Don't Scream Part 15

There. She feels better already.

Peace and quiet, fresh airokay, and smoke.

After all the tension inside the restaurant, Fiona savors the momentary solitude.

The only sound is the stream of smoke exiting her lungs and the faint hum of a car pa.s.sing out onto the highway.

She should check her messages on her office voice mail again. She did just a few minutes ago, while they were waiting for the check, but the call shes expecting from James Bingham hasnt come in yet.

He should be at his weekend house: once the Gilded-Age cottage of a New York financial magnate, the place has forty rooms and sits on a hundred wooded acres high above Cedar Crest.

Fiona is aching to visit itand shes sure she will, if she plays her cards right.

Patience is the key. Patience and professional decorum, with just a slight hint of flirtation. And restraint. Definitely restraint.

Surely James has called and left her a voice mail by now. And maybe her sister has finally called back, too. Fee has been trying to reach her, needing to talk About the card. Just in case A large winged creature flutters on a branch overhead before swooping toward the dense thicket surrounding the parking lot. Fionas eye follows it as she inhales her cigarette, and she sees a bulky shadow of movement amid the trees.

She blinks, startled.

Whatis that?

Nothing. No big deal.

But the shadow is moving; someone is definitely there.

Or maybe justsomething . Can it be a large animal?

It could be except a glint of some s.h.i.+ny object just caught the sunlight out there, a few feet off the ground and animals in the wild dont reflect light. Nothing like There it is again.

Jewelry? Eyegla.s.ses? What the heckis that?

Is somebody out there, watching her?

Peering into the trees through narrowed eyes, Fiona feels her heart begin to race.

The door to the inn opens suddenly and she jumps at the abrupt sound.

Brynn.

Whats wrong? she asks Fiona.

Nothing. Its about time, she mutters, stubbing out her cigarette beneath her pointy-toed shoe. Lets go.

As they cross the wide porch toward the steps at the far end, closest to the woods, Fionas heart is pounding painfully.

You have to calm down. It was nothing.

But she stares into the trees, certain someone is lurking there.

Isaac can hear the music coming from behind the apartment door as he approaches.

Did he leave the radio on before he left?

No, it cant be. He was listening to Z100 that morning. They play popular music.

This is John Coltrane.

Kylah loves jazz.

I love it almost as much as I love you, she said before dragging him off to the Newport Jazz Festival last month.

That bothered him. He couldnt tell her he loved her, too.

He does like her. A lot. Much more than he likes jazz.

But nowhere near as much as he likeslovesRachel.

He s.h.i.+fts his overnight bag to his right hand and checks his watch on his left.

What is Kylah doing here?

Right now, she should be at least 35,000 feet above the Ohio Valley, flipping through a magazine and sipping a tiny paper cup of bad airline coffee.

She shouldnt be in New York, in her Ninth Street apartmentno,ourapartment, now listening to jazz.

His heart sinking, Isaac stands in the corridor outside the door, wondering what hes supposed to do now.

He can turn around, walk away, and What? Never come back?

Just leave her?

No. He cant do that. Not yet, anyway.

Theres only one option.

Lie.

Watching Fiona aim the remote at the BMW to unlock it, Brynn notices that Fionas hand is trembling.

She catches her once again looking nervously toward the woods on the far side of the parking lot as she gets into the car.

Following Fionas gaze, she sees nothing unusual.

Fee? she asks uneasily. Is something out there?

What? Startled, Fiona swivels her head toward Brynn, then shakes her head. No, sorry, Im just distracted. Ive got a lot of stress right now with work, and you know.

Yeah. I know.

It isnt just about work.

Brynn fastens her seat belt as Fiona turns her neck to back out of the parking lot, dialing her phone with one hand as she steers with the other.

Something white on the winds.h.i.+eld catches Brynns eye.

Whats that? she asks.

Wait, hang on a second. Fiona presses a key on her phone, then props it against her ear with her shoulder so that she can s.h.i.+ft intoDRIVE .

Theres a flier or something stuck under the wiper, Brynn says in a stage whisper as Fee steers toward the entrance, apparently not noticing the white rectangle on the winds.h.i.+eld.

Shh! Fiona is still listening to the phone, though not talking into it. She must be playing her messages; Brynn can hear the uninterrupted rumble of a male voice on the other end.

Shaking her head, Brynn turns away, gazing out the pa.s.sengers side window at the pa.s.sing greenery. The car picks up speed quickly, heading onto the highway.

