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  Vince listened carefully, and he tried to find that objectivity he'd developed over the years. But it was nowhere in sight His defenses had been torn down by the Prague kids. And now Holly Newman's pain was running rampant over his soul, even though she kept it very well hidden. Or tried to...

  "I found that same book at a crime scene," he said, keeping his tone steady, as gentle as possible. "Which strongly suggests it might be the same killer. In fact, it almost has to be."

  Holly gave him a puzzled frown. "I guess you didn't get all the way through those files," she said.

  "No, not all the way. Not yet. Why?"

  "The man who took Ivy is doing life without parole in Auburn."

  Vince couldn't hide his shock. "That's impossible."

  "It's a fact." She sipped more water. "It must be a sick coincidence. Some other child got a copy of the same book—"

  "From the same library? No, Holly. No. The Prague kids had no connection to this town. And besides, that book was taken out in September, nineteen eighty-three, according to the date stamped on the card pocket."

  She shook her head. "It's a mistake..."

  "It's the same book. And if it's the same book, it's the same predator."

  She locked her gaze with his. "No."

  "It has to be. Holly, I know this isn't easy, but try to see what's staring you in the face, here. They could have the wrong man in prison for killing your sister."

  "He confessed," she said.

  The wheels that had been turning so rapidly in Vince's mind came to a grinding halt. "Confessed?"

  She nodded, placing her hands flat on the table, getting slowly to her feet. "And then we finally managed to put some closure on things, and to try to move on with our lives. The book is a coincidence. A sick, twisted, painful irony, but a coincidence. And now that you know that, you should leave here and take all of this with you. Because I can't deal with it again. I won't."

  He got up as well, went to her, gripped her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I know this is hard. But, Red, look at you. You didn't deal with it the first time. And I didn't bring this anguish to you. It's been living right here, inside you, for all these years, because you won't let it out. And if you don't pretty soon, it's gonna destroy you. Trust me on this. I know."

  She tipped her head up, searched his face. "How do you know?"

  He closed his eyes. "I just do."

  He felt her hand on his cheek, and opened his eyes again. "I see," she said. "So there's pain in your past, too." She shook her head. "I would think you, of all people, would understand my need to let this stay where it belongs, dead and buried."

  He watched her, the determination in her face, the firm set of her jaw. "The only pain in my past is that I've seen too many people I cared about self-destruct because they couldn't deal. You can, I'm convinced you can. You're not weak or fragile at all, are you? You're tough, and you're smart. And stubborn and pushy and bossy. But when it comes to this—you're still playing the victim. And it's against your nature. You can deal with it. But you won't."

  "I was over it," she insisted. “I was. I was fine until you came."

  "You were ignoring it. There's a difference."

  Headlights gleamed through the windows. Holly stiffened and turned away. "Don't say a word of this to my mother. Do you understand, Vince? She barely survived losing Ivy—and then Dad. She's been through enough."

  He nodded, picked up the file. "If you don't want her to know anything's wrong—"

  She pressed a hand to her face. "God, she can't see me like this. Tell her... tell her I'm feeling better and taking a shower."

  With that, she ran for her bedroom. Leaving Vince to tell the lie. Hell, he could see no reason to bring her mother into this. Not yet. Holly had just shot a pretty big hole in his theory. But he knew in his gut there was some connection, and he was damned well going to find out what.

  The front door opened, and Doris walked in. Chief Mallory stood outside the door, hat in his hand. "Come in for coffee?" she asked.

  He looked past her, nodded hello to Vince. "No. It's late, you'd better get some rest."

  She leaned up to kiss the chief briefly on the mouth, then turning, finally acknowledged Vince's presence. "How is Holly doing?"

  "She's feeling better. She decided to take a shower."

  Doris twisted her wrist to look at her watch. "At one am?

  "Go figure," Vince said. He clutched the envelope close to his chest and moved toward the door. "I should go, now that you're home. Do me a favor, Doris, and lock up from now on. Okay?"

