Tami Hoag - Cry Wolf

Careless, Laurel thought, reaching into the bag in search of her antacid tablets. She knew better than to leave a purse lying around, especially one with a semiautomatic handgun in it. Instead of the roll of tablets, she came up with the gaudy heart-shaped earring that had no mate and no explanation. The ear wire had caught the chain of the little gold necklace, and she fished that out as well to untangle the mess and to work at untangling the mystery. It would give her mind something to do besides worry about her sister for a few moments. It would delay her conversation with Caroline.

The chain was twisted and knotted, and there seemed to be too many dangling ends. Strange, she thought, noting dimly that her heart was beating a little faster and her fingers fumbled at their task. She plucked at the gold butterfly and tugged a little harder at the chain, her breath coming in shorter bursts. Tears brimmed up in her eyes, not from frustration, not for any discernible reason. Silly, she thought, scratching at the tangle with the stub of a fingernail.

The butterfly and its necklace came free of the snag and fluttered to Laurel's lap, forgotten as cold, hard fingers of terror gripped her throat and squeezed. Hanging down from her trembling fist was a fine gold chain, and from the chain, swaying gently, a diamond chip winking as it caught the morning light, hung a small gold heart.

Savannah's.

"Oh, God. Oh, my God."

The words barely broke the silence of the room. She sat there, shaking, icy rivulets of sweat running down her spine. Her lungs seemed to have turned to concrete, crushing her heart, incapable of expanding to draw breath. She stared at the pendant until her eyes were burning, fragmented thoughts shooting across her mind like shrapnel-Daddy standing behind Savannah at twelve, fastening the chain, smiling, kissing her cheek; Savannah at twenty, at thirty, still wearing it. She never took it off. Never.

It swung from Laurel's fist, the tiny diamond bright and mocking, and dread crept through her like disease, weakening her, breaking her down. Tears blurred the image of the heart as she thought back to the night she had gone into Savannah's room. The feeling of stillness, of loss, of an absence that would never be filled.

"Oh, God," she said, choking on the fear, doubling over. She pressed her fist and the necklace against her cheek as scalding tears squeezed out from between her lashes.

She couldn't deal with this, couldn't face what she knew in her heart must be true. God, she couldn't go to Aunt Caroline and Mama Pearl-She couldn't go to Vivian-She didn't want to be here-should never have come back. She wanted Jack, wanted his arms around her, wanted him to be the kind of man she could lean on-

Selfish, weak, coward.

The recriminations came hard, as sharp as the crack of a whip. She had to do something. She couldn't just huddle here on her bed, half naked and sobbing, wishing someone else would be strong for her. There had to be something she could do. It couldn't be too late.

"No. No. No," she chanted, stumbling away from the bed.

She repeated the word over and over like a mantra as she tore open her wardrobe and drawers and grabbed a wrinkled pair of jeans, never letting go of the necklace. It wasn't too late. It couldn't be too late. She would go to Kenner and make him see. She would call in the damn FBI. They would find Savannah. It couldn't be too late.

Wild urgency drove her as she tugged on the jeans. At the heart of the feeling was futility, but she refused to recognize it or accept it. The situation couldn't be futile. She couldn't lose her sister. She wouldn't let it happen. There had to be something she could do. Dammit, she would not let it happen!

Frantic, she flung the bedroom door back and ran down the hall and down the stairs, the railing skimming through one hand, Savannah's necklace gripped tight in the other. Her sneakers pounded on the treads, her pulse pounded in her ears. She didn't register the pounding at the front door.

Caroline came into the hall from the dining room, already dressed for the day in stark black and white. She glanced up at Laurel, concern knitting her brows, her hand reaching out automatically for the brass knob.

As if in a dream, time became strangely elastic, stretching, slowing. Laurel's perceptions became almost pain-fully sharp. The blocks of white in Caroline's dress hurt her eyes, the smell of Chanel filled her head, the creak of door hinges shrieked in her ears. She tightened her fist, and the golden heart burned into her palm.

Kenner stepped into the hall, lean and grim, eyes shaded. The shadow of death. His hat in his hands. His lips moved, but Laurel couldn't hear his words above the suddenly amplified roaring of her pulse. She saw the color drain from Caroline's face, the stricken look in her eyes. Together Kenner and Caroline turned and looked up at Laurel, and the knowledge pierced her heart like a knife.

"NO!!!" The denial tore from her throat like a scream. "NO!!!" she screamed, stumbling down the last few stairs.

She hurled herself at Kenner, striking his chest with her fists.

Surreal, she thought dimly, a part of her feeling strangely detached from the turmoil of the moment. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't be yelling or lashing out at Kenner. This couldn't be the real world, because everything in her field of vision had become suddenly magnified, as if she were shrinking and shrinking. And the sound of Caroline's voice came to her as if through a fog.

"Laurel, no! She's gone. She's gone. Oh, dear God! She's dead!"

Another cry of anguish and shock reverberated against the high ceiling of the hall. In her peripheral vision, Laurel could see Mama Pearl, her face contorted, reaching for Caroline with one hand, the other groping along the wall as if she had gone blind.

"God have mercy, I love dat chil'. I love dat chil' like my own!"

"Mama doesn't love me," Savannah said, her voice hollow and sad, breaking the stillness of the cool fall night.

They lay in bed together, wide awake, way past Laurel's bedtime. She cuddled against her sister, knowing she was supposed to be too old for it but afraid to move away. Not a week had passed since Daddy's funeral, and she was too aware of the precious, precarious state of life.

It was a knowledge no child should ever have to grasp. The weight of it was terrible. The fear it inspired had been with her day and night-that the world could be tipped upside down in a heartbeat. Everything she knew, everything she loved could be snatched away from her without warning.

Knowing that made her want to hang on with both hands to everything that was dear to her-her dolls, the kittens old mama cat had hidden in the boat house, Daddy's tie pin, Savannah. Most especially she wanted to hang on to Savannah-the person who loved her most after Daddy, the person who kept her from being alone.

"I love you, Sister," she said, quivering inside at the desperation in her voice. "I'll always love you."

"I know, Baby," Savannah murmured, kissing the top of her head. "We'll always have each other. That's all that matters."

Laurel sat down on the bottom step, dazed and weak, her stunned gaze locked on the small pendant that dangled from her fist. And the feeling she had feared so badly all those years ago crept over her and into her, spreading through her like ink, opening her heart like a chasm that grew wider by the second.

The sister who had loved her, protected her, defined her world, was gone. And it didn't matter that she was thirty, or that there were other people in her life now who mattered. In that moment, as she sat there on the step, she was ten years old all over again, and she was alone. Her world had turned upside down, and the most precious thing in it had been snatched away, leaving nothing behind but a small heart of gold.