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Chapter Text

The Snowden Snoops and the Case of the Professor’s Daughter

by Mister Mistoffelees

1 Cold Starts

She should have been exhausted. After all, only a rare woman would make such a drastic change in her life when on the far side of fifty, and only a rarer one who would finalize the details in the middle of a Snowden winter. Many younger and spryer women would be ground down to nothing by it all.

But this change actually energized her. She was still the master of her field, but years of dealing with the flotsam attendant upon her career had indeed worn her down. This was something new and fresh, something in which she could apply her still-sharp talents upon an endeavor much less wrenching and much more oriented to the future. That was what it was, she decided as she tore out the check for her first month’s rent and the security deposit; the feeling that I still have a future and not just a past.

“Thank you kindly, Professor,” said the manager with a satisfied smiled as he gave the check a quick once-over and set it aside to shake his new tenant’s hand. She was still vibrant-looking, even for 54, he decided; then again, as he himself was all of 55, he allowed that his judgment might have been clouded by her energy. “My guys should be moving your stuff in already, ma’am. Hope you like the place.”

The lady smiled as she took up her coat. “I’m sure I will.” She had expected winter in Snowden to be piquant, but the chilly weather—so much chillier than the city winters she had known all her life—was still a bit of a surprise. Well, she allowed, I did need the change. “It’s hard finding apartments that allow pets.”

“Well, that building at least,” said the manager of Snowden Place Apartments. “There are some families with kids there, and a couple old folks that keep a companion or two. Trust me, your cats won’t be any trouble!” He’d already met them; two sibling calico cats that behaved almost civilized. “By the way,” and the man offered his hand again, “let me be the first to welcome you to Snowden, Dr. McNeil.”

She’s determined to make this as hard as she can, the man mused gloomily to himself as he watched his daughter packing the last of her things for the trip. Most of their belongings had already made their way east. It wasn’t her silence that irritated him; she was naturally quiet and diffident, all fourteen years of her, and quietude was her natural state. It was the nature of the silence that grated his nerves; her full mouth was set in a determined pout, her luminous black eyes glinting with passive aggression, her wavy raven tresses swaying indignantly in their high ponytail as she flounced each final item into its place in her spacious valise. In fact, as her little act had been playing out for more than a week since Christmas, he rather prided himself on the fact that he had put up with her prissy little attitude for as long as he had. But still, he had three hours on the plane to put up with it, and he was determined to bring her around to his point of view. “Look, it’s not like there’s nothing to do in this place we’re going! I hear there’s all sorts of outdoor things that go on, skiing and boating and camping and all that sort of thing.” No response. “Besides, look at the map! We’ll be right in the middle between four cities full of things! Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington; you always said you wanted to see Washington!” She turned for only a moment, and the flush on her creamy-pale face made it abundantly clear that he hadn’t helped his cause any. “And besides,” he continued, hating to bring up the point because it dragged up every bitter emotion he had felt through the whole bloody divorce and annulment, “it keeps you fairly close to your mother in New Jersey. It won’t be such a production number to send you for your time with her.” At least I won’t have to spring for transcontinental plane tickets every time it’s Laraine’s turn to have the girl.

“And so I have to give up everything?” the girl’s voice was quiet as usual, but with an angry edge. At least I got her to talk. “All my friends, my school, everything I can do here…”

And finally his patience had run out. “Okay! So this Snowden place is no San Fran! All right! But there’s a new school, you’ll make new friends, and you’ll find things to do! Or would you rather we just stay here and the next time I really do get taken out!” This was the one reason he didn’t want to make mention of, the reason that struck too close to home. But it was the one reason which took the mulish expression off her face.

“I didn’t mean that, Daddy!” Her voice devolved into a whine. “I don’t want you to get hurt again, it’s just…” She sighed, thinking on all she was giving up and everything ahead of her she couldn’t predict. “I don’t want everything to change, to give up everything.”

“I know it’s tough, ladybug,” and he sat down beside her on the bed one last time in this city that had been home for so long. “Change is always tough. But you know, change can be good, too. Show you a different way of life, people you wouldn’t meet otherwise. And it’s not like you won’t keep in touch with the kids back here, what with all the time you spend on that computer, and anyway, you’ll make tons of new friends there in Snowden! And I’ll bet all those big country boys will be lining up to take you out on dates! I’ll have to clean my Glock every Friday and Saturday night, I’ll bet!” Ah, I finally get a giggle out of her! And it does give her a clean slate to work on all those self-esteem issues Laraine keeps kvetching to me about.

Carly Simpson sniffed to her four freshman cheerleaders as the team took the court to finish the second quarter of the jayvee basketball game between Snowden and Wiltontown. “Perky!” They all agreed that the visitors’ bleachers looked like a convention of Hatfields and McCoys. “You freshmen do understand the concept of perky, don’t you?”

“Oh, I understand perfectly, captain ma’am,” said Tricia Dwight with a wide-eyed, vacant expression that was all the sarcasm she would need at the moment. As Megan had done with Katie Simpson before her, Trish found dealing with a Simpson daughter about as fun as root canal. “I’ll be so perky you’ll just want to puke!” She couldn’t help smiling at how red Carly’s face was turning.

“If we weren’t so short on jayvees, Tricia,” hissed Carly sotto voce as the game resumed, “I’d have Mrs. Perkey throw you off the squad right now!” There were only two sophomores for the jayvee squad, Cierra Markle and Carly Simpson, the captain as every Simpson daughter before her had been, and no freshman girls had tried out in the spring or summer, and only Mrs. Perkey’s begging and pleading had convinced these four girls to join the squad so there could at least be a jayvee squad. Missy Bonhart, while not as fat as before, was still a fish out of water on a cheerleading squad, Carly mused darkly as the game continued, not wanting to admit that big bluff Missy scared hell out of her. Carly’s cousin Krysten Parker did a good job, but that’s only because of the Simpson blood in the simpering little loser. Hannah Watson…well, okay, Hannah’s okay, more graceful and bright than I would have given her credit for, and who would have ever thought a bookwormy little nerd would be such a good cheerleader? But there was Tricia Dwight, that little sack of charity-case attitude, always having to run that smart mouth of hers when she should just shut up and be a freshman! Who does she think she is, anyhow? I don’t care how good Mrs. Perkey says she is—I just plain hate her!

“You could try,” said Trish in her best snippy Simpson impersonation, disgusted with Carly and thinking about just how much Megan owed her for joining the squad. Not admitting, of course, that except for Carly Simpson it was actually kind of fun. Mercifully, the buzzer ended the half before Carly and Tricia could have it out with a real-live fight. Mr. Ferraro the principal made sure it could not happen, quickly approaching Tricia as the crowd milled about on its way to the concession tables set up out in the lobby of Snowden High School

“You’re a hard girl to catch,” said Mr. F. He had been warned that the newest freshman Dwight combined all the smarts of her big sister Megan with the energetic confidence of her big brother Travis, but no one had mentioned that certain inexplicable element in her nature that tended to keep one—especially a teacher or principal—on one’s toes all the time around her. “I wanted to talk to you after school today but you sneaked out on me!”

“My usual gig. Sitting my kid sister Abbie.” She grinned. “I ought to ask her for a raise. She can afford it.”

“Well, anyway, I remembered you’d listed in your new-student survey that you’d be interested in being a class buddy.”

“Sure,” and Tricia glanced back at Krysten, remembering how easily she had adjusted to Snowden from Sunny Hill because of Krysten’s friendship. “I know how it feels to be the new kid.”

“Good. Just what I wanted to hear. See, we have a new girl starting next week, and I wanted to see if you wanted to be her class buddy.” He glanced at Tricia’s friends and chuckled. “Seeing as how you have a whole welcoming committee with you!”

“Well, tell us about her!” Tricia didn’t have to consult her friends; she knew they would follow her lead in this as in everything else. Including hating Carly Simpson, for that matter.

“Well, she’s a freshman girl, just moved here from San Francisco, her dad’s going to be a professor at the university, and…”

“A real cop?” asked Missy as the four Snoops waited amid the ebb and flow of morning business in the main office, teachers signing in, students submitting and receiving various notes and passes. “A real San Francisco cop, too!”

“That’s what Mr. Ferraro said.” Tricia dodged a pair of seniors helping post mail in the teachers’ mailboxes. “Snowden State’s starting that new forensic-sciences department like Dave’s been teasing me about.” Her soon-to-be-stepdad Dave Miyazaki was chairman of the college’s Expansion Committee, which oversaw not only building expansion—which was why Tricia’s mom Nancy was on the committee—but expansion of the college’s curricular offerings. Dean Shelby was determined to make Snowden State into a full university, and starting the forensic sciences department was a major step toward that goal. Dave had already teased Tricia that he knew what her future major would be. “Her dad’s going to be teaching courses in investigative procedures.” The opportunity to class-buddy the daughter of a real live cop was simply too good to pass up, even if she hadn’t kown it when Mr. F had asked.

A secretary’s phone rang, and after a couple words she hung up and turned to the gathered Snoops. “Mr. Ferraro’s ready for you, girls.”

She noticed the man carrying an overload of cardboard boxes down the hall past her office. She had known the man was coming, her fellow trailblazer in establishing the new forensic sciences department, but had never met him. She knew him by reputation, though. She rose, strolled after him and turned into his still-unfurnished office. Fortunately, the intersession gives us time to set up our offices! “So you’re Anthony O’Hara,” said Dr. McNeil. He was an attractive man in his early forties, glossy black hair and eyes and a still-lithe frame, and rather uncomfortable trying to arrange his office. More used to the precinct house, I imagine, or even the field. “I’ve heard about your work out on the coast, breaking up the Fire Dragons. Great investigative work, I must say!”

He smiled tightly. “Well, I sure took my lumps for it.” Lumps which included three 38-caliber rounds in his chest and shoulder delivered by one of those Fire Dragons. “And you must be Jennifer McNeil. I never thought I’d be teaching with a legend!” Dr. McNeil’s work with the Philadelphia crime lab had become legend in the law-enforcement community. Fiction like CSI paled in comparison to Dr. McNeil’s own real-life career.

