must have been four or five reporters standing outside, each one with his or her own personal microphone and cameraman, clamoring for attention.
Their voices could be heard in the background as the local reporter — a blond, excited-looking woman
— told the story.
"Scott and Jamie Tyler were performing here, at this theatre in downtown Reno," she was saying. "They were part of a so-called mind-reading act that used simple trickery to fool their audience. According to witnesses, both boys were heavily involved in substance abuse, and last night it seems they lost control, stealing a gun from their guardian, Don White, and turning it against him…"
"It's all lies!" Jamie exclaimed. He turned to Alicia, suddenly afraid that she wouldn't believe him.
"What she's saying. None of it's true!"
"Jamie —"
"He didn't even have a gun —"
"Listen to me, Jamie —"
But at that moment, there was a blast of sirens outside the house that could mean only one thing: The police had arrived.
As far as Jamie was concerned, it was all just another bad dream, worse even than the one he'd had the night before. It seemed to him that one impossibility after another was piling up on him, and he almost expected the gray figure from his dream to jump out at him from behind the sofa just for good measure.
He heard the screech of tires, the sound of cars pulling up in the street. At the same time, the squawk of radio transmitters filled the air. Doors opened and slammed shut. Somebody somewhere called out an order. "This way!"
It was Alicia who took control of the situation. As Jamie stood rooted to the spot, she grabbed hold of him and suddenly she was very close to him.
"We have to move," she said urgently. 'You can't be found here."
"But…"
'You heard what they said on the news. That's what they all think. You've been set up! If the police get you, you're finished. We have to go."
"Go where?"
Jamie turned toward the front door but it was already far too late. He heard footsteps coming up the drive. The front patio had been laid with gravel, and the boots crunched against it. Alicia understood.
That way was blocked. "Into the kitchen!" she commanded.
Jamie was angry with himself. The situation was completely out of control. If Scott had been here, he would have known what to do. Once again Jamie was weak and helpless, allowing himself to be pushed around…this time by a woman he had met only a few hours before. Alicia had taken charge. A door led into the kitchen. She pulled it open and they went through. And that was when they realized that they hadn't been on their own in the house after all.
Marcie was lying on the floor, and it was obvious — even without the pool of blood — that she was dead. Her arms and legs were spread-eagled almost comically and her cheek was pressed against the linoleum as if she was trying to listen to something in the cellar below. In life, she had been a short, stocky woman. Death had somehow compressed her even more, so that she didn't look quite human. A fat, stuffed doll. But somebody had shot her twice and let the stuffing out.
Jamie tried to say something but the words wouldn't come. He heard the front door open on the other side of the living room and realized that the police were already in the house. They hadn't bothered to ring the bell. Somebody muttered something but it was impossible to make out the words against the noise of the TV. Meanwhile, Alicia was looking around. A pair of French windows led into the backyard but she didn't know if they were locked or not and she didn't have time to find out. There, was another door right next to her. Grabbing Jamie, she pulled him out of the kitchen and into a narrow utility room.
There was a washing machine, a drier, a couple of shelves of canned food. She stopped and held up a hand, warning Jamie not to move. At the same moment, the police entered the kitchen.
"Oh Jesus!" Jamie heard one of the policeman gagging.
"That sure is a
Their voices could be heard in the background as the local reporter — a blond, excited-looking woman
— told the story.
"Scott and Jamie Tyler were performing here, at this theatre in downtown Reno," she was saying. "They were part of a so-called mind-reading act that used simple trickery to fool their audience. According to witnesses, both boys were heavily involved in substance abuse, and last night it seems they lost control, stealing a gun from their guardian, Don White, and turning it against him…"
"It's all lies!" Jamie exclaimed. He turned to Alicia, suddenly afraid that she wouldn't believe him.
"What she's saying. None of it's true!"
"Jamie —"
"He didn't even have a gun —"
"Listen to me, Jamie —"
But at that moment, there was a blast of sirens outside the house that could mean only one thing: The police had arrived.
As far as Jamie was concerned, it was all just another bad dream, worse even than the one he'd had the night before. It seemed to him that one impossibility after another was piling up on him, and he almost expected the gray figure from his dream to jump out at him from behind the sofa just for good measure.
He heard the screech of tires, the sound of cars pulling up in the street. At the same time, the squawk of radio transmitters filled the air. Doors opened and slammed shut. Somebody somewhere called out an order. "This way!"
It was Alicia who took control of the situation. As Jamie stood rooted to the spot, she grabbed hold of him and suddenly she was very close to him.
"We have to move," she said urgently. 'You can't be found here."
"But…"
'You heard what they said on the news. That's what they all think. You've been set up! If the police get you, you're finished. We have to go."
"Go where?"
Jamie turned toward the front door but it was already far too late. He heard footsteps coming up the drive. The front patio had been laid with gravel, and the boots crunched against it. Alicia understood.
That way was blocked. "Into the kitchen!" she commanded.
Jamie was angry with himself. The situation was completely out of control. If Scott had been here, he would have known what to do. Once again Jamie was weak and helpless, allowing himself to be pushed around…this time by a woman he had met only a few hours before. Alicia had taken charge. A door led into the kitchen. She pulled it open and they went through. And that was when they realized that they hadn't been on their own in the house after all.
Marcie was lying on the floor, and it was obvious — even without the pool of blood — that she was dead. Her arms and legs were spread-eagled almost comically and her cheek was pressed against the linoleum as if she was trying to listen to something in the cellar below. In life, she had been a short, stocky woman. Death had somehow compressed her even more, so that she didn't look quite human. A fat, stuffed doll. But somebody had shot her twice and let the stuffing out.
Jamie tried to say something but the words wouldn't come. He heard the front door open on the other side of the living room and realized that the police were already in the house. They hadn't bothered to ring the bell. Somebody muttered something but it was impossible to make out the words against the noise of the TV. Meanwhile, Alicia was looking around. A pair of French windows led into the backyard but she didn't know if they were locked or not and she didn't have time to find out. There, was another door right next to her. Grabbing Jamie, she pulled him out of the kitchen and into a narrow utility room.
There was a washing machine, a drier, a couple of shelves of canned food. She stopped and held up a hand, warning Jamie not to move. At the same moment, the police entered the kitchen.
"Oh Jesus!" Jamie heard one of the policeman gagging.
"That sure is a
Similar Books
