All the Little Liars (13 page)

In a ragged chorus, all the women told Laurel she couldn't have known, that she wasn't a psychic, that there had been no sound to indicate anything was going on outside the shop.

“I know you would have,” I said.

That seemed to be that. More information that I didn't know what to do with. Tammy had not expected any danger when she left the salon.

After thanking all of them (including the customer, whose name I never knew), and receiving many assurances that they were
just so sorry,
I went out to the car. I told Robin what the ladies had told me, which didn't amount to much. “But Tammy said she needed to rescue Joss,” I said thoughtfully. “From what? But she was laughing, Laurel said. Apparently, Tammy didn't fear there was a serious threat, but she was concerned enough to walk outside.”

“Whatever happened, it was then,” Robin said. “Otherwise, the kids would have gotten help for Tammy. So their communication was cut off then.”

“I don't know why Clayton would have been following Josh,” I said. “But maybe the kidnappers were following Clayton? And our group of kids got caught up in that drama.”

We drove the rest of the way in silence. Kidnappers in Lawrenceton? A popular teen left dead in an alley, not found for two days? It all seemed so unlikely, and yet
something
had happened to them all.

After I'd made my bed, and started some laundry (dirty clothes stacked up no matter how dire life got), I could not think of one more thing to do. I sat with my feet on the floor and my hands on my thighs, letting my burdens float away. I was by myself in a not-unpleasant way. My father was out prowling around the town, and Robin was checking his e-mail in his office.

Gradually, I began to pick up my worries again. I wondered who had jurisdiction over Josh's car. And the entire case. Tammy had been killed, and the other kids had disappeared, within the city limits. The car had been found in the county, which would indicate the sheriff's department would handle it, but it had been found by a state trooper. I hoped, for the sake of the investigation, that they were cooperating.

My mind drifted to the windy countryside, the hood of the car concealed in that small cluster of trees and tombstones. I had been past that little grove a hundred times. The old cemetery had not seen a new burial for a hundred years, as far as I knew. The historical society went and cleaned it up once in a while. There were, at most, twenty graves there. It was not a place that jumped to my mind when I imagined dumping a car. I wondered: did that mean the dumper had knowledge of the land? Maybe. On the other hand, the grove was visible from the road and there was a rutted track leading across the field to it, so its existence wasn't exactly an esoteric piece of knowledge.

I wanted to know more facts. They were in scarce supply.

Then my father came in the front door, which meant he hadn't put my car away. He tossed the keys on the counter, and made himself a cup of coffee in the Keurig. “So nothing in the car,” he said. “Did you get a look at the front?”

“No, they hadn't started towing it out of the field,” I said. “And I couldn't wait there forever.” I don't know how the conversation would have gone after that, but the doorbell rang. To my surprise, it was a group of ladies I knew, and their visit was to assure me that they were very sorry about my half brother … and the minister's daughter! And those Finstermeyer twins, the cute ones who were so active in the school and their church.

I would have considered this torture the day before, but now I let their voices wash over me like stream water over stones. Their intentions were good, and their faces were kind. My father stayed to be introduced to them all—one of the ladies remembered him from when he lived in town, and he had to talk to her for a few minutes. My stepfather's daughter-in-law, Melinda Queensland, had come, and I was really glad to see her. She gave me a warm hug and told me how happy she was for my good news, and how sorry she was for my bad. Marva Clerrick had come, which was a bit of a surprise, and Teresa Stanton, Bryan Pascoe's ex-wife. I realized, after some conversation, that they'd stopped at Emily and Aubrey's house first, and my house second, and the Finstermeyers would be third. Sort of a trifecta of the stricken.

Dad escaped as soon as he could, but Robin heard the voices and ventured out to be polite. He could have claimed he had to work (which he did), but he put himself out.

All the ladies wanted to help, and I wished I could have asked them to fold my laundry; probably they would have done it in a flash. But that hardly seemed appropriate or necessary.

