Disturbed

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“She was wearing a navy-blue jumper with a pink long-sleeved turtleneck,” Molly said into the phone.

She stood at Jeff’s desk, looking out the window at the street. She kept hoping someone would come by and drop off Erin — or maybe Rachel would return. But Molly hadn’t seen a single car drive by since she’d come home. All the other houses on the cul-de-sac were empty. It was 4:25 and getting dark out.

Erin should have been on that bus forty minutes ago. Since then, Molly had called Chris and the moms of several of Erin’s friends to make sure she hadn’t gone home with someone else. Erin had hugged her good-bye this morning, but that had been the first and only sign in a few days that her stepdaughter didn’t absolutely loathe her.

Now, Molly wondered if Erin didn’t have a damn good reason for hating her — and for running away this afternoon. Perhaps Erin had been unjustly accused of destroying her painting and that shelf full of elephants.

Erin would have had to use a stool, chair, or stepladder to reach that putty knife on the second to top shelf of the cabinet. And if she’d used something to boost herself up to that shelf, why would she bother putting it back exactly where it had been? The putty knife had been left on the floor, and the tube of paint had been left out with the cap off. Why move the chair, stool, or stepladder back where it belonged?

Yet Molly had found yellow paint smears in Erin’s room and on her clothes. Had somebody set her up? Chris wouldn’t have framed his kid sister and let her take the heat for something he’d done. It just didn’t make sense. But the only other people in the house had been Rachel and Trish.

If Erin had indeed been innocent of the sabotage, then who could blame her for wanting to run away from home — and her crazy, wicked stepmother? Maybe she was sulking in a playground somewhere between the school and here. Molly couldn’t help feeling conflicted about phoning the school and possibly sending out an Amber Alert.

But Jenna Corson was out there, and in all probability, she’d killed Erin’s parents. From Molly’s brief conversation with Chris, it seemed he’d figured that out, too — on his own.

So what was to keep Jenna Corson from abducting Erin and possibly murdering her?

“She was wearing white kneesocks and Keds saddle shoes,” Molly told the school secretary on the phone. She paced within the small confines of Jeff’s study. “And — and she had her hair down. She has blond hair. . ”

“Yes, blond hair, we have that here from the description you gave us,” the woman said. “I’m putting you on hold for just a minute, Mrs. Dennehy, okay?”

Molly didn’t get a chance to respond before she heard a click on the other end. It sounded more like she’d been disconnected than put on hold, but she stayed on the line anyway. Biting her lip, she glanced out the window again.

The two streetlights on Willow Tree Court had gone on. It was officially dark out. If Erin had indeed run away, she would have headed home by now.

“Mrs. Dennehy?” It wasn’t the secretary’s voice. “Hi, this is Shauna Farrell, the vice principal. Your neighbor picked up Erin when the children were getting out of school. She said you asked her to take care of Erin this afternoon.”

“What?” Molly said, panic stricken. All she could think of was Natalie driving off with Erin. “I–I did no such thing. How could you just. .” She paused and took a deep breath. “Did you see my neighbor’s car? Was it a blue Mini Cooper?”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t see the car, Mrs. Dennehy,” the woman answered. “But I figured it was all right, because Erin called her Aunt Rachel, and she was holding her hand.”

“It was Rachel?” Molly asked. She could feel her heart still pounding.

“Yes, your neighbor, Rachel Cross,” the vice principal said. “She is your neighbor, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Molly replied, still not certain what to think. She glanced out the window at Rachel’s house and the bare driveway. In her message, Rachel had said she would be back by 3:45, and that had been almost an hour ago.

“Mrs. Dennehy, are you still there?”

“Ah, yes. Rachel told you that I’d asked her to look after Erin today?”

“That’s right. She said you must have forgotten to call the school. Erin seemed very happy to see her. In fact, she broke away from the other children and ran over to her. . ”

Molly figured Erin would never do that with Natalie. She barely knew the Nguyens’ uninvited houseguest. It must have been Rachel. But it didn’t make sense. Molly hadn’t asked her to look after Erin this afternoon. Or had she? Sometimes lately, she thought she might be losing her mind.

“Mrs. Dennehy, here at the school, we’re always very careful to look out for the children’s safety,” the woman said.

“Yes, of course,” Molly murmured. “There must have been some miscommunication. I’ll call Rachel right now. Will somebody be there in case I need to get in touch with you?”

“Yes, I’ll be here for the next hour. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you got back to me, and let me know that everything’s all right. And I’m sure it will be, Mrs. Dennehy.”

“Thank you,” Molly said.

As soon as she clicked off with the school, she called Rachel’s cell and anxiously counted the rings. She winced when the voice mail greeting came on. “Hi, Rachel,” she said, after the beep. “It’s Molly, and I’m wondering where you are. Erin wasn’t on the school bus. I just got off the phone with the school. They said you came and picked her up. To tell you the truth, I’m kind of confused. You should have said something. Anyway, call me as soon as you can.”

Molly hung up, and then she glanced out the window again. Nothing. On her way to the kitchen, she turned on the front outside lights and the hallway light. She played back Rachel’s earlier message on the answering machine: “Don’t panic when you see my car isn’t in the driveway. You asked me to make sure if Natalie comes back that she doesn’t leave again. And I’ve done that. But I really need to go to the store. I know you’ll be home soon, because Erin’s bus drops her off at a quarter to four. I’ll be back before then, okay? I really don’t think you’re going to see Natalie again. But you’ll see me — very soon. . ”

Not once did Rachel mention that she was going to pick up Erin. If she’d impulsively decided to do that, why wouldn’t she call her and let her know? Rachel didn’t quite sound like herself in the message. What was so important at the store that she couldn’t have stuck around here for another half hour? Obviously, she hadn’t gone to the store. She’d gone to Erin’s school.

Molly suddenly imagined Jenna/Natalie holding a gun to Rachel’s head while she’d left that message. Had she been waiting in Rachel’s car — with a gun aimed at her — while Rachel picked up Erin for her? The vice principal hadn’t seen the car, so she wouldn’t have noticed another woman waiting in there. That crazy, raspy-voiced woman on the phone had warned Rachel that she would be sorry she’d moved onto the block.

Molly couldn’t help picturing Rachel lying dead in a ditch somewhere, while Jenna/Natalie drove off with Erin.

She heard a car.

Molly ran to the front of the house and flung open the door. She saw Rachel’s Honda Accord pull into the driveway next door. But it looked like Rachel was alone in the car. Molly’s heart sank. She moved toward Rachel’s driveway.

Rachel climbed out of the front seat. “I just listened to your message at the stoplight on Gleason Street,” she said hurriedly. “You can relax. Erin’s fine, but I’m not.” She pointed to her own house. “I need to hit the bathroom. I’m peeing for two now. Go back inside and wait for me. I’ll be right over.”

“But where’s Erin?” Molly asked.

With her keys in her hand, Rachel hurried to her front door. “Molly, she’s fine. She’s happy. Go back inside before you catch your death out here. I’ll be over in five minutes to explain everything.”

Molly watched her unlock the door, open it, and duck inside the house. She felt the chill, and rubbed her arms. Rachel had just said Erin was fine. She’d said it twice. But Molly was still worried. She stood there another few moments, and then retreated inside the house. She left the door open a crack, went back to Jeff’s study, and stared out the window.

“Damn it,” she whispered, after waiting nearly five more minutes. She thought about calling the school to tell them Erin was okay, but first she wanted to hear what Rachel had to say. Frowning, Molly glanced at her watch. It was almost 5:15, and dark as midnight out. She couldn’t believe Rachel had picked up Erin without telling her.

Finally, she heard Rachel’s door open and shut. She saw her neighbor cut across the driveways to the front of the house. She’d changed into a loose-fitting, dark, poncho-type of sweatshirt with big pockets in front. She already looked very pregnant. Molly came around and met her in the doorway.

“Sorry to leave you hanging,” Rachel muttered, stepping inside. “My system’s all out of whack, because of the baby. I know you’re upset about Erin. I couldn’t call you. Do you have a Sprite or ginger ale or something carbonated to help my heartburn?”

Molly closed the door after her, and then led the way to the kitchen. “I’ve been climbing the walls with worry for the last ninety minutes, Rachel,” she said edgily. “I thought for sure Natalie-Jenna-Whatever-Her-Name-Is had abducted Erin. In fact, I called the school. I was ready to call the police. What the hell happened? I can’t believe you picked up Erin at school without telling me. You just left me hanging. . ”

“Mea culpa, mea culpa,” Rachel said with a sigh. “You’re not going to like it any better when I explain what happened.”

Molly dug a can of 7UP out of the refrigerator and wordlessly handed it to her.

