Scared to Death (20 page)

“You
did.”

“I'm not the one it happened to.”

“Whatever. It was random. I'm fine.”

Yeah, sure. Fine. Totally laid back about a rat crawling out of her purse.

But his being here really does make it seem all better.

“You know”—Jake sips the coffee, and makes a face like it's too hot—“I tried to wait around for you for a little bit after they took you into the back room, but then I thought that might seem weird, so I left.”

“Why would it seem weird?”

“You don't think it would have?”

“No.” She smiles at him. “I think it would have been sweet.”

“Oh…too bad I didn't do it, then. Because I really am a sweet guy.”

“Yeah?” She gives him a flirty little smile.

He smiles back, and for the first time, Caroline notices his eyes.

With his blond hair, you'd expect them to be blue, or maybe brown.

But they're dark—as dark, perhaps, as her own.

 

The door
was
dead-bolted. Elsa is sure of it.

Now it isn't. She's sure of that, too.

Numb with fear, she calls out to her mother, hearing the doubt in her own voice. There will be no reply, because Maman isn't here.

But maybe she
was
here, and she unlocked the door on her way out just now…

No. If Maman had been here, she'd have heard them calling her. She'd have answered.

But if she wasn't here…then who came into the apartment while they were gone, left the door ajar, and now unlocked it?

“Mommy, what are you doing?”

Opening her mouth to answer Renny's question, she can't seem to find her voice.

Okay, don't panic. Just stay calm and think this through. There must be an explanation.

Elsa rests a hand on Renny's shoulder, as much to steady herself as to reassure her daughter.

Think. Think.

Tom said he saw Maman. Was he imagining things? Or lying? But why would he lie?

Who is Tom, anyway? A doorman. A stranger. He wasn't even in the lobby, she realizes, when they came and went. He was standing outside. He could have been anyone.

Oh God. I can't trust him. I can't trust anyone
.

Someone knows she and Renny are in Maman's apartment. Someone was waiting for them just now.

Yet she's positive they weren't followed here from Connecticut, or even from Penn Station.

And she didn't even decide they were coming to New York until this afternoon. She hasn't discussed it with anyone but Brett. They didn't even buy tickets until right before they boarded the train.

Yet someone found them.

That means they weren't just being watched and photographed. Someone must have been listening to their private conversations. Someone heard them talking about the trip in their kitchen, or over the phone. Either the line is tapped, or the house is bugged. Maybe both.

She has to call Brett and tell him—

No! You can't call Brett. You can't call Maman, either.

You can't call anyone. You can't talk about it to anyone, not even Renny.

Someone might be listening right now. Someone might hear her shallow breathing, her heart pounding like crazy, blood roaring through her veins…

“Mommy?”

“Shh!”

Whoever was here might have wanted her to think he was leaving. But he might still be here, hiding, watching, listening.

Clutching Renny's shoulder, she glances warily around the foyer.

Dear God, someone is there—standing right behind her.

Elsa cries out—then realizes it's her own reflection in an enormous gilded mirror. She looks like hell: hair straggly from the rain, pupils dilated in sheer terror, yesterday's mascara rendering her gaunt, almost otherworldly.

“Mommy!”

“It's okay, Renny.” She hugs her shaken daughter. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

But someone is sure as hell trying to scare
her
—and doing a damned good job of it.

 

Arriving home after an agonizing day of going through the motions at the office, still with no word from Mike, Brett is relieved to see that Meg's car is no longer parked in the driveway next door. He's definitely not up for another round of Q&A.

Reminded that Elsa's car is still sitting at the Sunoco station—or, by now, in a tow yard somewhere—he wonders again about that Spider-Man toy she'd found lying in the parking lot. Even if it had fallen out of the car…

What if Elsa herself had been the one who was carrying it around? Caught in the throes of acute stress disorder, she'd done that back in the beginning, for months after their son disappeared. She'd clung fiercely to that toy, even talked to it, as if it were Jeremy himself. The day she'd tried to kill herself, when
he'd found her unconscious, she'd been clutching the toy in her hands.

So, what? You think she lied to you about how it might have gotten into the car and onto the ground next to it?

No. Her terror was too real. She didn't lie.

But maybe her subconscious mind is up to something again. Losing touch with reality. Dissociative behavior. Maybe learning of Jeremy's death really did push her over the edge, and Brett was just too distracted or busy to notice the signs.

But it isn't just that she thought someone was in Renny's room, or that she thought she saw a footprint, and found that Spider-Man by the car.

What about the envelope of pictures?

Wait a minute.

She wasn't in any of them.

Could she have taken them, and mailed them, herself?

It would mean his wife is seriously mentally ill.

No. I can't accept that. I won't.

He strides toward the house, casting a wary eye across the surrounding landscape, relieved to see nothing unusual. It isn't until he's reached the front door that he spots the small rectangle of paper stuck to the frame.

Heart racing, he grabs it.

Mr. and Mrs. Cavalon: I'll be Renata's new caseworker, and I came by this afternoon to introduce myself. Please give me a call to schedule a meeting at your earliest convenience.

The ink is wet and smeared in spots, particularly at the bottom, making the scrawled signature difficult to read. It looks like Melissa—or perhaps Melvin?—Jackson, or Johnson. The phone number is legible, though.

Brett hurriedly unlocks the door and shoves the keys into his suit coat pocket along with the note, won
dering why the new social worker didn't just call in advance to introduce herself.

Then again—why
would
she call? Pop-in visits are a necessary evil when it comes to foster care, and a heads-up would obviously ruin the spontaneity.

After stepping over the threshold, Brett locks the dead bolt behind him and leans against the door, head tilted back, eyes closed.

