Shadow of Doubt (20 page)

I sealed the box and wrote
Books
on the side in permanent marker.

“Once we get everything in here packed, I'll vacuum,” I said. The carpet was filthy. I wondered how long it had been since someone had run a vacuum cleaner over it. One spot beside an overstuffed armchair was covered in...what was that, anyway? It looked like tiny shreds of brown paper. I picked up a few pieces with my fingertip. Tobacco—at least, that's what it smelled like. But I had never seen Ms. Rachlis with a cigarette and, so far, I hadn't seen any ashtrays.

“Let me help you with that, Nat,” Melissa said.

I looked up. Ms. Rachlis was coming out of the bedroom with two boxes stacked on top of each other.

Thump
.

I jumped.

Thump-thump.

It was coming from the floor. The thumps must have startled Ms. Rachlis, too, because she lost her grip on the boxes she was carrying. The top one started to fall. Melissa dove for it and caught it handily.

“Mrs. Wyman's timing is perfect, as usual,” she said with a sigh. “I'll go and find out what she wants. That's one thing you won't miss, right, Nat? All that thumping.”

Ms. Rachlis didn't answer. She went into the kitchen to tape up the two boxes. Melissa returned a few moments later.

“I told Mrs. Wyman you were leaving,” she said to Ms. Rachlis. “She wants to see you so that she can say goodbye. Come on. I'll go with you so that she doesn't talk your ear off.”

“I'll vacuum while you're gone,” I said.

“The vacuum cleaner's in the bedroom closet,” Melissa said.

As I got out the vacuum and started to set it up, I heard something ringing in the distance. It sounded as if it was coming from across the hall. Probably Melissa's phone. I wondered if I should answer it for her but decided against it. If it was important, whoever it was would call back or leave a message.

I hooked up the vacuum cleaner and started in the bedroom. When I moved into the kitchen the cord wouldn't reach any farther, so I carried it into the living room and looked for another outlet. Soon dirt and dust and tobacco were being sucked into the vacuum-cleaner bag. The carpet changed from a grayish color to a cream color right before my eyes.

I moved back and forth across the room—until suddenly my foot caught on the cord and I lost my balance. I staggered backward into a pile of boxes, pushing the top one over. It hadn't been sealed. Some of the contents spilled out—a fabric-covered box, two decorative tins, hair clips, and several envelopes of photographs. Photos slid out, cascading across the floor. I picked up the box and the two tins and then started to gather the photos.

“It's okay, I'll get those,” Ms. Rachlis said, startling me. I hadn't heard her return. Behind her, in the kitchen, Melissa was looking at the voice-mail box. She said, “You've got a message, Nat.”

“It's from yesterday,” Ms. Rachlis said listlessly. “Probably a telemarketer. It always is.”

“Your phone rang too, Melissa,” I said. “While you were downstairs.”

Ms. Rachlis bent down and began picking up the photos that were strewn across the floor.

“It could be something important this time,” Melissa said. “Maybe the police. We should check.” Her voice was perky in contrast to Ms. Rachlis's. She was trying so hard to cheer her up. “How does this work?” she said. “Oh, wait. Okay.”

There was a beep, followed by a man's voice: “I want to talk to her myself. You talking to her is not doing any good. I am tired of waiting...”

Ms. Rachlis straightened up abruptly, leaving a lot of photographs on the floor. She turned toward the phone in the kitchen.

“That's an old message,” she said. “I meant to delete it.” She walked swiftly into the kitchen.

I looked down at the photos that Ms. Rachlis hadn't collected, then glanced into the kitchen. Melissa was staring at the voice-mail box, dazed. “That's Mikhail's voice,” she said.

I heard another beep and the voice stopped. Ms. Rachlis held her finger on a voice-mail button.

“I don't understand,” Melissa said. “He called you? Mikhail called you and you didn't tell me? What was he talking about? What did you tell him, Nat?”

I bent to pick up a picture—Ms. Rachlis, a little younger, beaming, her arm around a man—Mikhail Mornov—whose arm was around her. Ms. Rachlis kissing Mornov on the cheek, Ms. Rachlis holding Mornov's hand. Ms. Rachlis obviously in love. If she had warned Melissa about him, why did she have these pictures? Then I saw more pictures—or, rather, halves of pictures: the same man, Mikhail Mornov, smiling fondly at someone, but that person had been cut out of the pictures. In some, Mornov's hand had been sliced off too. In others, a disembodied woman's hand lingered on his shoulder. In one photo, a ring was clearly visible on that hand. I would have recognized it anywhere—the ring Ted had passed down to Melissa.

