Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(74)

All we have to do is get inside.

Then I can call Brett and tell him where we are.

No—she’d better not do that. Not from the home phone. If it really is tapped, or the house is bugged, Brett wouldn’t be the only one who knows where she and Renny are.

Oh, come on. Do you really believe this guy wouldn’t think to check here sooner or later?

But this isn’t her car. Hers is still in the parking lot of the Sunoco—or, for all she knows—or cares—it’s been towed away by now.

If she parks this rental car, with its Florida plates, around the corner, and doesn’t turn on any lights when they get inside the house, it’ll look like no one is home.

And Meg Warren should be home from work any second now. Elsa can run over and call Brett from her phone. Of course, Meg will want to know why she’s doing that…

I’ll just tell her we’re having trouble with our lines.

Then Meg will want to know why she doesn’t just use her cell phone.

I’ll tell her the battery is dead.

She’ll ask why I don’t just plug it into the charger.

I’ll tell her I lost it, or that the power lines aren’t working either, or…

Something. Anything. Right now, it’s the best she can do. This is the end of the road—not just literally. She’s depleted; far too weary to figure out where else she can possibly go, much less get herself and Renny there. It would be dangerous to keep driving in her condition.

Mind made up, she shifts into drive and passes the house, turns the corner. A little ways down the next block, she parks the car, turns off the engine, and pulls the keys from the ignition.

Renny barely stirs as Elsa picks her up, whispering, “It’s okay, Mommy’s got you.”

The child’s arms wrap around her and her legs straddle Elsa’s hip. Her sleepy head rests on Elsa’s shoulder and she yawns softly, exhaling a whisper of warmth against her bare neck.

She’s too heavy for Elsa to carry her very far…but Meg Warren’s yard is right beyond that stand of trees in a nearby lot. They can cut through and go in the back door at home. If anyone is watching the house from the street…

No. You know they’re not.

But just in case…

The rain has stopped at last, having left the ground spongy beneath Elsa’s feet as she walks through the moonless night, picking her way around tree trunks and shrubs. Around and above her, branches drip steadily and the crickets have taken up their nightly chorus. Her ears strain to pick up other sounds—snapping twigs, footfalls other than her own…

But they’re alone out here tonight. Elsa feels it with just as much conviction as she felt the earlier presence in Maman’s apartment.

As she crosses into the Warrens’ yard, her feet suddenly start to slide out from under her. Managing to keep her hold on Renny and regain her balance, she looks down. Even in the darkness, she can see that she’s mired in a large rectangular patch of mud dotted with seedlings.

Meg must have planted a new garden…

And I’ve gone and trampled right through it. There will be hell to pay when she finds out.

For a moment, the thought strikes her as so ludicrous that Elsa is on the verge of hysterical laughter. Just as quickly, the humor disappears, though the burgeoning hysteria threatens to burst forth as a violent sob instead.

Good Lord, she’s an emotional wreck—and now is not the time to fall apart.

Gingerly, her arms beginning to sag under Renny’s weight, she picks her way across the muddy plot to the grass. Seconds later, she’s unlocking her own back door.

The last thing she wants to do is walk across the threshold without Brett waiting on the other side. But she has no choice.

Opening the door, she whispers to her sleeping daughter, “Everything’s going to be okay now, Renny—we’re home.”



Caroline is lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, when she hears footsteps in the hall and an abrupt knock on her bedroom door.

Startled, she sits up. “Who is it?”

The door jerks open. “Who do you think it is?” Her mother is standing there, still wearing the clothes she had on this morning. But her makeup is smeared around her eyes, and her hair is a mess—like it got wet, and she let it dry without bothering to comb it.

“You were out when I got home.” Looking like that, besides. Sheesh. “Did you find Annie?”

“Yes, I found her.”

“Where is she?”

“Right now, she’s in bed. I just tucked her in.”

Tucked her in? Caroline opens her mouth to point out that her sister isn’t five years old, but sees her mother’s expression and thinks better of it. Clearly, Mom is in a bad mood.

Instead, she asks, “So where was she?”

“In the hospital.”

“What? Is she okay?”

“She will be.”

“What happened to her?”

“You sent her out to run in the park. That’s what happened. In the rain, all alone, with her asthma…”

Uh-oh. Remembering her earlier conversation with Annie, Caroline feels a twinge of guilt—not that she’ll admit it.

“I didn’t send her anywhere!” she tells her mother. “I wasn’t even here.”