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They left the Promenade and walked north along Second Avenue. Impulsively—because it struck them as appealing and was starting in five minutes—they stepped inside a movie theater to watch a foreign film about two unlikely lovers. It proved to be hilarious. Erica, not usually amused by slapstick humor, kept bursting out laughing at the clumsy advances of the inexperienced hero.
Doug held her hand. When the movie ended, he leaned over and kissed her firmly on the mouth.
She opened her eyes as the lights came on. The dozen viewers were exiting the theater. A few stared at them, but she felt no embarrassment. A deep contentment settled comfortably about her like a velvet cloak.
“Hungry?” he asked as they stepped into the glaring sunlight.
She blinked. “Definitely, now that I think of it,” she said, and linked her arm in his.
“I knew I could count on your voracious appetite. We’re right near a favorite restaurant of mine. Hungarian. They serve the best chicken paprika and nokedli outside of Budapest.”
“Nokedli?”
“Noodle dumplings. You’ll love them.”
“Sounds terrific.” She smiled, and couldn’t help noticing how easy it was to go along with his suggestions.
At three o’clock, the small restaurant was empty except for a white-haired, elegantly dressed gentleman sipping tea and reading a newspaper at the corner table. The proprietress, a plump, middle-aged woman, came bustling over to seat them.
“Mr. Remsen! How nice to see you!” she exclaimed when she recognized Doug.
“It’s nice to see you, too, Vera.”
She shook his hand, then Erica’s, and led them to a table. The starched tablecloth was immaculate. Tiny yellow flowers filled a vase at its center.
Minutes later, Vera beamed approvingly as Doug ordered stuffed peppers for their appetizers and chicken paprika, the house special. She sped away faster than Erica would have imagined her short, heavy legs could carry her, only to return with a complementary glass of Hungarian wine in each hand.
Doug raised his in salute. “To you, Erica. Happy twenty-fifth birthday.” He kissed her lightly on the lips.
The kiss and the wine, whose name she couldn’t pronounce, went straight to her head, and gave her the courage to speak her mind.
She leaned close to him, until their foreheads were almost touching. “You know practically everything there is to know about me, while you remain a mystery man.” She took another sip and waved her hands expansively. “I don’t even know how old you are. Or where you live.”
“True enough. I turned thirty-five on March eleventh, which makes me ten years older than you. As for my address, I’ll be moving soon, so there’s no point in your writing it down. You’d only be crossing it out in a few days.”
She gripped his arm in alarm. Her glasses slid to the tip of her nose. “You’re moving? Where are you going?”
He took her hand in both of his. He seemed to be debating how to answer her. Finally, he shook his head and said solemnly, “I can’t say for sure.”
“What if I need to reach you?” She gave him a sharp look and frowned. “For all I know, your name isn’t even Doug Remsen.”
“My name’s Doug, all right. I promise you that.” He gazed at her with such naked adoration, she was the first to turn away. “Regardless of where they send me, I’ll only be a phone call away. That’s all I can say, except...”
“Except?” she prodded.
“Except...” Again, he seemed to be hunting for words. “You’re very sweet,” he finished. “Ah, here come our appetizers.”
Vera set a steaming dish before each of them and wished them good appetite.
Erica thanked her politely, all the while, struggling to quell her rising anxiety. Doug was being sent away, which could only mean one thing. He was heading straight for danger.
She tasted her stuffed pepper and succeeded in burning her tongue. She set down her knife and fork, and faced Doug, who was relishing his first bite.
He caught her pained expression. “You don’t like it? Or is it too hot?”
“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” Too late, she covered her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say that.
“Nothing will. I promise.” He was about to cut off another piece of his appetizer, but she reached across and held his hand down with her own.
“But they’re sending you away. You’re in some kind of trouble.”
She waited for him to deny it. Instead, his jaw ticked. “I’ll be all right. More restricted, but out of harm’s reach.”
Oh, no! To her, that could only mean one thing. “Poor Doug,” she began. She stopped and took a deep breath. “Will they—I mean, can I come and visit you when...?” Again, she faltered, not daring to say what was looming in her mind.
“When I what?” he prodded, amused by her embarrassment.