  She made a face. "I suppose it's a bit self-deluding to go through life thinking I don't have to worry about break-ins out here."

  "You're right, it is," Mallory said.

  Doris sighed, nodded, then paused as Vince passed. "What's that you have, Vince?"

  He glanced down at the envelope. "Oh. Just some research on the case I was working before I took my vacation. I don't want to be behind when I get back on the job."

  "My goodness, you certainly are conscientious."

  "I try to be, ma'am. Good night." He stepped out onto the porch beside Chief Mallory, and Doris closed the door. He listened for the locks, heard them turning, and knew Mallory was listening, too.

  As he started for the car, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "Just a minute, son."

  Vince paused. Mallory took the envelope from him, turned it over, and looked at the name on the front. Vince let him. He could have stopped him easily, but he'd pretty much decided that it was time to bring the chief in on this whole thing.

  "That's about what I thought. So what are you really doing out here, besides digging into someone's private hell?" Before Vince could answer, the chief said, "This have to do with those two kids who were murdered up your way?"

  Startled, Vince said, "How did you know?"

  "I'm the police chief of a small town, O'Mally. That doesn't necessarily mean I'm dumb as a post. That story was all over the news. I saw your picture in the paper. I knew damn well that lame stolen car tale you spun in my office was bullshit. But what's the connection with the library book?"

  Vince took back his envelope, and he and Mallory walked side by side to the waiting cars. "It was found at the crime scene." He opened his car door, tossed the fat envelope onto the seat. "Have you found out who last took it out of the library?"

  The chief nodded. "Holly did. Just a few weeks before her sister was taken. But you already knew that, didn't you, O'Mally?"

  "I was pretty sure of it, yes," Vince admitted.

  "So what's the connection? Ivy Newman's murderer is in prison—confessed to the crime. Even led the police into the woods up north to show them where he dumped the body."

  Vince's head came up fast. "And did they find it?"

  Chief Mallory shook his head. "No. Apparently he'd buried her somewhere in the Adirondaks. They searched several sites, but you know how it is up there. Lake after lake, and they all look pretty much the same."

  Vince's jaw tightened. "There's a connection. I'll find it." He got into his Jeep.

  "Vince." The chief held on to Vince's door, leaning in. "Does Holly know what you're doing?"

  "She does now."

  "How long has she known?"

  Vince knew exactly what the man was getting at. "About an hour now. Chief, whatever is wrong with Holly was wrong with her before I started digging into this. If something has set her off, it's something besides me."

  "And her mother?"

  "She doesn't know anything. Holly asked me not to tell her and at the moment, I see no reason to."

  "You watch your step with Holly—be careful with her," Mallory warned.

  He nodded. "I intend to be." But as he started the engine, he thought Holly Newman was one hell of a lot stronger than these people gave her credit for. The trick was in making her see that.

  This was a puzzle. And Holly Newman was more than just one of the pieces. She was the key that would make all the others fit.
r />   EIGHT

  CHIEF JIM MALLORY looked around the table at the men he'd asked to come to his home in the middle of a Saturday night. Each had a beer, but he would see to it they didn't have a second one before they left.

  To his right, the town's aging doctor sipped his beer slowly from the bottle, and punctuated each sip with a fistful of chips from the bowl on the table. Ernie Graycloud was thirty pounds overweight, and wore his long, silvered hair pulled back in a ponytail, day in, day out. His face was starting to wrinkle, but it still bore the copper hue and the straight large nose that would identify him as Indian even to those who hadn't yet heard his name. He bragged that he was pureblood Cayuga, but the chief doubted anyone in this part of the state was pureblood anything at this point in history. Ernie was the finest doctor he'd ever known, though. And a good friend, besides.

  So was the other man at the table, Marty Cantrell. He drank his beer in long, loving drafts that were few and far between. He looked worried, pensive.

  "You didn't tell me your reasons for calling this meeting in your phone message," Marty said to Jim.

