Not human. A mad coyote.
She tore up and flushed the packaging materials for the knife and the receipt down the toilet in the staff bathroom.
Determined, yes. But nervous as hell.
And where is the fucker? Did he leave?
No, he wouldn’t, of course. Because Kayleigh, the center of his universe, had called him a half hour ago—from a pay phone at the hospital where Sheri had been examined and released. She’d asked to meet him here. The stuffed redwood tree that Edwin and Mary-Gordon had bought for her at the museum had sported a label, on which Edwin had written a phone number. And the words, “Call me.”
She’d nearly thrown it out yesterday but had decided not to—because this plan had begun brewing in her mind the moment she saw his number.
Standing at the grimy window in the service door to the dock, she now wiped her hands on her jeans. Then, finally, Edwin Sharp appeared, walking in that eerie gait of his, not a care in the world. As if the murders and kidnappings were nothing to him.
He made a beeline for the auditorium, carrying his camera with him. He paused and began to take some pictures. If he snapped one of her she’d have to steal his camera and get rid of it.
Remember that.
Kayleigh took a deep breath. Through the thick denim of her jacket, she felt the knife in her inner pocket. Against her belly, the gun.
Not you, not him, not her, not them. In the end we’re all alone
Whatever’s needing to get done, I can do it on my own.
That’s all I need, just me.
Chapter 39
FROM THE WINDOW, she could see the flash from his camera as he took pictures of his shrine. Coming to Fresno, she realized, would be a pilgrimage to Edwin Sharp.
More sweat spreading on hands and forehead, heart pounding in vivace tempo.
Steady girl, you can do this. Think of everybody at risk.
Think of Mary-Gordon, think of Sheri.
He’s a rabid coyote. That’s all he is.
She paused. No, don’t do it. Get the hell out of here! Before you fuck up your life forever.
But Kayleigh Towne decided:
I can do this, I can do this. For my sister, for Mary-Gordon, for anyone else who’d be at risk.
For me.
Your shadow …
She stepped out onto the loading dock and looked toward Edwin. He turned, that skewed smile contorting his face. She gave a cautious nod and looked down at the asphalt, crumbling and cracked and sprouting dry weeds. Another brief nod. As if shy, as if uncertain.
As if innocent.
“Well, lookit this.” He glanced behind her and around. No Darthur Morgan. “You’re alone?”
“Yeah. Only me.”
“Where’s Darthur?”
“Up the street. I gave him the slip.”
He said, “Good.” He looked up at the theater. “You know, I wish that concert of yours’d been recorded…. Thirteen years old and you had the whole house in your hand. Nobody cared about the other students. It was just you. Only you, Kayleigh.”
The show had been written up in one of the tiny local papers. He must’ve read about it there.
Edwin followed her inside.
“We’re thinking of filming a concert here.”
“A video. Cool! Excellent. When?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Like re-creating your first concert? That’d be so neat. You’ll have to do ‘Walking After Midnight.’ Like you opened with back then.”
Jesus. He knew that too?
Edwin studied her again. “Wow, you’re looking spec-tacular today. Your hair … it’s so beautiful. After your voice, your hair’s probably my favorite part about you.”
Kayleigh struggled to remain placid as she recalled his request to send him a lock of her hair. From her pillow would have been best. Oh, Lord …
“I don’t have much time,” she said.
“I know. They’re always watching you.”
They?
He put his hands on his hips and smiled. His jeans were tight. She thought about the incident outside her house, tapping out the music, or doing something else? He peered down at her adoringly from under those overhanging brows.
Kayleigh Towne wondered if she was going to be sick.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered. “Hearing your voice on the phone? It just made my whole day. My whole year! I was sitting at Earl and Marge’s having dinner and feeling kind of bad. Then to hear you. After all these months, finally hearing you.”
“That’s a good diner.”
“The pies looked nice. I like cherry pie, if there’s milk with it. But I cut all that out.” He patted his belly. “Staying trim, you know. Mr. Today. That’s such a great song. I hope it becomes an anthem for women. Don’t settle for abuse, don’t settle for less than you deserve. You know what I mean?”
Of course she did. She’d written the song. It was odd, though, how many fans didn’t get the meaning, as obvious as it was.
“Look at that. An old percolator.” He nodded toward an ancient coffeemaker. “That’s what my mother’d use.”
Her eyes stayed on the canister as she said, “Listen, Edwin, what I wanted to talk to you about. I was pretty upset you picked up my sister and niece.” She’d decided she couldn’t make it sound like he was her new best friend. He’d be suspicious if she was too nice. She looked at him now sternly.
“Oh, that. Sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I was worried.”
“Worried?”
“About Ritchie.”
“Who’s that?”
“Ritchie Hampton, the guy your father was going to send to pick up Suellyn and Mary-Gordon. You don’t know about his record?”
Record? What was he talking about? “Well … no.”
“Okay, what happened was, I was in a café. Your father and Sheri happened to be there—”
“Happened?” Kayleigh asked suspiciously.