I realized she was asking me what to do. And looking—nervous. Maybe even scared. I wasn’t sure I could remember seeing Mother scared. Or having her ask me for help.

“Sometime this century, ladies,” Riddick barked.

Probably not the time for an existential crisis.

“Let’s look for the duct tape,” I said. And for anything that we could use as a weapon.

If only Mother wasn’t here, I thought, as I scanned the nearby floor and the tops of the boxes. I couldn’t help thinking that if I were alone, I’d have a much better chance of getting the drop on Riddick. Or if I tried and failed, at least I’d only be failing myself. Mother’s slender figure looked alarmingly frail at the moment. And why on earth would anyone over sixty wear boots with dainty little high heels at any time, much less with a foot of snow on the ground? Any escape plan that called for running fast was obviously not going to work.

Mother was playing her tiny flashlight over the top of the boxes. At one point the beam spilled over and illuminated the area around Riddick’s feet, just for a second. There was something by his right leg. It looked a lot like the bright red plastic gas can we kept in the garage. Evidently Riddick had come back to have another go at burning up the junk in the basement. The stuff that almost certainly had never belonged to Mrs. Thornefield. I’d bet Riddick had hauled all her valuable things away, and maybe even sold most of them already.

Mother was eyeing her little nail file, but since it was only about five inches long and already warped from hacking through box tape, I didn’t think it would do us much good. I was a lot more interested in the tacky bronze nymph, which had a lot of nice sharp edges. But I’d have to get much closer to Riddick to be able to use it.

“What’s taking so long?” Riddick asked.

“There is no duct tape here,” Mother said.

“There has to be,” Riddick snapped.

“What, did you leave it down here when you killed Mr. Vess?” I asked.

“Keep looking,” Riddick said.