Good as Dead(43)

CHAPTER 23


I was on the freeway when the alarm company called.

“Sorry to bother you,” the dispatcher said, “but we got a flood alert at your Calabasas home.”

“What’s a flood alert?” I asked. It wasn’t raining, so what could be flooding?

“Sensors indicate water is pooling inside the house,” she said. “An appliance might be leaking, or the washing machine could be overflowing, I’m sorry I don’t know, I can’t see inside.”

I thanked her, then hung up the phone to call Holly. It went straight to voice mail.

I thought about water pooling somewhere in the house. If it didn’t get mopped up soon, it would warp the floorboards, seep into the walls. If not dried out properly, mold could grow, and suddenly we’d have a costly repair and a bunch of insurance adjusters asking a lot of questions.

I canceled my plans and headed to the house. Most likely it was nothing—a sensor malfunction or false alarm. Or maybe something had spilled but had already been cleaned up, and the sensors needed to be reset. I hadn’t walked Holly through all the functions of her smart house. It was probably time I did, to avoid these false alarms in the future.

I parked across the street, jogged up to the front door, and rang the bell. No one answered, so I knocked—gently at first, then more aggressively. “Holly!” I said to the closed door. “It’s Evan.”

No answer.

I didn’t have a key, but I could open the garage with my phone and enter through there. I felt uncomfortable just barging in, but I had canceled my day, I wasn’t leaving until I was sure nothing was wrong.

I walked the curved stone path toward the driveway, which was shaded by trees bursting with vibrant purple flowers. The colorful front yard was one of my favorite things about this house, I loved how in California you could have flowers all year long.

I opened the garage. Holly’s car was there, and I felt a flutter of nervousness, and not just because I was barging in on her unexpectedly. It’s my fault, I planned to tell her, I should have told you how your smart features worked. And then hopefully we’d have a laugh.

“Holly!” I called out as I entered the house. “It’s Evan.” I started down the hall, making as much noise as I could so as not to startle her. “Hello??”

I made my way toward the kitchen. The dispatcher said it was likely a leaky appliance, so I’d check the dishwasher, and the washing machine after that.

I stepped into the breakfast nook. The kitchen was spotless, and nothing was running. I peeked in the cabinet under the double kitchen sink. It was bone dry. I was just about to head into the laundry room when I saw the pill bottle, open and on its side. Next to it was a CorningWare dinner plate. Six pills formed a perfect line across the center of it.

I picked up the bottle. It was Vicodin. And it was empty.

“Holly!” I said loudly. I raced through the dining room, living room, office, and den. Like the kitchen they were all spotless.

I charged the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. By the time I reached the top, my pulse was as hard and fast as a drumroll.

“HOLLY!”

I didn’t hear the water running until I was halfway down the hall. The shower was on in the master bathroom. I sprinted toward it.

The bathroom door was open. What I saw shattered my heart like a hammer on glass.

Holly was lying facedown in the shower. Water rained down on her lifeless body, soaking her hair, spattering violently against her waterlogged jeans. She was barefoot but otherwise dressed. The one eye that was visible was closed. Her face was ashen pale.

“No, no, no . . .”

I bolted over to her and put two fingers to her neck. The icy-cold water pummeled me as I searched and prayed for a pulse.

And there it was, faint and uneven under my fingertips.

“Holly, stay with me,” I pleaded as I kicked off the water and dialed 911.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” I barked at the phone. We were both soaking wet now. I fumbled for a towel and patted her face.

“Hey, I’m going to get you out of here, OK?” Her head rolled lifelessly to one side. Her lips were blue. Panic rose up the back of my neck. I couldn’t wait for paramedics. She needed medical attention now.

“I’m going to lift you up, OK?”

I squatted down beside her and wedged my arms under her body. Her arms and legs drooped toward the floor as I hoisted her up and out of the shower.

Adrenaline pulsed through my body as I galloped down the hall. By the time the 911 operator picked up, I was already halfway down the stairs.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

The phone was in my back pocket. I couldn’t reach it, so I shouted.

“I need an ambulance!”

Somehow I’d reached the bottom of the stairs. Holly’s wet jeans were slippery, and I struggled to hold on as I beelined for the door.

“You’ve dialed 911, what’s your emergency?” the voice repeated.

“Forget it, I’ll take her myself!” I yelled to the dispatcher who couldn’t hear me as I balanced Holly on my raised knee to unlock the front door.

A moment later I was out in the searing hot sunshine, charging across the lawn toward my car. As I wondered how the hell I was going to get her in the back seat, a figure came running out of the house across the street. It was the woman who had brought us cookies. This time I was glad to see her.