” Stephen Henry said in a low, empty voice.
“I don’t believe you. Caleb wouldn’t do these things and you know it. Besides, he likes my mother, I can tell.”
“Of course Caleb likes your mother. He likes anything that belongs to David,” the Old Goat said in a cranky voice.
Now Sophie was getting pissed. “My mother doesn’t belong to anyone. And I don’t know what you think is my mother’s fault, or why, but she has nothing to do with Caleb being arrested for something he hasn’t done.”
“She has everything to do with it, and you’re an idiot,” Stephen Henry said, any trace of charm long gone. “Go away and leave me alone. I don’t have time for inquisitive little girls right now.”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on. If you know Caleb didn’t kill anyone then why aren’t you doing something about it?”
“Caleb can take care of himself. He always has.” Stephen Henry put his hands on the wheels and tried to turn himself away.
Sophie crossed the room and yanked him back. “If your son didn’t kill these women then who did?”
The Old Goat looked anything but lecherous and smarmy. He looked broken, sad and empty. “I never said my son didn’t kill these women.”
She froze, as everything clicked into place. “You knew?” she said, her voice filled with horror. “All this time, you knew that David was…”
“I never knew for certain. He’s my son,” Stephen Henry said with the merest trace of dignity.
“He’s a monster. And you’re one, too, for covering for him, for letting him get away with it, for letting Caleb take the blame and doing nothing.”
“Go away,” he mumbled. “You’re too young to understand.”
“God, I hope I never get as old as you then,” she said bitterly. “I have to go warn my mother.”
“Sophie!” His voice followed her, still with those rich tones that made her want to hurl, but she was already out the door.
She started running, taking the shortcuts through backyards, ignoring the barking dogs, the pelting rain. She reached for her cell phone—even if she couldn’t reach her mother she could call Kristen’s, but her battery power died just as she began to dial, and with a sob she threw it, running again, desperate to get to her mother, to warn her…
Her mother’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and for a moment she panicked, until she remembered about the car accident. She didn’t for one moment believe that Caleb would have tried to hurt her. Like most stupid-ass adults, he wasn’t going to admit such a thing, but he had a wicked case of the hots for her mother, and if her mother weren’t so blinded by her idiotic adoration for her creepazoid husband she would have felt the same way. Caleb was old, but then so was her mother, in their thirties at least. Old enough to know better.
There was no sign of anyone—the lights were off in the house, a sure sign that either her mother wasn’t there or that David was. When her mother was alone in the house she turned on every single light. She said the darkness was eating her soul.
She moved closer, keeping to the edge of the overhanging trees, trying to look in the windows. She’d get a better view from the back, but she’d have to go through the garage to do so. The Range Rover was gone, only the BMW was still there, and she knew David would never have let her mother drive the Rover. Even the kind, sane David wouldn’t let her near it. The crazy monster beneath the surface would…
She couldn’t think about that. The door to the garage was open, and she slipped inside, skirting the big black car that still smelled faintly of dead animal, moving around the front to the back door. She could just sneak out there, peer in the windows and if she saw her mother she could warn her.
The backyard was dark and shadowy. There was a light from David’s study, and she froze, peering through the shadows. There was something on the terrace, something large and bulky, too big to be a person. She took a few steps closer, leaving the safety of the hedge, and recognized a chair lying sideways, with the smashed window behind it.
She had to get help. Run to the nearest house, use their telephone and call the police. She turned, and froze.
“Hello, Sophie dear,” David said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
19
Caleb was stretched out on the bunk in Silver Falls’s one jail cell. It wasn’t the first cell he’d been in. Hell, it wasn’t the first time he’d been in this particular jail.
Sometimes he’d deserved it. Joyriding in old Professor Morton’s beloved sports car, underage drinking, fighting. There was no doubt he’d been a hellion. But there were other times, bad times, when David’s shit had been laid at his door. Malicious stuff, meant to hurt.
He could hear a commotion outside the small cell area, and a moment later Maggie Bannister showed up, keys in her hand.
“You’re being released on your own recognizance,” she said.
“Oh, yeah? I don’t have the best reputation in this town. Why did the judge decide to trust me?”
“I vouched for you,” Maggie said in her flat voice.
“I’m charmed by your faith in me,” he said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. “So what are the terms? I’m guessing I’m supposed to stay away from Rachel.”
“I imagine she’ll take care of that by herself.”
Caleb wanted to hit something. “You’re keeping an eye on her, aren’t you?”
“We are. Right now she’s at home, asleep.”
“And where’s my brother?”
Maggie looked guilty. “I don’t know. On the record we have no reason to follow him.”
“And off the record?”
“We both know what’s going on. But I can’t move unless I have probable cause, and right now I have shit,” Maggie said. “Your brother doesn’t know I see through his games. I’ve always seen through his games. He’ll think he’s won, and he won’t be wanting to make any mistakes.”
“Maybe,” Caleb said, doubtful. “He’s closer to the edge than you think. He fucked up, and he knows it. I need a car.”
“I don’t want you going anywhere near him.”
“I’m not. I’m going up to my house to pack.”
“So you’re just going to leave? Just like that?”
“Go to hell,” Caleb snarled. “You know I can’t do that.”
“You can take Rachel’s car. It’s drivable, they fixed the brake line, and maybe it’ll make you think twice about half-assed schemes to scare people that can backfire.”
“It worked. I had her where I wanted her.”
“You had her where you wanted her an hour before we got to the hotel, asshole. If you’d kept it in your pants we wouldn’t have had this problem. He wouldn’t have flipped out.”
“Yes, he would have. I just made it
happen sooner.”
“And what about Rachel? How do you think she’ll feel, married to a monster, used by his brother?”
“She’ll be glad she’s alive,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “Where’s her car parked?”
“Out back. The desk sergeant will give you the keys. And don’t go thinking you’ll find her and ‘explain.’ I don’t think she’s going to listen, and I don’t want to tip David over the edge. Sophie’s safe at my house, Rachel thinks you’re a crazed killer, and David thinks he’s gotten away with it. Let’s leave it like that for now. Understood?”
Caleb said nothing.
“I can throw your ass back in jail,” Maggie warned. “I’m sick of the whole lot of you. Rachel’s my friend and you’ve fucked her over, and I don’t take kindly to that.”
“I’ll leave her alone,” Caleb said. And he’d try. Because Maggie was right—for the moment David thought he’d managed to fool everyone. But he was dancing on a razor’s edge, and it would take very little to push him over.
“Give me a call when you get up to your place and let me know if anyone’s been there,” Maggie said. “If I don’t hear from you I’ll be sending someone after you.”
Caleb shook his head. “He won’t be up there. He has no interest in killing me. Taking everything I care about, yes. Making it look like I’m responsible, of course. But he doesn’t actually want to hurt me.”
“Everything you care about, huh?” Maggie said. “Well, if you care so damned much about her you better find a way to explain all this to her. I’ve got a feeling she’s not going to be listening to me. Just don’t try to do it now.”
Shit. “I didn’t say—”
“Just shut up. Take the Volvo and get the hell out of here. And call me!” she shouted after him as he took off.
The Volvo looked pretty damned good for a car that had had a close encounter with a tree. The streets were empty at midday, and he drove too fast. Maggie was right—things had stabilized for the time being, there was no immediate danger. David thought he had gotten away with it, and Stephen Henry had even backed up his alibi. If they all played it very carefully then nothing bad would happen for the time being, and maybe they could stop David before he lost it completely. Before he hurt anyone else.