“When you go to prison.” There. It was out in the open.
“I’m not going to prison. What made you think of a silly thing like that?”
He reached for her hand again, but she rebuffed him. “Don’t you dare take that patronizing tone with me. Like I’m some half-brained bimbo, too dumb to know what’s going on.” Although she kept her voice down, it seethed with anger and humiliation.
“I don’t like your line of work. It’s dangerous and illegal. But, damn it, I care about what happens to you, Doug! You’re not the only person licensed to worry about someone else.”
He was instantly contrite. “You’re right, sweet Erica. I was being insensitive. But the truth is, there’s not much I can tell you now.” He leaned over to cup her chin in his hand. “Try to be patient.”
She met his eyes. They seemed to be pleading for understanding.
“Please, Erica,” he whispered.
Suddenly, the evasions sounded all too familiar. "I want to enjoy our outing today," she said, "so, I'll leave off questioning you for now. After that, I can't—no, I won't—be in a relationship with someone who keeps secrets from me."
He looked sad when he nodded. "I hear you."
She responded with a brisk nod. The situation was less than ideal, but at least she was being true to herself. And they still had today.
“Try your stuffed pepper again,” he said matter-of-factly. “It must have cooled off by now.”
“I will.” She tasted, and smiled. “Delicious.”
“See? What did I tell you?”
They managed to regain much of their earlier good spirits. When they’d eaten their cucumber salads, Vera brought out their main dishes.
“Enjoy!” she instructed in her lilting accent. “Would you like more wine?” she asked Doug.
“Erica?” He turned the question to her.
She nodded, her mouth full of chicken. It was heavenly—tender and delicately seasoned with paprika and other spices. She took another bite, putting all thoughts on hold. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.
Doug ate slowly, his gaze never leaving her. “Everything tastes better to me, knowing you’re enjoying it.”
“I do! I love it,” she mumbled through a mouthful of food.
“Don’t forget the nokedli.”
She put a few in her mouth, discovered it to be a doughy marvel. She grinned, then ate some more.
“Ah, here’s our wine.”
He poured. She sipped.
For the moment, she was completely and thoroughly happy.
“I love this place,” she said when she could speak again.
“In that case, we’ll come back and try some other dishes.”
For dessert, they ordered palascinta—crepes filled with apricot jam—and coffee.
“I’m stuffed,” she admitted as she scraped her plate with the edge of her fork to get the last of the jam.
“Me, too,” he said. “Let’s sit a bit, then we can walk some of this meal off.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve about an hour before we have to start back.”
“So soon?”
“I’m afraid so.”
His closed expression told her all the pleading in the world wouldn’t extend their outing one minute longer. She remembered what she'd told him earlier. If he continued to keep her in the dark, she would have to find the strength to end their budding relationship. She bit her lip and wished the day could go on and on, that Doug never had to leave her. She felt a connection to him she hadn’t with any other man, and felt safe with him.
Why did he have to hurry back? What sort of plans did he have for this evening?
Stop it, she scolded herself. Then, she shook her head so hard, she felt dizzy. She refused to mull over circumstances she couldn’t control. She would enjoy their remaining time together to the utmost.
On their walk back to the car, they peered into food stores and boutiques, commenting on items that caught their fancy. The streets were now crowded with Manhattanites returning from work, along with bike riders, dog walkers, and children playing.
They spoke little on the drive home. The stop-and-go traffic through Manhattan and most of Queens made her tense. Her uneasiness grew as they approached Manordale. When would she see Doug again? Why was he going away? Where was he going?
“Maybe one of my aunts has come home,” she said brightly to camouflage the sense of doom weighing down her spirits. She shuddered at the thought of spending a night in the house all by herself. Not that she expected Jason to try anything else. He’d had his little joke.
It was seven-thirty when Doug pulled into the driveway behind her Honda. The sun had gone down, draining everything of color. The neighborhood trees and shrubs and houses were reduced to dark shadows, backlit by a pale gray sky.
There was no sign of Aunt Betty’s car. No light or signs of activity came from the house. They hadn’t returned. Her spirits sank even lower.
Doug took the keys from her limp fingers and unlocked the door.
