“What?”

  “I don’t know. Just listen.”

  They both stood very still. From across the hall came the unmistakable sound of footsteps.

  “I was right,” whispered Rudy. “Someone’s here! Let’s get out while we still can.”

  “Wait a minute,” she whispered, moving a few feet closer to the storage room door.

  “No, Mom! Leave it, okay? I’m already in enough trouble.”

  “I want to see who’s here. If it’s Kate, this may be my only chance to talk to her.”

  Rudy rubbed his palms anxiously against the sides of his jeans. “You’re making me a nervous wreck!”

  “Just stay put. I’ll be right back.” She stepped cautiously to the edge of the door and peeked inside.

  There, in the rear of the room, almost hidden by a large canvas propped against a table, stood Kate. She had her back to Sophie, hands on her hips. A single light burned, casting deep shadows against the bare concrete walls. In front of her on the easel was one of the pastels. Even at this distance, Sophie easily recognized the sphinx with fire between its paws. Suddenly Kate grabbed the picture and began to shred it, angrily crushing the pieces against her chest. As they fell to the floor, she muttered, “Damn you! Damn you! I hope you burn in hell!”

  Sophie was stunned.

  Without warning, Kate whirled around. She started for the door — but stopped abruptly as her gaze locked on Sophie. “How did you get in here?”

  Sophie stood very still. “Why didn’t you return my phone calls?”

  “I … wasn’t feeling well.” The room was suffused with a suspicious silence. “Who let you in?”

  Sophie walked a few paces closer. “After what John dumped on you last night, I don’t doubt you weren’t feeling well.”

  “What do you mean?” Her eyes grew large.

  “I know about the bogus Soldiers Grove postmark. I also know you were at Camp Bright Water the same summer Eric Hauley disappeared. What’s going on, Kate? What are you a part of?”

  Kate’s face underwent a distinct change as she drew inward. Her body grew very still.

  “I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth. You aren’t leaving, either.” Sophie let the threat hang in the air.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Cut the crap! This concerns my son! If you know something about Hale’s death, I want to hear it!”

  “But you don’t understand.”

  “No, I don’t.” Her eyes narrowed in disgust. Even now, Kate wasn’t going to come clean. Sophie could feel her resistance.

  “I don’t know anything about his death!”

  “Then prove it! Talk to me. I’m not your enemy, Kate. A few days ago I would have said I was one of your best friends.”

  “You are my friend! I just can’t… I mean …” Her body seemed to deflate as she crumpled onto a stool.

  Sophie crossed to the back of the room and leaned against the worktable. She knew she was blocking Kate’s exit, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t sure what to expect anymore. Kate looked terrible, as if she hadn’t slept in days. Under other circumstances, Sophie might have felt sorry for her. Tonight, she just wanted answers.

  “What do you want to know?” asked Kate warily, working to control her face.

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

  She bit her lower Up. Slowly, as if her entire body hurt, she leaned into the light, meeting Sophie’s eyes. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

  Sophie could see she’d been crying. For some reason, it surprised her. “No, Kate. I can’t. What really happened at that arts camp?”

  Wrapping her arms around her stomach, Kate glanced again at the mangled drawing. Finally, in a low, flat voice, she said, “You aren’t going to let this drop, are you?” It was more a statement than a question.

  Sophie shook her head.

  “Well, then, I suppose I’ll have to trust you.”

  “Is that so terrible?”

  She looked away. Squaring her jaw, she said, “All right, the beginning. I was ten the summer my nightmare started. My name was Katie Nelson, then. My mother divorced my father shortly after I returned from Bright Water that year and we moved to New York. That’s why Hale never put it together. He never suspected little Katie Nelson had become Kate Chappeldine. There was a boy at camp. His name was Eric. We were pretty good friends, though he was kind of a loner. For some reason, Hale seemed to have it in for him. At the time, I didn’t recognize the verbal abuse as part of Hale’s incessant need to denigrate other people’s talent, but I’ve seen it many times since — especially when the talent in question is unusually strong, like Eric’s. To tell the truth, I’ve never understood it. Perhaps Hale was jealous. Or maybe he was thwarted artistically. Whatever the case, I don’t care. All I know is, he was a spoiler. Eric couldn’t do anything right. A couple of times I heard the other counselors talking about it, but nothing changed.

