Craig was coming—at three?
Margaret leaned both hands on the kitchen sink. Lord, help us.
Kaitlan hovered nearby, her forehead crisscrossed with lines. Desperation rolled off her in waves. “I don’t think he even realized what he did until he hung up.”
Margaret wrung out the sponge and threw it down. She should have stood her ground with D. and made him stop.
“Please tell me he can do this.” Kaitlan’s eyes glimmered. She touched her bruised cheek as if it were a mere token of what Craig would do to her if the plan failed.
Reality squeezed Margaret’s lungs. This had to work for Kaitlan’s sake. Not another lick of energy, not another second could be spent on worrying or last-minute changes. It was too late. D. would need all the help she could give to make it work.
Margaret placed her hands on Kaitlan’s shoulders, willing the fright from her voice. “Of course he can.” She pulled back and took a deep breath. “I’ll go see what I can do to help. You should get dressed.”
She bustled from the kitchen.
In the office D. was hanging up the phone. He turned at the sound of her footsteps. “Pete will be here within an hour.”
Margaret nodded, studying him. His eyes looked alert, back straight. Energy chugged from him like a warming engine. It wasn’t likely to last long, especially given his lack of a full night’s sleep. “Does he think he can set up by three?”
Defensiveness flitted across D.’s face. “Pete can. The computer tech he set me up with—name’s Martin Something-or-Other—wasn’t supposed to be available until mid afternoon. I told Pete to tell him I’d pay him triple.”
D.’s expression gave him away. He’d indeed forgotten the detail of the tech’s availability when he talked to Craig. Margaret refused to let her dismay show. Without proof of the hacking, where would they be? “And the reporter?”
“I’ve got to call him right now.” D.’s face slacked. He shuffled through papers on his desk. “Where is that number …”
“Right here.” Margaret pointed to a yellow sheet of paper he had shown her and Kaitlan last night. Ed Wasinsky, from Channel Seven.
“Yes, yes, I see it.” Darell waved her away.
The reporter—and cameraman he’d bring along—had no idea what they would be filming. Ed knew only that he’d been offered an “explosive exclusive” story, if he would trust Darell Brooke. If it weren’t for Darell’s reputation, Margaret had no doubt the station wouldn’t have released him and a cameraman to come.
But would they be available so many hours earlier than expected?
D. focused on the paper and started dialing. Margaret held her breath.
Within minutes D. was able to speak to Ed Wasinsky. He and his cameraman couldn’t leave San Francisco until around one-thirty. That would put them here at two. It was barely enough time to be briefed and get into place.
D. shot her a stubborn look. “They’ll get here. Stop worrying.”
“I just—”
The phone rang. He plucked up the receiver. Margaret could hear the gravelly voice on the other end. It was Pete, saying Martin Schloss would do his best to leave his house by noon.
D. hung up the phone triumphantly. “See? Everything’s falling into place.”
Maybe. If nothing went wrong. If there was no traffic … “Yes, D., it’ll be fine.”
Out of tasks, D. took a sharp breath and looked around, as if not knowing what to do next. His chest caved, and he sagged in his chair. His gaze wandered to the floor.
Margaret touched his arm. “You’ve got time now to shave and clean yourself up. Maybe rest a little.”
He blinked up at her. “Yeah. Okay.”
Not even an argument about resting. For once Margaret wished he’d snapped at her.
D. reached for his cane and struggled from the chair. “When Pete and the rest of them come they’ll be setting up in the library.”
Her eyes rounded. “D., no! It’s all the way on the other side of the house.”
“It’s the best choice. The upstairs floors squeak. And my bedroom’s too close. One noise from any of you in there could filter across the hall.”
“That’s not what you said last night! You made me think we’d be right next—”
“I didn’t say what room; you just assumed it.”
“But you’ll be alone with him. If something happens—”
“Shut up, Margaret!” He thumped his cane against the floor. “I’m tired of your arguments!”
He stalked from the room.
Margaret opened her mouth to lash out again, then snapped it shut. Fighting with him would only rile him up more, and right now he needed to rest. Pete would have to persuade him.
D.’s bedroom door banged shut.
She brought a hand to her forehead. It sounded like he was beyond rest already.
A skreek nearby made her jump. Margaret’s gaze cut to the window behind D.’s desk. A scraggly oak branch scratched the glass like the twisted fingernail of a hag.
Beyond, the fog had barely lifted, gnarled trees on the front lawn grayed and ghoulish.
What if Pete and the others couldn’t find their way?
The branch screeched again. Margaret shivered.
Abruptly she strode from the office and headed for the north wing. The vague hiss of water ran through pipes. Kaitlan must be taking a shower upstairs. Margaret turned the corner into the library and stalled, not sure why she’d come. Her eyes flitted over the room. The leather sofa and armchair, D.’s cherry wood desk and phone. Far as this was from the office, D. had a point. Sound wouldn’t carry easily from here to there.
She pictured the men with their equipment. They would need an extra table for Pete’s monitor. Margaret didn’t want the desk scratched.
