“So you lost interest in Marty and got interested in Ed Yanuzzi.”
“I told you, it’s not like that.”
Nick shrugged.
“Why are you interested in my husband?” she asked.
“I’m not—I’m interested in Pete Boudreau. Pete was murdered a few days ago in his home in Philadelphia. I want to know why—I owe him that.”
“And you think it might have had something to do with Marty?”
“Both men were working on the same case; both men died within months of each other.”
“My husband was killed in a hunting accident.”
“Your husband was killed by a bullet—so was my friend.”
“You’ll get over it. I did.”
“So you don’t remember any details about the case your husband was working on? You never overheard any of Marty’s phone calls with Pete?”
“Marty would have made the calls at work,” she said. “Long distance is a lot cheaper on a cell phone, and we got lousy cell reception out where we lived.”
That comment sparked Nick’s memory. He checked his watch—it was 9:15. He hurriedly took the cell phone from his pocket and opened it. “Excuse me—I have to make a quick phone call.”
The woman smiled. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no way you’re getting a cell signal way out here.”
Nick checked the phone; she was right. “Do you have a landline here?” he asked.
“This is a
hunting
cabin,” she said. “Ed has the phone turned on for a month or two during hunting season, then has it disconnected again.”
Nick did a quick mental calculation: It was a good forty-five minutes back to town, and by that time Alena would have given up and gone home—again. He let out an audible groan.
“Is there a problem, hon?”
“I promised to call my fiancée at nine,” he said. “I forgot—again.”
“No big deal. Call her when you get back to town.”
“I can’t. It’s . . . complicated.”
“Marriage is like that,” she said. “So many things to remember, so many things to explain. You sure you’re ready for this?”
“It’ll take some getting used to,” he mumbled.
She cocked her head to one side and studied him for a moment; then the corner of her mouth turned up in a smile.
“Funny,” she said.
“What is?”
“You don’t strike me as a man who’s getting married in a few days.”
“You know what else is funny? You don’t strike me as a grieving widow.”
“It’s been months,” she said.
“Some people would call you a fast healer.”
“Grieving gets old. I guess I’m not very good at it.”
“Were you ever?”
She wagged a finger at him. “There you go again, changing the mood.”
“What mood were you hoping for?”
“Warm. Friendly. We can see where it goes from there.”
“This isn’t a personal visit,” Nick said.
“Are you sure about that?” She slid a little closer on the sofa. “You’re getting married in just a few days and here you are in the middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania, with me . . . Why is that? You were supposed to call your fiancée, but you forgot all about her . . . Who forgets his fiancée a few days before the wedding? I don’t know what your mind’s on, honey, but it sure doesn’t seem to be marriage. What are you doing here, Nick?”
“I told you. I’m looking for answers.”
She rested her hand on his forearm and said, “Are you sure that’s all you’re looking for?”
Nick got up from the sofa. “I should be going.”
“Is that all you wanted to ask? I’m disappointed. You didn’t ask me anything personal.”
“A dead husband isn’t personal?”
“I mean about me. You know, something like, ‘What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’ ”
“Your husband died a few months ago,” Nick said. “You moved away, but you come back to town a couple of days every month—and when you do, you stay in the sheriff’s cabin way out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Don’t you want to know why?”
“I’m not stupid, Michelle. What I’m wondering is why the sheriff told me where to find you.”
“You seem like the determined type. He probably figured you’d find me anyway.”
“He didn’t have to make it this easy.”
“Maybe he has nothing to hide.”
“Or maybe he thinks there’s nothing I can find. Your species makes that mistake all the time—that’s what keeps people like me in business.”
“
My
species?”
“Thanks for your time,” Nick said. “Say hello to Ed Yanuzzi when you see him; somehow I have the feeling he’ll be stopping by.”
She opened the door for him. “You don’t know what’s going on here, Nick.”
Nick looked at her. “Does the sheriff’s wife?”
H
ey—you’re that witch, aren’t you?”
Alena sat at the end of the bar nearest the door at the Endor Tavern & Grille. She did her best to ignore the man by keeping her eyes fixed on the cell phone lying open on the counter in front of her.
Three bars
—she had a strong signal and the phone was apparently working, but it was almost ten o’clock and once again there had been no phone call from Nick. She wondered if she had accidentally turned off the ringer; maybe the phone had never worked at all. She wondered if she had been wasting her time staring all evening at a lump of useless plastic with a tiny glowing screen.
Maybe this is Nick’s idea of a joke
, she thought, and she felt like hurling the worthless thing against the wall. But that would only draw more attention to her—and attention is the one thing she didn’t want.
“You’re the woman who lives up on the mountain—the one with all the dogs. It’s Alena, right? Alena Savard.”
