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LeBrun parked in front, although Jessica would have preferred him to park down the street, but she was afraid to say anything and she was still cold from sitting in the back of the truck. When they got out, LeBrun shut his door too loudly. Jessica wondered what the neighbors would do if they saw them, whether they would call the police. The large Federalist houses had big yards and old trees. Maybe the neighbors wouldn’t notice the pickup, maybe no dogs would start barking.

Jessica led the way up the walk to the front steps. The yard was covered with snow, though the walk had been shoveled. There was a snowman without a head that her brother must have built. Not too many years before, she had been building snowmen herself. Exeter didn’t have as much snow as Bishop’s Hill—only a few inches. Between the racing clouds, she could see a few stars. LeBrun walked noisily and again she wanted to tell him to be quiet. She had said she could get Jason by herself, that LeBrun should stay in the truck, but he insisted on coming. “I like seeing rich people’s houses,” he had said. “I want to see what I’m aiming for.” As for Jason, she’d told him to pack a small bag and to take nothing that wasn’t really necessary. Jason had said he had saved fifteen dollars and she had been touched by that. Jessica pressed down on the latch and the front door opened. Stepping inside, she smelled the stale odor of Tremblay’s cigars and the cleaning detergent that the maid used. It made her recall other times, not nice times. LeBrun came in after her, scuffing his feet.

“Can’t you be quiet?” she whispered angrily.

LeBrun snorted.

Jessica heard the grandfather clock ticking in the living room and the hum of the refrigerator. She had thought Jason would be down in the hall waiting for her. She couldn’t believe he had fallen asleep, even though it was past his bedtime. She had told him to wait in the hall, but perhaps he was in the living room. She recalled several times when he had gone to sleep on the couch.

Jessica went to the entrance of the living room. “Jason,” she whispered. She moved quietly to a floor lamp by her father’s old leather chair and turned it on. The living room was empty. She turned the light off again. She felt angry and frightened. If it hadn’t been for Jason, she would have gone down to Boston on her own.

“So now what’re you going to do?” asked LeBrun when she had returned to the hall. “Looks like your little brother’s let you down.”

“Maybe he’s in his room upstairs.”

“I don’t want to hang around here all night.”

“It won’t be all night. Wait here.”

But LeBrun followed her as she climbed to the second floor. She wished she had brought a flashlight but she hadn’t thought she’d need one. For that matter, she wished she had a gun. Several of the dancers at the club had guns. Gypsy had had a little chrome pistol that she kept in a tortoiseshell case in her purse. It looked like a makeup kit.

Upstairs it was dark, but the night light was on in the bathroom. LeBrun stayed behind her as she moved down the hall. He seemed to be mumbling to himself. The floor was carpeted and their feet made no noise. Her mother’s bedroom was at the far end of the hall in the other direction. Jessica passed the closed door of her old bedroom and she shivered as she recalled the dreadful things that had happened there. Jason’s room was just past the linen closet on the right. Jessica’s legs felt funny—she hated being this far into the house, like sneaking into a bear’s cave.

She paused before Jason’s door.

“Is this it?” whispered LeBrun.

“Yes.”

“Then what’re you waiting for?”

Again she wanted to tell LeBrun to be quiet. Instead she slowly turned the knob and pushed open the door, which creaked slightly on its hinges. The room was dark.

“Jason?” she whispered.

There was no answer. She felt for the wall switch on her right. A sliver of light came from under the drawn shade but not enough to see if Jason was in his bed. When Jessica listened carefully, though, she thought she could hear him breathing.

“Jason?” she said again.

She turned on the light.

Tremblay was sitting on the bed smiling at her. There was no sign of Jason.

Her stepfather waved several sheets of paper. “Isn’t it nice to have a little brother who saves your letters.”

Jessica turned to run and bumped against LeBrun.

“He’s got a gun,” said LeBrun.

She looked over her shoulder at Tremblay, who held a small black automatic, not pointing it at her but holding it out so she could see it. “That’s right, I have a gun. Haven’t you read those stories where a husband or wife mistakenly shoots a loved one who came home without warning?” Tremblay smoothed his mustache with the back of his thumb.

“Where’s Jason?”