Rachel opened the can and sipped her soda.

“I’m waiting,” Molly said, crossing her arms.

Rachel frowned. “Well, Erin called me from school. Apparently one of her little friends actually has a cell phone. I didn’t even know Erin had my number. Did you give it to her?”

Molly shook her head.

“Well, she knows it, because she called me and asked me to pick her up after school. She said she didn’t want to come home. . ” Rachel paused, and then sipped her 7UP again. She glanced down at the kitchen floor. “Erin said it didn’t feel right at home anymore, because her real parents weren’t here. She said she didn’t want to see you or be around you. I’m sorry, Molly. There’s no way to sugarcoat that.”

Molly felt like she’d just been kicked in the stomach. She told herself those were the sentiments of an upset and confused six-year-old. But it still hurt. She walked around the kitchen counter and sat down at the breakfast table. “Where is she?”

“You might not like this, either,” Rachel warned. “Lynette’s sister, who lives near the UW Hospital, is looking after Lynette’s kids. Erin’s with them. I dropped her off. I figured after an hour with Carson and Dakota Hahn, you and home will start looking pretty good to her.”

Molly knew she was expected to laugh, but she couldn’t.

“I tried calling you as soon as I dropped Erin off,” Rachel said. “But my cell phone started acting up on me. I couldn’t call out, but I got your message all right. Modern technology, you go figure. Anyway, please don’t be mad at me, Molly. Erin made me promise I wouldn’t tell you, and this is the first time she’s asked me for something. I didn’t want her to think she couldn’t trust me.”

Molly frowned at her. “Well, I’m not sure I can trust you. On top of that, you made me look like a major idiot with the vice principal at Erin’s school. You told her that I must have forgotten to call the school about you picking up Erin. And there I was on the phone with them asking which neighbor picked up my stepdaughter. God, I must have come off as a total flake. What were you thinking?”

“I’m really sorry,” Rachel murmured, shrugging. “I guess I shouldn’t have gotten involved. Maybe — maybe you ought to call the school, and tell them everything’s okay.”

Molly stood up. “Yes, we don’t want to worry the people at Erin’s school,” she grumbled. “God, with everything that’s been going on lately, I can’t believe you’d. .” She shook her head and left the room. She reminded herself that Rachel had been a good friend to her. Without Rachel, she never would have made it through the last week.

In Jeff’s study, she picked up the phone and hesitated before dialing the school. “I’m done venting!” she announced loudly. “I know you were just trying to do Erin and me a favor. You meant well. . ”

“I figured you couldn’t be mad at me too long,” Rachel called. Molly could hear her filling a glass with ice. “You need my help breaking into the Nguyens’ house tonight.”

Molly frowned at Rachel’s light tone. It didn’t seem right. She wanted to get inside that house to look for clues to her husband’s murder — and the deaths of several others. Rachel made it sound as if they were planning to pull off some kind of high school prank.

Of course, Molly still felt confused and a bit stung by what went on with Erin. It was hard getting past that.

She phoned the school and got Vice Principal Farrell on the line. She explained that Erin was fine, and it was just a misunderstanding. “I’d asked my neighbor to pick up Erin next Wednesday, not today,” she said, making Rachel the flaky one.

When Molly came back to the kitchen, she found Rachel sitting at the table with a second can of 7UP — and a tall glass of ice — in front of the chair beside her. “I figured you could use a drink,” she said, pouring the 7UP in the glass. “And under the pregnant circumstances, I guess this is about as wild as it gets for us.”

Molly worked up a smile and sat down next to her.

“Are we all squared with Erin’s school?” Rachel asked.

Molly nodded. “It’s all straightened out.”

Rachel raised her can of soda to toast her. “So — forgive me?”

Molly took the glass of 7UP and clicked it against Rachel’s soda can. “All’s forgiven.”

Rachel sipped hers. “Well, come on, drink up. The toast doesn’t count unless you drink, too.”

Molly started to raise the glass to her lips, but then she set it down again. “Oh, I almost forgot about Chris.” She got to her feet. “I called him when Erin didn’t get off the bus. He’s on his way here, probably going crazy with the rush-hour traffic. He was down in Kent, chasing down a lead about Jenna Corson.”

“Really?” Rachel murmured. “What kind of lead?”

“I don’t know. But he put it together himself that she’s the one behind all the horrible things that have been going on around here lately — no coaching from me.” Molly grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper from the basket in the corner of the kitchen counter. “Do you have Lynette’s sister’s address? I’ll tell Chris to swing by and pick up Erin.”

Rachel looked stumped for a moment. “Oh, I–I left it in my coat in the house. I can pick her up later. Maybe we can send Chris in an hour or so, and then we’ll use that time to do a little breaking and entering at the Nguyens’.”

Molly leaned back against the counter and folded her arms. “You don’t seem to take that idea about searching their house very seriously.”

Rachel laughed. “Are you kidding me? I’m nervous as hell about it. In fact, sit down.” She pointed to Molly’s glass. “Wet your whistle and tell me your plan.”

“I need to call Chris first,” Molly said. “He’s probably going out of his mind with worry.” Again, she found herself retreating to Jeff’s study to use the phone — rather than talk on the kitchen extension in front of Rachel. She dialed Chris’s cell number.

He picked up on the second ring: “Hi, Molly, what’s going on?”

“Erin’s okay,” she said. “She’s at Lynette’s sister’s house — with Carson and Dakota. I guess she still hates me and doesn’t want to be around me. So she called Rachel from school and asked to be picked up. Rachel dropped her off at Lynette’s sister’s place.”

There was silence on the other end. Molly wondered if she’d lost the connection. “Chris? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m just trying to wrap my head around that story, because it sounds pretty screwed up.”

“Sounds screwed up to me, too, but that’s what happened,” Molly said. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that Erin’s all right. I’m here with Rachel. I’m guessing traffic has been heinous.”

“Yeah, but I should be there soon,” Chris said. “By the way, Molly, you slept downstairs, so you didn’t hear it. But Erin had a nightmare last night, and she woke me up. She was extra scared because you weren’t in your bed. She’d gone to you first, Molly. She’s crazy about you. She was really happy when I told her that you were staying and taking care of us. So that story about Erin hating you? It’s bullshit.”

Dazed, Molly didn’t say anything. Suddenly she was worried about Erin again.

“I gotta go,” she heard Chris say. “There’s a cop one lane over, and I shouldn’t be driving and talking on the cell at the same time. See you soon.” He clicked off.

Molly hung up the phone, then went to the window and stared out at the darkness. She saw part of her own reflection in the glass — and then someone stepping up behind her.

She swiveled around. Rachel smiled and offered her the tall glass of 7UP. “Did you get ahold of Chris?”

Molly nodded and took the glass. “Yes, he’s on his way.”

“Good.” Rachel sat on the edge of Jeff’s desk.

Molly looked down at her 7UP, but didn’t taste it. “You know, when I first realized Erin wasn’t on the bus, I thought Chris might have picked her up. I had this notion that they both hated me, so he was taking his kid sister and running away. He assured me just now that Erin likes me very much.” Molly paused to let it sink in. “That was nice to hear, but it doesn’t quite gel with the story you told me, does it?”

Rachel shrugged. “Well, maybe Chris was just trying to make you feel better, Molly.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Chris is a nice kid, but he’s never gone out of his way to spare my feelings. I usually know where I stand with him.”

Rachel let out a tiny laugh. “Just like his father.”

Molly stared at her and said nothing.

Rachel laughed nervously, and then flicked her hair back. “Or — so I gather, I mean, from what you’ve told me about Jeff.”

Molly’s eyes kept searching hers. The ice clinked in her glass, and she realized her hand was shaking. She set the glass down on Jeff’s desk. She was thirsty, but hadn’t even sipped any of the 7UP, because Rachel had poured it. On some unconscious level, she knew it might make her sick — like the peppermints and the ginger capsules Rachel had given her.

Now she knew who had slashed a yellow X across her painting and set it up to look as if Erin had been the culprit.

Now she knew the woman standing in front of her had seduced and murdered Jeff.

Molly heard a car, but she didn’t turn to look out the window behind her. She didn’t want to turn her back on this woman.

She listened to the car pulling into the driveway and watched the headlight beams sweep across Jenna Corson’s face.

Chris turned off the ignition to his father’s Lexus. Straight ahead, in the window to his dad’s study, he noticed Molly standing and talking to their neighbor, Rachel.

Rachel’s story about picking up Erin at school sounded wrong in so many ways. At the last stoplight on the way home, Chris had tried to phone Mrs. Hahn to confirm that her sister had Erin. But he’d gotten some weird tone pattern, and then a recording: “The person you are trying to reach is not accepting calls at this time. Please try your call later. . ” Then as the recording had lapsed into Spanish, he’d remembered Mrs. Hahn had broken her cell phone.

