Into the Dark

41

Alhambra, California

As Claire guided her Corolla onto Amber’s street, reality eclipsed her reasoning for being there.

This could be a dumb thing to do.

Battling her growing embarrassment, Claire challenged her instincts, asking herself over and over with each house number she counted: Was coming here the right thing to do?

Yes, damn it, yes!

It was the only thing to do to allay the fears that were twisting in her stomach. Those images from the worst times of her life that had recently flashed in her mind were like harbingers. She knew what happened when people did nothing in the face of looming trouble.

My mother, brother and father died because no one got involved. I can’t let this go. I can’t ignore everything that’s happened with Amber.

She stopped in front of Amber’s address, shifted into Park, turned off the engine, got out and took a quick read of the house.

It was a sprawling ranch-style bungalow that sat back from the street on a large lot. The lush landscaping with shade trees and thriving flower beds gave the property the sedate air of a well-maintained park, she thought as she took the winding cobblestone walk. Noting the small yard sign for the security company she came to the door and rang the bell.

Claire remembered how Amber had said she was fortunate to be house-sitting for friends, the generous owners of such a beautiful home.

A long moment passed without a response.

She rang the bell again, then knocked, hard.

Nothing.

A neglected newspaper jutting from the mailbox offered her a glimpse of the headline about the Dark Wind Killer stalking L.A. The reality of a monster out there pricked at her anxiety.

Claire took out her cell phone and called Amber’s number. She heard it ringing inside before it went to voice mail. Claire hung up, stepped carefully into the shrubs under the nearest window, pressed her face to the glass, cupped her hands near her eyes and looked into the house. She saw the dim forms of a sofa, a table, a chair, then heard a soft noise from inside.

Oh, no, I could have triggered the alarm system or something. Goodness, if someone reports me, I’ll be arrested.

Claire stepped out of the shrub and pressed her ear to the door and held her breath.

She heard voices inside.

Someone’s in there. Why won’t they answer?

She knocked hard on the door but no one responded.

She went around to the side of the house, along the knee-high hedge that bordered the driveway where Amber’s small Chevy was parked. As she neared the back of the house she saw a metal gate with a lockbox.

“Hello!” she called.

Nothing. No dog, no movement of any sort.

She tested the latch, and to her surprise the steel door swung open. She walked along the patio stones and knocked on the back door. No response, yet she heard voices.

Someone’s in there.

Once more, Claire peered through a window that gave her a clear view. She saw the tiled floor of the kitchen, the granite counters, wood cabinets, a cooktop, but no people. Yet she heard sounds and they were louder now. Frustrated, she knocked again and tried the door handle.

It was unlocked.

This is weird.

Claire inched inside, her eyes scanning the kitchen. The mild, pleasant smell of dish soap lingered.

“Hello, Amber! It’s Claire Bowen!”

“…I wouldn’t do that if I were you…” A man’s deep voice stopped Claire’s pulse for the seconds it took her to realize his voice and the voices she’d been hearing were coming from the radio on the kitchen counter. It was tuned to a talk radio show. “…damn straight I’d tell those fat cats in Sacramento that I would not even consider a tax for…”

Claire took a small breath.

The kitchen table was clear, the counters gleamed, the sink held one glass that had been rinsed. Otherwise, it was empty of dishes, and tea towels were hung neatly. Nothing seemed amiss as she moved to the living room.

“Hello, Amber, it’s Claire Bowen. Are you home?”

On one end table the red light of a message machine blinked like a panicked heart. Claire did not think it was her place to listen to Amber’s messages.

Right, and here I am standing in the middle of her home.

Claire continued checking the rest of the house.

In the study, files were stacked neatly on the desk. Claire thought they looked like court and divorce records, causing her to wonder if Amber had been talking to Eric again.

The laundry room, pantry and family room were fine. The smaller bedrooms and bathrooms were empty with nothing out of the ordinary. The bed was also made in the largest bedroom, although it looked a bit sloppy, as if done in a rush. On the nightstand she saw a paperback copy of Madame Bovary and a business card for Officer Les Campbell of the Alhambra Police Department.

Maybe she went back to Eric? Lord, I hope not.

Claire went to the en suite bathroom. There was a toothbrush in its holder, clean dry towels on the rack. Claire returned to the bedroom and opened the large closet to clothes and a set of luggage on the floor.

It doesn’t look as though she packed anything.

Maybe she’s had an accident and is in a hospital? Or is lying unconscious somewhere?

Something’s wrong here, I feel it.

Claire put her hands on her hips and exhaled, thinking. As she inventoried the room, she froze.

The sunlight drew her attention to something she hadn’t noticed before on the gleaming hardwood floor. She got down on her hands and knees for a closer look, drawing her face to a trail of coin-sized circles that led from the bedroom down the hall.

They were bloodred.

“Oh, God.”

Alarm rang in Claire’s ears as she reached for her cell phone.

It took several attempts to call 9-1-1 because her hands were shaking.