Full dark,no stars (29 page)

Make that last, Tess told him. Patsy will check on you eventually if I dont come back, but it could be a couple of days. She smiled a little and added, I love you, you scruffy old thing.

Right, right, Fritzy said, then got busy eating.

Tess checked her DONT GET CAUGHT memo one more time, mentally inventorying her supplies as she did so and going over the steps she intended to take once she got to Lacemaker Lane. She thought the most important thing to keep in mind was that things wouldnt go as she hoped they would. When it came to things like this, there were always jokers in the deck. Ramona might not be at home. Or she might be home but with her rapist-murderer son, the two of them cozied up in the living room and watching something uplifting from Blockbuster. Saw, maybe. The younger brother-no doubt known in Colewich as Little Driver-might be there, as well. For all Tess knew, Ramona might be hosting a Tupperware party or a reading circle tonight. The important thing was not to get flummoxed by unexpected developments. If she couldnt improvise, Tess thought it very likely that she really was leaving her house in Stoke Village for the last time.

She burned the DONT GET CAUGHT memo in the fireplace, stirred the ashes apart with the poker, then put on her leather jacket and a pair of thin leather gloves. The jacket had a deep pocket in the lining. Tess slipped one of her butcher knives into it, just for good luck, then told herself not to forget it was there. The last thing she needed this weekend was an accidental mastectomy.

Just before stepping out the door, she set the burglar alarm.

The wind surrounded her immediately, flapping the collar of her jacket and the legs of her cargo pants. Leaves swirled in mini-cyclones. In the not-quite-dark sky above her tasteful little piece of Connecticut suburbia, clouds scudded across the face of a three-quarter moon. Tess thought it was a fine night for a horror movie.

She got into her Expedition and closed the door. A leaf spun down on the windshield, then dashed away. Ive lost my mind, she said matter-of-factly. It fell out and died in that culvert, or when I was walking around the store. Its the only explanation for this.

She started the engine. Tom the Tomtom lit up and said, Hello, Tess. I see were taking a trip.

Thats right, my friend. Tess leaned forward and programmed 75 Lacemaker Lane into Toms tidy little mechanical head. 33 -

She had checked out Ramonas neighborhood on Google Earth, and it looked the same when she got there. So far, so good. Brewster was a small New England town, Lacemaker Lane was on the outskirts, and the houses were far apart. Tess cruised past number 75 at a sedately suburban twenty miles an hour, determining that the lights were on and only a single car-a late-model Subaru that almost screamed librarian-was in the driveway. There was no sign of a cab-over Pete or any other big rig. No old Bondo-patched pickup, either.

The street ended in a turnaround. Tess took it, came back, and turned into Norvilles driveway without giving herself a chance to hesitate. She killed the lights and the motor, then took a long, deep breath.

Come back safe, Tess, Tom said from his place on the dashboard. Come back safe and Ill take you to your next stop.

Ill do my best. She grabbed her yellow legal pad (there was now nothing written on it) and got out of her car. She held the pad to the front of her jacket as she walked to Ramona Norvilles door. Her moonshadow-perhaps all that was left of the Old Tess-walked beside her. 34 -

Norvilles front door had beveled glass strips on either side. They were thick and warped the view, but Tess could make out nice wallpaper and a hallway floored with polished wood. There was an end table with a couple of magazines on it. Or maybe they were catalogues. There was a big room at the end of the hall. The sound of a TV came from there. She heard singing, so Ramona probably wasnt watching Saw. In fact-if Tess was right and the song was Climb Evry Mountain-Ramona was watching The Sound of Music.

Tess rang the doorbell. From inside came a run of chimes that sounded like the opening notes of Dixie-a strange choice for New England, but then, if Tess was right about her, Ramona Norville was a strange woman.

Tess heard the clump of big feet and made a half-turn, so the light from the beveled glass would catch only a bit of her face. She lowered her blank pad from her chest and made writing motions with one gloved hand. She let her shoulders slump a little. She was a woman taking some kind of survey. It was Sunday evening, she was tired, all she wanted was to discover the name of this womans favorite toothpaste (or maybe if she had Prince Albert in a can) and then go home.