Even with Mrs. Hahn’s broken phone, he didn’t understand why his sister would call Rachel — to be taken to Mrs. Hahn’s sister’s house. How did she even know Rachel’s number? He sure as hell didn’t know it. If Erin wanted to be picked up, she would have phoned him before calling the lady next door. And she wasn’t mad at Molly anymore, so it just didn’t make any damn sense.

He climbed out of the car and hurried to the front door. It was strange that neither Molly nor Rachel had come to let him in when they were only a few feet away in his dad’s study. He had to unlock the door with his key.

As he stepped inside, Rachel turned and smiled at him. “Well, hi, Chris.”

“Hi,” he said tentatively. Taking off his school jacket, he hung it on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs.

“Molly said you were in Kent, following a lead,” she said.

Bewildered, he glanced past her — at Molly, who stood by his dad’s desk with her arms folded. He could feel an awful tension in that small room — as if he’d just walked in on them at the brink of an argument.

“She wants to know if you talked to anybody about Jenna Corson,” Molly said steadily. “She wants to know who you talked to, and what they told you. But I have a few questions for you, Rachel. For example, why would Jenna Corson set fire to your toolshed and threaten you on the phone when you had absolutely nothing to do with her husband’s firing or his murder?”

Rachel scratched the back of her neck, and laughed. “I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at, Molly. But we agreed that it’s probably because I’m your friend. Remember?”

“It threw me off for a while, that’s for sure,” Molly said. “I was actually worried for you.”

“What’s going on here?” Chris murmured, glancing back and forth at the two of them.

“I remember the first day we met,” Molly continued. “I gave you that letter you must have addressed to yourself and slipped in our mailbox. I told you about Lynette’s kids throwing dirt balls at cars. The very next day, her kids got all cut up, because someone had scattered broken glass in that vacant lot. I always thought that was too much of a coincidence.”

Rachel smirked a tiny bit. “You said they’d been doing that for a while. They probably pissed off a lot of people. It was bound to catch up with them eventually. Sounds to me like they had it coming. ‘Time wounds all heels,’ I like to say.”

Chris stared at their new neighbor: light brown hair, cute face, and even with that poncho she was wearing, he knew she had a nice body. She perfectly fit Roseann’s description of the “hustler” who had been with his father at the hotel on Friday, the woman who had killed him.

He remembered what Mr. Corson had said to him on what would be the very last time they’d ever see each other — at that running trail by Lake Union: “Your neighbors on Willow Tree Court and the ones like them, they’ll have to pay. . It reminds me of this saying my wife has. ‘Time wounds all heels.’ ”

Stunned, Chris kept staring at her.

With an exasperated little laugh, she shoved her hands in the pockets of her poncho.

“You’re Mrs. Corson,” Chris heard himself say. “You killed my parents. . ” His fists clenched, he took a step toward her. “Where’s Erin? She’s got nothing to do with what happened to Mr. Corson. What the hell have you done with my sister?”

All at once, Jenna Corson grabbed Molly by the hair and pulled a gun from the pocket of her poncho. She pressed the barrel to Molly’s head. Chris froze. Jenna Corson didn’t say anything. Yet Chris knew if he took one more step toward them, she’d shoot his stepmother in the head.

Molly shrieked and desperately tried to push her away. But Mrs. Corson slammed the butt end of the gun against her temple. It made a terrible, hard-thump sound, and Molly groaned. She seemed stunned — and dazed into submission. Her eyes rolled back as she slouched against Mr. Corson’s widow.

“Get the blinds!” Mrs. Corson barked at him. She nodded toward the study window. “Do it!”

Glaring at her, Chris moved to the window and lowered the blinds. “Where’s Erin?” he asked again.

“Your sister’s fine, Chris,” she said, backing away and dragging Molly into the front hall. She jabbed the gun barrel against Molly’s temple. “I’ve got Erin. She’ll be all right. I don’t blame her for what happened to Ray. You’re the ones who started it. That’s why I saved you two for last. . ”

Hesitating, Chris began to follow them down the hall toward the family room.

She tugged at Molly’s hair, yanking her head back. “Molly, you were under a tremendous strain. They’ll say you snapped, poor thing.” She let out a tiny laugh. “You shot your stepson, and then set fire to every house on the block. And then you shot yourself. They’ll find you both in this room. Everyone will say insanity must run in your family, Molly. They’ll say you were unbalanced, just like your crazy, murdering brother. I paid good money to a private detective in Chicago to find out about Crazy Charlie. . ”

Molly just moaned in protest. She seemed too disoriented to struggle. Blood oozed from the corner of her forehead where Jenna had hit her with the gun.

Jenna knocked over a standing lamp as she backed into the family room. It hit the floor with a crash but didn’t break. She didn’t even glance at it. She still held Molly up by her hair. “By the way, this gun is registered in Jeff’s name. They’ll think it was his. I got Jeff to buy it for me two months ago. All the paperwork has his name and this address on it. I told Jeff there were some breakins in my neighborhood, and I needed a gun. Wasn’t that sweet of him to make sure I was protected?”

Standing in the hallway, uncertain what to do, Chris heard a noise outside. It sounded like a car door opening and closing. But Mrs. Corson didn’t seem to hear it over Molly’s anguished moaning, which only got louder.

“After tonight, I’m going to disappear — with Erin,” she announced. “Erin’s still innocent — and young enough to become my own. The Dennehy family owes me a daughter, goddamn it.” Though she had tears in her eyes, she smiled. Her lips brushed against Molly’s ear. “I’ll leave here with more than one child of Jeff’s. The baby I’m carrying, Molly, it’s his. . ”

Chris shook his head. He couldn’t believe what she was saying.

All at once, someone rapped against the front door.

Molly tried to scream out, but Mrs. Corson slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Seattle Police!” the muffled voice called from the other side of the door. The man knocked again, and then he rang the bell. “Is anyone home?”

Wide-eyed, Mrs. Corson glared at Chris. “Get rid of him!” she whispered, dragging Molly into the kitchen area. She kept the gun barrel pressed against her head.

At the front door, Chris glanced out the peephole, and saw a cop carrying something wrapped in an old blanket. It took Chris a moment to realize the guy was holding Erin. Her head was pressed to the policeman’s shoulder. Chris flung open the door.

“This little girl was locked in the trunk of the car next door,” the cop said angrily. “Do you know what’s going on here?”

Erin stirred and let out a feeble, sleepy cry. A piece of duct tape dangled from her cheek. Chris guessed the cop must have peeled it back from where it had been covering her mouth.

“That’s my sister,” he murmured. He opened the door wider.

The cop stepped inside and carried Erin into the living room. Chris shot a look over his shoulder toward the kitchen. He didn’t hear anything. He followed the policeman into the living room. The guy was about thirty, with wavy dark blond hair and a cleft in his chin. He carefully set Erin on her side on the sofa, and then pulled back the blanket. Someone had tied Erin’s feet together, and her hands were bound behind her with rope.

“Oh, Jesus,” Chris murmured.

“I was patrolling the neighborhood,” the cop said. Hovering over Erin, he patted her head, and then tugged at the rope around her wrists. It looked too taut to loosen by hand. “I heard whimpering coming from the Honda Accord in the driveway next door. Do you know who’s responsible for this?”

The policeman wasn’t looking at him. Chris had to tap him on the shoulder. The cop glanced back at him. Chris tried to mouth the words, Get some help.

The man squinted at him. “What?”

Chris nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Get help,” he said under his breath. “We’re not alone here. . ”

Molly heard Chris talking to the policeman in the living room. Chris’s voice dropped to a whisper. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but obviously he was trying to tell the cop they were in trouble. Obviously, Jenna could hear Chris whispering, too.

“What does he think he’s doing?” she muttered. She started to drag Molly closer to the hallway.

With all her might, Molly elbowed her in the ribs. Jenna let out a gasp and doubled over. The gun flew out of her hand. It toppled onto the hallway floor and slid for a few inches across the hardwood.

Screaming, Molly pushed Jenna aside and ran for the living room.

“What the hell’s going on?” she heard the cop yell. He came out of the living room, drawing his gun. “Hold it right there!”

Molly stopped in her tracks. “She was going to kill us and take my daughter,” Molly explained, gasping for air. She pointed back at Jenna, behind her. “She’s killed several people — including my husband. . ”

“It’s true,” Chris said. “She’s the one who did this to my sister.”

