Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(15)

Ah, it’s her. Perfect timing.



“But I didn’t even hear the phone ringing,” Renny protests as Elsa swoops her out of the backyard and into the house.

“I did. You were too far away.” Elsa sets her on her sandy feet just inside the door and locks it behind them.

“What are you doing?”

“Answering the phone.”

“But it’s not ringing!” Renny looks as though she isn’t sure whether to giggle or worry.

“I know, I guess I missed it.”

“But—”

“I bet it was Daddy. I’ll call him back.” She’s already dialing Brett’s number, keeping a wary eye on the yard.

As it rings, she sees Renny watching her. She reaches for the rainy day bin and hurriedly sets it in front of her. “Here, pick out something that you haven’t played with yet.”

“But…I’m making a sandcastle.”

“I know, but—”

“Brett Cavalon’s office.”

“Cindy, it’s Elsa.”

“Elsa! How are you?”

“I need to talk to Brett right away. Is he there?”

“He left a little while ago for a meeting. He’ll be back soon. Do you want me to have him call you?”

“Please. Tell him it’s important.”

“Is everything okay?”

Pretending she didn’t hear the question, she hangs up and turns back to Renny. “Come on, honey, we have to run a few errands.”

“But what about the sandcastle?”

“We’ll get back to that later.”

“What? When?” Poor thing, she looks alarmed, and no wonder. Her mother is acting crazy.

Elsa grabs her keys from the hook by the door, along with a canvas tote bag hanging beside it. Embroidered in pink thread with Renny’s name, it’s filled with Barbie dolls and an elaborate collection of clothes, courtesy of her grandmother.

Maman would have preferred to start a collection of antique French porcelain dolls for Renny, as she had for Elsa, but Elsa put her foot down.

She offers the Barbie bag to Renny. “Here, take this to play with in the car.”

“I don’t want that.”

“But you always take it with you when we go someplace.”

“Well, I don’t want to go anywhere today.”

“I know, but we have to. Come on.” Juggling the bag with her keys and cell phone as she dials it, Elsa hustles her out the door.

Please pick up, Brett.

The phone rings on the other end.

Pick up!

It rings again as she opens the back door for Renny, who reluctantly climbs in.

“You’ve reached the voice mail of Brett Cavalon…”

Elsa’s heart sinks. “Brett, Renny and I are going…”

Where are they supposed to go? What are they supposed to do?

“…someplace,” she tells his voice mail. “I’m not sure where. Please call as soon as you get this.”

She hangs up. Seeing Renny obediently strapped into her booster seat, Elsa tosses the tote bag onto the backseat, climbs behind the wheel, and starts the car. They have to go. They can’t stay here alone, knowing someone really was prowling around in the night.

Are you sure of that?

A broken branch, a footprint.

Yes. She’s positive, sick-to-her-stomach positive that someone was in the bushes beneath the window—the one Renny had said the monster climbed through.

Someone really was in her room last night.

Every time Elsa allows that thought to fully form, a wave of disbelief sweeps it away.

Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe…

But…

A broken branch. A footprint.

Please don’t let it be happening again. Please, God…



Caroline Quinn glumly sips a gigantic frozen Starbucks coffee drink that tastes like a milk shake and probably has a gazillion calories. She really didn’t want it, but she had to order something. And she really doesn’t want to be here, but she has to be somewhere, right?

Somewhere other than home, where Annie’s being a nosy little pain in the butt as usual, Mom has a depressing plan to clean out the basement storage unit in preparation for the move, and the cleaning ladies are making such a ruckus that you’d think they were expecting the president for dinner.

There was a time when such a concept wouldn’t be all that far-fetched. But now that Congressman Quinn has become Inmate Quinn, the era of high-profile dinner guests is over—at least for now. Someday, she’s certain, Dad will straighten out this whole mess and come home. Until then, it’s going to be a long, lonely summer, and she’d better figure out where she’s going to spend it, because anything is better than being at home. Even sitting in the crowded neighborhood coffeehouse with nothing to do but eavesdrop on the world’s most boring conversations.

“So then I told him…”

“Oh no, you dih-unt!”

“Oh yeah, girl, you know I did!”

The two women seated at the table to Caroline’s right, close enough to touch, erupt into ear-splitting laughter once again.

“Mo’ whip cweam, Mommy!” demands the bratty little kid at the table to Caroline’s left, also mere inches away.