“I see we’re settling in!” Dave Miyazaki, self-appointed welcome wagon, said in his bright, humorously incisive voice, his plump frame seeming to materialize from nowhere. “I hope it’s cold enough for the two of you!” Dr. McNeil smiled gamely; Philly never seemed to get this cold, but she had suffered her share of real-life winter. On the other hand—

“We didn’t get winters like this back home!” said Tony O’Hara with a crooked, half-Irish, half-Italian grin. Baghdad by the Bay rarely saw snow, much less the twenty-degree highs through which Snowden was suffering that early January.

“You get used to it, old buddy!” said Dave, a child of San Francisco himself. “I couldn’t believe it either when I came here, but it’s practically fun now! If you wanted a change of scenery, I’m telling you, man, this is the place for you!”

“Yeah, at least when the arctic conditions pass! But you know, there’s more to it than that. I had an offer from USC to go down there too, but Mama always talked about this place, so when the chance came I had to take it!” He glanced at the snow falling outside his window. “She never said anything about blizzard conditions, though! I bet my kid’s freaked out at it; I wish I could have been there with her.”

Mr. Ferraro’s office was rather cramped for a principal, Tricia mused to herself as she led her friends inside. Four of them plus the new girl took up most of the room.

As Mr. Ferraro rose, Tricia took stock of the girl who sat with her back to them. Long wavy black hair, and the long spare hand on the arm of the chair betrayed a creamy, wan complexion. The girl herself was, like the hand, long and thin. “Good morning, girls,” said Mr. Ferraro with his most hearty greeting. “I want you to meet the girl you’ll be buddying,” and he quickly gestured at the girl to rise. “Our new California girl. Tricia, Hannah, Krysten, Missy, I’d like you to meet Maggie O’Hara. Maggie, these are your class buddies.” The girl stood, turned meekly—

Oh—my— God! Tricia was stunned by the sight of the girl standing before them. For an instant Trish caught Hannah’s stunned-wide eye, and could tell Hannah couldn’t believe it either. For their parts, Krysten and Missy couldn’t understand why Tricia and Hannah were so stunned at the sight of this skinny raven-tressed new classmate.

“Hi,” and the tall thin girl’s voice carried Trish—a part of her, at least—back over long decades, to a time when there was no Tricia and no Hannah, but rather… “I’m Maggie.” More than you could ever know, the parts of Trish and Hannah that were still Audrey Browner and Bea Anderson noted with a shudder.

Trish kept the part of her that was still Audrey Browner silent, and put on her friendliest smile. The Maggie back then was a friend. I hope this one is too! “Tricia Dwight! Trish to my friends.” And if you are who I think you might be…

The boss sat behind the polished mahogany desk with a perfect calm that somehow oozed danger. The lackey, standing on the other side of the desk, pointed to a spot on the rolled-out map on the desktop.

“Snowden,” said the sycophant, confirming the location of his fingertip on the map. “Rural, a small college town. He’s becoming a professor.”

“Indeed. I rather suspect that we would stand out there too much for our good. We may need to settle the matter another way than usual.”

“I am at your service as always, madam.” A simple statement that seemed to carry more meaning than the mere words.

Chapter Text

2 Greetings

Megan was generous enough to give Trish and Hannah a ride to Snowden Place Apartments after school, but Trish and Hannah had to navigate Hannah’s snowy front walk on their own. Trish’s mind was elsewhere. “I’m telling you, it’s her! She couldn’t look more like Maggie Provenzini if she tried!”

“I’m not arguing, but how? She’s an O’Hara, not a Provenzini!”

“Well, Maggie was an only child, said Trish, her memory helped by Audrey. “And anyhow, when she married she’d take a different name!”

“You mean like Mrs. Tricia Martin?” She couldn’t help herself as they trotted upstairs to Hannah’s place. High school was bringing out Hannah’s sense of humor. “You know, I remember Grace—Missy’s grandma—saying that Maggie married some Irish guy and moved to San Francisco. Maybe this Maggie’s dad is her son!”

“Do you mean my dad?” a small voice inquired softly from the front doors, and Trish and Hannah spun to see the new girl—this Maggie O’Hara—shaking the snow off of her thin, lanky frame. We really do need to watch what we’re saying.

“Well, ah…” stammered Tricia—just for a moment, while her agile mind came up with a quick and good excuse—“it was something Missy was saying, how you look like someone her Grandma knew who used to live here a long time ago and then moved out to San Francisco.” Hannah rolled her eyes. Brilliant, Trish. I could have told her that!

Maggie cringed a little. “I don’t think Missy likes me very much. She’s kind of…loud.”

“Oh, that’s just her,” said Tricia, she and Hannah coming down to meet Maggie as she opened up an apartment door. The one that had been vacant next to Dr. Pennington’s place, Hannah noted, wondering why she hadn’t heard about her new neighbor beforehand. “She’s loud with everyone! Actually, I think she does like you, it’s just she’s not very good at saying it.” She noticed Maggie fumbling with her unfamiliar key. “Beat your dad home, I see.”

“He’s still at the campus. Probably setting up his office and meeting the other professors. It’s okay, actually; I’m used to getting home before Dad.”

Trish favored Maggie with a genuine smile. “I bet it kind of sucks to not have anyone to talk to,” and the tiny cringe on her new friend’s face was more than ample confirmation. “Why don’t you come on up to Hannah’s place? She just lives right upstairs!” Gee, Trish, thank you for inviting her to my place! “You two both get home before your parents; maybe you could hang out together after school!” Oh shut up, Hannah. You know you wanted me to.

Oh shut up, Trish. “That might be cool, you know.” And the smile on Maggie’s face as she accepted was proof that she really did miss someone to talk to. Now we’ll find out all about her, Hannah! You can thank me later.

An eye withdrew from the peephole in the front door, relieved that the raven-tressed girl did not open the door. It would have complicated matters unnecessarily, at least at this particular moment. Reassuring himself that the three teens were indeed heading upstairs, he returned to his assigned task. Surely the detective would bring as many case notes with him as he could to his new professorial position.

Dave Miyazaki was in full chat mode. The lattes and his familiar comm-tech office helped. “Good sourdough, though. That you won’t find here; you might want one of your buddies to send you a few care packages if it means very much to you. Now the football, that’s good here. We get the Steelers, Redskins, and the Ravens on TV around here, and frankly, the last couple years I’ve been trying to forget the Niners! Maybe it’s divine punishment for having had Joe Montana and Steve Young.” He observed Tony slip out his cell. “Calling for Steelers tickets? Get used to a waiting list, bud!”

“Nah, just calling my kid. She should be home by now, just making sure she’s okay.”

“She’s a real cutie.” Dave had already seen the photoTony had shown him. “She’ll have the guys all chasing her! My girl Nancy’s kid said she’s her class buddy, so don’t worry, Trish will take good care of her, and”—

Tony mused darkly, replacing the cell. “No answer.”

“Ah, she’s just gabbing with Trish and her buddies probably. Call her on her cell.”

“I don’t give her one. Besides that she might spend me out of house and home with one, they’re way too easy to trace.”

“Well yeah, if you have the right equipment, but around here only the police can”—

“Trust me, I know cells can be traced, and as far as having the equipment…” Cool it, old man, don’t get paranoid already! The hell you preach, the former detective answered himself, the aching of those old wounds testifying eloquently. “I think I’ll head home, just to make sure!”

“Yeah, okay, just to make sure,” said Dave easily as Tony departed. Gee, I bet that Maggie of yours just loves you! No phone, and checking up on her the first time she doesn’t answer from home!

“…and that was why Dad was all excited about coming here,” said Maggie, her tongue finally loosening under the influence of Tricia and Hannah’s geniality. She was already telling herself, looking at Hannah’s overstuffed bookshelves, that she and this girl Hannah had a lot in common. “...because Grandma always talked about it. Her dad worked at the college during the Second World War, did some kind of physics work for the government, then after the war they moved out to Berkeley, and Grandma married Grandpa and moved to San Fran. But she always talked about this place, met this old lady she knew from here every year until she got too sick a couple years ago.” A sad little sigh. “Before she died, at least.”

Hannah and Trish could hardly suppress their amazement. Maggie Provenzini’s grandchild, right here! It had been apparent from their first meeting that morning, the stunning similarity the one Maggie bore to the other Maggie, but the confirmation of their suspicions was simply too cool for words.

“That’d be Missy’s Gram, all right,” said Hannah. “She was…” Hannah caught hold of Bea’s exuberance before she said something very difficult to explain. “Well, your grandma’s friend back in school, so Mrs. Mason tells us.” Mrs. Mason being, of course, Grace Merriweather from so long ago.

“Maggie!” they heard a perturbed voice cry from the hallway, and Maggie cringed. “Where are you!” Uh-oh!

Maggie grimaced. “My dad. He must have called and I didn’t answer!” She didn’t need to say she was already in big trouble—her wan face said as much.

“We’ll back you up,” said Trish as they hurried out to meet Mr. O’Hara. Geez, why not just buy her a cell phone!

“I was just talking to Tricia and Hannah,” said Maggie, cringing at her dad. “Hannah invited me upstairs to her apartment and”—

“And I told you to come straight home!”

“It’s our fault, Mr. O’Hara.” said Hannah, to an amused smirk from Trish. you really do like her, don’t you Beatrice? “We saw her come in after school and we invited her up. We didn’t know she was supposed to stay home.”

“Well, she knew” Come on, Tony, like Dave said, this isn’t San Fran! “Anyhow, thanks for…well, for taking her in.” Cute girls, but I bet that little brunette’s a troublemaker. I can just tell.

“Oh, no problem,” said Tricia, the pink of courtesy, the Audrey part of her noticing just how much Mr. O’Hara favored his mother. “Maggie’s pretty cool to hang with.” At least Audrey and Bea think so.

