Linwood Barclay: No Safe House

I felt a pounding in my temples.

“I’m the only one who knows what you did and you’re the only one who knows what I did,” Jane said coldly. “Maybe Grace is figuring it out, but I bet a couple of words from you could change that. You could say your phone’s been acting up, too. Tell her it’s time to get her a new, fancier one. They’re always upgrading them. She’d love that. I’d even pay for it, if you want.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Jane blotted a tear with her sleeve, and with that, seemed to adopt a new face. She said, “One thing I figured out back when I was in school, around the time you were my teacher, is the only one who’s going to look out for you is you. And then when my mom hooked up with Vince, well, watching him, that point of view really got driven home. You can’t wait around for others to make your life better. You see what you want and you take it.”

She patted my shoulder. I didn’t like the feel of it. “That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done. You’ve been awesome. Right now, you need to think about what’s best for you . You think calling the cops and telling them about what I did is going to work to your advantage? You’re a teacher. You can figure that one out.”

The door opened. It was Cynthia.

“What on earth are you two gabbing about? There’s food and drink in here. Jane, I want to hear about all the places you’re going.”

Jane smiled broadly and went back into the house. When Cynthia saw me standing there not moving, she stepped outside.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I can see it in your face. Something’s wrong.”

I shook my head.

Cynthia took my hands in hers. “I know we’ve been to hell and back. You’re having nightmares every night. We’re all going through a posttraumatic stress thing. But I feel there’s still something you haven’t told me, that maybe—”

Inside the house, Grace screamed, “What’s this?”

We both ran inside. Grace was hauling a tall, narrow box out of the front hall closet, reading the description of its contents.

“Nuts,” Cynthia said to me. “She found it. Grace, you weren’t supposed to — Oh shit. We were going to give you that later, after Jane and Bryce left and—”

Grace looked at her mother with tears in her eyes. “I love it,” she said. “It’s a way, way better telescope than I had as a kid.”

“At least five times you said, when we were talking up in your room this past month, how you wanted to get back into the whole stargazing thing, how much you missed it.”

Grace leaned the box against the wall and wrapped her arms around Cynthia. I stood there, watching, wanting to be part of this moment but holding back.

Jane glanced at me, smiled, and said, “Isn’t that great? I could just cry.”

Maybe Grace would let me borrow her new telescope. Let me scan the heavens for incoming asteroids the way she used to when she was seven. Grace used to worry one would hit the earth and obliterate us all.

That struck me, right then, as the only thing that might give me peace.

It just might be in order to thank readers. There are more of you with each book, and to all of you who’ve said to someone else, “You should read this guy,” I want you to know I’m grateful.

Ditto, booksellers. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

And there are a few individuals I need to single out: Kristin Cochrane, Mark Streatfield, Duncan Shields, Helen Heller, Juliet Ewers, Danielle Perez, Bill Massey, Kara Welsh, Heather Connor, Susan Lamb, Nita Pronovost, David Young, Gaby Young, Valerie Gow, Brad Martin, Camilla Ferrier and everyone at the Marsh Agency, Ali Karim, Cathy Paine.

Also, thanks to Spencer Barclay, his Loading Doc Productions team, and everyone else who works on my book trailers: Alex Kingsmill, Paige Barclay, Eva Kolcze, Elia Morrison, Nick Whalen, Martin MacPherson, Katie Brandino, Jeremy Kane, Ian Carleton, Misha Snyder, Nick Storring, Gord Drennan.