"My doctor has been pushing for arthroscopy, but I've been avoiding it," Parker admitted.
"Really? My feeling is that very soon you're not going to have a choice in the matter. You need to be careful of lifting something heavy. You'll be tempted soon to overexert yourself, but you need to say no. If you don't you'll be heading to the operating table sooner than you think.
"And, hey, congratulations to your daughter on making it into medical school. When does she start?"
Parker's jaw had dropped wide open, and he stared at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Next month."
"She'll do very well. And she's in love with one of her classmates—there's a wedding proposal for her in the very near future. You should start saving now because it's going to be a really big wedding." I smiled and patted him on the arm.
Parker laughed in spite of himself and walked me out to the lobby with his heavy hand resting fondly on my shoulder. "Abby, you're pretty unbelievable. Wait until I tell my wife. Say, do you have a card? She'd love to see you."
"Sure," I said, digging into my purse and retrieving a business card, "but send her to me after you go to Hawaii. I wouldn't want to spill the beans and spoil the surprise."
"Somehow I think she already suspects. Nothing gets by my wife. Prime reason I married her—she's the only one who can keep me in line."
"I wish you many more happy years together. And thank you again," I said, waving at him as I left the office.
As I drove home I thought about what I'd discovered that afternoon. I now knew that Allison hadn't provoked Marco into killing her. In fact now I believed even more strongly that he hadn't been responsible for either girl's death. It was clear to me that the sisters were on the run from something or someone in Ohio. They'd kept an exceptionally low profile, hiding away in Royal Oak under the umbrella of their parents' trust, but whoever they'd been hiding from had found them.
What I couldn't quite figure out was why, if both girls were in hiding, Alyssa had been killed first. Why not do both of them in at the same time? Why wait months, then brutally kill off the other sister without even trying to make it look like an accident? Why such a dramatic difference in the manner and scope of their deaths? What had these girls done to provoke such revenge, and who was it that had stalked them so stealthily for six long years?
For the rest of the day, these questions swirled in my head like a tidal pool sucking me down into a well of frustration and confusion, egging me to dig deeper and get to the truth.
Chapter Nine
Friday morning I finished with my eleven o'clock client early, so I went downstairs to get the mail before heading out to lunch. I hadn't been to the mailbox all week, a chore I usually found easy to forget, and as I turned my key in the little keyhole I knew immediately that I'd have to tip the mailman extra big come Christmas. The mail had indeed piled up, and the mailman had done his best to cram the letters, flyers, junk mail and a large manila envelope into the tiny compartment, causing everything to be squished and wrinkled. I pulled out the mess and then closed the metal door with a sigh. As I straightened out the squished envelopes as best I could, I vowed for the hundredth time to check my mailbox more regularly.
Killing two birds with one stone, I also stopped by to drop off the rent check for next month. While I was there I chatted for a while with Yvonne, the building manager. She told me she was interested in another reading—I'd read her a few months previously—and I told her I'd call her with the first available.
I walked back to my office, flipping through the flyers, so when I finally glanced up I was startled to see a woman's head poking out of my suite and looking up and down the hallway.
I quickly realized it was Maggie, the massage therapist who had taken over Theresa's old office. I rarely saw her so hadn't recognized her at first. "Hi, Maggie! Long time no see. What are you doing here so early?"
"Oh! Hi, Abby. I thought you were around. I got here and found the door unlocked but you weren't here. I was setting up my room for a client who's flying to Munich tonight and simply must have a massage before he gets on the plane. As a favor I booked him at noon."
"You looking for him now?" I asked, referring to her rubbernecking the hallway.
"Well, it's weird. I was setting up my room when I thought I heard someone in the office. I figured it was you, so I came out to say hi, but no one was there. I was just looking to see who'd come in."