Molly noticed Erin on the sofa, her feet tied and her wrists bound behind her. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. She started to move, but the cop was pointing the gun at her. Molly hesitated.

Chris turned to the cop. “That’s my stepmother, she’s okay. It’s the other one. . ”

The cop still had the gun trained on her — and Jenna. He nodded at Molly. “Kick that gun over here.”

“Goddamn it,” Jenna growled. But she stayed perfectly still.

Molly still couldn’t quite get her breath. She felt a bit dizzy, and her heart was pounding furiously. She obeyed the cop. The gun glided across the hardwood floor and stopped nearly right in front of him.

Chris went to his sister on the sofa and started to untie the rope around her wrists. Her eyes closed, she was crying softly — almost as if she were having a nightmare.

With a hand on her bleeding forehead, Molly stared at the cop. He retrieved the gun, did something to the safety, and then stuck it in his belt. He looked a bit familiar. He nodded gratefully at her. “That’s good, ma’am.”

But he still had his gun pointed at her and Jenna. He glanced over his shoulder at Chris. “Stop doing that. Don’t untie her. Get away from her.”

Baffled, Chris gazed up at him. “Why? What do you mean?”

The cop smiled a tiny bit. “Because,” he said. “You’ll just have to tie her up again — for me.”

That was when Molly noticed for the first time that his blue policeman’s uniform looked shoddy and fake. That was when she recognized the man who had carried a screaming Dakota Hahn down the block after the children had cut themselves. He’d obviously been hanging around the cul-de-sac, studying the layout.

“Oh, Jesus, no,” she whispered.

He stepped back into the living room. “Over there with the ladies,” he told Chris, nodding toward the hallway. He pointed the gun at Erin now.

Chris stared at him, half scared, half defiant. He didn’t budge.

“Do as I say,” the man said patiently. “Don’t try to do anything brave, because that’s just going to get someone killed.”

Chris finally looped around him and came over to Molly’s side. He held on to her arm. She could feel his hand was shaking.

Jenna sighed. “Just because her husband worked for a drug company, it doesn’t mean there are any drugs in the house. You’re going to be disappointed.”

“We’ll see about that,” the man replied, the gun still trained on Erin.

Molly said nothing. She knew he hadn’t come there to rob them.

“You, stepmom,” he said, nodding toward the light switch on the wall. “Is that for the lights outside and down here in the hall?”

She nodded. “Yes, both.”

“Turn them off, please. I don’t want anyone to see me working down here.”

Molly reached over and switched off the lights. The upstairs hallway light and a lamp in Jeff’s study were still on. She stood in the shadows with Chris at her side — and Jenna Corson behind them. Molly knew he planned to turn on all the lights in the house — once his work was done.

“I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said in a calm voice. “Just do as I say, and I’ll be out of here in a half hour. Now, I’ll need all of you upstairs. . ”

For twenty minutes, they sat on the floor of the upstairs hallway: he, Molly, and Mrs. Corson. Just a few feet away, the man sat near the top of the stairs with his arm around Erin, occasionally tickling her ear with the barrel of his gun. She’d come out of her stupor, and seemed to realize what was happening. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she was trembling.

For long stretches of time, no one uttered a word. Erin whimpered behind the duct tape he’d pressed over her mouth again. The only other sound was the tearing of sheets. He’d had Molly pull some bedding from the linen closet, and they’d started ripping them into wide strips for their own restraints. Chris felt like one of those people in the horror movies, forced to dig their own grave. He couldn’t help thinking this was more than just a robbery.

Every few minutes, Mrs. Corson broke the silence and tried to bargain with the bogus cop — killer to killer. “Listen, there are four other houses on this block, all empty, all ripe for the picking,” she’d said. “I can tell you which houses offer the best merchandise. I don’t give a shit about these people. You can take what you want, and do whatever you want. Just don’t tie me up. Tie up the others. Leave them here with me, and I’ll make sure you get away with a good haul. I’ll make sure there are no witnesses.”

“Keep tearing those sheets, honey,” he’d replied. “And be quiet. Otherwise, I’ll have to tape up your mouth — like the little one here.”

That had been a few minutes ago, and Jenna Corson hadn’t uttered a word since.

Now the man had the gun pointed at Chris. “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said again. “It’s up to you to make sure no one tries anything foolish. Starting with your houseguest here, I want you to tie up her legs at the ankles. . ”

With several strips of the linen in his grasp, Chris obediently crawled over to Mrs. Corson. His hands shook as he tied her ankles together.

“No, don’t,” she murmured under her breath, squirming.

“Now roll her over on her stomach and tie her hands behind her,” the man commanded. “Make it good and tight, because I’m going to test it. Let’s see if you learned anything in the Boy Scouts about tying knots.”

“I wasn’t in the Boy Scouts,” Chris muttered. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the man had the gun pressed against Erin’s head once more. Chris knew his sister would be dead if he tried to lunge at the guy.

As he turned Mrs. Corson over on her stomach, she resisted and let out a pathetic cry. He struggled to tie her hands together. “No, no, no, no,” she whispered.

When he finally finished, Chris was out of breath. He glanced up at the stranger.

“Now, it’s your stepmom’s turn,” the man said, brushing the gun barrel against Erin’s nose. Trying to turn her head away, she whimpered in protest.

“Tie her up the same way you did the other one,” he said. “The quicker you do it, the quicker I’ll be out of here, and you folks can go back to doing whatever it was you were doing.”

Molly handed Chris some strips of linen as he crawled over to her. She rolled over on her stomach without any prompting. Chris tied her legs first, leaving a little slack. If she was able to pry her shoes off, she stood a good chance of slipping her feet out of the binds. Then he tied up her wrists. Chris couldn’t stop trembling. He was so scared he kept thinking he might throw up. He let out a grunt as he finished tying the knot — acting as if it was as tight as he could make it. But the linen restraints around her wrists were loose enough for Molly to wriggle her hands free — with a little effort.

He glanced over at the man again, who stood up. He held the gun down over the top of Erin’s head. He smiled at Chris. “Okay, your turn,” he said. “Tie yourself up at the ankles. . ”

On the other side of Molly, Chris started tying his own ankles with the strips of bedsheets. He figured the man would pay particular attention to the work he did on himself, so he made the restraints fairly tight.

When Chris looked up again, the man had Erin wiggling facedown on the floor. “Okay, roll over on your stomach,” he said to Chris. “Put your hands behind you.”

Chris was obedient. He kept thinking it was too late to take his chances and pounce on the guy. He should have done that before his ankles were bound. But the son of a bitch had had a gun on Erin the whole time. With the side of his face pressed against the carpeted floor, Chris could only see him from the waist down as he stepped over Mrs. Corson, and gave the sheets on her wrists a tug. “Good,” he murmured. “Nice job.” Then he tested the restraints on Molly’s wrists. “This could have been a little tighter. . ”

“I thought it was pretty tight. I—”

Chris didn’t finish. He felt a powerful blow to his side that knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t even cry out with pain. It took him a few moments to get a breath — and realize the man had kicked him. Doubled up in agony, he gasped for air. Suddenly the man was on top of him. His knee dug into Chris’s back as he pulled his hands together and tied up his wrists with the strips of linen. He made the restraints so tight, it almost cut off the circulation in Chris’s hands.

He stepped over to Molly and wrapped another linen strip around her hands. She winced as he tied up the knot.

“Now, not a peep out of anyone,” he announced, standing over them now. “I’m going to split you up. If you stay quiet and do what I tell you, no one will get hurt. You, you’re first. . ”

Chris glanced over and watched him put his gun in his police holster. Then he grabbed Mrs. Corson by the shoulders. “You’re the guest,” he said, hoisting her to her feet. “So you belong in the guest room. . ”

“Oh, God, no, please. . ” Jenna Corson cried.

But he had her by the arm and led her into the guest room. With her ankles bound, she was forced to take tiny hops.

“Here we go, here we go,” he cooed, holding her up. “Thattagirl. .” Once they were inside the guest room, he shut the door.

“Oh, Jesus, not the closet,” Mrs. Corson cried out. “You’re him, you’re him. . ”

Chris suddenly realized — along with Mrs. Corson — that this man was the Cul-de-sac Killer. He heard Jenna Corson’s muffled whimpering in the next room and wondered if the man was stabbing her in there right now.

“Chris, listen to me,” Molly whispered. He turned toward her so they were facing each other. He lifted his head off the carpet. “If he puts you in your bedroom closet, there’s a small knife in one of your brown shoes — the pair you never wear. I left it in there a few days ago. If he sticks you and your dad’s and my closet, I hid a knife just to the left of the door — underneath one of my slippers. . ”

Chris remembered seeing Molly on Friday night with a steak knife in her hand as she’d come upstairs. That had been the night before they’d found out his dad was dead. He’d heard that cop tell Molly about how the Cul-de-sac Killer stashed his victims in closets and then killed them one by one.

