On the way to the outside door leading to the lockers — in an area that was deserted and silent now — Amy had to pass a garage where the golf carts were housed. The air smelled of car oil.
She was just walking past when she heard the sharp laugh.
She automatically turned to her left, to look into the heavy gloom of the garage.
At first, she didn’t see anything but the somehow comic shape of the little tan-colored carts.
Then she saw two people in the back of the garage.
At this point, she would ordinarily have kept right on walking. What other people did wasn’t any of her business.
But she recognized one of the people as her brother Richie. He was facing toward her.
The other person was a woman with her back to Amy. She had lovely and somehow familiar red hair.
They were embracing, Richie’s hands covetous of the woman’s shapely bottom.
And then, apparently sensing his sister there, Richie looked up and saw her.
Instantly, he eased away from the woman. Even from this distance, Amy could see a curious look of panic and guilt on Richie’s face.
Which was very weird because Richie didn’t have to hide anything from her.
Unless... unless this woman was married and the wife of somebody very prominent.
He knew how Amy felt about wedding vows. She believed in fidelity and didn’t like the thought of her brother helping ruin marriages.
Then the woman turned around and looked out of the shadows at Amy.
And seeing her face, recognizing her for who she was, Amy realized that this situation was far worse than simple adultery.
This was no woman.
This was a girl.
High-school girl.
Fifteen years old.
Jailbait was the term they used to use.
And daughter of Crystal Falls’ elite.
This was Darcy Fuller.
3
All Helen Cummings could think about was how bad she had things.
All she’d wanted to do was a little bit of B and E — and this to benefit somebody else — and what happens?
She gets trapped on the second floor of the house with the Mexican cleaning woman walking up the stairs now, whistling her ass off.
Helen felt inordinate sorrow for herself.
Certainly, there would be some who would look at her life — the huge Colonial house in Georgetown, the wonderful redbrick family manse here in Crystal Falls — as one of privilege.
But they didn’t have any idea how difficult it was to maintain a lifestyle like this one... when you had a brother as difficult to handle as her own.
That’s why she was in this house at this very moment. Taking care of another one of her brother’s self-made crises.
This was a big one, a whopper of one.
And things might be even worse than either she or her brother realized...
The bitch was coming up the stairs, the Mexican cleaning woman...
In the old days, before first Bush and then Clinton really came down hard on illegals, Crystal Falls was a haven for illegals. In the summer and fall, the men and some of the women worked the fields detasseling corn or picking apples or helping with the winter planting. The children worked, too, but usually as cheap labor in stores or as domestics. Having an illegal as your maid was a status symbol, and a pretty expensive one. But these days, the illegals usually got discovered, and arrested.
Debbie Fuller was no doubt paying this illegal at least the minimum wage.
Helen glanced around.
The walk-in closet was the only possible hiding place.
The plastic scrub bucket hitting her thigh, and making this strange noise, the cleaning lady, still whistling, reached the top of the stairs.
There was a silence, as if she was trying to choose a room in which to start her cleaning.
Door number one, door number two, door number three, just like that game show that used to be on TV.
The bucket started banging against the cleaning woman’s thigh as she began walking again.
Past door number one, past door number two—
My God, was she headed for Darcy’s room?
There was just room enough to step into the closet and duck her head beneath a row of blouses and skirts and sweaters on hangers. Helen wished they were dresses. They would hide more of her.
She stood pressed flat against the back of the closet, her breath coming in gasps. She really had to lose twenty pounds and quit smoking if she was ever going to run for the empty seat...
God, there it was again.
The Thought. That’s how she thought of it, capital letters: The Thought.
And what a terrible thought it was.
Her brother dead... his Senate seat empty... the party turning to her in its hour of need...
Then she cursed herself. What kind of sister was she? The chemo was going to work and David would be fine again.
She was doing this for David, coming here. Not for herself. Absolutely not for herself.
The cleaning woman came into the room and set the bucket down. She was no longer whistling.
Helen froze in place.
She couldn’t imagine any reason the cleaning woman would have to come into the closet—
So that’s exactly what the cleaning woman did.
Went straight to the opposite end of the walk-in closet, rolled back the doors, and took down something that made the metal hangers ping when they touched.
“Forgive me, Blessed Mother, but the girl has so many blouses, surely she will not miss just this one. My daughter is so needy. She must have a good blouse for confirmation. Please forgive me, Blessed Mary.”
Then she farted.
Helen was sort of astonished.
Here the cleaning woman — her name was probably Conchita; every Mexican cleaning woman she’d ever known had been named either Dolores or Conchita — here she’d just finished making a solemn prayer and now she was farting.
The coarseness of it sickened Helen.
Silence again.
Then the bucket was lifted up and started hitting Conchita’s thigh as the woman walked out of the room.
She had to get out. No time for any more searching. The first possible moment, she had to get out.
Conchita walked out of the room and down the hall.
Helen heard the hollow sound of a toilet-seat lid touching the top of the toilet bowl itself. She heard this very clearly. The toilet was right next to Darcy’s room.
Then Conchita cut another one and with such explosive force that Helen had to smile.
My Lord, was she actually going to sit here and listen to this illegal cut away on the crapper?
No way.
For one thing, this was probably the only chance she would have to escape.
She ducked down, beneath the line of blouses, and then on tiptoe began moving toward the door.
Had to be careful.
She was just thinking this when she stepped on a piece of bad flooring and a wood sound filled the air.
She froze again.
Had Conchita heard the wood moaning beneath Helen’s weight?
Silence.
Helen started moving again, on tiptoes of course, but moving faster now.
No time to dawdle.
Had to get down those stairs and out of this house. Fast.