The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up on end and I felt a chill creep its way down my spine. Moving quickly past Maggie I walked into the suite, my senses on high alert. I had goose bumps on the full length of my arms, and I felt the distinct imprint of the intruder's energy. That same sense of malicious intent was present in the air, and on wobbly knees I followed it like an aroma through the lobby and into my inner office. I scanned my desk for signs of foul play but saw nothing missing. Maggie was watching my wide-eyed expression closely, alarm also marking her features.
"Abby?" she asked. "What is it?"
I glanced up at her, and it suddenly dawned on me that I hadn't told her anything about what was going on. What if whoever was stalking me had mistaken Maggie for me? I looked at her directly, doing a quick mental comparison. Maggie was tall, close to five eleven, with short wavy auburn hair and vivid sea-blue eyes. We didn't resemble each other physically, but then again I didn't know if Allison's killer even knew what I looked like. I breathed a sigh of relief that nothing had happened to her.
"Maggie, listen to me," I said, sitting down in the chair behind the desk. "You need to pull up a seat, because I have to tell you some things that are a little scary. We both need to be a lot more careful when we're in this office." She came over and sat down immediately. I had her full attention. I filled her in on everything that had happened since the night of Allison's murder, and as I told my story, I could see the fear creep into her eyes.
"So what do we do?" she asked, her voice soft.
"For starters, we have to be really careful about who we let into this office. If you can, work only with clients you know, not anyone new. The suite should always be locked, and we should both be careful when we go out to eat or to the restroom. I think you should always have Stu walk you to your car at night. I'll call the building manager and arrange it." Maggie was nodding at me with large, unblinking eyes.
"Why do you think someone's after you?"
"I'm not sure, but I think this guy may think I know more than I actually do. I'm guessing that he believes I can identify him or something."
"Can you?"
"I don't know. I've never tried that before and it's uncharted territory for me. My hope is that he will keep taking chances and that we'll eventually get to him."
"Before he gets to you, you mean," she said, finishing the thought that had been in my own head. I smiled bravely at her and shrugged my shoulders. Maggie looked at her shoes for a moment, then asked the question we were both thinking. "Do you think he was in here just now?"
I looked at her, and I'm sure my eyes were just as large and afraid as hers. "Well, my intuition says if it wasn't him, it wasn't anyone I'd like to have back," I said.
"Oh," she said, wishing, I'm sure, that I'd said something different. "You know what? I think I'm going to cancel all my appointments for the next week or so. I'm due for a vacation, and it seems like this would be a good time to take it. What do you think?"
"I think that's a good idea, Maggie."
Later, after my last client had gone, I went into the office to make some phone calls and set up appointments. My first call was to Yvonne. I didn't necessarily want to alarm her, but I thought it would be a good idea to have Stu keep a close watch on this section of the building.
"Hey, Yvonne," I said when she answered.
"Hi, Abby. You ready to pencil me in?"
I had forgotten that she wanted to schedule an appointment but recovered quickly. "Absolutely. Let me just get my book over here," I said. However as I reached for it I noticed something pec
uliar. I always leave my appointment book open, turned to the current date and perched on the far left corner of the desk, so I can quickly check my schedule throughout the day. But now my book was closed and pushed over to the far right corner. I thought back through the day, wondering when I could have inadvertently done that. No memory came to mind and suddenly the goose bumps were back on duty.
"Abby? You still there?" Yvonne asked.
"Uh, yes … yes, I am, Yvonne," I said quickly. I opened my appointment book and flipped to the back section, marking her in for the next available, three and a half months from now in November. Then I concocted a story about a client I'd had who struck me as a little unbalanced and was giving me some trouble. I asked if Stu could keep a close eye on this end of the building.
"Of course, Abby, I'll let him know tonight when he comes in at seven. Can you tell me what this client looks like?"
I thought for a moment and remembered standing inside Allison's house, and without pause said, "He's male, a little short, probably around five six or five seven with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He may be wearing clothes that are a little oversized too."
"I'll pass that along to Stu."