Dazed, he just stared at Molly and blinked.

“If you can cut yourself loose,” she said, “grab your sister and get out of here. Don’t stop for me. I’ll take care of myself. Just keep running. Don’t try going to one of the neighbors, because no one else is home.”

Chris heard Mrs. Corson sobbing. A door slammed shut from within the guest room — and then there was silence. It must have been the closet door. He thought perhaps Mrs. Corson was dead, but he heard a pounding noise — like she was kicking at the door. It was just like the cop had said.

With a click, the guest room door opened, and the man strode out to the hallway. “Okay, your turn, kid,” he announced. Chris felt the killer grab him under the arms and lift him off the floor. He caught a glimpse of Molly, who shot him a look of encouragement and nodded.

Chris grimaced in pain as the man pulled up his bound hands in back and pushed him toward his room. He thought the guy was going to break both his arms. He frantically hopped down the corridor, and it was all he could do to keep from stumbling.

“See how you like it in here, shit head,” the man grumbled, steering him toward the closet. “Teach you to fuck with me.” He swung open the door, and then shoved Chris into the closet.

Chris knocked several hangers askew. Clothes fell on top of him and dropped to the closet floor. He helplessly stumbled onto the floor as well. Desperately glancing around, he caught sight of his brown shoes — just as the door slammed shut.

Then darkness swallowed him up.

Molly’s heart broke at the sound of Erin’s stifled screams. The killer carried her to her bedroom. “There, there, now, sweetie,” he murmured. “Be a good girl. . ”

His sweet, gentle manner was somehow even crueler than if he’d been rough with her. At least, it felt that way to Molly. He seemed so icy calm and deliberate. She was terrified that he’d kill Erin before he came back for her, before she even had a chance to help the kids escape.

Alone in the hallway, Molly rolled over on the carpet — two complete revolutions — until she was lying at the top of the stairs.

She could still hear Erin’s muffled crying as the man emerged from her bedroom. Molly turned on her side and gazed up at him. “Please, don’t hurt my little boy down in the basement,” she whispered. “He’s only six.”

His cold eyes narrowed at her. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Are you trying to tell me I missed one, stepmom?”

Molly twisted around until she was almost sitting up. “Bobby!” she screamed. “Bobby, honey, get out of the house! Run!”

He turned toward the stairs, his back to her for a moment. Molly leaned back, and then she kicked the backs of his legs with all her might.

He let out a loud yell and toppled down several steps. But he managed to grab hold of the banister halfway down. Wincing, he rubbed his elbow. “Goddamn bitch,” he muttered, shaking his head.

But then after a few moments, he chuckled and gazed up at her.

Reaching for the cuff of his navy blue trousers, he pulled it up to reveal a leather sheath strapped to his leg. He took a hunting knife out of that sheath.

Molly struggled to loosen the restraints on her wrists, but she knew it was in vain.

She watched him. He seemed to stare right into her. With the knife in his hand, he slowly came up the stairs.

“Nice try, bitch,” Chris heard the man growl.

He’d thought for sure Molly had kicked him down the stairs. Her ruse had been very convincing. If Chris hadn’t known better, he’d have thought for sure there was another kid in the house.

Now, he heard what sounded like a slap, and then a dull thud. Molly groaned in pain. Chris swallowed hard, and another wave of panic swept through him. He prayed to God that the guy hadn’t kicked her in the stomach. She was pregnant. Maybe she would live through this, but would the baby?

For some reason, it suddenly mattered to him very much that Molly was carrying his little brother or sister.

For the last few minutes, he’d blindly felt around behind his back for the shoe with the knife in it. At last he’d found it. But it took him several contortions to angle the knife correctly. He nicked his finger, and then the palm of his hand, and finally his wrist. With each little slice into his flesh, he grimaced. Tears rolled down his cheeks. The sheet strips around his wrists became damp with his blood — and even harder to cut.

He could hear Molly moaning in pain. “C’mon, stepmom,” the man grunted. “It’s your turn. Something tells me you know what’s coming up. . ”

There was a strange shuffling sound, which began to fade. Chris knew the killer was leading Molly to the master bedroom — and into the closet there. He heard him chuckling, and then silence.

Frantically, Chris kept pressing the knife blade against the blood-soaked restraint and poking the sharp end through the wet fabric. “Please, God,” he whispered. “C’mon. . ” He maneuvered the knife some more, and heard a tiny ripping sound. Finally, he tore through the tattered restraints and rubbed his sore wrists.

His shoulders ached, and the little cuts on his hands stung, but Chris didn’t care. Working in the dark, he quickly hacked through the linen strips around his ankles. He could hear a knocking sound. It might have been Mrs. Corson banging against the guest room closet, but he wasn’t sure.

He struggled to his feet and opened the closet door. It creaked on the hinges. His legs were a little wobbly, and his side ached from when the man had kicked him. Clutching the small steak knife, he glanced around his bedroom for something else he could use to defend himself. He was going up against a guy with two handguns. And if the newspaper stories were correct, the man carried a knife, too. Most of the Cul-de-sac Killer’s victims had been stabbed to death or strangled.

Chris spotted his Louisville Slugger in the corner of his bedroom. He slipped the knife in his pocket, and then grabbed the baseball bat. He crept toward his doorway.

Peering down the empty hall, he noticed the light on in the master bedroom. The killer was in there with Molly, but Chris couldn’t see them — only their shadows crawling across the bedroom wall.

With the bat resting on his shoulder, he quickly crept into Erin’s room. He took a deep breath, and braced himself for what he might find behind the closed closet door. He opened it, and let out a sigh. Curled up on the floor amid her shoes, Erin helplessly glanced at him. She tried to talk past the duct tape covering her mouth.

“You have to be quiet, and keep still, okay, peanut?” Chris said, under his breath. Taking the knife from his pocket, he cut the restraints around her ankles and wrists. The rope Mrs. Corson had used was harder to cut than the sheets, and it seemed to take forever. It was no help that Erin kept squirming, and he was afraid of nicking her. All the while, he could hear Mrs. Corson next door, banging at the closet door.

Finally, he cut through the ropes. “Leave the tape over your mouth for now, okay?” he whispered to his little sister. “It’ll hurt if I rip it off, and I don’t want you crying. We have to be really quiet. Now, let me give you a piggyback ride. C’mon, all aboard. . ”

Erin was trembling as she grabbed him by the shoulders and climbed on his back. Chris quietly moved to her door and checked the empty hallway.

“I’m saving you for last, bitch,” he heard the man say. His voice came from the master bedroom. “I want you to know how it feels to stay in there for a while. And then I’m going to take my sweet time with you.”

Chris crept across the hallway to the stairs. With her arms around his neck, Erin clung so tightly she was almost choking him. The steps creaked as he hurried down them, but Mrs. Corson was still kicking against the closet door — and that was louder. She started to scream and cry. At the bottom of the stairs, Chris leaned the bat against the wall. With his free hand, he reached inside the pocket of his jacket, which hung on the newel post. He took out his cell phone and shoved it into his pocket with the knife. Skulking to the front door, he opened it, then went back and retrieved his bat.

The chilly night air felt good as he ducked outside. He closed the door, but made sure the lock didn’t click. He would be going back in there.

Chris carried his sister to the end of the driveway, and then lowered her down. He glanced up at the windows in the front of the house, but didn’t see any movement. He squatted down again to whisper to Erin. “I want you to run to the Hahns’. No one’s home, so you’ll have to hide in the playhouse in their backyard. Don’t come out until you hear the police sirens, and even then, make sure they’re here in front of the house before you let anyone see you. Okay?”

She touched the duct tape over her mouth, and nodded.

He gave his sister a kiss, and then tugged at the corner of the duct tape. “If you tear this off really fast, it might not hurt so much. But it’s still going to hurt, and you might cry — so wait until you’re in the playhouse. Be brave. You’re doing great so far, Erin. Now, go. . ” He turned her toward the Hahns’ house.

Chris watched his sister scurry toward Courtney’s place. The empty house was dark — except for one light on in the living-room window. He kept staring at Erin until she disappeared in the shadows.

He took out the cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. Waiting for an answer, he turned back toward the house. Molly and Mrs. Corson were still inside there with that maniac. He glanced up at the second-floor window and didn’t see anything.

Then he heard a loud, piercing scream.

“God, no, don’t!” Jenna Corson cried out behind the closed door of the guest room. “Please, no, wait. . wait. .”