“I’ll come in for a glass of water, if you don’t mind. I’m thirsty after all that paprika.”
But instead of following her into the kitchen, he peered into every downstairs room and opened every closet.
“Do you want to check upstairs?” she asked sarcastically, although, secretly, she was relieved he was doing exactly what she’d intended to do the moment he left.
“Good idea.” He took the steps two at a time.
“Find any robbers?” she called up when he reappeared at the top of the landing.
“Safe,” he declared with a grin. “Now I’ll take that water.”
In the hallway, they kissed deeply and passionately, until he pulled away and said he had to get to work.
She clung to him shamelessly. “Not yet,” she whispered.
He kissed her again, pressing her urgently against his hard body. He groaned. “If I don’t leave now, I won’t be able to go.”
“Then stay,” she said simply.
She felt him hesitate before he stepped back. “I’ll call you later,” he said, in charge of his emotions once again, “as soon as I catch a free minute. Keep the doors locked and the shades drawn. And, Erica, don’t—for any reason whatsoever—leave this house.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
“I’ll stop by tomorrow with your present.”
Before she could register her surprise, he winked and slipped through the door.
She watched him drive away, then wandered into the family room, dreading the long evening that stretched before her. She picked up one of Aunt Betty’s crossword puzzle books, but soon tossed it aside.
She roamed the house aimlessly, noting signs of wear and neglect everywhere. The walls were in desperate need of a new coat of paint, the living room furniture was old and worn, the carpeting on the stairs was threadbare, and the hall wallpaper was peeling in several spots.
If I ever decided to live here, she thought, I’d tear it all down and redo the entire house, room by room. Not that I’d ever live here, she quickly amended.
She reflected on her conversation with Doug when they’d walked along the Promenade. Buying an apartment on the East Side and enjoying the Manhattan life would be more fun.
And then what? She supposed she could always find a job as an editor. Join a gym. Make new friends. Date.
Ick! She didn’t want to play the dating game. She wanted Doug, and that didn’t bear thinking about. Not when he was planning to leave the area without giving her a forwarding address. Despite his romantic protestations, he wasn’t going to be part of her life for much longer.
Instead, she focused her attention on her aunts. She should have called Aunt Betty at school earlier in the day to make sure everything was all right. Not that she was terribly worried about her. She had her boyfriend, or whatever one called a person’s fiancé who was still married to Wife Number One. Aunt Betty probably had moved out to get away from Aunt Constance’s bickering, and had used their argument to make the break. Although, it would have been nice if she’d left a note letting Erica know where she had gone.
Aunt Constance was another story. She’d left the house in a state of emotional upset. For all her denials, she had a heart condition. But where could she have gone? Besides Aunt Betty, Monica Hartley was Constance’s closest friend. But when Erica had called Monica, she’d thought Aunt Constance was at home.
On impulse, Erica decided to try Monica again. The phone rang several times.
“Hello,” said an impatient Sherman, obviously annoyed at being disturbed.
“Sherman?” she said hesitantly. “It’s Erica. I was wondering—”
“Erica!” he broke in before she had a chance to explain why she was calling. “Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
“I’m home,” she said, puzzled. “Where should I be?”
“I couldn’t even leave a message,” he complained. “Your aunts must be the only two people in Manordale—in the state of New York—who don’t have an answering machine!”
“You didn't call my...?" she began, then realized Sherman didn't have her cell phone number, and she wasn't about to give it to him. “Anyway, I was calling you because,” she tried once more, only to be interrupted again.
“Can you come right over and sign some papers? They really should be taken care of immediately.”
“Do you know where Aunt Constance is?”
“Nooo,” Sherman said meditatively. “But I think Monica spoke to her today. She called here about noon, I believe.”
“She did?” she breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Is she all right?”
“I assume so, since she’s off visiting some distant cousin in New Jersey. Didn’t you know?”
“I...I had trouble making out the note she left me,” she improvised. “Is Monica there? I’d like to speak to her.”
“Sorry, Erica. She just left for a meeting. I’ve spent the last two hours going over your papers. Are you coming over?”