Mr. O’Hara grinned as Maggie radiated a pleased blush. “I think that’s the first time she’s ever been called that.” Much to stylish Laraine’s frustration, Maggie’s shy reticence had long relegated her to that rank of kids often called “losers,” while her tendency to prefer the company of books over people had also earned her membership in that rank of kids often known as “nerds”; neither class of kids often heard themselves called cool. “Well, I guess it’s okay to hang out with your friends, but from now on, call me first to let me know you won’t be home!” Maggie cringed a small grin to her friends to apologize for her dad’s overprotectiveness while he opened the apartment’s front door. “Well, anyhow, I was just thinking about getting me and Maggie a bite to eat, and maybe you know a good place to send us to, or the name of a good pizza place at least, so maybe”—and as he glanced inside his apartment, he suddenly froze, not unlike an alert bloodhound. “Someone’s been in here.”

And the Snooping instinct bolted into life in Maggie’s new class buddies. Tricia craned to see past Mr. O’Hara—“How can you tell? It’s just old boxes and stuff.” At least part of her was already trying to extract some real-life cop expertise from him.

“I can just tell. Someone’s been in here going through things and tried to put everything back.”

“Maybe it was the manager’s guys,” said Hannah. “I know he had his guys helping out Dr. McNeil, and maybe they came in to check that everything was okay.”

Tony decided it was a reasonable explanation, and thus tried to shout down his old-rooted suspicions with a dose of bright geniality. Besides, he was more than a little relieved that Maggie had succeeded in making friends her very first day. “Could be. Now, about that place to eat…” And cute friends too, he smiled as he ushered Maggie’s new friends inside.

He watched the man lead the two girls in with his daughter. Very interesting. He had done his homework in preparation for this little operation, and recognized the two freshman girls immediately. You know, it just could be… He hadn’t been quite prepared to accept the possible explanation for O’Hara’s sojourn to Snowden of all places a highly-decorated cop could go to get away from the rat race, but the presence of these two girls made it substantially more plausible. No, it would be a bit too pat, even for a professional paranoid like me. But still…

Tony smiled at the pert, buxom little brunette who had steered him to order take-out from Big Mama’s Pizza and Wings. “Well, I’ll take your word on it, since your sister works there, Hannah.”

“She’s Hannah,” said Trish, tittering as she pointed out her old friend. “I’m Tricia.” Maggie fixed a covert eye on her dad as Trish—she had already gotten so far with her new friend—got to her last name. “Tricia Dwight.” Yep, that got Dad’s attention! “My sister Abby’s worked there like forever!” That’s right, Dad…

“Wait a minute! Abigail Dwight? You mean—let me get this straight—the Abby Dwight who was”—and Trish’s wry nod was enough answer to stop him speechless. At least for as long as it took Tricia to digest a few uncomfortable memories. “And you’re—you’re her sister?” Trish nodded. Come on, Dad, Maggie urged silently, knowing one of her dad’s reasons for coming to Snowden, don’t jump all over her already! Give me a chance! Somehow sensing his daughter’s urgings, Tony deliberately calmed himself. Abby Dwight…he had followed that whole tragic episode, as had much of the nation, three years ago, had been battered by the emotional whipsaw that had been the story of her abduction by and rescue from the maniac Walton, had even bought and fervently read Abby’s book about it. And now Abby Dwight’s own sister was standing in his new apartment…but Maggie’s right. Better not to creep her out about it already.

“And yes, she still works at a pizza shop.” That’s right, a best-selling author makes pizza. “We Dwights are kind of weird about work.” Tricia smiled encouragingly; Maggie had already prepared Trish for her dad. “If she has time, maybe I could get you two together at her place sometime. She lives over there with my other sister Abbie.” Yes, Dad, that Abbie, Maggie’s twinkling dark eyes told her father from behind Trish’s shoulder. “I’ll let her know.” Trish could tell Maggie’s dad—Maggie Provenzini’s grandson—was excited at the prospect. Too bad for you she’s too young for you. And engaged.

Snow flurries by streetlight greeted Dr. McNeil as she pulled her conservative, serviceable Buick LeSabre into the nearest parking spot she could find from the front doors of her building. The McNeil family could always afford the best, in cars as in so much else, but Jennifer had learned early in her professional life that extravagance usually draws vandals and thieves, among other seedy characters, thus her late-model LeSabre. Comfortable, but not showy. She took a casual glance at herself in her visor mirror after shutting off the engine, patting down her still-rich brown hair, cut sleekly short as a matter of professional care. Ever since she passed her fiftieth birthday, she indulged a quiet little bit of pride that her locks were still resistant to any sign of gray, although she smirked at the smattering of fine lines that teased at the corners of her kind but incisive gray eyes and her still naturally-pink lips. Not so young anymore, are you, Calico? She snapped the visor shut to regain her night vision, trying not to think of the source of some of those wrinkles, but the mere fact that she was sitting in Snowden instead of Philadelphia defeated her efforts. Part of her would not stop accusing her of a certain cowardice in leaving.

Her recovered night vision spotted a man in a nondescript panel van sitting a few slots down the gentle slope of the lot, gazing down at a screen glowing just below the margin of his side-door window. And some very old-rooted instincts kicked in; she slipped her keys into her gloved hand, a few protruding between her knuckles as an improvised mace, and prepared to quickly exit the car toward the front doors, congratulating herself on having worn flats that day—

Another car slipped into the open slot beside her, and Dr. McNeil stiffened. Could be a trap…but there was only one person in the car, a tall, bespectacled, trim blonde woman in her late thirties. Recognizing one of her neighbors, and the opportunity to avoid entering the building alone, she hopped out and greeted the woman. “Why hello…Anne, am I right?”

“Right, Dr. McNeil.” As legal counsel to the Snowden State Expansion Committee, she had already had opportunity to meet Dr. McNeil. It was her own efforts that landed the professor in Snowden Place, in fact. “Had a long first day?”

“First days are always long. But I think I’m going to like it here.”

“I certainly hope you do,” Hannah and her little buddies haven’t started pestering you yet, I hope. Her eye caught a glimpse of… “What’s that man doing sitting there in that van?”

“I’m not sure,” and the two women stalked off to the doors as quickly as decorum allowed. “You have a good eye for detail, Ms. Watson. You might have made as good a cop as you are an attorney!”

Anne snickered as they entered the building. “That’s what my girl Hannah tells me. I think she’d like me to be an amateur detective like she and her friends are. After all the trouble they’ve gotten into, I’ve learned to keep an eye out! You never can tell what kind of trouble those kids can get into!”

Oh yes I can.

Chapter Text

3 Snow Mirages

Maggie O’Hara’s success in her new home was measured not only in the quality of her friends, but in the quality of her enemies. Carly Simpson almost immediately had the new girl pegged as a loser—California girl or not—which was, as far as her new friends were concerned, proof that Maggie O’Hara was really all right. And when Carly, casually using one of her more endearing qualities, declared that Maggie’s dad was a coward who ran away from his post to Snowden because of that cowardice, only to have quiet Maggie call her out as a snotty little B who needed her eyes gouged out, Maggie’s stature rose even more with her new friends. Even Missy was impressed.

Maybe it was the quickly-blooming friendship with Hannah Watson that drew Maggie so much out of her natural shell. Every day, they would go straight to either Maggie’s or Hannah’s apartment after school, there to talk and hang out and generally be friends. They complemented each other perfectly, both young bookworms so like the other, so comfortable talking to each other about things usually not talked about by teens, either boy or girl. Hannah’s knowledge of the Scarpetta novels of Patricia Cornwell pleased Maggie no end; Maggie’s encyclopedic knowledge of the Sherlock Holmes canon was a more-than-pleasant surprise to Hannah. They knew about books, and awkwardness, and broken homes, and feeling out of place among friends, and thus were perfect for each other. Hannah almost felt that she could confide her most insane secret—the secret of the girl Beatrice inside her—to the girl who seemed so much like Bea’s long-ago friend.

Mr. O’Hara usually got home before Anne Watson, and he enjoyed the way his aloof Maggie was bonding so enthusiastically with the girl from upstairs. In the evenings he prepared the lectures he was planning for the upcoming semester, all the while listening to Maggie talk with Hannah evening upon evening.

Then one evening he answered the clunky ring of his doorbell to a tall, slender blonde woman, and it hardly took his detective skills to realize that he was gazing at Hannah’s mother. And hoping his jaw wasn’t hanging too far open. He managed to blurt out that Hannah was in his apartment in answer to the woman’s question, hoping he didn’t sound like an idiot. And wondering what the expression of concern on her face was all about. “I was just wondering because I think someone’s broken into my apartment, and I was worried about Hannah.” Nothing like a report of a crime to bring Tony O’Hara back to reality, as his attention focused instantly on the situation.

“Let me look,” Anne, already knowing he was a former detective, was glad to accept his offer of help, and Hannah found herself thinking that Mom’s grateful smile seemed just a little too grateful. Musing as she followed her mom and Maggie’s dad upstairs about break-ins and too-grateful smiles, she felt Maggie tug at her elbow.

“I might be wrong,” whispered Maggie with an insinuating glint in her dark eyes, “but I think Dad thinks your mom’s really hot!” Well, that could be a complication!

He saw nothing useful before the key had turned in the lock, but his frustration at not being able to look for very long was palpable in his clenched teeth and cold eye as he watched the attractive blonde from his hiding-place on the small dark balcony to the apartment. She wasn’t supposed to be home so soon! Well, I’ll just have to try again later, just to make sure neither the woman, nor especially that brainy daughter, had left anything that could be useful. Maybe, I’ve been wrong about this whole thing.

“Burglaries are tough,” said Tony as he examined the scene. Everything in the apartment bespoke neatness and order, from the magazines all in place in their chair-side rack to the books arranged carefully by size and subject on the voluminous bookshelves, so the slightly askew desk drawer, the scattering of envelopes on the desktop, was sorely out of place. Whoever he or she was, her invader had gotten no farther than the desk. “A really good operator will leave you next to nothing to go on. You should call in the local cops, have them dust the place in case the mutt left prints or something we can go on.”

