Part 15 (2/2)

But Nelson's truck was not there. And there were no lights on in the house. No one seemed to be at home. Tess got out of the car, opening her umbrella. She walked up to the foot of the porch steps and looked around at the neatly kept property while the rain made a persistent clatter on the gutters of the stark-looking gray farmhouse.

Tess climbed the steps and tried turning the front doork.n.o.b, but it was locked. She felt both disappointed and relieved. She didn't know if she would have had the nerve to open the door and just walk inside. Now the decision had been taken away from her. She s.h.i.+elded her brow with one hand and peered through the wavy gla.s.s of the old windowpanes into the front room of the house. It was a drab, spa.r.s.ely furnished room with a few stiff-looking chairs, a dun-colored sofa, and faded wallpaper. The rug that sat in the center of the floor was flowered and far too small for the s.p.a.ce. A grandfather clock stood near the door, ticking off the minutes. She tried to picture the Abbott family living in this house: Lazarus sitting in one of those straight-backed chairs as Nelson cuffed him and yelled in his ear.

Now that she was here, gazing into the Abbott parlor, she was distracted from her purpose, overwhelmed by thoughts of her sister. Phoebe, she thought. Did he bring you to this house when he took you away from us? Was he tired of being the only one who suffered here? Or did he bring you here to satisfy the perverted appet.i.tes of another, more powerful person? Tess shuddered at the idea of it.

She straightened up and walked to the edge of the porch. The garage was not attached to the house, but sat back at the end of the driveway, a small gray building with the same multipaned windows as the house. The doors of the garage were closed. The windows of the garage were covered from within by what appeared to be yellowed paper shades. It was impossible to see inside. Tess felt thwarted, as if the eyes of the garage were looking back at her blindly. She wanted to see inside. She felt...ent.i.tled to look in there. To see the interior for herself. To try to determine if she could feel the presence of her sister. She was sure that somehow she would be able to do what the police had not been able to do-tell whether this building was the place where Phoebe had been held captive and killed.

Tess climbed down the porch steps and walked toward the shuttered garage through the blowing rain, holding her opened umbrella over her head. Every so often a gust of wind would shake the umbrella frame and Tess had to grip it tighter. At the garage door, she reached out and grabbed the wrought-iron handle and shook it. The door did not budge. She tried the other handle, jiggling it back and forth. It was no use. The doors were locked tight. ”Dammit,” she said.

She turned away from the garage and walked back toward the house. Don't forget why you're here-the DNA, she reminded herself. The DNA. Get busy. They could come home at any minute. Crossing the immaculately kept backyard she pa.s.sed an old-fas.h.i.+oned pole clothesline that had some laundry flapping on it, drenched by the sudden rain. Tess stopped and thought about taking one of the men's T-s.h.i.+rts, but that would be of no use. She was sure, judging by the tidiness of the house and yard, that Edith did a thorough job with her laundry. Every last identifying cell was probably washed and bleached away.

There were a set of slanted wooden doors beneath a kitchen window that obviously led down to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Tess walked toward them. Was it there that he took you, Phoebe? she wondered. When she was found, Phoebe's body was bound and gagged and bruised all over. After all these years, Phoebe's face was almost a blank in Tess's mind. She remembered pictures of Phoebe rather than Phoebe herself. Gazing at those cellar doors, she felt as if she could suddenly see her sister again, in her T-s.h.i.+rt and sweatpants, her long blonde hair swinging like a curtain around that face that Tess could no longer visualize, as Lazarus lifted those creaking cellar doors and hoisted her up over his shoulder, carrying her down those steps like a rolled-up rug.

Tess turned away from the cellar doors, her stomach in knots. There's no time for ruminating about the past, she thought. You have to get that DNA sample now, while you have the chance. She glanced at the plastic trash cans. Surely there would be items in the trash with Nelson's saliva on them, but they would be useless, according to Chief Fuller, if they were bundled in proximity to the rest of the trash. She lifted a lid, hoping that one bin would be recycling and that she might find a beer bottle inside it. But both barrels contained trash tied up in plastic bags. Everything neat and tidy and cross-contaminated, she thought.

Tess looked around and then lifted one of the wooden cellar doors. She looked down at a storm door and the darkness of the bas.e.m.e.nt beyond it. Was there anything useful down there, even if, by some fluke, that inside door was not locked? Somehow she doubted that these people ever left anything out of place. Tess hesitated, feeling sick at the thought of entering that bas.e.m.e.nt, knowing that Phoebe may have taken her last breath in that gloom. Knowing that the Abbotts could return at any moment.

Do it, she thought. For Phoebe. She looked around, lowered her umbrella, and hurried down the cement block steps. She tried the handle on the door at the bottom of the stairs, rattling it vigorously, but it did not budge. The musty smell from inside seeped out, a.s.sailing her nostrils. She peered through the storm window. By the light that filtered down the stairs, it was too dark to see more than a few feet into the bas.e.m.e.nt. Directly in front of her Tess saw a tool bench, with all the tools neatly hung on hooks and all the nails and screws in jars divided by size. There did not appear to be so much as a dirty rag on the surface of the workbench.

If I could only get in there, she thought, I could go through the bas.e.m.e.nt and up into the house. Into the house where there would be a bathroom, with everything she might need. A toothbrush, a comb, nail parings. For a moment she toyed with the thought of breaking in, but she dismissed the idea almost as soon as it came to her mind. What if Nelson Abbott came home and found her in his house? He might have a gun, and if he did, he could shoot her and be justified. Even if there was no gun, he could call the police on her and be within his rights to have her arrested. Tess sighed, pressing her face against the pane, trying to peer inside. And then, suddenly, she froze. Above the whistle of the wind, she heard a car door slamming.

