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Chapters (58)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. Acknowledgments
  56. About the Author
  57. Back Ad
  58. About the Publisher

I turn to see the back door of the house hanging open, and my thoughts suddenly go wild. I think of Hansel and Gretel being lured to the witch’s house to be eaten.

What if this is a trick, too? What if Madeline Mitchell has done something with Fina?

I guess I’m about to find out.

I head for the door, my fingers tightening into nervous fists. Boomer trots in behind me.

The first thing that hits me when I step inside is the smell. Cooked apples.

I take another step. The furniture is old, but it looks well taken care of. The curved wooden arms of the delicate sofas shine with polish. The walls are covered in old paintings and photographs. There’s no sign of Fina here, or anyone else, for that matter.

I force myself to keep going, to walk through to the next room—a dining room with a table big enough for me to lie flat on and spread my arms wide and still not touch any of the corners—and then find myself in the kitchen, where the counters are completely covered with jars and jars of homemade jam. There’s a steaming pot on the stove, and I bet anything there are apples in it.

I move on to the front hall, and see what was spilled across the floor.

Not blood. More jam, and shards of glittering glass strewn across the tile.

“Fina?” I whisper again.

I’m just about to try the next room when something on the little table by the front door catches my eye. I do a double take.

The name itself isn’t a shock. I’ve known it for years, after all. But I have no idea what it would be doing here, in this house, atop that table, typed on a crisp white envelope.

I pick the envelope up and study it.

Getty Publishing Group

195 Broadway

New York, NY 10007

R. M. Wildsmith

PO Box 47

Lanternwood, NC 27660

Before I can stop myself, I pull a letter from the envelope, which has already been opened.

Dear Mr. Wildsmith,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing one last time on behalf of all of us here at Getty to express our hope that you will allow us to move forward with the fiftieth-anniversary edition of THE WORLD AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL. As you know, sales for the book have been modest the last ten years, and we believe this edition will bring your story to a whole new generation of readers who will treasure it as so many have done before them.

I know you are a very private individual, but perhaps we could speak on the phone at your earliest convenience? I am available to you at the number below, night or day.

Warmly (and a bit desperately),

Alexandra Homer

Head of Editorial, Getty Publishing Group

195 Broadway

New York, NY 10007

[email protected]

212-555-9191

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