  “On the east side of the camp was a steep cliff overlooking a river. It was off-limits, though I knew Eric went there all the time. At the edge of that cliff was the shell of a house. It had burned down many years before, but part of the structure was still standing. The front wall was intact. And a door — just the frame — overlooked the river. I imagine once it must have led to steps that took you down to a dock. That summer, it was merely an open hole that dropped about two hundred yards to the water.

  “One afternoon, I was wandering in the woods. Everyone else was down at the beach for swimming practice, but since I’d cut my big toe on a piece of glass the day before, I was told to keep my foot dry for a few days. I knew I wasn’t supposed to go near the river, but I was bored. I also think I may have been a little lost. Anyway, as I got near the burned house, I heard shouting. I walked a bit farther until I could see Hale and Eric inside the structure. Without thinking, I hid behind a tree and watched.

  “Hale was yelling that Eric had no business being this far away from camp. Eric responded by saying he was sick of all the rules. After all, this was a summer arts program, not a prison. Hale countered by insisting he was a troublemaker. If he couldn’t follow simple rules how was he ever going to make it in life? Eric took a swing at him, and in return, Hale shoved him to the ground. After that, the verbal abuse got worse. Hale roared that any pretensions Eric harbored about becoming a dancer were just daydreams. He was pathetic. Graceless. And furthermore, Hale declared that he would see to it Eric was punished severely for breaking camp rules. Dance class would be off-limits for the rest of his stay. Well, by this time, Eric had scrambled to his feet. He took a flying leap at Hale’s legs and slammed him to the ground. God, I’d never seen a grownup so furious. Eric was big for his age, but he was no match for a twenty-five-year-old man. Hale picked him up by the scruff of his neck and slapped him hard across the face. Trying to get away, Eric stumbled on a tree root, and fell face first through the open hole.”

  Sophie’s mouth dropped open.

  “I just stood there. I couldn’t even speak. Hale moved to the edge of the cliff and looked down. He screamed Eric’s name over and over, but got no response. When he finally turned around, I could see how scared he was. That’s when he spotted me. ‘How long have you been standing there?’ he yelled. When I said nothing, he rushed over and grabbed me by the shoulders. ‘What did you see?’ He shook me so hard I thought my head would snap off. All I could get out was that I wanted to know what happened to Eric. ‘You didn’t see anything?’ he insisted. He said it over and over. He made me repeat the words after him. ‘If you tell anyone about this, the same thing will happen to you!’ He brought his face very close to mine and asked if I understood. I nodded. With every fiber of my being, I believed what he said. ‘Now, get out of here,’ he yelled, shoving me away.

  “I ran as fast as I could. Later that same day, at dinner, I could see him watching me. When the police arrived the next morning, I said nothing. When the counselors talked to us about Eric’s disappearance, he made sure I was in his group. Two days later I was back home. To my knowledge, the body was never found, or if it was, it was never linked to Eric. Once, before we left the city that fall, I saw Hale standing outside my school yard. He was watching me. I couldn’t wait to leave Minneapolis. I never even considered telling my mother. After we got to New York, I tried to forget, but the nightmares wouldn’t go away. I saw Eric’s face in my dreams for years. I think, when I was still pretty small, I somehow had myself convinced that Eric’s death was my fault. As I got older, I realized what Hale had done — not only to Eric, but to me. That’s why I came back to Minneapolis two years ago. I knew Hale had made quite a name for himself here. And I’d been part owner of a gallery in New York City and wanted to try my hand elsewhere. But most of all, I wanted to make Hale pay. I wanted revenge.” She paused and looked hard at Sophie. “Are you sure you want to hear the rest of this?”

  Sophie nodded. She needed to know.

