Gone was every hope for reconciliation.
She entered her room and switched on the bedside lamp, then examined the disarray of her clothing. Her leather jacket was scored with the scratches of tree branches, her slacks were ripped open in places, and dirt caked both her shoes. She turned to the only mirror in the room.
What a fright.
Strands of hair had escaped the braid in wild profusion. A branch had sliced into her neck and broken the skin. She touched the wound and her hand came away with drops of blood on it. She removed her jacket, then jumped when the ice pick fell to the floor. Mallory must have covertly slipped it back into her pocket, but why would an officer of the law do such a thing?
Behind her, there was a sudden intake of breath. Realizing that she was no longer alone in this room, she whirled around to see her small niece standing in the open doorway, all eyes and staring at the weapon on the floor – the blood on Nedda’s fingers.
„Oh, God,“ said Bitty, „what have you done?“
The elder woman started at these words – echos – of Uncle James, her first accuser. Bitty was back stepping into the hall, and Nedda bowed her head, so sorry, so utterly destroyed.
Chapter 6
riker’s back was broken after five hours of bad dreams on a lumpy couch in the hospital lounge.
A voice close to his ear said, „I know you’re awake.“
Mallory sounded so damned alert, but she was young; she could string three days together with catnaps and never miss the sleep. Well, he might be awake, but she could not force him to open his eyes.
„I talked to the state cops in Maine,“ she said. „They went out to Susan McReedy’s place.“
Riker rolled over and away from her, burrowing into the upholstery.
Mallory’s voice was louder, more testy. „McReedy’s gone. The neighbors said she left town doing eighty miles an hour. She’s on the run. I ran her credit cards. No charges. She’s paying cash for her gas.“
Riker mumbled, „Some people still use cash, Mallory.“ Morning light was breaking through the slits of his sore eyes. „Maybe the lady just needed a vacation.“ Life in the boondocks of Maine might be more exciting and stressful than he had previously supposed. He rolled on his back, eyes all the way open now, and decided that – naw – Susan McReedy was on the run. „Damn. So that private dick upstairs is all we got left.“
He was talking to the ceiling. His partner was crossing the lobby, forcing him to rise and lope after her.
Nedda faltered on the stairs as she made her way up to the south attic, where the trunks of the dead were kept – all but Baby Sally’s. The light from the gabled windows was waning. The morning was turning dark and promising rain. She wandered the rows of stored effects until she found her mother’s trunk and opened it. The lid was heavier today.
So tired.
Nedda dropped the opera glasses inside and closed the trunk softly, reverently. She moved on to the neat row of murdered parents and children. One by one, she dragged their trunks to an open space. The sky was rumbling over her head as she arranged them in a circle, and lightning flashed in every window when she sat down, tailor fashion, surrounded by all that remained of her dead.
This was the family.
Following a crack of thunder, rain streaked the glass panes. As Nedda cried, so did the house.
Nestled in her lap was the canvas sack of Baby Sally’s rotted clothes. This child was never far from her thoughts, though she could only see her youngest sister as a newborn with hair of soft down – fingers and toes impossibly small. Nedda called up a memory of solemn children gathered in the kitchen. Old Tully the housekeeper had taken it upon herself to explain this impending death of their baby sister, and she had done it badly, telling them that they were all dying from the moment they were born. „That’s what life’s about,“ said Tully.
Not good enough.
The children, not one philosopher in the pack of them, had demanded a more concrete explanation. Obligingly, the housekeeper had gone out into the yard, captured a slug and returned with it, laying the slimy creature on the kitchen table. „This is death,“ she had said, holding up a heavy mallet used for tenderizing meat. The old woman had brought her weapon down upon the slug and smashed it into a smear on the tabletop. „There,“ said Tully, „it’s gone to live with Jesus.“
Nedda held up a little dress that a four-year-old might wear.
Sally, my Sally.
A child-size wraith in a white nightgown hovered by the attic stairs.
Only Bitty.
Nedda swiped her wet face with the back of one hand, then turned to her niece and braced herself for some new accusation. Bitty was lit by a flash of lightning. Her eyes rolled up toward the rafters, and she stiffened slightly, waiting for the thunderclap.
It never came.
„I’m sorry, Aunt Nedda – about last night. I got a call from Officer Brill this morning. He wanted to know if you were all right. He told me what happened in the park. After everything you’d been through, I made you feel like a criminal.“
„Don’t give it any thought, dear. It was perfectly understandable.“
Bitty pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of her robe. „You had an earlier call last night after supper. I didn’t want to disturb you. I thought you might be sleeping.“ She held out the piece of paper as she walked toward her aunt. „It’s a message from that detective,“ said Bitty, „the tall blond one.“
BANG!
The thunder cracked overhead. Bitty jumped and her hands flew up like wings. The note wafted to the floor.
Nedda reached out to retrieve the fallen paper, already knowing its contents before she unfolded it. This was Detective Mallory’s demand to appear at the police station this morning. She looked up to see that Bitty had recovered nicely from the inclement weather.
„Aunt Nedda?“ Lightning returned to light up her face, her worried eyes. „I’ve never practiced criminal law, but I know it’s always a bad idea to take a polygraph. I don’t think you should do it.“
„Don’t worry, dear. I can deal with this.“
BANG!
When the patient regained consciousness, Mallory was the first thing he saw, and Riker felt sorry for Joshua Addison, a private investigator licensed in the state of Maine.
Mallory leaned over the hospital bed, both hands curling round the metal rail. Such long red fingernails. And Riker saw that old look on her face – hungry – as if she had not been fed for days and days.
Startled, the patient appeared to be playing dead with his eyes wide open. Riker watched the man’s chest, fascinated and wondering how much longer Addison could hold his breath. The private investigator’s survival instinct was slow to kick in, and when he finally sucked in air and tried to raise his arms in a protective reflex, he discovered that his right hand was manacled to the side rail. „What the hell is this? What happened?“
„The way I remember it,“ said Riker, „you were making a move on a woman in the park – when you tripped and fell. Now you’re going down on a pervert charge.“
„That’s ridiculous,“ said Addison. „You can’t – “
„You need a lawyer,“ said Riker, thinking it best to bring up the subject first. The moment their suspect asked for counsel, the interview must end. „Yeah, and make it a damn good lawyer. A pervert charge is – “
„What? You’re crazy!“
„Addison, you were stalking an old woman. And maybe we should add an assault charge.“ Mallory reached out to touch the bandage on the patient’s forehead. Her long nails were dangerously close to the man’s eyes and he flinched as she peeled the bandage back to expose a jagged cut. Though there was no doubt that the wound had come from the broken lightbulb in the basement of Winter House, Mallory said, „We need a picture of this scratch. Looks like the old lady tried to fight him off.“