Don't Scream Part 32

Where did you throw them?

I dont know.

Youd better figure it out pretty quickly, Quincy advises with a lethal look.

I guess I tossed them in a garbage can by my car.

On the street? Wilmington nods. Why did you throw them away?

Red roses are expensive, Deb puts in. That seems like such a waste. Why not just give them to her the next day?

Because they wouldnt last. They were already wilting.

So you sat in the car waiting for her for a pretty long time, then? Debs tone is almost compa.s.sionate. Hours?

Probably.

You do realize, Quincy leans across the table and catches Rays shifty gaze, that Im about to make a couple of phone calls that will tell us whether or not theres a bouquet of red roses in a garbage can across the street from Matilda Harringtons house.

Wilmington shrugs.

Quincy leans closer. Were not going to find any bouquet of roses in the garbage can, are we, Ray?

No reply. But theres a telltale staccato rapping sound from beneath the table, courtesy of Rays increasingly jittery legs.

Why dont you spare us the trouble, Ray, and just admit you werent at Matilda Harringtons to give her a bouquet of flowers?

All right, this is getting ridiculous. Where the h.e.l.l is Ca.s.sie? Seated at the Saddlers cluttered kitchen table before a still-br.i.m.m.i.n.g, now-cold cup of coffee, and the dwindling pack of cigarettes she keeps going outside to smoke, Fiona checks her watch for the tenth time in as many minutes.

She cant just beam herself here from Danbury, you know, Brynn points out as she shakily dumps boxed pasta into the boiling water on the stove.

I know, but it shouldnt take two hours to drive here.

It can. Especially in bad weather.

Its not as if its snowing or icy.

No, but wet mountain roads and fog are no fun.

And sitting here waiting with the silent, brooding Fiona is even less fun. Silent, that is, when shes not grumbling about having to move a chair and unfasten three locks every time she goes outside for a smoke.

Brynn steps on the foot pedal of the garbage can to throw away the empty box, conscious of Fionas eyes on her.

Shes probably just noticing that the macaroni and cheese isnt even Kraft, but a store brand,Brynn thinks inconsequentially. Its almost a relief to focus, if only for a moment, on her friends habitual a.s.sessment of her downscale lifestyle.

Anything is better than thinking about Tildy.

Dead on her birthday Just like Rachel.

Every time Brynn allows herself to piece together the big picture, shes terrified.

All four of themshe, Fiona, Ca.s.sie, Tildygot those birthday cards last month.

What if whoever sent the cards, and most likely also left the dead bird, is responsible for Tildys death?

And what if it isnt going to stop there?

It wont be long now before Matilda Harringtons death hits the media. Its going to be big newsand not just in Boston.

But the story hasnt exploded yet.

And you have to stop checking every five minutes to see if it has, or someone is going to get suspicious. Just go about your daily business and stay away from the Internet, the television, the radio.

No, just try to go about your daily business, same as always.

But, of course, thats not easy. Pure euphoria is difficult to keep under wraps.

Its especially hard to keep from smiling at the satisfying memory of all that blood spilling from the deep gashes in Matilda Harringtons face and neck, soaking her fancy white party dress.

The best part was that, despite her inebriated state, she realized who had finally taken her flimsy excuse for a life into capable hands, putting an end to it at last.

Yes, it was a pleasure to see Matilda twitching and struggling, looking up warily, just as that frightened, flapping cardinal did in the final second before its neck was broken with a quick, vicious twist of these same capable hands.

Hands that are, at the moment, handing over a couple of ones and accepting a cup of hot coffee from an unwitting, smiling cashier.

There you go. Have a nice day.

Oh, I absolutely will.

Still no Ca.s.sie.

Brynn checks the stove clock as she turns off the flame under the boiling kettle.

Jeremy has been parked in front of the television all morning. Now he needs lunch, and a nap.

Draining the macaroni into the sink, she realizes she should probably eat something, too. Her stomach has been queasy all morning.

Do you want some of this? she asks Fiona, who makes a face and shakes her head. No surprise there.

How about more coffee? Brynn offers.

Fiona shakes her head again, taps her cigarette pack against the table in a rapid staccato, and mutters, G.o.d, whereis she?

Shes on her way.

Maybe shes not coming after all.

She would have called to tell us.

Fiona just shrugs.

Removing milk and b.u.t.ter from the fridge, Brynn wonders, again, if she should tell Fee about the dead cardinal. She hasnt yet, because it makes more sense to wait for Ca.s.sie.

But she cant go much longer without blurting it out.

Oh, G.o.d, she murmurs, stirring a rapidly melting wedge of b.u.t.ter into the steaming pasta.

She doesnt realize she spoke out loud until Fiona asks, What did you say?

Nothing.

They fall restlessly silent again.

The phone rings as Brynn dumps the powdered orange cheese sauce into the pot.

Get it, Fee commands, as if Brynn had no intention of answering it. Maybe its Ca.s.sie.

It isnt.

Its Garth, wanting to know if shes okay.

Im trying to be, she says, walking into the hall with the phone.

Ill come home, Garth offers promptly.

No, dont. Im fine, Im not alone, Fiona is here.

Still? Ive never seen her stay put for this long anywhere other than her office.

Come on, Garth, someonedied .

I know. Im sorry.

Brynn peeks around the doorway into the living room. Theres Jeremy, glued to yet another episode ofDora .

Pushing aside her maternal guilt, she tells Garth, Ca.s.sie is on her way and Im sure the two of them will stick around for awhile. If they leave and I need you, Ill call you. Okay?

He hesitates. Okay. Just Be careful, Brynn. I dont like this. First that dead bird, and now Tildy.

Her heart races. Who says one has anything to do with the other?

Maybe they dont. It didnt even occur to me, actually, until I was in the car driving over here. I wanted to turn around and come back home, but I told myself I was being ridiculous. Now Im not so sure.

I am sure And they definitely have something to do with each other.

She bites her lip, fighting the urge to spill the whole story to her husband.

She cant do that. Not with Fiona in earshot, anyway.

Ten years ago, she swore to keep their secret.

But now her own life might be in danger if she doesnt tell someone.

Garth, and the police.

They need to know. I have to tell.

But she shouldnt just blurt it out without discussing it with Fiona and Ca.s.sie first. Surely theyll agree that telling is absolutely necessary now, and d.a.m.n the consequences. They have to tell for Tildys sake.

No. For Rachels.

How would I feel if I thought they abandoned my body alone in the woods?

You wouldnt feel anything,a reasonable voice points out,because youd be dead.

But what if I wasnt? What if they only thought I was? Or claimed I was?

Was Rachel really still alive as she lay there? Did Tildy knowingly abandon her at the bottom of that ravine? Did she lie to the others about Rachel being dead?

And if the answer to all of those questions isyes Did Rachel return to kill Tildy for what she did?

Listen, Ill be home as soon as I can, Garth says, still on the phone.

She forgot him; hes been silent and so has she.

Promise me youll call me if you need me, okay?

I do. I need you.

Aloud she manages only, Okay.

I love you.

You, too.

She disconnects the call and returns to the kitchen.

I cant sit here all day, Fiona announces. Ive got appointments.

Cant you cancel them? Its not like youre playing hooky. Brynn returns to the stove and sees that the orange cheese powder has clumped over the surface of the macaroni.

Me? Play hooky? Ive never done that in my life.

Attempting to stir the mixture into a more palatable concoction, Brynn points out, I seem to remember you cutting cla.s.ses to hang out with Pat.

Fionas eyes darken at the mere mention of her ex-husband. That was school. This is work. I cant just not show up.

Someone died, Fiona.