Laura shook her head in response. He became angry.

"Laura, speak up! Did you know that Jean was having an affair with that cadet?"

"I saw them together once when I went to a concert at West Point but didn't think much of it," Laura had told him. "Jeannie never said a word about him to any of us," she had explained. "We all knew she went up to the Point a lot because even then she was planning to write a book about it."

The Owl had nodded, satisfied with her answer. "I knew Jean often went up on Sundays with her notebook and sat on one of the benches overlooking the river," he had said. "I went looking for her one Sunday and saw him join her. I followed them when they went for a walk. When they thought they were alone, he kissed her. I kept track of them after that, Laura. Oh, they went to great pains not to be viewed as a couple. She didn't even go to the dances with him. That spring, I observed Jean carefully. I wish you could have seen the expression on her face when they were together and away from other people. It was luminous! Jean, quiet, kind Jean, whom I felt was my fellow sufferer, given her tumultuous home life, my soul mate-she was living a life from which she had excluded me."

I thought he had a crush on me, Laura reasoned, and that he hated me for making fun of him. But he really loved Jeannie. The horror of what he had told her was still seeping into her consciousness.

"Reed Thornton's death wasn't an accident, Laura," he said. "I was driving through the grounds that last Sunday in May, twenty years ago, just on the chance that I might see them. Handsome, golden-haired Reed was walking alone on the road that leads to the picnic grounds. Maybe they were meeting there. Did I mean to kill him? Of course I did. He had everything I didn't have-looks and background and a promising future. And he had Jeannie's love. It wasn't fair. Agree with me, Laura! It wasn't fair!"

She stammered a reply, anxious to agree with him and avoid his anger. Then he told her in detail about the woman he had killed the night before. He said he had apologized to her, but when it was Laura's time to die, and Jean's, there wouldn't be any apologies.

He said that Meredith would be the last of his prey. He said that she would complete his need-or at least it was his hope that she would complete his need.

I wonder who Meredith is, Laura thought drowsily. She slipped into a sleep that was filled with visions of owls gliding toward her from branches, rushing at her, hooting eerily, wings fluttering softly, as she tried to run from them on legs that would not, could not, move.

67

Jean, help me! Please, Jean, help me! Laura's pleading voice, which had sounded so vivid in her head as she sat in the car outside Craig Michaelson's office the day before, began playing over and over again in Jean's mind, as though it was an echo of the doubts Alice had expressed about the authenticity of the fax.

For long minutes after she said good-bye to Alice, Jean sat at the desk, Laura's voice haunting her, as she tried to decide rationally whether Sam and Alice were right. Perhaps she had rushed to accept the fax as real because she needed to believe that Lily was safe.

Finally she got up, went into the bathroom, and for long minutes stayed under the shower, letting the water splash over her hair and face. She shampooed her hair, kneading her scalp as though the pressure of her fingers might unscramble the confusion in her mind.

I need to go for a long walk, she thought, as she wrapped her terry cloth robe around her body and turned on the hair dryer. That's the only way I can possibly clear my head. When she was packing for the weekend, she had impulsively thrown her favorite red jogging suit into her suitcase. Now she was grateful to be able to reach for it, but remembering how cold it had felt with the window open, she took the precaution of wearing a sweater underneath the jacket.

She noted the time as she put on her watch. It was ten-fifteen, and she realized she had not had a cup of coffee. No wonder my brain is muddled, she thought ruefully. I'll get a container to go from the coffee shop and drink it while I'm walking. I'm not hungry, and I feel as if the walls of this place are closing in on me.

As she zipped up the jacket, an uneasy thought crossed her mind. Every time I leave this room, I'm taking the chance of missing a call from Laura. I can't stay here day and night. But wait a minute! I think I can leave my own message on the room phone.

She read the instructions on the phone, picked up the receiver, and pushed the message record button. Taking care to speak clearly, and with the volume of her voice slightly raised, she said, "This is Jean Sheridan. If it's important that you reach me, please call me on my cell phone, 202-555-5314. I'll repeat. That is 202-555-5314." She hesitated, then added in a rush, "Laura, I want to help you. Please call me!"

Jean replaced the receiver with one hand and dabbed her eyes with the other. All the earlier euphoria of thinking that Lily was completely safe had evaporated, but something inside her stubbornly refused to believe that the fax had not come from Laura. The room clerk who took the first phone call from Laura had said she sounded nervous, Jean reminded herself. Sam told me that Jake Perkins, who managed to listen in on that call, had agreed. Robby Brent's call to me imitating Laura and saying that everything was fine was another one of his tricks. He probably talked Laura into this publicity scheme, and now she's afraid of the fallout. And I believe that if she didn't threaten me about Lily herself, then she knows who did. That's why I've got to make her realize I want to help her.

Jean got up, reached for her shoulder bag, but decided she didn't want to be bothered carrying it. Instead she put a handkerchief, her cell phone, and her room key in her pocket. Then, as an afterthought, she plucked a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet. This way, if

I want to stop somewhere and get a croissant when I'm out, I can do it, she thought.

She started to leave the room, then realized she was forgetting something. Of course, her sunglasses. Annoyed at her inability to concentrate, she went back to the dresser, pulled the glasses out of her bag, walked quickly to the door, opened it, and with a decisive snap, pulled it closed behind her.

The elevator was empty when it stopped at her floor-not like the weekend, she thought, when every time I stepped into it, I bumped into someone I hadn't seen in twenty years.

In the lobby, banners welcoming the Top 100 Sales Representatives of the Starbright Electrical Fixtures Company were being tacked over the front desk and dining room doors. From Stonecroft to Starbright, Jean thought. I wonder how many honorees they have, or are all one hundred of them honorees?

The clerk with the large glasses and soft voice was behind the front desk, reading a book. I'm sure she's the one who got the call from Laura, Jean thought. I want to talk to her myself. She walked over to the desk and glanced at the name tag on the clerk's uniform. It read "Amy Sachs."

"Amy," Jean said with a friendly smile, "I'm a good friend of Laura Wilcox, and like everyone else, I've been terribly concerned about her. I understand that you and Jake Perkins were the ones who spoke to her on Sunday night."

"Jake grabbed the phone when he heard me say Ms. Wilcox's name." Amy's defensive tone raised the level of her voice to near normal range.

"I understand," Jean said soothingly. "I've met Jake and know how he operates. Amy, I'm glad that he heard Laura's voice. He's smart, and I trust his impression. I know you hardly met Ms. Wilcox, but do you absolutely believe you were speaking to her?"