Anne smiled. “Sounds like good advice, Detective,” and Hannah, more sensitized to her mom’s affect now that Maggie had pointed out Mr. O’Hara’s, could detect a distinct expansiveness in her smile, a brightness in her eye that most certainly didn’t belong on the face of a woman whose apartment had just been broken into. Okay, this could be even more complicated! “But it just might be guys working for my hus—that is, my ex—husband. He’s had it done before, just to shake me up I think.”

“Maybe,” said Tony, definitely liking the “ex” he heard in front of husband, “but if it was someone trying to shake you up, he would have been more obvious, I think. I’d just feel more comfortable if I knew the place had been worked over a bit.” Maggie tried to not grin. You’re getting gallant, Dad!

“Whatever you say, Detective O’Hara,” and Anne immediately reached for her phone. And since when do you take a guy’s advice all of a sudden, Mom?

He watched impotently from his balcony perch as the plainclothes cop and a bored uniform examined the apartment. He glanced down at his latex gloves, grateful not only that they did a remarkable job keeping his hands warm in the freezing night, but also that they apparently had done such a good job of preventing fingerprints. He knew damn well the cops—the Feds, too, for that matter—had his prints very much on file. Well, nothing to do but wait it out until everything cleared up and I could sneak back through the apartment to get out of here.

Hick cops, O’Hara grumbled silently. The blustery little Sipowicz imitator was useless enough, but that trooper’s a complete waste of space! The examination raised the concept of “haphazard” to new heights, as they concentrated almost exclusively on the desk itself. Wider circle, you idiots—examine the whole room! But he managed to hold his tongue—Maggie’s amused smirk told him she noticed his frustration—out of the hope of working with the local cops as part of his courses. No use cheesing them off at me before I can talk them into guesting some of my lectures—at least if they’re worth the effort. Finally, well past nine, the two locals gave it up and excused themselves. Tony, seeing that Anne—nice name, you know!—seemed to know the Sipowicz knock-off, who went by the name of Klasko, held his tongue about his estimation of Klasko’s prowess, contenting himself with inviting her to come on down and ask anytime she thought something was wrong. Dad, just grow up and ask for her number!

Hannah would have loved to talk at length with Maggie—is it just me, or are our parents really getting into each other?—but she realized they had both neglected their homework—something highly unusual and rather upsetting to both girls—and sent Maggie back downstairs with a “we really have to talk” smile, which Maggie returned with interest. Soon enough, homework plus the strain of the evening had Hannah worn out, and her strangely reflective mother quickly followed her daughter to an early bed.

The lights finally went out inside, but still he waited. Let them get into a nice deep sleep. Another half-hour, forty-five minutes, and he slowly eased himself through the balcony door into the apartment. The thin squeak of a hinge elicited a pained grin through his ski mask; he was glad to have the disguise, and doubly glad to have its protection from the cold. Otherwise I would have frozen my rear off! Inside the apartment, now, escape near at hand—he had taken care to obscure the security cameras in the hallway as he entered—he found himself debating with himself whether to steal a few minutes to search a little bit more. He had known the two residents of the place tended to be homebodies, and opportunities to check out the place could be few and far between. Hearing no noise from the two bedrooms, he sneaked over to the desk and slowly opened the drawer he had had to abandon when mama-san had appeared at the door.

No more homework after dinner, Hannah grumbled to herself as she tried to shut down her mind. The worksheet her social studies teacher Mr. Raver—not nearly as cute as Mr. Williams last year, she noted—had assigned on the enumerated powers of the Federal government wasn’t difficult, but the tedium of searching the right chapter of the text to find them all had gotten her mind in a rut she could not now get out of, despite her bone-wearying fatigue. Raise an army and navy, coin money, raise revenue, regulate commerce between…

This is ridiculous! I need to sleep! She tossed aside her blanket, wearily dropped her bare feet to the thick, plush carpet. Maybe a little snack will put me to sleep.

He started at the pop and sweep of a bedroom door opening. His first thought was to run for the door, but the front door was clearly visible down the bedroom hallway, which barred that route of escape. He crouched behind the far side of the desk as he saw the daughter shamble sleepily out of her room to the kitchen—oh great, a snack attack at this time of night!—and heard her rummage through a cupboard and a drawer. He willed her to go back to her room, all the while feeling for the little emergency packet he had prepared in advance just in case.

I’m too tired to cook! Ramen noodles sound good, but too much work. Pudding doesn’t sound good right now…maybe some squeeze-cheese and crackers! Having decided, she grabbed the slender can of squirtable cheese spread and a sleeve of saltines. A nice little snack, and maybe a little TV should get my mind off my stupid homework! With her snack in hand and a sleepy smile on her face, she turned toward the living room—

Oh hell!—and suddenly out of options as the girl switched on the lamp, he did the only thing left to him to do—

Anne’s sleep had been uneasy from the whipsawing events of the evening, from the break-in to her introduction to Mr. O’Hara—a very nice name, Tony. I should have given him my number!—and the unease combined with her own light-sleeping nature left her marginally conscious even in her sleep. There goes Hannah after another midnight snack. She snuggled her head a little deeper into her pillow, directing her somnolent thoughts at Mr. Tony O’Hara downstairs and whether he might—

She heard a sudden muffled squeal—a quiet thump—and instantly awake, she bolted toward the living room on blind instinct—

A dark-clad man in a ski mask swung toward her, Hannah wriggling in his grip—a hand was over her daughter’s mouth, an arm pinning Hannah’s arms to her sides—and a knife in the hand, the point digging threateningly into Hannah’s side—Anne felt herself gasp in sudden surprise and consternation—

“Just stay calm,” the man said in a low voice which in its very attempt to be calm and reassuring paradoxically sounded particularly threatening, “and don’t do anything stupid, and nobody has to get hurt.” He had merely planned to use the girl as a means of escape, but as he studied the confused panic on the mother’s face, he saw an opportunity.

“Okay,” Anne murmured, holding her hands up where the intruder could see them. “Whatever you want, just so long as you don’t hurt Hannah. Whatever you want, I can”—

“Just shut up and kneel facing that sofa. Put your head down on the cushion and put your hands behind your back.” As Anne complied on trembling knees, Hannah told herself she might have—no, I have!—heard that voice somewhere before!

“You have news,” said the woman with a perfectly uninflected, icy-cool voice.

“Yes, madam,” She seemed never to leave her office. “Our man is conducting his investigation even as we speak.”

“I trust he is a worthwhile investment.”

“He comes very highly recommended, madam.”

Anne wanted badly to get up and take care of the ski-masked invader, but the small knife he bore in his hand even now defeated her desires. I’d never get to him before he could hurt Hannah. She swallowed hard, kept silent as he had ordered while she watched him work. As soon as she had followed his orders and knelt herself into the sofa, he tossed Hannah in a like manner to her knees in front of the easy chair; before a disoriented Hannah could resist, he pulled her hands sharply behind her back and taped her wrists together with a big roll of duct tape. Hannah had gasped only for a moment, her face composing itself into an expression of sullen hauteur as he took more tape and taped her bare ankles together. Anne marveled at how brave her little girl was. He picked up her head and spun her around, stuffing a large white handkerchief into her pinched-open mouth and securing it with more tape. His work with Hannah done, he unceremoniously slung her into the easy chair and turned toward the mother. “If you want money, I’ll just give it to you, you don’t have to”—

“Just shut up,” and he pinioned Anne’s wrists together behind her back to ply the tape to them. “You have no idea what I want.” Which was more than enough for Anne’s vivid imagination to frighten her silent.

He observed their man as he did his work, noting that he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself binding the two females who lived in the apartment. Keep your mind on your business, hireling!

Anne had calmed somewhat as the man resumed his search of the apartment, somewhat assuaged by his self-absorbed rummaging for the worst of her fears for her and Hannah. But still she could not just sit there helplessly on her sofa while… “Jmms tmm mmph wmmt oo wmmd,” only to have his impatient stare cut off her plea. He was getting tired of the woman’s whining.

Hannah rolled her eyes from her seat in the easy chair. Mom, lesson number one of being caught by the bad guys—if they stick a gag in your mouth, they really don’t want to hear you! She sat and glared at the man, memorizing as much of him as she could while trying to place that voice. I know I’ve heard that voice before! But where from?

Minutes turned into seeming hours while the man poked and prodded, turned open drawers, closets, rifled both bedrooms and even the bathroom and kitchen. Then rolled back the carpet, turned over the sofa cushions after dumping Anne to the floor—forget it, Mom, he’s taped us way too well to get loose by yourself!—then the easy chair after doing the same to Hannah. Look, you idiot—whatever you’re after, it isn’t here!

Finally, in the deepest watch of the night, he gave up his search, dumping Hannah back into her chair and Anne back onto her sofa. “See? I told you no one would get hurt!” With a disgusted sigh, he slipped out the front door, leaving the Watson women wriggling helplessly against their taped bonds. Now we try to get ourselves loose, Hannah’s eyes told Mom as she hopped across the living room to Mom on the sofa. You really have a lot to learn about being captured by bad guys, Mom, that’s all I have to say!

Chapter Text

4 Whys and Wherefores

Jennifer McNeil was roused from her dream by a gust of wind battering against her bedroom window. Her eyes drowsed open to see a swirl of wind-driven snow passing by her window, barely lit by a gray sunrise, then caught a glimpse of her bedside clock. Seven-twenty and a snowstorm outside. Calico grimaced as she determined to recapture her last dream. She and her youngest, a warm day shopping together, talking...

Another gust all but defeated her efforts. You know, maybe I should have bought myself snowshoes before moving here! The blatting of her alarm finished off her chance at recapturing that delicious little dream, and she succumbed to the start of her day as usual, glancing out her window at the bus stop in front of the building. She saw a solitary figure, bundled in layer upon heavy layer, wavy black tresses spilling out from beneath a thick woolen toque.

