The Fall Guy by Barbara Fradkin

quick test. By some miracle, it still worked. Maybe for once, the old guy upstairs had decided to humor me.
    I stuffed all the electronics into a backpack and revved up the dirt bike. The sun was getting low in the sky, making it hard to see. But that meant the shadows would be deep and it would be easier to hide. I roared along the highway, through the village and past the church. The parking lot was empty now, the wake over. About half a mile up Wilkins’ road I killed the engine, hid the bike in the brush and walked up the gravel lane. I stuck to the edge so I could dive out of sight if I had to. I felt jumpy as a cat. My heart thumped, and sweat soaked my shirt under the pack.
    The parking area in front of the cottage was empty. No sign of the old Ford or Wilkins’ car. The cottage sat in the shadows, spooky and still. I crouched down and ran up to the front window. Nearly had a heart attack when the security lights flooded the scene. I dove for cover. Nothing happened. I crept back and pressed my ear to the wall. Nothing. No voices. No sounds of music or TV. I peered inside but everything was dark. I ducked and ran along to the next window. That room was dark too. I circled the house, checking out the kitchen, the bedrooms and all three bathrooms. No one was home.
    Perfect luck. I worked one of the windows until it slid open. I climbed inside, hauling my backpack with me. A loud beeping almost sent me through the roof. I was so spooked I’d forgotten the alarm! Lucky for me, Wilkins had given me the code so I could come and go. Hands shaking, I punched it in, and the clamor stopped.
    I stood in the living room, straining to hear. Nothing. In the stillness I pictured the dead woman standing in the middle of the room, giving me that little wave.
    The silence was eerie. I wondered where they all were. It didn’t seem like family outings were high on their list. I stuck the baby transmitter into a palm tree in the corner of the living room. Lori-Anne’s palm tree. She’d said she was hoping it would grow tall and make her feel like she was on a tropical island.
    I shivered, feeling her ghost again. As fast as I could, I crawled back out the window and hightailed it down the lane. I expected to see headlights or hear the purr of Wilkins’ car any moment. There was nothing. The crickets cheeped, the frogs croaked and, far off, a coyote yipped. I found my bike and crawled in beside it, careful to pull the bushes back in front of us.
    Then I dug the baby monitor and tape recorder out of the backpack and settled down to wait.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    D arkness fell. I cursed my stupidity. I’d forgotten a jacket. I’d forgotten to eat supper or put on bug spray. Even in September, the little buggers were out in force. I curled my arms around myself and tried to be small while I waited.
    The sound of a broken muffler woke me with a start. I peered at my watch: 9:05. The Ford rumbled by me. It was too dark to see inside, but I sat up at attention. I listened as the car growled to a stop and car doors slammed. Distant voices drifted toward me. One girl, one boy. Loud and angry. Good. I pressed the Record button and waited to see if my contraption would work.
    For a minute, nothing. Then vague sounds crackled through the receiver. A thud, the clink of bottles. Then a voice, so loud I jumped out of my skin.
    â€œI can’t believe there was nothing! Not a fucking penny!” Bethany said.
    â€œWhy should there be? Mom didn’t have a penny of her own. He made sure of that.”
    â€œHe made sure of a whole lot of things.” A loud thump . “Goddamn bastard.”
    Bethany must have been right beside the palm tree, because her voice just about broke my ear drum. But Daniel had gone farther away. The kitchen, maybe? He muttered something I couldn’t hear.
    â€œSomebody had to say it,” Bethany replied. “It was true. This was all his fault.”
    â€œBethany, I’m sick