Pumpkin Roll (41 page)

Are you coming?

When two minutes passed without a response, she called. It went to voice mail. Sadie left a message and then bit her lip when the clock above the bar hit ten o’clock straight up. She did not have the time or patience to be stood up right now!

Sadie called directory assistance and requested the number for the gallery. Someone picked up but then hung up before Sadie had a chance to say anything. Sadie pulled the phone away from her ear to verify that she had full service and her phone hadn’t simply dropped the call. She had four full bars. She called back and this time the line was busy. Sadie started to worry, even though she tried not to. She tried the gallery again—still busy—and called Gabrielle’s cell again—no answer. After thirty seconds of planning, Sadie left five dollars to cover the tip and the cost of her drink, which she hadn’t even finished, and headed for the door. On the street, she sent Gabrielle a text.

Is everything okay? I’m coming over.

Then she put up the collar of her coat and pulled out her street map, quickly calculating the shortest walk to the gallery. Her muscles ached, and her head felt heavy on her shoulders. The fog was less than comforting, but Sadie would take fog over rain or snow. Sadie walked as fast as she could and hunkered down in her jacket to fend off the increasing cold. This had been one of the longest days of her life. She hoped it wouldn’t stretch out too much longer, but she couldn’t go home with this unfinished.

Chapter 36

Sadie reached the gallery in six or seven minutes—bless the laminated street map and a heightened sense of concern—and looked through the beveled glass of the gallery’s front door. Other than a frosty light coming from the back of the building, she couldn’t see anything. She pulled on the handle, fully expecting it to be locked, but the thumb latch depressed easily and she pulled the door open.

“Ms. Marrow?” she called out as she moved across the threshold and adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. Sadie could smell the fruity vapor of the wine from the night’s reception, but the stillness of the gallery made the building feel barren. Sadie shivered even though it was warmer inside than it had been outside. She wondered if she should call the police, but she didn’t want them to know she was working on the case. Hopefully there was just a misunderstanding about the time of their meeting.

“Gabrielle,” she called louder as she stepped forward on the polished hardwood of the gallery. The light was coming from a room up ahead and to the right, but she could hear nothing, which made her stay silent too. Gabrielle was here—so why couldn’t Sadie hear her moving papers or talking on the phone?

She kept her glance darting ahead, cautious of the dark corners that seemed to be encroaching on her. The paintings on the walls looked like open holes in which anything could be hiding. The similarities to her discovery of Delores yesterday—dark building, one light drawing her in—made her shudder from déjà vu.

“Gabrielle,” she called again. “Are you here? It’s Sadie Hoffmiller.” Finally, she reached the portion of wall just outside the lit room—an office. Sadie peeked around the doorjamb, giving herself a moment to assess the scene before she planned her next move.

The first thing that caught her eye was hair, cascades of it pouring over the desk as though sprouting from the veneer itself. An instant later, however, she realized it was Gabrielle Marrow, facedown at her desk with her long hair and array of extensions billowing out around her as though poetically arranged just so.

“Gabrielle,” Sadie gasped as she dropped her purse by the doorway and moved forward. She saw an empty wineglass a few inches from where Gabrielle’s hand lay outstretched from beneath her hair, fingers gracefully curved as though she had been reaching for one more drink when she passed out.

Sadie put her hand on Gabrielle’s back, and Gabrielle’s body shifted beneath her. The shift must have hit the mouse or a key on the keyboard because the computer screen in front of Gabrielle came to life, capturing Sadie’s attention completely.

The background was white—a document—with tight lines of perfect letters. Sadie leaned in, anxious to read what Gabrielle had been typing.

I have done all I can to leave the past behind me, but it continues to claw its way into my life until I can no longer abide its toll. Let Delores heal and find whatever measure of existence is her due, but do not tell her I’m the one who nearly took that away from her. Let her believe I simply faded—as I have surely been doing all my life despite my vibrant attempts at normalcy—and simply disappeared. I love her, in my way, but with her in my life, there is no room left for me, and I would rather end my own life at the height of my success than renegotiate the terms.

Sincerely,

Gabrielle Marrow

By the time Sadie finished, her heart was in her throat. Suicide? She reached under Gabrielle’s hair enough for her fingers to find where Gabrielle’s pulse should be. Her eyes fell on the orange prescription bottle tucked beneath Gabrielle’s arm. Sadie didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she felt Gabrielle’s weak heartbeat under her fingers.

“Wake up, Gabrielle,” Sadie said, shaking the woman’s shoulders. She didn’t respond. “Oh, please, don’t do this.”

When Sadie still couldn’t rouse her, she left Gabrielle and fumbled for her phone in her purse. While waiting for the call to connect, she heard something from the direction of the gallery and for the first time wondered if she and Gabrielle were the only two people here. Where was Hansel? Had the police found Mr. Forsberk? The furniture and filing cabinets were pressed up against the walls of the tiny room; there was no place to hide. But maybe she hadn’t heard anything at all, maybe it was just her own blood rushing in her ears. She moved toward the doorway, listening intently. A swish? Was it really?

