Until the Day You Die Read online

  Minutes after I’d stumbled all over myself apologizing to my clients, the phone rang again: my boyfriend’s number. Marcus and I had no plans to cancel or modify, so I let it go to voicemail and tuned back in as the men nitpicked everything.

  “Would you be interested in buying a historic home with the intention of restoring it?” I asked them. “I know one that’s a steal. I’d buy it myself if I had the resources.”

  I had a fascination with home restoration. I was addicted to HGTV. Marcus and Luke used to tease me about my crush on Ty Pennington. There was no point in denying it, so I just gave them a sly smile.

  The men tossed around my suggestion but, unsurprisingly, couldn’t come to an agreement. “Too messy,” the tall, skinny one said with a dismissive wave. “All that dust, those construction types loitering about.”

  “But think of preserving historical integrity,” the shorter one said, and then with a wistful grin, “And all those construction types loitering about.”

  “Let’s move on then, shall we?”

  “Gentlemen,” I said when I could break into their debate about elongated versus round toilets twenty minutes later. “I’d love to stay longer, but I’m already late to pick up my son.”

  I had been working too much lately. When cancer took my husband, Wesley’s, life three years ago, our part of the medical costs depleted our savings. It wasn’t greed that drove me but a deep need for financial security.

  As soon as I escaped, I called Bobby’s mother, who happened to be my boss and friend, Serena Reese.

  “Did they finally make an offer?” she asked after I identified myself.

  “No, another wasted evening. I have this terrible feeling they’re just looking at homes to pass the time. And drive some poor, unsuspecting real estate agent crazy.”

  She laughed sympathetically. “Hang in there, girl. I’ve heard what a bulldog you can be.”

  “Bulldog? Who said that?”

  “The Millers. They told me how you were ready to walk away from the house they were in love with unless the seller updated the plumbing. They were horrified until you got your way. Now you’re their idol.” She chuckled. “Listen, the boys are already asleep, worn out by their tag football game. How about you pick Luke up in the morning?”

  “No point waking him up, I suppose.” We said goodbye and hung up. I felt even less like a good mother. But I could still be a good sister. I dialed Dana’s number. “Just making sure you’re all right. Want me to come by?”

  Her voice sounded light and thready when she said, “No, no, that’s okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Hey, wait. If you’re in trouble, give me a sign. Say the word”—I scrambled for something—“banana.”

  “I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She hung up.

  I found it odd, yet odd and Dana often went together without meaning anything ominous. “Banana?” I uttered, shaking my head. Next I tried Marcus’s cell phone, trying to score good girlfriend points, but he didn’t answer. He had only left a cursory, “Call me” message, typical of the “non-phone” person he’d warned me that he was.

  When I met Marcus Antonelli at the Pirates’ Treasure cancer benefit a year ago, my heart did a stone-across-the-water skip. He was tall, with a full head of short, dark hair. Mostly I was attracted to his easy confidence. I was afraid of loving and losing again, but I was also ready to embrace happiness. Marcus gave me the comfort and emotional security I craved. And he was good for Luke. Marcus understood Luke’s dyslexia, since he had it, too. The best part was when we all spent time together. Sometimes I muted my laughter just to hear the two of them guffawing together.

  And yet, I felt darkness hovering at the edge, heard the rumble of thunder like an approaching storm. I found myself counting my sins—worse, in my mother’s voice—fearing which one could bring down my world again. Premarital sex (but with a man I loved). Calling that guy who’d pulled out right in front of me a dirty word (at least Luke wasn’t in the car). All sins I was pretty sure my soul could get away with.

  I drove into Wellwood Manor, which had been an older community of family Cape Cod and Colonial homes when Wesley and I moved here. It was undergoing yuppie revitalization, for better or worse. Elaborate play sets replaced swing sets, houses were being remodeled. Even the birdfeeders had become fancier.

