Dutton, Thursday, February 1, 7:00 p.m.

“Alex, just tell me.”

Yanked from her thoughts, Alex looked over at Daniel, who stared at the highway before them. His hands clutched the wheel and his face was set more sternly than she’d seen in days. “Excuse me?”

“We’re nearly to Dutton. You haven’t said a word since you talked to your ex and you’d been crying. He must have said something more than ‘Yes, Alex, I have the key.’ ”

His tone was so harsh she blinked. “What do you think he said?”

“I don’t know.” His words were spaced deliberately. “That’s why I asked.”

She stared at his profile, briefly lit by passing headlights. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Are you going back?” he asked before she could formulate an answer.

“Back where? To Ohio?” Understanding dawned. “Or to Richard?”

His jaw tightened further. “Yes. Either.”

“No, I’m not going back to Richard. He’s married.”

“It didn’t stop him from cheating before.”

“No.” Alex was starting to get annoyed. “But I wouldn’t do that, even if he would. What kind of person do you think I am?”

He exhaled. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

“Yes, you were. And I’m not sure if I’m royally pissed or flattered.”

He touched her arm with his fingertips. “Be flattered. I like that better than pissed.”

She sighed. “Okay, but only because being pissed takes more energy than being flattered. I told him about you. He was worried about everything that was going on down here. I told him I was in good hands.”

She hoped she’d see him smile, but he did not. “You never said if you were going back to Ohio.”

It was what had had her deep in thought. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you’ll stay here.”

She drew a deep breath and held it. “Part of me wants to say yes, because you’re here. Part of me wants to run in the other direction, and that part has nothing to do with you. My worst memories are here, Daniel. That scares me.”

He was quiet for a moment. “But you’d consider staying?”

“Would you consider going?”

“To Ohio?” He said it like it was Outer Mongolia and she chuckled.

“It’s not a bad place. You can even get grits.”

One side of his mouth lifted. “Scrapple, too?”

She made a face. “If you insist, I know a place that serves it. But that’s just nasty.”

He smiled then, and her heart lifted. “I agree. I would consider it.”

Again she held her breath. “Scrapple or Ohio?”

His smile faded, his expression becoming sober. “Yes. Either.”

A full minute of silence passed. “That feels good, and right. But I don’t want to make you any promises until I’m firm on my feet again.”

“All right.” He squeezed her hand. “I do feel better now.”

“I’m glad.”

They passed Dutton’s Main Street and Alex’s stomach began to churn. “We’re almost there.”

“I know. Whatever it is, whatever you remember, we’ll deal with it together.”

Dutton, Thursday, February 1, 7:30 p.m.

“This house is a steal at four-fifty.” Delia Anderson patted her bouffant-do. “It won’t last long in this market at that price.”

He opened a closet, pretended to care. “My girlfriend buys out the store every time she goes shopping. This would never be enough closet space for her.”

“I have two more listings,” Delia said. “Both have enormous walk-in closets.”

He gave one last turn. “But this house does have… something,” he said. “It’s so cozy and private.”

“That it is,” Delia agreed a shade too eagerly. “There aren’t many houses available with this much property.”

He smiled. “We like to have parties. Sometimes they get a little wild.”

“Oh, Mr. Myers.” She giggled, an unattractive sound coming from a woman her age. “Privacy is such an underrated consideration in the purchase of a new home.” She paused at a mirror that hung in the foyer and again patted her helmet-head of hair. “Why, this place is so private, you could have an open air rock ’n’ roll show in the backyard and no neighbors would complain about the noise.”

He stepped behind her and smiled into the mirror. “Exactly my thoughts.”

Her eyes widened in alarm and her mouth opened to scream, but too late. Quick as a wish, he had his knife to her throat. “In case you haven’t guessed already, my name is not Myers.” He leaned in and whispered his name in her ear and watched her wide eyes glaze over with horror as recognition seeped past all that hairspray. “Let me introduce you to a new concept, Miz Anderson. Accrued interest on an unpaid debt.”

He pushed her to the floor and quickly bound her hands behind her back. “I sure hope you like to scream.”

Dutton, Thursday, February 1, 7:30 p.m.

“So did Simon have a key?” Ed asked from the back of the surveillance van.

Daniel slipped his phone into his pocket. “Yeah. Vito Ciccotelli said there were five keys found in Simon’s things. He’s sending them all first thing tomorrow. Now if we can only figure out what they open.” A movement on Ed’s screen had him straightening. “Looks like Mary is ready.”

“Mary had me set up the camera in Alex’s old bedroom,” Ed said. “Since we found her ring there, we thought it made sense.”

His hands clenched, Daniel watched as the door opened and Mary led Alex in.

“What time is it?” Mary asked her.

“Late. It’s dark and there’s lightning. Thunder and lightning.”

“Where are you?”

“In bed.”

“Sleeping?”

“No. I’m sick. I have to get up to go to the bathroom. I’m sick.”

“So what happened?”

Alex was standing at the window. “Someone’s there.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s Alicia. She sneaks out sometimes. Goes to parties.”

“Is it Alicia?”

Alex leaned toward the window. “No. It’s a man.” She flinched. “It’s Craig.”

“Why did you flinch, Alex?”

“The lightning is bright.” She grimaced. “My stomach hurts.”

“Is Craig still out there?”

“Yes. But now there’s someone else. Two people, carrying a bag between them.”

“Is it heavy or light?”

“Heavy, I think.” She flinched again, then sucked in a breath. Then stared blankly.

“What is it? More lightning?”

Alex nodded. Hesitated. “He dropped it.”

“He dropped the bag?”

“It’s not a bag, it’s a blanket. It fell open.”

“And what do you see in the lightning, Alex?”

“Her arm. Her hand. It just fell out onto the ground.” She was worrying the ring finger on her right hand, tugging as if a ring were there. “I can see her hand.” She relaxed slightly. “Oh, she’s just a doll.”

Daniel felt a chill slide down his back and remembered Sheila sprawled like a Raggedy Ann doll in the corner of Presto’s Pizza.

“She’s a doll?” Mary asked.

Alex nodded, her eyes blank, her voice eerily matter-of-fact. “Yes. She’s just a doll.”

“What do the men do?”

“He grabs her arm, puts it back in the blanket. Now he’s got it again and they’re running around the house.”

“What’s happening now?”

She frowned slightly. “My stomach still hurts. I’m going back to sleep.”

“All right. Come with me, Alex.” Mary led her to a folding chair and began to bring her out of it. Daniel could tell the moment she was cognizant of her surroundings. She blanched and hunched her shoulders.

“It wasn’t a doll,” she said tonelessly. “It was Alicia. They were carrying her in the blanket.”

Mary crouched in front of her. “Who, Alex?”

“Craig and Wade. Wade was the one who dropped his end. It was her arm. It… it didn’t look real. It looked like a doll.” She closed her eyes. “I told my mother.”

Mary glanced into the camera, then back at Alex. “When?”

“When she was in bed crying. She kept saying ‘a sheep and a ring.’ I thought I’d had a dream. A premonition, maybe. I told her about the doll and she got upset. I told her it was ‘just a doll, Mama.’ I didn’t know she’d seen the blanket, too.” Tears began to seep from Alex’s closed eyes. “I told her and she told Craig and he killed her.”