Where are we going?” Sadie asked as Jane drove down the road at breakneck speed. Though the road was remote, there was a gas station within a mile. Sadie looked at it longingly as they passed. Jane’s car had been cold, which meant it had already been there, which meant Jane must have been driving Gabrielle’s Audi. Could she have brought her car to the location when Sadie was going into the city? Maybe Jane then caught a cab back to the city . . . but why? And how could she have fixed the tire and parked it in the woods and gotten back to the gallery by 10:00?
“We’re going to the police, of course,” Jane said, looking at Sadie quickly. The cut on Jane’s lip was still seeping, and Sadie had to fight the temptation to look for a napkin in the glove box. Had Jane injured herself to fake the attack? And if she’d really done all this, why would she take Sadie to the police? “You’ve been kidnapped, and the police need to know what happened,” Jane continued.
Sadie nodded. It was the right answer. But it made no sense. Possible motives came to Sadie’s mind—greed, revenge, profit, envy, power—but none of them quite fit. Why would Jane do any of this?
“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Jane asked as she turned onto a busier road. Sadie watched as the headlights coming toward them from the traffic traveling in the other direction appeared through the fog. She wondered how many of those travelers would save her if they knew she needed help. How could she possibly signal them?
“Yes,” Sadie said, barely able to get the words out but knowing she had to keep Jane talking. “I’m so confused.”
“Well, I waited for you to call me, but you never did, so I tried calling you and you didn’t answer. I called like three times—nothin’.” She was talking as though relaying a story about a party or concert she’d attended. Her eyes danced in the flickering lights of the oncoming traffic as the growing drip of blood slowly snaked its way down her chin.
Sadie couldn’t look at her and used her right arm to hold her left arm across her chest in an attempt to keep it immobilized. It throbbed, however, and she didn’t seem to have full movement in her wrist and hand, though it hurt too much to know for sure. She stared out the front windshield and tried to appear calm while Jane told her story. Sadie mentally reviewed what had happened over the last few days. Had Jane found the spare key and used it to get in and out of the house? Was it Jane who had set up the paint and placed the phone call that lured Sadie to Mrs. Wapple’s aid? Was it Jane’s voice in her bedroom and in the hallway of Mrs. Wapple’s house?
Sadie thought of the horrified look she’d seen on Jane’s face when she’d speculated that Mr. Forsberk could have bugged Mrs. Wapple’s house. If he had, he might have heard something Jane hadn’t expected anyone to know. And yet Jane had carried that off perfectly too.
“So I drove to Germaine’s,” Jane said, “but you weren’t there. The waitress remembered you, though, and said no one had joined you. I knew you must have gone to the gallery so I went there just as Gabrielle’s car pulled out of the parking lot. But it wasn’t Gabrielle behind the wheel. I tried to call you again, but it went to voice mail so I followed Gabrielle’s car because I just knew something wasn’t right.” She turned to look at Sadie. “You know how sometimes you just know exactly what you’re supposed to do.”
Sadie nodded. She did know that feeling and sure wished she had it right now.
“Anyway, we kept getting further and further away from Boston, and I was really freaking out, and then he got off the interstate and I knew following him would be harder, but I kept the perfect distance and then he pulled over.” Jane was smiling over her recital of what Sadie knew
hadn’t
happened. It was hard not to point out the obvious holes in her story. Why not call the police? How could she have called Sadie three times before she even left to go up to Germaine’s?
“As soon as he stopped, I jumped out of my car and ran over to him. I clocked him before he even got all the way out of the car, see?” She held out her hand where the knuckles were red and scratched. Sadie could imagine that punching the trunk of a car could do that kind of damage. “We had a pretty good little brawl, but you probably heard all that.”
Sadie nodded again but felt sick to her stomach. Sick enough that she worried she would throw up. Tears welled up in her eyes. She could feel Jane looking at her but couldn’t meet her eyes.
