toothpaste on a fingertip and rubbed her teeth, then rinsed. She watched more television. She waited.
Around two A.M . she dozed and again woke with total confusion, but this time it didnât take long to realize where she was. Kelby Oliverâs house, Hampstead, Kansas. She couldnât remember a time when she felt so rumpled and dirty. And bored. She ached for books to read. After eating another apple, she paced from living room to dining room to kitchen and back again. Like last night, she turned on the television, watched an old movie, and slept fitfully.
When the darkness outside faded to gray with the first of the morning light, she went up to Kelbyâs bedroom. Feeling like the worst kind of intrusive thief, she opened drawers and looked through everything. On top of the small chest under the window lay a set of car keys. A shelf in the closet held a beige leather purse; inside were Kelbyâs wallet with driverâs license and credit cards. Cary studied the picture on the driverâs license, holding it close to her face and moving it around to find her small circle of sight, looking from Kelbyâs picture to her reflection in the mirror. Kelby was thirty-eight, brown hair, five-two, weighed a hundred and thirty-five pounds. Eyes blue.
There was a superficial resemblance between Kelby and herself. Cary was thirty-four, also five-two and had blue eyes, but her hair was blond. She didnât know what she weighed. Since sheâd lost so much, probably around a hundred pounds.
Where would Kelby have gone that she didnât take her purse with her? An awful uneasy prickliness took hold. Something was very wrong. How could she have been so stupid as to leave home and come all this way to stay with someone she didnât even know?
Why did Cary trust Arletteâs word that Kelby could offer sanctuary from Mitch? Why let Arlette disclose those most private and shameful secrets to a perfect stranger? Who was Kelby? Why did she agree to let Cary come here?
Get a grip, she told herself. Do you think Kelby deliberately lured you here for some evil purpose? To carve you up for body parts and sell your kidneys and heart? A master criminal who needed a new identity, she planned to steal yours and bury your body in the basement? Cary took a shaky breath. Sheâd been reading too many mysteries.
What if this was some kind of trap Mitch set up? What if he was just trying to see if sheâd jump at the chance to get away? What if he was even at this very moment waiting for her to step outside? Oh, for Godâs sake. Cary shook her head. Maybe she should take up writing thrillers.
Mitch didnât have that kind of imagination. He wasnât devious. He was dead-on direct. What you saw was what you got. He couldnât have arranged for her to come here. It was Arlette who knew Kelby and urged Cary to come.
Before her courage gave way entirely, she grabbed the keys, trotted down stairs and put on her shoes. When she walked into the screened porch, the air felt like warm soup. Five in the morning and the temperature must be close to eighty. A dry, dusty smell of corn hung over everything. She followed the flagstone path around to the left side of the house and stared at the cornfield.
âIâm as corny as Kansas in August.â Tall rows of stalks, at least eight feet high, clusters of fat cobs. Hot wind caused stirrings and rustlings that sounded like malignant whispering. When the wind died, the stalks fell silent. The vast field seemed alive, like some dangerous predator she mustnât turn her back on.
Goosebumps popped up on her arms in the muggy air. Shivering in eighty-degree heat, she took the path to the barn and rolled open the large door. Pearly gray light seeped into the dim interior. A Honda, similar to the one she had owned, except this one was white, sat inside. Doors unlocked. Nothing in the glove box but a map of Kansas and a flashlight. She clicked it on.
Around two A.M . she dozed and again woke with total confusion, but this time it didnât take long to realize where she was. Kelby Oliverâs house, Hampstead, Kansas. She couldnât remember a time when she felt so rumpled and dirty. And bored. She ached for books to read. After eating another apple, she paced from living room to dining room to kitchen and back again. Like last night, she turned on the television, watched an old movie, and slept fitfully.
When the darkness outside faded to gray with the first of the morning light, she went up to Kelbyâs bedroom. Feeling like the worst kind of intrusive thief, she opened drawers and looked through everything. On top of the small chest under the window lay a set of car keys. A shelf in the closet held a beige leather purse; inside were Kelbyâs wallet with driverâs license and credit cards. Cary studied the picture on the driverâs license, holding it close to her face and moving it around to find her small circle of sight, looking from Kelbyâs picture to her reflection in the mirror. Kelby was thirty-eight, brown hair, five-two, weighed a hundred and thirty-five pounds. Eyes blue.
There was a superficial resemblance between Kelby and herself. Cary was thirty-four, also five-two and had blue eyes, but her hair was blond. She didnât know what she weighed. Since sheâd lost so much, probably around a hundred pounds.
Where would Kelby have gone that she didnât take her purse with her? An awful uneasy prickliness took hold. Something was very wrong. How could she have been so stupid as to leave home and come all this way to stay with someone she didnât even know?
Why did Cary trust Arletteâs word that Kelby could offer sanctuary from Mitch? Why let Arlette disclose those most private and shameful secrets to a perfect stranger? Who was Kelby? Why did she agree to let Cary come here?
Get a grip, she told herself. Do you think Kelby deliberately lured you here for some evil purpose? To carve you up for body parts and sell your kidneys and heart? A master criminal who needed a new identity, she planned to steal yours and bury your body in the basement? Cary took a shaky breath. Sheâd been reading too many mysteries.
What if this was some kind of trap Mitch set up? What if he was just trying to see if sheâd jump at the chance to get away? What if he was even at this very moment waiting for her to step outside? Oh, for Godâs sake. Cary shook her head. Maybe she should take up writing thrillers.
Mitch didnât have that kind of imagination. He wasnât devious. He was dead-on direct. What you saw was what you got. He couldnât have arranged for her to come here. It was Arlette who knew Kelby and urged Cary to come.
Before her courage gave way entirely, she grabbed the keys, trotted down stairs and put on her shoes. When she walked into the screened porch, the air felt like warm soup. Five in the morning and the temperature must be close to eighty. A dry, dusty smell of corn hung over everything. She followed the flagstone path around to the left side of the house and stared at the cornfield.
âIâm as corny as Kansas in August.â Tall rows of stalks, at least eight feet high, clusters of fat cobs. Hot wind caused stirrings and rustlings that sounded like malignant whispering. When the wind died, the stalks fell silent. The vast field seemed alive, like some dangerous predator she mustnât turn her back on.
Goosebumps popped up on her arms in the muggy air. Shivering in eighty-degree heat, she took the path to the barn and rolled open the large door. Pearly gray light seeped into the dim interior. A Honda, similar to the one she had owned, except this one was white, sat inside. Doors unlocked. Nothing in the glove box but a map of Kansas and a flashlight. She clicked it on.
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