The Final Victim (47 page)

    Yes, but this is a solid old house. It's been here for nearly a hundred and fifty years.

    Uh-huh. So has the tree that came crashing down outside.

    The thought of the wind gusting strong enough to destroy the formidable oak-and, possibly, implode the house's original windows-is enough to make her want to bolt from the room.

    She forces herself to stay put.

    
First, you screw things up with your boyfriend because you're afraid he'll try to go too far.

    Now it's all you can do not to go running downstairs to find your mommy because
you 're
scared of a little storm.

    A tremendous blast howls against the glass as if the storm begs to differ with her inner bully.

    Okay, so it's a big storm.

    But it isn't a hurricane.

    
If it were a hurricane
,
Lianna
tells herself,
you could go running to your mommy
.

    Her mother must be home by now, although she wasn't a little while ago, when
Lianna
had asked Nydia. That's when
Lianna
also found out it was a tree out front that had knocked out the phone lines when it came down.

    
Terrific.

    
The only thing worse than being stuck at
Oakgate
in bad weather is being stuck at
Oakgate
in bad weather without a phone.

    
Hey-maybe I should go find Mom and ask her if I can have my cell back
,
Lianna
thinks suddenly.

    After all, this is an emergency. It's not like she can use the regular phone. And it's probably going to be days before they fix the lines. She can't go for days without talking to her friends… or Kevin.

    Right, Kevin.

    Her mother isn't going to give her the phone back. No way.

    
All right, so I'll just have to go find it myself.

    Yeah, and when she sees the bill, she'll know you used it when you weren’t supposed to.

    True, but that's probably a month away.
Lianna
will deal with the fallout when the time comes.

    Her mind made up, she slips quietly out of her bedroom and down the hall.

    The door to the room her mother shares with Royce is closed.

    She opens it slowly, pleased when it doesn't creak like most of the other old doors in the house…

    And what she finds on the other side is the most sickening shock of her young life.

    Praying the tires won't lose traction and hydroplane, Charlotte steers the Lexus forward through yet another flooded low spot on the highway leading from the interstate to the
Achoco
Island Causeway. At least she's driving the SUV today, and not Royce's little Audi that she often takes.

    Still, it isn't a good idea to be out in this storm in any kind of vehicle-unless it's a boat, she acknowledges, steering carefully around a wide, deep puddle.

    She just has to get home.

    They must be so worried about her-and God knows, she's worried about them. Chances are, everything is fine and the storm just knocked out the phone service…

    But she would feel a whole lot better if she could just get home to Royce and
Lianna
.

    
At least Aimee is there
, she reminds herself.

    And it's not as though she won't know what to do in a storm like this. She's from New Orleans, for heaven's sake. She's survived worse.
Much, much worse.

    
New Orleans.

    Charlotte's thoughts instantly dart back to the conversation she just had with Dorado. There's something…

    
New Orleans…?

    Karen…?

    There's something she should be remembering.
Something about…

    
Maybe not New Orleans…

    Then what?

    Vince…?

    No. There it is again!
Some elusive thought that flits like a firefly into her consciousness, only to be instantly extinguished before she can catch it.

    
Think, think, think…

    Maybe once she's safely back home, rather than making this treacherous drive from hell, it will come back to her.

    For now, all she can do is drive- Startled by a loud
crack,
she watches a tree crash to the earth in a flooded field off the road.

    
Yes, drive, and try not to get myself killed in the process.

    Listening to the torrents of rain pouring onto the roof just overhead, Jeanne is surprised it hasn't started leaking yet in its usual spot on the far side of the room.

    This is almost as bad as a hurricane, and she's weathered quite a few of those in all her years here at
Oakgate
. The roof leaks; the basement is bound to fill up with a foot of water-it always does.

    Yet Jeanne supposes that she-or at least, the old house-might weather this storm as well.

    But this time, she isn't planning on sticking around to witness the outcome.

    Where on earth is Melanie?

    Pushing aside the wheelchair parked beside the bed, Jeanne gets to her feet and goes, a bit unsteadily, to the window overlooking the front of the house.

    Gazing down at the driveway, the first thing she sees is that an enormous tree has fallen alongside one of the cars. From here, she can't tell whether it's Melanie's.

    Then a movement closer to the house catches her eye, and she strains to see what it is.

    Oh. Somebody is down there.

    She can't tell who it is; they're wearing a long black-vinyl rain cloak that whips wildly about in the wind.

    As the figure comes fully into view, she realizes that he-or she-is oddly stooped over.

    Oh! That's because whoever it is happens to be dragging something that must be heavy down the steps of the portico…

    Something that looks for
all the
world like a dead body swathed in a sheet of blue plastic.

    Heedless of her wet, windblown hair, Mimi paces the tiny room that she was ushered into while she waits to speak with one of the detectives on the Remington case.

    Her heart rate-catapulted to a lofty height the moment she opened that Web link-has yet to return to normal. When she closes her eyes, all she can see is the shocking link to that Louisiana newspaper.

