I’m trapped. We’re trapped. Four rooms and a hallway. It doesn’t matter the size of the cage. Quantity of real estate makes little difference when there’s still no way out.
I should return to the broken window. I’ll finish removing the glass. Beat against the plywood. Maybe I can knock it loose.
With what? A ramming mattress? A tightly coiled spring? An elbow that is still bruised from my last attempt?
Think, think, think.
My apartment. Top corner of my landlord’s triple-decker. Where the attic access panel is at the landing at the top of the stairs.
And that quickly, my heart sinks. Because I’m pretty sure I know where the stairs are: on the other side of the locked metal fire door.
Stacey’s head is thrashing from side to side on the mattress. She is dying from my stupidity.
Boarded-up window it is.
Except at that moment, I hear it. A sound. Not the thundering of my own heart or Stacey’s labored breath.
A creak from down the hall. On the opposite side of the door. There it is again. And again.
Someone is coming up the stairs.
Chapter 44
D.D. HAD JUST MADE IT DOWN the hall when Ethier appeared, pulling a tall blonde with puffy hair and a micromini in her wake. D.D. drew up short, hand on her hip, feeling, if anything, more bewildered than before.
The manager stared at her questioningly. “Larissa Roberts,” she said, introducing the blonde. “I think it will be easiest to talk in my office.”
She passed by D.D., and then Keynes, who was halfway down the hall. He exchanged a glance with D.D. Both fell in step behind the manager and her charge. Neither said a word.
“So you knew Natalie Draga?” D.D. said at last when they’d all returned to the very tight office. She was trying to regroup, uncertain whom to study hardest. Jocelyne Ethier, who she was pretty sure might be Jacob Ness’s long-lost daughter, or the new girl, Larissa, who apparently had been friends with the first victim.
She did her best to split her attention between the two, mostly interested in Ethier’s reaction to anything Larissa had to say.
“Natalie and I were friends,” Larissa volunteered now. “Hung out together, that sort of thing. But Natalie, she wasn’t big on the personal stuff. I always had the impression this place was just one more stop along the way. When she didn’t return, I wasn’t surprised.”
“Where’d you two . . . hang out?” Keynes asked.
“Well, during work hours, in the break room. But after hours, we might go out, grab a drink, that sort of thing.”
“Favorite places?” D.D. asked.
“Birches. Hashtag. There’s lots of bars around here. We’d wander.”
“Devon ever join you?” D.D. kept her gaze on Ethier, determined to catch some sign of jealousy, rage.
“Sure. Devon liked Natalie. Anyone could see that. She was gorgeous, of course. But she could be edgy, you know? She played him. Would offer a smile one second, then cut him down the next. She called him her puppy dog. Definitely didn’t take him seriously. But as for him . . . I think he thought it was all very serious. And the more she rebuffed him, the more determined he became.”
“He wanted her. She didn’t want him,” D.D. filled in, still watching Ethier. The manager appeared bored. Nothing here she didn’t already know? Or she was that good at wearing a mask?
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I came upon Natalie with Devon a couple of times in the supply closet. Natalie might have liked to look down her nose at him in public, but behind closed doors, apparently even the Buff Bot would do.”
Ethier had turned her attention to the computer screen, was frowning at something on the monitor. So far, details of Devon Goulding’s affair with another woman seemed to mean nothing to her.
“How long did they know each other?” Keynes asked Larissa.
“Not sure. I mean, most of the time Natalie worked here, Devon was chasing her. But . . . she didn’t stay that long. Couple of months? Like I said, she was just passing through.”
“What brought Natalie to Boston?” D.D. asked.
“Change of pace. She said she was tired of Florida. Though how you can tire of sun and sand . . .”
“Florida? I thought she was from Alabama?”
Larissa shook her head. “I never heard her mention Alabama. And while she did have a bit of an accent . . . Not Alabama. Nothing as heavy as Alabama.”
“Is that how you knew her then?” D.D. asked abruptly, attention zeroing in on Ethier. “Natalie came here looking for you, didn’t she? She felt comfortable asking for a job after her time working for you in Florida.”
Ethier looked up from the monitor, blinked her eyes. “What?”
“Florida. You worked in Florida before moving here. Why didn’t you mention that before?”
“You never asked.”
“What brought you to Boston?”
“A promotion. This is a better job.”
“Did you read about Flora Dane?” Keynes now, piling on. “Her story was in all the papers. Her return home to Maine. At least in the beginning, the talk of her returning to school in Boston.”
“I have no idea—”
“That must’ve rankled.” D.D. now, pulling the manager’s attention away, keeping her disoriented. “She kills your father, and everyone hails her as a hero. Strong, brave girl who saved herself.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Larissa shrunk back, clearly wanting out of this sudden change in conversation but having no place to go.
“When did you first sleep with Devon? Big hunky guy like that. Must’ve felt good to wrap him around your little finger. Until, of course, Natalie showed up. Took his attention away from you. Is that when you decided she must pay? And to make your revenge that much sweeter, you forced Devon to help.”
“Wait a second—”
“She didn’t sleep with Devon.” Larissa, suddenly speaking up.
D.D. and Keynes both paused, stared at her. The blonde flushed, fiddled with the hem of her skirt.
“Jocelyne was never involved with Devon, if that’s what you’re asking. She was involved with me. At least, when Natalie first arrived, Jocelyne and I were together. I’m the one—” The girl paused, looked down. “I’m the one who messed everything up. Not Natalie. Not Devon. They had nothing to do with our breakup. That was my fault. All my fault.”
D.D. frowned, studied the manager, who was now bright red with embarrassment.
“Management is not supposed to get involved with staff,” Ethier said tightly. “If my bosses found out . . .”
“You were never involved with Devon Goulding?” D.D. asked.
“Needless to say, not my type.”
“And Natalie Draga?”
“Well, more my type, but to be honest”—Ethier glanced at Larissa—“I prefer blondes.”
“How old are you?” Keynes asked abruptly.
“Thirty-four.”
“And your parents?”
“Roger and Denise Ethier. Live in Tampa. Do you want to call them?”
D.D. looked over at Keynes. “I don’t think she’s the one.”
“No,” he agreed.
“And yet all roads lead back to this bar. The victims, Devon Goulding.” She stared at Ethier, stared at Larissa, willing them to help her. “What aren’t you telling us? For the sake of Natalie, Stacey, and Flora, what are we still missing?”
Chapter 45
GLASS SHARD. I still have it in my hand. I wipe my palm on my bare leg, then tighten my grip. Studying the door, calculating which way it will open.
The lights. I’ve turned them on in all the bedrooms to aid with my search. Now I jog quickly down the corridor, snapping off switches before they can give me away.
Stacey is muttering, twitching. No time to hide her.
But maybe her presence in the hall isn’t a bad thing. The noise will distract our captor. While he peers down the hall, trying to figure out who’s moaning, what’s going on, I can make my move. Attack, then evade. It’s as good a plan as any.
I’m ready.
I focus on the door, breath held, ears tuned for more footsteps. My efforts are soon rewarded: A floorboard creaks right on the other side of the door. He has reached the landing.