75
For the past hour, Annabel had managed the impossible. She had forgotten all about the nightmares back at the inn. Just as she used to do when she was working in New York—on a magazine photo shoot, maybe, or organizing a fashion show—she had focused in, laserlike, on the task at hand. Looking at tiles, comparing paint colors, she allowed herself to shift into creative mode. In her mind, she could see the parlor designed as a sleek, contemporary room, with lots of glass and exposed brick and mirrors on the walls. The kitchen would sparkle with new appliances and the bedrooms would be painted throughout with a soft, comforting blue. The bathrooms would be lined with brilliant Italian tiles.
“I’m really into bringing out the brick,” Annabel said, looking at a sandblaster. “If we offset the brick with some glass and metal . . .”
“Sounds good to me,” Chad agreed. “Maybe even knock some of the brick out and replace it with glass blocks to bring the light through.”
“Oh, excellent idea!” Annabel beamed. “This place will make Architectural Digest. I know people there.”
“Here are some of the paint samples you requested,” said a stocky clerk with thick glasses, worn low on his nose.
“I like the blue,” Annabel said, examining them, “but the yellow is a bit too bright. Can you subtle that a little more?”
“Sure thing,” the clerk said, returning to his paint mixer.
“This is so much fun,” Annabel gushed to Chad.
“It’s nice to see you smile,” the contractor told her.
Annabel felt herself blush. Chad was awfully sweet, and cute, too. “Well,” she said, “I must admit it feels good to smile.”
At that moment, her phone buzzed in her purse.
It had been so long since her phone had worked—the cell reception at the Blue Boy was the next problem they needed to address—that she almost didn’t recognize the sound. She dug the phone out from among the lipsticks and tissue and tampons in her purse. The number was that of the inn. It had to be Jack. Oh, God, what was he going to say?
“Hello?” Annabel said into the phone, walking over to a quiet corner of the store.
“Annabel. It’s Neville.”
He was whispering.
“Neville. Is there anything wrong?”
“I had to call you from the house phone because my mobile doesn’t work here.” He sounded anxious. “I don’t want anyone to hear me.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I wanted to let you know I’ll be gone by the time you get back. Someone locked me in my room this morning. I expect it was Zeke, on Jack’s orders.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Because they were cleaning the house of evidence. I’m sure of it. Chief Carlson was here, searching the place.”
Annabel was stunned. “So he got a warrant?”
“Yes. And he found nothing. That’s why I expect Jack and Zeke cleaned things up.”
“The ash dump?”
“They opened it, and it was as dry as a whistle.”
“None of that wet soot?” Annabel asked.
“Nope. Though they did scrape out something from the bottom for analysis, but it wasn’t very much.” Annabel could hear Neville shudder at the other end of the line. “I’ve never been happier to leave a place, no offense to you.”
“None taken.”
“I’m leaving now, heading down to Hartford before the snow gets too bad. Even if my flight’s canceled tomorrow and I’m stranded at Bradley Airport overnight, it’ll be better than spending another night here.”
“I understand.”
Neville sighed. “I’m supposed to fly to New York to catch a connecting flight to London. Pray that I make the connection. I’ll be in touch, Annabel. I may have to return to testify if they find whoever took Priscilla.”
“So you spoke with the chief?”
“I’m heading there now to give him a final statement before I head out.”
“Oh, Neville . . .” Annabel thought she might cry.
“Thank you for your kindness, my dear,” he said, “and good luck with everything.”
“Yes, Neville, good luck to you, too.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so,” the Englishman said, “I think there’s something very sinister going on in this house. Take care of yourself.”
“I will, Neville.”
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
Annabel clicked END on her phone. She suddenly felt endlessly sad.
“Everything okay?”
She looked up. Chad had approached her.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Neville just called to say good-bye. He’s leaving. But he told me the police had been by with a warrant and searched the place.”
“Did they find anything?”
“Apparently not,” Annabel replied. “But who knows? They took a sample from the ash dump. Otherwise it was clean.”
“That’s odd,” said Chad. “Hard to imagine that thing being very clean after all the chomping I heard in there. Raccoons aren’t the neatest eaters.”
“It was clean,” Annabel said, her mind suddenly very far away.
“Look,” Chad said. “The snow is getting heavier. I’ve put everything on order. We should head back.”
“Yes,” Annabel agreed. “We should.”
The happiness she’d felt just a few moments earlier had now completely evaporated. The idea of going back to that place depressed her thoroughly.
I’ve got to hold on, she told herself. I can’t allow myself to fall down into a black hole again. I have to stay clearheaded. Strong. Resist my tendency to hallucinate and catastrophize. I have to keep my head, not lose it.
But Neville’s words kept echoing in her mind.
I think there’s something very sinister going on in this house.
Annabel followed Chad out to his truck.