William won’t be able to even look at Nora anymore. Nora’s perfect life will be in ruins. And maybe William will fall in love with her now. Maybe this will bring them together. She plays a little fantasy in her head, of how William, finished with Nora, finished with his wife, sees her with new eyes . . .
But then her mind returns to practicalities. She will have to get rid of Avery, and any trace of her. She’ll wrap her in garbage bags and put her in the trunk of her car late at night. No one is watching her. She’s not a suspect. She’ll drive to some deserted place and dispose of the body. She’ll wear gloves, and clothes that she can get rid of after, someplace else.
The house is another problem. It will take days to clean the basement. She’ll have to wash the bedding, scrub all the surfaces, vacuum the carpet over and over, and get rid of the vacuum bag somewhere. And she’ll have to scrub the upstairs, too, because Avery used to come into her kitchen for cookies last summer when Marion was trying to pump her for information about her father. It’s a lot to do. How can she be sure she got everything? But then, no one is going to search her house anyway. If Avery’s body is eventually found, why would they ever search Marion’s house? She didn’t even know Avery. She’s just someone who saw the girl get into a car.
Marion is malevolent, but she is not a violent person—maybe that’s why she’s been putting this off. Avery is violent, given to rages, and she will fight back. And so Marion’s already decided that the best option is to drug her first. Put a dose of something into her food. Marion has enough sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet to knock her out. The girl eats like a pig; by the time she wolfs it down, it will be too late.
She will strangle her while she sleeps. And then she’ll strip her naked and use the hand attachment on the vacuum to go over her body carefully, to remove any hairs or fibers. She’ll do it tomorrow. And tomorrow night, after dark, she’ll get rid of the body. It’s time. She’s been waiting for the police presence to die down. And she doesn’t think she can stand having that little brat in her basement one more day.
* * *
? ? ?
Avery lies awake in the darkness, wondering what Marion is thinking upstairs in bed above her. She’s certain that Marion is as wide awake as she is. They don’t trust each other. Marion betrayed her, Avery thinks; she deserves what’s coming to her.
Avery is busy making new plans. When the time comes, she won’t sneak out back into the woods and reappear with a story about a strange man like they agreed. She has a new story now. She will say that Marion kidnapped her and held her against her will, that she escaped, and they will believe her. And there’s nothing Marion can do, Avery thinks, because Avery holds all the cards.
Forty-five
The next morning, Marion opens the sleeping capsules one by one and empties their contents into the glass of milk sitting on the counter. She will have to get rid of the packaging later. She worries briefly that Avery might taste the pills, but then decides she can probably count on her drinking the milk down with her toast and peanut butter. She’s been bringing Avery that same breakfast every morning since she got here, and she always finishes it all. Marion looks forward to the day when she doesn’t have to bring the little brat meals anymore. She wants to be alone in her house again. She wants things to go back to normal.
She stirs the last capsule’s contents into the glass of milk. She unlocks the door to the basement and carries the plate of toast and the glass of milk carefully down the stairs. She gets to the room and pushes the door open wider with her foot.
She looks at Avery for a moment. She looks so normal, but Marion knows she isn’t. But then, Marion knows that she isn’t exactly normal either. They’re both participating in some kind of hideous danse macabre together.
It’s time to do something about it. She hands Avery the glass.
* * *
? ? ?
Avery watches the morning newscast alone, eating her breakfast. Marion had left quickly, saying she had things to do.
The morning news mentions nothing about the mystery witness changing her story. There is nothing about letting Ryan Blanchard go. According to the newscast, he’s still in custody, suspected of abducting her. Why?
Avery’s mind races. They would have let Ryan Blanchard go if Marion admitted to the police that she made it all up, like she said she did late last night. But maybe she didn’t. Maybe Marion never went to the police station last night at all.
It becomes painfully clear to Avery, first as a possibility, and then as a certainty. Marion didn’t tell them. She lied to her—again! She hadn’t wanted to change her story, and she didn’t. She’s lied to her again, because she wants Ryan Blanchard to be blamed for her disappearance. But Marion must realize that once Avery reappears, they will know she never—
Oh. Avery’s heart almost stops.
She puts down the half-drunk glass of milk. She’s filled with suspicion and sudden fear. With a pounding heart, she thinks about the kitchen door. Is it locked? She creeps up the stairs and quietly tries the door. The knob won’t turn. Marion has locked the door again. She’s locked in. No one knows she’s here. There’s no way out of this basement unless Marion lets her out. And Marion’s not going to do that. Not ever.
* * *
? ? ?
There’s something bothering Gully as she reaches for another cup of coffee at the police station. Something niggling at her, as if she’s dropped a thread somewhere and she can’t find it. What is it?
She returns to her desk, drops into her chair . . . and then she has it. She pulls it up on the computer. It’s staring her in the face, something that she’d glanced over before. Marion, the credible witness, who is afraid of her husband. That she would be afraid of her husband is perfectly believable. He’s had two assault convictions against him and a standing restraining order. But now Gully stares at the information on the screen that she hadn’t paid enough attention to before. Marion had spent her entire married life living and working in Boston. But she grew up in Stanhope; her parents are here. If Marion didn’t want to be found, why did she return to her hometown, to where her parents live? If her ex-husband wanted to find her, she hadn’t made it difficult. She hadn’t changed her name. So why did she hide behind an anonymous phone call? Is it all bullshit? They’ve been holding this kid overnight on the strength of her witness statement. But what if it’s bogus? She gets up and finds Bledsoe, tells him her concerns. He nods, deep lines in his brow.
“Go see her,” he agrees. “Get to the bottom of this.”
* * *
? ? ?
Upstairs, Marion busies herself around the house, waiting for the sleeping pills to take effect. Then she sits at the kitchen table, her eyes alternating between the door to the basement and the clock on the stove. How long will it take for Avery to be completely out? Marion doesn’t want to go down too soon. She has retrieved a rope from the garage, and it is sitting on the kitchen table, as if staring at her. She will have to get rid of the rope too.
When she thinks it’s time to check on her, Marion summons her nerve and unlocks the door.
She opens it, and as she steps onto the landing and raises her arm to flick on the light switch, she feels a violent push to her hips, which completely upends her.