“Melissa?” I said, holding out the pictures. But she was focused on Ms. Rachlis.

“I want to hear what he said, Nat,” she said. Her voice was shrill. I heard the muffled sound of a phone ringing across the hall, but Melissa didn't seem to notice. She pushed Ms. Rachlis aside and hit another button on the voice-mail box to hear the rest of the message. The man's voice continued: “You said you would help me, but I'm tired of waiting, and now she's going to marry that man. I'm going to talk to her myself.”

My cell phone rang. I fumbled for it in my pocket and answered it just as Ms. Rachlis grabbed the box and yanked it away from Melissa. Its electrical cord came out of the wall socket.

“Robyn?” the voice on my phone said. “It's Ted.”

“Ted, I—”

Melissa turned to look at me.

“I've been trying to reach Melissa, but she doesn't answer,” Ted said. “Do you think she might be at school? I just got a call from the police. They're having second thoughts about what happened. They say the only call to my condo the night Mornov was shot came from Natalie Rachlis's apartment. Now they're wondering what really happened. I think they think that Melissa—”

Ms. Rachlis ripped the phone out of my hand. My first instinct was to try to grab it back from her. But I rejected that course of action almost immediately, mostly because of the knife. It was long, sharp, and much too close to my throat. I stared at it while Ms. Rachlis shoved my phone into her pocket. But out of the corner of my eye I saw Melissa edging toward the apartment door.

“Take one more step and you'll be saying goodbye to your future stepsister,” Ms. Rachlis said. I felt the point of the knife pierce the skin of my neck. “Come here, Melissa,” she said.

Melissa hesitated.

“I'm not kidding,” Ms. Rachlis said, her voice as sharp and cold as the blade.

Melissa stepped carefully toward us.

My knees started to buckle. As I sagged I felt a pinpoint of searing pain in my neck. Something trickled down my neck, and I felt weak all over again. Blood. It had to be blood.

“Nat, please—” Melissa said.

“Bring me that tape,” Ms. Rachlis said to her. She pressed the knife against my neck again.

Melissa picked up the roll of duct tape that was sitting on the kitchen table.

“That's it,” Ms. Rachlis said. “Now bring it here.”

Melissa obeyed.

“Lie down,” Ms. Rachlis commanded. Melissa hesitated. Again I felt the prick of the knife. Melissa dropped to her knees. “Face down,” Ms. Rachlis said.

“Nat, please—”

“Do it, Melissa,” Ms. Rachlis said. “You've already ruined everything. I'm not going to let you destroy the rest of my life.”

Melissa lay down on the carpet I had just vacuumed.

Ms. Rachlis released her grip on me. She thrust the tape into my hand.

“Fasten her hands behind her back with this,” she said. “Make it tight.”

“Nat, I don't understand,” Melissa said. “Why did Mikhail call you? What did he mean, you talking to me wasn't doing any good?”

“Hurry up,” Ms. Rachlis said to me.

My hands were shaking as I wrapped layer after layer of tape around Melissa's wrists. What had Ted been saying when Ms. Rachlis yanked my phone from my hands? The only call to his place that night had come from here, from Ms. Rachlis's apartment.

“That was Ted on the phone,” I said. “When Mornov called you at Ted's place, he was calling from here.”

“Mikhail was here?” Melissa said.

“Now her mouth,” Ms. Rachlis said. “Tape her mouth.”

My mind raced as I did what I was told. I thought about the photos I had just seen—pictures of Mornov and Ms. Rachlis together, as well pictures of Mornov and Melissa together, with Melissa cut away from Mornov. I thought about the sketches of flowers that I'd found in the scrap-paper bin in the art room—sketches that were similar, I realized, to the label on the flower box from the nonexistent Garden of Eden. I thought about seeing Mornov in front of the school—twice, the second time raising his hand to wave to someone after Melissa had already driven away with Ted. I'd have bet anything that he'd been waiting for Ms. Rachlis—the only other person he knew at my school. I thought about the tactics Mornov had supposedly used to scare Melissa. They were almost identical to the tactics James Duguid had used to terrorize Melissa's mother. But Melissa had said that she hadn't told Mornov what her mother had been through. She'd told very few people. But she had told Ms. Rachlis, which meant that Ms. Rachlis knew exactly what to do to not only to make her believe that Mornov was stalking her, but also to stir up horrific memories from her childhood.

