Don't Scream Part 31

I cant go now.

Garth, come on. You already missed your first cla.s.s. What time is the next?

It doesnt matter. Ill stay here with you. You need me.

No, I dont.

In fact, its the opposite, so please just go.

Brynn takes deep breaths, steels her nerves. She cant let him see how upset she is.

I want Mommy! Jeremy announces, and squirms toward her.

Come here. She takes him from Garth and cuddles him close. Want some milk?

Yes!

She fills a sippy cup, balancing Jeremy on her hip. Hes getting heavy. It isnt easy, especially not when shes an emotional, quivering mess on the inside.

But, outwardly, shes determined to prove to Garth that shes okay.

After a few minutes, she succeeds. He agrees to go to work.

But only after your friends get here.

Its fine, theyre on their way. Dont be late for your cla.s.s.

Brynn dresses Jeremy in his room as her husband finishes getting ready in the bathroom. Conscious that the walls are thin, she keeps up her usual singsong chatter to her son.

Do you want to wear a red shirt today, Jeremy, or blue?

Oh, my G.o.d. Tildy.

Blue!

Just hold it together, Brynn. Dont fall apart now.

Should we wear sneakers today, or just Padders? She waves the rubber-soled corduroy booties at him.

Just toes! Sing, Mommy. He thrusts his bare foot onto her lap as she sits beside him on his bed. Sing the toe song!

Someone got into this house somehow and left that gruesome calling card.

This little piggy went to market Was it the same someone who killed Tildy, in Boston?

She breaks off, swallows over a fierce lump, continues, This little piggy stayed home Oh, G.o.d. Oh, Tildy.

Mommy! Youre sad again! Jeremy reaches out to touch her tear-dampened cheek.

She wipes at it blindly.

Im ready. Garth sticks his head into the open doorway. Are you sure youre okay with me leaving?

Im fine. Her back to him, she dries her eyes on the hem of her sleeve, then turns around and forces a smile.

Really? Because you dont look fine.

Its just upsetting to find out that someone you know has been killed.

Even more so when youre thinking you could be next.

Her breath catches in her throat as she pushes on, But its not like I was that close to her these days. You know Its just that we had a history One h.e.l.l of a history.

And it might very well have had something to do with Tildys death.

Might have?

You know it does, Brynn. You know it in your gut.

I hate to leave you here alone.

Please dont go, Garth. Im scared out of my mind. Someone was here last night. Someone left that cardinal, and the blood If Fiona and Ca.s.sie werent coming, you know I wouldnt leave, Garth says, keys in hand.

I know. But theyre coming. So go ahead.

He does.

Shes free, now, to privately discuss the situation with Fee and Ca.s.sie.

Free? Ha.

When Fiona arrives ten minutes later, Brynn is barricaded in the house. The front and back doors are double-locked with chairs wedged beneath the k.n.o.bs, the shades drawn.

Im scared, she tells Fee simply.

Fee says nothing, just hugs her, hard.

And she doesnt comment when Brynn relocks the door with the dead bolt and slides the chair back into place.

A steady rain and bleak weekend forecast havent put a dent in the population of foliage-seekers headed across the Ma.s.sachusetts Turnpike toward the Berkshires this Friday morning.

Ca.s.sie stays in the right lane, able to focus on only the most rudimentary driving skills. Its a wonder, really, that shes managing to keep pace with the traffic at all. She has little memory of actually getting into the car, out of the parking garage, onto the highway.

All she has been able to focus on, from the moment she arrived in front of Tildys house and asked a teenaged bystander what was going on, is that Tildys gone.

The kid relayed the news so casually, even shrugged. The girl who lives there was killed last night.

Girl? You mean a child? she asked in confusion.

No, and I guess youre not a girl anymore when you hit thirty, somy bad. Sorry.

Was he talking about Tildy?

He couldnt be.

Then another nearby stranger, a college-aged kid eavesdropping on their conversation commented, Yeah, and I heard it was her birthday, too. Turning thirty sucks bad enough, dude, without getting murdered.

That was when the full implications began to strike Ca.s.sie like shrapnel.

Tildys birthday.

Rachels birthday.

TheHappy Birthday to Me card.

The surprise-party invitation devoid of any contact information.

The sorority song mysteriously left on Ca.s.sies voice mail sometime in the night It was all too much. Somehow, in her daze of shock and grief, it registered on Ca.s.sie that she had to get out of there.

And that she had to call Brynn and Fiona.

She literally ran the few blocks back to her car.

When she turned on her cell phone, it immediately beeped, indicating new messages.

She didnt listen to them.

She dialed Fee first, simply because shes more take-charge, and less emotional, than Brynn. Her a.s.sistant said she wasnt available, and Ca.s.sie hung up without leaving a message.

Brynn was at home, though.

Ca.s.sie didnt tell her she herself was in Bostonwell,escaping Boston at that precise moment. Something made her instinctively keep her location to herself.

Nowher cell phone turned off again, new messages still ignoredshes headed for Cedar Crest.

In part, because she has no place else to go. She cant face the mess back home, especially now, with all thats happened since she left.

Maybe I wont ever go back,she thinks as she methodically follows the red taillights in front of her.

The wipers are beating a relentless rhythm against the windshield in time with the relentless refrain in Ca.s.sies brain:Tildys dead Tildys dead Tildys dead The truth is sinking in gradually, and with it, another echo takes up the cadence in Ca.s.sies head:Youre next youre next youre next The man seated across the table in the windowless interrogation room does bear a strong resemblance to Abraham LincolnQuincy will admit that.

But he suspects Ray Wilmington has little else in common with good old Honest Abe.

Specifically, honestyor a lack thereof. Ray Wilmingtons body languageconstant fidgeting, lack of eye contactis a clear signal that hes lying about something.

Not about everything, however.

He did admit that he was lurking in his parked car on Commonwealth Avenue last night, waiting for Matilda Harrington to come home from her party.

A party to which he hadnt been invited.

Were you upset that you werent invited, Ray? Mike asks sympathetically.

No.

Of course hes lying.

Its cla.s.sic. This poor unattractive sap, still living at home in Dedham with his widowed mother, is nursing an infatuation for a woman whos way out of his league and wouldnt give him the time of day.

So then why were you waiting for her last night? Quincy demands.

Because I wanted to give her a gift for her birthday.

Right. And what do you give the gal who has everything?

A smashed skull and butchered face.

This, Quincy is certain, is a simple case of unrequited pa.s.sion flaring out of control. With any luck, theyll have a confession out of Ray Wilmington by suppertime and Quincy will be home in time to catch most of the Red Sox playoff game on television.

What was your gift for Matilda? Deb is asking.

Shes seated at Quincys side, ready to become Good Cop, with Mike, to Quincys Bad Cop when,if, necessary.

It was just a bouquet of flowers, he mumbles.

What kind of flowers?

Just red roses.

Red roses. A dime a dozen in Matilda Harringtons world. There was a bouquet of them on a table in her living room, Quincy recalls. Along with an unsigned card that reads, See You Tonight.

Quincy already has someone trying to track the sender through the local florist shop.

So, did she like your gift, then, Ray? Mike manages to sound like hes a pal, as though theyre standing around the water cooler discussing their weekends.

I didnt give it to her.

Why not?

Because when I saw her come home, I realized right away that she was completely drunk. Her driver had to help her up the steps and in the door.

So what did you do then? Quincy asks, with a graphically clear picture in his head.

I left.

With the roses?

No, I threw them away.