“I’ve called you several times. Is everything okay?”
“Oh sure, yes, I’ve just been a little . . . preoccupied.”
I darted into the salon—it was empty—then threw open the double doors to the dining room. Empty too.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Totally fine.” I crossed the foyer and checked in the office. No Doro. I trotted down the narrow corridor to her living quarters.
“I’ll try to make this quick,” she said. “It’s actually good news. I think I finally know why your lead levels are so high. I found something really interesting on your X-rays, on your ankle, where your birthmark is. It’s actually not a birthmark.”
I balanced the phone between my cheek and shoulder and pushed open her bedroom door. Then checked the adjacent sitting room and the bathroom. Everything was in order, but Doro wasn’t there.
“What?”
I caught a glimpse of something—a leather-bound ledger on a high bookshelf—and reached for it. The 1990 guest registry. Oh my God.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” Dr. Lodi continued. “But I think when you broke your ankle, it dislodged something that had been in the tissue in that area for a long time.”
Half listening to the doctor, I tore to the month of May and found what I was looking for—a signature: Pete & Laura Darnell. Pete Darnell, that bastard, had married and brought his new wife to Ambletern. To throw it in Doro’s face. Or maybe to force a meeting with his first love—one last fling for old times’ sake. But Doro had felt it necessary to hide the evidence. Why?
Something in the window caught my eye. I pushed aside the heavy brocade curtain. The driveway was empty, except for the Jeep Doro and I had driven back from the beach. No one in sight, just the sway of the palmettos and the distant curtains of dripping moss. I tried to get a view of the front of the house, but the angle was impossible.
“Hello?” I heard my mother trill out in the foyer.
Dr. Lodi was still talking, but I was barely registering her words. “. . . pellets, two of them. I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” she said. “But it has to be where the lead—”
“Dr. Lodi, I’m sorry. Can you hold that thought?”
“Ah, sure. Of course.”
Frances was standing at the front door, laden down like a pack mule with her luggage.
“Where is she?” she snapped at me.
I tucked my phone in my pocket. “I don’t know. If you can just wait, Koa can—”
“I can’t wait. The man with the boat is at the dock now—”
“You called Captain Mike?”
“He’s waiting on me. I have to go.” She looked around the room and spotted a set of keys on a table by the door. She swept them up.
“You’re not going anywhere. You need to stay here and deal with this avalanche of shit you’ve created. I need to know what you said to Doro, if you threatened to blackmail her or hurt her. You’re not leaving. You’re going to stay and deal with all this.”
I lunged for the keys but she snatched them away from me. I slipped in between her and the door, planting my feet, folding my arms.
“Meg, for God’s sake. Move.” She tried to push past me, but I blocked her again. She sighed. “Your book is over. This whole ordeal is over.”
I just stared at her.
“Get your things. You’re coming with me.”
“No.”
Her eyes were hard glittering holes, her skin like marble. But her voice was raw, pleading. I couldn’t make it all mesh. I didn’t know what to believe.
“Megan. I know you’re angry after all that’s happened. But if you could just look past it all for a moment. If you could just trust me, for one minute—”
“I’m never coming home,” I said. “I’m never . . .” The rest of the sentence died in my mouth. This was my mother. She was never going to be what I wanted. She was never going to love me. It was time to accept it.
“I never want to see you again,” I finished.
I stepped aside, and she brushed past me. She flung the door open and dragged herself, strapped down with all those ridiculous bags, across the porch, down the steps. I could hear her struggling to heave the suitcases into the Jeep, but she must’ve done it, because after a moment or two, I heard the engine rev and roar down the driveway.
I sank down on a bench under the staircase and waited for the tears to come. But they didn’t. I couldn’t cry over my mother. I didn’t feel anything but glad that she was finally gone. I thought of Dr. Lodi, what she’d been saying on the phone. Something about my X-ray. I reached back for my phone.
“Megan.”
Billy Kitchens stood in the bright foyer, in the exact center of the dusty Persian rug. He lifted the hem of his shirt, another faded plaid shirt like the one he’d been wearing yesterday, revealing the oily black handle of his gun. He moved to me, and I jerked in surprise, my phone pinwheeling away from me, across the polished wood floor.
I reached for it, but he grabbed my wrist and yanked me up, hard.
“Why didn’t you listen to me?” His sour breath warmed my face. “I told you, you’re not safe here.” He yanked me into the crook of his iron arm. “You’ve got to come with me.”
KITTEN
—FROM CHAPTER 19
Cormley clawed at her legs, managing to close one hand around her ankle. Then yanked once, hard. She bumped down the steps, two, three, four. She would’ve screamed, but her mouth filled with smoke. The next instant he was on top of her—pulling at her shirt and hair, breathing his hot, bloody breath all over her.
“Where is she?” he rasped. “Bring her to me, and I’ll kill you both.”
She flailed, kicking him off, and he banged down the steps.
Ashley, Frances. Kitten. New York: Drake, Richards and Weems, 1976. Print.
Chapter Forty-Two
Billy’s forearm pressed against my windpipe until I saw a spray of stars. I flailed my arms wildly, trying to find something, a piece of furniture in the foyer, a random vase or lamp I could grab and swing at him.
“Don’t fight me!” he snarled into my ear. “If you’ll settle down, I can help you.”
I relaxed, and the next instant, he released his pressure. He grabbed me by the back of the shirt and swung me toward the door. I felt his face against my ear again. His breath was sour in my nostrils.
“We don’t have much time. We have to run to the dock. I hid us a boat there.”
“No—”
“I’ve been watching. Keeping tabs. I know the signs when Doro’s about to do something bad. I already warned the other one, the Native man who works for her. I told him he better get out. Now I’m here to help you. Now open that door, you hear?”
He was unhinged, Doro had said it. But she hadn’t said he was dangerous. And he’d paid Koa a visit. Whatever that meant. If I could just stall him, settle him down somehow, maybe I’d be able to talk my way out of this.
I gritted my teeth. “Billy. I’ll go anywhere you suggest, if you’ll just let go of me.”
My head banged against the door, and I gasped in pain.
“I’m sorry to do that, but you’ve got to mind me. Now open that door.”
I obeyed, and he pushed me out onto the porch. He guided me down the steps, then the front walk.