Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(8)

It would probably have been a good idea to have some poles and a tackle box in the backseat. Just in case someone came along.

Oh well. Next time.

The engine turns over with a quiet rumble.

Mission accomplished.

For tonight, anyway.

With a crunching sound, the tires begin to roll along the gravel lane that leads back to the main road.

There’s no other traffic at this hour, not out here. It might pick up in a few miles, closer to the southbound interstate, but it’s still pretty early for that. Without rush hour congestion, it’s only about two hours’ drive from Groton to New York. With traffic, it can be considerably longer. That’s okay. There’s no hurry.

Plenty of time for a detour along Thames Street. Not a soul to witness the car pulling up in front of the tiny post office, or its driver hurrying over to drop a stamped manila envelope into the curbside mailbox. Local delivery; the package should arrive the day after tomorrow. No—it’s well past midnight. Make that tomorrow.

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…

What the heck was the rest of it?

Not even a mouse…

Not even a mouse…

Oh, the next line is: The children are nestled all snug in their beds…

Ha. Isn’t that fitting. Renny Cavalon certainly was nestled all snug in her bed just a short time ago.

Then she opened her eyes and screamed.

No wonder.

That hideous rubber mask—now tucked safely into the glove compartment—would scare anyone to death, looming in the dead of night.

Night…

Night…

’Twas the Night Before Christmas…

That’s it!

It wasn’t a nursery rhyme after all; it was a storybook, one Mother loved to read aloud, years ago, in the soft glow of Christmas tree lights.

Is Elsa Cavalon planning to read it to Renny when the holidays roll around?

Ha. Come December, Renny will be long gone.

Just like Jeremy.





CHAPTER TWO




Peeking into her daughter’s room for what must be the hundredth time this morning, Elsa finds Renny awake at last.

Ordinarily, the little girl bounds noisily out of bed the second she opens her eyes. Today she’s just lying there, staring at the faint outline of the plastic stars overhead.

Maternal anxiety, like the phosphorescent Milky Way on the ceiling, had all but faded in the bright morning light. Now, with one look at Renny, Elsa feels it flare again.

“Good mor-ning.” She forces her usual cheerful singsong as she walks over to the nearest window, lifting the shade with a snap.

Sunshine spills into the room. There—that’s better.

She turns to the other window—the one that was open in the night.

“Wait—don’t!”

She turns to see Renny sitting up behind her, watching warily. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Her daughter starts to say something, then seems to think better of it.

“Renny? What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s okay.”

Elsa hesitates, then raises the shade. Blinking into the glare, she surveys the heavily landscaped backyard.

Lush shrubs and blooming perennial beds surround the ranch home’s foundation, courtesy of a vegetation-loving previous owner. The property’s perimeter is a dense natural border of hedges, vines, and trees. Last year, Elsa took it upon herself to keep everything pruned. This spring, with Renny here, she hasn’t had time.

Now everything is overgrown. There are plenty of places where someone could hide.

Fifteen years ago, in a backyard a hundred miles away from this one, a stranger was watching her son as he played in the sun with his new superhero action figures. Watching, waiting to pounce—

Oh, Jeremy.

If only I had suspected…

And now…she does suspect. There’s no evidence of an intruder, yet Elsa can almost sense a lingering presence in the dappled shadows.

Her instinct is to grab Renny and flee. But that’s crazy, isn’t it?

Even for a woman whose child was kidnapped and murdered?

Who could blame her for reacting—or overreacting—to an open window in her daughter’s room in the dead of night?

But it’s not nighttime anymore; the window itself is closed and locked.

“Lightning doesn’t strike the same spot twice,” Brett told her earlier, and in that particular moment, she’d found it as comforting as his sleepwalking theory.

Yet it’s not impossible, is it? Lightning striking twice in the same place?

Maybe she should look it up.

Maybe that’s a bad idea.

She crosses to Renny’s bed and gives her a hug.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” Enveloped in the comforting scents of strawberry shampoo and fabric softener, she smooths her daughter’s tousled hair and adjusts the sleeve of her pink nightgown. “I’ve got a fun day planned for us. I thought we’d go to the aquarium and walk around the seaport.”

Mystic, just a few miles away, is one of Renny’s favorite places in the world. Ordinarily, she’d jump at the chance to visit, but not today.

“No thanks.”

“No? Um, how about if we go to Teppanyaki for lunch, then?”

Once again Renny, who loves to sit at the Japanese restaurant’s grill-side table and watch the hibachi chef’s flaming antics, shakes her head.