As she started to head back to the rear of the house, she noticed something else. Sally Beecham’s car out front. That puzzled her. She shrugged and went around to the rear door.
The sound she had heard in the background during Jackson’s call to her was what had brought her here. The absolutely unique sounds of the old clock, the family heirloom, passed down to her from her mother, the very same one LuAnn had diligently refused ever to part with. It had proved to be the most valuable possession she had because she had heard it in the background during her phone conversation with Jackson.
Jackson had been in her house, had called from her house. And LuAnn was absolutely convinced that Lisa was there now. Jackson was here too, she knew. LuAnn had to admire the man’s nerve, to come here, with the FBI waiting just down the road. In a very few minutes, she would come face-to-face with her worst nightmare.
She pressed herself flat against the brick wall and peered in the side door, squinting hard through the pane of glass to see if the alarm light that was visible from this point was red or green. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she saw the friendly green. She knew the code to disarm it of course, but disarming it would produce one shrill beep that might jeopardize everything.
LuAnn inserted her key in the lock and slowly opened the door. She paused for a minute; the gun she held made quick, darting movements all around. She heard nothing. It was well past midnight now so that wasn’t so surprising. Something was bothering her, however.
Being back in her own house should have brought some comfort to her, but it didn’t. If anything it was close to unnerving. Letting her guard down now, letting herself be lulled by the familiarity of the surroundings, could easily result in her and Lisa’s not being around to see the sun come up.
She continued down the hallway and then froze. She heard voices clearly. Several people; she recognized none of them. She slowly let out her breath as the music from a commercial came on. Someone was watching TV. A glint of light came from a doorway at the end of the hallway. LuAnn quietly moved forward, stopping right before her shadow would pass across the small opening between door and wall. She listened for a few seconds more. Then she edged open the door with her left hand as she pointed her gun through the opening with her right. The door swung silently inward and LuAnn leaned in. The room was dark, the only light coming from the TV. What she saw next made her freeze once again. The dark hair, cut short around the neck and built high up in the form of a modified beehive, was directly in front of her. Sally Beecham was in her bedroom watching TV. Or was she? She was sitting so still that LuAnn couldn’t tell if she was alive or not.
For an instant: the image of LuAnn threading her way through that trailer ten years ago, spotting Duane on the couch. Going toward him, walking right up to him. And seeing him turn, turn so slowly toward her, the blood all over his chest, his face as gray as a Navy ship. And watching him fall off that couch, dying. And then the hand clamping over her mouth from behind. From behind!
She whirled but there was no one there; however, her abrupt movements had made some noise. When she looked back Sally Beecham was staring at her with horror in her eyes. When she recognized LuAnn she seemed to catch her breath. A hand fluttered up to her chest, which was heaving.
She started to say something, but LuAnn put a finger up to her lips and whispered, “Shh.”
“There’s someone here,” LuAnn said. Sally looked confused. “Have you seen anyone here?” Sally shook her head and pointed to herself, the worry lines sprouting all over her ghastly pale face.
And that’s when it hit LuAnn, and her own face went pale.
Sally Beecham never parked in front of the house. She always parked in the garage which led directly into the kitchen. LuAnn’s hand tightened on the gun. She looked at the face again. It was hard to tell in the dark light, but she wasn’t taking any chances. “I’ll tell you what, Sally. I want you to get in the kitchen pantry and I’m going to lock you in. Just to be safe.”
LuAnn watched as the eyes darted over her face. Then one of the hands started to move behind the woman’s back.
LuAnn thrust the gun forward. “And we’re going to do it right now or I’ll shoot you right here. And pull out the gun, butt-first.”
When the pistol emerged, LuAnn motioned to the floor. The gun clunked when it hit the hardwood.
When the person moved in front of LuAnn, LuAnn quickly reached out and jerked the wig off, revealing the man. He had short, dark hair. He jerked around for an instant, but LuAnn shoved the gun in his ear.
“Move, Mr. Jackson! Or should I say, Mr. Crane?” She had no false hopes as to the fate of Sally Beecham, but with everything else confronting her, LuAnn did not have the opportunity to dwell on it. She hoped she would have the chance to grieve for the woman.
When they reached the kitchen, LuAnn shoved him inside the pantry and locked the door from the outside. The door was an original from the house, solid oak, three inches thick with a deadbolt. It would hold him. At least for a while. She didn’t need long.
She raced to the end of the hallway and flew up the carpeted stairs. LuAnn made her way from door to door. She was fairly certain that Lisa was in her mother’s bedroom but she couldn’t take any chances. Her eyes had adjusted well to the darkness and she quickly surveyed room after room. All empty. She went on. There was only one more bedroom left: hers. LuAnn willed her hearing to the highest possible acuity. All she wanted to hear was Lisa sighing, mumbling, breathing, anything to let her mother know she was okay. She couldn’t call out, that was too dangerous. She recalled that Jackson now had someone with him. Where was that person?
She reached the door, slid her hand around the doorknob, took a deep breath, and turned it.
A long bolt of lightning cut across the sky, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. At the same instant, the blanket was blown off the window and rain started coming in. The combination of these events finally woke Riggs. He sat up, disoriented for a moment, and then looked around. He saw the open window, the wind and rain coming through. He glanced over at Charlie, who was still sleeping. Then it hit him.
He staggered up. “LuAnn? LuAnn?” His cries roused Charlie.
“What the hell?” he said.
In a minute they had searched the small cottage.
“She’s not here,” he screamed to Charlie.
They both raced outside. The car was still there. Riggs looked around bewildered.
“LuAnn,” Charlie screamed over the sounds of the storm.
Riggs looked over at the shed. The doors were open. It hit him. He raced over and looked in the empty shed. He looked down at the mud in front of the shed. Even in the darkness, he could make out the hoof prints. He followed the tracks to the edge of the woods. Charlie ran up beside him.
“Joy was in the shed,” he told Charlie. “It looks like she’s gone back to the house.”
“Why would she do that?”
Riggs thought hard for a minute. “Were you surprised she agreed to finally calling the FBI tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Charlie said, “but I was too damn tired and too relieved to think much about it.”
“Why would she go to the house?” Riggs repeated Charlie’s question. “The FBI is guarding the place. What would be there that she’d take that sort of risk?”