“Elsewhere. I think we should have a little chat.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” said Jessica. Even though she wanted to appear defiant, she spoke in a whisper. She moved away from LeBrun, who shouldn’t have stopped her from getting away.

Tremblay gave another smile. It was a meaningless expression, just something to occupy his face while he was being mean. “On the contrary, if you want to see Jason again, then we have to talk.”

Jessica tried to look brave but didn’t answer. Tremblay wore a dark sweater and dark pants. She realized he had dressed that way just so he could surprise her more easily. She almost expected him to have worn a hat as well, but Tremblay never wore hats. He was too vain about his thick silver hair.

“First of all,” continued Tremblay, “I want to see this money belt that you’ve been bragging about to your brother.”

Jessica didn’t move.

Tremblay lazily gestured at LeBrun with his pistol. “Take it from her.”

LeBrun reached under her down jacket and sweatshirt to grab the money belt. She could feel his cold fingers on her bare skin. Then he yanked the belt loose and she gasped.

“Throw it here,” said Tremblay. LeBrun tossed it to him. Tremblay opened it, then shook it upside down so the money scattered onto the rug: three thousand dollars in fifty-dollar bills. “Not bad for showing your little tits.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Jessica, staring down at her money.

“I’m afraid I’m tempted to shoot you both.”

“I had no part in this,” said LeBrun quickly. “She paid me to give her a ride. I had no idea she was going to kidnap anybody.”

Tremblay’s smile this time made his eyes crinkle with good humor. “I’m sure you didn’t. You were just being nice.” He nodded to Jessica. “Couldn’t you find yourself a better-looking boyfriend?”

“That money’s mine,” said Jessica.

“What are you going to do?” asked Tremblay. “Call the police? I’ll tell you what, I’ll try to save it until your twenty-first birthday.”

LeBrun began to chuckle, then stopped himself. He had been looking around the room, which had posters of Red Sox players and a Red Sox pennant.

“Where’s Jason?” Jessica asked again.

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because I want to see him. He’s my brother.”

“We had a deal, right? Now the deal’s off.”

“No, Tremblay, please.”

Tremblay’s smile had great warmth. When Jessica had first met him six years earlier, she had been encouraged by it. Now it terrified her.

“Please don’t touch Jason. I’ll do anything.”

Tremblay appeared to consider. He turned the small automatic over in his hand and seemed to study it. Jessica realized that it was one of her father’s guns. Tremblay stretched his right foot forward and poked at the fifty-dollar bills on the rug. “I want your boyfriend to take you back to Bishop’s Hill. I don’t want any more foolishness. When you’re here at Christmas, we can talk again. But don’t count on seeing Jason. If you don’t behave, I’ll send him out to my brother’s in Illinois.”

Although Jessica was scared, she was surprised that Tremblay was letting her go so easily. But LeBrun was a witness, so perhaps he was acting semi-reasonable because of LeBrun. Or perhaps Jason had told other people that his sister was going to rescue him. But it was still a sham; everything that Tremblay said was a sham.

Tremblay lifted his chin. This time he wasn’t smiling. “So it’s a deal? You’ll let this guy take you back?”

“You won’t hurt Jason?”

Tremblay laid down more conditions—no phone calls, no letters. It was ten-thirty; they could be back at Bishop’s Hill by one. Jessica felt exhausted. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry or scream.

“Okay, it’s a deal,” said Jessica.

“Then get out of here.”

“Can I have my money?

“No chance. It’s my money now.”

Jessica’s eyes began to water. She hated to have Tremblay see her tears. “Let me use the bathroom first.”

“I can trust you?”

“I only want to pee.”

She pushed past LeBrun without looking at him and made her way down the dark hall. She didn’t really have to pee, but once she had locked the bathroom door behind her, she peed anyway. There was a phone in the bathroom and it occurred to her that she could call someone; she could ask for help. Then she realized she had no one to call. Maybe she could call Dr. Hawthorne but he was too far away and what exactly could he do? She washed her face in cold water. The sink, toilet, and tub were pink with gold-colored fixtures. There were framed pictures of toy poodles combing, primping, and putting on lipstick. She didn’t flush the toilet. Let Tremblay do it. Jessica unlocked the door, turned out the light, and went back into the hall.

