The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [134]
Merry Berry
She left the pad sitting next to the phone. She added two extra clips to her coat pocket.
Head high, shoulders square, she left the room and didn’t look back.
EDITH SAT ON her front porch, hugging her old hunting coat closer to her. It was cold, colder than it should be.
She’d thought that after telling Martha about her visions, everything would get better. They’d spoken of it frankly. Martha was afraid of her son. She thought he may have done some bad things and that’s what the dead girls were trying to tell Edith. Tonight Martha would bring little Stephanie over to Edith’s while she went to the police.
Edith had agreed. They were taking action. They had a plan. The visions should go away.
But as she stood on the front porch, her chest had that too-tight feeling and goose bumps were already prickling up her arms. As she stood on her front porch, she knew that she was scared. Very scared.
Martha appeared in her driveway again. She was loading up the trunk of her car. She’d been loading it for a while with luggage and bags of supplies. Edith had no idea how Martha had ended up with so much stuff.
Martha disappeared back inside her home. She no longer moved stiffly. Now her strides were long and purposeful, almost jaunty. Their plan had had a euphoric effect on Martha. Edith suspected it would only be temporary. Thick shadows circled Martha’s eyes and her gaze had that too-bright look of someone who wasn’t sleeping at night.
Edith felt another chill and rubbed her arms again. The girl drifted back in front of her—the one with a butterfly tattoo. Edith shook her head. “I’m doing what I can. Now go away. Find the light, do whatever it is you people do.”
Martha reappeared, Stephanie’s hand tucked in hers. They crossed the yard, then Stephanie’s small hand was ceremoniously transferred to Edith’s age-spotted grip. The little girl didn’t appear happy, but she didn’t complain. Beneath the brim of her everpresent baseball cap, she wore the resigned expression of someone who’d gone through all this before.
Edith thought she was very strong for a four-year-old.
“If all goes well, I’ll have a restraining order by morning,” Martha said.
“How will a restraining order protect you from Jim Beckett?” Edith grumbled.
Martha instantly stilled. She looked at Edith very carefully. “How do you know about Jim Beckett?”
“I—” Edith’s mouth worked soundlessly. It was one of those things she hadn’t known she’d known until she’d said the words out loud. “I just . . . I just do.”
Martha nodded, but there was something new in her expression. Something that made Edith stand very still. Beside her, Samantha had stopped breathing, also sensing the danger.
The old woman and child stood together very quietly.
Slowly Martha nodded. Slowly she stepped back.
She finally climbed into the car and shut the door with a bang. The shakes hit Edith in a rush; suddenly her whole body was trembling.
She looked down at Stephanie, subdued Stephanie, whose hair was as golden as any of the faded girls haunting her porch. She looked at the old brown Nissan now pulling out of the driveway.
And suddenly the visions cleared her porch. They leapt into the car, crowded into the car with their long blond hair and silent, somber faces. They were crying and keening, tearing at their hair, spilling out of the car. Begging for help.
Edith dragged her eyes away, feeling the pain once more in her chest. Needle-sharp pain. Horrible pain.
Her gaze went to the back of the car, pulling down the street. Her gaze landed on Martha’s too-white hair, and she knew. She knew why the visions had started appearing. She knew why they grew worse when Martha was in the room. She knew why Martha’s face was too smooth and her hands too strong and her shoulders too broad.
Martha wasn’t Jim Beckett’s mother. Martha was Jim Beckett.