Hurrying back up the north wing hall, she swerved toward the garage. If she remembered correctly, she’d seen a square folding table there.
The garage smelled faintly of oil and dust. Margaret’s footsteps echoed as they clipped over the concrete floor. She passed D.’s black Mercedes in the first parking space, her own Subaru in the second. The third space remained empty, as did the fourth. Pete and the tech could park here, leaving the reporter and cameraman to hide their car just outside the garage. Craig Barlow was to remain in the front part of the house, unable to see the visitors’ vehicle in the rear driveway.
At least that was the plan.
In the storage closet at the far side she found the folding table.
It took her three trips to carry the table and its four chairs into the library. Only when she’d set them all up and stood back, hot and anxious-ridden, did she realize there was little chance they’d need the chairs.
Sweat itched her forehead. Snatching a tissue from the desk, she wiped it away.
She started to fold the chairs up and return them to the garage. Then she thought better of it.
Margaret wandered the room, hands clasped and pumping up and down, praying. Her nerves thrummed.
She envisioned Kaitlan’s cheek, the terror in the girl’s every move last night. The ghastly face of the dead woman, a black and green cloth knotted around her neck.
The man who caused all that would be here in three hours.
Margaret’s eyes grazed over the wall clock. A minute before twelve.
The news. She swerved toward her suite. Grabbing up the remote from her bed, she switched the TV on.
Margaret shifted on her feet while endless ads ran. She jabbed in another local channel. A pretty Asian woman behind a news desk flicked on.
Pacing, Margaret suffered through stories about a fire in a San Francisco warehouse, a three-car accident on Freeway 580 in the East Bay. “After this break—” the anchor announced, “a woman is reported missing in Gayner.” A close-up of a smiling brunette filled the screen.
Margaret’s breath hitched. That had to be her!
She tossed down the remote and ran from the room. Down the hall, across the entryway and up the stairs to the first guest suite on the right. “Kaitlan!” She banged on the door.
“Yeah?”
“The news is about to report on a woman’s disappearance. Come see in my bedroom!”
“Oh! Coming!”
Margaret swiveled back toward the stairs. Behind her she heard a door open, followed by hurried footsteps. She glanced back to see Kaitlan in jeans and a T-shirt, a blue towel wrapped around her head.
By the time they pulled up in front of her TV, the news show had resumed. Kaitlan’s head towel leaned like the Tower of Pisa. Distractedly, she shoved it upright.
“And now disturbing news from Gayner.” The anchor’s large brown eyes gazed into the camera. “Forty-four-year-old Martina Pelsky, a local woman running for a seat on the town council, has been reported missing.”
The brunette’s face returned to the screen.
“That’s her!” Kaitlan hunched forward, one hand fisted at her mouth.
“Pelsky, a nurse at the Redwood City Kaiser and an avid cyclist, is reported as last seen by a neighbor yesterday afternoon as she took off on her bike to leave her campaign flyers door to door throughout Gayner. This morning she failed to appear at a court hearing regarding her pending divorce from her husband, Richard Pelsky, from whom she has been separated for the past four months. Martina’s attorney, Edwin Rastor from San Mateo, contacted Gayner police this morning after phoning Martina Pelsky’s home repeatedly to no avail. According to police her supervisor at Kaiser reported Pelsky didn’t show up for her evening shift yesterday.
“A search of her apartment showed her purse and car had been left behind, with no sign of her bike in the garage. If you have information regarding this woman’s whereabouts, please call the Gayner police.”
“Martina Pelsky.” Kaitlan whispered the name.
Margaret had never heard it before.
The news shifted to another story, now mere noise. Margaret turned off the TV. She looked at Kaitlan, who was still staring at the blackened set.
“It’s her, Margaret. And she looked so … alive.”
Kaitlan sank down the bed, head hanging. A tear pushed onto her cheek. Margaret sat beside her and rubbed her back.
“It’s so hard to believe.” Kaitlan dragged in a breath. “Yesterday her life was just going along and now she’s dumped out there somewhere like trash.” Kaitlan brushed the tear away. “I didn’t even know her, but it feels …” She shook her head. “And you know what? Even now I want to believe Craig didn’t do it. Not because I want to be with him anymore.” She shuddered. “But because of my baby. I never had a father. Now neither will she.”
Margaret massaged harder. “I’m sure you’ll meet a terrific man who’ll take your child as his own.”
Kaitlan shrugged. The gesture tugged at Margaret’s heart. So much pain this girl had experienced. “You know, Kaitlan, you don’t have to go through all this alone.”
“God, you mean? I know. I haven’t told you how I … found Him when I was kicking the drugs. I know He saved my life then. Gave me a fresh start. Even brought me back to this house.”
Margaret smiled wanly. “I’d been praying for that since you left.”
Kaitlan’s face lifted toward her. “Really?”
“Yup.”
Kaitlan looked away and nodded, as if affirming to herself the prayers accounted for her return. She swallowed and lifted her shoulders. “Martina Pelsky. We have to tell Grand—”
From the entrance hall the gate’s bell sounded.
Margaret jumped up, nerves buzzing. “Pete’s here.”