I approached the house, eased up the three steps to the porch, and listened. Nothing. From where I stood I could look through the living room and down the hallway that led to my bedroom. My other riding boot stood in the middle of the hallway near my bedroom door. God damn it. The son-of-a-bitch was in my house. I ran through the door, down the hall, snagged my other boot, and skidded into my bedroom, boot raised above my head, ready to beat him senseless with it.
Empty.
Except for the note on my pillow. "You're going to be too late," was handwritten on a plain piece of paper.
The front door slammed. I spun and dashed into the hall.
Again, no one.
Nothing but the feel of cold air coming from the back of the house. I ran to the kitchen. The back door stood open. I was the only one in the room. The wind must have blown the front door shut when he went out the back.
Or he could still be in the house.
I closed and locked the kitchen door, then pulled a carving knife out of the knife storage block by the sink and eased toward the pantry.
No one.
I crept silently to my bathroom. That, too, was vacant. I checked under my bed, in my closet, my office. I rushed through the house, abandoning stealth.
I was alone.
Back in the kitchen I put the knife away, but my hand trembled so much I had trouble sliding it into its proper slot.
Damn him. What was he playing at? Then I knew – Blackie! I dashed to the phone and dialed Uncle Henry's number. It rang once. "Pick up, come on," I pleaded. It rang again. "Come on, come on, pick up." It rang four more times. "Damn. Damn. Where are you?"
Okay, Thea, now think, think. It's Friday. What goes on Friday afternoons?
"Aunt Vi's hair appointment, and…" I looked at the clock.
Uncle Henry has a lesson scheduled right now. That's why no one is answering the phone.
Okay, made sense. And my brain was working instead of reacting. I grabbed my cell phone, purse, and keys, locked the front door and headed to my car. Two steps off my porch, the obvious hit me.
Delores.
I flipped my phone open and punched Maria's number, praying someone was home. Maria answered. Silently I thanked her Dios.
"Maria, it's Thea. Do you know if Delores is back yet?"
"I do not see her car," she said. I could hear her walking around, probably looking out the windows.
"Listen, this is important. What exactly did she say to you this morning?"
"She said she was going to look at a horse a man was selling and should be back before too long."
I bit my lip and tried another tactic.
"Did she say she was going to see a man about a horse?" I held my breath.
"Yes, yes, that is exactly her words. How do you know?"
I flew to my car, phone pressed to my ear. "It's an expression. It doesn't have anything to do with horses." Although in this case it was close. "I'm pretty sure I know where Delores is. I'm going to get her."
I disconnected and punched the speed dial for Juliet's cell phone while I scrambled into the driver's seat and jammed the key into the ignition. Relief. The engine turned over on the first try. Things were going my way. I shoved the car into gear and peeled away from the curb. Juliet wasn't answering her phone. Damn. I need her to go to the farm to check on Uncle Henry and Blackie.
In quick succession I tried the Copper Creek office and her apartment, met with identical results, and ran a red light. I tried Eric. No answer. Where the hell was everyone? Calm down. It's Detective Thurman you need. Frantically, I punched his number while swerving through traffic. I hit the send key and my battery went dead.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" I jammed it into my purse.
There was no time to drive all the way to his office. I couldn't give Greg that much of a head start when Delores's life was on the line.
Greg's last note taunted, "Too late," "too late." My foot pressed into the accelerator.
I left forty-five behind in a twenty-five zone and hoped a cop would see me. No luck. Where were the speed traps when you wanted them?
It was after six o'clock. What kind of shape would Delores be in if she hadn't taken her meds on time or eaten a regular meal? That would have been the good news. Greg had killed Valerie. What would he do to Delores? No, stop thinking like that.
A pickup truck obeying the speed limit slowed me to a crawl. I pounded the steering wheel and honked repeatedly. He tapped his brakes at me.
"Move, dammit!" Use the pedal on the right!"
I passed him on a curve on a double yellow line and got a severe horn blasting for my heroics.
"Screw you," I muttered to my rear-view mirror, leaving him in a cloud of exhaust.
Once on Carpenter Road, I found an overgrown lane just past Valerie's property. I hoped it wasn't someone's private drive. Still, I'd rather risk that than pull up to the house and announce my presence to Greg. I wedged my car into the bushes then, not bothering to conceal myself, I ran as best I could up the long, steep driveway to the estate. I halted when I reached the top of the hill and bent double, my hands on my knees, sucking air into my lungs. The middle of the driveway was not a good place to recover from the dash. A small cedar tree stood a short distance to my left. I darted to it, and dropped into a crouch, hiding myself in its wide, aromatic branches.
As I caught my breath and the burning left my calves and thighs, I peered through the damp foliage. Before me lay an empty expanse of lawn, dotted with a few specimen plants and evergreens. The driveway angled to my right before it divided, one branch curving to the house, the other skirting around back to the barn.
The only car I could see from my hiding place was Valerie's BMW, and it hadn't moved since last weekend. I didn't see Greg's car or Delores's, but that didn't mean anything. She'd probably parked behind the house and gone to the kitchen door. Greg's car might be in the garage on the far side of the house.
Shouldn't you check for vehicles first before you look for Delores?
But what if he's gotten rid of her car? The absence of her car wouldn't mean anything.
Hey, the house is dark. It doesn't look like he's here.
Could I be so lucky?
Maybe. But there was no way to know without ringing the doorbell, so I waited and watched and listened, trying to pick out any sound beyond the tree frog cacophony, any movement through the darkened windows.
You should have been planning on the way over instead of driving like a mad woman. How are you going to fins Delores? Come on, think.
Right. A systematic search was called for – systematic but stealthy.
And for God's sake be smart. Don't do anything to draw Greg's attention – if he's here.
The barn would be the quickest to search and my best bet for avoiding Greg. How was I going to cross that huge lawn without being seen?
Impatience and dread plucked at me, demanding a decision. I couldn't hesitate any longer so, good plan or not, I chose to circle to my left and come at the barn from the route that afforded the most opportunity for cover. I pulled off my light colored jacket and stashed it beneath the wet branches. My dark cotton shirt soaked up the dampness as I brushed against the foliage. I shivered. The cold went right through me.
I kept low and snuck from shrub to shrub, watching the house for any sign of Greg, until an open portion of the lawn was my remaining obstacle. Then I swallowed my fear, broke from my cover, and pelted toward the house. I reached the foundation plantings and fell to my knees, panting. As by breath steadied, I heard the soft sound of hurried footsteps on the grass. They were coming toward me. Terrified, I dove behind a bush and fell headlong into a window well. Instinct caused me to grab at anything within reach to arrest my descent, but I landed in a heap among the wet, rotting leaves anyway. Holding my breath and willing my heart to stop pounding so hard, I listened from my uncomfortable, contorted position.