Locust Lane by Stephen Amidon

Author:Stephen Amidon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Celadon Books

* * *

Time passed. The clock ticked. Michel didn’t write. And then, just before dawn, as she hovered between sleep and wakefulness, she heard a car pull up. She went to the window, wondering if the media’s traveling circus was now pitching tent here. A large Mercedes blocked the end of the driveway. The passenger door opened. Geoff emerged; the dome-lit man behind the wheel was briefly visible. It was Oliver Parrish.

Alice quickly stepped back from the window. What the hell had she just seen? These two weren’t exactly close. Geoff couldn’t come up with enough bad things to say about Oliver after that ill-fated dinner party, even though the other man had been the personification of charm. And yet here they were, driving around together in the middle of the night, locked in secret confabulation hours after their kids had become involved in the local crime of the century.

Her husband quietly entered the house and went straight to his office. She gave him a minute to settle, then crept downstairs. His door was off the latch. She gently pushed it open. He didn’t notice her. He wore headphones; he was completely engrossed in his screen. Instead of the usual neuroglyphics, there was an image of the front porch of a house. This house. It was dark and empty. The image danced a little, as if it was scrolling rapidly, forward or backward.

She closed the door and retreated to her room. What in the literal fuck? she thought. First a clandestine meeting with Oliver, and now this. Why was Geoff surveying home security footage? This wasn’t right. This wasn’t even in the same area code as right. Something seriously hinky was going on here.

Fully awake now, she decided to check her wound. She removed the dressing in the shower, half-expecting to find writhing maggots feasting on gangrenous flesh. But it was fine. It was just a scratch with attitude. By the time she emerged from the bathroom, dawn had finally shown its stupid face. Downstairs, she made herself a coffee and once again waded into the social media swamp to see if there were any new developments. But there was nothing. Last night’s narrative was holding. Things were definitely not looking promising for Christopher. The hive mind had decided on his guilt.

The house phone rang. She scooped it up immediately—Hannah was still asleep. She’d be going to school late today.

“Ms. Holt?”

“Yes,” she said, letting the mistake stand.

“This is Detective Gates. Is your husband available?”

“Not just now,” Alice said, even though he was currently sitting about fifty feet away. “Can I help you?”

“Could you have him call me as soon as possible?”

“Sure. Can I tell him what this is about?”

There was a pause.

“Thing is, he might not be available for a bit.”

“In that case, you’re going to have to help us out,” Gates said. “We need to speak with Hannah again. As soon as possible.”

“Shall I have her call or…”

“We’d like you to bring her in. Immediately.”

They’d found out about the drugs.

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