Only Maggie? Jennifer blinked away the last of her sleep, bemused at the fact that Maggie was standing out in that minor-league blizzard without her near-constant companion Hannah Watson. You know, just maybe… She turned on the clock-radio, just in time to get the WCCY Snowstorm Express list. “…Shawnee County schools on a two-hour delay, and Manchester County schools on a two-hour delay. Sorry, all you Allen County kids, but all Allen County schools are operating on a normal time schedule! Anyhow, that’s it for the WCCY Snowstorm Express, and”—Okay, I guess Hannah’s probably sick. Well, I don’t have office hours until 11 today and no class until 1:15, so I could volunteer to keep an eye on her for a while, be a good neighbor for Anne.

She bundled herself in her favorite woolly bathrobe, ran a brush through her still-brown hair a few strokes, swished a mouthful of Scope just to be marginally presentable, and strolled down the hall past Mrs. Tompkins’ front door to Anne Watson’s apartment, still blinking herself awake as she punched the clunky old doorbell—

Anne, a light sleeper as always, was startled awake by the sound of her doorbell. She tried to get up, but after a moment of numbed disorientation she realized, much to her consternation, that she was tied up—oh my God! The intruder—but who? The doorbell clanked again, and Anne realized the intruder would hardly ring her doorbell; at the very least, he’d have to guess I couldn’t answer it. So… “Hmmmmp!” Her cry prodded Hannah, lying on the floor beside her, awake. Hours of fruitless effort to free each other had left them to finally fall asleep in frustrated exhaustion on their living room floor, only to be awakened by this doorbell—

“Anne?” she heard a voice inquire through the door, and both girls recognized Dr. McNeil’s voice. The sound of deliverance. Both Anne and Hannah screamed through their gags to their neighbor—

It was a sound like no other, and Jennifer realized instantly what it meant. They’ve been… It was something she never quite got about kidnappers and other assorted villains, that no matter the fact that a gag never really silenced anyone but only made it clear with the victim’s every utterance that she was in trouble, they never failed to gag their victims. Why not just hang a sign on the door reading “Captives Inside?” Well, I don’t have their key, and I’m sure the manager isn’t at work yet, so I guess there’s only one way left to get them free! She called out to Anne that she was getting help and rushed back to her apartment to call 911.

Maggie O’Hara, never what one would call a “morning person,” stood numbly oblivious to everything but the cascading snow until the wail of police sirens shook her awake. She had missed Hannah, but was too afraid of missing her bus to go in and inquire after a late start wondering whether school would be called off for the day. The cars stopped right in front of her, uniformed men racing inside, and a suddenly-awake Maggie rushed in behind just in time to miss the bus, more concerned about those cops going upstairs, running toward—

Oh my gosh! Long lanky legs carried her upstairs just in time to see the cops break through the door—her heart pounding with apprehension, she edged into the doorway—“Hannah!” she cried as she saw an officer peeling tape from her friend’s lips, another cutting tape from Ms. Watson’s ankles. “What happened?” An officer moved to bar Maggie from the door, but Hannah, her hands just then freed, called and gestured after him to let her in. “Are you all right?” Maggie was all solicitousness as Hannah quickly unwrapped her ankles and ran up the hall without answering—“What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, but I really have to go! Mom and I were lying there all night, and I thought I was about to explode!”

“Oh, that’s okay, but what happened?”

“A guy broke in looking for something, and of course I practically fell right over him! Mom came in, and he taped us up of course, but he couldn’t find what he was after so he left. It’s okay, we didn’t get hurt, just rolled around on the floor all night until we fell asleep.” Maggie’s lip dropped as Hannah casually explained the events that had led to Maggie seeing her friend bound and gagged on her living room floor, amazed at the casualness in Hannah’s voice—

“What the?”—she heard Dad exclaim, and she spun around just in time to see him rush to Ms. Watson’s side on the sofa. Oh, Dad, why do you have to embarrass me every time!

“It’s all right, I’m okay,” she could hear Ms. Watson saying as Dad bent solicitously over her, but Maggie heard in Ms. Watson’s voice all the distress she had expected to hear in Hannah’s. I wonder why that’s so? “I—it’s just…” Oh God, Ms. Watson, don’t cry or Dad’ll be all over you! She felt a pressure on her shoulder, and found Hannah standing behind her with the wryest of wry expressions on her face.

“Mom, quit acting like he was the BTK! He was just looking for something and we just happened to get in the way! He didn’t even hurt us, he just tied us up and gagged us so he could”—and something stopped her, something she could sense in Mom’s eyes—you…have got …to be kidding! Deciding to be charitable to Mom, she halted her apology to the officers and Detective Klasko (who looked very ragged without his morning coffee) for her mom’s behavior. She glanced back at Maggie, and…yeah, Maggie, this could be weird. Very weird.

The mere name of Dr. Jennifer McNeil was enough to have the cops literally invite her to the Watson apartment to help the investigation. None of them—not even the commanding Detective Klasko—was too proud.

The forensics were what she would have expected. No blood, and the scent of powder-dusted latex was evidence enough that the intruder had used gloves. Which meant there was probably no DNA. A little examination found a trace of a grimy footprint on the threshold of the balcony doorway, which, considering the fastidious neatness of the apartment—which, despite entreaties from the officers and detective, Anne was already compulsively cleaning—was probably from the intruder entering the apartment. Probably hid out there until he thought the coast was clear. Anne had mentioned her ex-husband’s hijinks in the past, and decided this was another attempt to either intimidate Anne or find something to use against her. Intruders were usually not so considerate to their victims as to bind them with a few loops of duct tape instead of cord or something else that by its stringency would discourage escape attempts—

And an image froze her, stopped her cold for long moments until she could shake it out of her head again…

The meet was on time, a quiet table in the back of a Park-and-Dine off Cold Water Lake. The weather did not discourage the local hardies who wouldn’t let a bit of snow deprive them of their morning repast, especially as the sun now shone down on Manchester County after the storm, and the sound of their breakfasts concealed the conversation from everyone else.

“Was there a reason you searched that other apartment?” asked the first man, who had preceded the second into the restaurant, with a voice as cold as the air outside. His eyes were concealed with sunglasses—sun on snow was dazzling to him—and a brand-new John Deere ball cap covered his short-cropped dark hair, leaving him even more inscrutable to his colleague than usual. “I don’t see how they have a bearing on what we’ve commissioned you for.”

“Because there may be more to this than what you believe,” said the other man—bearded, with his own shades on—more coolly than he felt. Something about these people was distinctly unsettling. “You’re thinking only in terms of this cop. But there are plenty of places he could have gone to hide out other than Snowden. You’ve never stopped to consider why he chose that place of all others.”

“You seem to have a theory about that. Perhaps you should enlighten me, and explain why this theory involves this Ms. Anne Watson.”

He smiled and stroked his beard a little, then explained—not too precisely, for there was much this supercilious bastard didn’t need to know—why he had done what he had done. “First of all, Anne Watson isn’t the only person living there…”

Maggie was trying not to babble through her nerves, and distinctly failing. to Tricia and Krysten and Missy—who with one call from Hannah seemed to materialize from nowhere—and were now lounging in Hannah’s apartment while the cops finished gathering evidence (with the enthusiastic assistance of her own father) and Hannah dressed in her room. “But...what I don’t get...well…she was just so completely cool about it!” Referring to Hannah and her calmness as Maggie came upon her that morning. “You know, like it was no big deal to her to have a home invader break in and tie her up and search her place and everything! I would have been terrified! I didn’t know she had that kind of nerve, but how”—

“I can tell you that,” said small, Sipowicz-like Detective Klasko with a mordant grin. And only then did Maggie fully notice the sly grins on her new friends’ faces. “These ladies here—Hannah too—kind of fancy themselves amateur detectives. Now what is it you call yourselves, Krysten?” He liked all of them, but Krysten was just so darned cute!

“The Snoops,” said Trish, answering for a tittering Krysten, exactly as Klasko expectd. Trish has always been the ringleader! “The Snowden Snoops.” She pointed out Alyson Carson, who stood with Trish’s sister Megan—their ride from school after Hannah’s call—in the doorway. “Her sister Amber came up with the name. Some day I’m going to thank her,” and Maggie almost felt sorry for this Amber Carson, whoever she was. Trish somehow seemed like the type you didn’t want mad at you. “It’s not like it’s a club or anything—we just seem to end up in the middle of all sorts of mysteries.”

“So…”

“It’s not like nothing like that’s ever happened to her before,” said Missy. “Or any of us. A burglar’s not all that bad, considering all we’ve been through!”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Missy, you make it sound like we almost get killed all the time!”

“Yeah, well, what about that case with the Santa statues?” Hannah cringed. I sort of forgot about that! “Maggie, you just wouldn’t believe it! I swear to God, you just wouldn’t believe it!”

Maggie grinned weakly. “And here I thought this was the kind of place where nothing ever happened!”

Dr. Jennifer McNeil, once upon a time “Calico” to her friends, listened in to the girls’ conversation as she discussed a few particulars of the case with Detective Klasko. Tony, she saw, was too busy pretending to question Anne to get involved.

The images of that day—that one day she had tried to efface from her memory with utter failure—would not go away, and as she listened to the little knot of girls chattering quietly, the image intensified. She remembered her own adventures, the convoluted and harrowing—and yes, she admitted to herself again, not without a vague shame, fun—mysteries she had solved with her friends from far back in her own teens. Bridgett, Evonne… She knew the thrill of the clue hunt, the exhilaration of facing down danger and—

And that image pressed upon her again, so hard it seemed to flatten her heart in her chest, and she bit her lip. Girls, if you only knew…but no, they knew, they had to know! She herself had known it back then, how it could turn out, but it never stopped them…and she knew it wouldn’t stop these girls either. Maybe it’s part of being that young to think you’re bullet-proof…but you’re not, girls! Maybe that’s why I ended up here. To make sure that you girls don’t…

“Fascinating,” the man said over the remnants of his breakfast. “If what you say is true, this could be very beneficial to all of us.”

