“Wait a minute,” Dru began, but then she faltered, groping for words, not finding any. Her heart thumped in her chest. Beside her, Shea was mute.
“Look at you.” Joy’s mocking glance swept from Dru to Shea. “You’re safe and sound. He won’t come after you, will he? Your beloved groom, the monster you can’t wait to marry. You know where he is, don’t you? Don’t lie. You’re in this with him. Am I right? You and your saintly mother—”
“That’s enough, Joy.” Dru stepped in front of Shea.
“Don’t you tell me what’s enough, Dru Gallagher. You still have your daughter.”
The deafening silence was broken within seconds by a small cry, a mewling kitten cry. Dru heard it and then the sound of steps, Shea’s steps, running from her, from the women, their mean, accusing eyes. The front door opened and slammed shut with a resounding crack.
Dru followed her.
“When is it going to stop?” a voice shouted.
“When all our girls are dead?” another cried out.
Dru halted on the Kincaids’ front porch, glance careening up and down the street. The sky had darkened while they were inside. The wind blew, raising ribbons of dust along the curb. She caught the sound of thunder. Where was Shea? Frantic minutes passed before Dru caught sight of her, three doors down, on her hands and knees on the front lawn of some stranger’s house. The wind caught at her hair, the loose hem of her shirt. Dru cut across the two yards that separated them, and reaching Shea, knelt beside her, pulling back her hair, drawing it over Shea’s heaving back and shoulders. Until Shea spoke, until she said, “I tried to tell you,” through her clenched teeth, Dru thought Shea’s trembling was caused by her sobbing.
But no.
Shea was furious.
At Dru.
She took her arm away, braced her hands on her thighs. A curtain twitched at the window fronting the lawn. Dru prayed that whoever was watching would mind their own business, although the witness, likely the home owner, would have every right not to.
She rubbed tentative circles between Shea’s shoulder blades. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “I don’t understand—”
“They’re just like you, Mom.” Shea sat back on her heels, angrily swiping at her eyes. “They made up their minds the second they heard Becca was murdered, and where, that AJ did it. He’s the monster responsible. For poor Katie, too. God!” Shea locked Dru’s gaze. “Why would anyone do this, Mama? Kill my friends? Make it look as if AJ did it? It’s got to be someone who hates him.”
“Does Harlan Cate know AJ well enough to hate him?” Dru asked.
Shea thought about it. “I don’t think so.”
Dru tucked Shea’s hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
“About AJ?”
Dru couldn’t go that far. “About paying a condolence call on Charla. I never imagined she and Joy would—I thought they were our friends.”
“They don’t deserve this, Mom, losing their daughters this way. They want someone to blame. But so do I—the right person.” Shea’s voice took on an edge. “I want whoever did this to be caught and punished. I want justice for Becca and Kate.”
“I’m really proud of you, that you’re able to be so understanding of Charla and Joy.”
“I feel just like them. I’m so angry inside. I feel like I could kill whoever is doing this.”
“Oh, honey—”
“I’m going to miss Katie so much, Mama.” Shea’s voice broke, and Dru wrapped her in an embrace, grateful for the chance to hold her daughter so close she could feel the tempo of her heart. Dru rested her cheek on the crown of Shea’s head and tried not to think of Joy and Charla, that neither one would ever experience this privilege again.
After a moment, Shea straightened, mopping her face, swiping under her nose.
Getting to her feet, Dru said, “Let’s go before whoever lives here calls the police.”
They walked back to the Toyota, and when Dru offered to drive, Shea handed over the keys. “At least you won’t have to cook the Kincaids a meal,” she said.
“Well, yeah, there’s that, I guess.”
Gallows humor. Their hallmark. They shared a grim smile.
Shea got out her phone.
Dru pulled away from the curb. It occurred to her that it was possible no one in town would hire her to cook for them again. She wondered if, given the circumstances, the teachers’ appreciation luncheon today had even taken place. Perhaps they’d tossed the meal Dru had prepared. She hadn’t heard from Amy. Had she been at Charla’s? Dru didn’t remember seeing her, but given the scrambled state of her mind, that didn’t mean anything.
“Oh my God. Listen to this.”
“What is it?” Dru glanced at Shea, who was reading from her phone.
“It’s a text from Erik. Kate’s mom flipped out on him, too. Told him to get out of her house just like she did us.”
“Why? She loves him.”
“She accused AJ of pushing Kate off the cliff.” Shea was scrolling through the message, reading it as it revealed itself. “Erik defended him, and Charla told him to leave.”
Dru briefly met Shea’s disbelieving gaze. She didn’t know what to say.
“He sent this over two hours ago, while we were at the RV park. I wonder why I didn’t get it until now.” Her head was bent; she was engrossed. “There’s a phone message from Lily, too.” Shea tapped, accessing her voice mail, putting it on speaker.
“Call me. I’ve got news,” said Lily’s voice.
Dru’s eyes jerked to Shea’s.
Shea tapped the screen again and put her phone to her ear.
The call went through as Dru crossed a quiet intersection. After going a few hundred yards farther, she turned left onto the narrow asphalt lane that wound through her subdivision, and while it did register in some part of her brain that the light-colored pickup that had been behind her for several miles turned, too, it was only on a subliminal level. She was listening to Shea, the message she was leaving for Lily.
“I wonder what she wanted. She sounded upbeat—maybe.” Shea held her phone in her lap. “I’m not getting my hopes up,” she added, as if she had heard the warning in Dru’s mind.
Dru glanced in the rearview at the pickup truck. It was closer now, too close. Close enough for her to see the driver clearly, to see that he—or a woman with very broad shoulders—was wearing a ball cap pulled low. “Sorry, buddy, I’m not going any faster.”
The truck sped up, coming within inches of Dru’s bumper. “What is he doing?”
“Who?” Shea twisted, looking through the back window.
The truck accelerated again, this time tapping the Toyota’s bumper.
“Holy shit, Mom! He hit us.” Shea’s eyes were round with alarm.
Dru punched the gas pedal, shooting the Camry forward.
The truck—she didn’t recognize the model, only that it was light colored and huge—kept pace, and when it struck the Toyota again, Dru knew it was no accident.
“He’s wrecking my car!” Shea cried.
Dru stomped on the gas pedal again, swerving a bit, fighting the urge to overcorrect, somehow remembering advice Rob had given her long ago.