All the Way Home (32 page)

Rory watches her for a moment. Then, feeling as though she’s spying on an intensely private moment, just as she had that long-ago rainy day in the kitchen, she quietly slips away.

And in the hallway, she again becomes aware of the merest whiff of her sister’s favorite perfume.

Frowning, Rory walks slowly toward Carleen’s door. She opens it, poking her head into the room.

The scent is stronger here.

Her heart pounding, Rory closes the door and hurries down the stairs.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she tells herself once she’s back in the living room.

“What did you say, Rory?”

She looks up to see Sister Theodosia standing in the doorway.

None of your business what I said
.

“Nothing,” Rory tells her.

“Where’s your mother? I’d like to do the rosary with her now.”

“Mom is busy. I think she needs to be alone.”

“It’s time to do the rosary.” The nun turns toward the stairs.

“Leave her alone right now, Sister,” Rory says sharply
.

Sister Theodosia turns back, her black eyes narrowing at Rory. “I don’t appreciate that tone, Rory.”

“Sister, maybe it would be better if you left. I think Mom and Molly and I need some time alone together. I mean, I do appreciate your coming here and everything, but maybe you should go.”

“I plan to,” the nun says, and adds, “in a day or two.”

With that, she walks away.

A day or two.

Great.

Rolling her eyes, Rory picks up her iced tea again and sinks into her father’s chair.

“J
ohn?”

“Shelly! How’s it going?”

Her cousin’s warm greeting takes Michelle by surprise. For some reason, she’d been expecting him to be as glum as her world suddenly seems. But John is his usual sunny self, thank God.

She contemplates mentioning the trip to the hospital yesterday, and decides against it. “I’m fine,” she tells him instead. “How are you? How’s Nancy and the kids?”

“Everyone’s doing well. I heard about what happened over there, though. That’s really a terrible shame.”

He’s talking about Rebecca’s disappearance, she realizes. Not only is the news all over the local papers, but it seems to be causing a widespread stir. Lou called home at lunchtime to tell Michelle that the wire services had picked up the story and there was even a blurb about it in
USA Today
.

“But why?” Michelle had asked, bewildered.

“Because it’s the anniversary of the disappearance of all those other girls, Michelle,” Lou had said with exaggerated patience, as though a hormonal basket case like her wasn’t capable of figuring out the connection. “That’s either a morbid coincidence, or it means Rebecca’s disappearance is linked to those cases.”

“It
is
a shame,” she echoes her cousin John’s comment, propping the cordless phone between her ear and shoulder and walking absently to the living-room window. She parts the sheer curtains and peers out into the street. In addition to the squad car that’s become a fixture at the curb in front of the Wasners’ house, there are a few other unfamiliar vehicles now. Michelle suspects that they belong to the press.

“Listen, Shelly, it’s funny that you called, because I was about to get in touch with you just now anyway. I was wondering if I could come over tonight to talk about that addition.”

“I didn’t think you could make it until later in the week.”

“Actually, I forgot all about a conference I’m going to in New York. I’m leaving early Thursday morning, so—”

“Then our thing can wait, John. It’s really no rush.”

“No, it’s not a problem
.
I just found out Nancy invited her mother over for supper. So I figured I’d work late tonight after all.”

Michelle smiles, having met her cousin’s mother-in-law a few times before. The woman made Iris look like an absolute dear.

“Okay, John, come on over,” she says, grateful for the distraction. “I’ll call Lou and tell him, to make sure he’ll be here.”

“Sounds good. What was that clicking sound? Did you hear it?”

“Just the baby monitor,” she tells him. “Ozzie’s upstairs napping and I’ve got it turned on. It messes with the cordless phone. Anyway, why don’t you stay for supper? I made a meat loaf and I just finished mashing the potatoes.”

“Meat loaf and mashed potatoes? Why all the fuss? Shouldn’t you be sitting around with your feet up reading baby-name books right about now, Shelly?”

“I guess so. But for some reason I woke up in the mood to make like Martha Stewart.”

“Uh-oh,” John says with a chuckle. “When did you say you were due?”

“August. Why?”

“I was going to say you might be going into labor. The day she had Ashley, Nancy woke up and decided to bake a dozen fruitcakes. The night before she had Jason, she wallpapered the hall closet.”

“Why?”

“God knows. She just went into this nesting frenzy. The doctor said it happens. Mother Nature’s way of preparing you for motherhood—you know, feathering the nest and all that. Are you sure about that August due date?”

Michelle laughs. “Positive. I’ll see you tonight, John,” she says, and hangs up.

She returns to the kitchen and eyes the batch of chocolate chip cookie dough she was just whipping up.

She thinks about those contractions yesterday, then about John’s comment, and laughs softly, shaking her head.

There’s no way she’s going into labor anytime soon. Dr. Kabir said her cervix hadn’t started to dilate.

Still . . .

Nope.

No way.

She sticks her finger into the cookie dough, picks out a chocolate chip, and thoughtfully pops it into her mouth.

“S
o, like, you saw her the day before she disappeared?” Dana asks Molly, running a hand through her long, wavy, light-brown hair that’s blowing back from her face as the boat picks up speed.

Molly nods, feeling weary, wondering how many times they’re going to go over this. Ever since they got on the boat, Dana and Amanda and Lisa have been probing her about Rebecca, wanting to know every detail about her.