A knife clutched in her hand, Molly paused in the hallway. Her head throbbed, and blood was smeared around her mouth. She had a cut lip from where he’d hit her.

While stashed in the darkened bedroom closet, she’d managed to find the knife she’d hidden and cut herself free. She’d heard him in the guest room, talking with Jenna Corson. She’d been unable to make out the words, but from their tone, it had sounded like they were having a normal conversation.

Once Molly had crept out of the master bedroom, the murmurings in the guest room next door had become clearer. Jenna Corson had been talking: “. . so actually, see, you’re doing me a favor. Just let me take the little girl, and I’ll go quietly. I won’t do a thing to stop you. In fact, you can take as long as you want with the other two. I’m in no position to contact the police — ever. Don’t you see what a wonderful opportunity this is for you to demonstrate your power? By letting me live, you show that you’re not a monster. You’re in total control. You’re calling the shots. We’re a lot alike, you and me. . ”

Molly had checked both Chris and Erin’s rooms and found the closets empty. She’d felt such relief, she’d almost cried. While in Erin’s room, she’d heard the man muttering something in response to Jenna’s proposition. For a few moments, she’d wondered what he’d said.

But now as she stood outside the guest room, Molly knew his answer.

She heard Jenna Corson screaming: “God, please, no! Wait. .”

Molly saw her chance to escape. But she couldn’t. Despite everything Jenna had done, Molly couldn’t just leave her there with that killer. In the next room, Jenna was shrieking. And in all probability, the soft, punching noise was the sound of his knife penetrating her skin.

Molly opened the door, and for a few seconds, she was so horror-struck she couldn’t move. Only the closet light was on, but it was enough for her discern the grisly scene in front of her. Jenna was squirming on the floor as he stabbed her. Her hands still tied in back of her, she writhed and screamed. Her poncho was covered with blood. Bent over her, the Cul-de-sac Killer was so enrapt in his work he didn’t seem to notice the hallway light. He didn’t seem to notice someone else had come into the room.

Molly suddenly snapped to. Rushing toward him with the knife, she thrust it in his back — just below his left shoulder blade. He let out a howl and twisted around so quickly the knife handle snapped off. The blade was only halfway inside him.

Wide-eyed, he glared at her. Dropping his bloodstained hunting knife, he turned on Molly. All at once, his hands were around her throat. She fought him off as best she could. She couldn’t breathe or scream out. He almost lifted her off her feet as he pushed against the wall. Molly struggled, clawing at his hands and face. But he was relentless. His stranglehold only became tighter until he was crushing her windpipe. She started to black out.

Suddenly Chris burst into the room with a baseball bat. The man let go of Molly and reached for his gun.

She fell down on the floor and gasped for air.

Chris swung the bat at him, slamming it against his arm. Molly heard something crack. The killer let out another howl. He swiveled around, and she glimpsed the blood on his pale blue shirt — trailing down from the blade sticking out of his back. His hand fumbled for the gun in his holster, but the way his arm dangled at his side, it looked broken. He backed toward the wall.

“Son of a bitch,” Chris cried, swinging the bat at him again.

The killer dodged it, and fell back against the wall. All at once, he froze. His eyes locked on Chris. A gasp came from his open mouth — along with a little stream of blood. He coughed, and more blood spilled over his lips.

In the distance, Molly heard a police siren. She was still too weak to stand and trying to get a breath. She rubbed her sore neck.

Her attacker listed forward. She could see the blood dripping on the wall behind him. As he turned his back to her, she noticed the blade was completely buried beneath his shoulder blade now. It must have been pushed in all the way when he’d fallen against the wall.

The baseball bat still in his grasp, Chris moved away from him.

The man braced himself against the wall as he slowly, painfully made his way toward the door. “You’re both dead anyway,” he wheezed, his back to them. He started to laugh, but he choked and coughed up blood again. It spattered on the wall. He turned slightly. With a smile on his crimsonsmeared mouth, he reached for the switch by the door and flicked on the light.

Then his legs seemed to give out beneath him, and he fell over dead.

With the room lit, Molly realized what he’d meant when he’d said, “You’re both dead anyway.” She realized Jenna Corson wasn’t there anymore.

Jenna had managed to slip away unnoticed. She’d left the torn linen restraints in a tangled heap on the bloodstained carpet. But the hunting knife the killer had dropped was gone.

Chris shuddered as he stared down at the corpse. “Erin’s safe,” he murmured. “Those — those sirens, I think that’s the police on their way. I called them. Are you okay?”

“Chris, she’s out there,” Molly whispered with a nod toward the door. “She has his knife.”

He glanced over at the door, then down at the carpet. He seemed to notice the drops of blood that marked a trail from Jenna’s shredded restraints to the guest room doorway.

The light had been on in the hallway earlier, but now it was off.

Molly crawled over to the dead man and pried the gun out of his holster. As she started to get to her feet, Chris came over and helped her up. He still held the bat in his other hand. Outside, the sirens were getting louder, and in the window, Molly could see the shadows of headlights and swirling red strobes. She patted Chris on the shoulder and then started toward the doorway.

“Jenna?” she called out, trying to keep her voice from quivering. “The police are outside, and you’re badly hurt. You’ll bleed to death if you don’t get some help. You can’t possibly get away. . ”

Before Molly realized what was happening, Chris brushed past her and stepped out to the darkened hall. She reached out to stop him, but it was too late. With the bat poised on his shoulder, he moved down the hallway and then hesitated. Molly hovered behind him.

Even with the blaring sirens, she could hear Jenna’s labored gasps, like a death rattle. Down the shadowy hallway, Jenna sat on the floor near the top of the stairs with her back against the railing. She appeared half dead.

“Mrs. Corson?” Chris said with uncertainty. “I’ve — I’ve wanted to tell you ever since Mr. Corson died that I’m sorry. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him and regret — what — what happened. I miss him, Mrs. Corson. I’m sorry I ever doubted him.”

Jenna gazed at him. Her head was tipped to one side as she struggled for a breath. Bloodstains covered the front of her poncho, but she still clutched the killer’s hunting knife in her hand.

“But you doubted him, too, Mrs. Corson,” Chris continued in a shaky voice. “You left him when things got bad. You were separated from him at the time he was killed. I think you feel as guilty as I do — maybe even worse. I think that’s why you killed so many people you felt had wronged him. You needed to prove something — that you weren’t like the rest of us. But you gave up on him, Mrs. Corson. And even with all the people you killed or hurt — including my parents — it doesn’t change that. You still doubted him, too.”

She raised her head slightly. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Ray — he liked you so much,” she murmured. “He — he used to say you were a very smart young man. And he was right.”

Then Jenna Corson started to cry.

Molly could hear the police at the front door. She moved to the top of the stairs. “We’re up here,” she called down to them. “We’re out of danger, but there’s a woman stabbed up here. She — she’s pregnant. She needs a doctor right away. . ”

She saw three policemen in the foyer, all with their guns ready. From the sound of it, there were more outside, too. She noticed one of them mumbling into a little microphone device on his shoulder.

She glanced over at Chris, standing over Jenna. His head down, he leaned the baseball bat against the wall. Molly couldn’t hear Jenna sobbing anymore. She wasn’t moving.

Molly set the gun on the post at the top of the stairs. “Is my little girl out there?” she called down to them. “Is she all right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” one of the cops said as he started up the stairs.

“Erin?” she called loudly.

Past all the noise outside — the engines purring, policemen muttering to each other, someone issuing instructions through a haze of static on a police radio — she heard Erin calling out. “Molly, are you okay? Is Chris okay?”

Chris glanced over his shoulder and gave her a sad, weary smile.

Molly sank down to the floor, and sat on the top step. “We’re all right, honey!” she called back. She felt her eyes tearing up as she smiled at Chris. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We’re going to be all right. . ”

EPILOGUE

Chris tried not to stare, but Courtney’s face was still a mess. Nearly a month had gone by since Mrs. Corson’s attempt at murder had left Courtney maimed and disfigured. Her blond hair — coming in brown now — was growing back, but it still didn’t cover the hole and red scars where her right ear had been. She hadn’t gotten her prosthetic ear yet. The patch was off her eye, but she had a painful-looking scar that ran from the outside corner of her eyelid down to the side of her cheek. She wore a bandage over her nose — to cover some recent work on the scar tissue there.

Chris strolled down the hospital corridor with her. Cheesy-looking Christmas decorations festooned the hallways. In some of the rooms, Chris noticed pint-sized trees with lights and ornaments. For this visit, he’d dressed up in khakis and a blue argyle sweater his mom had bought him last year.

With her mangled hand, Courtney pushed along the wheeled contraption that held her IV bag. She wore a beautiful pale pink silk robe over silvery-looking pajamas. It was odd to see her so elegantly dressed in nightclothes while her face was ravaged.