"Thanks, Yvonne." We disconnected and I turned back to my appointment book, wondering what someone could have wanted with it. I flipped through all of the remaining pages and found no notations or markings from anyone but me. It was all my handwriting. Shrugging, I turned back to the task at hand and returned all the voice mails that had collected since the day before, scheduling everyone I could get hold of. I then flipped the pages to Saturday, to see who I had coming in.
Since Allison's funeral was in the morning, I'd had to reschedule only a few clients. I set the appointment book carefully in the far left corner and turned my attention to the mail. Phone bill, electric bill, junk mail, junk mail, flyer, coupon booklet and a manila envelope addressed to me with no return address. I turned the envelope over but saw nothing unusual. Curious, I opened the flap and pulled out the contents—then sucked in a breath of shock and horror. Spilling out onto my desktop were several eight-by-ten glossies of yours truly, all taken from a few yards away.
There was one of me at the grocery store, one walking Eggy, another of me out with Dirk, yet another of me talking with Marco at the dealership. My hands shook as I pawed through each one, a feeling of vulnerability like I'd never known creeping down my backbone. Underneath the photos was a folded piece of paper with glued-on letters cut out from magazines and newspapers that read:
BACK OFF OR YOU'RE NEXT!!
That was all I needed. I pulled my appointment book close again and began dialing.
An hour later I'd rearranged my schedule and booked a flight to Boston. I was getting out of Dodge for a few days. I might be a yellow-belly, but at least I'd be a breathing yellow-belly. I called my sister and asked her if her offer for a visit was still open.
"Of course it is. What's happened, Abby?"
There was no way I wanted another visit from the Howler Monkey, so I simply said, "Nothing. I just had an opening in my schedule and thought I'd come visit you for a long weekend. I have Allison's funeral tomorrow, but I can catch a flight out right after that and stay until Tuesday afternoon."
"That sounds terrific! I'll take Monday off, and we can spend some quality time together."
We made arrangements for her to pick me up at the airport and then disconnected.
After we hung up I put in a call to Dutch. I figured he should know about the photos. I got his voice mail, so I left a message that I would try him again later. I felt weary now that my adrenaline high was wearing off.
I looked at my watch and noticed it was five thirty; not wanting to get caught here in the building alone, I grabbed my purse and beat a fast path out of there.
I drove home with an eye on the rearview mirror, again taking side streets. Once I reached my house, I rushed inside and bolted the door immediately. I checked all the windows and punched in the alarm code, carrying the cordless phone with me as I walked from room to room. I finished the night by tidying up the house, tending to Eggy and packing my suitcase. I had carried the photos home, intending to call Dutch again and hand them over to him, but then time got away from me and before I knew it the clock read midnight. Wearily I climbed into bed and fell asleep, a chair butted up against my bedroom door and the phone tucked under my pillow. Even with the alarm on I still felt vulnerable, but the chair and readily available phone at least allowed me to fall asleep.
Allison's funeral was all the more depressing because it was so sparsely attended. Other than Connie, Parker, his elegant wife, Doreen, and a few students from Allison's pottery class, there were only a handful of people. I took my place in the pew next to Connie and listened to a minister who'd barely known Allison speak about a woman in the sketchiest of phrases. His speech was evasive and lacked color, so he kept it short and general, leaving those few of us in attendance even more disheartened by her loss.
"She's with her Creator," he said. "We should celebrate her venture back to His loving embrace and rejoice that she has been returned Home."
I know the man tried his best, but his eulogy fell flat. It was like he was speaking about an infant who'd been alive only a few minutes, not long enough to dot the eulogy with the color of a lifetime of details. He referred to her love of pottery, plants and nature, and that was about all he could say. I wondered what else she'd done with her time on earth. Surely there must have been love, laughter, Monopoly, movies, boyfriends and…well, life filling up her thirty-two years. But then again, maybe there hadn't been.
