Still Lake - Anne Stuart [106]
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be right with you.”
She stuck her feet in the barn boots she kept by the kitchen door, then headed for the front parlor. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she called. “I’m just looking for a flashlight.”
“Hurry,” Doc called urgently, his soft voice deep with worry.
She shouldn’t have done it. She was furious with Griffin, she didn’t need his help. But her poor, lost mother did. She picked up the extension and started to dial.
There was no dial tone. She looked down to the baseboard, wondering if it had somehow gotten unplugged. The cord dangled loose, the plastic end crushed.
“Hurry,” Doc called again, beginning to sound impatient.
Her yellow flowers were sitting in a bowl on the table when she walked back into the kitchen, the huge, industrial-strength flashlight in her hand. It weighed a ton, and the light it shone was a beacon. The door to the abandoned wing stood open, the door she’d personally nailed closed. Grace wouldn’t have been able to open it by herself—it had taken all Sophie’s strength to seal it.
She glanced at Doc’s sweet, concerned face. She knew where she’d seen those flowers before. And they had to have come from Doc, on the grave of each murdered woman. On her grave, as well, if she let it happen.
She wanted to run. She had a fighting chance—she was closer to the door than he was, and she was faster. She might even be stronger, though she doubted it. Doc was in excellent shape for a man of his age, and he could probably stop her before she could even scream.
She looked at Doc standing patiently in the open doorway. If she ran, who would save Grace? And Marty? Doc had lied to her about the telephone, lied to her about Grace. He had probably lied to her about Marty, too. And she simply couldn’t run off and save herself at the price of her mother and sister.
“Where do you think she is?” Sophie asked calmly, stepping toward him.
“I’ve checked everywhere but the old kitchen. She might be down there.”
That made sense. The kitchen was deep in the belly of the old building. No one would find them if they came looking, no one would hear her scream. She stepped through into the darkness and smelled the sharp, acrid scent of gasoline. And she knew what Doc had in mind.
“Maybe we should go for help,” she said, pulling back. “It’s awfully dark in here.”
He clamped a hand around her elbow, and it was like an iron manacle. He was definitely stronger than she was, Sophie thought. And she was in deep shit.
“We’ll find them, Sophie,” he said earnestly. “I promise you.”
He didn’t realize he’d said “them” instead of “her,” Sophie thought, letting him pull her along through the rubble. The dust rose around them, eerie in the bright light of the flashlight. She could see a faint glow ahead of her, and the stench of gasoline had grown even stronger.
“What’s that light down there?” she asked, stumbling a bit as she tried to keep up with him. Not that she had any choice.
“I left a few candles burning to help us look,” he said easily. “I know it’s a fire hazard, but I thought it was worth risking. We don’t want anything to happen to dear Grace.”
“No, we wouldn’t want that.” She tried to slow him down. “Shouldn’t we check the second floor? There are lots of places to hide up there.”
Doc gave her a tug. “I already searched. She’s not there, I promise you. Come along, Sophie. We’d better hurry.”
And she had no choice but to follow him, down the narrow stairs to the basement kitchen, trying to keep the heavy flashlight from shaking. Her mother was down there, probably her sister, as well, and if she didn’t go, he’d simply kill them, anyway, either before or after he killed her. Her only chance was to go along with him and try to take him off guard. Running would only ensure that someone would die.
“Coming,” she said, gripping the