I never learn
, she thought. Once again Alena had chosen to take the short walk down to Endor rather than make the long drive—though this time she had fully intended to wait for Nick’s call on the front stoop of Resurrection Lutheran Church. That’s exactly what she did—until it started to rain. Then she was forced to hurry from door to door along the main street of Endor, searching for an open establishment that could provide her shelter from the rain. But businesses close early in a town the size of Endor, and Alena soon ended up exactly where she had been the night before—standing in front of the Endor Tavern & Grille.
Through the window she could see the rain still falling steadily on the street; the streetlamp made the asphalt look as slick as oil. It was the rain that had driven her inside—it was the only thing that could have. By 9:15 it had been starting to come down hard and that left her with only two options: go home or come inside. She chose the latter, and right now she was sorry she had.
How hard can it be to make one lousy phone call?
Each night she had to make the long trip from the top of the mountain all the way down to Endor; what did Nick have to do, punch a few buttons?
Is that too much to ask? How busy is the guy, anyway?
Last night he couldn’t call because he was in jail—at least, that was the lame excuse he gave Gunner.
So what’s his excuse this time?
Maybe he lost his phone; maybe he broke his button finger; maybe he had temporary amnesia and lost his memory. But in her heart Alena knew that there could only be one explanation for Nick missing two phone calls in a row . . .
He just didn’t want to call.
“Hey. Honey. I’m talking to you.”
The annoying man at the opposite end of the bar had been trying to strike up a conversation with her for half an hour. He had apparently recognized her the moment she walked in and began to toss out clever little questions and comments like baited hooks. Alena never responded and had been careful not to make eye contact, but the guy just wouldn’t give up. At least he had kept his distance so far—but now, from the corner of her eye, she saw the man pick up his drink and move to the barstool next to hers.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
“No.” She still refused to make eye contact, though the man was sitting so close now that she could smell his breath. The skin on her neck began to tingle, and she despised the feeling.
“C’mon—nobody should drink alone.”
For the first time she turned and looked at him full on. When she did, the intensity of her emerald eyes made him draw back a little.
“Whoa! Did anybody ever tell you you’ve got gorgeous eyes?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Usually guys who want something.”
“Hey, all I want is a little friendly conversation.”
“Then you better talk to somebody else.” She turned back to the phone again and willed it to ring.
Nick, please, help me out here
.
“Now, don’t be like that. My name’s Dorian.” He extended his hand and flashed a too-friendly smile.
Alena looked at his hand and then glared at him as though he had offered her a rotting fish.
But he pressed on. “I noticed you when you first came in. You’re the one who lives up on the mountain, aren’t you?”
She didn’t answer at first, hoping he would eventually take the hint and go away—but he kept staring at the side of her head until she finally said, “That’s right. Now take your drink and go back where you came from.”
“I haven’t seen you down here before. What brings you to town?”
I like to meet losers in bars
, she said to herself—but she said aloud, “I just came down to make a phone call.”
“You don’t have a phone up there?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“Because there’s no one I want to talk to—understand?”
The guy just won’t take a hint
.
“What’s it like up there, anyway?”
“What’s it
like
? It’s the top of a mountain—it’s a lot like the bottom, only it comes to a point.”
“I mean, all the stories I’ve heard—I’ve always wanted to ask you about ’em.”
She glanced at him. “Stories?”
“Yeah, you know—all the crazy stuff people say goes on up there.”
She slowly turned on her barstool to face him. “Like what?”
“You know—witch stuff. Casting spells and evil spirits and all. You must’ve heard the stories. Some folks say you talk to animals.”
“Case in point,” she said under her breath.
“’Course, I don’t buy any of it.”
“You don’t?”
“Nah. I figure you’re just a woman who likes her privacy.”
“I was wondering when you’d figure that out.”
“I think people just don’t understand you, that’s all.”
“But you do?”
“Sure. Why not? We’ve got a lot in common, if you think about it. We’re both human beings, aren’t we? We both get lonely—we both need a little companionship from time to time. I mean, how long can you talk to a dumb mutt before you start to go a little bonkers?”
Alena just stared at the man, trying to hold her anger in check—but she could feel her temper slipping through her grip like a runaway leash. “I don’t talk
to
animals,” she said. “I talk
with
them—and believe me, they have a lot more interesting things to say than somebody like you. But you know what? You’re right—we do have something in common.” She held up her left hand and wiggled her ring finger in his face; then she grabbed his left wrist and hoisted his own hand into the air.
He was wearing a gold wedding band.
Alena grabbed her cell phone, spun around on her barstool, and headed for the door.
When she reached the street she stopped and raised her face to the sky. The rain was still falling steadily, and she let the raindrops splash against her face and run down her cheeks and neck. It felt good; it felt like a shower, and she needed one right now.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” a voice said behind her. “Let me explain.”