Page 44 of I Know She Was There

“Mary,” I called through the closed door. “Please help me. I need coffee.” It might sober me up and flush the toxins out of my system.

I waited for her to respond. She didn’t. Feeling my face flush, I shouted, “You can’t keep me trapped in here forever.”

The bedroom door opened, and her face popped into view. “Rest assured, dear. I have no intention of doing that. As soon as you’re better, you’re free to go.” The door slammed shut.

I let my head drop back to the mattress, searching my mind for any clue, the tiniest hint of where I had gone after I’d sat in my car at the convenience store last night. I closed my eyes, trying to visualize the scene, but only blackness gathered into the space. Why couldn’t I remember?

My chest tightened, a dozen invisible hands clenching and squeezing the life out of me. I breathed through the irregular heartbeats, recalling the days just after Emmy was born, in the grips of a silent assassin who had sights set on me. I’d been able to overcome the evil last time. Ironically, it had been the darkness that had helped. The long walks in soothing blankness that had nudged me back to the light of my life. Would I be so lucky this time? I had to get myself back into the world and figure things out. It was only in the freedom of wide-open spaces I’d feel confident enough to look inside myself. And make sense of what I was to see.

CHAPTER24

SUNDAY AFTERNOON, SEPTEMBER 10

Despite my agitation, I dozed off. When I awoke, the room was glazed in the honeyed light of late afternoon. I’d clearly slept for hours. I stared at the ceiling, letting my thoughts gel. What had Mary told me her former occupation was? Insurance adjustor. She wouldn’t have dispensed meds in that profession, would she? No, of course not. Practitioners on the other side of insurance claims did that. Still, my head throbbed with the aftereffect of more than a mere hangover. Shehadto have slipped something into my drink last night.

Could her intentions have been benign? Maybe she saw herself as a vigilante benefactor, determined to save me from myself. It was a hard visual, especially since the only way I wanted to see Mary now was dead.

My mind recoiled. That wasn’t true. I just needed to get away from my demented neighbor. I lifted my arms, grateful for the wobbly mobility in them. I sat up gingerly and was just stretching when Mary walked into the room, her eyes widening, her mouth forming a little circle.

She raised her hands up as if they could halt me. “Caroline, you can’t leave! You must understand?—”

“I understand nothing, Mary, just get out of my way. If you don’t, I’ll knock you over.”

After I started up my car and swung it dramatically out of Mary’s driveway, I realized I had no idea where I was going. I hit the gas, suddenly not caring about the destination. I flew past my house without a glance at it.

My head pounded as I pulled into a small playground and staggered out of my car. I rubbed my temples and tried to contemplate my next move. Where was I going to sleep that night? I couldn’t risk staying in my place, not with a prowler hanging around. Although I no longer believed Mary’s story. She had a key to my house. She must have stolen the nail fragment. But how would she know about it? Had I mentioned it and then forgotten what I’d let slip? It was possible. I’d been forgetting so much lately.

Why would Mary want that tiny sliver of neon-orange nail? As leverage? To ensure I’d do whatever she asked of me or risk her reporting that I’d harmed someone at 21 Pine Hill Road? She wasn’t that manipulative, that evil... was she? She was an old lady. But she was lonely. Could persistent solitude prompt such desperate actions?

I shook my head, trying to sort my thoughts. First things first. I had to change my front door lock. I’d never done it. I should call a locksmith. That wouldn’t be cheap. I could hear Tim griping about that as clearly as if he were standing beside me.Do you know how much locksmiths charge by the hour, Caroline?

Still, I needed to be safe, and I was running out of options. Tim wasn’t around to change out the lock for me. I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and pointer, concentrating, and it came to me: Tim wasn’t home. I could stay at his place. I reached into the car, pulled out my handbag, and rooted around for my cell phone. I’d call him and explain things. Desperate measures, and all that. He’d have to help me. Tell me where he’d hidden his spare apartment key. I’d bargain with him, promise him I’d leave before he returned if he’d allow me to stay for a few nights.

Knowing he’d ignore me if I called, I texted him a desperate message, holding my breath while I waited for it to be delivered. When it went through, I exhaled deeply and settled on a park bench to wait for his reply.

I sat for an hour, watching children scurrying from swings to slide to monkey bars as their parents stood in exclusive little circles, chatting. I suddenly yearned for the day Emmy would be big enough to play at this park, part of the tribe of kids making the rounds on the playground equipment while I made friends with other parents in the neighborhood. I imagined exchanging adorable stories with my peers about the things our progeny said and did. I smiled but felt sad as I watched them. I missed Emmy so much that I had to force the thought of her from my mind.

I massaged my forehead. I still couldn’t believe Mary had drugged me. I could report her to the police.

I thought about the cop’s threat when he stood in my living room a few weeks earlier. His warning I’d be charged the next time I reported an unprovable crime. Then I thought about the bleeding woman in the window, and the empty box that had held her neon nail chip, and my heart sped up so fast it made breathing difficult.

It had all started with the mystery woman. It had to end with her too. I sensed if I couldn’t figure out exactly what had happened at 21 Pine Hill Road, not only would she disappear from the world unnoticed, but so would my delicate grasp on my own life.

* * *

I drove to the Dunkin’ Donuts on the other side of the playground and settled at a table near a window, drinking coffee and eating an egg-white veggie wrap, waiting for Tim to respond. I’d left another text message on his cell phone just before leaving the darkening park. If he didn’t text me back soon, I’d search his porch for a key. If I couldn’t find one, I’d go to a hotel, Tim’s carefully guarded budget be damned.

After my final gulp, I’d still not heard from Tim. I tossed the empty cup and my food wrapper in the trash bin beside the door and headed back to my car.

The drive to Tim’s apartment was an easy one. I was soon ascending the hill leading to his complex entrance, aware of how cross he’d be if he knew what I was doing, but I was desperate. Still, I didn’t want to park in a spot near his building in case it was one reserved for residents. Tim would holler at me endlessly for such a transgression. I pulled in beside an oversized pickup truck at the very end of the parking area and grabbed my handbag. I had no overnight bag because the only clothes I’d packed at home the day before were now residing in Mary’s ratty little guest dresser. I’d have to sleep in my clothes or find an old T-shirt of Tim’s to bed down in. I hoped he had a spare toothbrush.

I locked the Honda and started walking toward his building, hearing voices filtering through the parking lot. One sounded like Tim’s. That wasn’t possible, was it? Unless he’d abandoned his vacation a few days early. Relief hit me. Tim was home and able to help me, but then I frowned... he’d have Wi-Fi service in that case. So why wouldn’t he have texted back? Because that was Tim. Ignoring me was what he did. The blood rushed to my face as I veered toward the far end of the lot, but the urgency in the unseen voices made me pause.

I scanned the dark, just making out human forms between two parked cars. I ducked behind a Jeep and walked around the far side of it, my ears attuned to the conversation, still too low to isolate individual words. I crept from the Jeep to a big white van just behind the pair, careful to keep my head down. The voices grew louder. It occurred to me I spent a lot of time spying on others. A habit that brought me only misery. Still, I had to know who was talking.

The voices became discernable. Tim’s—definitely his—saying, “It’s such a pleasure to just be normal, to be with... well, you know what I mean.”

“Yes, it’s always...” murmured another voice, the timbre and cadence of a woman, but I couldn’t hear the rest. I scooted to the other side of the van’s back bumper and peered out. Tim stood facing a woman. They were both in profile. I stared at them, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, my heart thudding.

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