“Are you okay?” Jane asked.
Sadie was cold, and she couldn’t stop shaking. The nausea was getting worse by the minute. How did Shawn factor into this? Had the paramedics reached Gabrielle in time?
Jane’s hand on Sadie’s shaking leg made Sadie jump in her seat and instinctively pull toward the door. “I’m fine,” Sadie said, forcing herself to relax. Was Jane behind
everything
? The unlocked doors? The face in the window? Sadie thought about the trip to the gallery this afternoon. Jane must have planted the paint sample for Sadie to find. The stage makeup could have been in her own pocket when she opened the trunk. So many details, such flawless execution. It was so bizarre, so . . . unreal.
Jane stared at her too long, and Sadie swallowed. “I think I’m in shock.”
Jane nodded and looked back to the road. More details came into focus in Sadie’s mind. Was it Jane who had her kicked out of the hotel? The security guard had called her Mrs. Hoffmiller, while Gabrielle
had
always called her Mrs. Hoffman. She took a deep breath and prayed for a way out of this.
Stay calm. Keep your wits about you. Be wise.
Sadie took a breath and sat up a little straighter.
“Are
you
all right?” Sadie made herself ask. She had to try to act natural, the way she would act if she
wasn’t
putting all this together in her mind. Jane changed lanes, cutting off another driver, but didn’t react when the car swerved to the side and honked loudly. Sadie stared out the windshield and tried to hold back her rising fear. “He beat you up pretty good,” she added when Jane didn’t respond. She tried to keep her tone light even though it killed her to be kissing up. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t gotten there in time to follow Gabrielle’s car.”
“I don’t know what you would have done either,” Jane said with a cocky half grin. She leaned toward the door, driving with one hand. “It seems like I’m always there when you need me, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Sadie said, nodding, wondering if that was Jane’s motive. Did Jane want to be the hero at any cost? Even if it meant creating the events that necessitated her coming to the rescue? The black thought clouded Sadie’s mind as something Shawn had said came back to her:
“She really looks up to you, Mom.”
Was this somehow Sadie’s fault? Had Jane used Mrs. Wapple as a means for being needed? Sadie closed her eyes against the tears. When she opened them a moment later, she had to blink rapidly to clear her vision.
“What’s wrong?” Jane snapped, glancing at Sadie suspiciously. Pete had said psychopaths hated being questioned and felt justified in whatever they did so long as it worked toward their goal. Sadie thought of the way Jane smiled about lying to people, the overall arrogance she exuded that whatever she did was right.
“I’m . . . just”—Sadie took a breath—“I’m just so grateful, Jane.” She sniffed and let her left arm rest in her lap. She needed a tissue, but of course she didn’t have her purse with her, and she didn’t want to ask for one. Finally, she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her jacket, dropping yet another rung on the ladder of humility and desperation. “You’re a hero, Jane.”
Jane beamed, though the arrogance took away from the brightness. “I guess I am,” she said, happy to own the title. “You’re lucky to have me around, aren’t you?”
“I sure am,” Sadie said. “How far are we from the police station, do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Jane said. “Why?” She was shifting so quickly between arrogance and paranoia that Sadie knew she needed to be careful.
“I bet Pete is worried sick,” Sadie said. “Do you think I could use your phone and call him? I’d like to let him know that . . . you’re taking care of me and that because of you I’m all right.”
“It might do him good to worry about you a little,” Jane said. “You know, there are things in Pete’s past, Sadie, things you should know about.”
Sadie nearly defended him, but her mouth stayed closed. “Really? Then maybe I should call Detective Lucille. Someone should know we’re coming so that they’re ready for us, don’t you think?”
Jane considered that and then reached into her coat. “I’d rather you call Pete,” she said, toggling through her phone with one hand while driving with the other. Sadie really wished she had a chance to fasten her seat belt. “He might be a detective, but he’s not the one who saved you, was he?”