  “All right. Several months after I’d opened the gallery, my cousin, who lives in Bloomington, brought in four or five drawings her eight-year-old daughter had done. She wanted to get them matted and framed for their family room. Her daughter had been given a bunch of pastels for Christmas and had really done some nice work. So I matted them. Before I could get them framed, Hale stopped by. He’d already informed me that he was always given special privileges by the other gallery owners in town. He liked to be taken into the back rooms and shown anything new or interesting. The day he came by, my niece’s drawings were propped against the easel. He walked straight up to them and began praising their freshness. Their charm. Well, what could I do? I just let him talk. When he asked for the name of the artist, I told him I’d have to check. He said if I ever got any more work by the same person, to call him. He’d come see it right away. And that’s how it all started.

  “I played with the idea for weeks before I came up with a plan. I was going to humiliate him. I wanted him to go on record somewhere about the pastels and then I was going to tell the truth and show the world what a phony he really was. I don’t mean to suggest my niece has no talent, but she is eight years old. You get the point. So, I asked her to do more of them. I hung a few of my favorites here and there in the gallery. When Hale came in, I made up this story about a reclusive artist, Ezmer Hawks — named from Eric’s initials — who lived in northern Minnesota. Hale was even more excited than he’d been before. After he’d written some comments about Hawks in the paper, I knew I had him. All I had to do was reveal the identity of the artist and he’d be the laughingstock of his profession. Yet, by the time I had him right where I wanted him, I realized it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted to see him sweat. I wanted him to feel pain, to experience real fear. But what really made me reconsider my plan of attack was the realization that, in the end, I wasn’t convinced my little joke would last long enough to do him any true damage. That’s when I got the idea to bring back Eric.”

  “Bring him back?” repeated Sophie.

  “Sure. Why not? One afternoon, I showed my niece some photographs and I asked if she would draw some specific images. Over the next few weeks she did twenty or thirty. I took the best, had a rubber postmark made, and faked the mailings as if they had come directly from Soldiers Grove. Hale came in to look at the new drawings as soon as they arrived. Each time I doled out two or three more. Inch by inch, I was drawing him into my web. I also used the postmark for a letter I sent him — from Ezmer. You were there the day he got it. By then, he was terrified. He didn’t know what was going on. I think he may actually have believed Eric was still alive, come back to take his revenge. Since I had no proof of what Hale had done so many years ago, just a child’s memory — and our legal system, I should point out, places no credence in that — I didn’t want to just scare the shit out of him; I wanted to make him confess!”

  “But, some might say it was an accident,” replied Sophie.

  “The fall may have been, but what precipitated it wasn’t,” said Kate. “Besides, Hale was the adult! He should have seen the danger. And he should never have been harassing Eric in the first place! As for what he did to me — even though it was motivated by fear — it was vicious and unconscionable.”

  Sophie had to agree. “Go on.”

  “The night of John Jacobi’s opening, I made a phone call to Hale’s home. I’d gotten my cousin’s five-year-old son to recite a nursery rhyme into a tape recorder. You may know it. ‘For every evil under the sun, there is a remedy or there is none.’ “

  “Of course,” said Sophie under her breath. It was all beginning to make sense.

  “I found it in a book I was reading to the kids one evening before bed. I thought it was perfect. When I called Hale’s house, I waited until the phone was answered and then I played the tape through. I did it several times. I have no idea what specific effect it had on him, but I know he was growing more anxious by the day. I thought it would be only a matter of time before he cracked. But then I got impatient. The night of the party I was so angered by what he’d done to Ben Kiran, I decided to force his hand. I left a note in a catalogue I knew he would pick up. I will confess to a certain thrill when I saw him read it.” She stopped, forcing herself to look Sophie square in the eyes. “I’ll never know now what he was going to do because … someone got to him first. You must understand. I didn’t want him to die, I wanted him to live with what he’d done. I wanted the world to know! You’ve got to believe me, Sophie. You knew what kind of man he was! But —” She hesitated. “After his death, I got frightened. I knew if I told the police what I’d done, I was sure to be arrested. I had motive, opportunity — everything. Except I didn’t do it!”