Perhaps Allison had always been in the shadow of her younger, more vibrant sister. Maybe she'd always lived vicariously through Alyssa, and maybe, just maybe, when that was gone she had nothing but emptiness to fill up her days and nights.
There was a part of me that wondered if perhaps Allison discovered the truth about her sister's death, and in a self-destructive, suicidal move taunted the killer and invited her own sad ending. How ironic if the truth was the opposite of what everyone believed. What if Alyssa was the one who had been murdered, and Allison, heartbroken and lost, had thrown caution aside and for all intents and purposes committed suicide by setting herself up for certain death.
I shuddered in the church as these thoughts flitted through my head. Melancholy settled over me like dust, dulling the otherwise beautiful day.
The service carried over to the cemetery but I declined to go, saying good-bye to Connie, Parker and his wife. I walked quickly to my car, and once inside I watched Parker and the other pallbearers load Allison's casket into the waiting hearse. I couldn't help but scowl as I saw him heft a weight he had no business trying to carry, then watched as he stepped away limping, his knee clearly strained. Some people never listen.
A few hours later, with Eggy safely tucked away at the boarding kennel, I set the alarm and locked the front door, so I could wait for the airport shuttle out on the front walkway. I'd gotten a voice mail from Dave when I returned from the funeral. His shoulder was still bothering him, so he was going to take a few days to rest it but he'd be back on Tuesday morning. I thought about calling him and telling him I'd be in Boston, but he had a key and knew the alarm code, so I just left him a quick note tacked to the fridge that I was going away, and I'd see him Tuesday afternoon.
Dutch had also returned my call, but I didn't think I had time to call, explain the photos, and finish packing in time to make my flight, so I decided to fill him in the moment I got back from my sister's. If I had time before my flight, I'd call him from the airport.
As I stepped out onto the cement walkway I saw Mary Lou walking clumsily toward me, her arms loaded with two trays of flowers and several gardening tools. Leaving my suitcase, I rushed over to help her. "Got a full load there, I see," I said, taking the tools and one fiat of flowers from her.
"Thanks. Yeah, we finished with this property in Birmingham and we had a lot left over. I thought they'd be perfect around your e
lm tree."
I had a huge elm tree in my backyard that offered luxurious shade in the summertime and, I imagined, brilliant color come fall. I pictured the flowers Mary Lou carried circling the elm and smiled at my neighbor. "I think they'll look fabulous. Thanks Mary Lou."
"Where you off to?" she asked, pointing to my luggage as she placed one of the flats on my front steps.
"Boston for a few days. Something's telling me to get out of Dodge."
"Oh?"
"Long story."
Just then the shuttle pulled up and I said, "Oops, that's me. Do you want me to help you get these into the backyard?"
"Naw, go on ahead. Just leave them on the step there and I'll get 'em in a minute. When are you coming back?"
"Tuesday. Can I square up with you then?" I asked, indicating the flowers I was setting down.
"Sure. I'll see you then," she said. Liar, liar, pants on fire …
I paused for a moment, wondering why my lie detector had gone off. Usually it didn't flash for the little stuff. Weird.
The shuttle driver beeped his horn, and I jumped into motion, grabbing my suitcase and waving goodbye to Mary Lou. As I took my seat, I looked back at my house and saw her heading for the backyard. My intuitive phone began to ring loudly, and I almost picked it up, but at that moment the man sitting next to me asked, "Where you headed?" So I set the phone aside, focusing instead on the good-looking guy in business attire. It would be the last time I ignored my intuitive phone for a very long time.
Chapter Ten
Cat lives in a suburb of Boston called Andover. It is an upscale community where modest million-dollar homes are built to appear smaller than they actually are. Most of the streets here wind through narrow hills, giving architects the opportunity to build houses that, from the street, appear to be modest-sized ranches but that, viewed from the side and back, fall gently away down low, sloping hills, accommodating great rooms, studies, gourmet kitchens and other hidden treasures in the backyard. The neighborhood is all about understatement.