The threat of an unexpected visit from Roxanne was bad enough. Now another new caseworker breathing down their necks? That's the last thing he and Elsa need right now.

What they do need right now is help. But Mike seems to have fallen off the face of the earth, and the only other person to whom he can consider reaching out is Elsa's therapist, Joan.

There must be some kind of patient privacy protocol, but he can only hope that Elsa signed a release in the beginning that would allow him access to her mental health records.

He has to call Joan. He knows he does. He dreads the thought of it, but it's time.

He pulls his cell phone from his pocket and checks to make sure he didn't somehow miss a call. Nope.

He finds Mike's number and hits redial, wanting to give it one more try before he gets in touch with Joan.

This time, someone answers the phone with a gruff-sounding hello.

“Mike?”

“No,” the unfamiliar voice says.

“Sorry, I must have the wrong—”

“Are you looking for Mike Fantoni?”

“Yes…”

“This is the right phone. Who is this?”

“I'm…a friend of his.”

“Yeah. So am I.”

Wondering what's going on, Brett asks, “Can I please speak to him?”

There's a long pause. “I'm sorry. They just gave me his phone, and I heard it ring, so…”

“They?”

“The nurses. I'm at the hospital. Mike is…he's been in an accident.”

 

Elsa desperately wants to believe she and Renny are alone in the apartment.

If they are, then the safest thing to do would be to barricade the door and stay right here until this is over…

Whatever “this” is.

But if that isn't the case—if whoever unlocked the dead bolt is still here—then they have to escape, before—

No. Don't even think about that. It's going to be fine. You can get through this. Just stay calm.

Okay. An escape. The door is just a few yards away. It would be so easy to grab Renny and run for it…

Her eyes go to the coat closet beside the door. What if someone is hiding in there, watching them through the crack? Or that tall armoire positioned against the curved wall between the door and where they're standing now: Someone could be lurking in the shadows on the far side of it. If she makes a move to leave with Renny, he'll pounce, and then what?

Elsa could scream for help at the top of her lungs…

And no one would hear.

Soundproof. Oh God.

Her eyes are starting to sting.

How could she have thought it was a good idea to leave Brett, to travel so far from home alone with Renny, to a city filled with strangers who—

“Can we eat now?” Renny's voice startles Elsa.

She blinks, takes a deep breath, tries to focus. Her throat dry with fear, she repeats Renny's question slowly, as if it had been spoken in a foreign language. “Can we eat now?”

Can…we…eat…now…?

Can…we…?

The words aren't registering. All she can think of is fleeing this gilded cage, getting her daughter to safety…

“Mommy?”

Food. She's talking about the Chinese food in the kitchen.

“No, we…”

Wait a minute. The kitchen…

The knives are there, right on the counter. If she were armed, she'd at least be able to fight back if someone attacked.

Yes. That's what she'll do. She'll grab a knife and then make a break for the door with her daughter.

“Come on,” she tells Renny, trying to keep panic from edging into her voice. “Let's go eat.”

Peering into every shadowy nook along the way as they move toward the kitchen, Elsa keeps one firm hand on Renny's shoulder and the other in her pocket, clamped around her cell phone. If she had to, she could probably dial 911 blindly, with her thumb.

But how long would it take for help to arrive?

Too long.

And no one will hear their screams.

Oh God…Oh God…

In the kitchen, the Chinese food waits on the counter.

Keeping Renny close beside her, Elsa walks over. Her hand is shaking like crazy, her thumb poised on the 9 button, as she starts to reach past the bag…

Calm down. You have to calm down. If he's watching, he'll think you're going for the takeout, and—

Stunned by what she sees, she involuntarily loosens her grip on her phone. It clatters onto the granite counter as she stares in disbelief at the knife block.

Minutes ago, the handles were all accounted for.

Now one of the slots is empty.

 

Stunned, Brett listens as Joe, the man who answered Mike's phone—his neighbor, and a witness to the accident—explains the situation.

Mike Fantoni is in a coma.

“It was a hit-and-run in front of his building. This car came barreling out of nowhere. Hit him, and kept on going.”

“Did you get a look at it?”

“Not a good look, no. I was in a state of shock, trying to help Mikey…” He pauses, clears the emotion from his throat. “A couple of other people saw it, though. The cops found the car abandoned a coupla blocks away. Stolen.”

“Do they have any idea who was driving it?”

“Probably some crazy-ass kid out joyriding.” Joe sighs heavily. “You know, another few seconds, and he woulda been outa there, on his way to the airport.”

“What? The kid? How do you know—”

“Not the
kid
. Mike!”

“Mike
was going to the
airport
?”

“Had his bags all packed and everything.”

“Do you know where he was going?”

“On vacation.”

“Do you know
where
?” Brett repeats, his heart pounding.

“Nah. Why?”

“Just…he was working on something for me. Is there any way you can find out where—”

“I told you, he's in a coma, on a respirator. I can't—”

“No, I know,” Brett says quickly, guiltily. “Forget it. It's not important.”

But it
is
important.

Just last night, Mike promised to figure out where that Spider-Man figurine came from. Why hadn't he mentioned he was going away this morning?

Was it a sudden decision?

Or…

Could the trip have had something to do with the case?

 

With a burst of adrenaline, Elsa grabs her daughter by the arm and drags her out of the kitchen.

Renny starts to cry out in protest.

“Shh, no! No!” Elsa grabs her by the shoulders. “I know this doesn't make sense, Renny, but just do what I say right now, please. Okay?”

At her frightened nod, Elsa releases her and turns to see if there's any sign of an intruder.

The menacing presence seems as blatant as the gaping hole in the knife block, yet the long hallway is deserted.

Could she have imagined that a handle was missing? Fear does strange things to a person…