Something white flies past the window, interrupting Brynns train of thought. She swivels her head to see that it was apparently the white paper that was stuck beneath the wiper.

That thing just flew off the winds.h.i.+eld, she informs Fiona, who is just snapping her cell phone closed.

Fee shrugs, looking distracted by the call. Oh, well. It was probably just some advertis.e.m.e.nt. Youd think a nice place like that would make sure people dont go around sticking fliers on cars in their parking lot.

Right. And youd think people who find fliers on their cars would take them off before driving, rather than leaving them there to blow away in the wind.

Shaking her head, still feeling unsettled, Brynn folds her arms and leans back. Its going to be a long ride home no matter how fast Fiona drives.

Ca.s.sie notices the white rectangle on the winds.h.i.+eld just as shes opening the drivers side door. Curious, she lifts the wiper blade to remove it and realizes its an envelope.

Just like the other day.

Only that one arrived in the mail, addressed to her.

This one is blank.

Its probably just some kind of menu or maybe a promotion the inn is doing,she tries to rea.s.sure herself.

Still, as she slips behind the wheel, she finds herself looking nervously around the parking lot, almost as if Well, as if she expects to see somebody lurking nearby, watching her.

Her hand shakes slightly as she opens the envelope flap.

Calm down. Youre starting to get all freaky again, over nothing.

She pulls out what looks like a card No, its an invitation.

On the front is a cartoonish guy holding a finger to his lips. A dialogue bubble extending from his head reads, SHHH!

Inside is the line ITS A SURPRISE PARTY! Below that, a series of preprinted headings have been filled out in what looks like old-fas.h.i.+oned typewriter type.

FOR: Matilda Harringtons Thirtieth Birthday WHEN: October 4 WHERE: Matildas House GIVEN BY: A Friend Relieved, Ca.s.sie smiles. A surprise party. Fiona must be throwing it. Or Brynn.

She wonders why they opted to leave the invitation on her car rather than hand it to her after Tildy left. They probably put it here earlier, not realizing Tildy would be the first to leave.

Ca.s.sie tucks the invitation into the glove compartment and starts the engine.

Too bad she wont be able to make it. October 4 is the day of her wedding showerto which Tildy was going to be invited.

Well, shed better not send her an invitation and risk throwing a wrench into the surprise party plans.

Uh-oh. Ca.s.sies mother will be disappointed. She has long known that Tildys G.o.dfather, Uncle Troy, is also known as former Ma.s.sachusetts governor Troy Allerson. His handsome face is everywhere lately, along with the requisite beautiful, two-decades-younger blonde wife, Lisa, and their beautiful blonde school-age triplets.

The quintessential Boston Brahmin, Allerson, like Tildys father, is Harvard-educated, immensely wealthy, has New England roots dating back centuries, and is politically connected. In fact, hes rumored to be a future presidential candidatewhich is, of course, right up Regina Ashfords networking alley.

But the shower is supposed to be about the bride-to-be, not about the mother-of-the-bride-to-be rubbing shoulders with the politically connected Matilda Harrington.

Ca.s.sies thoughts are so preoccupied with all she still has to do before her wedding that shes almost at the Danbury exit before she realizes the invitation lacked a specific time for the party and RSVP information.

Probably an oversight.

Whatever.

Sh.e.l.l have to remember to send Tildy something nice for her milestone birthday. What do you get the woman who has everything?

A bottle of champagne? A bouquet of roses?

Roses That reminds her, she really has to set up a meeting with the florist.

And get the shower guest list to Tammy.

And speak to the caterer.

And do a million other things, none of which she has time to do. None of which shewants to do.

Im sure Ill feel more excited about it when some of the planning stress is behind me,she tells herself, trying to ignore the increasingly familiar hollow feeling inside.

Lying should come easily now. Isaac has been doing it long enough. Not just with Kylah, but with Lindsey before she left, and, for that matter, with just about everyone else in his life.

But it doesnt come easily at all to unlock the door, paste on a smile, and casually call, Babe? Is that you?

Smoochy the cat, alive and well and napping on the couch, opens one eye, then closes it again.

Its me. Kylah steps out of the bedroom, hanger in hand. Blonde, blue-eyed, slender, pretty. The kind of girl who never had a problem finding a boyfriend, even in Manhattan.

If we broke up, she wouldnt be alone for long,Isaac finds himself thinking.

He says, casually, I thought you werent coming back till tonight.

I caught an earlier flight. I left you a couple of messages this morning to tell you.

On my cell? Because I didnt No, not on your cell. Youre always home on Sat.u.r.day mornings.