Chapters (73)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Part IAnnie
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Part IIHarry
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Part IIIAnnie
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Part IVHarry
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Part VAnnie
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Also by Linwood Barclay
- About the Publisher
While she awaited a reply, she set about getting Charlie and herself ready to leave. She went downstairs, eyed the unfinished jigsaw puzzle. Only the border and most of The New Yorker masthead were finished. She took the open box, held it under the edge of the table, and swept all the pieces—those that had not yet been placed and those that had—into it, slid the lid back on top of it, and gave it a shake. She held the box a moment, as though wondering in what bag she’d place it for the trip home, then opened the door to the cupboard below the sink and shoved it into the garbage bin.
Annie took a look in the fridge and the pantry, assessing what, if anything, she might take home with her. She would need to make a lunch for the trip, something they could eat in the car. She didn’t want to stop on the way for anything but gas and bathroom breaks. She wanted to put this place as far behind her as quickly as she could.
Her eyes went to the bag of bagels Finnegan had brought, and teared up.
Problem solved.
Her cell phone, which she had left by the kitchen sink, rang.
“Hello?” she said.
“Ms. Blunt?” a woman asked.
“Yes. Is this Stephanie Smitherton?”
“Call me Steph.”
“And please, call me Annie.”
“I can’t tell you how excited I was to hear from you. I’m a real fan, and we don’t even have kids. I love your work, and I can’t even imagine why you’re calling me. What can I do for you?”
Annie hated to burst the woman’s bubble. “I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely up-front in my email. I have something unrelated to my work to ask you about.”
Steph said, “Oh?”
“My son and I have been staying in the house you used to live in. The place near Fenelon.”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“Steph?”
“I’m here.” Her voice, friendly a moment earlier, was now cold. “What is it you want?”
“I wanted to know why you left this place.”
“I don’t know what business that is of yours.”
“Something’s not right here. I’m reluctant to discuss it with anyone, but as a former resident, maybe you wouldn’t think what I have to say sounds so crazy.”
“I don’t think I want to know.”
“But if I were to tell you strange things have been happening to my son and me, would you be surprised?”
After a few seconds, Steph said, “No.” There was a pause, and then she said, “You went to the garden shed.”
“My son did.”