I never heard from Metcalf, even after I sent several more Loxton texts. And he never returned my phone call, not even to berate me for calling. All so unlike him.
Should I worry? Is he ghosting me? What could have happened?
To distract myself, I read the next few chapters inWhat to Expect the First Year,all the way up to the ninth month (best finger foods, night crying, strange stools). Then I browse through some old issues ofARTnews,fantasizing about what I’ll buy if I win the next Powerball (probably aJohn Singer Sargent portrait if I take my winnings as one lump sum). Prime-time TV? Sports? Never my thing. And I’m not up for starting another movie.
When the doorbell rings, I’m hoping it’s Hailey—maybe she forgot her key—or Amazon with a late-evening delivery of the ludicrously expensive La Prairie anti-aging creams I fell for.
Something tells me to ignore the bell. I don’t.
I peer through the peephole.
It’s Carlos.
Do the dogs know? Can they sense the fear zipping through me, their new best friend? They must, because the two of them come running to the front door, barking their big and little heads off.Good dogs,I think, patting them. I take a few steps away from the door in case Carlos decides to shoot through it. I don’t make a sound. He rings the bell again.
Nightmare on Soundview Drive.This could be the newest film in the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise. But unlike all the young heroines in sheer nightgowns who open their doors to see if it really is Freddy Krueger, I stand here frozen, knowing exactly who it is and wondering what to do.
Should I call Ben? Or Metcalf? Or the police?
The dogs keep barking and Carlos keeps ringing. Then he starts to yell.
“I know you’re in there!” he screams. Does he mean Ben? Me? Is my cover blown? Is he bluffing? Does it matter? He begins kicking the door with the steel-toed boot he probably uses to stomp on informants.
In this quiet, fancy neighborhood, does no one hear the wild barking? Is there nobody driving by who notices a crazy man yelling and screaming and trying to kick his way through a carved-oak door?
After a few hours (actually, it’s probably just ten minutes), he stops. I hear footsteps. Then a car door slams. He drives away. Will he be back?
The dogs calm down and follow me back into the den. The three of us sit on the couch and cuddle. I’m shaking. The phone rings. I jump.Is it Carlos?I decide not to answer it. But then I hear Hailey’s voice on the machine.
“Caroline, I went over to Alison Swanbeck’s house after school and—”
I pick up.
“I’m here,” I say.
“Oh. Okay. They invited me for dinner. I’ll walk home afterward but it might be late so don’t expect me till—”
“No,” I say. “I think I’d feel better if I picked you up.”
“Better?Why?” I can tell she’s pissed. She thinks I’m treating her like a child.
I take a deep breath. “Because there’s a crazed killer wandering around here, and he knows where we live.” Dead silence. Then Hailey bursts out laughing.
“God, you are a wack job,” she says. “Fine. Pick me up at, like, ten-ish?”
“Done,” I say.
Hiding in plain sight. Works every time.
CHAPTER 64
I BARELY SLEEP THAT NIGHT, worrying about Carlos coming back with a sledgehammer.
The next day, I still haven’t heard from Metcalf, and every little creak and noise spooks me, even in broad daylight. And Hailey texted about another late night at Alison’s. Way too much time for me to be alone here. Then I get a great idea. I’m taking the dogs to Disneyland.
Well, it’s not really Disneyland. But as far as the dogs are concerned, it might as well be.
“Kids, this is your lucky day,” I say as I load the two of them into Amber’s car. “We’re on our way to—ta-da!—the Canine Club!”
