Another noncommittal shrug. “I get these feelings about people and ... things.”
Sarah nodded. “Some people have more heightened senses than others. Have a deeper comprehension of the human psyche. You shouldn’t be ashamed or afraid of your ability to assess a person or situation.”
The girl’s gaze held Sarah’s. “I’m not afraid of anything. Are you?”
Apprehension tightened in Sarah’s gut. How could this kid read her so well?
Before Sarah could question exactly what she meant, Matilda reached into her pocket and pulled out a slender length of leather. She thrust it at Sarah. “You should wear this.”
Sarah opened her hand and permitted the item to be placed in her palm. Attached to the leather strand was a circular metal disk. It burned her skin. Cold, she told herself. Same sensation as being burned. Or maybe it was the healing abrasions from her close encounter with the vines.
“Thank you.” She studied the leather necklace that sported a very unique-looking medal symbol. She recognized the design. Pagan.
“It’s a protection rune. I want you to wear it all the time. Don’t take it off, not even to shower.”
Sarah draped the leather around her neck and dropped the medallion beneath her blouse. The metal settled between her breasts, making her skin tingle. “Thanks.”
Matilda looked away, bounced her knees as if antsy. Sarah would be lucky to hang on to her attention another minute, maybe two.
“You think I need protecting.”
The girl nodded. Like the other day, she wore the hood of her sweatshirt up, her long dark hair hanging forward on either side of her face. A tattered parka was zipped over that, but no gloves. No makeup. Her jeans and shoes had that thrift-store quality that was so fashionable, but in Matilda’s case, was more likely born of necessity. She wasn’t exactly too thin, but she had that drawn look Sarah met in the mirror every morning. Not enough sleep and maybe too many dreams.
Maybe too many bad breaks.
“Is he after me?” Sarah prodded. “The devil, I mean.” Wouldn’t be surprising. Except that she didn’t believe in the devil, so he was pretty much wasting his time.
“He’s real. You must feel him.”
Now that was truly eerie. Or not. If Sarah had recorded the conversation and analyzed it, the comment was likely a logical progression of thought. “If you believe he is, then he is.”
“Wear the necklace.” Matilda pushed away from the rock wall. “You’re ...” She cast around before meeting Sarah’s eyes again. “He doesn’t like you.”
He should get in line. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Gotta go.”
“Hey,” Sarah called after her. The need to talk to this girl a little longer was suddenly a palpable force inside her. “I was about to have breakfast. You want to join me?”
Matilda walked backward enough steps to say, “I don’t eat breakfast.”
Sarah watched her bound off, hands stuffed in her coat pockets. She touched the necklace through her shirt. This kid knew something. She was clearly confusing what she knew with the stories she’d heard from her mother or even with the rumors about her great-great-grandmother. But whatever she knew, Sarah had a feeling Matilda was close, very close, to being right.
This killer was a devil, and the police weren’t going to catch him unless he left a crumb trail.
But Pope? Being rich didn’t make him a murderer. What did Matilda know that she wasn’t telling? Had her mother serviced him? Worked for him?
Another scenario to investigate.
The bitter cold wind cut through Sarah. She wasn’t going to get any warmer standing there.
Fifteen minutes later, she started up the steep drive to the Overlook Inn. At the midway point, a car rounded the upcoming curve. Stepping off the pavement, into the grass and snow, she waited for the black Infiniti to pass.
Instead of passing her by, it stopped. Matilda’s warning that the devil didn’t like Sarah echoed in her ears. If the devil drove an Infiniti, he was making a better salary than hers. Then again, he didn’t live in Manhattan.
Tinted glass slid down and the driver’s face appeared. Dark sunglasses. Oakleys. Expensive taste.
“Sarah, I left a message for you at the inn’s registration desk.”