“I thought you might see it that way. So now you understand what I was after.”

“Indeed,” the other said, a smile on his face but ice still in his voice. “I must consult with my—our—employer, but I’m sure she will be amenable to what you propose.” I’ll just bet she will, buddy!

Chapter Text

5 Getting Bearings

As amazed as Hannah had left Maggie that morning with her nonchalance at being captured and bound by the home invader, Hannah amazed her even more by insisting upon going to school that day after everything had been cleared up. Maggie could hardly believe that Hannah could be so functional after such a peril.

Not that it wasn’t on Hannah’s mind as she and her friends gathered at their familiar table for lunch in the back corner of the cafeteria. One detail nagged at her.

“I know I’ve heard that voice before,” said Hannah over her chef lunch, sipping thoughtfully at her chocolate milk. “I just can’t place it!”

Tricia snickered. “What can I say? After so many, the villains all start to sound alike!”

“I don’t know,” said Krysten, delicate as always. She wished, despite being able to lunch with her friends, that she shared a lunch shift with Tyler. Especially when all the talk about their Snooping exploits brought her memory back to… “That one, the corporate spy, Paulson…I don’t think I’ll ever forget that voice! I still get nightmares!”

“That’s the one,” whispered Hannah to Maggie sitting beside her, “who dumped her and Trish into Cold Water Lake back in seventh grade.” Hannah and Missy had spent much of the morning regaling Maggie with tales of their Snooping past, including the stolen-Santa case, in which…

“I still can’t believe that!” cried Maggie, remembering the tale. “That someone actually almost drowned you!”

Trish’s answering smile was rueful. “No, he didn’t almost drown us, Maggie—he did drown us! We died, both of us! I watched Krysten die under the water”—

“We were just lucky the water was as cold as it was,” said Krysten quickly, hoping to change the subject. Cold Water Lake still gave her the chills. “And someone was there to rescue us right away!” She caught herself smiling archly at Maggie. We’re not as boring as we look, California girl! “Anyhow, maybe his voice just reminded you of someone, Hannah.”

“No, I know I heard that voice before! I just wish I could remember where!”

“Well, anyhow,” said Maggie, starting to feel a certain enthusiasm building inside her, “I just wonder what it was he was looking for that was so important!” If only Dad could see me living out my Kay Scarpetta fantasy!

“Mom tried to ask him. No matter that we had gags stuffed in our mouths, there she was trying to reason with him! It was embarrassing! She acted like it was some kind of TV show or something!” Everyone knew the gags used on TV shows and movies were totally fake.

Trish snickered. “Now, be charitable, Hannah. She hasn’t been captured as often as you have! Give her a few more cases and she’ll catch on!” And the Snoops and their newest friend laughed, but Hannah still could not place that voice.

This trying to live up to my daughter can be tough, Anne told herself as she tried to scan a deposition in a particularly nasty lawsuit between a pair of ex-spouses. Merely tried, because she could not exorcise the images of the previous night from her imagination. She could still see Hannah’s startled and frightened eyes as that intruder clutched her to him—not so cool and collected then, were you Hannah? She could still feel her maternal outrage as that animal dared lay hands on Hannah Nicole and bind her…could feel the frightened helplessness as she felt herself being bound, and the anger that she could not protect her daughter—“Ms. Watson?” the intercom crackled at her elbow, startling Anne out of her reverie. “Ms. Watson?”

“I’m here. What is it, Evelyn?”

“A gentleman here for you, Ms. Watson. A Mr. Anthony O’Hara.” And Anne felt her face instantaneously flush red-hot. “Shall I send him in?” Breathe, Anne, at least remember to breathe!

A gulp, a long shaky breath… “Send him in, Evelyn.” But I look a mess!

There had been nothing at the O’Hara apartment; there was nothing he could find at the Watsons’. Which, he deduced, meant there was only one other place to look for anything that tied O’Hara’s arrival to what he knew first-hand had happened here. The Dwight household. It made sense; he knew Nancy Dwight was a member of the Expansion Committee that was in charge of starting up that new forensic-sciences department, and she also knew what had happened.

The blanket of snow kept most people inside, allowing him easy access to the Dwight back door, which yielded quickly to his talents. Quickly inside, he looked around to decide where to start first. No one was home, and would not be for hours.

The snow outside Mr. Wilkins’ windows was a swirling maelstrom, effacing all color but white from the surroundings outside. Even Hannah and that new girl Maggie O’Hara were having trouble paying attention. The sudden bleat of the speaker above their heads heralded an announcement—

“Due to the worsening conditions of the roads, students will be dismissed at one p. m. this afternoon. At the end of the period, students will report to”—and the rest was obscured by a caterwaul of cheering Snowden students. Even Hannah was pleased. Maggie was thrilled to have her first-ever snow day.

“Maybe I ought to drive you home?” Tony asked with ill-disguised gallantry. He had tried to sound like he was pursuing his own line of investigation of the break-in—which in a way he was—while not sounding like an infatuated teenager. He wasn’t completely convinced he wasn’t making a colossal fool of himself, but this woman was intoxicating him in a way he had not at all expected. Beauty and brains, like Laraine, but with a very un-Laraine-like modesty and understatement in her personality. Which was why, of course, he had driven down here in a snowstorm to phony up a pretext to talk to her in person.

Anne hoped her answering smile didn’t look like a teen girl’s. “Actually, I was thinking I might drive you home!” In Anthony’s presence she no longer felt like L. Anne Watson, P. A., attorney-at-law, partner in a successful law firm; she was once again Annie Thomson, gangly teenage geek too shy to talk to a boy even had she not been too clumsy to impress any. “Seeing that they don’t have blizzards in San Francisco to have to drive through.” No, that wasn’t condescending at all, was it Lydia Anne?

“You know, I just might take you up on it. If you let me buy you a cup of coffee as payment, that is.” Okay, that sure as hell sounded stupid, Tony!

Anne took her own glance out the window and smiled ruefully. “Maybe when we get home.” Another glance at the snow, mostly to hide the blush she was sure was on her face. “At least if we get home!”

“Deal,” Stop blushing like a kid, Lydia Anne!

Hannah snickered at Tricia, doing whatever she could to divert her attention from that intruder’s voice. And Tricia’s decision to dress up that day was as good an excuse as any other. “A skirt on a day like this?”

Trish smirked and swished her long dark woolen skirt as she kicked at a snowdrift with a maryjane-shod foot. Her navy-blue knee socks matched her skirt. “It’s warm enough. And I like the way it looks with my sweater.” She had worn a Snowden-powder-blue turtleneck sweater to go with her skirt, and she not only felt warm, but cute as well. She wasn’t alone in the opinion.

“I thought you were cute,” said Maggie, and Tricia smiled. She even talks like her grandmother! “But I’d still be too afraid of freezing to wear a skirt on a day like today!” Her eyes widened. “You’re sure it’s okay for me to come over?”

“Sure, as long as your dad doesn’t freak!”

“I already called him on Hannah’s phone, and he said I could. He’s probably down in Center City making over Hannah’s mom!”

“Which is very weird,” said Hannah. “My mom dating my friend’s dad! Well, at least if they do start dating!”

Tricia chuckled as they approached the front stoop on Passmore Street. “Well, nothing’s weird at home. At least until Richie gets home!”

He was so engrossed in rifling the papers in Nancy Dwight’s desk that he at first missed the sound of the front-door latch opening and the scuffling of footsteps. Then came a patter of teenage voices—Oh crap!—

He put down the folder and froze, the better to hear what the girls were saying. One voice he recognized instantly.

“Well,” said Tricia cheerfully, “one day off. I sure hope we get the rest of the week off with this snow!” She saw Maggie unobtrusively unlacing a boot. “Oh, keep your shoes on, Maggie! Our rugs are so old it doesn’t matter! Besides, it helps keep your feet warm! Our floors are freezing when it gets cold out!” And seeing that Hannah too kept her casual Etnies on her feet…

“I thought her mom was some kind of big administrator on campus,” Maggie whispered to Hannah as they followed Trish down the hall to the kitchen. “I figured she’d live in a nicer place than this!”

Hannah shrugged. “You have to remember, Trish’s family were totally dirt poor before her mom got that job, and you know she has a bunch of brothers and sisters, so this is really a step up for her.” Maggie thought she could catch a slight shading in Hannah’s voice as she mentioned numerous siblings, and…

“You know,” said Maggie as Trish opened the back kitchen door and stepped onto the small back porch, “sometimes I kind of wish I had a sister or brother myself.” Hannah, sensing a hidden meaning in Maggie’s words, turned, and saw a knowing wistfulness in her new friend’s glistening black eyes. “Not having to share anything gets old after a while.” Hannah found herself silently agreeing . “Especially when it means you don’t have anyone to share it with.” And Hannah nodded with a melancholy smile.

“The really nice thing about winter,” said Trish as she carried in three cans of soda from the back porch and graciously passing same to her companions, “is that you don’t have to fill up the fridge to have cold drinks!” She casually pushed the back door closed and opened her own drink. “So, Maggie, how do you like my old dump of a house?”

Maggie smiled, hoping Trish wasn’t thinking of the thoughtless remark Maggie hoped Trish hadn’t heard. And as she gazed around herself in the old kitchen. “It’s okay, Trish, but…”

“But?” Hannah grimaced, not from Maggie’s remark, but from her sudden battle with her over-fizzing drink, which she tried to restrain in the sink basin.

“Well…it’s just that…you know, I feel like I’ve been here before, sort of, like déjà vu, you know.” Which made Tricia glance furtively at Hannah. Okay, how exactly do we bring this up without spooking her totally out? Tricia sighed, wondering how to tell this Maggie that her grandmother herself had spent many an hour in this very room, and that probably—and a sudden thump—muffled by the ceiling between them and the noise—startled them all.

