Every Single Secret(69)

“Jesus, Daphne,” Heath said. He was pressed back against his seat, clutching the handle over his door in a death grip. I didn’t slow down. We could do that when we got to Dunfree. We would talk then, make plans, argue, whatever. As for now, I was getting us off this miserable mountain.

“Did he see you?” I asked.

“No. He wasn’t in the office. Watch it!”

I took the corner fast and felt the tires skid under us. “I hope he’s taken a dive off the mountain—that sleazy charlatan. That lying, garbage, snake-oil-selling sonofa—”

Out of nowhere, a figure appeared—a man in dark trousers and a tweed coat—and stepped into the road, right in front of the car.

I stomped on the brakes, hard, and the car jerked to the right, jolting us. We dropped, one time, then again, my stomach flopping like I was on a roller coaster. My head snapped sideways, bone connecting with tempered glass, and as my arms flew out to brace myself, I heard a loud, metallic chunk. I slammed back into my seat, and everything went deathly silent.

No. Not completely silent. I could hear the sound of my breathing, and after a few seconds, other sounds too. Heath breathing. The birds and the wind in the tops of the trees. I took stock of my situation. My wrist hurt, and my head, and I was wedged down between the seat and the dash, so far down all I could see was the door of the Nissan. I didn’t have my seatbelt on. I hadn’t taken the time to fasten it.

I looked out the cracked windshield. The Nissan was rammed against a tree, a small pine. I twisted around. We weren’t that far off the road. But where was the man? Had I hit him? And then I heard a groan. Oh my God, Heath.

I lifted myself back onto the seat and saw him slumped against his door, his back to me. I tugged gingerly at his arm.

“Heath? Are you okay? Talk to me.”

His head rolled to face me. Blood dripped from his nose, and a nasty red lump rose just above his eye. He groaned again.

I touched his face. “Heath?”

He shook me off. Pressed himself back against the seat. He dabbed his sleeve to his nose. Blinked a few times. “I’m fine.”

“That was Cerny. Jesus, he just jumped out in the middle of the road. Did I hit him?”

“I don’t think so.” He was massaging his temples now.

I climbed out to inspect the front of the car. It had cracked the pine clear through its trunk. I could smell the sharp aromas of sap and green wood. If I’d hit Cerny, there certainly didn’t appear to be any sign of it—or him—on the bumper. And we really weren’t that far off the road. It was just that it was so steep here. We were lucky we hadn’t flipped on our way down.

I heard the passenger door creak, and Heath emerged from the other side. He straightened, then went down hard. I ran to him. Although he’d already managed to right himself again, his face looked pale. I reached for him, but he shooed me back.

“I twisted my knee. Maybe tore something. Goddammit.” He stood, balancing precariously on one leg, grimacing.

“We have to get you to a doctor,” I said. “I’ll try to get the car started again. Do you want to sit down or something?”

“This car isn’t going anywhere.”

“I’ll try.” I slid behind the wheel and cranked it, but all that resulted was a forlorn clicking sound. A thin stream of smoke rose from a crack between the crumpled hood and body of the car.

“She’s gone,” came a voice behind us. For a second, I thought it was Heath, talking about the car. Then Cerny step-slid down the slope into sight, using the trees to balance. The knot of his brown silk tie was pulled loose, and his shirttails flapped. I struggled out from behind the wheel, leaping toward him.

“You idiot! You almost got us—” I began.

Heath put out a protective hand. “Don’t.”

“I can’t understand it.” Cerny was on the other side of the car now, regarding both of us with a look of sincere confusion. “I just can’t understand it,” he repeated, then leaned against the car and let out a wail, a low sound that made the hairs on my arm stand on end. After a few seconds he looked up. His face was puffy and red. “You know, you said she was missing, and I didn’t believe you. But I thought, I’ll drive down the road a bit, see if I can’t catch a glimpse . . . We have to call the police. She’s gone, and I need your help.”

The clouds had hidden the sun, and the wind was biting now. Heath pressed his jacket sleeve to his bleeding nose, then leaned against the car. He looked dazed, like he was on the verge of fainting.

I spoke up. “We can’t help you, Dr. Cerny. I have to get Heath to town. He hurt his knee as we were swerving to avoid hitting you.”

Cerny addressed Heath. “It’s Cecelia.” He looked at me then. “Glenys, as you know her. I need your help.”

I shook my head. “What do you mean she’s gone? Like missing, or—”

“Daphne.” Heath sent me a look heavy with meaning. I shut my mouth.

“Show us where she is, Doctor,” he said. “And we’ll do what we can. But then we have to go.”

“Heath, your knee,” I said.

“It’s fine.”

Cerny started into the trees, sliding on the dry leaves blanketing the slope, grasping at branches for balance. I followed him, my arms folded tightly over my chest, and Heath fell into line, limping behind me. My nerves were vibrating, singing along with the wind and panic inside me.