“I know!” she called back. Her voice sounded amazingly normal considering how her insides were flipping around. The lights in the foyer were on. The outside lights were blazing.
Briiiing.
She couldn’t answer.
She had to answer.
Briiiing.
She’d tell the bad man he must have the wrong house, the wrong person, the wrong idea. She’d tell him to go away.
She opened the door.
81.
Cam
Cam drove fast down Hale Street. He didn’t like the way Alexa sounded. He wanted to get to her. He forced himself to rely on what made him a good golfer: patience, and focus, and calm in the midst of chaos. He thought about Mickelson and that final putt in 2004. He put his hands at ten and two on the wheel, the way he’d learned to drive. He focused on the road; he focused on Alexa.
“I’m coming,” he said out loud. “I’m coming, Alexa.” She had told him not to come, but of course he would. He’d get the car back to her; he’d make sure she was okay.
That’s when the deer ran out in front of him and froze.
Cam’s last coherent thought—his very last thought ever—was “That looks like a deer in the headlights!” which was something he’d have to remember to tell Alexa, because even though she’d roll her eyes he knew she’d laugh on the inside, and sometimes the inside laughs were the best kind.
He swerved to avoid the deer, and the pole was coming toward him, and there was the most terrific crunch of metal, and then everything went black. Except for a far-off light in the distance, no bigger than the head of a pin. And he wanted to say, “Alexa, hold on, I’m coming for you, I love you.” But he couldn’t say anything at all.
82.
The Squad
Rebecca’s car wasn’t there after all, where Melanie thought it was, in Brooke’s driveway. We didn’t know what had happened until later, when the details of the night started to sort themselves out. Apparently, Alexa’s Jeep was running funny. So she left her Jeep on Merrimac and took Rebecca’s Acura.
At some point Melanie decided she didn’t need to leave after all. Why should she be the one to leave, when she hadn’t been (in her mind) in the wrong? Lethimbe the one to leave. She was going to stay and enjoy the party, and, yes, she would like to have one of those Aperol cocktails! And when that was done, she just might have another one. Since the line was getting long, why didn’t she just grab two now?
Melanie found Rebecca, who was at one of the stand-up cocktail tables with the mystery man, whom by then we knew to be Daniel Bennett. Melanie told Rebecca she didn’t see the car, but never mind, she’d changed her mind anyway. Rebecca didn’t think much of Melanie not being able to find her car. By then the party was really very crowded, and the cars had more than filled Brooke’s long driveway and were snaking onto Merrimac Street. She’d probably just overlooked it.
Did we hear the sirens from where we were? Some people said later that they had. But most of us viewed that as unlikely. Anyonecoming from the police station would have cut up to High Street almost immediately to get more quickly to Hale Street. And it would have been nearly impossible to hear the ambulance from Brooke’s backyard.
Somebody said later that before all of that happened, they saw Sherri Griffin throwing up in the bushes. That wasn’t a surprise. Did you see how much alcohol she drank in a relatively short amount of time?
83.
Alexa
There was a man outside. He was around her mother’s age, with sandy hair and a wide freckled face. There was something about him—something in the set of his eyes, the shape of his nose, something that reminded her of someone she knew.
“Alexa Thornhill?” said the man.
“Maybe,” said Alexa. Her fear was so strong and all-consuming that it felt like an out-of-body experience.
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you! You are one hard person to find. I went to your place of employment earlier, looking for you.”
The man held out his hand to shake hers and Alexa thought,Are these the manners of a murderer? She found herself shaking back—really, it was the only way to keep her hand from quaking right off her wrist, and also, for good or for ill, she had been brought up to respond in kind when presented with an outstretched hand. She peered around the man to see where the other men were. The accomplices. But there was nobody else there. Maybe they were still in the SUV. Readying the weapon, preparing for a clear shot.
“And I was told that the specialty of the house is something called the Ring? Which involves a doughnut along with the ice cream?”
“The Ringer,” whispered Alexa.