She’d transferred to a different hospital two weeks before. It was closer to the city — and a bit grimier. “My mother tells people we switched because they have the best plastic surgeons here,” Courtney said — over the squeaking wheels of her IV holder. “But the truth is, this hospital’s cheaper than the other place. Since my dad got the ax, his insurance won’t cover any of this. We’re majorly screwed. My mother’s putting the house on the market after the first of the year.”

They passed an old woman in a hospital gown, slumped over to one side in a wheelchair. “God, this place is so gross.” Courtney sighed. “Anyway, I don’t think my mother’s going to have many bidders on the house. I mean, after everything that’s happened on the block, who in their right mind would want to live there? God, talk about creepy. I can’t believe they found that crystal meth jogger woman all chopped up in the basement shower stall next door to you.”

“Actually, Mrs. Corson didn’t cut her up,” Chris said. “But I guess she thought about it. That’s what you probably read. It was part of her confession.”

“That’s so bizarre about her drug-addict daughter following you around.”

Chris just nodded.

“And then those dollhouses they found in her secret room down there,” Courtney went on. “I hear she had dolls of you and your stepmother — and of your mom and dad. Did you see any of them? Did the police show you?”

Frowning, Chris shook his head. “No, I really didn’t want to see them.”

She sighed. “I guess if I were you, I wouldn’t have wanted to see them, either.”

They walked in silence for a few moments. Chris thought of all the other discoveries the police were making. They’d arrested a twenty-seven-year-old hood named Mark “Wolf” Blanco, who had sold Mrs. Corson the drugs that had killed his dad. The cops said the same guy had wired Courtney’s cell phone to explode.

Mrs. Corson had given the police a full confession and named names of all her accomplices — from Wolf Blanco to some forgery expert, and from a computer hacker to a dead hit man named Aldo Mooney, who had killed Mr. Corson, Mrs. Garvey, Chris’s mom, Larry and Taylor, and apparently several others.

Of course, the most notorious discovery the police had made was the identity of the Cul-de-sac Killer, a thirty-two-year-old drifter, sometime seaman named Earl Richard Schreiber. In a special room he’d built in the garage of his Crown Hill rental home, the police found an assortment of knives, guns, and ropes; several costumes — from cop to courier; diagrams of the houses he’d struck; and DEAD END and NO OUTLET signs from the cul-de-sacs he’d visited. According to one article Chris read online, the police also uncovered in his secret room scores of S&M magazines, most of them dealing with bondage. Police in Portland, Sacramento, and St. Louis were now linking Schreiber to several unsolved murders in those cities.

He’d stabbed Mrs. Corson four times before Molly had stopped him.

Now, three weeks later, she was still in critical condition. They had her under police guard in a private room — in the same hospital where Courtney was staying. In fact, Mrs. Corson had been at this facility when Courtney transferred here.

“Couldn’t your mother have put you in another hospital?” Chris asked her, wincing a bit. He knew it was a tactless question, but he had to ask it. “I mean, I know Mrs. Corson is in a different wing — and she’s under armed guard and too weak to do anything. But I’d feel weird here under the same roof as her. I’d want to stay somewhere else—anywhere else.”

“Like I said, this is the cheapest place where my mother could still tell people that we moved here for the specialists.” Courtney gently touched the scar tissue where her ear used to be. “Mom has to keep up appearances. That’s why she still pretends to stand right alongside my stupid father and support him. It doesn’t make sense sometimes why my mother thinks she has to lie. She even lies to herself. She’s an expert at it.”

Up ahead, Chris noticed a handsome, blond-haired college guy strutting down the corridor, wearing a sports jacket, denim shirt, and an expensive-looking scarf. A gawky version of him, probably a kid brother going through puberty, tagged alongside him. Mr. Handsome College Guy was carrying a small poinsettia plant. His eyes seemed to lock on Courtney for a moment, and he grimaced a little before averting his gaze.

After they passed by, Chris could hear the kid brother whisper: “God, did you see her face?”

Courtney kept walking a few more paces. In the silence, Chris listened once more to the squeaking wheels of her IV holder. Then Courtney stopped. “I think that’s enough exercise for one day,” she murmured. “I’d like to go back to my room.”

“Sure,” Chris said, putting his hand on her back.

“What were we talking about anyway?”

“Mrs. Corson,” he muttered.

She nodded. “You were asking if it upset me to have Mrs. Corson so close — after everything she did to me.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I don’t mind.” Courtney gave a blasé shrug. “It won’t be for much longer. I hear they’re transferring her to a prison hospital by the end of the week. And besides, I really don’t think about her all that much.”

Chris could tell she was lying. He wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was just something she’d picked up from her mother.

There was a Picasso print in her ob-gyn’s ultrasound examining room — right above a magazine bin that hung on the wall. An issue of Vanity Fair was face out at the front of the stack. Lying on the table, Molly stared at the cover photo of Cate Blanchett while Dr. Lantz applied the cold gel to her lower abdomen. The magazine reminded her that in three months, the Vanity Fair Hollywood issue would be released — featuring a two-page cola ad with her party illustration. She’d been able to fix the painting. She’d seen the ad mock-up, too, and been impressed: Quenching Thirsts for 90 Years! Molly was already fielding a slew of other job offers.

By the time that issue of Vanity Fair hit the stands, she’d be five months along — if all went well. Right now, she really didn’t look pregnant — just a bit overweight in the midriff. Molly hated this dumpy stage. She couldn’t wait to be really showing, without-a-doubt-pregnant. Then maybe she’d stop worrying and feel more confident about the baby’s health.

“I’ve got news for you,” Dr. Lantz had told her. “From now on, even after the baby’s born, you’ll never stop worrying.”

She’d just had an ultrasound three weeks before, immediately following Jenna Corson’s capture. Molly had wanted to make sure the awful pills and peppermints Jenna had given her hadn’t hurt the baby. Lantz had said from the sonogram and his examination, everything looked fine.

But Molly needed to be reassured again. She’d asked for another ultrasound. Lantz had agreed to squeeze her in for an appointment. She’d also asked about Jenna’s baby, if there was any chance it had survived. There had been no mention of Jenna’s pregnancy in any of the articles Molly had read. None of the cops or reporters she’d spoken with knew about it. That was Jeff’s child Jenna had been carrying. Molly needed to know what had happened to it. So she’d asked Dr. Lantz if he could find out for her.

Molly liked Dr. Lantz. In fact, with his light brown hair, brown eyes, and boy-next-door looks, he reminded her of Chris O’Donnell, whom she’d been crazy about in high school. Dr. Lantz was happily married with three daughters, so Molly figured it was safe to have a harmless little crush on him. They couldn’t possibly get involved.

She wasn’t ready to get involved with anyone. Chet Blazevich had paid her another unofficial visit at home last week. “Just checking in,” he’d said. Molly had appreciated knowing he was looking out for her. And she liked him a hell of a lot.

But when he’d asked to take her out for dinner sometime, Molly had told the handsome cop it was just too soon.

“I can wait,” he’d told her.

“Well, that’s the true test,” she’d replied. “Will you still like me when I’m not fat and hormonal and pregnant with someone else’s baby?”

“I’ll still like you,” he’d promised. He’d also promised to check in on her and the kids from time to time — if she didn’t mind.

Molly didn’t mind one bit.

Moving the ultrasound scanner over her gel-smeared, slightly expanded lower abdomen, Dr. Lantz studied the sonogram and announced, “We’re looking good here, Molly. Everything is as normal as normal can be.”

Molly studied the sonogram monitor and the little oblong cloud that was supposed to be her child. It still didn’t seem real.

“By the way,” Dr. Lantz said. “This is strictly off the record, but I talked to Jenna Corson’s doctor for you a few days ago. Mrs. Corson wasn’t pregnant. She thought she was — and refused to believe she wasn’t. Anyway, sounds like a hysterical pregnancy.”

Molly actually found herself pitying Jenna — until she thought about all the tainted pills and peppermints Jenna had given her.

“Are you sure everything looks okay with the baby?” Molly pressed.

Dr. Lantz nodded, and moved the scanner a bit. “Do you want to know the sex?”

Molly hesitated. She hadn’t wanted to before, but somehow it mattered now. She didn’t want to think of this baby as it anymore. She nodded. “Tell me. . ”

“It’s a boy,” he said.

Molly gazed at the cloud on the sonogram, and smiled. She was looking at her son. “Are you — are you sure he’s okay?” she asked. “I mean, after all, he’s been through a lot. . ”

“So have you,” the doctor said. “But I guess he’s a real survivor, just like his mom.”