  Sophie just stared at her. She wasn’t sure what to think. “That’s quite a story.”

  “It’s not a story. It’s the truth!”

  She wanted to believe her. She knew her reticence must hurt. “I believe what you said about Hale and what happened at the camp. And I can see you’ve gone to some elaborate means to get back at him. But if you didn’t kill him, who did?”

  Kate clenched and unclenched her fists. “How should I know? He must have had other enemies.”

  Sophie could hear the desolation in her voice, but she wasn’t going to be sidetracked. She still had questions. “What about the attempts that were made on Ivy’s life?”

  “What about them? Why would I want to hurt Ivy?”

  “She was at the camp that same summer.”

  “So?”

  “Are you telling me she knew nothing about what Hale had done?”

  Kate shrugged. “I have no way of knowing.”

  “But surely you must realize those phone calls had some effect on her as well? Didn’t you care?”

  Kate looked away. “I didn’t think of that. I never meant to hurt Ivy. She was one of Hale’s victims, too.”

  Sophie shivered. What a way to view a man’s life — or your own. “The night he died, did you follow him to the gate house?”

  “No!”

  “But you threatened him in the note. What were you going to do if he didn’t call the police? And how would you even know what he’d done if you didn’t personally confront him?”

  “I hadn’t thought that far.” Her teeth gnawed anxiously at her lower lip. “Stop pressing me!”

  Sophie could tell Kate was at an emotional pitch. She was glad for Rudy’s silent presence. “All right, but listen to me for a minute. You’ve got an important decision to make. John’s planning to go to the police with what he knows first thing in the morning.”

  Her head jerked up. “What?”

  “And I must tell you, if he wasn’t going, I would be.”

  She backed off the stool and covered her ears with her hands. “Why can’t you trust me?” she pleaded, accidentally bumping into the easel and knocking it to the floor.

  “Kate, listen! If John goes to the police with his information, it will look pretty bad. But if you get there first, if you have a chance to explain everything from your point of view, I think your chances are much better.”

  Kate picked up another of the pastel drawings and crushed it angrily in her hands. “One way or another that man has polluted everything he’s every touched.”

  “Maybe,” said Sophie, keeping her voice very calm. She knew Kate was still stalling. “But what’s it going to be?”

  Kate flung the paper to the floor. “All right, damn it! I’ll call them.”

  “Good.” Sophie relaxed a bit. “When you’re done, I’ll drive you down to the station.”

  “What? You expect me to call them now?”

  “Why not?”

  Kate stared at her.

  “Look, you want me to believe you. Everything inside me wants that, too. But I’ve still got Rudy to consider.”

  “I know!”

  “So what’s it going to be? Rudy and I will be glad to stay with you if you want.”

  “What do you mean, Rudy?” The light was beginning to dawn. “So that’s how you got in here.”

  “Afraid so,” he said, stepping into the doorway.

  Kate looked hard at him and then back at Sophie. “I can drive myself, thank you.”

  “Are you sure you’re not too upset?”

  “Just say what you’re thinking! You’re not sure I’ll go if you don’t take me there yourself.”

  The truth was, Sophie wasn’t about to let Kate out of her sight until she was sure a full account had been made.

  Kate placed an indignant hand on her hip. “Okay. We’ll do it your way.”

  “Our car’s out back,” said Rudy.

  Kate glared at him.

  “For what it’s worth, you’re doing the right thing,” offered Sophie. “Maybe it’s best to let some of the anger go now. Make a clean breast of it.”

  “Who died and made you a fucking Zen master?” Angrily she reached up and took hold of the cord attached to the light fixture. “I realize you’ve been trying to find out who Hale’s murderer was just to establish your son’s innocence. But consider this: if you think there’s any possibility I’m telling the truth — any possibility at all — and if our friendship means anything to you, then you still can’t stop looking.”