“Well,” she demurred, “I really don’t want to go out alone. I had a very unpleasant experience last night, and I’m pretty sure Jason was responsible.”
“Jason?” Sherman sounded concerned.
“Yes, Sherman. He scared me half to death. Probably because he was angry at me for turning down his marriage proposal.” She gave a huff of exasperation. “I told the police about the first stunt he pulled. I'm sure they'll be speaking to him if they haven't already.”
“The police! Erica, please come right over. We can talk about Jason and take care of the paperwork. I’d be happy to stop by your house, only I’m expecting an important call on our landline.”
“Where’s Jason? I’m not coming over if he’s there.”
“Don’t worry. He’s out with a friend. I think they were planning to drive into the city. At any rate, I don’t expect him back for several hours. Rest assured, you won’t run into him here.”
“Good. I never want to set eyes on him again! He was horrible the night before when we went out for dinner. I had to take a taxi home.”
“A taxi!” Sherman sputtered. “Jason never mentioned a taxi. I wish you’d come and explain everything to me.”
“Gladly,” she said. “It’s time you learned a few unsavory truths about your son.”
She grinned as she slammed down the phone. There was no point to her sitting alone in an empty house, waiting for the minutes to pass. She looked forward to her little chat with Sherman. After he heard everything, she had no doubt he would deal sternly with his contemptible son. Perhaps he’d cut him off without a penny. The thought pleased her that he might finally have consequences for his actions.
Humming, she threw a sweater over her shoulders and closed the front door behind her.
She squinted as she parked in the Hartleys’ circular driveway. Why hadn’t Sherman switched on the outside flood lights? As she climbed the wide steps, she decided he probably left such mundane matters to Monica, who must have left home while it was still light out. The only visible illumination came from Sherman’s study, and that was muted by the curtains drawn across the window. But he must have heard her arrive, because the door flew open before she could ring the bell.
“Erica, dear, come in, come in. With as few insects as possible.” With alacrity, he shepherded her through the dark hall and into his study. “Everything’s all set up in here.”
He spoke quickly and breathlessly while his hand gripped her upper arm.
Instinctively, she pulled out of his grasp.
Sherman released her abruptly. “Sorry.”
She rubbed the sore spot, grimacing at the moisture his palm had left. He was undoubtedly upset about Jason, she decided.
“No need to be rough,” she tried to joke. “I’ll go quietly.”
The study was next to the living room, across the hall from the dining room. Its dark, wood-paneled walls abounded with paintings of wildlife and country scenes. Her glance was drawn to the stacks of papers piled high on the large, old-fashioned desk that stood flush against the opposite wall.
“Sit down.” He offered her his tan leather chair, which was the same color as the deep-piled carpet.
“The papers are all in order. But first, I’d like you to look this over. It’s merely a statement declaring you’re of sound mind, etc., and have received all properties as stated in your father's will. Signnnn,” he held onto the word until he reached the last page, “here, here, and here.”
She looked. There were several lines drawn for more signatures. “But this has to be witnessed and notarized,” she pointed out.
He waved away her concern. “My dear, let's not trouble ourselves with such trivia. Your signature is what matters. I’ll take care of the rest in the office. First thing tomorrow morning.”
Once again, she noticed how breathless he sounded. It made her uneasy. “Are you sure?”
“I’m telling you not to worry.” His voice grew sharp with annoyance. “If you insist, Monica will sign it as soon she comes home. Jason, too.”
“Jason!” She leaped to her feet. “You promised he wouldn't be here.”
Sherman urged her back into her chair. “Easy, Erica. Let’s not get hysterical. I meant he could sign it when he got in later. After you're gone.”
He handed her a pen. She placed it on top of the document and swiveled the chair around so she could face Sherman.
“First, let me tell you about your darling son. I want you to know exactly what happened so you can judge for yourself what kind of person Jason’s turned out to be.”
He pointed to the documents. Clearly, he wanted her to deal with them before they discussed Jason, but her look of determination seemingly made him reconsider.
“Tell me, by all means,” he said, barely containing his impatience, “so we can move on to more crucial issues.”
