"She must have a strong immune system." Probably be cause she never went to school like most kids, Natalie thought, she hasn't been exposed to many contagious illnesses. "Her burns are minor."
"It's just the slashed throat that bothers me." Viveca gave a brittle laugh, then swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."
"You're entitled."
"Natalie, you don't know who did this to Alison?"
"If I did, I would have told the police. The attack was over when I arrived."
"If only you'd gotten there a few minutes earlier."
"I know. Maybe I could have stopped the whole thing, but at least the kids were there. I have a feeling the attacker was flustered, hurried, so he bungled what otherwise would have been a murder."
"Well, thank God for that. You're sure the children didn't see this person?"
"No, they couldn't possibly identify him," Natalie said forcefully. When she'd told Nick that the would-be killer had looked directly at Paige, he'd turned ghastly white and immediately ordered round-the-clock protection for her and for Jimmy. But he told Natalie to emphasize that the kids had seen nothing. The more people who heard this, the better. Word spread fast in Port Ariel. The killer must be made to think he was safe.
Otherwise, Paige and Jimmy could be the next victims.
His head pounded and he was desperately thirsty. Jeff Lindstrom was also desperately afraid.
He had no idea how long he'd been here in the dark. Until what he guessed to be an hour ago he'd been unconscious from the last injection. Yesterday-or was it the day before?-he was standing by a window, grinning with satisfaction as he looked out to see a bright red cardinal flying past, when pain suddenly erupted in his head and blazed down his neck. It had just reached his back when his vision blurred and he crashed to his knees, then slid into oblivion. And now he was here.
But where was here! He sat on a concrete floor. The chill of it penetrated his jeans and his hips already hurt from the long contact with the hard surface. A slightly musty, dank smell reached his nostrils. He felt chilly in his suit pants and long-sleeved cotton shirt. His jacket was gone and so was one shoe. Dried blood clung to the ragged heel of a gray sock.
A tight blindfold covered his eyes. A strong cloth had been twisted, forced between his teeth, and tied behind his head. His mouth was abominably dry, his lips cracked. Metal handcuffs secured his hands behind a pole. He flexed his ankles against the cuffs shackling his feet. He bent his legs at the knees, planting his feet flat on the floor, and pushed himself against the pole as he rose painfully. He felt as if he'd been kicked all over. He was certain at least one rib was broken. His legs trembled.
Panic rushed over him. He heard a long, rough sob and realized it came from him. He would have been embarrassed, but no one was around to hear. At least he didn't think anyone was near. He couldn't see. But he could hear. He went perfectly still, forcing his breath through his nose rather than his mouth. No sound.
He squeezed his eyes behind the blindfold. Just this morning he thought he had it made. No one in the family thought much of him. Most family members wouldn't socialize with him because they thought he'd hit them up for money. And he usually did. He'd always acted like none of it mattered. After all, who cared what the family thought of him? he asked himself in the mirror each morning. Who cared what his idiot ex-wife thought of him?
But he did care and it made him feel hopeless. Until lately. At last all the failures, the family scorn, the loss of the pretty, bubble-headed wife he'd inexplicably loved- none of it mattered because he was going to even the score. Not even the run-in with Meredith had bothered him. The big man with his righteous outrage. The sheriff didn't have a clue what was really going on. It had been funny.
But not any more.
Jeff couldn't believe this was happening to him. Life sure hadn't been any bowl of cherries. He'd always had lousy luck, things had always gone wrong for him, but not this wrong. Not-
A noise. He cocked his head. A door opening and not too far away. His breath quickened, whistling around the narrow gag. Footsteps. He tried to speak, but nothing came out except unintelligible grunts.
"Be quiet. I can't understand anything you're saying and I don't want to."
Jeff fell silent for a moment. Then a wave of fury mixed with fear overcame him and he burst forth again with a series of staccato grunts. A hand slammed against his face. The sting brought tears to his covered eyes.
"I told you to shut up." A sigh. "But I suppose it doesn't matter now."
"Why doesn't it matter?" Jeff screamed inwardly. He lunged forward. The handcuffs clanged against the metal pipe and pain raged through his shoulders.
"Now that was stupid. Useless."
Jeff tried to kick. The shackled right foot pulled the left out from under him. He slammed to the floor so hard his teeth snapped on the gag. He sat in shock for a moment before the pain registered. A breathy moan escaped him.
"Stop thrashing around. You're only hurting yourself and there's no need for pain."
No need for pain? Jeff thought with a surge of hope. He wasn't going to be hurt. But if he wasn't to be hurt, then what?
"You've wet your pants." A hint of amusement, a hint of disgust. He pictured the ghastly smile he'd seen for just an instant before he'd been knocked unconscious what seemed an eternity ago. "Not attractive. You wouldn't set any female hearts aflutter now. Natalie St. John wouldn't wipe her feet on you." Pause. "You do want her, don't you?"
A needle jabbed into his arm. Something stung its way into his body, something that robbed him first of muscle control, then of consciousness.
His eyes were closing as a soft, insidious voice said in his ear, "I guarantee, Jeff, that Natalie St. John will never forget you."
Natalie awakened with a sense of dread. Something is wrong, her mind seemed to say before she'd fought her way completely through the last level of sleep. What was making her want to squeeze shut her eyes, hold Blaine tightly, and pull the covers over both of them for the rest of the day?
Viveca had called back at four to say Alison had survived surgery and was now floating in and out of consciousness, mumbling "magic midnight, golden dreams."
"Her father used to say 'magic midnight,' " Viveca explained. "And Eugene Farley once told her to have 'golden dreams.' Sad memories, but I think it's encouraging that she does remember the phrases, don't you?"
Natalie agreed heartily that it was very encouraging. She put her father on the phone to discuss Alison's condition in more detail. This time the killer had been unsuccessful. But what about the next time? And who was next? So far Ted Hysell was right-all the victims had been children of people involved in the Eugene Farley tragedy. Tamara, Warren, Charlotte, and now Alison. That left her and Lily.
Andrew had been outraged that Natalie hadn't told him immediately about Alison. He didn't know until Viveca called with the news that Alison would survive. He wanted to go to the hospital immediately and urged Natalie to come with him so she wouldn't be alone. "Dad, I'm too exhausted to move," she'd protested. "You go. It'll be daylight in a couple of hours and I'll be fine."
So off he'd gone and she'd lain in bed until dawn broke, then fallen into a deep if brief sleep. Now the clock told her it was eight. At nine o'clock the locksmith would be here. Time to rise no matter how much her tired body protested.
The coffee smelled especially delicious as it dripped with maddening slowness into the pot. Natalie poured a mug before the pot finished filling, took a bagel from the toaster, spread it with cream cheese, and sat down at the kitchen table. Yesterday had been gray and dismal. Today a periwinkle-blue sky lay above the calm waters of the lake and a pale yellow sum warmed the tender green grass of early summer. Once again Harvey Coombs sat out in his rowboat, ancient hat jammed on his head as he fished for famous Lake Erie perch. The scene looked like a calm, lovely painting. Murder had no place here.