Oh my G.o.d, they're back. They've seen my car. I have to get out of here, she thought. She turned away from the storm door window and quickly ran up the cinder-block steps. Looking all around, she emerged from the stairwell and turned to lower the wooden cellar door as carefully as possible, so as not to make a sound.

Then, clutching her bag and her closed umbrella, she straightened up and hurried toward the driveway side of the house. She turned the corner and came face-to-face with Nelson Abbott, peering at her from beneath the brim of his John Deere cap.

Tess let out a cry.

”What the h.e.l.l...? What do you think you're doing?” Nelson demanded.

He advanced on her. Tess stumbled back. She had a sickening feeling that he knew what she was doing. That he could read her intentions in her eyes. ”I came here to see you,” she stammered. She brushed her wind-whipped hair off her face.

”To see me? In the backyard? Behind my house? What are you playing at?”

”Nothing,” said Tess. ”I...just was...I thought you might be...”

”You thought I might be what? Huh? Speak up. Why are you trespa.s.sing on my property?”

Tess's heart was thudding. They were alone. There was no sign of Edith Abbott anywhere around. And Tess was at a loss to explain her presence here. She felt as if the letters ”DNA” were flas.h.i.+ng on her forehead.

”I've got a good mind to call my nephew, the police chief. He's none too fond of you as it is,” said Nelson in a steely tone, pointing a finger at her. ”Your lies have given him more headaches than he knows what to do with. Well, you've lied once too often, missy. You lied about Lazarus and you are going to pay dearly for that. As a matter of fact, you're soon gonna find out there's a lawsuit against you...”

The legal papers, Tess thought with relief. The lawsuit. She almost sagged against this man, her enemy, in grat.i.tude. Her reason for being here was obvious. He had pointed it out himself. Now, she thought, tread carefully. Hide your indignation. Be...conciliatory. ”Yes,” she said in a deliberately even tone of voice. ”Yes. I received those papers from your attorney. That's why I'm here. I wondered if we could talk about that.”

Nelson peered at her suspiciously. ”We got nothing to say. We'll say all that we need to say in court.”

It made her flesh crawl to appeal to him-this man whom she suspected of being Phoebe's actual killer. The thought of trapping him through the DNA helped her to overcome her revulsion. ”I was just hoping that you and your wife and I could maybe...discuss this whole thing. I mean, I probably shouldn't admit this to you, but I do feel...very responsible for what happened to Lazarus.”

”My wife's not here,” he said flatly. ”She's at the church.”

Tess raised her hands in supplication. ”You and I then. Could we sit down and talk about this...?” The thought of entering the house made Tess feel weak with dread, but she couldn't give up. If he would only invite her in, she knew she could get to the bathroom, to get what she needed. ”Could we just go inside and talk...?”

”I don't know what it is you want to talk about,” said Nelson suspiciously.

”Just...to, um...clear the air,” said Tess.

He peered at her and seemed to be calculating something. ”Clear the air how?” he said.

”I don't think we...necessarily need an intermediary. I mean, lawyers can get in the way. And they're expensive. Would you mind if I came in?” she said. ”It's awfully wet out here.”

Nelson turned his back on her and walked up the front porch steps, rummaging in his pocket for the keys. He inserted a key into the front door and turned the k.n.o.b.

”Mr. Abbott,” Tess said politely.

He turned to gaze at her, still standing beside the steps, and there was a chilling little flash of cunning in his eyes. ”Well, come in if you're comin',” he said abruptly.

Tess felt victorious and utterly wary at the same time. Where was that sudden, sly satisfaction coming from? She climbed the steps and followed him into the parlor she had viewed through the window earlier. Nelson Abbott took off his hat and his jacket and hung them on a clothes tree by the front door. Tess started to take off her wet slicker to hang it and her furled umbrella on the clothes tree, as well, but Abbott interrupted her. ”I didn't say to make yourself at home,” he said.

”It's just...I'm dripping,” she said.

Nelson Abbott made a face and then sighed, indicating his unwilling approval. Tess hung up the umbrella and the slicker over it. Nelson pointed to one of the wooden chairs and Tess sat down on it in the center of the dank room. Nelson remained standing, his arms crossed over his chest.

Instantly, Tess realized that they weren't going to be sharing a friendly drink. So much for any hope of secreting away his drinking gla.s.s. He was staring at her, tapping the palm of his hand impatiently on his upper arm. ”Say what you come to say,” he barked.

Make this good, Tess thought. Be appeasing. ”Well,” she said, ”I know that you and Mrs. Abbott feel as if your son was the victim in this...whole thing. And of course he was,” she said, nearly choking on the words. ”But my sister was a victim, as well. So I thought, maybe, instead of blaming each other, we should be placing the blame where it really belongs...on the state and the...death penalty.”

Nelson looked at her in disbelief. ”That's what you wanted to say? That's it?”

Tess felt fl.u.s.tered. ”Well, I, yeah...”

Nelson rolled his eyes in disgust.

”I mean...I just thought we could talk,” Tess said.

Nelson snorted. ”And here I figured you wanted to settle this thing. I thought you come to make us an offer.”

”An offer?”

”A financial offer,” he said. Then he shook his head. ”Avoid the court business. I should have known. Just a lot of talk,” he said. ”If that's all you're good for, get out.”

Too late, Tess realized that she had missed her chance. Nelson would have been happy to sit and bargain. He might even have made them both a cup of coffee. Now it was too late to backtrack. He would not believe she was actually here to negotiate. In fact, he looked as if he was going to lift her from the chair and toss her out. Tess stood up, mindful that her last hope to obtain the sample was at hand. She knew that what she was about to say might seem strange, but she had to do it. ”Excuse me,” she said, ”but would you mind if I used your bathroom?”

Nelson stared at her in amazement. ”The bathroom?”

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