I looked at Melissa, her wrists and mouth bound with duct tape, and thought about the night she'd shot Mornov. Ms. Rachlis told the police that he had turned up at her apartment after she got back from Ted's. She said he'd cornered her in the kitchen. But all those bits of tobacco proved that he had been sitting on a chair in the living room. He had been there while Melissa, Ms. Rachlis, and I were at Ted's place. He had called Melissa from there.

Bit by bit, it was making sense.

I turned to Ms. Rachlis. “Ted's phone number is unlisted,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “But you knew it. Melissa gave it to you. You called Mornov before we went over to Ted's—and you gave him the phone number. You told him he could reach Melissa there. You probably even suggested that he call her. You knew it would scare her.”

And then there was the note. The security guard hadn't let anyone into the building. The cameras hadn't caught anyone, either. I had assumed that this proved how clever—and how dangerous—Mornov was. But I had been wrong.

“
You
slipped that note under the mat,” I said. My heart was hammering in my chest. “That's why the cameras didn't pick up anyone sneaking into the building. Mornov was never
in
the building. But you were. You're the one who found the note because you're the one who slipped it under the mat.” I glanced at Melissa. Her eyes were wide with surprise. “
And
you sent those flowers,” I said

Ms. Rachlis's face was a mask of fury and hatred. What was she going to do? What could
I
do to try to stop her? “You sent those flowers to Melissa. You trashed her car. Mornov had an alibi. But I bet if the police checked, they'd find that you didn't.”

Ms. Rachlis lunged at me and grabbed my hair. She yanked it hard. I let out a howl. Then she ordered me to lie down and knelt on top of me, one of her knees jammed into the small of my back. I grunted with pain.

Ms. Rachlis had to set the knife down to take hold of arms and twist them behind my back. She adjusted her knees again so they pressed down on my crossed wrists. The pain was so sharp that tears welled up in my eyes. I felt her weight shift a little as she reached for the tape and I tried rolling to one side, but she put her full weight on me and grabbed the knife.

“Try that again and I'll cut you, I swear I will,” she said. I felt the tip of the knife between my shoulder blades, and I froze. Then I heard the
kkkttt
of the tape. She began to bind my wrists.

“I saw those pictures. You knew Mikhail Mornov before Melissa started going out with him,” I said. “Did you go out with him too? Did he dump you? Is that it? Or maybe he wasn't interested? I know how that feels.” If I could establish a connection with her—any connection—maybe it would help. “I know how it hurts.”

“I wish you'd killed him,” Ms. Rachlis said bitterly, her eyes fixed on Melissa. “I hope he dies. It would serve him right. You too. You'd have to live with that for the rest of your life.”

Melissa was staring at her as if she were seeing her for the first time. My mind exploded with memories of what happened that night.

“You tricked Melissa,” I said. “When she showed up here that night, you tricked her. Mornov didn't threaten you, either. He was trying to get downstairs to see Melissa. He didn't want to hurt her. And you tried to stop him. That's why he had the knife. You—”

“She ruined everything,” Ms. Rachlis said. “It's all her fault. He was mine. He was interested in me right up until he met
her
. I went to that party to see him. I brought Melissa along because I felt sorry for her. She never went anywhere. She was always so afraid. I introduced them, and the next thing I knew Mikhail was telling me what a good friend I was to have fixed him up with a girl like Melissa. That's what he kept calling me.
Friend
. As if I was never special to him.” She pulled off more tape.

What was she going to do? Was she planning to kill us? I thought about Ted—was he trying to contact me again? Was he worried enough to have called the police? Maybe if I could keep her talking...

“You knew all about Melissa's mother and you used that to scare her,” I said. The weight lifted from my back. Ms. Rachlis stood up. “You told her lies about Mornov. You made him out to be a stalker. You scared Melissa right out of town, didn't you?”