The knob of the front door - Frannie could see it down the short length of hall - began to turn back and forth in frustrated half-circles.
Whoever she is, I hope she's no better at locks than I am, Frannie thought, and then had to squeeze both hands over her mouth to stop an insane bray of laughter. That was when she looked down at her cotton slacks and saw how badly she had been frightened. At least she didn't scare the shit out of me, Fran thought. At least, not yet. The laughter bubbled up again, hysterical and frightened, just below the surface.
Then, with an indescribable sense of relief, she heard footfalls clicking away from the door and down Harold's concrete path.
What Fran did next she did with no conscious decision at all. She ran quietly down the hall to the front door and put her eye to the small crack between the shade and the edge of the window. She saw a woman with long dark hair that was streaked with white. She climbed onto a small Vespa motorscooter that was parked at the curb. As the motor burped into life, she tossed her hair back and clipped it.
It's the Cross woman - the one who came over with Larry Underwood! Does she know Harold?
Then Nadine had the scooter in gear. She started off with a little jerk and was soon out of sight. Fran uttered a huge sigh, and her legs turned to water. She opened her mouth to let out the laugh that had been bubbling below the surface, knowing already how it would sound - shaky and relieved. Instead, she burst into tears.
Five minutes later, too nervous now to search any further, she was boosting herself back through the cellar window from the seat of a wicker chair she had pulled over. Once out, she was able to push the chair far enough so that it wouldn't be obvious someone had used it to climb out. It was still out of position, but people rarely noticed things like that... and it didn't look as if Harold used the basement at all, except to store his Coca-Cola.
She reclosed the window and got her bike. She still felt weak and stunned and a little nauseated from her scare. At least my pants are drying, she thought. Next time you go housebreaking, Frances Rebecca, remember to wear your continence pants.
She pedaled out of Harold's yard and left Arapahoe as soon as she could, coming back to the downtown area on Canyon Boulevard. She was back in her own apartment fifteen minutes later.
The place was utterly silent.
She opened her diary and looked down at the muddy chocolate fingerprint and wondered where Stu was.
She wondered if Harold was with him.
Oh Stu please come home. I need you.
After lunch, Stu had left Glen and had come home. He had been sitting blankly in the living room, wondering where Mother Abagail was and also wondering if Nick and Glen could possibly be right about just letting the matter be, when there was a knock.
"Stu?" Ralph Brentner called. "Hello, Stu, you home?"
Harold Lauder was with him. Harold's smile was muted today but not entirely gone; he looked like a jolly mourner trying to be serious for the graveside service.
Ralph, heartsick over Mother Abagail's disappearance, had met Harold half an hour ago, Harold being on his way home after helping with a water-hauling party at Boulder Creek. Ralph liked Harold, who always seemed to have time to listen and commiserate with whoever had a sad tale to tell... and Harold never seemed to want anything in return. Ralph had poured out the whole story of Mother Abagail's disappearance, including his fears that she might suffer a heart attack or break one of her brittle bones or die of exposure if she stayed out overnight.
"And you know it showers just about every damn afternoon," Ralph finished as Stu poured coffee. "If she gets soaked, she'd be sure to take a cold. Then what? Pneumonia, I guess."
"What can we do about it?" Stu asked them. "We can't force her to come back if she doesn't want to."
"Well, no," Ralph conceded. "But Harold had a real good idea."
Stu's eyes shifted. "How you doing, Harold?"
"Pretty good. You?"
"Fine."
"And Fran? You watching out for her?" Harold's eyes didn't waver from Stu's, and they kept their slightly humorous, pleasant light, but Stu had a momentary feeling that Harold's smiling eyes were like sunshine on the water of Brakeman's Quarry back home - the water looked so pleasant, but it went down and down to black depths where the sun had never reached, and four boys had lost their lives in pleasant-looking Brakeman's Quarry over the years.
"As best I can," he said. "What's your thought, Harold?"
"Well, look. I see Nick's point. Glen's, too. They recognize that the Free Zone sees Mother Abagail as a theocratic symbol... and they're pretty close to speaking for the Zone now, aren't they?"
Stu sipped his coffee. "What do you mean, 'theocratic symbol'?"
"I'd call it an earthly symbol of a covenant made with God," Harold said, and his eyes veiled a little. "Like Holy Communion, or the Sacred Cows of India."