After a half an hour, they were on their way, leaving trays of cookies and seasoned pecans and cheese straws, as if Robin and I were going to throw a party. Well, I never turned down a good cheese straw, and I was glad to have the snacks. They reminded me that I hadn't eaten breakfast and that it was almost lunchtime. I made myself eat a pear first, but then I gave myself permission to dive in. I sighed with happiness, and didn't even mind when I caught Robin grinning.

“Eating for two,” I said defensively.

“I have no problem with you eating,” he said. “I'm just glad to see you keeping it down.”

My dad came out and ate a huge ham sandwich, and Robin had one, too. Then Dad announced his intention to go see a couple of old friends who still lived in Lawrenceton, and I could hardly agree with him fast enough.

When he was out the door, I said, “Robin, I was figuring that the Harrisons would pay the ransom last night, and that today we'd hear Clayton had been released. I've been thinking any minute we'd hear that … and that the kids were all free too.”

Robin said slowly, “I don't see why we can't call the Harrisons. We know that Clayton's being held already. Why can't we ask if they've paid the ransom?”

I was startled by the idea. “Hmm. Well, when I think about it … why not?” For the second time in two days, I called Karina Harrison.

“Yes?” she said, sounding strung as tight as a guitar string.

“Hi, it's Aurora. Karina, we've been thinking about you, and wondering if you'd paid the ransom, if you knew when you were getting your son back.”

“Aurora, for God's sake, leave us alone. No, you can't get that kind of cash instantly! We'll do it soon. That's all I can say. I'll let you know, okay? When we know anything else. Don't talk about this! Now I need to get off the line. We're expecting to get instructions any moment.”

“Sorry to bother you,” I said. “We're all very anxious.” I hung up, feeling embarrassed at intruding on the Harrisons' anxiety, but also feeling that it wasn't an outrageous query.

Robin just shrugged when I relayed the conversation. “Worth a try,” he said, and headed for his office. I had no idea if I could focus on a book, but the habit was so strong that I got a book from my TBR pile and opened it to the first page. The phone rang. I hoped Robin would pick up, but he seldom did when he was in his office, so I answered.

My classmate, Levon Suit, was on the other end of the line. “Levon,” I said, my heart beating faster. “What's new?”

“I just wanted you to know that Josh Finstermeyer's car is not the car that killed Tammy,” he said.

I hadn't known how worried I'd been about that until the tension was relieved. “I'm really glad to know that,” I said. “Thanks, Levon.”

“It's not classified information,” he said. “And I figured after wondering if the body in the alley would be your brother, and wondering if he would be in the trunk of the Josh's car, you deserved a little good news.”

I thanked him again, probably not very coherently, and put my head in my hands. I stayed that way for a long time. My father came back, dropping the car keys on the counter and getting himself a drink. “Any news?” he asked.

“Yes. Josh's car wasn't the one that hit Tammy Ribble.”

Dad's shoulders sagged with relief. “That's something,” he said. “Roe, do you think there's any way at all that the kids could have decided to … just run to Mexico? Teens are impulsive.”

I
hadn't been. But then, he hadn't been around to know that. I told myself to let it go. “If it wasn't for Liza, I'd have to consider that a possibility … if I didn't know any of them,” I said carefully. “But I do know all three of them, if not very well, and I don't think that would ever cross their minds. And Liza's presence would prevent it, anyway.”

“Phillip might've gotten a wild hair,” Dad said. He shrugged.

Phillip could be reckless. But not with someone else's life. Time dragged on, every hour seeming twice the normal length. People called to show concern. Robin worked, or at least he stayed in his office. Dad paced and watched television, and asked me a dozen questions I couldn't answer.

I couldn't have told you what we had for supper, but Robin did the dishes and cleaned everything away.

Dad retired to his room early, which was a relief. I read the same chapter over and over. Finally I put my book down. Robin was sitting opposite me, with a book in his hand.

