take the job.”
“Excellent,” he said. “Mr. Mills will be very pleased. The contracts will be at Ms. Bowers’s office tomorrow morning at nine for signatures.” He reached into the inside pocket of his trench coat with his free hand and took out an envelope that he offered to Mallory. “These are instructions to be followed to the letter.”
She took the thin envelope and glanced at her name typed neatly on the front. “And the script?” she asked, looking back at Mr. Welting.
“That will all be given to you when you report for work.”
“But, I—”
He kept speaking as if she hadn’t said a thing. “It is very important that you follow the instructions exactly. You are to report to Mr. Mills at his home at precisely six o’clock tomorrow evening.”
“His home?”
“Mr. Mills is taking care of this personally, and he seldom leaves his home anymore. When you meet with him, he will explain everything to you.”
“Is there anything else?”
He slipped his hat back on. “You are to discuss this with no one until you see Mr. Mills. Anything else you might need to know is in the envelope.” He stared at her for a long, awkward moment before he said, “What is it they say in the theater for good luck, Ms. King? Break a leg?”
It took Mallory aback to hear that phrase for the second time in the last few hours. “Thanks,” she murmured at the same time Sara came back out of the dressing room with another actress. Both were dressed in dark raincoats, and Sara was carrying Mallory’s umbrella. As she headed down the hallway, Sara accidentally bumped Mr. Welting on his arm.
The man jerked back and glared at her. “Sorry,” Sara muttered. Then with a “We’ll be right back” to Mallory, she and the other girl headed for the stage entrance.
As the two of them stepped out into the storm and the door shut behind them, Mr. Welting said, “I think that’s all that’s needed here. My driver is waiting for me.” He inclined his head to Mallory. “Thank you for agreeing to help Mr. Mills. I know he will be very appreciative of it.” He glanced at Elaine. “Thank you for taking care of this so expeditiously, Ms. Bowers.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
With a fleeting look back at Mallory, he turned and headed for the doors. Without glancing back, he pushed back the metal barrier and stepped out into the night. Then he was gone and the door closed with a creaking moan.
Mallory exhaled and leaned back against the wall as she stared at the door. “Boy, he’s strange. It’s a night for meeting strange people.”
“Forget about him. You don’t have to deal with him anymore. I’ll take care of any other business things that come up.”
Mallory looked back at Elaine. “It all seems so odd, doesn’t it?”
“Listen, I can understand if you’re a bit uneasy about this, but I can assure you, I checked this all out. Henry Welting does a number of things for Saxon Mills, both professionally and personally. He’s been on retainer for the man for over fifteen years. The offer’s very legitimate. I wouldn’t let you do it if I thought there was anything shady about it.”
“Sure, of course,” Mallory murmured, then looked back at the door as it flew open, and the girl who had left with Sara rushed back into the hallway. Her face was as white as a sheet, and rain dripped from her hair and her drenched clothes.
“Call an ambulance!” she gasped.
Mallory stood straight. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Sara. She—” The girl was beginning to shake all over. “She…she was in front of me, crossing the street, and a car…it hit her.” She swiped at her face with a trembling hand. “I think she’s dead.”
December 22
The fury of the storm let up for little more than half a day before it came back again in earnest. At five the next afternoon, Mallory was driving north on an all-but-deserted two-lane road. Wind shook her small car, and rain beat relentlessly against the oxidized blue paint.
The rolling hills that formed the valley and were covered with vineyards on either side of the road were almost obliterated by the storm and the shadows of the coming night. Mallory sat forward, straining to make out the wooden road signs through the rain and the slapping of the windshield wipers.
The written directions she had been given were simple enough. They just hadn’t mentioned how to cope with what seemed like a hurricane.
Mallory gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her fingers ached, and no matter how intently she tried to focus her thoughts, she couldn’t forget the horror of last night. The moments after her friend’s accident had been filled with total confusion—flashing lights, sirens and Sara laying on the asphalt, her arms and legs askew at unnatural angles, her blood from a massive head wound mingling with the rain on the pavement.
No one had seen the car until it ran Sara down, and no one knew what happened to it afterward. Hit-and-run. And it had left Sara alive…but just barely. When she’d been taken to the hospital, they’d found compound fractures of her forearm and thigh. By far the most serious injury had been the head wound. She’d undergone emergency surgery in the small hours of the morning to relieve pressure on her brain and the doctors were guardedly optimistic.
Mallory had stayed until morning, when Sara’s parents arrived. They had been devastated, and when Mallory was leaving, they were sitting on either side of their unconscious daughter, holding her hands, talking softly to her, encouraging her to come back to them.
For one fleeting moment, Mallory had almost felt envious of poor Sara. Mallory had never known her father. He’d walked out on her mother before Mallory had been born. And the memories of her mother were vague, distorted remembrances of a five-year-old child. Dark hair, a soft voice, eyes touched with a sadness that never quite disappeared. Nothing substantial.
And Mallory knew if she was in the bed instead of Sara, no one would be crying for her. She had no one. Henry Welting had said she was “basically alone,” but the reality was, she was completely alone. Just as alone as she was on this road right now. She couldn’t see any lights, and only a handful of cars had passed her since she left Napa.
Her headlights cut into the darkness and rain, and she caught a glimpse of a sign ahead. As she slowed, she could barely make out dark lettering on an old-fashioned wooden road sign—Reece Place. With a sigh of relief, she made the left turn onto an even-narrower road that angled upward. A canopy of ancient trees on either side bent under the force of the wind and rain.
The road curved to the left and Mallory shifted to a lower gear to negotiate it, but even so, she felt the tires on the car spin for a second before they caught traction again. Yet before she could get the car fully under control, the road cut sharply to the right and as the car went into the curve, Mallory knew she wasn’t going to make it.
In that split second, the car began to drift sideways on the slick pavement. Mallory felt the loss of control, the futility of pressing on the brakes and turning the wheel. She felt the stunning terror of knowing she could die. She felt sadness for what might have been, a sadness she had never let herself feel before.
Then
