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“Thank you,” Kadie said politely. “Maybe I’ll do that.” She bit down on her lower lip, suddenly uncomfortable at the thought of telling Marti that Darrick was paying for her groceries. But it wasn’t necessary.
“I’ll just put this on your bill,” Marti said, handing Kadie a receipt.
Kadie looked at the white slip of paper. There was nothing on it except her name. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought, fighting a rush of hysterical laughter.
“Can I put those in your car for you?” the bag boy—his name tag identified him as Jeremy—offered.
“I’m afraid I don’t have a . . .” The words died in her throat when she saw her SUV pull up to the curb. Groceries forgotten, she hurried outside to confront the man behind the wheel. “What are you doing in my car?”
“Hey, back off,” he said, holding up both hands as he exited the vehicle. “I was just bringing it to you per Mr. Vaughan’s orders.”
“Who’s Mr. Vaughan? And where did you find gas in this town?”
“You’re Kadie Andrews, right? His protégée?”
“Protégée!” she exclaimed. Well, that was a new word for it.
“You must be something special,” he said, his voice tinged with envy.
“Why would you say that?”
He snorted. “You’re the only one in town with a car that runs.” He thrust the keys she’d left in the SUV into her hand, then turned and walked down the sidewalk.
Kadie stood staring after him. Protégée, indeed!
“Shall I put these in your car, Miss Andrews?”
Glancing over her shoulder, Kadie saw the bag boy—who wasn’t a boy at all, but a young man who appeared to be in his early twenties—standing behind her with her shopping cart. “Yes, please.” At least she wouldn’t have to walk home weighed down with her groceries. “Who was that man?”
“Oh, that’s Claude Cooper. Nobody knows much about him, except that he’s a real grouch. Keeps to himself, mostly.”
Thinking that she couldn’t blame the man for being out of sorts, all things considered, she thanked Jeremy for his help, and climbed behind the wheel. After checking the gas tank—it was full—she put the car in drive, and drove straight toward the bridge. It was one thing for Vaughan’s magic, or whatever it was, to stop her. Let him stop a four-thousand-pound SUV!
When she reached the other end of the bridge, she stomped on the gas pedal. And the engine died.
After restarting the car, she put it in drive and pressed gently on the gas. But the results were the same. The engine died.
She pulled her cell phone from her handbag, knowing even before she looked at the display that the battery would be dead.
Shoulders slumped in defeat, she stared at the road that led to freedom. She really was trapped here, she thought dully. Like a rat in a cage.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring into the distance, before she restarted the car and put it in reverse, but the ice cream was melted when she returned to the house.
A house that was, in reality, a prison. She was never going to get out of here, she thought bleakly. Never see her parents, or her sister, again.
By Wednesday morning, Kadie was heartily sick of her own company. She had spent the last four days rattling around the house, rearranging the furniture for want of anything better to do, reading the books she had brought with her until the words blurred on the page.
It might not have been so bad if the house had been equipped with a TV, a radio, or a computer, but there were no connections to the outside world.
Deciding to take Marti up on her offer, Kadie showered, ate a quick breakfast, and walked to the library.
The gray-haired lady at the front desk looked up. Taking off her glasses, she smiled at Kadie. “You’re the new one, aren’t you? Kadie?”
“Yes.”
“Are you looking for a book? As you can see, we have a large selection.”
“No, thank you. Marti invited me to visit her readers’ group.”
“Oh, of course, they meet in the back room. I’m Brittany Thomas,” the librarian said. She gestured at a door to the left of the desk. “They meet in there.”
“Thank you.”
“Hold on a second, hon. Marti made up a list of addresses for you. so you’ll know who lives where.”
“Oh, that was thoughtful of her,” Kadie said, taking the list the woman offered.
Squashing her nervousness, Kadie opened the door and stepped inside.
Marti and six other women were seated at a rectangular table. They all looked up when Kadie entered the room.
“Kadie!” Marti exclaimed, rising. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Thanks.”
Kadie took a seat at the end of the table amid a chorus of “Pleased to meet you’s” and “Welcome to our group.”
“Let me introduce you to the others.” Starting with the woman on her left, Marti introduced the group.
Shirley Hague was middle-aged, with short, curly brown hair, brown eyes, and a faint scar near her hairline.
Leslie Miller looked to be in her early twenties, with long, straight black hair, dark brown eyes, and skin so pale it was almost white. She wore a bright red scarf around her neck. So did several of the others, Kadie noticed.
“We’re discussing one of Stephen King’s books,” Marti said, when the introductions were complete. “Salem’s Lot. Have you read it?”
“Actually, I have,” Kadie said. Funny, she had finished reading it just a few weeks earlier. “Scared me half to death.”
Murmurs of agreement ran around the table.
“What did you think of Mr. Barlow?” Rosemary Holmes asked. She appeared to be in her early fifties with short gray hair and gray eyes. She regarded Kadie through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.
“Pure, unadulterated evil,” Kadie answered without hesitation.
Chelsea Morris nodded. “I agree! I slept with the light on for a week after I finished that book.” Chelsea was rail thin, with shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes.
“He made the vampires seem so real,” Kadie said. “I almost started to believe they truly exist.”
“And when Ben Mears destroyed Barlow. . . .” Nancy Dellenbach shivered. The plump woman with long, wavy, red hair touched the red silk scarf she wore around her neck. “I’ve often been tempted to try it when Nolan or one of the others come to my house,” she said, her green eyes flashing. “But I just don’t have the nerve.”
