Part 16 (2/2)

Footsteps clicked down the hall.

n.o.body moved. n.o.body breathed.

And then Astrid barked.

”Shhhus.h.!.+” Shannon commanded frantically. But it was too late.

The footsteps stopped. The doork.n.o.b rattled. The door creaked. Then it opened with a jerk.

The woman in the picture, with a different hairdo and several years older, was standing in the doorway, mail in one hand, a letter opener in the other. (I could see her through the crack of the door.) ”Who's there?” she said sharply.

Slowly, Shannon came out from under the desk, holding Astrid's leash. Logan crawled out from behind the chair: I peered around the door.

Mrs. Tate gasped and jumped back. The let- ter opener and the mail fell from her hands. Logan swooped down and grabbed the letter opener, but Mrs. Tate didn't seem to notice. Her attention was fastened on me.

”It's you,” she said. ”You're one of the girls! From that dub.”

I nodded. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

Mrs. Tate seemed dazed. She walked across the room and sat in the chair. She put her head in her hands.

”Mrs. Tate?” I said. ”We're - we're sorry. We didn't mean to . . .”

With a sound like a moan, Mrs. Tate looked up. Her eyes filled with tears and I felt tears well up in my own eyes.

But what she said stopped my tears. ”You have to stop him,” she said hoa.r.s.ely. ”You have to stop him!”

”Mr. Tate?” I asked.

”No! No, not Karl. Woodrow. My son.”

I remembered the boy in the picture. He must be grown by now, I realized.

Shannon started edging toward the door. Logan put the letter opener down on the desk and caught my hand. We began to follow Shannon and Astrid.

”We're sorry about coming into your house,”

Shannon said. ”I mean, uninvited. It was an accident. My dog, Astrid? She chased your cat in through the pet door.”

”Miss Kitty,” murmured Mrs. Tate. ”That's our cat's name.”

”Um, yeah. Anyway, we, uh - The back door was open and we came in, just to catch Astrid, but we got locked in the study.”

”I have to have that lock fixed,” Mrs. Tate said. ”But since Karl . . . went away . . .”

She focused on me again. ”Stop him,” she said. ”Stop Woodrow. I should've. I should have called the police. But I couldn't. I just couldn't.” She buried her face in her hands again.

”I'm sorry,” I said again, awkwardly.

Mrs. Tate didn't seem to hear. Logan tugged at my hand.

We turned and walked as quickly as we could out of the house.

It had gotten so late.

”We have to call Kristy,” I said urgently. ”We have to warn her.”

”We have to call the police,” said Shannon.

We ran for the nearest pay phone. Someone paged Sergeant Johnson. When he came to the phone at last, we told him what we'd found out.

As calmly as ever, the sergeant said, ”Very good. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything.”

I hung up, feeling drained.

”Call Kristy,” Shannon urged me.

We pooled all our change and I called the Shadow Lake number.

But still there was no answer.

I hung up slowly.

We'd done all we could do. But what if it wasn't enough? What if Sergeant Johnson didn't warn Kristy and the others in time?

What was Woodrow Tate planning to do?

Chapter 23.

Kristy.

It was growing dark sooo fast. I trudged along behind Charlie, glad the mystery was solved, glad the terror was over, and wis.h.i.+ng more than anything for a warm, dry, quiet place. I was thinking hot chocolate. I was thinking nachos. These were thoughts of which I was sure the others would approve, especially Claud.

I was not thinking danger.

We flicked on our flashlights. They barely p.r.i.c.ked the growing darkness and the swirling snow. ”I'm going to light a flare or two,” I said.

We stopped. Sam said, ”Why don't a couple of us go on ahead?”

”Sounds like a good idea,” said Woodie.

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