“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
“I called and called,” Cat said into the crook of my shoulder. Then she pulled away from me.
“Don’t arrest me, okay?”
I picked Brigid up and wrapped her in a hug, kissed her damp cheek, held her dear head with my hand. “Martha and I didn’t mean to scare you, honey.”
“Are you staying with us, Aunt Lindsay?”
“Just for the night, sweetie.”
Cat turned on a light and looked around at the spackled bullet holes in the wall.
“You didn’t pick up,” Cat said. “And the answering machine said it was full.”
“It was full of reporters,” I told her, my heart still galloping. “Please forgive me for scaring the crap out of you.”
Cat reached out with her free arm, hooked my head toward her face, and kissed my check.
“You’re a damned scary cop, you know?”
I walked with Cat and the girls to their room, where we calmed ourselves as well as the sniffling children. We got them into their pajamas and tucked into their beds.
“I’ve been listening to the news,” Cat said as she closed the door to the girls’ room behind us. “Is it true? You caught the guy and it turns out to be Keith? I know Keith. I liked him.”
“Yeah. I liked him, too.”
“And what’s that car in the driveway? It looks like Uncle Dougie’s car.”
“I know. It’s a present for you.”
“Come on. Really?”
“A house gift, Cat. I want you to have it.”
I hugged my sister again really hard. I wanted to say, “Everything’s fine now. We got the bastard.” But instead I said, “We’ll go for a test drive tomorrow.”
I said good-night, and as my sister turned the taps for a bath, I took Martha down the hall and opened the bedroom door. I switched on the light and froze in the doorway.
Actually, I almost screamed again.
Chapter 135
CAROLEE’S LITTLE GIRL, ALLISON, was sitting on my bed. That was alarming enough—but how she looked alarmed me more. Ali was barefoot, wearing a thin eyelet nightgown, and she was crying her heart out.
I put down my gun and went to her, dropped to my knees, and grabbed her little shoulders.
“Ali? Ali, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?”
The eight-year-old threw her body against me and wound her arms tightly around my neck. She was shaking, her body heaving with sobs. I hugged her and peppered her with questions, not even giving her time to answer.
“Are you hurt? How did you get here, Ali? What on earth is wrong?”
Allison said, “The door was open, so I came in.”
At that, new tears sprang from some mysterious wound that I couldn’t fathom.
“Talk to me, Ali,” I said, setting her away from me, checking her out, looking for injuries. Her feet were cut and filthy. Cat’s house was a mile from the school and across the highway. Allison had walked here.