  "I didn't want to leave the details on your machine," Jim explained.

  "No matter. I think I can guess. That cop, Vince O'Mally, down from Syracuse. He's poking around in things that don't concern him, isn't he?"

  Jim Mallory nodded. "I'm afraid so."

  "I knew there was some reason he was getting so chummy with my niece. I don't like it. I don't like it a bit."

  "I don't like it any better than you do, Marty."

  Ernie Graycloud was looking from one of them to the other. "I still don't understand. What is it you think he wants? Ivy's case is solved. It's closed. What can he do by digging all this up now?"

  "I'll tell you what he can do," Marty said. "He can send my niece over the edge, straight into a mental ward." Marty looked the doctor dead in the eyes. "Tell me you don't think it's possible, Ernie. Say something, for crying out loud; you're her doctor."

  Ernie lowered his gaze. "I don't know. I think she's stronger than we realize, but this ... yeah. If he forces her to relive that time in her life, it could push her too far."

  "So, just what is it he wants, that's worth torturing Holly that way?" Marty asked softly. "Jim? Has he confided in you, at all?"

  The chief sighed heavily. "Yeah. There were a couple of kids murdered in Syracuse. It was his case. He found some things he thought linked the crime to Dilmun, and then when he found out about what happened to Holly's little sister, he thought there might be a connection."

  Doc Graycloud frowned. "What could he have found to tie the Syracuse murders to Dilmun?"

  "Come on, Ernie, you know I can't tell you that." The chief sipped his beer while the other two stared at him. "I will say it's pretty compelling. I don't blame him for wanting to follow up on it."

  Marty set his beer bottle on the table. "I blame him. The man who killed little Ivy is in prison. That ought to be enough to convince this O'Mally he's on the wrong trail."

  "That's not our concern. Our concern is Holly. This isn't going to be good for her," Doc warned.

  "It's already causing problems," Marty said, leaning back in his chair. "Doris says Holly's been counting again. Having trouble sleeping. How long before the nightmares come back as well?" He shook his head slowly. "She left the bonfire early, said she wasn't feeling well."

  Jim sighed again. "Yeah, and then there was the incident out at the cabin."

  "What incident?" Doc asked, snapping to attention.

  "She thought she saw someone moving around inside. She panicked. Vince got back and checked the place out, but there wasn't a sign anyone had been anywhere near it The door was still locked."

  "You think she imagined it?" Doc asked.

  "I don't know what to think," Jim said slowly. He looked at Marty. "Doc and I have only been close with Holly and Doris for five years. Marty, you've been with them straight through the worst of it. Was there a time, even at her worst, where Holly was hallucinating?"

  Marty's lips pulled tight. "She was a little girl who saw her kid sister get snatched, and then never saw her again. Yeah, she hallucinated. There were night terrors. There was survivor's guilt. There were panic attacks, and bed-wetting, and insomnia, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. There were doctors and more doctors, drugs and more drugs. Nothing helped, not for ten freaking years, until that son of a bitch confessed. That was when she finally started to put her life back together. She lost her dad soon after that, and it set her back, but she pulled out of it. I thought... dammit, I really thought it was finally behind her."

  Ernie Graycloud nodded. "I thought so, too. She's been doing so much better since I started seeing her when she first moved out here. But Doris called me about two weeks ago. She said Holly had been talking in her sleep, saying her sister's name, stuff like that. I've been trying to talk Holly into coming in for a checkup, but you know how stubborn she can be. She says she's fine."

  "She's not fine," Marty said. He took another swig of beer. "She's far from fine, and getting worse by the day."

  "Wait a minute. Did you say Doris called you two weeks ago, Ernie?" Jim asked sharply.

  Ernie nodded.

  "Odd," Jim mused, rubbing his chin. "That's before O'Mally ever set foot in this town." He looked across the table at his friend. "What else could have triggered all this, Ernie?"