Molly kept staring at the screen. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“I hate these stinking lights,” Chris announced.

He’d assembled the fake Christmas tree in the family room and carefully arranged three of the four white light strings on the branches. But one string in the middle had just gone out. Now he was testing each bulb to find which son-of-a-bitch light was screwing up the whole son-of-a-bitch string.

He didn’t even want Christmas this year, but he was putting up the tree to make Molly and Erin happy. They were in the kitchen, baking Christmas cookies for Erin’s class tomorrow. Erin sat on a step stool on the other side of the counter, frosting the cookies. The sweet, homey smell filled the house — as did the sound of Johnny Mathis singing “Winter Wonderland” on Molly’s iPod Christmas mix.

“I want to put the star on top of the tree!” Erin declared.

“You did it last year,” Chris said. “It’s Molly’s turn. She hasn’t had a chance to put the star up yet.”

“But I want to,” Erin whined.

“Oh, it really doesn’t matter that much to me,” Molly sighed.

She’d said the same thing last year when his dad had suggested she do the tree-topping honors. Erin had wanted to do it then, too. And Molly — obviously still trying to win them over — had insisted that Erin have her way. But Chris remembered his dad hadn’t been pleased. He’d told them later that it would have been a nice gesture to let Molly put the star on the tree — to acknowledge she was part of the family.

That was last year. Chris really didn’t have time for all this Christmas tradition now. He still had schoolwork to catch up on from the two weeks he’d missed when first his mom and then his dad had been killed. He also had to start looking for colleges that might offer swimming scholarships. It was the kind of thing his dad might have helped him with.

His dad would have been putting up the tree, too.

Chris missed him. He missed both of them so much.

Maybe another reason he didn’t really feel like Christmas was because it would be his last one in this house. Molly wanted to move in the spring. After what had happened in the guest room, she didn’t feel like converting it into a nursery. Chris didn’t blame her a bit. He didn’t even like going in there. Though they’d replaced the carpet in that room and in the hallway, he could still picture where the bloodstains had been.

As much as he hated to leave this house, where he’d once been happy with his parents, all of that had changed. He understood Molly’s need to have a place that was hers, where no one dead had a hold over them.

“Just for the record, I’m not having fun here,” Chris said, still trying to locate the defective light. “I hate these lights, and I hate this tree.”

“Well, take a break,” Molly said, putting on a pair of oven mitts. “I can do that later. There’s no rush. We still have two weeks until Christmas.” She opened the oven and took out a sheet of cookies.

He shook another little bulb, and suddenly, all the lights on the faulty string went on.

“Yippee!” Erin cried, a smudge of frosting on her cheek.

Chris glanced over at her and Molly. He worked up a smile.

But Molly put a hand over her mouth, and her color suddenly didn’t look so good. “Excuse me,” she muttered, rushing out of the kitchen.

He heard her footsteps racing up the stairs, and a few moments later, a door slammed. He scratched his head. “I don’t get why she always goes all the way upstairs to barf when there’s a bathroom down here.”

Erin shrugged. “I think she likes barfing upstairs.” She went back to frosting the cookies.

She didn’t seem to understand why Chris was chuckling. He’d have to share his kid sister’s little pearl of wisdom with Molly when she came downstairs again. In the meantime, he finished arranging the last of the Christmas lights. The tree was actually starting to look pretty.

He began to wonder if Molly was all right. Usually, she was back downstairs and feeling better a few minutes after praying to the porcelain god.

He went to the foot of the stairs. “Molly?” he called. “Are you okay?”

No answer.

He started up the stairs. In the second-floor hallway, he saw the stairwell door to her attic studio was open. He heard murmuring up there. It sounded like she was on the phone.

Chris knew it wasn’t any of his business, but he crept to the doorway.

“It’s all right, Mother,” she was saying. “I understand why you couldn’t come to the funeral. You didn’t even know him. But I want you to think about coming here for Christmas or New Year’s. I miss you, Mom. Most of all, I think it’s time you met my kids. Chris and Erin are really pretty great. . ”

Smiling, Chris quietly walked toward the stairs. He would go down to the kitchen and talk to his sister. He’d get her to agree. They’d ask Molly to put up the star.

Visitors needed to be cleared in advance. He saw a note attached to the clipboard with the sign-in sheet that the patient’s sister, Elaine Lawles, would be coming by at sixthirty.

In the hospital hallway, the uniformed police guard sat outside Jenna Corson’s door. He was tired, and desperately trying to stay awake. Last night, he’d pulled an eight-hour shift working security on his second job at Westlake Mall. The thirty-four-year-old had wavy red hair, a mustache, and — at the moment — dark circles under his blue eyes.

He sat at a desk outside room 404. In front of him was a small poinsettia plant, a bottle of Evian water, a Sports Illustrated, the clipboard with the sign-in sheet for visitors, and a phone he wasn’t supposed to use except on official business. The ringer was turned down low.

He barely heard it ring when the call came through at 6:25. It was the front desk, telling him that they’d issued a visitor’s pass to Elaine Lawles, and she was on her way up. He thanked them, hung up the phone, and got to his feet.

The door to 404 was open. Nurses and doctors had been in and out of there all day. He peeked in on the patient. She was snoozing. She had a pasty complexion, and her limp brown hair needed washing. The hospital gown was hardly flattering. Still, she looked like she might have been kind of pretty — when not borderline comatose with a tube in her nose. They had Jenna Corson hooked up to an IV drip. Her heartbeat was monitored on a small screen at her bedside. There were no flowers or Christmas decorations in the room. Elaine Lawles was her first family visitor.

When she didn’t show up by six-forty, the guard started to wonder if Jenna’s sister had gotten lost. That was easy to do in this maze of a hospital. He sat down, and was about to call the front desk when he saw someone approaching. She wore her visitor’s badge on the lapel of her trench coat. In one hand, she carried a little Christmas evergreen plant with tiny red and gold ribbon bows on it. He gaped at her.

“I’m Elaine Lawles, and I’m here to see my sister, Jenna Corson.” she said. Then she frowned at him. “It’s impolite to stare.”

He cleared his throat. “Um, sorry,” he muttered, reaching for the clipboard. “Could you sign in, please? And I’ll need to hold on to your purse while you’re in there.”

Putting down the Christmas plant, she surrendered her bag, and then scrawled her name on the form. It was barely legible. “I’d like to talk to my sister in private. May I close the door?”

He didn’t see anything wrong with it. There was a window in the door. He wanted to warn her that it wouldn’t be much of a conversation. Jenna Corson was still very weak, and they’d pumped her full of painkillers and antidepressants. So far, he’d chalked up about fifty hours of guard duty here in the last three weeks, and he’d heard the patient mutter about twenty words — tops.

He watched the woman stroll into Jenna Corson’s room. “Hey, sis,” she said. “It’s me, Elaine. Are you awake? You don’t look so bad. . ”

Then she closed the door behind her.

The guard could hear murmuring. He started reading his Sports Illustrated.

After a while, he heard a muffled, high-pitched hum.

At that very moment in another wing on that same floor, Elaine Lawles was passed out in the last of three stalls in the women’s room. Someone had stolen her trench coat, her purse, her shoes, and her visitor’s pass. A syringe — with just a trace of propofol left in it — was on the gray-tiled floor between her and the toilet.

Anyone resourceful enough could have figured out how to get their hands on a syringe and the sleep drug if they’d been around the hospital for two weeks.

Elaine had come empty-handed to visit her sister — no flowers, magazines, or candy.

The Christmas plant now on the nightstand table in room 404 had been a gift for another patient in the hospital, a teenage girl who was in there for a series of skin grafts.

The guard outside Jenna Corson’s room got to his feet. Moving closer to the door, he heard the incessant high-pitched drone more clearly now. The guard looked in the window — at the woman standing at Jenna Corson’s bedside. She was holding a pillow over Jenna’s face.

That sound came from the cardio monitor. It accompanied the flatline on the screen.

He heard a stampede of footsteps, and a doctor hurriedly issuing instructions. A crew of doctors and nurses were racing up the hallway toward room 404. The guard counted seven of them. Two were pushing a resuscitation cart.

They would be in there working on her for the next thirty minutes — with one of them periodically yelling, “Clear!” But the line on that monitor graph would remain flat.

The woman they pulled off Jenna Corson had a hospital gown under the trench coat. For someone who was so scarred up, she was awfully strong. She would later tell the police that suffocating Jenna Corson hadn’t been too difficult.

The hard part had been giving Jenna’s sister the shot of propofol. “You try working a syringe when you don’t have all your fingers,” she told them.

Still, somehow, Courtney had managed to do it.