“I consider Jason to be a crucial issue,” she said hotly, and proceeded to inform Sherman of what had taken place the last two evenings. “It was Jason, all right—in your Cadillac, using his old starter pistol to frighten me. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”
He cocked his head and glanced at her thoughtfully. “If all you say is true, then Jason has been behaving most reprehensibly. But as for last night’s incident, there’s always the chance a car backfired or—”
“If you won’t confront Jason, I’ll tell the police what I know and have them question him." She wondered if Detective Sawyer had already questioned Jason about the incident at the park.
“That won’t be necessary, my dear,” he assured her smoothly. “I appreciate your coming to me instead. Believe me when I say that Jason will live to regret he ever lifted a finger against you.”
He paced the room, his face glowering with pent-up anger. Finally, he came to stand before Erica.
“I had hopes Jason had matured and was ready to settle down. Ready to make something of himself instead of frittering away his life and what was left of his money. He led me to believe that you—ahem—cared for him, but were reluctant to make a commitment so soon after your husband's death.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “I was so delighted with the prospect of having you for my daughter-in-law, I paid little heed to your protestations Saturday night when we had our little talk. I must admit, I encouraged Jason to propose to you, or at least to declare his feelings. I never expected he’d turn on you the way he did and scare you half to death.”
She nodded, gratified Sherman finally understood just how badly Jason had behaved. “What do you plan to do?”
His voice turned harsh. Menacing. “Leave that to me, my dear. When I’m finished, my son will be very sorry he ever came back to Manordale.”
His tone frightened her. Goosepimples rose on her bare arms. Had she gone too far? Undoubtedly, he planned to toss Jason out of the house and leave him to fend for his own. This was exactly what she’d hoped for, yet she discovered she felt sorry for her former friend.
“Now let’s get back to business, shall we? Did you have a chance to look over the papers I gave you on Friday?”
She bit her lip. “I meant to, but with everything happening, I didn’t get a chance.”
He clucked his disapproval. He pointed to the papers before them. “Your father’s will is on top. The rest are statements and records of everything you own. You can look them over here, then take them home and go over everything at your leisure. I’ll be happy to answer any questions. But first, please sign this document. A mere formality that I am handing all records of your holdings over to you.”
“Will do,” she agreed. She scanned the four stapled sheets of barely comprehensible legalese, then scribbled her name beside the three Xs.
Sherman was at her elbow to scoop them up as soon as she was done. She hardly took notice, as she was staring at her father’s will.
“I’d like to read this carefully, if you don’t mind.”
He gave her a magnanimous smile. “Certainly, I understand.” He paused in the doorway behind her. “Why don’t I make us some coffee and return in a few minutes to answer any questions?”
“Mmm,” she murmured, already engrossed in her task. A wave of sadness washed over her as she studied the yellowing pages. Her father had made out a will as a matter of course, never imagining he’d die in the prime of his life and leave her, his only child, a large sum of money in his stead.
She waded through the long pages, ignoring the “thereof” and “hereby” as she gleaned the actual meaning and intent of the convoluted phrases. It was a bit like reading a foreign language. She read the terms of her dual guardianship, then the monthly allotment for household expenditures, so underestimated for today’s economy.
A blow to the back of her head resounded, brutal and unexpected.
Pain and nausea sliced. She moaned as she slumped forward, senseless for the second evening in a row.
She came to not knowing where she was or how long she’d been out. A throbbing ache pierced her skull. She desperately wanted to rub the bruised spot beside her right ear, but she couldn’t move her hand. Nausea rose in her throat. When she raised her heavy eyelids, the room spun and sideslipped away, so she quickly closed them.
She tried to move her hand and couldn’t. Her puzzlement turned to terror. What had happened? Why did her head hurt so? This time, when she opened her eyes, the dizziness wasn’t as bad.
“Come on, come on,” Sherman said impatiently. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”
Hit me? Why would Sherman hit me?
Her mind couldn't grasp the situation. It sounded like Sherman, but everything was blurry and unclear. Of course! She wasn’t wearing her glasses.
“I can’t see,” she croaked, then shut her mouth and swallowed to control her sickness. At the same moment, she knew her hands were bound behind her. And her feet were tied, as well. A groan escaped her lips.
