Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

Nodding, Molly glanced down at a crack in the driveway. “Don’t forget to swing by the optical place today,” she murmured. “You wanted to get your glasses tightened for your trip.”

Jeff put his arm around her, and they headed back toward the garage. The automatic garage door was locked in the open position. Earlier, he’d tossed his briefcase into the front seat of his silver Lexus. “You know, I’m not so sure I should go off to Denver tomorrow, not when I think about that family in Renton last week.”

Molly shuddered. “God, don’t remind me.” She’d read all about the Renton killings online and in the Seattle Times.

“Jesus, the whole family.” He sighed. “It’s enough to make you sick. The twin girls were Erin’s age.” He gave Molly’s shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t feel good leaving you and the kids alone for two nights — not while this maniac is on the loose.”

Molly shrugged. “You can’t go changing your work schedule because of some nutcase. It could be a while before the police catch him.” She tried to smile. “Besides, we’ll be okay, because I’m going to that Neighborhood Watch potluck today. I’ll know just what to do in case a serial killer comes knocking on our front door. . ”

The lunch would be across the street at the Hahns’ house. A police detective had been invited to speak to the residents of the cul-de-sac. That included Jeff’s ex-wife’s two best friends, Lynette Hahn and Kay Garvey.

Angela would be attending, too. She was still chummy-chummy with her Willow Tree Court pals, even though she lived on another cul-de-sac — in Bellevue with her new boyfriend and his thirteen-year-old daughter. The new relationship didn’t keep Angela from meddling in Jeff’s life. Apparently, it wasn’t enough that she talked to her kids every day and asked them to convey messages to their dad. At least once a week, she was back in her old stomping grounds to visit Lynette or Kay. She even tried to make friends with Molly early on. But Molly quickly figured out this was just another way for Angela to have some kind of control over Jeff — albeit indirectly. It seemed pretty damn manipulative. So Molly did her best to avoid Jeff’s ex — and stayed distantly polite to her.

She wasn’t looking forward to this Neighborhood Watch potluck with Angela and her cronies. She’d almost just as soon take her chances with a serial killer.

“I thought that lunch wasn’t until tomorrow,” Jeff said, opening the car door. “And aren’t those neighborhood watch things held on weekends and evenings so it doesn’t interfere with people’s work schedules?”

“Not this one. Lynette pulled some strings. It’s in four hours, and I still have to make chocolate chip cookies for it. Do you want me to pass along any messages to the former Mrs. Dennehy?”

“Just that I’m blissfully happy,” he said, kissing her. Then he climbed into the car and buckled his seat belt. “Good luck with that crowd.”

Molly gave him a wry smile. “We who are about to die salute you.”

Shutting his door, he blew her a kiss, and then started up the car. He backed out of the garage. Molly waved at her husband.

The garage door started to descend. As the Lexus drove off, Molly caught a glimpse of a strange car parked in front of Dr. and Mrs. Nguyen’s house. She hadn’t noticed the metallic blue minivan earlier when she’d walked back from Erin’s bus stop. Then again, she hadn’t really been paying attention.

She ducked inside — through the garage entrance, then past the closed door to the basement, through the kitchen area, the dining room, and finally the living room in the front of the house. At the big picture window, she pushed aside the sheer curtain and glanced out at that minivan again. It was too far away for her to tell if someone was in the front seat.

This would probably be one of the first items the cop would address at the Neighborhood Watch potluck in a few hours: Look out for unfamiliar cars parked on your cul-de-sac. The Nguyens lived in Denver eight months out of the year, and sometimes, they had friends using the place. Molly had to remind herself that it wasn’t so unusual to see a strange car parked in front of their house.

Stepping away from the window, she wondered if — before last week — the mother of those twin girls had been on the lookout for strange cars in their cul-de-sac in Renton.

She remembered the front-page headlines in the Seattle Times last Tuesday. She remembered, because she’d looked up the article again online just last night. She’d become a bit fixated on the murders.

RENTON FAMILY SLAIN4 dead in Another Cul-de-Sac Killing PARENTS AND TWIN DAUGHTERS STABBING VICTIMS

A photo of the murdered family ran under the headline. It showed the dark-haired, husky father and his pretty, somewhat mousy, blond wife. Grinning proudly, they posed behind their blond daughters in one of those family portraits from Sears or JCPenney. The twins looked darling. They were laughing in the picture. One of them was missing a front tooth.

SENSELESS MURDER, read the caption. Renton residents, Lyle Winters, 33, and wife, Terri Anne, 31, in a photo taken last October with their 6-year-old twin daughters, Claudia and Colette. The family was brutally slain in their Loretta Court home late Sunday night. This is the fourth in a series of bizarre cul-de-sac killings in the Seattle area since February.

The news article had been broken up with different subheadlines in boldface print: Neighbors Heard Nothing, No Screams — Every Light Was On and Bodies in Closets, A Killer’s Calling Card.

Each time this Cul-de-sac Killer struck, he left nearly all of the lights on inside the house — and his victims shut inside closets.

Lyle Winters, his throat slashed, was found in the closet off their guest room. His wife, strangled and stabbed repeatedly, was discovered in the master bedroom closet, curled up amid some shoes and a pile of blouses that had fallen off their hangers. Both children were stabbed and left — one on top of the other — in their bedroom closet.

Like nearly everyone who lived on a cul-de-sac in the Seattle area, Molly was constantly on her guard now. That was why she walked Erin to the bus stop every morning and waited there with her. It was why she kept a lookout for strange cars on the block. They never used to turn on their house alarm at night, but they did now.

The newspapers didn’t mention if any of the Cul-de-sac Killer’s victims had home security systems.

Molly had read so much about the murders that she’d almost become an expert. She didn’t know why she’d become so preoccupied with the cul-de-sac killings — except perhaps to make sure it didn’t happen to her new family.

The first to die had been an elderly woman, Irene Haskel, who lived alone in a split-level house on a dead-end street in Ballard. A neighbor had noticed nearly all of Irene’s lights were on for three nights in a row. She stopped by to discover Irene’s front door ajar — and a foul odor permeating the seemingly empty house. Irene’s neighbor followed the pungent smell to a bedroom closet in the upper level. The Seattle Times reported that Irene had thirty-eight stab wounds.

The killer struck again a week later, stabbing three coeds who lived in a townhouse on a dead end near Seattle Pacific University. A fourth roommate, who had spent that night at a friend’s apartment, returned the following afternoon to find all the lights on inside the townhouse. She also found all her roommates’ bodies, stashed in closets on the second floor.

A month passed, and it happened again — this time, a married couple in their fifties, who lived at the end of a cul-de-sac in the Queen Anne neighborhood. Coming home from college for a weekend visit, their son discovered the blood — and then their bodies, stuffed in two upstairs closets.