Gretchen felt useless here. She seriously considered going back to Boston to deal with her own crumbling personal life, which was spiraling out of control.
She needed a steady job and income, and she needed to decide what to do about Steve. In a brief interlude of self-pity she listed her current problems. A mother wanted for questioning in a murder, clearly the most pressing problem at the moment. A cheating long-term boyfriend who was afraid of commitment, another monumental problem. Her lack of employment and a dwindling savings account. Right this minute she didn’t even own a phone.
Anything else? Oh yes, let’s add a few physical problems. A broken wrist and second-degree burns on her face and feet.
And she had absolutely nothing to show for her efforts to save her mother except a key of unknown origin. Instead of clearing her mother’s name, she’d implicated her further. If she stayed longer, who knew how much more physical harm she could inflict on herself, how much more physical evidence she could dredge up against her mother.
She decided to call Steve from the house, then catch the next flight home before Courtney permanently displaced her.
She lifted Nimrod out of his purse and held him on her shoulder. He licked her ear. “Right now,” Gretchen said to him, “you’re the best thing I’ve got going for me, and you’re only a temporary visitor. Sad, isn’t it?”
“You can’t go home!” Nina wailed. “I can’t handle this by myself. What about the key? It’s going to open the right door. You’ll see. If you don’t stay and fight for Caroline, who will?”
“Why isn’t she here fighting for herself?” Gretchen threw clothes into her open suitcase lying on the bed. Wobbles watched the action with a steady gaze, his ears flatter on his head than usual.
“What about a flight? You can’t go to the airport without a ticket.”
“I’ll wait on standby. Nina, I’m desperate. I can’t let my whole life pass before my eyes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Name one thing that’s going right in my life.”
“Let me make you a cup of green tea.” Nina pulled several pairs of shorts out of the suitcase and returned them to the dresser. “This is impulsive. Let’s talk about it. I know, call Steve. Work it out on the phone.”
Gretchen tossed her hiking boots into the suitcase and stomped into the kitchen to retrieve the cordless phone. “I’ll call and let him know I’m on my way,” she said, carrying the phone into the bedroom and closing the door.
“Explain,” she said to him after waiting an inordinate amount of time while his secretary located him, annoyed that she still wasn’t on the interruptible list, that special group of coddled clients that commanded instant attention. Instead she had to resort to intimidating an overworked secretary.
“This is bad timing, Gretchen.” Steve said, sounding rushed. “I’m in the middle of sensitive negotiations. Why didn’t you return my call earlier?”
In a meeting at 9:30 in the evening, Boston time? “I needed time to think.”
“I don’t know what to say for myself. I love you, you know. Sometimes, I admit, I’m a bit misguided.”
“That’s it?” Gretchen said. “That’s all you have to say?”
“It’s over with Courtney. It hadn’t really even started. She got carried away.”
“Does she understand that? That you were a little misguided and she expected more than you were willing to deliver?”
Steve hesitated, and Gretchen could hear his breath, labored and anxious. “Yes. She understands clearly.”
“Maybe I should give her a call,” Gretchen suggested lightly. “After all, she’s practically a child. She must be devastated.”
“Ah. That wouldn’t be wise. Might even make the situation worse. Besides, she’s on vacation. Someplace in South Carolina.”
How convenient, Gretchen thought. She watched Wobbles snuggle into the suitcase surrounded by her clothes. “You haven’t asked about me or my mother, about what’s happening in Phoenix.”
“I really don’t have time right now, but I want to ask. I’ve been thinking about you. Later. I’ll call later after my meetings.”
Later, Gretchen thought wearily, wait till later. Wasn’t that always the response? Maybe later. Gretchen had waited all these years for a later that never arrived.
She saw a flash of lightning out the window and heard the immediate crash of thunder. Rain pounded hard against the roof, and she thought about flipping on the bedroom light. Instead she sat in the gathering gloom and watched nature’s dramatic interpretation of fireworks.
“What about us, Steve? I’m coming home so we can figure out where to go from here.”
“I love you, Gretchen. We can work this out. We can’t throw away the last seven years.”
“I’ll come then.”
“I have to go to Hilton Head for a few days. Business. A conference, and I’m the keynote speaker. Right after that we can get together. I know I’ve disappointed you, but I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”
Gretchen stared in the mirror, her eyes pale and pained. Courtney vacationing in South Carolina, Steve on his way to Hilton Head. Gretchen hoped Steve was more convincing when he went to trial with his court cases. Was it a nervous slip of the tongue or merely coincidental these two people would be traveling to the same state?
No, Gretchen thought, I’m becoming exactly like Nina. I no longer believe in coincidence.
“Call me later,” Steve said, hanging up and leaving her holding a dead phone.
When Gretchen opened the bedroom door, she gave a loud start.
“You scared me, Nina,” she said, peering at her motionless aunt who stood in the hall. “We need to turn on lights. Who’d guess it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon. It feels more like midnight.”
Nina remained rigid in front of her.
“What’s wrong?” Gretchen asked.
Nina, moving woodenly, took her hand and led her to the workshop doorway. “Martha’s bag is gone,” she said, her voice leaden. “Someone must have been here when we went to see Bonnie.”
“We should have hurried right home,” Gretchen said in shock. “What were we thinking when we stopped to eat? Are you sure it’s gone?”
“It’s gone, all right. And there’s more.”
Nina flipped a switch by the door, and a fluorescent light hanging over the worktable illuminated the room.
Gretchen saw it hanging over the padded table and moved closer. She drew in her breath, sharp and quick.
Someone had hung one of her mother’s Shirley Temple dolls from the overhead light with a piece of restringing elastic. Blood dripped from its face and pooled on the floor. The doll swayed gently from the noose around its neck, eyes wide and sightless.
The screen glowed, casting an eerie light over Caroline’s intent features. She quickly registered as a member and hesitated briefly at the password prompt. She keyed in an appropriate password: counterattack. If this were a game of chess, she would be planning multiple moves into the future, but she hadn’t studied openings for this particular game. Besides, she couldn’t have anticipated her opponent’s deadly first move.
All that mattered now was the endgame. A draw wasn’t an acceptable finish. There could be only one winner.
Caroline’s hands trembled in anticipation as she worked her way through the red tape associated with Internet bidding. She clicked on the French Jumeau Bébé listing and frowned. The seller had set up a private auction, effectively cloaking his or her identity until after the final accepted bid. Only the highest bidder would be allowed full contact information about the seller.
She entered her first bid, determined to win.