From there, they had a vantage across the street to the gated driveway at Casperson’s estate. Lights glowed on either side of the brick columns. A sedan was parked on the street, and its windows were clouded with steam. Every now and then they could see an arm wipe the front window. A guard was watching the gate.
“I don’t think he’s going to invite you inside, kitty cat,” Curt said.
Cat unzipped her coat and grabbed the binoculars that hung around her neck. She put them to her eyes and focused on Casperson’s estate. The angle was wrong to see the house. She could make out the curving driveway and the detached garage, but a stand of evergreens blocked all the windows.
“What can you see?” Curt asked.
“Nothing. This isn’t working.” Cat tapped her foot impatiently again. “What if we sneak into the house that Haley Adams used? She had a view into Casperson’s place. You said you got in there when you were looking for the telescope, right?”
“I barely got out, too. They’ve got private security checking on the place now.”
Cat frowned. She noted the time on her watch and peered through the binoculars again.
“It looks pretty quiet over there,” Curt added. “There’s no party tonight. I’d know.”
“Let’s give it a few more minutes.”
“Okay, but if we’re out here much longer, it’s going to take a blowtorch to thaw out my junk.”
Cat giggled. “You’re on your own with that.”
They stayed where they were, shivering in the cold. The night was silent. Across the street, Casperson’s place remained peaceful. No cars came and went; no one approached the gate. She began to think that Curt was right and Dean Casperson was spending the evening alone.
At ten o’clock, she decided it was time to go.
They backtracked through the snow, but before they broke out of the bushes, headlights shone from the southern direction on Hawthorne Road. Cat held up a hand to stop Curt where he was. She watched as a white limousine glided up the hill from the lake and stopped in front of Casperson’s estate. The security guard got out of the sedan and checked the car and then pushed a button to open the metal gate. The limo backed up, navigated the tight turn, and then drove inside and parked near the front door.
“Hang on,” Cat said. “Who is that?”
She scrambled to focus the binoculars. Inside the gate, it was almost impossible to see details. Then, as the rear door of the limousine opened, she saw someone get out. Just one person. The glow from the interior light of the long sedan was enough to make out the face, and Cat recognized her.
It was Aimee Bowe.
Aimee stopped outside the car as if frozen. Her long coat draped to her feet. Her hair blew across her face. Oddly, she looked back toward the gate and the darkness, almost as if she were staring directly at Cat. There was no way she could see her, but Cat felt as if their eyes had met. In her imagination — and it had to be her imagination because she was too far away — she thought she saw Aimee’s lips moving. Sending her a message.
Save me.
Aimee walked around the car to the front door, which was open for her, and then disappeared inside the house.
“I have to get over there,” Cat said.
“What? Are you kidding, kitty cat?”
“There’s going to be trouble. I know it.”
Cat didn’t wait for Curt. She took off running. She bounded downhill through the snowy front yards to the intersection. At the corner, she crossed the street and ducked inside the trees that sheltered the wall surrounding Casperson’s estate. The top of the wall was more than a foot over her head.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Curt asked, arriving behind her.
“Help me get over the wall.”
“You sure about that? This is a bad idea.”
“I’ll be careful,” Cat said, “but I have to make sure Aimee’s okay.”
“I don’t know. I’m already pushing my luck with the cops. If they catch me inside, I’m screwed.”
“You stay here,” she told him. “I’ll go.”
Curt heaved a sigh of resignation, and Cat kissed his cheek in gratitude. He squatted in the snow and laced his gloved hands together to form a step. Cat put her boot on his hands, and he hoisted her up until she could grab the top of the wall and swing her other leg over the mortar. She straddled the wall and stared down at the other side, where the ground looked far away.
She was about to jump when headlights swept across her body like a searchlight. Quickly, she flattened her torso along the top of the wall, and Curt took cover among the pines. Looking back, she spotted the white limousine silently disappearing through the intersection and continuing down the hill.
It didn’t slow down. No one had seen her.
Cat called to Curt in a hushed voice. “Wait for me. I won’t be long.”
Before she could lose her nerve, she swung her leg to the other side of the wall and leaped down.
She landed, lost her balance, and fell. When she got up, half her body was white with snow. She shook as much as she could from her clothes and then followed the wall uphill toward the estate. Ahead of her, the gables of the house loomed between the trees. Squares of yellow light dotted the windows. She was approaching from the back, and she veered away from the brick wall to get closer. The trees ended at a landscaped courtyard fifty yards from the house. She saw a stone fountain that was dormant for the winter. A wrought iron table sat in the center of a circular patio with a large pancake of snow on top of it. Deer and rabbit tracks dotted the gardens.
She felt exposed as she crept through the courtyard to the house, whose two wings were connected at a right angle by a rounded turret that looked like something from a castle. A huge bay window in the south wing overlooked the courtyard, and lights were on inside. She stayed low, and when she reached the window, she poked her head above the frame to peer inside. Just as quickly, she ducked back down. Jungle Jack was stretched across a leather sofa, his face only inches from the glass. If he’d glanced left, they would have been staring at each other. Cat shrank down against the rear wall. She could hear the noise of the television inside, but one glance had told her that Jack was alone in the room.
Where was Dean Casperson?
Where was Aimee?
She backed away from the window and made her way around the turret and along the perpendicular wing that was closest to Hawthorne Road. Most of the lights were off. She followed the side of the house until she reached the driveway, where she could see the main gate and the detached garage. She waited, then tiptoed in hushed steps past the double front doors to the far side of the estate. She looked back at the gate. The guard outside wasn’t visible on the street.
The wind was in her face, cold and loud. The tall evergreens swayed. Despite the chill, her nervousness made her sweat. She continued around the corner of the house, where she was sheltered by the walls on both wings. The asphalt driveway curved beside her. On the second floor, twelve feet over her head, she saw lights. Behind the sheer curtains, a silhouette moved in and out of view.
It was Aimee Bowe.
Cat needed to see into that room. She spotted a white catering van parked near the back doors of the south wing, and the top of the van was only a few feet below the roofline of the house. She crept down the driveway until she reached the van. The rear door of the house was open. She could hear voices inside and smell the yeasty aroma of bread baking. The front of the van faced her. She put a boot on the bumper and climbed up the hood to the top of the vehicle, wincing as the steel of the chassis shuddered loudly under her feet. The roof was just above her, but the angle was sharp, and the shingles were covered with snow.