  Two restaurants and a bar had sprung up nearby, inviting nightlife and mixed reactions from residents. I’d recently bought a bungalow a couple blocks away from my house and let Dana live there for a hundred dollars a month. I’d had to convince her I was merely holding onto it for an investment, not as a rental property. She didn’t want charity, but she couldn’t afford her own place on her salary without a roommate, something she detested. So, as her surrogate mother, I made sure she had a home of her own.

  I passed Chubb’s Pub where live music drifted out into the air. People wandered down the sidewalks, happy to be wearing light coats and sweaters on this early summer night. After the long New England winter, residents celebrated the first hint of spring.

  A block away, things quieted again. It was still too chilly for sitting out on front porches, a favorite pastime for our area. A couple on one side of the road huddled close as they headed away from the activity. On Dana’s block, a lone man stumbled toward the restaurants, crossing the side street with his head ducked into his jacket. I slowed in front of Dana’s bungalow and glanced at the clock: nine forty-five. My fingers went to my worry curl, a gesture so automatic, so engrained, I’d never get rid of it. My finger wound it tighter and tighter as I stared at the entrance to the driveway.

  The house was shrouded in foliage, a feature Dana wouldn’t be persuaded to eliminate, even for security reasons. Lights glowed from behind the dark curtains. All looked well. No one lurked, no beige sedans in the vicinity. I thought about calling again, but she’d been pretty definite—no banana.

  I continued down the road toward home. On her next day off, I was going to take her out for lunch and to the salon. Just the thought lifted my spirits; I knew it would lift hers, too.

  The prospect of an empty house loomed before me as I walked in, even as I told myself I should be relishing the time alone. Not completely empty, I realized, when Bonk, our brown lab, bounded up to me. Luke gave him the moniker when, as an unnamed pup, he kept sliding across the wood floors and bonking his head on the wall. I knelt down and petted him, and a minute later he was through the dog door that allowed him access to the backyard. Bonk was even happier about the warm weather than I was, continuously racing in and out.

  I eyed the knitting needles and jumble of pink yarn that would become a blanket for Serena’s coming baby. I found knitting relaxing and giddily feminine, even though I wasn’t very good at any of that stuff. I’d always been too much my dad’s girl to be girly, being into sports and hanging out with the guys at the car dealership. For a long time, I’d viewed being a woman as being chaste and subdued, like my mother. It was only when I grew into womanhood that I realized that wasn’t the case. I embraced my femininity and took up knitting.

  I fingered the weave of soft yarn. No angel would grace the corner of this one. Most of the blankets I knitted were for the hospital, to swaddle stillborn babies.

  In the end, the rare opportunity to soak in my Jacuzzi tub won out over anything productive. I wandered through the too quiet house decorated in a mixture of contemporary and nine-year-old-boy styling.

  I took a Dove dark chocolate out of the bag I’d hidden in my nightstand and unwrapped the foil. The little message printed inside read: You’re allowed to do nothing. Ah, appropriate. I popped the piece into my mouth. When good health meant eating a piece of dark chocolate every day, I embraced the notion.

  I sank in with a groan and then had to catch several Batman figurines swirling around in the bubbly water since Luke preferred my tub to his. Even as I lined them up on the ledge, I knew he’d tease me about the preciseness of their alignment. I skewed them on purpose.
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  Lulled by the sound of the jets, I drifted off. I wasn’t sure what woke me, but my eyes opened with a start. I pulled myself from the water, dried off, and trudged into the kitchen for a glass of water. I blinked idiotically at the clock: eleven thirty. I’d been in the tub for an hour and a half?

  I was surprised to hear the cell phone beeping. Hadn’t I taken it into the bathroom? I’d meant to, in case Marcus called back. When I retrieved the message, the hairs on the back of my neck shot up. A sob, I thought, but couldn’t be sure. Then a squeak. I had to play it twice more to figure out it was Dana saying my name in a voice so filled with anguish that tears sprang to my eyes. That was all, just a sob and my name. She’d called an hour ago.

  I fumbled with the speed dial numbers. The phone rang until the machine picked up. Dana’s droll voice instructed, “Hope you don’t hate these things as much as I do. Leave a message.”

