Page 77 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

“Yeah, and what do you want?” she asked, managing a smile.

Another bark. Oscar jumped up at her, then settled back on his haunches and looked up at her with eager, dark eyes.

“You okay?” He twirled in one spot. “You want to go outside?”

Another bark and his tail brushed the floor.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “I get it. Finally. Come on, then.”

The dog was already hurrying down the stairs. “Why do I think I’m being conned, that you saw the possum and want a piece of him?” she muttered, trailing after her dog.

Oscar was leaping at the back door by the time she reached the kitchen. She unbolted the lock and he shot through, barking like mad and running to the fountain in the corner. The verandah was shadowed but warm, and Caitlyn stood at its edge, waiting for the dog to settle down, listening to the insects humming and noticing the faint hint of cigarette smoke in the air. It was warm. Humid.

“Caitie?” a voice called from behind her.

“Jesus!” She nearly jumped out of her skin. Turning quickly, she looked into the shadows as she recognized the voice. “Kelly?”

But there was no one there . . . the verandah was empty. Other than Oscar nosing in the flower beds and the gurgle of the fountain, not a sound. She glanced at her dog and noticed that he hadn’t looked up, didn’t come wiggling over to have Kelly pat his head.

Caitlyn was jumpy. That was it. Imagining sounds.

She let out a long breath, tried to slow her heart rate. Maybe she really was cracking up. Losing it. God, no. “Come on,” she said to the dog as he sniffed the base of a magnolia tree. “Oscar. Now.” He hesitated, glanced over to the dark corner from where she’d thought she heard Kelly call her name, and he let out a whimper. Caitlyn looked again. No one. Nothing . . . just her overactive imagination.

“Get a grip,” she told herself, but threw the dead bolt once she’d closed the door. From the kitchen she stared into the dark backyard and felt a another sliver of doubt. Had someone been outside with her . . . or not? Was someone watching the house, lurking in the shadows . . . stalking her, for crying out loud?

She backed away from t

he window and tried to shake off the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Halfway up the stairs, she heard the phone blast.

Taking the remaining steps two at a time, she flew into the den. The rudimentary drawing of the vampire bat was still floating on her monitor. She clicked off her computer and slid out the compact disc, silently counting to ten before taking a chance that the caller wasn’t a reporter. “Hello?”

“Caitlyn?” Troy’s voice crackled over the line. She nearly melted with relief to hear him. “Can you go out to Oak Hill? His voice was serious. Grim.

“Now?” She glanced at the digital clock glowing in the semi-dark room. It was nearly ten.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Caitlyn asked, her heart pounding with dread. “What’s wrong?”

Troy hesitated a second, then said, “Amanda was in an accident. Single car. A few hours ago.”

“Oh, my God!” Caitlyn braced herself for the worst. “Is she all right?”

“I guess so. Ian’s picking her up now. A good samaritan phoned 911 when she saw her go off the road, and I don’t have all the details, but I think she blacked out. Anyway, the EMTs arrived and hauled her by ambulance to the ER. She’s already seen a doc, had a couple of tests and she’s insisting that she be released. She was lucky. But Mom’s not taking it well. You’d better get out to the house.”

“I’m on my way,” Caitlyn said, hanging up and scooping up her purse. She had her keys in her hand and nearly tripped over Oscar as she raced down the stairs.

The ghosts were talking again. Whispering between themselves as they dashed through the old house and outside. Lucille trembled as she stared out the window, looking past the trees lining the drive to Oak Hill. She rubbed her arms, tried to shake off the chill, but she couldn’t.

Evil was coming.

Riding fast on a black horse with hooves aflame.

Coming straight for her.

If only she hadn’t promised the old man she’d stay. If only she could leave. But she’d sworn to take care of Berneda Montgomery as long as that woman drew a breath. So she had to stay. Muttering a prayer, she made the sign of the cross over her ample bosoms, and as she did she heard the ghosts laughing at her.

There was no escape.

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