Chapter One
Saturday, September 13 Meriden, Connecticut
It was almost midnight, and yet Joan Begley continued to
wait.
She tapped her fingernails on the steering wheel and
watched for headlights in her rearview mirror. She tried
to ignore the streaks of lightning in the distance,
telling herself the approaching storm was headed in the
other direction. Occasionally, her eyes darted across the
front windshield. She barely noticed the spectacular view
of city lights below, more interested in getting a glimpse
in the side mirrors, as if she could catch something the
rearview mirror may have missed.
"Objects may be closer than they appear."
The print on the passenger-side mirror made her smile.
Smile and shiver at the same time. Not like she could see
anything in this blasted darkness. Probably not until it
was right on top of her car.
"Oh, that's good, Joan," she admonished herself.
"Freak yourself out." She needed to think positively. She
needed to keep a positive attitude. What good were all her
sessions with Dr. Patterson if she threw out everything
she had learned so easily?
What was taking him so long? Maybe he had gotten here
earlier and had given up on her. After all, she was ten
minutes late. Not intentionally. He'd forgotten tomention
the fork in the road, right before the final climb to the
top. It had taken her on an unexpected detour. It was bad
enough that it was pitch dark up here, a canopy of tree
branches overhead so thick even the moonlight couldn't
penetrate it. What moonlight was left. The thunderheads
would soon block out, or rather they would replace, the
moonlight with what promised to be a hell of a lightning
show.
God, she hated thunderstorms. She could feel the
electricity in the air. Could almost taste it, metallic
and annoying, like leaving the dentist with a fresh
filling. And it only added to her anxiety. It pricked at
her nerves like a reminder that she shouldn't be here.
That maybe she shouldn't be doing this ... that she
shouldn't be doing this, again.
Those stupid, distracting thunderclouds had even caused
her to lose her sense of direction. Or at least that's
what she was blaming, though she knew full well all it
took was getting into a rent-a-car. As soon as she closed
the car door her ability to tell direction flew right out
the window. It didn't help matters that all these
Connecticut cities were made up of streets that ran every
which way except at right angles or in straight lines. She
had gotten lost plenty of times in the last several days.
Then tonight, on the entire trip up here, she kept taking
wrong turns, despite telling herself over and over that
she would not, could not, get lost again. Yet, if it
hadn't been for the old man and his dog, she would have
been driving around in circles, looking for the West Peak.
"Walnut hunting," he had told her, and she hadn't thought
anything of it at the time, because she was too anxious,
too preoccupied. Now, as she waited, she remembered that
he wasn't carrying a bag or bucket or sack. Just a
flashlight. Who went walnut hunting in the middle of the
night? Odd. Yes, there had been something quite odd about
the man. A lost, faraway look in his eyes, and yet he
didn't hesitate in giving her animated directions to the
top of this wind-howling, branch-creaking, shadowy ridge.
Why in the world had she come?
She grabbed her cell phone and punched in the number from
memory, crossing her fingers, only to be disappointed when
the voice-messaging service picked up after the second
ring. "You've reached Dr. Gwen Patterson. Please leave
your name and phone number and I'll get back to you as
soon as possible."
"As soon as possible might be too late," Joan said in
place of a greeting, then laughed, regretting the words
because Dr. P. would try to read between the lines. But
then wasn't that what she was paying her the big bucks
for? "Hey, Dr. P., yes, it's me again. Sorry to be such a
pain in the ass. But you were right. I'm doing it again.
So no, I guess I haven't learned my lesson, because here I
am in the middle of the night, sitting in my dark car and
waiting for ... yeah, you guessed it, a man. Actually
Sonny is different. Remember I told you about him in my e-
mail? We've been getting together to talk, just talk. At
least so far. He really does seem like a nice guy.
Definitely not my type, right? Not like I'm a good judge
of character when it comes to men. For all I know he could
be an ax murderer, huh?" Another forced laugh. "Look, I
was just hoping. I don't know. Maybe I was hoping you
would talk me out of this. Save me from ... oh, you
know ... Save me from myself, like you always do. Who
knows, maybe he won't even show up. Anyway, I'll see you
Monday morning for our usual rendezvous. You can yell at
me then. Okay?"
She hung up before the string of prerecorded options, one
of which would have allowed her to review her message,
revise it or even delete it. She didn't want to be faced
with any more choices, not tonight. She was sick and tired
of making decisions. That's all she had done the last few
days: The Serenity Package or the Deluxe-in-case-you're-
feeling-guilty Premium Package? White roses or white
lilies? The walnut casket with brass trim or the mahogany
with silk lining?
Good heavens! Who would have thought there were so many
stupid decisions involved in burying someone?
Joan tossed the phone into her bag. She drew her fingers
through her thick blond hair, batted impatiently at damp
strands to push them off her forehead. She glanced in the
rearview mirror, turning on the overhead light to get a
look at her dark roots. She needed to take care of those
soon. Being a blonde sure took a lot of work.