  He replied with a shrug, "Anything. She could have seen a report about the missing children in Syracuse and that could have done it. Or any number of other things. I've seen people with post-traumatic stress have flashbacks triggered by nothing more than a smell that reminded them of the past event."

  "So, something reminded Holly of her sister's kidnapping before this joker arrived in Dilmun?" Marty asked.

  "Apparently so."

  Jim shook his head slowly. "Maybe she's starting to remember something. She never was able to recall much at all, as I understand it." He looked to the doctor for confirmation.

  "It's possible. Her memory about the abduction has always been spotty at best. Maybe it's starting to clear up now."

  "If she was starting to remember. Doc, would that be a good thing for her?" Marty asked.

  "Could be good. Could be devastating," Ernie replied. "There's just no way to know for sure, until and unless it happens."

  Marty snorted. "Then, I think the best thing for all concerned would be for Vince O'Mally to get his ass back to Syracuse where he belongs, and stay the hell away from my niece, and my sister-in-law."

  "I have to agree with you there," Ernie said. "You know, even though it was Holly with the symptoms, Doris went through hell, too. They've been doing well up to now. I'd hate to see anything undo all the progress they've made."

  "They've really put it back together since they moved out here," Marty added. "And Jen loves having them so close. It's been good for them."

  "I agree," Chief Mallory said. "Look, I'll have a talk with O'Mally. See if I can make him see reason. For what it's worth, Doris still doesn't know his real reason for being in town. I'd prefer to keep it that way."

  "And what about Holly?" Ernie asked. "Does she know?"

  "Yeah. Found out last night," Jim told them.

  "Son of a—"

  Ernie clapped Marty on the shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll help her through this."

  Marty nodded, clasped his beer bottle by its neck and took another long pull. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thanks for keeping us informed, Jim."

  "It's the least I could do. You're her uncle, Marty. The closest thing she has to a dad. Ernie's her doctor, and I'm her employer—and in love with her mother, besides. It's up to us to protect those two, the way I see it. This meeting stays between us. Agreed?"

  "Agreed," the other two said in unison.

  Jim nodded. "Good. Good."

  ***

  HOLLY SLEPT ONLY sporadically, even though she knew Vince's theory was so much hot air, without a shred of truth to it, she couldn't stop thinki
ng about it. What if, somehow, he was right? What if the man who'd confessed to killing Ivy had been lying?

  But why? Why would anyone admit to murder if he hadn't done it? Who did something like that?

  If there was even the slightest chance ...

  But, no. There was no motive. No way. Now that he knew his theory was an impossibility, Vince would pack up his envelope full of information about her and the darkest night of her soul, and go on back to the city.

  She wondered why that thought brought with it a twinge of what felt like regret. Maybe, she told herself, it was simply that she sensed in him a man who didn't look at her the way everyone else in her life looked at her. He didn't see her as weak or fragile. He'd told her as much. And there was something else about him, too. Something that tugged at her. She was drawn to him in spite of herself, though it irked her to admit her mother had seen it before she had. She knew it when she woke up, rolled over in her bed, and found her face near his jacket, smelling his scent. He'd left it hanging on the bedpost. It made something tighten and yearn deep in the pit of her belly.

  That part of this situation would best be set aside for now, she decided. She had more than enough to contend with.

  The one thing that kept standing out was Vince's cockeyed theory that the wrong man was doing time for Ivy's murder. She couldn't just dismiss it. She had to know.

  Holly sat up in bed. She had to know.

  It was Sunday morning, clear and cold. No alarm clock went off on Sunday mornings. Its routine was different, though every bit as predictable. Holly and Doris slept as late as they wanted to on Sundays, then sipped coffee in the sunroom in their nightclothes, lounging lazily and catching up. After that, and only after that, they would shower and dress. At that point, the rest of Holly's routine was done with military precision. Lay out the clothes, shower, shave her legs, shampoo, always in the same order. She took more time with herself on Sundays, pampering her skin and doing her nails.