The Night Bird (Frost Easton #1)(81)

There was a lot of sunshine in Modesto. There were no bridges.

She sipped her tea and thought again, I have something to do.

What?

Lucy peered down at the street below her window. The police car was still there, hammered by the rain. She’d met the officer inside, a woman about her own age named Violet Harris. Two hours earlier, Officer Harris had walked with her to the corner to get take-out coffee, and Lucy had bought her an almond–white chocolate scone. They talked about Macy’s and makeup, which was a strange conversation to have with a cop. When Lucy went back upstairs, Officer Harris told her to stop by the car if she needed anything. She’d be on duty until midnight, and then someone else would take over.

“I’ll have to use the back door to the alley,” Lucy murmured to herself.

She sat up sharply, almost spilling her tea. She had no idea why she’d said that or where the thought had come from. It just popped into her head.

Lucy got up and paced, unable to shake her restless, anxious feeling. Nothing felt right. Time barely moved. She didn’t want to put on music. She didn’t want to eat, because she wasn’t hungry. She turned on the television, despite Frost’s warning, but five minutes later, she turned it off. She wished he would come back, but she knew it might be hours before she saw him again. And even if he did come back, it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be what she wanted.

“This is stupid,” she told herself.

She reheated her tea and took it to the window to watch the black clouds slouch across the sky. The downpour sounded like fingernails tapping on the glass.

Luuuucy.

She spun around, stifling a scream. The mug slipped from her fingers and spilled. She’d heard a voice, but no one was there. The apartment was empty. She was alone in the silence. And yet the voice was in her head, as crystal clear as if someone were standing next to her.

Lucy grabbed her phone and dialed. She wanted to talk to Frost, and she was disappointed when the call went to his voice mail.

“Hey, it’s me,” she said, leaving him a message. “I’d love to talk to you. Will you be able to come by later? Or I could come to your place. Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”

She hung up. Then, almost immediately, she called him again.

“Actually, no, everything’s not fine. Something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is. Call me as soon as you can, okay?”

Lucy put down her phone and went to get paper towels to sop up the spilled tea. Before she got there, her phone started ringing, and she sprinted back to scoop it up and answer it on the second ring. “Wow, that was fast,” she told him. “I’m so glad you called back. I really needed to hear your voice.”

But it wasn’t Frost.

At first, there was a long stretch of eerie quiet.

Then the music began.

She heard a flourish of drums and guitar and the whine of a synthesized keyboard. The monster beat started in her ear and wormed into her brain. Her jaw went slack. Her breathing got faster. She didn’t want to look down, but she had no choice, and when she did, she saw the gorge below her and felt the sway of the rope bridge. Her body was paralyzed. She couldn’t move.

“Luuuucy,” the Night Bird whispered into the phone. “Luuuucy.”

“Please . . . no . . . please . . . don’t do this . . .”

The song thumped its rhythm over and over. The synthesizer drowned out the storm and the wind. Spasms rippled through her muscles. She didn’t see her apartment anymore. Her world was a thousand feet of air, descending past stone cliffs to an icy glacial river.

“Listen to me, do you want to be free?”

“Yes . . . yes . . . what do you want?”

“It’s up to you, you know what to do.”

Tears streamed down Lucy’s face. She listened to the music. She felt the bridge go back and forth, bucking with the gusts. She wanted to fly, to die, to go anywhere, to do anything, if only she could make it stop.

“It’s up to you, you know what to do.”

He said it again. And again.

“You know what to do. You know what to do. You know what to do.”

Calmly, Lucy hung up the phone. Yes, she knew what to do. She walked to her closet and collected her raincoat and umbrella. She gathered up her purse from the dinette table.

Go out the back, she remembered.

She marched to the door of her apartment and opened it, but she paused as she stared into the dusty hallway. Her work wasn’t done. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to leave. There was one more thing.

Leaving the door ajar, Lucy turned around and went to the kitchen.

She opened the middle drawer, extracted a carving knife with a ten-inch blade, and slid it inside her purse.





41


Frankie waited as long as she could.

Five minutes passed. Lightning lit up the trees, and thunder followed, reverberating under the ground. Frost didn’t come back. The backup he’d requested didn’t arrive.

Sitting alone in the car, she heard a distant noise. It was almost part of the air. Moments later, she heard it a second time. She opened the door, letting in the rain, and leaned out to listen. Whatever the noise was, it was gone now, and it didn’t happen again. She pulled the door shut. Her impatience grew. She called Frost’s phone number, but there was no answer.