    How can this be?

    
And why?

    It doesn't make sense.

    There has to be some mistake, or some coincidence.

    Yet what are the odds of that? All the details match…

    
But the photos don't
.

    The door opens.

    Aimee turns to see Detective Dorado-the nice one-standing in the doorway.

    "What is it, Mrs. Johnston?" he asks, catching sight of her face. "What's going on?"

    "I don't know," she says in a rush, "but you've got to get somebody out to
Oakgate
right away because I think Charlotte Remington and her daughter are in terrible danger."

    Incredulous, Jeanne watches the hooded figure below come to a stop with its tarp-shrouded burden.

    Why now? Why there?

    Whoever it is went to tremendous effort to drag whatever, or whoever, is wrapped in the tarp quite a distance from the house. Jeanne assumed they were headed for the nearest car, but the car was bypassed in favor of the sprawling branches of the newly fallen tree.

    Now what?

    Her own plans forgotten, her view partially obscured by cascading moss and foliage, Jeanne sees the flapping tarp come away completely, released to blow into obscurity,
carried
by the gusting wind. By the time the storm is over, it might very well have been ripped to shreds, or swept out to sea, or tangled in tree limbs miles from
Oakgate
, mingling with other innocuous storm debris.

    Nobody will ever know that this particular tarp shielded not a roof, but, indeed, a corpse.

    
A female corpse with light-colored hair that Jeanne, even at this distance, finds chillingly familiar.

    "There"-Aimee expertly secures the last strip of clean gauze over the wound-"how does that feel?
Too tight?"

    
"Not at all.
You're an expert." Royce begins to lower his leg, propped on the toilet seat, with a grimace.

    "Don't hurt yourself."

    "I won't." He sets it gingerly on the floor and tries to stand, testing his weight on it.

    Watching him, Aimee says, "The stairs were too much for you."

    "I'm fine."

    "No, you aren't."

    "Well, I will be… as soon as Charlotte gets back. And she said she's on her way, so-"

    She left that message a while ago. How long does it take to drive home from the supermarket, even in bad weather? And why isn't she picking up her cell phone?" Aimee shakes her head worriedly. "What about
Lianna
?" She's still in her room, right? We'd better go talk to her now."

    "And tell her…?"

    "That this is getting much too dangerous and as soon as Charlotte gets here," Royce says resolutely, "we're going to have to evacuate. We can't waste another minute." 'That'll go over like a lead balloon."

    "No, come on…" He hobbles to the door and out into the hall. "It'll be fine. Let's tell her now."

    "You go ahead. She hates me."

    "She doesn't hate you."

    "
Wanna
bet?" Aimee folds her arms across her chest and watches him knock on the closed door at the end of the hall.

    
"
Lianna
?"
He can hear the television blasting, as usual, on the other side of the door. She must be thrilled they have yet to lose power. But he has a feeling that will be short-lived.
"
Lianna
!"

    "Are you sure she's in there?" Aimee asks, coming toward him.

    'The TV is on.
Lianna
!"
'Try the door," Aimee says hurriedly.

    He does. "It's latched. She has to be inside.
Lianna
!"

    The only sound from within is an eruption of canned laughter from a studio audience.

    His heart sinking, Royce commands tersely, "Aimee, get me a chair from the guest room."

    "I told you your leg was going to give out," she says, shaking her head as she scurries to oblige.

    "No, the chair isn't to sit on. I need to use it to break down this door."

    "I'm sorry, ma'am," the uniformed officer, dressed in bright orange rain gear, shouts when she rolls down the driver's side window. "I can't let you go over the causeway. It's closed."

    "But I live out there!" Charlotte protests. "I have to get home to my family."

    "
Ma'am, that
would be too dangerous. The storm surge is getting higher by the second. Already we've got waves washing over the road."

    "But it's the only way to get back on the island!" she protests. "The other one washed away last fall."

    "Exactly," he says with a meaningful nod. 'That's why I can't let you drive out there."

    "Where am I supposed to go?" 'There's a school back that way that's been set up as a temporary storm shelter. Go wait it out."

    "But that could be days!"

    
"Nah.
It blew in faster than they thought. I expect it'll blow out faster, too. See where my car is parked?" He indicates the narrow road ahead. There's a police car perpendicular to the causeway with red lights flashing, acting as a makeshift barricade. 'There's a slight shoulder over there. It's wide enough for you to make your U-turn. Do you need directions to the high school?"

    
"The one on Topsail Road?"

    "That's the one! Good luck!"

    He waves her off.

    Disheartened, she pulls slowly ahead, the windshield wipers now set at triple-time doing hide to clear the view.

    Her cell phone rings as she pulls onto the shoulder where the officer indicated.

    Good. She hasn't been able to get a signal in a while now. Snatching it up, she's certain it will be Royce, wondering why she's not back yet.

    "Hello?"

    Her greeting is met at first with just a burst of static.