As Jessica approached Jason’s room, she heard LeBrun and Tremblay talking. Then she heard Tremblay say, “What the hell did you bring her down here for? Are you nuts?”

Jessica couldn’t hear LeBrun’s answer.

“And when are you going to do it?” asked Tremblay angrily.

Jessica stood still and tried to make out what LeBrun said but his words were an indistinct mutter.

“Jesus, you’re impossible,” said Tremblay. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing. I should have shot you both after all.”

She was surprised that anyone could talk to LeBrun so rudely and she waited for him to answer, but he said nothing and Tremblay didn’t say anything else. Jessica waited a moment, then moved forward down the hall. When she reentered Jason’s room, they were looking at her. Tremblay was standing by the bureau and LeBrun had moved to the window. LeBrun was shorter than her stepfather but wirier and dark-haired. His narrow face was hatchetlike.

“So you’re ready?” asked Tremblay.

“I guess so.” She looked at her money scattered across the bedroom rug. There didn’t seem to be as much of it.

“Then you’d better get going.”

Jessica and LeBrun left the house and walked back down the sidewalk to the pickup. It wasn’t until they were driving out of Exeter that she spoke.

“Why didn’t you do something?”

“I don’t like guns. You didn’t say there might be guns.” LeBrun’s voice was a low monotone.

“You still could have done something. You could have jumped him.”

LeBrun laughed abruptly. “And get shot? You didn’t pay me to get shot.” The streetlights stopped at the edge of town and the interior of the truck suddenly grew darker.

“Are you going to give me back any of my money?”

“Hey, I just risked my life. That’s worth a grand. Are you going to start in with the questions again?”

Jessica was quiet a moment, then asked, “What did Tremblay mean when he said, ‘When are you going to do it?’ What’d he mean by that?”

“He never said that.”

“I heard him.”

LeBrun continued to stare straight ahead. “What he said was, ‘Why’d you do it?’ Meaning why did I bring you all the way down here.”

“That’s not what he said.” But Jessica wasn’t one hundred percent certain and LeBrun must have heard the doubt in her voice. A few snowflakes drifted across the windshield. More were caught up in the headlights.

LeBrun put his foot on the brake and the pickup slowed. “You want to ride in the back? It’s a long way. You could freeze to death.”

Jessica slouched down in her seat and stuck her chin in the collar of her coat. She wondered whether she had misheard and what it meant if she hadn’t. And she thought about what to do now. She couldn’t even go back to stripping. Tremblay would do something horrible to Jason, she was sure of it. Her sense of defeat was like a stone on her heart. Everything felt pointless and wrong.

—

On Wednesday, December 2, the police had brought the results of the autopsy: Scott had been murdered. This fact gave new significance to Bobby Newland’s disappearance. The autopsy had shown that Scott had been killed by a sharp object pushed up through the base of his skull. The state policeman in charge of the murder investigation was Harvey Sloan, a lieutenant in his midforties who wore dark suits and colorful ties. Over and over, Sloan heard how Bobby had accused the Bishop’s Hill community of Evings’s death. And again the possibility was raised of a link between Evings and Scott, though the police themselves said nothing. Bobby’s description was sent all over the country. The fact that he was gay seemed to suggest that he might have had a special motive for murdering a young boy.

The commotion caused by Bobby’s absence lasted till the next morning, when he was located on Martha’s Vineyard, where he had lived before coming to Bishop’s Hill. He had arrived on the Vineyard on Saturday, returned to the restaurant where he had worked, and asked for his old job back. Plenty of people had seen him and there was nothing to indicate that he was trying to hide. Even so, Lieutenant Sloan had him picked up, then he flew over to Martha’s Vineyard with another policeman to question him. By late afternoon Bobby had been released, although he had been told to stay on the island.

Hawthorne called Bobby on Friday, after getting his phone number from Lieutenant Sloan. Bobby had been shocked by Scott’s murder and angry that he had been a suspect. It also confirmed his belief that he had done the smart thing by leaving. He apologized to Hawthorne for his sudden disappearance, but he added, “What possible reason did I have to continue there?”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Hawthorne said. He was sitting in his office and his desk was heaped with papers. “I thought you did a good job, and the kids liked you.”