Don't Scream Part 1

Dont Scream.

Wendy Corsi Staub.

Dedicated in loving memory of my grandfather, Samuel J. Ricotta (April 1915May 2006) and in honor of my grandmother, Sara J. Ricotta.

And for Mark, Morgan, and Brody.

Acknowledgments.

I am grateful to Carolyn MacNeil and Officer Michael McCarthy of the Boston Police Department, who patiently answered countless questions about murder and mayhem. Any errors in police procedural are strictly my own. In addition, I owe a tremendous thank you to my editor, John Scognamiglio, and the staff at Kensington Books; to my agents, Laura Blake Peterson, Holly Frederick, and the staff at Curtis Brown, Ltd; to my publicists, Nancy Berland and Elizabeth Middaugh, as well as Kim Miller and the rest of the staff at Nancy Berland Public Relations.

Heartfelt thanks as well to Cathy Cadek and Laura Pennock and staff at Levy Home entertainment for their ongoing, enthusiastic support, and to Levys Sales Promotions teamPam Nelson, Sarah Donaldson, Janet Krey, Emily Hixon, Devar Spight, Kathleen Koelbl, Justine Willis, Renna Thomas, and George Tyrrellfor making the K-mart/Levy Sizzling Summer Author Tour such fun! Thanks to Carol Fitzgerald, Sunil k.u.mar, and the staff at The Book Report Network; and to Rick and Patty Donovan, Phil Pelletier, and their staff at my favorite store, The Book Nook, in Dunkirk, N.Y. Finally, Mark Staub: I could never do any of it without your feedback and support every step of the way along every literary journey.

PROLOGUE.

September, ten years earlier.

* and I do solemnly swear that I will never ever tell another living soul what happened here tonight And I do solemnly swear that I will never ever tell another living soul what happened here tonight, the female voices echo dutifully, none without a quaver.

Brynns is the most tremulous of all, barely audible even to her own ears. She prays Tildy wont notice and single her out to repeat the pledge solo. If that happens What will I do?

WhatcanI do?

Sh.e.l.l just have to go along with it, the way shes gone along with all of this, right from the start. Against her better judgment, against her conscience, and, ultimately Against the law?

Tildy says no. Adamantly. She insists that they havent broken any laws.

Its not like weve murdered someone, she hissed when Brynn balked at the proposed plan. Anyone in our situation would do the exact same thing.

Brynn highly doubts that, but she cant bring herself to say it.

There was a time when Brynn Costelloapple of her daddys eye, valedictorian of her high school cla.s.s, deans list candidate for her first four semesters at Stonebridge College, Zeta Delta Kappa pledgewould have stood up to all of them. Even Matilda Harrington.

So why didnt you?

Why are you standing here in the woods in the middle of the night being sworn to secrecy?

This cant really be happening. If anyone ever found out But n.o.body will find out.

Theyre not going to tell.

Anyway, Tildy was right when she pointed out that what happened isnt their fault.

Still I just want to get out of here, go back to the sorority house, and forget this ever happened.

Or, better yet, just go home.

Home.

Swept by a wave of nostalgia, Brynn swallows hard over a lump in her throat. She longs for worn oak floors, oval braided rugs, chintz slipcovers. The savory aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, and onions frying in olive oil. The radio in the background, sock-hop standards and sixties anthems of the local oldies station. Clutter, and laundry, and people coming and going Home.

But the seaside blue-collar household on Cape Cod is two hundred miles and a world away from the campus nestled in the Berks.h.i.+res, the mountains of western Ma.s.sachusetts.

And theres no going backnot the way Brynn yearns to do.

Before her thoughts can meander down the fateful path that ultimately led to Stonebridge College, shes dragged back to the present.

Tildy, apparently deciding their oath needs something more to make it official, solemnly declares, So help me G.o.d.

So help me G.o.d, the others obediently intone.

Not Brynn. She just moves her lips, refusing to invoke G.o.d. Not under these circ.u.mstances.

Now well sing the sorority song, Tildy commands, lifting her hand to push her blonde hair back from her face. Her sorority bracelet, a silver rope of clasped rosebuds, glints in the moonlight. Theyre all wearing themincluding Racheland each is personalized with dangling silver initial charms.

Brynn manages to join the others in singing. The ingrained lyrics she secretly always considered embarra.s.singly hokey now seem bittersweet as she forces them past the lump in her throat.

Well always remember That fateful September Well never forget The new sisters we met Well face tomorrow together In all kinds of weather ZDK girls, now side by side May travel far and wide But wherever we roam Sweet ZDK will be our home.

