Page 42 of I Know She Was There

“No need to worry, Caroline. Nobody showed up at your place tonight. I was watching.”

Were my motives that transparent? Apparently.

“Come on now, we’ll get you inside.” Mary opened the driver’s-side door.

My pulse skittered. I was losing control. “No, I’ll pull into your driveway.”

She frowned, looking doubtful under the yellow glow trailing from the Honda’s overhead light.

I closed the door and started up the car. The headlights flashed into the shadows, illuminating my house in spotlight fashion. Without another glance at Mary, I shifted the car into drive, fighting a sudden, inexplicable urge to take off. Drive down the street and out of the neighborhood. I inhaled deeply, thought of Emmy, and turned the car toward Mary’s driveway.

When I was finally sitting in her tiny kitchen, she asked about the groceries I’d gone out for. I stared at her.

“Oh geez, I didn’t buy any.”

“No worries.” She smiled, looking oddly pleased. “How about a nightcap?”

I nodded. Booze would keep my mind from circling back to Jeffrey’s glare and Tim’s apathy.

I stared at Mary’s deeply scratched tabletop, but a flash of memory obscured it as I pictured my mother’s gray eyes, only inches away from mine.

You’ll get along in life if you just act nice.

That was true, wasn’t it? For her, I’d always tried, but I was not nice—hadn’t been for years, if ever. But not being nice wasn’t the same as being bad, right? Niceness was about nothing more than manners. Not as vital as kindness, which reflected genuine caring for others. I realized that now. Why hadn’t my mother ever stressed the distinction? I shook my head. Seemed I couldn’t stop thinking about Mother these days. Probably because of the dismal anniversary of her passing.

“This is just what you need,” Mary said, placing a rocks glass over the table gouges, dispelling my mom’s face. Bronze liquid rested in the bottom half of the glass.

My fingers encircled the cup. There was a reason Jeffrey had acted strangely, and it was connected to the terrified woman in the window. Had to be. I raised the glass and drained its contents. The sudden bitter warmth stung a trail down my throat, closing it up as if in reaction to an allergen. I coughed violently.

“You were supposed to sip that,” said Mary, uselessly smacking my back.

“May I have another?” I whispered, my voice hoarse. I needed sleep. Once I was rested, I’d be able to dissect Jeffrey’s apparent obfuscation. With rest would come the clarity and energy I’d need to shine the brightest light into the darkest corners of this thing and discover what had happened to the woman at 21 Pine Hill Road.

CHAPTER23

SUNDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 10

The sunlight streaming between the slats in Mary’s blinds woke me. I blinked, noticing the stripes of light stretched across her dresser. Such contrast to the dark shadow I’d seen in the corner of the room every time I’d awoken from my fitful sleep, dreaming of a woman bleeding all over me. I shivered, looking down at the thin blanket hiding my body. I tried to sit up, my head suddenly pounding and my arms unable to move. What had Mary put in the drinks last night?

I rested my head back against the hard, flat pillow and stared at the ceiling, blinking the blurriness out of my eyes. Keeping my body relaxed, I tried to raise my hands but couldn’t. My heart jumped upward, and pain sliced through my head. What the...

“Mary!”

I listened for noise in the house beyond the closed bedroom door. Did I hear shuffling?

“Mary!” Panic elevated my voice. “Mary! Are you here?”

The door cracked open and Mary’s round, wrinkled face appeared, a sliver of sunlight making her glasses glint. “Good morning, Caroline.”

Her cheerfulness grated. “I can barely move. Is this your doing?”

“I’m afraid it’s yours, dear.”

The door creaked open slowly. Mary bounced a hip against it and the door swung wide, revealing her lemon shape, dressed in her usual navy polyester slacks and oatmeal sweater, holding a food tray in front of her.

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“What thing, dear?”

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