The Night Before(78)
“I’m sorry,” she said, the way she would have hours before, when she had no reason to doubt him. “I’m just so scared.”
She turned to face the living room, away from the kitchen, so he would have no reason to wonder if she’d seen the purse.
“Is Melissa home?” she asked, now covering for why she had looked away and into another room.
She turned back to Gabe and he opened his mouth as though he was going to answer, but then they both turned toward the bay window that looked out into the backyard.
“What is that?” Rosie asked.
There was a banging sound, metal against metal.
She started to walk toward the window to open the curtains and look outside, but Gabe grabbed her arm, his fingers digging deeply into her skin.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “The screen door out back doesn’t latch anymore. The slightest wind will blow it against the frame.”
He smiled then, his face returning to normal. “It’s been driving me crazy all summer. Melissa will be home soon. That’s why I’m in a bit of a state, honestly. With everything happening with Laura—well, you know how she feels about her.”
Rosie nodded. “I’m sorry, Gabe,” she said. “I should go. I’m sure the police can find out about the phone. And they’re already digging into Jonathan Fielding’s past, so they’ll find whatever there is to find. I’m just impatient and worried.”
Gabe released his grip and led her back to the front door. “It’s fine, Rosie. You know I want to help if I can. Call me later. I promise I’ll answer this time.”
Rosie felt a final surge of fear as she stepped outside the house. She could see her car. She was so close to safety. But then Laura …
The sound came again—metal on metal from behind the house. It was louder now that they were outside.
“You should get that fixed,” Rosie said. Her mouth was dry, the words barely making it out.
“I know. I will.” Gabe closed the door quickly and Rosie heard the turn of the locks.
She didn’t look back. She got in her car, then took out her phone and called Joe.
FIFTY
Laura. Present Day. Saturday, 4:30 p.m. Branston, CT.
Loud footsteps across the floor above me. I let go of the doors and race back to the foot of the stairs, the bat in my hands. I hear the bolt. I see the doorknob turn. There’s no time to get back up the stairs, behind the door where I can hide.
I place the bat against the wall near my feet. I hold on to the stair rail and look up to the door. I watch it open. And wait.
FIFTY-ONE
Rosie. Present Day. Saturday, 4:30 p.m. Branston, CT.
“Joe!” Rosie was frantic as she sat in her car, staring at Gabe’s house.
“Where are you?” Joe asked.
“I’m at Gabe’s. I think Laura is here. I saw my purse—the one she borrowed.…”
Joe started yelling into the phone. “Get out of there! Right now!”
Back and forth. Short bursts of information, each of them trying to catch up with the other.
Joe was frantic as he told her what he’d found in his office files.
“That man—Edward Rittle. I remembered the name from a case. Gabe worked it. Rittle was seeing our client’s wife. Gabe found him the same way he did yesterday.… He knew this guy was on the website.… He knew he was a cheater and a liar and he knew where he took women.… Rosie—it was all a setup.…”
“I know!” Rosie cried the words. “Why, Joe? Why would he do that?”
Joe was running now. She could hear his feet pounding against the pavement. “It’s Laura. He wants Laura.”
“Why? Why now…?” Rosie’s eyes never left the house. There was no movement inside. No lights coming on. No sound.
“It doesn’t matter. Just get out of there! I’m calling the police.”
Rosie grew silent, thinking. “What about the notes, Joe? And her boyfriend in New York? God, I never even told you what I found. He’s dead, Joe. The boyfriend in New York was killed in a robbery. Laura had no idea. Do you think…?”
Joe stopped running. “Rosie,” he said, his voice serious now. “Get out of there!”
“Okay … call the police. I’m leaving. I promise.”
Joe hung up and Rosie put the phone down on the passenger seat. She put her hand on the key and started to turn the ignition.
But then she stopped.
The sound was gone—the metal against metal. It wasn’t the screen door banging in the wind.
She knew what it was now.
It was Laura.
FIFTY-TWO
Laura. Present Day. Saturday, 4:30 p.m. Branston, CT.
“Gabe!” I say in a whisper when he comes through the door. “I heard thuds! I tried to get out! What’s going on?”
Gabe shuffles down the stairs quickly and in a panic.
He takes my arms and ushers me away from the stairs, out of the line of sight from anyone who might open that door.
“It was nothing. Just an unexpected guest. But you did the right thing. Just like I told you. Good girl,” he says. “Good girl.”
I say nothing about the doors being chained from the outside, and Gabe doesn’t wonder why.