Sherman picked up her glasses from where they’d fallen and thrust them on her nose. “We can’t have that, Erica, dear. I want you to see what a fool you’ve been.”
Mesmerized, she watched as he perched on the corner of his desk. He looked the same—paunchy and well-dressed in a gray-striped shirt and gray trousers. Only his eyes were different. They gleamed with a feverish excitement.
“What do you think you’re doing, hitting me and tying me up?” she demanded, forcing herself to sound outraged when she was sick with fear.
It had been Sherman the whole time! Odd, how she’d never suspected him. Even now, part of her brain refused to accept the horrendous truth that he wanted her dead. Until he, quite deliberately, dashed all hopes she might be mistaken. He strode to the closet beside her. When he reappeared, a black Darth Vader mask covered his face.
She screamed, “It was you on the road to Montauk!”
He tossed the mask back on the closet shelf. “Don’t shout again or I’ll have to gag you.”
She shuddered with terror. “How stupid of me not to have guessed,” she whispered. She had considered everyone: Jason, Doug, Monica. Even her aunts and Mr. Jennings.
“You’ve been stupid and lucky,” he agreed. “Until tonight.”
She didn’t bother to point out he’d been clumsy and unlucky until now. Her body trembled with fright. She had to clench her teeth to stop their chattering. “You...you didn't kill Terry, did you?” she asked hopefully. Maybe Terry’s death had been an accident, after all.
“I’m afraid it was necessary. He was turning stupid, too.”
She gasped, but Sherman ignored her and went on speaking. “He called that Monday night to tell me he was going to divorce you. I said it was a bad idea.”
He peered at her, a glimmer of pity in his eyes. “You were well rid of the likes of Terry Parker, Erica. Frankly, I was a bit disappointed you ever married him. Even though I’d arranged it all.”
“You did?” His words were like another blow to the head. “Why?”
“Your inheritance, silly girl. Terry owed me. I got him off on a drug charge and had his police record erased. With Terry as your husband, I could continue to control and—er—borrow from your estate. But he surprised me, all right.” He let out a rueful chuckle. “Transformed himself into a regular knight in shining armor. He claimed he couldn’t continue the charade. His big mistake was threatening to tell you the whole story.”
She gasped again. The full impact of Sherman’s words hit her with the force of a Mack truck. So that was why Terry had pursued her so ardently—taking her out every night and showering her with romantic attentions—until she'd had no choice but to fall in love with him. How flattered she’d been when Terry, so obviously a free spirit, had asked her to marry him.
What a fool she had been!
Her face boiled as all of the ramifications of her “arranged marriage” sank in. She was mortified and deeply wounded, as well as furious for having been manipulated once again. Terry had been sent to marry her as part of a business deal. A deceitful, despicable, criminal business deal.
And she was the bait, the mark. The patsy.
“But Terry loved me. I know he did,” she insisted, hardly aware she had spoken aloud.
“Perhaps. Not that it matters.”
“Of course, it matters!” she said, but Sherman’s mind was obviously elsewhere.
A minute later, his attention returned to Erica. He pointed an accusing finger. “It’s too bad you refused Jason. If you’d been a bit more cooperative, we wouldn’t be in this nasty position, now, would we?” He smiled as if he were recalling a pleasant memory. “I was even pleased my earlier attempts had gone amiss.” His eyes narrowed, his voice turning cold. “But you had to be difficult and spoil everything.”
Her mouth flew open in anger as she momentarily forgot her plight. What gall! He actually blames me! But, for once, she had the good sense to bite back her words. There was no point in riling Sherman. At least, not while she was at his mercy.
“Of course, the one mistake I made,” he went on conversationally, “was not going in with your father when he made all those killings.”
She cringed at the word, but he seemed unaware of any irony. He had a faraway look as he reminisced about the past.
“I was too conservative then, too frightened to take chances.” His eyes, fierce and shining, again bore into hers. “But nothing frightens me any longer. Taking risks is what life’s all about.”
He’s mad! Wildly insane. The realization froze her with horror.
“Finally, after years of making money for your father’s estate—money that kept doubling and tripling—I decided to put it to good use. Why not borrow the money to buy my paintings? My beautiful, precious paintings.” He rubbed his hands together. “After all, they’re an investment of sorts, aren’t they?” His face took on a stern expression. “But enough babbling. We’re wasting time.”