The sisters voices give way to the hushed nocturnal woodland descant: chirping crickets, a rus.h.i.+ng creek, and the September breeze that gently rustles the maple boughs high above the clearing.

Then another sound reaches Brynns ears The faint, yet resonant crack of a branch splintering underfoot.

She clutches her friend Fionas arm, asking in a high-pitched whisper, Did anyone hear that?

Hear what? Tildys tone is sharp.

Shhh! Standing absolutely still, afraid to breathe, Brynn listens intently.

They all do.

There is nothing.

Nothing but the crickets, the creek, a gust stirring the leaves overhead. Just like before.

After a long, tense moment, Ca.s.sie says, I dont hear anything, Brynn.

Brynn doesnt either. Not now.

But someone is there.

She can feel it.

Someone is lurking in the shadows among the trees, listening.

Perhaps even watching And recognizing.

PART I.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR RACHEL.

CHAPTER 1.

September, present day.

Cedar Crest, Ma.s.sachusetts.

It happened ten years ago this week, just after Labor Day, and just a few miles from here.

In fact, if one knows where to look, one can pinpoint up in the greenish-golden Berks.h.i.+res backdrop, beyond the row of nineteenth-century rooftops, precisely the spot where it happened.

And I know where to look because I was there. I know exactly what really happened that night, and its time that Oh, excuse me! The elderly woman is apologetic, having just rounded the corner from Second Street. I didnt mean to b.u.mp into you Im so sorry.

She looks so familiar It takes just a split second for the memory to surface. Right, she used to be a cas.h.i.+er at the little deli down the block. The place that always had hazelnut decaf. Yes, and she was always so chatty.

What was her name? Mary? Molly?

What is she doing out at this hour? The sky is still dark in the west, and none of the businesses along Main Street are open yet.

Dont panic. She probably doesnt even recognize you. Just smile and say something casual Oh, thats all right, maam.

Good. Now turn your back. Slowly, so that you dont draw any more attention to yourself.

Good. Now get the heck out of here, before Excuse me!

Dammit! The old lady again.

What can she possibly want now?

You must have dropped this when I b.u.mped you. With a gnarled, blue-veined hand, she proffers a white envelope.

Oh thank you.

Could she have glanced at the address on the front before she handed it over? If she did, could she have recognized the recipients name?

Its going to be a nice day today. She gestures at the glow in the eastern sky, above the mountain peaks. We needed that rain, though, at this time of year.

Mmm-hmm. Just nod. Be polite.

Well Enjoy the day.

I will.But not as much as Ill enjoy tomorrow. You, too.

With a cheerful wave, the woman turns and makes her way down the block.

The post office is just a few doors in the opposite direction. These last two envelopesthe ones to be delivered right here in townmust go out in this mornings mail.

Its important that they be mailed from here, so that the recipients will realize that the sender is nearby.

The timing is just as crucial. All four cards need to arrive at their destination tomorrow, on the anniversary.

The others went out first thing yesterday morningone to Boston, one to Connecticut. That excursion was uneventful. It was raining, and there were no witnesses Unlike today.

Now isnt the time to start taking chances. Not after months of painstakingly laying the groundwork. Not when its finally about to begin at last.

Millie.

Thats her name.

The post office can wait. The first pickup wont be for at least another hour.

What a shame, Millie.

What a shame you werent more careful.

Whoa, hang on there, kiddo! Brynn Saddler swoops toward her barefoot toddler as he dashes across the front lawn toward the street.

Hey, good catch, Mom! Arnie, the mail carrier, calls from the sidewalk a few doors down leafy Tamarack Lane as Brynn lifts her squirming son into her arms.

Im getting enough practice third time hes made a run for it in the last five minutes! Laughing, Brynn carries Jeremy back to the steps of their Craftsman bungalow, where theyve been waiting for the school bus in the late summer suns.h.i.+ne.

This is Calebs first day of kindergarten at Cedar Crest Elementary; shes been holding her breath and checking her watch for almost seven hours. She wont relax until the moment hes safely home again. But the whole process is bound to kick in again tomorrow morning And, she supposes, every morning until high school graduation. She cant imagine ever getting used to sending her child off each morning with a wave, a kiss, and a fervent prayer that h.e.l.l be safe until hes home again.

Never mind her friend Fiona swearing that by next August, Brynn will be counting down the days until school beginsand maybe even looking for a job.

Fee isnt exactly a doting mother. Not that she doesnt love her only daughter. But given the option of spending her time with Ashley or at work, Fee would undoubtedly choose the latter, and always has. Her marriage ended because she couldnt give her husband the second child he wanted.

No, not couldnt,Brynn amends.Wouldnt .

It isnt that she believes Fee should have had another baby she didnt want.