“What was that?” Hannah asked Trish, who was already looking up at the ceiling.

“I’ll bet you that little freak Richie got here before us and is up there listening in, the eavesdropping little jerk! I’ll fix him but good!” She strode purposefully toward the foot of the stairs in the hallway and called up, Maggie behind her shoulder, Hannah still cleaning up after her overflowed soda. “Don’t mind us, Richie!” Trish called. “We’re just down here talking all about Chelsea Parker and the new boyfriend she has! Don’t mind us!” She winked back at Maggie. “Richie’s crushing something awful on Chelsea! This’ll get him all bothered ‘cause he doesn’t like to admit it!”

“That’s mean.”

“It’s all right. It serves him right for all the times he’s teased me about Bobby!” Bobby Martin, to be exact. “Oh come on, Richie, we know you’re up there, there’s no good in sitting up there sulking!”

Her sudden trot up the stairs caught him by surprise—he couldn’t hide in time—couldn’t escape—which meant—

Tricia was caught unawares by the sudden grip around her arms which pinned them beside her, but the other hand—aimed clearly at her mouth—missed its mark—“Hey! Stop it”—and Hannah and Maggie suddenly froze—

His effort to cover her mouth allowed Tricia to escape his grip, run desperately toward the stairs—she turned toward the bottom portion of the stairs—“Help! There’s someone up”—but she slipped on her slick-soled maryjanes, and before she could regain her balance he was on her again, his hands finding their mark the first time this time—

That voice! Hannah gasped, instantly divining what was happening—without a thought, she ran for the kitchen door to get help—what a time to forget my cell!—and only as she raced for the street did she remember to think of Maggie—oh my god! I’ve left her in there!—

Maggie heard the scuffling come straight toward her down the stairs—the rustling of a struggle, the muffled cries that could have only come from Tricia—she saw the shadow emerging down the stairs, almost upon her—

She fled into the shady dining room, off the living room, and pressed herself against a wall as silently and securely as she could. What do I do? She could see Tricia dragged into the room by a dark-clad man in a dark ski mask—like the one Hannah told us about!—

“Just quit kicking at me, and I won’t hurt you! I just need you to lie down there and be still for a while, and I’ll leave you be! Just”—

“No! Get off!” shrieked Trish as the man threw her face-first onto the sofa, but even as she protested, the man shoved a cloth into her open mouth and taped in off with silver duct tape—

As soon as Trish reached for her gag, the man seized her hands and yanked them hard behind her back, taping her wrists together with practiced speed. Trish’s attention having been diverted to her bound wrists, the man managed to quickly tape her ankles together with more tape and shove her far back onto the sofa. “There!” he gasped, winded by the effort of bringing his little-wildcat captive to heel. “Now just shut up and lie there for a minute! All I want is to get out of here without you running off for the cops! Someone will be here in a while and they’ll free you—until then, just lie there and shut up!”

Maggie, pressed against her wall trying to keep herself silent, heard a cry from behind Trish’s gag—not frightened—if anything, angry! How can she not be scared— I’m scared half out of my wits!

“Nothing here,” Maggie heard the man mutter disgustedly. “The stuff has to be somewhere!” She heard him turn on his heel. “You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, do you Tricia?” A hard chuckle, heavily ironic. “I bet a part of you does, doesn’t it? But I’m sure you’d never tell me—your type never does, do you? Well, I’ll just see myself out, see if I can catch those runaway friends of yours!” After what felt like hours, Maggie heard the back door slam shut. So what do I do now? Tricia’s grunting mewls suggested Maggie’s first course of action to her, even as she wondered just what could make a burglar break into both of her best friends’ homes—not to mention her own apartment.

Chapter Text

6 Need-to-Know

Maggie’s heart was pounding, her pulse racing along as her breath strangled in her throat. This isn’t happening—it can’t be happening! But Trish’s angry, frustrated mewls and the noise of her thrashing against her bonds refused to fit itself to Maggie’s frightened desire that none of this be happening, and with a nervous flutter she hesitated into the Dwight living room—

And there lay Tricia, just as Maggie pictured her. Her arms pinioned behind her back, her mouth slathered over with tape, her ankles, too, taped together with the ubiquitous duct tape. For a moment Tricia started, then a wave of relief cascaded into her dark brown eyes. “What do I do?” cried Maggie, still horrified by what she had witnessed. “I’ve got to do something!”

“Mmtmm mmph! Hmwmm mmp! Mmtmm mmph!” Come on, Maggie!

Maggie dithered,her hands fluttering. “What are you saying? What do you want me to do?” Tricia rolled her eyes as her temper began to get out of hand—

“Mmtmmp mm mmff!” Trish shook her head to emphasize the point. “Tmmk thmm tmmp mmf mm mmff!” Maggie gasped in realization. Finally! Maggie delicately plucked the tape from Trish’s lips—

“Maggie!” said Trish, rolling herself on the sofa to present her taped wrists to Maggie and trying to not yell at her rescuer. “What did you think I was telling you to do! You’ve got to untape me!”

Maggie cringed as she knelt and started to pick at the tape binding Tricia’s wrists. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t understand what you were saying! It’s just—my God, I was so scared when that guy…” Maggie dithered again over the tightly-wrapped tape. “I can’t seem to find the end, Trish!” Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Maggie!

“Just cut it!” This girl doesn’t have any sense at all! “Listen to me, Maggie! go to the kitchen, get a sharp knife, and cut the tape off me! Do you get it now?”

“But—it’s evidence”—

“Detective Klasko and your dad can have all the fun they want with it, as long as it’s off me, okay?”

“Okay”—the front door chunked open—the girls gasped—

“Thank God you’re okay!” cried Hannah when she saw Maggie kneeling over the bound Trish. “I wasn’t sure Maggie got away, so I just circled around the house and”—

Trish was on her last nerve. “Hannah, would you please cut the tape off me? Maggie here is too scared to”—and Hannah took in the situation at once.

And stood over Tricia with a pious glower in her eyes. “Tricia Marie Dwight, you could be charitable to Maggie! It’s not like she’s had this happen to her before!” She helped Maggie to her feet. “Come on with me, Maggie, and we’ll get a knife while Tricia controls her temper!”

“I’m sorry! It’s just that it all happened so suddenly, and I was so scared, and—and—I—well, I guess I froze a little, and”—

“It’s okay,” said Hannah, sisterly as she picked out a sharp knife from the rack on the kitchen sink. “You haven’t been through this like we have. The thing is to keep calm, not lose your head. That’s what the bad guys always count on, you know, that you get scared and lose your head.” She presented Maggie with the knife. “Here, you cut Trish loose. That’ll calm you down, and we can figure out just what’s going on here.”

“I can’t help thinking you’ve been wasting your time. And ours,” the boss said with a certain prim astringency over the cell the man was holding. He sat in a corner booth of the Canton Palace, a new Chinese restaurant just opened in the Snowden Plaza between the art-supply store and the newly expanded and relocated New U Salon. It was small but brand-new clean, none of which registered with the man as he made his case over the cell to his new employer.

“It wasn’t a waste, ma’am,” he said, trying to reassure the Dragon Lady—which was how he was coming to think of her—as his order of sweet-and-sour chicken was placed before him. “At least now I know where the information isn’t. And if nothing’s been written down, I do have other options.”

“Indeed. In fact, I pointed out the most obvious one when first I hired you. It will serve both our purposes admirably.”

“I understand, ma’am, but I told you that such a thing is hard to hide in such a rural place as Snowden.”

“You told me you prepared a hiding place. I’m sure the matter can be handled as I suggested.” He couldn’t help but note the ominous twist on that word suggested.

“Understood, ma’am,” and he hung up. If only that damned woman knew what the situation was here…and here was the waiter with his drink.

“I trust the matter is settled, then,” the waiter said before going back to the kitchen.

Hannah smirked, still pious. “Quit complaining, Tricia. You could still be tied up on the sofa!”

“But it’s a brand-new sweater, Hannah, and look! There’s a ravel in it!” Maggie’s nervous efforts to free Tricia had pulled a ravel in the cuff of one sleeve. Tricia sighed, seeing Maggie on the verge of tears. “Okay, I can fix it, I guess. And at least you got me loose before Richie got here.” Richie, oblivious of the day’s events, was upstairs merrily entertaining himself on his video game system. Used, of course. “But you’re right, Hannah. I know that voice too! I don’t remember from where, but I remember it!”

Hannah nodded knowingly. “See? You guys never believe me, but was I right!”

“I believed you,” said Maggie. To which Hannah smiled in an odd way.

“That’s just because you’re nicer than Trish.” Oh be quiet, Tricia. “I kind of got thirsty running around the house, Maggie—could you do me a favor and”—

“Sure!” and Maggie ran off to the kitchen to get Hannah a drink.

Trish smirked, not entirely disdainfully. “I think you’ve got a pet neighbor. She can be just totally clueless! She’s just like a little kid!”

“Well, you do realize she’s the youngest kid in the freshman class? She’s actually still fourteen; if she’d been born three days later, she’d still be in eighth grade! I’m almost a year older than she is!” Hannah was, in fact, the sixth-oldest of Snowden High’s freshmen. “And considering her dad’s a cop…”

“So she’s not so much a pet neighbor as a kid sister, huh Hannah?” Trish saw the gape on Hannah’s face. No, I’m not gonna be charitable with you after… “Don’t even try to lie to me, Hannah! I can tell—you’re just dying for your mom to get together with her dad!”

Hannah blushed, casting another quick glance at the hall, “Well, I’m not against it, and Maggie is sweet, you have to admit that.” Her gaze returned to Trish, more seriously. “But you have to wonder, Trish…she said herself she was feeling deja-vu about being here. Do you think she knows…”

“About the Machine?” Referring to the Wells Machine which had so changed their lives that past spring. “Maybe Maggie—I mean Maggie Provenzini, her grandma—maybe she told her about it before. After all, it was something you don’t really forget.”

