Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

Last night, she’d had another glass of wine and watched the rest of Exodus , which went on until nearly three in the morning. Then under a cozy throw from Restoration Hardware, she’d read four chapters of the latest Susan Wiggs. It was starting to get light out when she finally fell asleep on the sofa.

Kay had never called back. But Molly wasn’t too worried about it. The NO OUTLET sign had still been standing at the end of the block when she’d checked shortly after waking up at ten o’clock. And then Jeff had come home a little after one, and suddenly nothing else had mattered.

“I’ll wait until tomorrow to call Angela,” he said, caressing her arm. “I just want you to know I haven’t forgotten. I’ll phone from the office, and find out if she has anything to do with this guy in Chicago. I’d do it today, but I don’t want the kids around, getting wind of this. They shouldn’t know their mother can be pretty awful sometimes. Anyway, rest assured, I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Molly leaned over and kissed him on the forehead — and then on his lips. “And they say chivalry is dead,” she whispered.

He gave her a wry smile. “You know, another thing I haven’t forgotten about is this old boyfriend e-mailing you. . ”

Molly started to laugh. But then she heard a car coming up the cul-de-sac, and it sounded like it stopped right in front of their house.

“Oh, God, is she bringing the kids back now ?” Molly muttered, jumping out of bed. “She’s at least two hours early.” Swiping her discarded jersey top from the floor, Molly held it in front of her as she ran naked to the window. She pushed back the curtain, and peered outside.

An SUV had stopped next door in front of Kay Garvey’s driveway. Madison climbed out of the car, and hurried toward the front door. She was wearing hot-pink Converse All Star high-tops today. She shielded her head from the rain.

With a sigh of relief, Molly turned away from the window and tossed aside the jersey. “False alarm,” she said. She jumped back under the covers and nestled next to Jeff’s warm, naked body. She heard Kay’s front door slam, and the SUV driving away.

Jeff kissed the side of her neck, and she shuddered gratefully. “So — why was your old boyfriend e-mailing you?” he asked. “Should I be worried?”

“He just wanted to tell me about that guy coming around the gallery,” Molly said.

“So what’s this old boyfriend’s name?” Jeff asked, gliding a hand down her stomach. “And how long were you two an item?”

Molly giggled. “You’re jealous, I like that. His name is Doug, and we dated for only a month. But we were pretty crazy about each other for a while.” She nudged Jeff. “As much as I relish torturing you, I have to be honest. He’s now seeing a concert cellist named Kate, and it’s serious . So you have nothing to worry about, sweetie.”

“That’s a relief.” He kissed her cheek. “I was thinking I might have to hire my own private detective to keep tabs on you.”

Molly worked up a smile. It was a little too soon to joke about private detectives. But she decided not to say anything. She just stroked his hair.

Next door, she heard muffled screams. It sounded like Madison was laughing — way too loud — about something. Molly resented the noise. It intruded on this rare quiet moment with her husband.

Jeff sat up halfway, reclining on one elbow. He shot a look over his shoulder toward their window. “Well, that’s annoying as hell. Jesus, listen to her. . ”

Molly realized it wasn’t laughter coming from next door. Those were screams. A chill raced through her.

Tossing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and grabbed her jersey off the floor. She quickly put it on, then went to the window and pulled back the curtain. She peeked out the rain-beaded window.

The door off Kay Garvey’s bedroom flung open, and Madison staggered out to the balcony. Her screams were much louder now. “Oh my God!” she shrieked. “Someone help me! She’s dead! My mom’s dead! Dear God. .”

Stunned, Molly stared out the window at her. Automatically, she glanced toward the start of the block — at the NO OUTLET sign still standing there. She looked over at Madison again, screaming and crying hysterically on her mother’s balcony, the rain drenching her.

“No,” Molly whispered, clutching her stomach. “No, it can’t be. . ”

The dollhouse sat on a worktable in the private little room. It was a perfect replica of Kay Garvey’s house, right down to the small balcony off the master bedroom where Kay was murdered. Constructing the miniature house was the result of two weeks of intense work.

The man who killed Kay Garvey wasn’t much of a photographer. Still, out of the hundred photos he’d taken, he’d managed to snap twenty good shots after breaking in two weeks ago when Kay and Madison weren’t home. Between the photos and the intruder’s description, the dollhouse-builder had a pretty accurate idea of the layout. No time was wasted working on the first-floor rooms. That section of the dollhouse was closed off, boarded up.

The murder was planned for upstairs, and that was where all the detail work was done in the miniature house. Kay’s bedroom, along with its furnishings, was almost an exact match — down to the yellow carpet and the peach-colored curtains and bedspread.

And in that little bedroom was a hard rubber, flesh-colored doll about the size of an index finger. It was a woman — with hair quite close to Kay’s pale straw color. The blond doll was lying on the floor of that miniature bedroom — beside a nightstand.

Wrapped around the small figurine was a tiny piece of lavender silk, cut from Kay’s blouse.

She was just the first.

Six months later

The three seniors primping in front of the lavatory mirrors weren’t the most popular girls at Roosevelt High School, but it wasn’t from lack of trying. They were intensely concerned about their appearances and getting noticed. But they were also just a bit too full of themselves and catty for anyone to really like them. Still, as long as they stayed within their little clique, they didn’t have to worry.

At least that was the snap judgment of the woman who entered the girls’ room and briefly interrupted their conversation. The three girls stopped gossiping and fussing with their hair to stare at her in the mirror. They probably thought she was a teacher. One of them whispered to the other two.

“I don’t care,” remarked the tallest one, a tawny redhead. “It’s between classes. We have every right to be in here.”

The woman stepped into a stall and closed the door. But she didn’t sit down on the toilet. She just stood there, listening to two of them argue about whether or not a popular teen heartthrob was gay. The third one seemed to be having a different conversation — with someone else. The woman figured she must have called another friend on her cell phone.

She flushed the toilet and emerged from the stall to wash her hands at the sink. She was right. One of the girls was on her cell phone, and another had just pulled out her BlackBerry. That left the tall redhead with no one to talk to, but she was busy applying lip gloss to her mouth.

The woman made eye contact with her in the mirror. “You don’t happen to know Madison Garvey, do you?” she asked.

The girl glared at her and shook her head.

Not looking up from her keypad, the one with the BlackBerry piped up: “Oh, God, Madison Garvey? Isn’t she the weird-looking freak with the Converse high-tops?”

“Shit, I know who you’re talking about now,” the redhead said, rolling her eyes. She went back to her lip gloss application. “She wears those dorky Converse shoes all the time. I guess when you look like an albino you have to do something. She thinks she’s really funny, too. As if. . ”