was time to put an end to it.
She lifted the suitcase from the bed and placed it next to the others. From the foyer, the faint click of a turning lock reached her ears. She jammed her hand against her mouth to muffle a scream. He wasnât supposed to come tonight. She turned around to face him.
âHelene?â His voice was polite. âWerenât you planning to say goodbye?â
âI . . . I was going to write you.â
âThat wonât be necessary now.â
With his right hand, he reached into his pocket. She saw the glint of metal. Then he picked up one of the bed pillows and held it in front of him. Helene did not have time to try to escape. Searing pain exploded through her head. The future that she had planned so carefully disappeared with her into the blackness.
At four A.M. the ringing of the phone tore Meghan from sleep. She fumbled for the receiver.
A barely discernible, hoarse voice whispered, âMeg.â
âWho is this?â She heard a click and knew her mother was picking up the extension.
âItâs Daddy, Meg. Iâm in trouble. I did something terrible.â
A strangled moan made Meg fling down the receiver and rush into her motherâs room. Catherine Collins was slumped on the pillow, her face ashen, her eyes closed.Meg grasped her arms. âMom, itâs some sick, crazy fool,â she said urgently. âMom!â
Her mother was unconscious.
17
A t seven-thirty Tuesday morning, Mac watched his lively son leap onto the school bus. Then he got in his car for the drive to Westport. There was a nippy bite in the air, and his glasses were fogging over. He took them off, gave them a quick rub and automatically wished that he were one of the happy contact lens wearers whose smiling faces reproached him from poster-sized ads whenever he went to have his glasses adjusted or replaced.
As he drove around the bend in the road he was astonished to see Megâs white Mustang about to turn into her driveway. He tapped the horn and she braked.
He pulled up beside her. In unison they lowered their windows. His cheerful, âWhat are you up to?â died on his lips as he got a good look at Meghan. Her face was strained and pale, her hair disheveled, a striped pajama top visible between the lapels of her raincoat. âMeg, whatâs wrong?â he demanded.
âMy motherâs in the hospital,â she said tonelessly.
A car was coming up behind her. âGo ahead,â he said. âIâll follow you.â
In the driveway, he hurried to open the car door for Meg. She seemed dazed. How bad is Catherine? he thought, worried. On the porch, he took Megâs house key from her hand. âHere, let me do that.â
In the foyer, he put his hands on her shoulders. âTell me.â
âThey thought at first sheâd had a heart attack. Fortunately they were wrong, but there is a chance that sheâs building up to one. Sheâs on medication to head it off. Sheâll be in the hospital for at least a week. They askedâget thisâhad she been under any stress?â An uncertain laugh became a stifled sob. She swallowed and pulled back. âIâm okay, Mac. The tests showed no heart damage as of now. Sheâs exhausted, heartsick, worried. Rest and some sedatives are what she needs.â
âI agree. Wouldnât hurt you either. Come on. You could use a cup of coffee.â
She followed him into the kitchen. âIâll make it.â
âSit down. Donât you want to take your coat off?â
âIâm still cold.â She attempted a smile. âHow can you go out on a day like this without a coat?â
Mac glanced down at his gray tweed jacket. âMy top-coat has a loose button. I canât find my sewing kit.â
When the coffee was ready, he poured them each a cup and sat opposite her at the table. âI suppose with Catherine in the hospital youâll come here to sleep
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