Not the greatest quality, I noted, once I got things working. The picture was huge, very grainy.
There I was, sneaking around in the hallway. And there I was hiding after I heard them arrive. The door opened and... yes! I could make out a man’s figure framed in the front doorway. But the daylight behind him made it hard to make out his features. In the next few frames, Hamilton walked back out with the paper in her hand and picked something up—her purse—then shut the door. I rewound, stopped the tape, and advanced frame by frame, then paused and took in the man’s poorly focused face. That hairline, the curve of those lips, God, I knew them almost as well as my own. Knew the face of a killer.
28
I called home once I was back on the road, and Kate answered, sounding breathless and anxious.
“It’s me,” I said. “Did Steven call?” I swerved to avoid a patch of high water on the right.
“No. I’m relieved to hear your voice. Where are you, Abby?”
“Galveston. What about Jeff?”
“He phoned. I gave him your cell phone number. After I told him you were looking for that CD, he sounded pretty irritated, and I’m feeling the same way. You took a bad fall yesterday, and the roads aren’t fit to travel. You should have been home long ago.”
“With this weather, it’ll take me an hour to get back to Houston. Expect me about nine.”
“Wait a minute. Don’t you have your radio on? An eighteen-wheeler overturned on the causeway and it’s taking an hour to get from Broadway off the island.”
“Damn. I’ll wait on P Street, if it’s not flooded over there already.”
“That street sometimes fills with water, Abby. Why not wait it out in a restaurant or—”
“I need a quiet place, somewhere to think things through.”
“Are you okay?” Kate said.
“I’m fine. Call me when the causeway is clear. The digital networks jam up in emergencies, so phone me at the Victorian.”
She didn’t know the number, so I gave it to her; then she said, “If Steven calls, I’ll tell him where he can reach you and—”
“No!” I practically shouted. “Tell him nothing.”
“There is something wrong,” said Kate.
I steered around more gigantic puddles. “You’ve had enough revelations for one day. Besdies, you’re starting to break up. ’Bye.” I clicked off the phone and, seeing that the battery was low, plugged it into the cigarette lighter.
I turned onto Seawall Boulevard and found the street practically deserted. Usually the tourists hung in like a hair in a biscuit no matter what the weather, but not tonight. A jagged flash lit the murky gulf to my left, and a tremendous clap of thunder followed.
My neck ached and my rear throbbed where that nail had punctured me. I wanted to be home sleeping, free from the truth now invading my life like Attila stomping across Europe.
When I turned onto P Street, the water was almost to the curb. I’d have to pay attention, be ready to leave if real flooding was imminent.
The house next to the Victorian was vacant and sat on higher ground than ours, so I took the precaution of parking the 4Runner in that driveway. I used the back entrance leading to the kitchen, anxious to swallow more pain medicine. I ached all over.
Steven had cleared a path through the mudroom and patched the damage done by the fallen bathroom, but he hadn’t tidied up. I found empty Gatorade containers, bug spray, crumpled brown bags from McDonald’s... but not a glass amid the clutter. I gave up and cupped my hand under the faucet, gulping the pills down.
I wandered back into the front parlor, knowing I should go upstairs and make sure the whole second floor wasn’t soaked because of that gigantic hole in the wall. But the pain in my legs reminded me of the challenge stairs presented.
I limped to the window and opened the wood shades, checking on the street flooding. Just then I noticed a truck turn the corner and deaden its lights.
I quickly narrowed the shades, recognizing that pickup. I turned out the light and slipped into the closet, not wanting to confront Steven alone. Not stranded here. I huddled in the far corner, praying he’d come and go quickly.
The back door opened and I heard Steven grunting and groaning, then dragging noises.
He must have turned on the hall light, because a sliver of brightness appeared. Almost simultaneously the closet door flew open.
I tried making myself invisible in the corner, some mean feat in an empty cubicle.
But he was so concerned with shoving his tarpaulin-wrapped load into the closet, he didn’t see me.
29
Steven dropped his heavy bundle, and I flinched at the lifeless thud. He leaned on the door frame, catching his breath and wiping rain and sweat off his forehead with his forearm.
And then he saw me.
His eyes flickered, but I didn’t read surprise in his face. I stood, putting my hands flat against the wall behind me, knowing I was trapped in this closet and in this house—and in my own living nightmare.
He said, “Your gears are turning full speed, aren’t they, Abby?” He blocked the door with his spread arms, and the smell of his perspiration fueled a wave of nausea.
I had to get past him somehow.
“Sorry I missed you over at my office,” he said. “Seems I remember you telling me more than once to not leave the CD drive open. Too easy for dust to get inside the computer. Very careless of you, babe.” He smiled.
I felt my breath coming faster and kept looking down at the tarp. At the body. I wished I’d hear a moan, or see some small movement, but nothing came, and I feared nothing would.
“After I took care of my friend here, I planned on telling you how I damaged the CD by accident.”
“Could we discuss this somewhere else?” I glanced again at the black plastic shroud. Wisps of silver hair protruded from the end nearest me.
Steven took my arm as I stepped over Feldman’s body—it had to be Feldman—then pulled me toward the parlor.
“I needed a place to park Sammy’s weary bones until the weather lets up,” he said. “The argument which led to his little accident concerned you, so you’ve only got yourself to blame for his death.”
I halted, his fingers tightening on my arm.
“You killed him, and it’s my fault?” I said, incredulous.
“An accident, Abby. Don’t take it so hard.” He reached over and flipped the lights on, then rubbed his chin with his free hand. “You showing up here complicates things.” He stared at me, his green eyes narrow. They caught the light and seemed almost yellow, like a snake’s.
“But you know something, babe? I think it’s time you had the truth. I owe you that before we say good-bye.”
A permanent good-bye, of course. “What happened? How could—”
“What happened?” He yanked me toward him. “Once upon a time I married a princess. A beautiful princess, with the softest skin I ever touched. But she wanted someone exactly like beloved King Charlie. Did anyone ever tell you to be careful what you wish for, Abby, because you might just get it?” He squeezed my upper arm.
I pulled away and a day’s worth of grief, fear, and rage exploded. “I can’t believe how you manipulated me! And now you’ve got the gall to say I’m to blame for the mess you’ve made?”
He shoved me hard. “You’re not getting the last word this time!”
I hit the wall hard, my head bouncing off the plaster. I went down, my palms sliding against the textured paint, scraping the skin on my hands.
I was too stunned to move for several seconds.
He sat cross-legged opposite me, his spread knees close enough to keep me pinned, his eyes tired and wild at the same time, his whiskey breath hot in my face.