Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

Molly hung up the phone, then went to the window and stared out at the darkness. She saw part of her own reflection in the glass — and then someone stepping up behind her.

She swiveled around. Rachel smiled and offered her the tall glass of 7UP. “Did you get ahold of Chris?”

Molly nodded and took the glass. “Yes, he’s on his way.”

“Good.” Rachel sat on the edge of Jeff’s desk.

Molly looked down at her 7UP, but didn’t taste it. “You know, when I first realized Erin wasn’t on the bus, I thought Chris might have picked her up. I had this notion that they both hated me, so he was taking his kid sister and running away. He assured me just now that Erin likes me very much.” Molly paused to let it sink in. “That was nice to hear, but it doesn’t quite gel with the story you told me, does it?”

Rachel shrugged. “Well, maybe Chris was just trying to make you feel better, Molly.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Chris is a nice kid, but he’s never gone out of his way to spare my feelings. I usually know where I stand with him.”

Rachel let out a tiny laugh. “Just like his father.”

Molly stared at her and said nothing.

Rachel laughed nervously, and then flicked her hair back. “Or — so I gather, I mean, from what you’ve told me about Jeff.”

Molly’s eyes kept searching hers. The ice clinked in her glass, and she realized her hand was shaking. She set the glass down on Jeff’s desk. She was thirsty, but hadn’t even sipped any of the 7UP, because Rachel had poured it. On some unconscious level, she knew it might make her sick — like the peppermints and the ginger capsules Rachel had given her.

Now she knew who had slashed a yellow X across her painting and set it up to look as if Erin had been the culprit.

Now she knew the woman standing in front of her had seduced and murdered Jeff.

Molly heard a car, but she didn’t turn to look out the window behind her. She didn’t want to turn her back on this woman.

She listened to the car pulling into the driveway and watched the headlight beams sweep across Jenna Corson’s face.

Chris turned off the ignition to his father’s Lexus. Straight ahead, in the window to his dad’s study, he noticed Molly standing and talking to their neighbor, Rachel.

Rachel’s story about picking up Erin at school sounded wrong in so many ways. At the last stoplight on the way home, Chris had tried to phone Mrs. Hahn to confirm that her sister had Erin. But he’d gotten some weird tone pattern, and then a recording: “The person you are trying to reach is not accepting calls at this time. Please try your call later. . ” Then as the recording had lapsed into Spanish, he’d remembered Mrs. Hahn had broken her cell phone.

Even with Mrs. Hahn’s broken phone, he didn’t understand why his sister would call Rachel — to be taken to Mrs. Hahn’s sister’s house. How did she even know Rachel’s number? He sure as hell didn’t know it. If Erin wanted to be picked up, she would have phoned him before calling the lady next door. And she wasn’t mad at Molly anymore, so it just didn’t make any damn sense.

He climbed out of the car and hurried to the front door. It was strange that neither Molly nor Rachel had come to let him in when they were only a few feet away in his dad’s study. He had to unlock the door with his key.

As he stepped inside, Rachel turned and smiled at him. “Well, hi, Chris.”

“Hi,” he said tentatively. Taking off his school jacket, he hung it on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs.

“Molly said you were in Kent, following a lead,” she said.

Bewildered, he glanced past her — at Molly, who stood by his dad’s desk with her arms folded. He could feel an awful tension in that small room — as if he’d just walked in on them at the brink of an argument.

“She wants to know if you talked to anybody about Jenna Corson,” Molly said steadily. “She wants to know who you talked to, and what they told you. But I have a few questions for you, Rachel. For example, why would Jenna Corson set fire to your toolshed and threaten you on the phone when you had absolutely nothing to do with her husband’s firing or his murder?”

Rachel scratched the back of her neck, and laughed. “I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at, Molly. But we agreed that it’s probably because I’m your friend. Remember?”

“It threw me off for a while, that’s for sure,” Molly said. “I was actually worried for you.”

“What’s going on here?” Chris murmured, glancing back and forth at the two of them.

“I remember the first day we met,” Molly continued. “I gave you that letter you must have addressed to yourself and slipped in our mailbox. I told you about Lynette’s kids throwing dirt balls at cars. The very next day, her kids got all cut up, because someone had scattered broken glass in that vacant lot. I always thought that was too much of a coincidence.”

Rachel smirked a tiny bit. “You said they’d been doing that for a while. They probably pissed off a lot of people. It was bound to catch up with them eventually. Sounds to me like they had it coming. ‘Time wounds all heels,’ I like to say.”

Chris stared at their new neighbor: light brown hair, cute face, and even with that poncho she was wearing, he knew she had a nice body. She perfectly fit Roseann’s description of the “hustler” who had been with his father at the hotel on Friday, the woman who had killed him.

He remembered what Mr. Corson had said to him on what would be the very last time they’d ever see each other — at that running trail by Lake Union: “Your neighbors on Willow Tree Court and the ones like them, they’ll have to pay. . It reminds me of this saying my wife has. ‘Time wounds all heels.’ ”

Stunned, Chris kept staring at her.

With an exasperated little laugh, she shoved her hands in the pockets of her poncho.

“You’re Mrs. Corson,” Chris heard himself say. “You killed my parents. . ” His fists clenched, he took a step toward her. “Where’s Erin? She’s got nothing to do with what happened to Mr. Corson. What the hell have you done with my sister?”

All at once, Jenna Corson grabbed Molly by the hair and pulled a gun from the pocket of her poncho. She pressed the barrel to Molly’s head. Chris froze. Jenna Corson didn’t say anything. Yet Chris knew if he took one more step toward them, she’d shoot his stepmother in the head.

Molly shrieked and desperately tried to push her away. But Mrs. Corson slammed the butt end of the gun against her temple. It made a terrible, hard-thump sound, and Molly groaned. She seemed stunned — and dazed into submission. Her eyes rolled back as she slouched against Mr. Corson’s widow.

“Get the blinds!” Mrs. Corson barked at him. She nodded toward the study window. “Do it!”

Glaring at her, Chris moved to the window and lowered the blinds. “Where’s Erin?” he asked again.

“Your sister’s fine, Chris,” she said, backing away and dragging Molly into the front hall. She jabbed the gun barrel against Molly’s temple. “I’ve got Erin. She’ll be all right. I don’t blame her for what happened to Ray. You’re the ones who started it. That’s why I saved you two for last. . ”

Hesitating, Chris began to follow them down the hall toward the family room.

She tugged at Molly’s hair, yanking her head back. “Molly, you were under a tremendous strain. They’ll say you snapped, poor thing.” She let out a tiny laugh. “You shot your stepson, and then set fire to every house on the block. And then you shot yourself. They’ll find you both in this room. Everyone will say insanity must run in your family, Molly. They’ll say you were unbalanced, just like your crazy, murdering brother. I paid good money to a private detective in Chicago to find out about Crazy Charlie. . ”