I lay there and hated her. "He didn't look good when I last saw him," I said.

"Over at the farmhouse."

"We're on our own?" Regina sounded as if that was unbelievable. All her layers of backup, gone. I could sympathize. "Have you heard from my mother?" "Not a word."

"So she's still on her cruise," Regina said. She sat for a long time in silence, which I welcomed. When she finally spoke, it was hardly reassuring. "So they'll kill us, now that they've got the baby," she said, and I whispered, "Yes." She'd reasoned herself to the end of the line.

We fell silent. We waited.

Chapter Eleven

Later, I thought of asking Regina if the Granberrys kept any dogs.

"No," she said, obviously thinking I was an utter loon.

"Good." Any idea of escape would be complicated by dogs. Once we heard Hayden crying upstairs, and both of us twitched as if we were going to rise and tend to him. (In my case, that meant my arm moved.) I knew that sooner or later I was going to have to get up and go to the bathroom, and I dreaded it... when I had any dread to spare.

Margaret and Luke didn't put in an appearance. Probably totally wrapped up with their new baby, I thought bitterly. Though I wanted them both to die in agony, if they were going to live I wanted them to bring me some Extra-Strength Tylenol.

I slept some, though it wasn't like normal sleep; it was suspiciously like falling unconscious. Regina moaned and wept. I couldn't blame her, but the noise grated at the terrible sore ache in my head. Finally my bladder couldn't hold out any longer, and I talked my niece into helping me up. The trip to the little room at the foot of the stairs was about as much fun as I thought it'd be. At least I emptied myself completely in one trip, since I threw up. I knew I had a concussion, but people survived concussions—right? In mystery novels, the hero always checked out of the hospital when he had a concussion, and went on about solving the case. I knew what books I would throw across the room in the future, providing I had a future.

Also, detectives in books seemed to take as many aspirin as they wanted, without regard for the recommended adult dosage. Was I the only person in the world who watched the clock so I wouldn't take my pills too close together? Though at the moment, I would take anything anyone handed me. Please, knock me out. You can see the quality of my thinking was not high. And those were only the good parts.

I tried to concern myself about escaping. I tried to pretend I was well, and resourceful, and determined. The truth was, I was sick in body and heart, and desperate.

There was an outside door to the basement, the kind I'd only seen in movies before now; almost fiat to the ground, barred on the outside. No windows. Regina assured me she'd tried that door many times, and it was of course always barred. There was nothing like a saw in the basement; the Granberrys had removed the tools. What they'd left was extra stores of canned goods, luggage, and a pile of odds and ends of lumber.

One of them would have to bring us food eventually. And after some hours, Luke did. But Margaret stood above him on the stairs, her gun in her hand. "How's Hayden?" Regina asked, beginning to sob yet again.

"Our baby's fine," Luke said briefly and pointedly.

I prayed Regina wouldn't ask them what they were going to do with us.

"What are you gonna do with me?" she asked. So I was only half disappointed. Luke didn't answer, which was just as well. He set down a tray on Regina's makeshift table, and left. Margaret was vigilant the whole time. I looked as ill as possible, which was no stretch.

There was a bottle of Excedrin on the tray. Regina opened it for me, and though I was afraid it would make me sick again, I took four. What a rebel. I propped myself up on one elbow to try the soup, which was Campbell's chicken noodle, and I managed a couple of crackers and some water. I was exhausted when I lay back down.

But after about thirty minutes, I found I felt better.

"Help me up," I told Regina.

"Need to go the girls' room?"

"No, I need to move a little."

Regina had carried the tray up to the top step, which she said was normal routine. Margaret had opened the door, bent down, and removed it. It had looked to me like she was alone.

Now, after my cell mate had helped me stand, I managed to walk by myself, though "walking" makes it sound more organized than it really was. I went over to the cellar storm doors. I had to push against them for myself. They gave only a fraction of an inch. There was a dead bolt inside the cellar, of course, but at some point Regina had unbolted it and left it that way. "What's the bar outside made of?" I asked.

"Metal," she answered gloomily. She had experimented more than she was letting on. "I did think of breaking one of the jars, putting a straight piece of glass through the gap, and sawing at the bar, if it was wood. But it wasn't." "You were talking before like you were content just to wait down here." "I was trying to act like I thought everything would be okay." Now that, I understood. "And I guess I figured they were more likely to let me out if they saw me assuming they were going to let me out." She shrugged. "It couldn't hurt." Her head tensed. "Listen! There's someone here!" After a second, I could hear it, too. The front door slammed, and there were more footsteps above us. Suddenly the basement door swung open a crack. "If you say one word I'll kill this baby," Margaret said. "Don't scream, don't say anything."

After she shut the door Regina and I stood looking at each other.

"She wouldn't hurt Hayden," I said. "Look at what she's done for him already!"

"I know ... but.. ."

Suddenly deciding, I managed to get to the stairs, grabbed the wooden railing, began to haul myself up. Then I felt a hand gripping my pants leg. "She might mean it," Regina said.

"Martin may already be dead," I told her. "I have to get out of here and get help for him." I was pleading.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Roe. Not if there's a chance she might hurt my baby." And Regina, bigger and stronger, clapped a hand over my mouth, held on to me, and would not let me go. I was hardly in any shape to offer much resistance. We could hear voices right outside the door. Several male voices, one female.

Margaret.

"Come over this way where we can hear," Regina whispered, and dragged me off the stairs and over to a spot by the wall where the dryer vent fed into the basement.

I was adding my niece to the list of people I wanted to die.

But for now that would have to wait, and I listened as she bid me. "... his truck by the road," a male voice was saying. "His wife has been out looking for him."

"Is he going to be all right?" Margaret asked, and I swear there was genuine concern in her voice.

"Well, he's lost a lot of blood," the man said doubtfully. "We'll just have to wait and see. One dead, two in bad shape. They can't tell us what happened. You didn't hear any shots?"

"... heard what might have been one, late this afternoon," Luke said. His voice was much fainter.

"And you had already been down there? Everything was okay?" "Oh, yes, fine!" Margaret. "But—I hate to say this—Martin's first wife and her boyfriend were there, and there was some bad feeling in the air." "Dennis and Martin never did get along," the male voice said thoughtfully. "And I really don't like to say this," Margaret said, "but it seemed to me like Dennis was kind of making eyes at Martin's new wife." "... we don't know where she has..." the voice faded away.

If it wasn't for the baby, Regina would let me go.