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

“Yes, my name is Sadie Hoffmiller,” she said, turning back to Gabrielle. Sadie reached out and touched her hair, willing her to be okay. “I’m at the Bastian Gallery on Newbury Street and—” Suddenly the room went dark except for the glow of the computer monitor. Sadie turned quickly toward the doorway and screamed as something white came directly toward her face. She could barely make out the edges of the object and raised her hands to block it. The white apparition drove into her, propelled by a force she couldn’t see. The phone clattered to the floor. She smelled something chemical—sharp and metallic—before the whiteness mashed against her face.

Cloth. Soft. Wet.

She grabbed an arm holding the smelly cloth and tried to pull it away from her face. In the process, she fell against the filing cabinet and pain sparked through her hip as she slid to the floor, the cloth still held fast against her mouth and nose. Relentless. She was partially propped against the filing cabinet, her clogs sliding on the hardwood floor as she tried to get her footing. The edges of her thoughts began to get fuzzy, and she realized the intent of the cloth against her face wasn’t simply to prevent her from seeing who was holding it. She tried to hold her breath, but it was too late. Something was slowing . . . her thoughts and . . . taking away . . . her ability . . . to . . .

Chapter 37

Sadie awoke with a splitting headache to find herself in a box. There was a humming and bumping beneath her ear, which was pressed upon cheap carpet. It smelled like old motor oil and new carpet.

Despite the smell and her aching head, she took deep breaths, then coughed when her lungs protested against the dank air. It took a few more breaths for her to realize she was moving. It took several more seconds and the honk of a horn for her mind to clear and process the clues that told her she was in a car—or rather, the trunk of one. Despite her drugged state, panic began to radiate through her body, causing her heart to race and her head to pound even harder. She had to get out of here! She tried to lift her head only to have dizziness swirl around her like a vortex. Her head fell back to the carpet with a thump, and bile rose in her throat. Her head was still pounding, her heart racing as the panic threatened to consume her completely.

You have got to calm down,
she told herself, and clenched her eyes shut while forcing herself to take a deep breath, fighting the urge to gag. She held the breath and then exhaled it slowly, consciously relaxing her feet and hands, then her arms and legs, her hips and shoulders. Her hands were tied together in front of her, which initiated another wave of panic before she forced herself to relax again. She knew she didn’t have a chance if she couldn’t focus her thoughts.

How had she gotten here?

She remembered finding Gabrielle. She remembered dialing 911 and . . . then it all came back to her. The note. The panic. The spectral whiteness coming toward her and then . . . nothing. Sadie felt her throat thicken as she realized she hadn’t completed the call to 911. Panic seized her chest again, but she pushed it away with the absolute knowledge that she had to get out of here. She had to focus.

She kept her eyes closed and took deep breaths of the musty air, forcing herself to relax her breathing and her heart rate while focusing her thoughts on her own survival. Once she had herself under control and could think rationally, she began talking herself through the situation as any reasonable person would do.

Unfortunately, you are tied up and locked in the trunk of the car.

Fortunately, you are not unconscious anymore.

She felt better already, and moved on to the next affirmation.

Unfortunately, you are sick and feeling suffocated and dizzy.

Fortunately . . .
She drew a blank.
Fortunately . . .
The word hung in her mind and she raced to find something hopeful—anything!

Fortunately . . .
There had to be something!

Fortunately . . . think, Sadie, think!

Fortunately . . . that’s it!

Sadie’s thoughts ignited and hope surged through her. She liked to have the TV on when she baked, and she always baked a lot in the fall and Shawn had gotten her hooked on survival shows. She knew exactly what to do when trapped in the trunk of a car.

She blinked her eyes to clear her vision and looked around for the trunk release—a standard safety feature in most cars manufactured during the last decade. There! She could see the small plastic pull cord set against the top of the trunk above her, green and glowing up and to the right, but when she reached toward it, searing pain flared in her shoulder. She tried again, but the release seemed miles away. She couldn’t reach it. What were her other options? She was on her back and tried to straighten out her legs which felt tangled around each other.

There was nothing else to do but kick out a taillight. The car seemed to be going slower than it had been, but not as though the driver planned on stopping. What would the taillight feel like from the inside? She remembered that a plastic bracket held the taillight in place. What could she break it with? There weren’t many options.

She needed to turn her head toward the back of the trunk so that her foot would have the necessary trajectory, and she gasped as fire ripped through her shoulder the moment she moved. The pain was paralyzing and brought tears to her eyes. How was she supposed to escape with bound hands, a bad shoulder, and limited motor control? It wasn’t a question she was going to waste time answering. She had to stay focused and believe there was a way out.