Page 81 of I Know She Was There

“I was at work,” Tim pointed out. “You were being sneaky, collecting your furniture, and changing your phone number—not to mention taking my money.”

My money, I thought angrily.

“Reach into my pocket,” Mary whispered in my ear. I leaned slightly forward, giving myself room for my bound hands to reach behind me, the pads of my fingers connecting with the soft weave of her ever-present oatmeal sweater. I felt along the seam of a pocket and plunged my fingers inside it, the pointer and middle finger of my right hand curling around a cool, hard object. As I pulled it out of her pocket, the tip of the object pierced the fleshy pad of my thumb. Sinking my teeth into my lower lip to keep from gasping in pain, I knew exactly what I was holding: a travel-sized bottle opener and corkscrew combo. The kind liquor stores give loyal patrons during the holiday season. Of course Mary would have one on her person at all times. She’d carry one as faithfully as an asthmatic toted an inhaler.

“I ended up in the ER, thanks to your fists,” complained Annie.

“Consider yourself lucky,” said Tim. “You could have ended up dead.”

I grimaced in concentration, carefully wedging the tip of the corkscrew into the center of the knot binding my hands. The “Bickersons” were too distracted with each other to pay much attention to me. I rocked the metal implement back and forth, loosening the knotted rope until it slid off my wrists. Mary’s shoulder bumped up against me encouragingly. I had to keep them talking while I devised a way to overpower Tim.

“There was another woman in your house, Annie. I thought she was you,” I said.

“Caroline likes to spy on people,” provided Tim. “Just another of her endearing qualities.”

I wanted to kick him in the teeth. Wipe the smug smile right off his lips.

“Ava Hansen,” said Annie, clearly ignoring Tim. “She and her husband, Tyler, are working with the realtors. Their company does small repairs, maintenance, and house staging. My ex-husband is a bodybuilder. He did some structural damage to the floors and walls with his weights.”

“Ava Hansen,” I repeated. Melanie’s real name was Ava. And Matt was called Tyler. Why did the name Ava Hansen sound familiar? I knew I’d heard it before. I squeezed my eyes shut, concentrating, vaguely aware of Mary saying something to Annie. Ava Hansen.Such a pretty name. It came to me: the newspaper article—the blurb about the missing woman with a name far too lovely to be mixed up in the ugliness of a disappearance. Her family was looking for her. Was that the first time I’d heard her beautiful name? It was, right? Then why was I picturing a newspaper clipping of a woman with stunningly gorgeous features?

“This isn’t happy hour at the bar down the street,” barked Tim. “Keep your traps shut before I gag you all again.”

“Whatareyou gonna do with us?” asked Mary, sounding more curious than afraid.

I glanced sideways at her, hoping she’d stop talking. She wouldn’t hold up to a beating the way Annie had. And time was running out. Tim was going to get rid of us.

As if to confirm my thoughts, Tim reached out and pulled Annie upward. “On your feet,” he commanded, placing the flashlight on a nearby shelf next to what appeared to be paint cans. The light beam shot into the corner of the basement, casting deep shadows around us. The feeble light stream didn’t give off enough illumination to draw attention to our activity in the basement. Nobody standing outside would notice anything amiss (not that anyone would be out walking in the wee hours of the morning—I seemed to have cornered the market on that action), but it appeared to be bright enough for whatever Tim had planned. He reached behind his back and pulled something out of his waistband. The small revolver that rested in his palm appeared like a trick of the light. A sleight of hand a magician uses to produce a floral bouquet from a pocket or pull the proverbial rabbit out of a hat. Annie straightened. Sheer willpower must have been the only thing keeping her standing.

“Whatcha gonna do with that, kill us?” asked Mary conversationally. I looked at her again. Was shetryingto get herself shot? I jabbed her with my left elbow, hoping to nudge her into silence just as I realized why she wasn’t afraid: not only was I untied but I also had a weapon in my hand.

“I don’t kill people, Mary,” said Tim, sounding calm and unaffected by the fact that he was holding the three of us against our will. “But I won’t stop you from killing each other.” He crossed the basement and stood in front of Mary and me. I flinched at his nearness. Still clutching the gun in his right hand, he reached down and clawed at Mary, catching her by one arm and yanking her up. “Stand right there,” he ordered, pressing her back against the stone wall.

I stared at him, trying to read his expression in the dim light. He looked determined. My stomach cartwheeled, landing somewhere near my bowels. The only thing I could do was distract him—jump up and race toward him as he took aim, using the element of surprise—and my makeshift weapon—to my advantage. It was a half-assed plan, but I couldn’t formulate a better one amid my panic.

“What happened to Matt?” A shout into the quiet basement. With shock, I realized it had come out of me.

Tim paused, looked at me. “Who?”

“Umm, Tyler Hansen?” That’s what Annie had called him, right? “I saw him running by the lake with... someone else. Was it you?”

“Don’t worry about Tyler Hansen, he’s with his wife now.”

“What?” My heart crashed painfully into my breastbone. Tyler reunited with a possibly dead Ava couldn’t be good. “What are you saying?”

Tim crossed back over to Annie and took up a spot directly behind her. “The guy fell into the pond, and, as luck would have it, he couldn’t swim.” He quickly untied Annie’s wrists.

I thought about how sweaty Tim looked. He wasn’t coated in perspiration, but pond water.

“Of course I tried to help him. I’m not a killer like you, Caroline.” He sighed dramatically. He was enjoying his own performance. “Sadly, I couldn’t save him.”

I gasped, but as Tim raised the gun, my breath caught in my throat.

He reached his arms around Annie from behind, as if going in for a bear hug. He placed the gun in her right hand. “Grip this as tight as you can,” he ordered as he slid both hands onto Annie’s forearm and positioned it like a mannequin’s. The gun barrel was pointed at Mary. Raising his voice, presumably so it would be heard by the octogenarian, he yelled, “Are you going to tell me where you hid those documents, Mary?”

For once, Mary remained silent. I didn’t know which expression she’d plastered on her face because my gaze was glued to Tim and Annie, and the gun in the latter’s trembling hand.

“Nothing to tell me?” Tim sighed again, keeping his hands on Annie’s arm. “Okay, have it your way, old lady.” He pressed his lips to Annie’s ear. “Shoot her in the shoulder.”

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