Dont worry, Ramona, you can open the door, anybody can see that Im harmless, the kind of woman who wouldnt say boo to a goose.

From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a distorted fish-face swim into view behind the beveled glass. There was a pause that seemed to last a very long time, then Ramona Norville opened the door. Yes? Can I help y-

Tess turned back. The light from the open door fell on her face. And the shock she saw on Norvilles face, the utter drop-jaw shock, told her everything she needed to know.

You? What are you doing h-

Tess pulled the Lemon Squeezer.38 from her right front pocket. On the drive from Stoke Village she had imagined it getting stuck in there-had imagined it with nightmarish clarity-but it came out smoothly.

Move back from the door. If you try to shut it, Ill shoot you.

You wont, Norville said. She didnt move back, but she didnt shut the door, either. Are you crazy?

Get inside.

Norville was wearing a big blue housecoat, and when Tess saw the front of it rise precipitously, she raised the gun. If you even start to yell, Ill shoot. You better believe me, bitch, because Im not even close to kidding.

Norvilles large bosom deflated. Her lips were drawn back from her teeth and her eyes were shifting from side to side in their sockets. She didnt look like a librarian now, and she didnt look jovial and welcoming. To Tess she looked like a rat caught outside its hole.

If you fire that gun, the whole neighborhood will hear.

Tess doubted that, but didnt argue. It wont matter to you, because youll be dead. Get inside. If you behave yourself and answer my questions, you might still be alive tomorrow morning.

Norville backed up, and Tess came in through the open door with the gun held stiffly out in front of her. As soon as she closed the door-she did it with her foot-Norville stopped moving. She was standing by the little table with the catalogues on it.

No grabbing, no throwing, Tess said, and saw by the twitch of the other womans mouth that grabbing and throwing had indeed been in Ramonas mind. I can read you like a book. Why else would I be here? Keep backing up. All the way down to the living room. I just love the Trapp Family when theyre really rocking.

Youre crazy, Ramona said, but she began to back up again. She was wearing shoes. Even in her housecoat she was wearing big ugly shoes. Mens laceups. I have no idea what youre doing here, but-

Dont bullshit me, Mommy. Dont you dare. It was all on your face when you opened the door. Every bit of it. You thought I was dead, didnt you?

I dont know what youre-

Its just us girls, so why not fess up?

They were in the living room now. There were sentimental paintings on the walls-clowns, waifs with big eyes-and lots of shelves and tables cluttered with knickknacks: snowglobes, troll babies, Hummel figures, Care Bears, a ceramic candy house? la Hansel and Gretel. Although Norville was a librarian, there were no books in evidence. Facing the TV was a La-Z-Boy with a hassock in front of it. There was a TV tray beside the chair. On it was a bag of Cheez Doodles, a large bottle of Diet Coke, the remote control, and a TV Guide. On top of the television was a framed photograph of Ramona and another woman with their arms around each other and their cheeks pressed together. It looked as if it had been taken at an amusement park or a county fair. In front of the photo was a glass candy dish that gleamed with sparkle-points of light beneath the overhead fixture.

How long have you been doing it?

I dont know what youre talking about.

How long have you been pimping for your homicidal rapist of a son?

Norvilles eyes flickered, but again she denied it which presented Tess with a problem. When she had come here, killing Ramona Norville had seemed not just an option but the most likely outcome. Tess had been almost positive she could do it, and that the boat-rope in the left front pocket of her cargo pants would go unused. Now, however, she discovered she couldnt go ahead unless the woman admitted her complicity. Because what had been written on her face when shed seen Tess standing at her door, bruised but otherwise very much alive, wasnt enough.

Not quite enough.

When did it start? How old was he? Fifteen? Did he claim he was just foolin around? Thats what a lot of them claim when they first start.

I have no idea what you mean. You come to the library and put on a perfectly acceptable presentation-lackluster, obviously you were only there for the money, but at least it filled the open date on our calendar-and the next thing I know youre on my doorstep, pointing a gun and making all sorts of wild-

Its no good, Ramona. I saw his picture on the Red Hawk website. Ring and all. He raped me and tried to kill me. He thought he did kill me. And you sent me to him.