“No,” Sadie said, looking hungrily at the phone in Jane’s hand as she tensed with anxiety. “He wasn’t there when I needed him.”
“No kidding,” Jane said. “In fact, he’s pretty much failed you in every way this trip. He couldn’t protect you, could he?” She handed Sadie the phone. “Just hit the call button,” she said, saving Sadie from having to respond to Jane’s stated failures on Pete’s part.
Sadie hit call and forced herself to breathe as she came up with a split-second plan. Pete had told her the police hated coincidences and patterns. She could only hope she could point them out enough for him to recognize the important details. Right after the second ring, Pete answered. “This is Detective Cunningha—”
“It went to voice mail, Jane,” she said loudly, directing the comment toward Jane. “I’ll just wait for the beep and leave a message.” She put the phone back to her ear and prayed that Pete would play along. She cleared her throat, hopeful that this would work since Pete had fallen silent, and then started talking as though she’d heard the telltale beep. “Pete, it’s me, Sadie. Jane’s bringing me to the JP police station right now. You’ll
never
believe what happened, and I can’t tell you everything right now but, basically, Jane saved my life. She’s a hero, Pete, and she’s taking me to the station so that we can both give statements about the man who tried to kidnap me in Gabrielle’s car. Jane got there just in time to follow him. It’s been
really
scary, Pete, and if not for
Jane
being in the right place at the right time, I wouldn’t be here right now. I just want you to know that I’m okay, and I’ll be able to explain everything better when I see you.”
She stayed on the line for another second even though she’d run out of things to say, mindful of Pete on the other end, trying to make sense of what she’d just told him. She wished she dared say something else or ask him to hurry to the station to meet her there. “Bye,” she finally said, then hung up the phone. Jane immediately snatched it from her and put it back in her pocket.
While she’d been on the phone, Jane had exited the freeway. The silence was brittle, and Sadie could feel her heart hammering in her chest.
Hold on,
she told herself, the fingers of her right hand gripping the armrest.
Hold on.
Sadie started recognizing the buildings and intersections of Jamaica Plain, but the fog had rolled in like it had in Boston and that, combined with the dark of night, made it harder to see exactly where they were. Jane began telling her story again, adding more details to increase the level of her heroism.
“How did you fix the tire, Jane?” Sadie asked. “Did you call AAA?”
“Turns out someone had just let the air out of it. I have a small pump in my emergency kit in the back.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “It was pretty slick.”
How long would that take? Sadie wondered. If Jane dropped Sadie off at the T station in Forest Hills at 8:20 and then went back to get her own car, pumped up the flat tire, and drove to the remote road, left her car, ran to the gas station and called a cab, could she still have made it to the gallery by 10:00?
“I’m glad,” Sadie said. “I’m sure whoever did it expected the repair would take longer.” Had Jane done it herself to make sure they drove together? Had she hoped that would keep her with Sadie for the meeting at the café? Or was she making it all up as she went along?
Salvation was less than a block away once they turned onto Washington Street.
Jane put on her blinker and began to slow down when the police station appeared. Sadie counted four police officers appearing out of the fog like sentries, but she didn’t see Pete among them. It was a futile hope to expect he would still be at the police station, but as Jane pulled to the curb, Sadie saw Pete push through the front doors. Her chest became tight, and she grabbed the door handle, ready to run as soon as the car came to a stop. Pete held her eyes, and she couldn’t blink for fear of losing the connection.
“What’s wrong with them?” Jane said, the car still moving.
Sadie looked from Pete to Jane and then to the police, not sure what she meant, but then she noticed the expressions on their faces. Grim, austere, professional. That blasted detective face was worn by every one of them, Pete included. The officers had their hands on their hips or at their sides; one had his hand on his sidearm. Their dispositions were not subtle. “They’ve probably just had a long day,” Sadie said. She forced a smile and hoped Pete would get the message to follow suit and play things cool.
“Something’s wrong,” Jane said.