terrible thought to have. And just an hour ago, he’d made a deal with God that he would try once again to make it work with Ina.
George continued to listen to the dead air on the phone, and he stared out the window. One of the neighbor kids—Jody’s friend, Brad Reece—joined the children on the front lawn. And now the boys were tossing around a Frisbee and ignoring Stephanie.
“Uncle George, are you still there?”
“Yes,” he said into the phone. “I thought I might have lost you.”
“The old lady’s name is Helene,” she said. “Helene Sumner in Lake Wenatchee. I’ll call directory assistance and get the number—”
“No, let me.” He grabbed a pen and scribbled down the name. “I don’t want you making all these calls while you’re driving. By the way, where are you? Where’s this tunnel?”
She hesitated.
“Amelia?”
“I just got off the I-90 bridge. I was—I was visiting a friend in Bellevue.”
“Well, listen, if you have nothing else going on, you’re welcome to come over—”
“Um, I can’t right now, Uncle George. I’m going to see my therapist. Maybe later tonight, huh?”
“Okay. I’ll call this Helene Sumner and see if she’ll check on the house for us. I’ll phone you the minute I hear anything.”
“My cell’s running out of juice. Let me give you Karen’s number in case you can’t reach me. Karen Carlisle, she’s my therapist. Got a pencil?”
“I’m ready.” George scribbled down the Seattle phone number as she read it off to him. “I’ll call you. And stop worrying. I’m sure everything’s fine.”
Speeding along I-90 in her boyfriend’s car, Amelia clicked off the cell phone and tossed it onto the passenger seat. She clutched the steering wheel with both hands, and started to cry.
Uncle George had said everything would be fine. But he didn’t know what she knew. Amelia hadn’t told him the whole story. She’d failed to mention that, in all likelihood, she’d killed her parents and Ina.
Amelia had also lied about where she had been. After waking up at the deserted Wiener World parking lot, she’d driven around for ten minutes until she’d found the freeway entrance. Then she finally saw a sign telling her where she was: Easton, Washington—a little city ninety miles east of Seattle. It was also about halfway to Wenatchee—and from Wenatchee. Had she been there last night? Had Easton been a stopover so she could sleep a few hours on her way back from murdering her parents and aunt?
Shane had left three messages on her cell, wanting to know where she’d taken his car. Amelia was driving past Snoqualmie when she called him back. She lied and said she’d had a sudden urge to see the Snoqualmie Falls last night. Yes, she’d gotten a little drunk, and decided to sleep it off in the car in the Snoqualmie Lodge parking lot. Yes, she was all right. She just felt awful for taking his car and for the way she’d acted at the party last night.
She couldn’t tell Shane the truth. The only person she could really talk to was her therapist, Karen.
Funny, the two people in whom she confided the most were both women in their thirties. They weren’t alike at all. Karen, with her wavy, shoulder-length chestnut hair and brown eyes, had the kind of natural beauty other women admired, but only the most discerning men noticed. She was very down to earth, but still had a certain class to her. She could look elegant in just a pair of jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt. Meanwhile, Amelia’s Aunt Ina was very flashy and fun, sometimes even over the top. All eyes went to her whenever she walked into a room. She was Prada to Karen’s Banana Republic.
Amelia remembered how lucky she’d felt when her cool Aunt Ina had decided to spend more time with her. They went to art galleries, the theater, and all these terrific, hip restaurants. But then Amelia had started seeing Karen, who was so compassionate and kind. After a while, she stopped
George continued to listen to the dead air on the phone, and he stared out the window. One of the neighbor kids—Jody’s friend, Brad Reece—joined the children on the front lawn. And now the boys were tossing around a Frisbee and ignoring Stephanie.
“Uncle George, are you still there?”
“Yes,” he said into the phone. “I thought I might have lost you.”
“The old lady’s name is Helene,” she said. “Helene Sumner in Lake Wenatchee. I’ll call directory assistance and get the number—”
“No, let me.” He grabbed a pen and scribbled down the name. “I don’t want you making all these calls while you’re driving. By the way, where are you? Where’s this tunnel?”
She hesitated.
“Amelia?”
“I just got off the I-90 bridge. I was—I was visiting a friend in Bellevue.”
“Well, listen, if you have nothing else going on, you’re welcome to come over—”
“Um, I can’t right now, Uncle George. I’m going to see my therapist. Maybe later tonight, huh?”
“Okay. I’ll call this Helene Sumner and see if she’ll check on the house for us. I’ll phone you the minute I hear anything.”
“My cell’s running out of juice. Let me give you Karen’s number in case you can’t reach me. Karen Carlisle, she’s my therapist. Got a pencil?”
“I’m ready.” George scribbled down the Seattle phone number as she read it off to him. “I’ll call you. And stop worrying. I’m sure everything’s fine.”
Speeding along I-90 in her boyfriend’s car, Amelia clicked off the cell phone and tossed it onto the passenger seat. She clutched the steering wheel with both hands, and started to cry.
Uncle George had said everything would be fine. But he didn’t know what she knew. Amelia hadn’t told him the whole story. She’d failed to mention that, in all likelihood, she’d killed her parents and Ina.
Amelia had also lied about where she had been. After waking up at the deserted Wiener World parking lot, she’d driven around for ten minutes until she’d found the freeway entrance. Then she finally saw a sign telling her where she was: Easton, Washington—a little city ninety miles east of Seattle. It was also about halfway to Wenatchee—and from Wenatchee. Had she been there last night? Had Easton been a stopover so she could sleep a few hours on her way back from murdering her parents and aunt?
Shane had left three messages on her cell, wanting to know where she’d taken his car. Amelia was driving past Snoqualmie when she called him back. She lied and said she’d had a sudden urge to see the Snoqualmie Falls last night. Yes, she’d gotten a little drunk, and decided to sleep it off in the car in the Snoqualmie Lodge parking lot. Yes, she was all right. She just felt awful for taking his car and for the way she’d acted at the party last night.
She couldn’t tell Shane the truth. The only person she could really talk to was her therapist, Karen.
Funny, the two people in whom she confided the most were both women in their thirties. They weren’t alike at all. Karen, with her wavy, shoulder-length chestnut hair and brown eyes, had the kind of natural beauty other women admired, but only the most discerning men noticed. She was very down to earth, but still had a certain class to her. She could look elegant in just a pair of jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt. Meanwhile, Amelia’s Aunt Ina was very flashy and fun, sometimes even over the top. All eyes went to her whenever she walked into a room. She was Prada to Karen’s Banana Republic.
Amelia remembered how lucky she’d felt when her cool Aunt Ina had decided to spend more time with her. They went to art galleries, the theater, and all these terrific, hip restaurants. But then Amelia had started seeing Karen, who was so compassionate and kind. After a while, she stopped
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