Norvilles mouth dropped open in a gruesome combination of shock, dismay, and guilt. Thats not true! You stupid cunt, you dont know what youre talking about! She started forward.

Tess raised the gun. Nuh-uh, dont do that. No.

Norville stopped, but Tess didnt think she would stay stopped for long. She was nerving herself up for either fight or flight. And because she had to know Tess would follow her if she tried to run deeper into the house, it would probably be fight.

The Trapp Family was singing again. Given the situation Tess was in-that she had put herself in-all that happy choral crap was maddening. Keeping the Lemon Squeezer trained on Norville with her right hand, Tess picked up the remote with her left and muted the TV. She started to put the remote down again, then froze. There were two things on top of the TV, but at first she had only registered the picture of Ramona and her girlfriend; the candy dish had just earned a glance.

Now she saw that the sparkles she had assumed were coming from the cut-glass sides of the dish werent coming from the sides at all. They were coming from something inside. Her earrings were in the dish. Her diamond earrings.

Norville grabbed the Hansel and Gretel candy house from its shelf and threw it. She threw it hard. Tess ducked and the candy house went an inch over her head, shattering on the wall behind her. She stepped backward, tripped over the hassock, and went sprawling. The gun flew from her hand.

They both went for it, Norville dropping to her knees and slamming her shoulder against Tesss arm and shoulder like a football tackle intent on sacking the quarterback. She grabbed the gun, at first juggling it and then securing her grip. Tess reached inside her jacket and closed her hand around the handle of the butcher knife that was her backup, aware that she was going to be too late. Norville was too big and too maternal. Yes, that was it. She had protected that rogue son of hers for years, and was intent on protecting him now. Tess should have shot her in the hall, the moment the door was shut behind her.

But I couldnt, she thought, and even at this moment, knowing it was the truth brought some comfort. She got up on her knees, hand still inside the jacket, facing Ramona Norville.

Youre a shitty writer and you were a shitty guest speaker, Norville said. She was smiling, speaking faster and faster. Her voice had a nasal auctioneers lilt. You phoned in your talk the same way you phone in your stupid books. You were perfect for him and he was going to do someone, I know the signs. I sent you that way and it worked out right and Im glad he fucked you. I dont know what you thought you were going to do, coming here, but this is what you get.

She pulled the trigger and there was nothing but a dry click. Tess had taken lessons when she bought the gun, and the most important had been not to put a bullet in the chamber that would first fall under the hammer. Just in case the trigger was pulled by accident.

An expression of almost comical surprise came over Norvilles face. It made her young again. She looked down at the gun, and when she did, Tess drew the knife from the inside pocket of the jacket, stumbled forward, and jammed it up to the hilt in Norvilles belly.

The woman made a glassy OOO- OOOO sound that tried to be a scream and failed. Tesss pistol dropped and Ramona staggered back against the wall, looking down at the handle of the knife. One flailing arm struck a rank of Hummel figures. They tumbled from the shelf and shattered on the floor. She made that OOO- OOOO sound again. The front of the housecoat was still unstained, but blood began to patter from beneath its hem, onto Ramona Norvilles manshoes. She put her hands on the haft of the knife, tried to tug it free, and made the OOO- OOOO for the third time.

She looked up at Tess, unbelieving. Tess looked back. She was remembering something that had happened on her tenth birthday. Her father had given her a slingshot, and she had gone out looking for things to shoot with it. At some point, five or six blocks from her house, she had seen a raggedy-eared stray dog rooting in a garbage can. She had put a small rock in her slingshot and fired at it, only meaning to scare the dog away (or so she told herself), but hitting it in the rump instead. The dog had made a miserable ike-ike-ike sound and run away, but before it did, it gave Tess a look of reproach she had never forgotten. She would have given anything to take that casual shot back, and she had never fired her slingshot at another living thing. She understood that killing was a part of life-she felt no compunction about swatting mosquitoes, put down traps when she saw mouse-droppings in the cellar, and had eaten her fair share of Mickey Ds Quarter Pounders-but then she had believed she would never again be able to hurt something that way without feeling remorse or regret. She suffered neither in the living room of the house on Lacemaker Lane. Perhaps because, in the end, it had been self-defense. Or perhaps that wasnt it at all.