I couldn't stand sitting in the house any longer. I felt the urge to do something, anything, to feel like I was helping to find Phillip. “Let's go stake out the Harrison place,” I suggested. “If they didn't pay the ransom last night … and there's been no news that Clayton's been found … let's see if they pay any ransom tonight.”

My husband looked at me like I was crazy. “How do you know it'll be at night? And are you sure she was telling us the truth?”

“I'm not. But let's say we believe her. And paying ransom at night makes sense to me. What else have we got to do?”

“I don't know about your schedule, but I have to finish working on the editorial changes for
Cricket Courts Death
,” he said righteously. But then he smiled. “Sure. Let's go spy.”

It wouldn't have been unpleasant if it hadn't been so cold. We bundled up and took lap robes. The Harrison place was halfway up the steep (and only) hill which comprised Fox Creek Hills subdivision. I couldn't see the house very well, but it was obvious someone was home. Most of the lights were on, including the one at the grand front entrance, and once I saw Dan Harrison moving across a window. The garage was at the back of the house, so we didn't know if all the Harrisons' cars were in place. After thirty minutes, I realized my plan was ridiculous. But it was comfortable enough, with a thermos of hot chocolate, to sit together. And we weren't moping at home.

We were parked above the house, facing downhill, so we could see whatever happened. We'd pulled in behind a pickup parked in front of the next house up, trying to blend in with the scene. Of course, in Fox Creek Hills, it wasn't a battered old truck, but a Raptor.

Robin was telling me about a plot issue in
Cricket Courts Death
when the car swept up the sloping driveway from the back of the house. I thought it was Karina's Mercedes, but I might be wrong. It was black, and gleamed in the streetlights.

“I don't believe it,” Robin said. “You called it.” He started the car and we followed the Mercedes down the hill and through the quiet streets. Lawrenceton does roll up the sidewalks pretty early; that aspect of being a small town still sticks. I felt we might be conspicuous. But the driver of the Mercedes, and from the glimpses we caught of his head I was pretty sure it was Dan Harrison, didn't seem to take fright. He drove slowly and steadily to the center of town.

“Is he going to drop it off?” I said, unable to be quiet any longer. This was big drama for a librarian. Robin seemed to be pretty excited, too. We were now in an area of small businesses, each with its own parking lot.

“We'll see in just a minute,” he muttered, and turned left when the Mercedes went straight.

“What are you doing?” I was trying not to sound like I thought he was crazy. I spilled hot chocolate (by this point, it was lukewarm chocolate) all over my lap.

“I just think if we keep on right behind him, he'll have to notice, especially considering what he's out here to do,” Robin said. Since I thought this was a very bad policy and we might lose him, I had to clamp my mouth shut before I said something I'd regret.

And it turned out Robin was right. We turned right and went up two blocks, and then we turned left to intersect the road we'd been on. To my relief, the Mercedes was pulling into a parking lot in front of a tire store. The adjacent businesses included a Dairy Queen, a pancake house (which immediately made me feel hungry), and a nail salon. None of them were open.

We had to drive by. No way we could stop. I said some unladylike things.

“I think if we go to the next street, where the businesses back up to these, we'll be able to see what's going on,” Robin said. At least most of these places were well lit.

Again, my husband was right, which both pleased and aggravated me. We drove into the parking lot of a Krystal, and its drive-through backed up to the rear parking lot of the pancake house, though there was a low concrete barrier between the two. We were able to park in a shadowy area in one corner of the lot, right beside the large trash receptacle. We could see the Mercedes moving through the parking lot opposite, at first only in a slice between the tire store and the pancake house. In a moment, the car emerged from the paved area between the stores, then turned behind the tire store. Leaving the Mercedes idling, he got out of the car, and looked around. Robin and I ducked down for a minute.

Then we sat up enough to see, and what we saw was something curious. Dan Harrison opened the rear door, reached inside, and pulled out a duffel bag. Then he carried it over to large heating and cooling unit installed close to the rear wall of the store, and he dropped the bag behind it. With another look around, he climbed back in the Mercedes.