Her head lifted slightly and she strained her ears. Had that been tin: sound of a distant door closing':' It might bu John's mother finally coming upstairs.
Assuming she had a room upstairs.
Maybe she's coming up to smother me with a pillow to round out her list of crimes. In a way, Wendy supposed that would simplify things. And Sarah had certainly looked like she wanted to kill her for a split second there. Not that I intend to let her.
Wendy sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, surprised at how much better she felt. The dizziness was gone completely, though her limbs still felt heavy. She stood up, the old nightgown that Elsa, the housekeeper's niece, had loaned her falling softly to midcalf. Tiptoeing to the door, she released the latch carefully, letting it swing open slightly.
She heard a man's deep voice and the sound of booted footsteps downstairs.
Then her heart leaped; that was John's voice, followed by his laugh. Sarah rushed out of the office and shushed them. That was followed by a tense silence. After a moment Wendy heard stealthy footsteps on the stairs and she closed the door and hurried back to bed, lying down and forcing her breath to a steady, slow, and audible rhythm.
She caught herself falling asleep despite her excitement and thought, I should have tried that before. Wendy counted slowly to a hundred before she dared to open her eyes to slits and tried to see if anyone was at the door. Unfortunately she was facing away from it. Note to self: Next time think about position. After a few more tense moments she decided to risk turning her head.
No one was there. Her heartbeat decelerated but by no means returned to normal.
Wendy sat up slowly and once again tiptoed across the room. She opened the door, holding her breath, half expecting to find herself staring into Sarah's disapproving eyes. Still, no one was there. Wendy let her breath out slowly in relief.
Slipping through the door, she slunk to the top of the stairs. From there she could hear voices. They seemed to be coming from the office where she'd met Sarah, but they were muffled by the room's heavy door. Wendy crept down the stairs and made her way to the office. The hall was dark and she had to steer her way past dimly seen obstacles, not always successfully. Despite the pain, she thanked God that stubbed toes made no sound when they contacted mahogany furniture.
Once she reached her goal she found herself stymied by the thickness of the elaborate door. She couldn't make out a word, but the tone of John's voice was not happy. Wendy stood straight, biting her lower lip, then she took a deep breath and moved down the hallway to the room next to the office. The door to this room was open and it, too, had French doors opening onto a walled garden.
She tried the knob and found them locked, but she located the key by feel.
Screwing her eyes shut and clenching her teeth, she turned the key with the greatest care, slowly, slowly easing the latch back. At last, without a click, the door stood unlocked. Wendy shook her hands out and just stood for a moment,
letting her galloping heartbeat slow.
The way my luck is going, she thought, the hinges will scream like a banshee.
She turned the knob and opened the door; it moved silently and cool night air washed over her, prickling the skin of her bare arms. Peeking out, she saw that the doors to the office were still open and at last she could hear what was being said.
"She's not a stalker, Mom." John's voice sounded weary, as though he'd already said it again and again.
"How do you know that?" Sarah challenged. "And how did she know how to find you?"
Dieter was sitting behind his desk, looking grim as he watched mother and son argue. John was seated in one of the guest chairs while Sarah paced the floor like a caged tiger.
"She found out where I was a few minutes after I first contacted her," John admitted. Then he ducked his head, looking up at his mother from under his eyebrows as he waited for the explosion.
There wasn't one. Sarah stood absolutely motionless and looked at him. "Do the rest of your little friends in Massachusetts know where we are?" she asked quietly.
"No, Mom. Just Wendy, and I asked her not to tell, so I know she didn't."
"You know she's not a stalker and you know she'd never tell anyone where we
are. How did they know to send her to Brazil?"
"I told Snog that if he ever had an emergency and needed to get to me, to meet me in Sao Paulo." He looked his mother in the eye, though the steadiness of her stare made him want to flinch. "It's one of the biggest cities in South America,"
he explained, "and it's far away from here. Which makes it perfect for a meeting like that."
"Except that your little playmate didn't wait for you in Sao Paulo, she came directly here!" Sarah folded her arms across her bosom and took a deep breath.
"And it's not like she's accused of murdering some nobody. Ron Labane was a celebrity."
"She didn't kill him, Ma."
"How can you be sure of that?" Sarah asked as she resumed her pacing. "How well do you actually know her?"
"Well enough," John said, standing in her path. "She's not a killer." He lowered his head to look directly into her eyes. "Do you think I don't know one when I see one?"
"It's not an exact science," Sarah snapped. "You can't point at someone and say, There's a killer, or at someone else and say, There's someone who wouldn't kill to save their own life. If you think you can you're kidding yourself." They stood eye to eye for a long moment. "Why do you think she couldn't have killed him?"
"First, because she thought the sun rose and set out of his ass. Second, because she had no reason to. Third, because there's nothing in her experience that would
make her a killer."
"You don't know that she didn't have a reason," Sarah argued. "You haven't even spoken to her."
"Well, if she did have a reason then it was self-defense," John shouted. He struck his chest. "I know her! I trust her; and that should be enough for you."
They both stood there, glaring at each other and breathing hard.
"What really matters," Dieter said calmly, "is whether or not she was followed."
"There's been no sign of anyone." Sarah looked away from her son and moved toward the desk. "She says she drove straight from Sao Paulo and only stopped three times for gas. She says she didn't ask for directions and that she kept checking to see if anyone was behind her. Which I believe because she was obviously scared as a rabbit."
"Of course she is!" John snapped in exasperation. "Weren't you?"
Sarah spun on her heel to face him, her mouth open for a retort.
"No," Dieter said.
They both looked at him, their mouths open.
"There's no point to continuing this argument. You've both totally lost your focus." He tipped his chair back and took a whisky decanter and a cut-crystal glass off the low filing cabinet. "The truth is, we won't know anything until we've spoken to the girl."
"I spoke to her," Sarah snapped, pointing to herself.
Dieter poured himself a measure of the single malt and replaced the decanter. He swirled the rich liquor around the glass and then took a sip, closing his eyes with pleasure. "I've been looking forward to that all day," he said. Then he put the glass on the desk and pulled his chair forward. "If you met her with that fire in your eye, Sarah, I doubt that you got much information out of her."
"Thanks a lot," she said, clearly wounded by his remark. "But I got enough out of her to know she's a liability. We've got to get rid of her."
" What?" John's face was a mask of disbelief. He took a step toward his mother.