Jean quickly whispered, "Thanks, Sam," took the picture from him, and hurried to the elevator.

Sam saw that Gordon Amory had spotted her and was going to try to catch her. He hurried to intercept him. "Mr. Amory," he said, "have you decided how long you'll be staying here?"

"I'll be leaving by the weekend, at the latest. Why do you ask?"

"Because if we don't hear from Ms. Wilcox soon, we are going to treat her as a missing person. In that case we'll need to speak at greater length to the people who were around her just before she disappeared."

Gordon Amory shrugged. "You'll hear from her," he said dismissively. "However, for the record, if you wish to contact me, I expect to be in the general area even after I check out here. Through Jack Emerson, as our agent, we are making an offer on a large tract of land where I plan to build my corporate headquarters. So when I leave the hotel I plan to stay in my Manhattan apartment for several weeks."

Jack Emerson had been speaking to someone near the desk. Now he joined them. "Any news of the toad?" he asked Sam.

"The toad?" Sam raised his eyebrows. He was perfectly aware that Emerson meant Robby Brent, but he wasn't about to let on.

"Our resident comedian, Robby Brent. Isn't he smart enough to know that all guests, missing or otherwise, like fish, smell after three days? I mean, enough already with the publicity stunt."

Emerson's had a couple of shots of whiskey for lunch, Sam thought, noting the man's flushed complexion.

Ignoring the reference to Brent, he said, "Since you live in Cornwall, I assume you'll be available if I need to talk with you about Laura Wilcox, Mr. Emerson. As I just explained to Mr. Amory, we will be listing her as a missing person if we don't hear from her soon."

"Not so fast, Mr. Deegan," Emerson said. "The minute Gordie- I mean, Gordon-and I have finished putting this deal together, I'm out of here. I have a place in St. Bart's that it's time for me to visit. Putting this reunion together was a lot of work. Tonight we take some more pictures at President Downes' house, have a drink with him, and then this reunion is really over. Who gives a damn whether or not Laura Wilcox and Robby Brent ever show up? The Stonecroft Academy building committee doesn't need their kind of publicity."

Gordon Amory had been listening with an amused smile on his face. "I must tell you, Mr. Deegan, that I think Jack has put it very well. I tried to catch Jean, but she was in the elevator and I missed her. Do you know her plans?"

"I don't," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my office." I wouldn't tell any of those guys what Jean is doing, he thought as he crossed the hotel lobby, and I hope she heeds my warning not to trust any of them.

His cell phone rang as he was getting into his car. It was Joy Lacko. "Sam, I've got a hit," she told him. "On a hunch I checked out the report on Gloria Martin, the suicide, before I started researching the accidental deaths. At the time of her death there was a big article about Martin in her local newspaper in Bethlehem."

Sam waited.

"Gloria Martin killed herself by putting a plastic bag over her head. And, Sam, get this: When they found her, she had a small pewter owl clutched in her hand."

76

To Duke Mackenzie's delight, at five minutes of nine that evening the taciturn participant in the Stonecroft reunion stopped in again. He ordered a grilled cheese and bacon sandwich, and coffee with skim milk. While the sandwich was grilling, Duke hastened to start a conversation. "A lady from your reunion was in this morning," he said. "Said she used to live on Mountain Road."

He could not see past the man's dark glasses, but something in the way his body stiffened made Duke sure he had gotten his attention.

"Do you know her name?" the visitor asked casually.

"Nope, sir, I don't. I can describe her to you though. Really pretty, with brown hair and blue eyes. Her daughter's name is Meredith."

"She told you that!"

"No, sir. Don't ask how it happened, but someone she was talking to on the phone told her that. I could tell she was all shook up about it. I can't figure out why she wouldn't know her own daughter's name."

"I wonder if she was talking to someone else from our reunion," the visitor mused. "By any chance did she mention the name of the person she was talking to?"

"No. She did say that she'd see them – I mean him or her-tomorrow night at seven o'clock."

Duke turned his back to the counter, picked up a spatula, and removed the sandwich from the grill. He did not see the cold smile on his customer's face, nor did he hear him whisper to himself, "No, she won't, Duke. No, she won't."

"Here you go, sir," Duke said cheerfully. "I see you're taking your coffee with skim milk. They say that's healthier, but for me, I like good old-fashioned cream in my coffee. Figure I don't have to worry. My father was still bowling a great game at eighty-seven."

The Owl tossed money on the counter and left with a mumbled good night. He felt Duke's eyes following him as he walked to the car. I wouldn't put it past him to follow me, he thought. He's just nosy enough. He doesn't miss anything. I can't stop there anymore, but it really doesn't matter. By this time tomorrow it will be finished.

He drove slowly up Mountain Road but decided not to turn into the driveway at Laura's house. Funny, I still call it that, he thought. Instead, he drove well past it and watched in the rearview mirror until he was sure he was not being followed. Then he made a U-turn and started making his way back, always watching for the headlights of other cars. When he was at his destination, he switched off his headlights, made a sharp turn into the driveway, and drove to the comparative safety of the enclosed backyard.

Only then did he allow himself to concentrate on what he had just heard. Jean knew Meredith's name! It had to be the Buckleys that Jean was going to be meeting tomorrow night. Meredith couldn't have remembered where she lost the hairbrush, or by now that detective, Sam Deegan, would have been knocking at his door. It meant he had to move more swiftly than he had anticipated. He would have to enter and leave this house several times tomorrow in broad daylight. But he simply could not leave this car parked outside. That was out of the question. Even though the backyard was enclosed, a neighbor might spot it from a second-story window and phone the police. Laura's house was supposed to be uninhabited.

Robby's car, with his body in the trunk, took up half of the garage. The first rental car that might have left telltale tire tracks at the place where he had taken Helen Whelan's body was in the other parking space. He had to get rid of one of those cars so he could have access to the garage. The rental car would be traced back to him, he reasoned. I have to keep that until it's safe to return it.

I've come so far, The Owl thought. The journey has been so long. I can't stop now. It must be completed. He looked at the sandwich and coffee he had bought for Laura. I didn't have any dinner, he thought. What difference does it make if Laura eats or doesn't eat tonight? She won't have that long to be hungry tomorrow.

He opened the bag and ate the sandwich slowly. He sipped the coffee, reflecting that he preferred it black. When he was finished, he got out, unlocked the door to the kitchen, and went inside. Instead of going up the stairs to Laura's bedroom, he opened the door from the kitchen to the garage and deliberately slammed it behind him as he pulled on the plastic gloves he always kept in the pocket of his jacket.

Laura would hear the sound and begin to tremble with the agony of uncertainty that this might be the time he had come to kill her. But she also would be hungry by now and would be anticipating what he had brought her to eat. Then, when he didn't come up the stairs, both the fear and anticipation would build and build until she was broken, ready to do what he wanted, ready to obey.