Nowhere to Hide by Nancy Bush Page A

has your artwork, but then . . . why? It makes more sense that it’s a real threat. I would take it seriously.”
    She was gratified by the concerned look on his face, “I am. And Auggie is, too. I just think at some level he thinks it might be someone in the family, and he can’t wrap his head around that, yet.”
    â€œIs that what you think?” Jake asked.
    â€œI’m concentrating on connections between the three victims. See what the common denominator is.”
    â€œAnd you’re looking at me because I knew Sheila . . . and because I went to second grade with you and just happened to do the same art project.” His gray eyes turned a bit glacial. “Maybe I shouldn’t have remembered it.” When she opened her mouth to respond, he cut in, “No, I get it. You’re making connections, and I’m weirdly connected. So, is this interview over? Have I answered enough of your questions?”
    She nodded. “Let me give you my card, in case you think of anything else.”
    As she fished it out and handed it to him, he said tautly, “I didn’t save your second grade artwork, Nine. And certainly not to terrorize you with it. Better stick with Auggie’s theory and check with your own family.”
    With that parting remark, he climbed into the Tahoe, started up the engine, and tore away.
    She watched the taillights of his car until he turned onto the main highway and they winked out.

    Suma, the maid, was just leaving the Rafferty house when September pulled up and parked.
    â€œThey’re not here,” Suma said with a faint Asian accent. She had black hair threaded with gray and dark eyes and was from a mixture of Far Eastern nationalities. She’d come with Rosamund and wasn’t the warmest person on the planet. Or, maybe she just didn’t like September.
    â€œI talked to my father and told him I was going to look for some of my things,” September told her. She looked worried, so September pressed, “Call him. Or Rosamund. Whoever, if you need to confirm.”
    Suma reluctantly unlocked the front door again and said, “The door will lock automatically behind you. Please make sure it’s pulled tight when you go.” She headed across the parking area to her older-model Toyota.
    â€œSure,” September said to no one in particular as she entered the house. The front door possessed a mortise lock and it shut behind her with a satisfying click. September didn’t have a key and didn’t want one, most of the time.
    It was six o’clock and the shadows were growing long. Surprisingly, now that she was in the house, she felt beaten down and weary and really didn’t much want to start her search. Entering the living room, she saw Rosamund’s picture again, the pregnancy very evident. At July’s birthday party, Rosamund hadn’t really been showing, though she’d only popped in for a minute or two, claiming another engagement. At the time September had scarcely noticed her; she’d been too absorbed in navigating small talk with the rest of the Raffertys, none of whom she really wanted to see except July. Auggie, of course, had been a no show, but then he’d been working undercover at the time, and September had used that excuse to explain why he was absent when they all knew it was because he didn’t want to see his father and he didn’t really give a shit in the first place.
    Exhaling heavily, she walked down the hall, opened the door to the stairs to the attic and trudged up the steep flight. At the top, she looked around. The attic was large, with a number of rooms created by dips in the roofline over several wings of the house.
    There was a lot of junk in piles, everything from forgotten furniture to boxes and boxes of financial papers and old tax returns, to out-of-date electronics that should have been thrown away years before. September rooted around in the boxes of papers,