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If anyone else had been in the building, anyone besides the killer, he or she would have called it in. If he, or she, had seen Janine, there would be a lookout for her—what did they call it? All-points bulletin—APB? BOLO—be on the alert? Despite her cousin’s job, all she knew about law enforcement came from TV or the paper.
The line rang on the other end. “Pick up, pick up.” Maybe Leo was still at the scene, his personal cell on mute. Should she call 911? But this wasn’t an emergency, was it? Surely the body had been found.
A voice began speaking. “Leo, it’s Sarah,” she managed before realizing she’d gotten voice mail. She started over, more slowly. “Leo, it’s Sarah. I’m at the lodge. Call me when you get this. It’s urgent. I’m okay, I’m not in trouble, I’m not in danger, but—call me.”
The stars shone down on her. The scent of the woods enveloped her. She gripped her phone tightly and wrapped her arms around herself.
Only a few weeks ago, she and Jeremy had talked about the crash. He’d been growing weaker and they’d had to admit it was time for hospice. Hospice was for the elderly, she’d always assumed—decades away, until it wasn’t. He’d still been coherent, his usual calm self—she was the angry one—replaying his life. They talked about Michael Brown, imagining his future had he lived. Michael’s quirky smile was easy to recall, the dimples in his dark brown cheeks. Tall, six-six or seven. Not good enough for the major college teams in Southern California, his home, but plenty good for UM.
And they’d talked about Lucas. She’d heard he’d taken up the life of a small-town lawyer, but when Jeremy had told her Lucas lived in Deer Park, she’d been sure he was confused. Mixing up the present and the past. But he’d been insistent, and he’d been right.
Had it been prescience, that the subject had come up? They say the dying are in touch with the other world, the world where unseen connections become visible, and Jeremy had at times seemed to be slipping beyond her grasp. But then he would return to her, giving her that smile that always made her tingle, even when she knew the end was near.
Until that Saturday night seventeen days ago. Both kids had flown home for a visit. He’d told them all he loved them, they were the light of his life, and closed his eyes one last time.
“Oh, Jeremy,” she said out loud, her voice cracking and squeaking, her hand flying to her mouth. “What am I going to do without you?”
But there was no answer. She glanced at the phone. No answer there, either. No call, no message, no signal.
She was on her own. She and Janine and the cat. So much for her plan to sit on the deck with a glass of wine and watch the stars blink twice—once in the sky and again reflected in the dark, glassy lake.
This day wasn’t turning out at all like she’d expected. Her life wasn’t turning out like she expected.
“Deal with it, Sarah,” she muttered, then slipped the phone into her pocket and went inside.
TUESDAY
Eighteen Days
3
Where was she?
Sarah opened her eyes to light streaming in through the windows. The dirty windows, her first clue that she wasn’t in the house in Seattle. Besides, the sun was streaming in the wrong way, the windows facing south.
And this was definitely not her bed, the cat curled up on her feet.
The cat. She hadn’t had a cat in years.
It came back to her then, how she’d reached the lodge last night and found Janine, and the cat. Janine’s gruesome discovery, her attempt to call her cousin the sheriff. The cups of stale tea they sipped as they tried to piece it all together.
And a night wrapped in a musty wool blanket on the bumpy old leather couch. No wonder her dreams had been unsettled, vague images slipping away with the morning light.
She slid one foot up, then wriggled the other free, not wanting to disturb the cat. Too late. It turned its head and gave her the stink eye.
“Figures.” She sat up, pulling the small, warm body closer. “You a he or a she?”
“It’s a she,” Janine said as she approached, two heavy white mugs in hand. “I checked.”
“Oh, coffee. Bless you.” Sarah pushed the blanket aside with one hand, put her feet on the floor, and set the cat next to her. As if unsure how to respond to the indignity of forced relocation, the cat stood, circled, and settled back down, tucking her tail beneath her.
“My grandmother’s ironstone, what she always called her railroad dishes.” She took the mug Janine held out, its shape familiar and comforting, and let the first sip linger in her mouth. Hot, bitter, perfect. “You know, I don’t think anyone’s made me coffee, at home, since Jeremy got sick. He’d start the pot before he went out on his run and it would always be a toss-up whether he’d get back before I got up.”
“Bakers and runners,” Janine said. She still wore Sarah’s T-shirt and black leggings, both long on her. “We get up early and spend the best part of the day on our feet.”
The world beyond the windows shimmered despite the grime. Bitterroot Lake was shaped like an uneven piece of elbow macaroni, the lodge at the outer edge of the bend, town to the southeast, hidden by the curve.
What time was it? Sarah had no idea. Where had she left her phone? Odds were the signal wasn’t coming through anyway, not in the daytime, despite the clear skies, making the phone a pricey clock. If she stayed more than a few days, they might need to reconnect the landline.
