The Wrong Family(67)

Juno had crept up to the door when she’d heard Terry’s voice. She’d been waiting for Terry Russel to show up, counting on it. Nigel stumbling into the house minutes after with Dakota on his heels had been a complete shock to Juno. She’d expected Nigel to discover the two women at odds when he came back from his run, then shit would have really hit the fan. But now Nigel was dead—presumably—and that was not something Juno had ever wanted. She reached for the trapdoor. She’d crawl back down there and hide until this was over. The neighbors must have seen something—heard something—cops would be swarming the place before too long. But before she could open the trapdoor and crawl through, she heard voices. Terry Russel—she was alive!—was pleading. She was talking very quickly, as if Dakota might turn the gun on her next. Juno buried her face in the carpet, carpet that still smelled faintly of urine from the last time.

“My name is Terry Russel, I am here for my grandson, I have money. You can take all of my cards—here—”

Terry must have offered her handbag to Dakota because she followed up with a “—please take it. There’s five hundred dollars in cash in the side pocket, and all my car—What are you doing? No!”

They struggled. Juno could hear banging on the outside of the closet door—an elbow or maybe a knee. There was a crash, and the song of broken glass as it shattered on the floor. She crept farther back, her heart thumping in her throat, and closed her eyes. Winnie was repeating something to Dakota over and over again: “What are you doing, what are you doing! Dakota...!” Juno held a hand over her own mouth to suffocate any sound that might betray her. What is he doing? He’s gone mad, she thought. Afraid to make any noise that would alert them of her presence, Juno crawled over the trapdoor, pushing herself against the back wall as far as she could, the hems sweeping her face. She had to disappear from sight in case the door somehow opened. That was survival, disappearing when you needed to.

Dakota must have gotten Terry under control because she heard the older woman begging again—“Please don’t hurt me”—as he dragged her away. It sounded like he was moving toward Nigel’s den and the little apartment with its separate entrance. Juno scrambled out of her hiding place, only half-feeling the arthritis that was screaming loudly in her joints. When she opened the closet door, she saw Nigel first, lying on his back in a lake of blood. Winnie was crumpled on the floor beside him, and Juno knew that Dakota would be back for her any second. She darted around the corner and up the stairs, her fear so hot she could smell it rolling off her. This is what animals must feel like when they’re being hunted, she thought. She grinned against the pain, pumping her legs harder as she neared the bend in the stairs. She should have taken a pill today, one of those glorious pills that muted out the pain. She heard Dakota discover her. She never saw it, she was already around the corner, hauling her stubborn body up by the bannister.

“You!” he called, as the last of her disappeared around the corner. “I told Manda I wasn’t crazy, I knew there was a ghost!”

But he didn’t come after her as she had thought he would. Juno was braced to hear his boots on the stairs, but the only sound in her ears was her own rasping breath. He probably thinks he can deal with me later, Juno thought as she ran for Sam’s room, or maybe he thinks I really am a ghost. She threw open the door to find it empty. She stepped inside, half expecting to find him hiding, but he wasn’t in the room. Thank God, thank all the gods. It was then that she saw the open window. Sam had gotten out. He would get the police. Her relief was immense, but now she could hear Dakota coming up the stairs. The heavy donk, donk of his work boots sounded on the floor. Juno knew where to hide; she always knew. She slipped quickly from Sam’s room before Dakota rounded the bend in the staircase.

She heard him walking through the rooms quickly. She supposed he didn’t have much time, considering the two women downstairs; it seemed like he was hardly looking. Juno was in the cabinet under the sink, the one where Winnie kept the fresh towels. She heard him walk into the bathroom, his shoes squeaking on the marble floor. She was shaking so hard her teeth were knocking together and she swore Dakota would hear, but a second later he left, and she heard him going down the stairs.

So he had seen her once before. She hadn’t wanted to admit she’d been that careless, but he had. He’d been drunk, and Juno hadn’t exactly known what he’d seen when she’d tiptoed from the bathroom as he was coming out of the kitchen. It was dark and she’d darted away just as he’d turned around, sensing something was behind him. She’d slipped back into the closet in a panic, fearing she wouldn’t make it into the crawl space, but Dakota hadn’t pursued her to her little hidey-hole.

Now, she pushed open the cabinet door, unfolding like a stiff metal toy. She stood on the bathroom mat, her eyes darting around like she was going to find a solution somewhere in this room. It was her fault that Terry Russel had come to the house; she’d put it in the woman’s head that Josalyn’s son was living with his kidnappers, and then she’d given the woman the Crouches’ address. If Terry died here, it would be Juno’s fault.

“Oh, God...” Juno mumbled softly. She stood on the bathroom rug and covered her ears with her hands, squeezing her eyes closed and swaying back and forth. She could feel a panic attack coming on. It was regression if she’d ever seen it. In prison, she’d resorted to the same method to control anxiety attacks, finding a corner and swaying like she was having a religious experience. They’d called her Hail Mary, and she hadn’t cared because when she was crazy Hail Mary she couldn’t hear or see any of them. But Juno didn’t have women heckling her this time, just herself. She’d done it again, the thing that had rent her family right down the middle all those years ago—getting too involved in people’s lives, taking it a step too far, crossing a line. And for what? Kregger had said she’d chosen psychology because she needed to be overly involved in people’s lives. And she had, hadn’t she? She’d been that way since she was a little girl at her mother’s salon, eavesdropping on breakups and makeups, thinking about their stories as she lay in bed at night. Darla Hess, who was pregnant with her fifth and didn’t want to be; Sarah O’Neil, who’d left her husband for the high school football coach, and then... Pattie and Pastor Paul.