  “Dana, it’s me, Maggie. I’m sorry I missed your call. I was in the tub and didn’t hear the phone. I’m coming over in about ten minutes unless I hear from you.” I’d never heard her sound like that, and it terrified me.

  I phoned Mom next. She would be tuned into the Sky Angel network until midnight.

  “Mom, it’s me,” I said when Angelista answered in a gruff voice.

  “Amen,” she said before greeting me. “You must have some sixth sense when you decide to call me. You always call during prayer.”

  I caught myself feeling guilty and stopped. “It’s just dumb luck—”

  “Or Satan trying to use you to interfere.”

  “Then don’t answer the phone! That’s what the machine I bought you is for.” I took a quick, calming breath. I loved my mother because she was my mother. But I didn’t like her much. “Have you talked to Dana tonight? She left a disturbing message on my machine an hour ago and now she’s not answering.”

  “She only calls me a little more often than you do,” Mom said in a plaintive voice. “And speaking of which, I tried calling you earlier, too. I hope you weren’t working until now.”

  “I got home at ten, got into the tub, and fell asleep.”

  “Falling asleep, very dangerous. The reason I was calling was that the youth pastor mentioned he hadn’t seen Luke in three weeks.”

  I reigned in my impatience. “I’m not going to force him to go.” Like you forced us, I didn’t say. Religion had saturated my childhood. It was only after I’d moved out that I learned not every Christian denomination believed in harsh punishment and rules. “I’ve got to check on Dana. Bye.” I hung up and ran into the bedroom to dress.

  I pulled into her driveway a few minutes later. Her car was there. The lights were still on inside. Everything seemed normal. When I knocked on the door, I thought I heard a thump inside. I knocked again.

  “Dana! It’s me!”

  After a few seconds, I rummaged in my purse for the key tucked in a crevice. I had convinced her to give me a spare key, which I’d promised only to use in an emergency. Did I think she was going to do something crazy like take her life, she’d asked. I’d said No, of course not. Then added, Well, maybe.

  Did this count as an emergency? Damn right, it did. I used my key to let myself in.

  Hang in there, sis. I’m coming.

  CHAPTER 3

  A decent sort of fellow would call an ambulance. But he wasn’t decent. And it was better if she died anyway.

  His pet was still on the bed where he’d dumped her. Her breathing was raspy. Blood covered the pillow and crusted her nose. Bruises marred her face like an outbreak of mold. She stared at the ceiling to avoid looking at him.

  “I wouldn’t have been so hard on you if you hadn’t screwed everything up,” he growled. “Do you know how hard I worked on you? You think what I do is easy?”

  They never appreciated how much he put into them. They never saw his side of it. Women always complained that men never paid enough attention to them. Well, he did. And still they complained.

  “Everything was going along just perfectly. And then you had to go and spoil it. You proved yourself unworthy of my honor.”

  Instead of revealing himself in a spectacular way, he’d allowed rage to consume him. And he had to admit it felt good. Before the shame of not being able to control it set in, it had felt very good.

  This wasn’t the first time things had gone wrong. His first pet disappeared before he’d finished with her. His second pet’s bully of a brother had complicated matters, but he still got great satisfaction knowing that, as she spoon fed her brother and wiped his ass, she thought of him. Yes, she thought of him every day. The third…well, the gun had ended things prematurely. A shame, that.

  He looked down at Dana and felt no stirring. The drug of her had worn off. He’d never had such a sweet opportunity to withdraw from the woman who had occupied his mind and body so thoroughly. To purge her from every cell in his body. The obsession was a drug addiction.

  The ringing phone jarred him from his thoughts: a woman’s voice on the machine in another room. Then silence. He had to finish cleaning up. One hair could place him there.

  He slid the bloody length of chain into a plastic bag and placed it into his duffel. The baggie containing the soggy condoms were already inside. Then he pulled out his portable vacuum. Her eyes twitched at the sound of the machine as it ran over the carpet. He tossed a blanket over her, dismissing the act as an afterthought.

