Kirkwood. Just another quiet night in the Lakeside subdivision. The Kirkwoods' neighborhood. Garrett Wright's neighborhood.
Her house was less than two blocks away from theirs. She could see a wedge of lake from her living room, was within walking distance of Quarry Hills Park, where Mitch and Megan and Garrett Wright had played out a life-and-death drama Saturday night. Ellen had been sitting in front of her fireplace sharing cappuccino and conversation with a friend, oblivious to what was happening a stone's throw from her own home.
Harry raised his head abruptly, a growl rumbling low in his throat. The dog jumped down off the bed and stood at attention at the door that ed into the darkened hall. Ellen stood in the center of the room, pulse rate jumping, trying to recall in detail the actual act of locking the doors. She had come in from the garage into the kitchen. She always locked the dead bolt as she came in for the night. It was habit. She had gone out the front door for the mail, come back in, turned that dead bolt as her gaze scanned the words YOU MAY HAVE ALREADY WON TEN MILLION DOLLARS.
The doors were locked. There were no odd sounds emanating from the nether regions of the living room. With that knowledge bolstering her courage, she stepped past the dog and into the hall. Harry gave a little whine of embarrassment and trailed after her, bumping up against her legs as she paused on the short flight of steps that led down to the living room. Faint silver light filtered in around the edges of the blinds. The comfortable sofas and chairs were indistinct hulks in the dark. Nothing moved. No one spoke. Beneath the warm flannel of her pajamas Ellen's skin pebbled with goose bumps. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose as another low growl rumbled in Harry's throat.
The telephone trilled its high-pitched birdcall. The sound ripped through the room like a shotgun blast. Harry gallumphed in a clumsy circle, his booming bark all but rattling the framed photographs on the walls. The phone rang again.
The last call she had got in the middle of the night had been Mitch telling her Olie Swain was dead. Maybe Wright had been struck down ith remorse and killed himself too, but she doubted it. She had told Karen Wright to call any time of day or night. Maybe Wright's wife had found her way out of the fog of denial.
"Ellen North," she answered, her voice automatically taking on the same tone she used at the office.
Silence.
"Hello?"
The silence seemed to grow thicker, heavier with expectation.
"Karen? Is that you?"
No response. The caller remained on the line, silent, waiting. Another minute ticked past on the nightstand clock.
"Karen, if it's you, don't be afraid to talk to me. I'm here to listen."
Still nothing except the creepy certainty that someone was on the other end of the line. The hope that that someone was Karen Wright evaporated. Ellen waited as another minute slipped past.
"Look," she said crisply, "if you're not even going to bother to talk dirty to me, hang up and free the line for someone who knows how to make an obscene phone call."
Not a sound.
Ellen slammed the receiver down, telling herself it was a tactical move rather than nerves, a lie that was made painfully clear by the way she jumped as the phone rang again. She stared at it as it rang a second and third time, then gave herself a mental kick and picked it up.
"Ellen North."
"Ellen, it's Mitch. Josh is home."
CHAPTER 4
Journal Entry
January 25,1994
They think they have us
Guilty as sin
Caught in the act
Dead to rights
Dead wrong.
Josh, did the man hurt you?" Josh didn't answer. He
Her house was less than two blocks away from theirs. She could see a wedge of lake from her living room, was within walking distance of Quarry Hills Park, where Mitch and Megan and Garrett Wright had played out a life-and-death drama Saturday night. Ellen had been sitting in front of her fireplace sharing cappuccino and conversation with a friend, oblivious to what was happening a stone's throw from her own home.
Harry raised his head abruptly, a growl rumbling low in his throat. The dog jumped down off the bed and stood at attention at the door that ed into the darkened hall. Ellen stood in the center of the room, pulse rate jumping, trying to recall in detail the actual act of locking the doors. She had come in from the garage into the kitchen. She always locked the dead bolt as she came in for the night. It was habit. She had gone out the front door for the mail, come back in, turned that dead bolt as her gaze scanned the words YOU MAY HAVE ALREADY WON TEN MILLION DOLLARS.
The doors were locked. There were no odd sounds emanating from the nether regions of the living room. With that knowledge bolstering her courage, she stepped past the dog and into the hall. Harry gave a little whine of embarrassment and trailed after her, bumping up against her legs as she paused on the short flight of steps that led down to the living room. Faint silver light filtered in around the edges of the blinds. The comfortable sofas and chairs were indistinct hulks in the dark. Nothing moved. No one spoke. Beneath the warm flannel of her pajamas Ellen's skin pebbled with goose bumps. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose as another low growl rumbled in Harry's throat.
The telephone trilled its high-pitched birdcall. The sound ripped through the room like a shotgun blast. Harry gallumphed in a clumsy circle, his booming bark all but rattling the framed photographs on the walls. The phone rang again.
The last call she had got in the middle of the night had been Mitch telling her Olie Swain was dead. Maybe Wright had been struck down ith remorse and killed himself too, but she doubted it. She had told Karen Wright to call any time of day or night. Maybe Wright's wife had found her way out of the fog of denial.
"Ellen North," she answered, her voice automatically taking on the same tone she used at the office.
Silence.
"Hello?"
The silence seemed to grow thicker, heavier with expectation.
"Karen? Is that you?"
No response. The caller remained on the line, silent, waiting. Another minute ticked past on the nightstand clock.
"Karen, if it's you, don't be afraid to talk to me. I'm here to listen."
Still nothing except the creepy certainty that someone was on the other end of the line. The hope that that someone was Karen Wright evaporated. Ellen waited as another minute slipped past.
"Look," she said crisply, "if you're not even going to bother to talk dirty to me, hang up and free the line for someone who knows how to make an obscene phone call."
Not a sound.
Ellen slammed the receiver down, telling herself it was a tactical move rather than nerves, a lie that was made painfully clear by the way she jumped as the phone rang again. She stared at it as it rang a second and third time, then gave herself a mental kick and picked it up.
"Ellen North."
"Ellen, it's Mitch. Josh is home."
CHAPTER 4
Journal Entry
January 25,1994
They think they have us
Guilty as sin
Caught in the act
Dead to rights
Dead wrong.
Josh, did the man hurt you?" Josh didn't answer. He
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