Meg O'Brien - The Final Kill

Marti, though, became a famous photojournalist, while Abby married a guy who turned out to be no Prince Charming. He had an affair with a woman who had boobs out to “there” and dressed like a Hooters waitress. In fact, Abby thought, I called her “the bimbo” every chance I got—until I finally had to stop and forgive her, given that she was my sister.

And where was Karen Dean now? Off on some new adventure in Africa, God love her, trying to save her poor tattered soul by working with children who had AIDS.

Abby looked at her watch. A good ten minutes had passed since everyone had left. It should be safe now to go up and get Alicia and Jancy. Alicia had damn well better have some good explanation as to what she was doing earlier in the hotel room of a dead man.

In the solarium, Abby knelt down and tapped on the panel to the hidden cubbyhole. She waited, but didn’t hear the inside bolt slide open.

“Allie, open up,” she said in a low voice. “It’s me, Abby. They’re gone.”

She waited a few more seconds and tapped again. “Allie? Jancy? It’s okay. You’re safe. Open up.”

Leaning her ear against the panel, she heard a rustle and what sounded like someone sniffling. Another few seconds and the bolt was thrown. Abby opened the panel and saw Jancy, her face swollen and red from crying. The girl shuffled backward on her behind and leaned against the back wall, drawing her knees up to her chin.

“Allie?” Abby squinted, looking around the small dark space. She’d worried about squeezing the two of them into it, as the priest’s hole was never meant to hold two people comfortably.

Well, hell, she thought, both fear and anger vying for a place in her head. That doesn’t seem to matter much now.

Allie was gone.

Abby couldn’t get Jancy to come out, so she sat on the floor just outside the paneled door, talking in gentle tones. “Where did your mother go? Do you know where she is?”

Jancy wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and murmured something Abby couldn’t hear.

“Jancy,” she tried again, “where is your mother?”

“I don’t know,” Jancy mumbled, covering her face with her hands. “Gone. Like always.”

Like always. Her tone of voice set alarm bells off in Abby’s head. “You said that before, honey. Does your mom go away a lot?”

Jancy shrugged.

“How often?” Abby asked.

“I don’t know. At least once a month.”

“Didn’t I hear somewhere that she gives speeches around the country? Something about voting for better health care?”

“Ha.”

“You don’t believe that’s what she’s doing?”

“Oh, sure, she does that sometimes. But a couple times when my school tried to reach her on one of those trips, they couldn’t. Her cell was off the whole three days she was gone, and when they called the hotel she was supposed to be staying at in Chicago, she wasn’t even registered.”

“What about when she got home? Did you ask her where she’d been? Maybe they lost the reservation and she stayed somewhere else.”

Jancy made a sound like a snort but didn’t answer. Abby studied her a moment, then reached for her hand. “C’mon, let’s get you out of there.”

Jancy turned away. Abby touched her arm gently until she looked at her. “C’mon, honey. It’s okay.”

“Will grown-ups ever stop saying things like that?” Jancy said angrily. “It’s not okay. Nothing’s ever okay!”

But she ducked her head and crawled out into the solarium, still not taking Abby’s hand. “Oh, God, I’m stiff!”

Standing, she stretched, bending from the waist and touching her toes. Letting out a long breath, she rose slowly, then raised her arms over her head, bending from side to side in an exercise position Abby recognized as hatha yoga. It seemed to come naturally to her, as if she’d done it out of habit, without thinking. Abby watched her curiously.

When it seemed Jancy was loosened up, Abby took her to the nearby bedroom that was always prepared for unexpected visitors. “It’s so quiet here,” Jancy whispered. “Doesn’t anybody live on this floor?”

Abby smiled. “There are eleven other women on this floor, and fifteen on the one above. It’s quiet because the sisters observe the Grand Silence, and the women who aren’t nuns join them in it, out of respect.”

“Grand Silence?”

“That means they don’t talk between night and morning prayers, except in an emergency.”

Jancy rolled her eyes. “Emergency? Here?”

“You’d be surprised,” Abby said. Two years ago, she’d been pushed from the chapel balcony at the end of this very floor. Murder and mayhem were the order of the day back then, and she was the one who’d brought it inside these walls.

“What about Sister Helen?” Jancy asked. “And the one who brought us our soup?”

“They’re exempted from keeping silence at night because their jobs sometimes require they talk.”

“Oh.”

Abby was glad she didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, Jancy sat heavily on one of the sparse twin beds with its coarse white linens. As she looked up at Abby her chin trembled, despite her brave attempt to hide it with a smile.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked. “Do I have to stay here till my mom comes back?”

“I don’t know,” Abby said honestly. “There are still a lot of questions to be answered. Like, first of all, why doesn’t your mom want you to be with your dad?”

“She told you, he has some important deal coming up. He can’t come home.”

“But now that your mom has left, if I tell him you’re alone here and what’s happened—”

“Believe me, he won’t come home,” Jancy said.

So her mother goes off on private little jaunts whenever the mood hits her, Abby thought, and her father’s too busy to hang around. Or at least he’s left her with that impression.

“You mentioned Big Sur,” she said. “Is that where you’ve been living? I thought you were still in L.A.”

“We are. But we come up to Big Sur sometimes. Look, I’m not supposed to talk about it. It’s not even ours.”

“What isn’t?” Abby asked.

“The house in Big Sur. My dad’s friends, Mr. and Mrs. Randolph, loaned it to my dad so we’d have more privacy. From reporters and stuff, you know?”

She looked at Abby quickly, anxiety showing in her eyes. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Don’t worry,” Abby assured her. “My lips are zipped. But what were you doing at the Highlands Inn, if you weren’t staying there?”

“Having dinner in the restaurant,” Jancy said, yawning. “Can I go to sleep now?”

Abby had hoped Jancy might give her some clue as to what had actually happened, but the question had closed her down.

She studied the girl a moment, wondering if she should press for more. But the kid genuinely looked tired, and it wouldn’t have surprised Abby if she simply fell over with her clothes on and stayed like that all night.

“Of course. Get some sleep,” she said. On the side of the antique night table there was a button. “If anything happens that worries you, or if you just feel troubled, push this. It rings through to my room, and I’ll come right up.”

Abby took clean, plain white pajamas out of a drawer in the dresser, and put them on the bed for her. “Restrooms are down the hall on the right,” she said. “It’s communal, so you may run into some of the other women who live here. Don’t let that bother you, just don’t talk to them until after morning prayers. That’s at six. And here’s a clock so you’ll know what time it is when you wake up.”

Abby turned the tiny travel clock so that it faced the bed. “I see it’s almost five, so you’ll probably sleep through breakfast. When you’re ready, come down to the kitchen. It’s along the hall, the opposite way from where you and your mom came in. I’ll tell Sister Binny to expect you. But watch out. She’ll probably try to bury you under pancakes.”