A piney scent rushed to her nostrils. They were snaking through trees now, a denser patch than where they’d been before, and the bursts of light were no longer visible. When she stretched her arm in front of her, she could barely see her hand.
“You’re doing great,” he told her from behind. “It’s not much farther.”
“But I don’t see the parking lot.”
“We just keep bearing to the right and then it’s straight in front of us. You can’t quite tell from here because the lights are lower there.”
Her thoughts seemed to swim in her head, struggling to stay above water.
“Okay. But—”
“But, but, but.”
There was an edge to his tone, and her heart froze.
“Sorry,” she said, trying to sound agreeable. “I was just wondering.”
“You should wonder less, you know that?”
That edge again, but stronger this time. Fear foamed through every inch of her. She had to do something, butwhat?
“Yeah, I know,” she said, struggling to keep her voice light.
She slowed her pace a tiny bit and strained to hear through the darkness. There was no more music, no clang of the rides, no engines starting.
Her fear mushroomed into full-blown panic. They were lost or headed the wrong way. She needed to get back to the gap in the fence.
Go, she told herself.Go now.
And then she was off, stumbling over rocks and branches and tree roots, blood pounding in her ears.Don’t stop running, she ordered herself.
But fast as a bang from a firecracker, his arm shot from behind and jerked her backward. His hand fumbled roughly around her face and then, before she could cry out, it clamped down hard against her mouth. Seconds later she was shoved forward until her body hit the ground, face forward, knocking the breath out of her.
1
ISHOULDN’T HAVE COME TO THE PARTY TONIGHT. I HAD SOMEmisgivings as soon as I accepted the invitation, and they only grew today as I drove from Manhattan and checked into the inn. Now, as I stand on the front stoop of my friend Ava’s house, the qualms are suddenly strong enough to make my stomach twist. It’s too soon for me to be here. It will be excruciatingly awkward. People will start buzzing the moment they spot me.
But there are reasons I had for coming, and since I’ve driven all this way, I’m going to have to suck it up and make the best of things.
It’s Ava who answers my knock, and she graciously ushers me into the foyer of her charming eighteenth-century house.
“Oh,Kiki,” she says, embracing me warmly. “I’m thrilled to see you, dear.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” I exclaim, hugging her back. “It’s so great to be here.”
And in one sense, I’m totally sincere. I love this house, with its low, wood-beamed ceilings and endless warren of floral-scented rooms. More importantly I’ve really missed Ava, my former boss and mentor—and savior, too—who’s since become a good friend. I just have to tamp down the part of myself that wants to turn on my heel and flee.
“Tonight should be fun,” she says, beaming. “We’ve had a great turnout.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Vic must be so pleased.”
From the hum in the rooms behind us, I estimate that there are already twenty-five to thirty people here. I steal a glance through the door into the cream-colored parlor. Though it’s early August, most of the men are sporting navy blazers; the women are in flowy Eileen Fisher–style dresses or silky blouses over pants.
Have I overdone it, I wonder, in my short black cocktail dress? Not if I use Ava as a measure. She’s super elegant in cropped turquoise pants and a matching silk tunic that looks beautiful against her caramel-colored skin. Though there are crow’s-feet in the corners of her deep brown eyes, it’s hard to believe that she’s in her midfifties.
“The bar is in the study, per usual,” she says, “and I think that’s where Vic is holding court at the moment. He’s dying to see you, Kiki.”
Victor Davenport, a highly regarded historian and Ava’s husband of five years, is tonight’s guest of honor. His new book, a fresh look at the Salem witch trials, has just been published, and Ava decided to host a celebratory dinner party here at their home in Litchfield County, Connecticut.