At first, Molly couldn’t help liking the attention a little, especially when Lisa’s brother Will and his friend Danny talked to her about it. They were both pretty cute, and it was fun to have them all interested in every word she had to say, although of course they’re much too old for her. They’re, like, Kevin’s age. They’re drinking beer. They offered it to the girls, and Molly took one, not wanting to be the only one not to. Will grinned, winking at her as he popped the cap off the cold green bottle and handed it to her, and she found herself wondering what the wink meant.

Does he like her? Wouldn’t that be something?

No
.
He’s too old
.

Besides, she’s not interested in anyone except Ryan, and, to her disappointment, she found when she met the others at the dock that he wasn’t going boating with them.

“I couldn’t get a hold of him,” Amanda had said so casually that Molly wondered if she’d even tried. Had she merely dropped Ryan’s name to get Molly here?

Her sudden interest in being pals was no doubt due to Molly’s connection to Rebecca. And she’s beginning to find herself irritated that these girls who never paid any attention to Rebecca before are now so riveted by every detail about her life. It just seems so
. . .
sick.

I shouldn’t he here,
Molly thinks, looking back at the distant shore that marks the Curl jutting out into Lake Charlotte.

“Wow, I can’t believe it, Molly,” Lisa says. “First your own sister disappears. Now your best friend. It’s just so creepy.”

Startled, Molly can’t think of anything to say. Nobody has ever brought up the subject of Carleen to her. At least, none of the kids from school have ever done it. It just happened so long ago, nobody her age seems to spend any time dwelling on it. They’re too young to remember that summer.

But now, with Rebecca missing, and the newspapers making a big deal about the anniversary of the other girls’ disappearances, the whole thing has apparently become relevant to everyone in Lake Charlotte. Molly feels sick to her stomach, and not just from the constant bump-bump-bump of the boat chopping over the water.

“I bet it’s some psycho killer on the loose again,” Amanda says. “I bet he killed those girls ten years ago, and he’s going to start doing it again.”

“None of us are safe,” Lisa agrees solemnly. “Especially you, Molly. I mean, Rebecca was your friend. And your own sister was another one of the victims. And, God, you live right next door to the house where another victim lived. That girl Emily.”

“Emma,” Dana corrects her. “Yeah, Molly, I heard you even baby-sit over there. Is it scary?”

Molly thinks of the Randalls’ house.

Of the footsteps she thought she heard yesterday.

“Not that scary,” she lies to Lisa.

But she already knows that she’ll absolutely, positively never be alone there again. Lisa’s right.

No one is safe.

A shudder runs down her spine.

Especially not Molly.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

S
t. Malachy’s Home turns out to be a sprawling stone mansion located on a steep bluff rising high above the Hudson River.

Rory guides Kevin’s little red car through the open gates and up the winding drive to the home, noticing that the place has an air of neglect about it. The too-tall lawn is dotted with dandelions and the shrubs are overgrown, and the white paint on the sign at the front entrance is peeling.

How depressing,
she thinks, looking up at the gloomy three-story building before walking up the wide, cracked concrete steps to the door.
Poor David Anghardt, locked away here for all these years, without even his own father coming to visit him
.

Then again, that was just Barrett Maitland’s take on the situation. For all Rory knows, he’s completely wrong. Or he could be making the whole thing up for some reason. Emily might never have had a twin brother.

Still, she’d been vaguely surprised when she called Information last night and discovered there really was a St. Malachy’s in Poughkeepsie.

But that doesn’t mean David Anghardt also exists.

You should have called here and asked about him before you drove all this way,
she tells herself belatedly.
What if you made the trip for nothing?

Who cares? At least it’s a day away from Mom, and Molly, and Sister Theodosia, and Lake Charlotte. In fact, that’s precisely why she didn’t bother to call and check. She desperately needs an escape, if only for a few hours.

When she left, she didn’t bother to tell any of them where she was going. She doubts Mom and Sister Theodosia will even miss her. And if Molly does, well, it’ll be a taste of her own medicine. Let her see how it feels to wonder where someone is.

Molly didn’t get home until well after midnight last night.

Rory, lying awake in her third-floor bedroom, heard her come in, not even trying to be quiet. It’s as though she no longer cares what anyone thinks.

Just the way Carleen eventually acted.

Rory sighs and opens the door, stepping into what must once have been a grand foyer when this was a private home, as it must have been.

Now it is a shabby reception area, with a tall counter tucked against the wall beside a sweeping, curved staircase. There’s a middle-aged blond woman seated behind it, reading a hardcover Nora Roberts novel in a library’s shiny plastic sleeve. She looks up at Rory, as though annoyed she has to interrupt her reading.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’m here to visit a patient . . . David Anghardt?”

The woman’s overly tweezed eyebrows disappear beneath her curled bangs. “David Anghardt?”

Rory nods, clenching her purse strap, not wanting to betray her overwhelming sense of anticipation.

“Are you a relative?” the woman asks at last, sounding incredulous.

So he does exist. And he is here.

“No,” Rory tells the receptionist, “I’m just a friend.”

“Your name?”

“Rory Connolly. But he won’t know it,” she adds quickly.

The woman’s mouth purses. “Obviously not.”

And Rory realizes from her expression that David Anghardt must be so severely handicapped that he can’t be expected to recognize a name. Can he even speak? Should Rory have bothered to come at all?

The poor boy—
man,
Rory corrects herself. He’ll be an adult now, her own age. And he’s been locked away here for years, with no visitors. Even if he can’t help her, maybe her visit will help
him,
somehow. It’s the least she can do for Emily’s brother.