Like a Knife
blame you if you weren't fine. We saw that man's picture in the paper, the one involved in the Spier hit-and-run. Rachel, I had lunch with Patricia Sydney today, and she's still interested in talking with you about the headmistress job at Bellwood."
    Rachel put a shaky hand to her forehead. "I already have a job."
    "But why put yourself in this position? Exposing yourself to the dregs of society, to murderers like that man who works for you."
    She gripped the phone tighter, holding on to her patience with difficulty. "He's not a murderer. And you can stop worrying. He resigned. But largely because of the publicity, not because he did anything wrong."
    "The police seem to think differently."
    "Then the police are wrong! Nick had nothing to do with Shelley Spier's murder. I know, because I was with him that night." She groaned inwardly. What she wouldn't give to take those words back! Sinking back into her chair, she braced herself for Julia's reaction.
    "Another effort to rescue the starving masses?" Rachel could picture the condescension chilling her aunt's face. "Isn't that school bad enough? Do you have to drag every stray cat to your door?"
    "Julia-"
    "If your father was here, oh, wouldn't he be laughing now? You have no idea how it hurts me to see his influence in you. My God, the man's been dead for three years, and you're still his little socialist pawn."
    She'd heard this so many times, she should have been deaf to it. But she wasn't. "I don't want to have this fight now."
    "He killed your mother, Rachel, as surely as if he pulled the trigger himself."
    Rachel gasped. "That's an outrageous thing to say, and you know it."
    "I know he dragged my sister to the ends of the earth to live with scum, and they killed her for it."
    "The Bronx is not the ends of the earth, and he didn't drag her. She wanted to help people."
    "I couldn't bear it if the same thing happened-" Tears suddenly choked Julia's voice.
    No, she could never tell her aunt what had happened the other night. Rachel rubbed her forehead in an effort to push back her looming headache. "You're upsetting yourself over nothing. Nick is ... is gone. Look, your mascara is probably starting to run. And I'm... I'm busy. I have to go."
    Not a good idea, Rachel. But she hung up anyway. Another moment, and she'd have burst into tears.
    She closed her eyes, hoping the nightmare would go away. But no matter what she did, she could still feel the hood going over her head. Still feel the darkness, the terror.
    And Nick.
    God, Nick.
    What had happened to him? She'd woke to find him gone, and been unable to reach him ever since.
    A knock sounded. What now?
    "Come in."
    Father Pat stood at the threshold. Tall and gaunt, he had a kind face that, at the moment, wore a stem expression.
    "Rachel, I've just received a phone call from Bill Hughes. He's been trying to reach you for days."
    "I know. I just haven't had a chance to call him back." Or the desire to.
    "He tells me you've been harassing the Murphys about their niece, Carla."
    "I didn't harass them. I made a home visit to ask them to reconsider their decision to pull Carla out of the program."
    "These incidents can't continue. You must realize that. The council meets next week, and I can't guarantee they'll extend our agreement. At least not now. You can't expect people to support you if you ignore their concerns."
    The warning was clear. "I'm sorry. You're right, of course. I'll call him." She held up a hand. "Promise."
    "And the Murphys?"
    She sighed. "I'll... I'll slow down."
    "Good." The priest peered at her closely. "Are you all right?"
    She made her mouth form a smile. "Yes, of course."
    "You were out yesterday. Nothing serious, I hope?"
    "Just a summer cold. I'm fine."
    The priest nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
    A burning sensation wafted through Rachel's consciousness. She looked down; she was rubbing her wrist, right over the bruises. God, she hadn't done that since she was a child. She'd rubbed her

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