Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

For now, the house next door stood empty.

Molly had blamed herself for letting Kay go home so intoxicated that night six months ago. Of course, Lynette Hahn and Angela just had to get in a few jabs about that. At Kay’s funeral, Molly had overheard Lynette telling the mother of one of Madison’s classmates: “Everyone knew Kay had a drinking problem. At parties, I always used to get some coffee in her before sending her home. Poor Kay, she needed a real friend looking after her that night. . ”

Apparently, Kay had at least one more glass of wine at home before tripping and hitting her head against the nightstand in her bedroom. Madison found an empty wine bottle beside her mother’s body on the bedroom floor. Her mother had passed out and bled to death.

On her Facebook page, Courtney Hahn had provided all the details about her BFF’s mother’s death, and said, “We all have to be real supportive of Madison right now.” Courtney texted several friends from Mrs. Garvey’s wake, and she loaned her cell phone to a friend and had her snap a picture of her comforting Madison at the cemetery. She featured the photo on her Facebook page, too.

Molly attended the funeral and thought Courtney’s behavior was obnoxious. Lynette’s other two children, Carson and Dakota, were extremely bratty, too. One of them got a case of the giggles in the cemetery. Lynette didn’t seem to notice.

Jeff kept telling Molly that she was in no way responsible for Kay drinking too much that night. “You were supposed to walk her home and tuck her into bed?” he’d asked, incredulous. “It’s not like you let her drive home drunk — and I’ve seen Angela and Lynette do just that several times, because they didn’t want to leave a party early. Don’t listen to those bitches. . ”

Jeff had talked to Angela about that mystery man in Chicago, the one asking all those questions. Angela insisted she knew nothing about it. Molly didn’t believe her for a second. She e-mailed Doug at the art gallery, and apparently the nosy guy had never come back. She was pretty certain Jeff’s little talk with his ex had inspired her to call off her private detective.

Molly felt very lucky to be married to such a sweet, considerate guy. Last night Jeff, Erin, and she carved pumpkins together. Even Chris had gotten into the act at the last minute, helping Erin with her jack-o-lantern.

She turned and looked at the carved pumpkins by their front door, a reminder of how good she had it. Molly just wished she had some close girlfriends who could tell her what it was like in the first trimester.

Jeff didn’t know yet. The home pregnancy test had come up positive on Wednesday, and she’d made the doctor’s appointment for the coming week. She’d tell Jeff once she got confirmation from her doctor.

So far, the morning sickness wasn’t too bad at all, just a few mild bouts of nausea. She hadn’t even thrown up yet.

Still, she felt sick to her stomach when she thought about having to see “those bitches” in just a few hours. They were having another Neighborhood Watch potluck at the Hahns’, a Saturday session. Jeff would be missing it, the lucky stiff. Chris had a swim meet this afternoon, and that took precedence. But Angela would be attending again. The same cop as last time, Chet Blazevich, was making a return engagement as their guest speaker. Molly kind of looked forward to talking with him again.

Of course, the handsome cop wasn’t coming there to socialize — or flirt with her. It was all about neighborhood safety.

As far as Molly knew, the last cul-de-sac killing had been over two months ago. In her current condition, she felt even more vulnerable. She couldn’t help thinking about Sharon Tate, the victim of a ritualistic murder while in the last stages of pregnancy. Molly remembered reading that Sharon’s baby had been a boy. She tried to blot out the thought, but with this maniac out there, the same thing could happen to her and her unborn child.

Was it too much to hope — after two months with no murders — that perhaps this killer had moved on or died? This was the longest he’d gone without killing someone. Molly had actually stopped checking the NO OUTLET sign at the beginning of their block every day. She’d stopped obsessing about it.

Now she had something else to obsess about, something good — a baby on the way.

With a contented sigh, Molly headed toward the house. She started to unroll the newspaper and suddenly stopped dead. As she stared at the headline, a wave of nausea swept through her:

3 TXEENS SLAIN IN ANOTHER

CUL-DE-SAC KILLING

An hour before the Neighborhood Watch potluck, Molly was alone in the house. Jeff was dropping Erin at Debi Donahue’s birthday party on the way to Chris’s swim meet.

Sitting on the tiled floor of the master bathroom, Molly listened to the toilet flush. The last time she’d thrown up had been two years before — as a result of some questionable shrimp she’d eaten at the Bounty Buffet in Alexandria. She’d almost forgotten how horrible it felt after vomiting: the burning in her throat, the bilious taste in her mouth, the shakiness, and the awful sensation that she just might hurl again.

Her mother used to give her Saltines and 7UP when she was sick to her stomach. Did that help for morning sickness, too? She missed her mother so much right now. She still felt nauseous, but rode it out.

She hadn’t had this problem until two hours ago. Seeing that newspaper headline triggered something. Before stepping inside the house, she’d paused at the front stoop and scanned the story on the front page. The murdered teens were Chris’s age, two boys and a girl. The girl’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Wallace Manning of Federal Way, had become concerned when their daughter, Sarah, hadn’t returned home from a friend’s house by midnight — and on a school night, too. Sarah hadn’t answered her cell. Mr. Manning had finally called one of her friends, and learned Sarah was at the house of a new boyfriend, Rob Sessions, whose parents were out of town. Mr. Manning got the Sessions’ address from his daughter’s friend and drove to the house on Laurel Lane. He noticed all the lights were on.

When no one answered the door, Mr. Manning phoned the police. Officers found the front door unlocked. The bodies of the two boys were discovered, bound and gagged, in the master bedroom closet. They’d been stabbed repeatedly. Sarah Manning’s body was in a guest room closet. Her hands tied behind her, she’d been strangled and stabbed.

The Seattle Times reported that the DEAD END sign at the start of Laurel Lane was missing.

When Molly had come inside with the paper, Jeff had noticed right away that she looked sickly. “You okay, babe?” he’d asked, staring at her. He’d stood at the kitchen counter, pouring coffee into the WORLD’S GREATEST DAD mug Erin had given him last year. “Jesus, you’re white as a ghost. . ”

Her hands shaking, she’d shown him the newspaper. Molly had felt sick for the rest of the morning, but managed to keep from throwing up until just now. She’d vomited three times in a row.

Unsteadily, she got to her feet. She gargled with mouthwash and splashed her face. In the mirror above the sink, Molly could see she was starting to get some of her color back. She took a few deep breaths, and then sprayed the place with Glade. It didn’t quite eliminate the vomit odor. Instead, it merely smelled like someone had puked in a pine forest.

Five minutes later, while picking out what to wear for the potluck, Molly couldn’t believe it, but she was actually hungry.

The doorbell rang, startling her.

Molly glanced out the bedroom window and recognized Angela’s SUV in the driveway. “What the hell?” she muttered.