What the hell?
If the back door wasn’t locked, it should’ve caused more concern. Definitely enough to stop and ask me a few questions. That told me that either （a） the cop hadn’t checked the door at all （unlikely）， or （b） the door had been locked. Which meant the killer had returned and locked it after losing me in the woods.
What the hell?
My mind was a mire of receding fear and overwhelming exhaustion. I couldn’t reason or find a thread to follow that made sense.
In bed, covers up to my chin, a last conscious thought floated through my head. When I woke up, I’d have to make a casserole.
12
Condolence food was tricky.
A pie was too lighthearted to say you were sorry for someone’s loss. Bake a cake and you’d probably get thrown out of the bereaved’s home. But a casserole? That said, “Here, take comfort in meats and cheeses. I was thinking of you when I boiled the noodles and browned the hamburger. Sink into the savory goodness, and let it ease your heartache.”
When I picked Dad up around noon that day, he didn’t ask too many questions. I’d told him earlier that morning what I was thinking and to be ready by lunch. We drove out of the Loop with the smell of baked cheese and onions permeating the car.
The Worths lived on Upper Highland Road, which was a lot like the Loop except it ran around Sentinel Lake and the properties situated on it were typically twice the value. This was the main affluent neighborhood Sandford boasted. The place where BMWs sat beside Jaguars in three-stall temperature-controlled garages. The place where the only thing more important than your square footage and curb appeal was where your summer home was located.
We pulled up before the Worths’ sprawling white brick three story, and I parked behind a squad car and an unmarked SUV reeking of law enforcement.
“Never been here before,” Dad said, looking out the window. “You?”
“Been by but never inside.”
“Neighborly support the only reason we’re here?”
“Yep.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let’s go in.”
The door opened to a plainclothes officer, who looked us up and down before asking who we were. I told her our names, that we were neighbors of the Barrens’ and wanted to offer our condolences. She glanced at the Crock-Pot in my hands, and I held it out. “Cheeseburger casserole.”
After disappearing for a few seconds, the officer reappeared and led us through a spacious entry and across a kitchen spanning about an acre. Every surface shone. The Worths sat in the lounge off the kitchen through a rounded archway. Glass lined the room from floor to ceiling, giving impressive views of the lake, which had a mild chop and mirrored the gray overcast above it.
William and Valorie Worth. Platinum hair—his short, hers long. He wore a button-up shirt and slacks still filled out with the remainder of his college football days, she a casual skirt and blouse revealing a figure so thin the only word that came to mind was emaciated. Both of them held glasses of wine.
“You can put it over there,” William said, motioning to a table beside the doorway filled with Crock-Pots. All of them looked cold. I set mine in the middle.
“Hello, William,” Dad said, shaking with the other man, then taking Valorie’s hand. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
“Appreciate that, my friend,” William said, and I realized he’d already forgotten Dad’s name. I followed Dad’s lead in greeting, and Valorie gave me a polite half smile, her eyes chardonnay glazed.
“Please sit down,” Valorie said. “Anything to drink?” We both shook our heads, settling onto a love seat. In the next room over, a folding table had been set up. The officer who let us in sat before a laptop and a jumble of electronic equipment. Headphones cupped her ears. Three cell phones sat on the table to her right, and a uniformed cop entered the room from a long hallway, the echo of a toilet flushing following him.
“It’s an indignity,” Valorie said, nodding at the police. “First you have a tragedy, then your home’s invaded, so you can’t even mourn in peace.”
“Valorie, they’re only here to help. We have to be ready in case . . . we get a call or something,” William said. He sounded ambivalent and considerably less drunk than his wife.
“There’s been no word, then?” I said.
“You mean a ransom demand?” William asked, eyeing me. “No, nothing yet. They seem to be expecting one, though.”
“It’s the best-case scenario,” Valorie said. “That’s what they told us. As terrible as it sounds, it is. I mean, if they wanted something else, then Rachel and the boys would’ve been there. They would’ve been just like David.” She punctuated this with a half sob and a long sip from her glass. William placed a hand on her shoulder.