  Already the feeling of restlessness and emptiness settled into his bones. He was only happy when he had a purpose, an obsession to fuel his one other pleasure: his art. In that sense, his real life fueled his fantasies. And sometimes his fantasies fueled his real life, too. Next time he would make sure it ended on his terms.

  Just as he finished cleaning, he heard someone knock on the door. A woman called out.

  He peered out the peek-a-boo hole Dana had recently installed. Because of him, no doubt. He imagined her asking the sales clerk about the different models…thinking of him.

  The porch light illuminated the woman. The sister. He’d seen her around when his pet had tried to convince her that she had a stalker. The sister had corralled his pet to the police station. Obviously not to file charges. He smiled, imagining again how it would have sounded as she detailed his supposed menace.

  The sister looked uptight as she brushed her shoulder-length curls from her face, only to have them bounce right back again. Usually she looked professional and put together. She reminded him of a doll a neighbor girl had when he was a kid. The doll’s name was Suzy, though he didn’t remember the girl’s name. She was always brushing the doll’s brown curls and pretending to have conversations with it. It was such a cute dolly. Wouldn’t he like to hold it?

  He’d ripped off Suzy’s head with his teeth. The girl’s screams echoed pleasantly in his head. The first time he’d made a girl scream. Sweet memories.

  The woman knocked again. He liked watching her, even with the distorted view. She was short, like her sister, but petite instead of stocky, with a heart-shaped face and Cupid’s bow mouth. He had never targeted sisters before. Usually he moved on to a new area and a completely unrelated woman. It could be interesting, going after the sister who has to deal with the mess he’s left behind. And the sister was feistier. He usually chose the weak, but it was time for a challenge. He even admired her, for standing by her sister when what she was hearing must have sounded insane. So for her devotion, she would be rewarded.

  With him.

  His groin tightened at the prospect. The cute-as-a-dolly lady started going through her purse as though looking for something. A key? Couldn’t take the chance. He grabbed his bag and wedged himself into the coat closet near the front door.

  The door opened and, through the wooden slats, he saw her take a cautious step inside.

  “Dana? It’s Maggie. I’m coming in.”

  She locked the front door before flooding the living room with light. Her dolly face creased with worry. She looked at the two wine glasses on the coffee
table and tilted her head quizzically.

  He smiled. She had locked the door thinking to keep him out. If she only knew that he was less than three feet away. He could reach out and grab her. Could smell her lilac soap. He would leave it up to fate. If she didn’t discover him, he would make her his next pet. And if she opened the door to hang up her sweater coat …

  He had to keep himself from letting out his low, rumbling chuckle. Oh, come on, dolly. Open the door.

  CHAPTER 4

  I swore I felt heaviness in the air, beyond the reek of cigarettes, beyond the darkness of the maroon walls and brown furniture. Once, years ago, I had sensed that Luke was down by the lake, something he was forbidden to do by himself. He was. And right now, I sensed something being really, really wrong. Both maternal instincts, I thought.

  The two wine glasses on the coffee table, along with the empty bottle of merlot, confirmed it. Guests were an invasion of Dana’s sanctuary, she said. With her eerie Dali prints, I hardly considered it a cozy retreat. The only normal picture in the room was one of her, Marcus, and me on her mantel. We were celebrating Dana’s last birthday, getting toasted on watermelon martinis at my favorite waterfront restaurant. She’d been happy then, and it had warmed my heart to see her laugh.

  I slid out of my sweater coat and headed toward the closet door. The closet door Dana claimed Colin left open sometimes. I was too anxious to take the time and flung it over the chair instead. It had nothing to do with having the creeps at that thought.

  “Dana?”

  The kitchen was dark, but I peered in anyway, remembering how she used to sit at the table in the middle of the night. Just thinking, Mags. No sign of her.

  The washing machine was chugging away. I peeked into the small laundry room, the smell of Clorox burning my nose and eyes. Why was she running a load of laundry now?

  I turned on every light in the house. I saw no further evidence of the guest, but her closed bedroom door made me hesitate. Any possible romantic relationship was hampered by her belief that letting a man into the sanctity of her body was a violation she couldn’t fathom.