She cringed as he bent down beside her.
“Ah, here it is,” he said, reaching for her pocketbook.
He opened the clasp and unceremoniously dumped all its contents onto the desk. Eyeglasses case, wallet, keys, lipstick, and tissues tumbled out.
“Mmm,” he hummed softly, until he plucked the car keys from the heap. Then he looked up at her and smiled.
She held herself rigid to control her trembling.
“I’m going to bring your car around to the back of the house. I want you to sit here quietly until I return. If you move, it will be worse for you, I promise you that.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, hating the high-pitched sound of her voice.
“For a ride.”
“Where to?”
He stalked out of the room.
She remained where she was, too terrified to move. What should she do? What could she do with her hands and feet tightly bound?
The sound of the Honda starting made her hyperventilate. Chest tight, she gulped lungfuls of air and forced herself to breathe more slowly.
The one thing she couldn’t do was wait around for Sherman to come back and kill her. She positioned herself upright, cursing the sling back high heels that would make it ten times more difficult to hop to the door on her bound feet.
How would she open the door with her hands tied behind her? Or get down the front steps without falling on her face?
You’ll figure it out. Start moving!
The car sputtered twice, then blessed silence. Her old and trusty Honda had stalled! Heartened, she put every effort into moving herself out of the study.
It was proving to be even more difficult than she’d expected. She took tiny little steps that only gained her an inch or so at a time. She tried hopping but, with her hands behind her, almost lost her balance. Her glasses slid down to the tip of her nose. That was the scariest. If she lost them, she’d be blind.
Sherman switched on the ignition again. It didn’t catch.
Erica, grateful for the unexpected reprieve, moved forward another few feet.
So did the Honda. Sherman bucked the car past the study window and turned the corner of the house. The motor made a rasping sound, then died.
She could hardly believe her luck. In a minute or two, she’d be out of the room. She’d cross the hall to the front door and slide down those damn steps on her rear. He’d never be able to find her in the dark, amidst all those trees and bushes growing wild outside the house.
The motor shut off, then a car door slammed shut. Was he coming for her now? She held her breath and let it out slowly when he, once again, tried to start her car. Fool of a man! He’d flooded the engine.
As she reached the study door, she heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the front door. Maybe Monica had come home! Surely, she didn’t know that her husband was about to kill Erica. Or did she? The thought upset her, made her move too quickly. She stumbled and fell to the floor.
“Dad? I saw the light under the door and—”
The door opened and missed hitting her by inches.
Jason peered into the room. He spotted her lying on the carpet. “What the hell are you doing here? Why are you tied up?”
“Your father,” she whispered. “He’s going to kill me. Help me, Jason. Untie me before he comes back.”
He stared down at her for what seemed like minutes. It’s funny how I never noticed they have the same watery blue eyes that turn icy when they’re calculating. Now Jason’s were narrow, assessing.
“I think not, Erica,” he said finally. “You had your chance Saturday night, but you’re too good for me, aren’t you?"
"That's not true. We were best friends growing up."
"Best friends, eh? Is that why you sicced that detective on me?" He laughed. "I told him I got rid of that starter gun ages ago. You know what? The sucker believed me."
She began to panic again. "Jason, you're not an evil person. You can't let your father do this to me!"
He grinned malevolently. “Why don’t we just let things run their course? It’s no skin off my teeth what happens to you, and it will give me something to hold over Dad for once.” He chuckled as he shook his head in disbelief. “Who would have guessed the old guy had it in him?”
She twisted her aching neck to stare up at him, her eyes bulging in disbelief.
“You don’t mean that, Jason. You can’t mean that. Please untie me. Help me out of here.”
He turned to leave the room.
“Don’t go, Jason!” she pleaded. “Don’t leave me like this! We helped each other through the worst times of our childhood. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
He stopped to seemingly consider this. “We were close then, weren’t we? But now, we aren't.” He laughed, as if he’d said something amusing. “If Dad asks for me, tell him I’m in my room.”
He slammed the door behind him.