Across the room, the receptionist bursts through the door with an older woman, both of them heading straight for me, looking concerned. But I’m already moving away from them, angling toward the door.
“Why are youstilldoing this?” I hiss, pushing outside.
“Are you ready for your final clue?” the voice replies.
“Put Avery on right fucking now!” I’m vaguely aware of the women watching me through the window as I pace toward my car and get in.
Silence fills my ear, the sound of static.
And then: “You’ve talked to her enough.”
I slam the heel of my foot into the floorboard. I want to scream. “How do I know she’s still safe? After everything you’ve done to her!”
“You don’t. But if you delay any longer, I can guarantee she won’t be. Now pay attention.” The voice crackles into my ear, revealing the final riddle. I memorize the words as they’re delivered, mentally rehearsing the lines, running them through my head one-by-one. “Got it?” the voice asks after a moment.
“Yes,” I growl.
“One more thing,” the voice says. “Make sure you bring a shovel.”
Chapter 27
GRANT
When I reach the location, the sun is diving toward the San Juans. It highlights them in a dusty ribbon of pink I would normally find beautiful but right now doesn’t even register. The entire world might as well be painted in black and white for all I care. The only important thing at the moment is whether or not I’m at the right spot.
Return to the place where love first bloomed.
Where two hearts joined much too soon.
You vowed a love without regret.
But instead you broke, and your path was set.
Be there at seven.
I run the words through my head once more and then, with a hard swallow, I open the door and get out. Needles of apprehension lace down my spine as I grab the shovel from the trunk and yank it free. Questions churn through my head in rapid succession, one after another, none of them good.
Why do I need this? Is it to bury Avery? Or is it to dig a grave for myself?
Acid bubbles at the base of my esophagus and threatens to boilup my throat as I round the car. The meadow beyond the fence is as beautiful as I remember, swaying with tall banks of grass in between clumps of sagebrush and bunches of juniper. Beyond them, closer to the center of the field, is a tall stand of cottonwood overlooking a small pond. A rope swing hangs from a branch near the water where I used to sit and feed the ducks. I have so many memories of this place, so many recollections of good times. And it’s chilling how staring at it now makes me shiver.This is definitely personal.
I cross the road and lean the shovel against the fence. And then I wait. This far out in the country, there aren’t many cars or houses around. Outside of the odd McMansion every few miles, there’s not much in the way of civilization. The only home I can see from here is the one beyond the meadow, looking sleek in the distance, fronted by a massive front lawn. It’s a house I once loved because I loved the girl who lived there. A girl who’s long grown and gone.
I turn my attention back to the pond, sweating even though the temperature has cooled to a comfortable seventy degrees. I don’t know why I’m here. All I know is every moment since that van rattled out of the forest yesterday and swallowed my wife has led me to this place.
Where I continue to wait.
And wait.
Until the phone I took from the abortion clinic in my pocket finally rings. An overwhelming sense of dread overtakes me as I pull it out and hit answer.
“I’m here. What now?”
“Go to the center of the field,” the robot voice orders. “Past the willows toward the hill. Keep the phone on.”
“Why?” I ask. But no answer comes.
I toss the shovel over the fence and clamber after it, holding the phone in one hand. Even here this close to the road the grass is tall and wild, coming to my waist. The ground is lumpy and uneven beneath my feet as I walk. Every step is an effort, every movement feels likeswimming through sand. It takes me five minutes to reach the willows and then another five to push my way through. When I finally break free, a wave of gooseflesh ripples down my back. There’s a small white cross planted at the top of the hill—one I didn’t see until now.
