The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [110]
If I get out of here, I’m going to do that. I’m going to visit Blythe’s grave. And someday, if I ever get the nerve, maybe I’ll visit Graham’s grave, too.
If I ever get out of here . . .
She glanced back at the sky and thought about Graham Hayward. If this were a fanciful tale, a fairy tale, she mused, then he’d see her down here, imprisoned in this sorry shed, and since he was her father, he’d send someone—something—to rescue her. But this was real, there was no magic, and no friendly ghost was likely to intervene.
“I’ll put flowers on your grave if you lend me a hand here,” she said aloud, knowing how silly it sounded.
I will put flowers on his grave—and hers, too—Dina silently vowed, if I ever get out of here.
I’ll tell Jude how much I love her and that I’ve forgiven her for keeping the truth from me. And that even though it will not always be easy, we’ll get through this as a family.
And that will include Betsy. I’ll visit her often and make sure that there is always room in my life for her.
Oh, yes. One other thing.
I will kiss Simon Keller until he begs for mercy.
If I ever get out of here . . .
Morning had been a long time in coming.
Outside the shed, the first of the songbirds had started their chatter long before the new day had dawned. Dina watched the window, wondering what time it was and hoping the sun would arrive soon so she could get some sleep. Knowing she shared her space with so many unseen creatures in the dark had kept her awake. She hadn’t wanted to open her eyes this morning and find that something small—or not so small—and furry had decided that some body part of hers would make a fine resting spot.
She’d kept herself awake all night by singing all of the Sheryl Crow songs she could remember from that last CD she’d bought. She’d gotten through “Am I Getting Through (Parts 1 and 2)” all the way to “River-wide” before her throat started to bother her and she remembered that she hadn’t had water since the previous afternoon and wasn’t likely to be getting any in the near future. There was a bottle of water in her bag, she reminded herself, right there with the Swiss Army knife and her cell phone.
She sighed at the irony of it. She who had always been one to travel prepared for any emergency had brought along everything she needed—but all, sadly, was out of reach.
For the hundredth time Dina tried to figure out who had lured her here and prayed that Jude hadn’t been found.
Jude McDermott, Dina shook her head, was such an unlikely target for such intrigue. Small-town librarian. Volunteer for a number of organizations. Paid her taxes on time. Cleaned up after her dog on their walks around the neighborhood. A member in good standing in her church. The one who could always be counted on to come up with the best fund-raisers for the community’s yearly literacy campaign. The one who always remembered Henderson’s housebound by dropping off a new book by a favorite author or homemade soup.
And right now being hunted by some unknown someone because years ago she’d taken in her best friend’s child and raised her as her own.
Tired and thirsty and weak, Dina fought back the recurring urge to panic. And panic, she reminded herself sternly, was the last thing she could afford. If she was to get out of here alive, she needed her wits about her.
Right. Like she had a plan.
Fighting despair, Dina bit the inside of her lip and stared up at the ceiling, through which she could see blue sky starting to emerge.
From time to time she called out through the window at the top of her lungs, but there was no one there to hear.
If she were home, she’d transplant today. Maybe she’d be having a cup of tea in the shop with Polly. They’d discuss what cut flowers were available from the wholesaler that week, and they’d have prices to quote to Gloria Wexler, who ran the bookshop in Henderson and who had stopped by last week to inquire about the possibility of Garden Gates doing the flowers for her daughter’s wedding in October.
And there was Mother’s Day coming up. Polly had mentioned to Dina just last