“Maybe…” Hannah glanced up the hall, then at Trish, as Beatrice Anderson’s memories of her last spring, so long ago, spoke to her. “But she’s so like Magg—I mean, her grandmother—that it’s almost scary!”

“You mean, like maybe she has some of her grandmother’s memories in her?” Trish’s reply was not altogether dismissive.

“We still remember being Bea and Audrey. It’s not completely unbelievable, you know!” And Maggie’s—Maggie O’Hara’s—soft tread halted the discussion. Unbelievable indeed.

They decided they needed brain food. And so, in an effort not only to fill their tummies, but also maybe to shake loose a few more bits of deja-vu from Maggie, the girls strolled through the snow, now slowing a little, to a favorite old haunt not only of Trish and Hannah, but also of Audrey and Beatrice several decades ago. “Hey Willa!” Trish called as they clanked through the door of Bauman’s Bakery. The cataclysm of that spring left fat, fortysomething Willa the sole proprietor of Bauman’s Bakery, and there was no place else one could find her during business hours. “What’s up!”

Willa giggled. “Now that I have customers, my business is up! This darn snow kept everybody in today! I’ve never had cinnamon rolls sit this long!”

“We’ll take care of that!” said Hannah, and soon all three girls were munching that most famous of Bauman’s treats. “Nice place, isn’t it, Maggie!” Hannah was hoping to draw a little more deja-vu from her new friend.

Maggie smiled politely. “Nice.” She was conscious of nothing but that this bakery, delicious as its cinnamon rolls were, was rather a hole in the wall, but was too polite to say so.

“Looks like you’ve moved things,” said Trish while the pudgy proprietor wiped the counter.

“Had to bring everything upstairs, Tricia. My knees just got so bad I had to move everything upstairs—even got the furnace moved upstairs so I could just shut everything up down there! I might have things straightened out in a couple months!”

“Nothing in the basement at all, then, huh?” Trish hoped to see a spark of recognition in Maggie’s beautiful black eyes.

“Nope, all closed up. Nothing but the mice—I can hear them sometimes down there in the mornings when I come down to start the kitchen. Of course, I padlocked the old door down there into the basement—I have to keep replacing the padlocks ‘cause some of the local kids keep cutting them off! When I catch who’s doing it, they’re dead meat!” Even through all Willa Bauman’s chatter, Maggie’s face remained neutral. “So you’re the new girl. Hannah’s told me all about you—how do you like my little place?”

Maggie smiled. “Fine.” Not really, but I should be polite.

Finally, well visited, Willa sent the girls off with a complimentary half-dozen doughnuts from that morning. Trish and Hannah were finally getting over their afternoon shock at the hands of the intruder. Bauman’s Bakery always helped that way.

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Maggie as they strolled back toward Passmore Street, “she makes great cinnamon rolls, but…I don’t know, something about it…well, it just sort of creeps me out. Sorry.” Maggie could not know that Trish and Hannah felt a rush of satisfaction at her observation. Maybe, just maybe…

A bearded man, face hidden by his hood and a heavy muffler around his lower face, followed at a discreet distance. Just having happened to come out of the alleyway as the three chatting girls walked up toward Passmore Street via Main Street. Creep you out indeed, little Miss O’Hara!

The weather had snowed Snowden High to a stop, but other schools still operated. including one that Hannah enjoyed very much. Wednesday and Friday evenings were Hannah’s time at Miss Claudine Hayward’s Snowden Dance Academy, comfortably situated in an old storefront near the campus, an easy walk from Snowden Place Apartments. Hannah, tall and slender and increasingly graceful as she emerged from her gangly adolescence, was Miss Claudine’s most prized pupil—

Until Hannah introduced her to Maggie O’Hara.

Maggie, Hannah had learned, had studied dance for some years back home but had let it slip as her parents’ marriage had imploded, in favor of her books and her introspection. Hannah, once more taking Maggie under her wing, had convinced Miss Claudine to give Maggie a chance to resume her studies. Only to find that Maggie, herself growing out of her awkwardness, was even more gifted than she herself was.

The temperature had moderated as day drifted into evening, and the snow had actually melted away from the main roads and the sidewalks. Still a threat of a quick drop in temperature as a new cold front came through, though. “I can’t believe they actually did it!” said Maggie bubbling as she and Hannah turned around the last corner to the Academy. “I didn’t think Dad would get up the nerve!”

Hannah giggled. “You should have seen Mom! She’s practically dropped all her appointments for Friday to get her hair done, and her nails, and maybe go buy a new outfit…”

“You know, they might decide they really like each other! Now, I don’t want to jinx it, but…”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Hannah enjoyed how much she and Maggie thought alike. “Well, we’ll find out Friday night, I guess. Which of course means we get to walk to dance class again!”

“It would be so worth it!”

Indeed, a certain bearded man told himself from a comfortable distance behind.

Chapter Text

7 Direct Action

Hannah was amused by the spectacle. “Mom, you look great! Honest, you’ll make Mr. O’Hara’s eyes pop out when he sees you!”

“As opposed to turning him into stone?” Anne was dithering, fidgeting at her vanity while she continued to tease at her freshly-coifed blonde tresses—

“Mom! I just told you, you look great! Tony’s just going to love you, so don’t worry! Remember, he wanted to go out with you!”

“I asked him, Hannah!” Anne now turned her attention to fixing her dress, plucking and pulling at imperfections that weren’t really there. Mom’s dated before, but she never put near as much work into it as she is for Tony!

“And he said ‘yes,’ didn’t he?” Hannah too was dressing, pulling and picking at the white tights she habitually wore with her black dance-practice leotard, wishing she had one like Maggie’s—it’s so cute!

“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t regret it!” You are so funny, Mom!

Tony too was dithering. “Are you sure this tie goes with this shirt?” Maggie tried to avoid laughing. Ms. Watson really has you wrapped around her pinky, doesn’t she, Dad?

“Yes, Dad! You could go up there in a ripped tee-shirt and she’d like it!”

“You’re not helping me here, Maggie,” and Dad immediately picked out another tie.

“Dad, you’ll be fine. Remember, Ms. Watson asked you out, so she must like you! Just be yourself—isn’t that what you’re always telling me?—and she’ll just love you!” And I could live with that.

“Now you and Hannah are leaving for dance class from here, right?” He was still uncomfortable with Maggie going up to Hannah’s place after the break-in.

Maggie grinned. “Yes, and we’ll stay up at her place when you bring Ms. Watson home, so you two can be alone a while!” You’re growing up way too fast, Margaret.

The conversation between Maggie and her father reassured him that he had planned correctly. Yes, just as those two troublesome girls had planned, which means I’m in just the right place at the right time.

He settled back down in his hiding-place. Patience was called for, but he ranked patience as one of his highest virtues.

Dr. McNeil met Anne in the second-floor hallway. “Big date tonight with Tony?”

“How did you guess?” She’s a forensic scientist, so I must be showing her something she can read.

“You’re dressed to the nines, and you’re more nervous than I’ve ever seen you. As for it’s being Tony, well, you’re all he’s talked about the last two days. I told him he has good taste in women.”

“I hope so,” and Dr. McNeil subsided into her apartment, remembering what it was like to be as addle-brained in love as Anne obviously was.

Maggie and Hannah giggled and gossiped on the sofa. “It was so hilarious!” said Maggie. “Dad was like ‘H-h-h-hi, Anne!’ with his mouth hanging open!” Maggie’s eyes glistened with sudden enthusiasm. “But Hannah, no wonder—your mom is seriously hot! I can tell where you get it from!”

“Now you’re just flattering me!” and Maggie’s smile took on an apologetic cringe. Maggie was indeed propitiating her friend, for they had finally managed their first fight the previous day. A boy, of course, and one boy in particular. The similarity in the way Maggie and Hannah thought which had so pleased Hannah had come back to bite her in the form of Maggie’s sudden crush on Hannah’s long-time flame Anthony Scott, which Hannah considered taking their similar natures distinctly too far. It took Krysten discreetly explaining Hannah’s long, futile crush to Maggie to enlighten her, and she had been apologizing ever since. She could afford to, since Krysten also favored Maggie with the secret—which neither had the heart to reveal to Hannah—that Anthony Scott had a distinct, and distinctly baffling, crush on Bethany Howland, yet another freshman honor student. Maggie allowed that Bethany was nice and sweet, but thinking of short plump Bethany with— sigh! —Anthony Scott was a bit too strange to quite believe. But it allowed her to make up to Hannah without guilt. “I accept your apology already!” Her smile turned teasing. “But still, I really think we need to find you a boyfriend, just to keep it from happening again!” They laughed easily, Hannah checking her watch and starting. “Don’t you think you ought to get dressed for class? We only have about forty minutes, and you know how Miss Claudine is about us being late!”

“I didn’t want to spill my supper on my leotard. You’ve seen how I eat!” Maggie’s gracefulness on the dance academy floor was not paralleled by grace in much else. Including eating meals.

“You just have to help me get one like yours! That skirt is just beautiful!” Maggie’s leotard, from back home in San Francisco, was a sleek, tight-fitting skirted sky-blue leotard. Lucky it matches my new school colors!

“I’ll send a message to my friend Ginger back home to have her order you one from my old school.” Maggie scuffled up the hallway to her room. “Put whatever you want on for music. I’ll just be a couple minutes!”

Just as I thought, he smiled to himself, settling himself in to await just the exact moment.

Having finally wriggled her long, coltish legs into her white dance tights—she was always very careful, not least because of her propensity for tearing her tights if she tried to hurry—Maggie squirmed her way into the sky-blue short-sleeved skirted dance leotard she had previously laid out on her bed, primping and pulling at the tight bodice as she worked it up her slight frame, finally squeezing her arms into the short sleeves and straightening it before settling herself before her mirror. She cocked her head, decided a little makeup would be okay, especially since Dad wasn’t home to fuss about it. A little bit of foundation after slipping her glasses off her face, light and creamy like her natural complexion, a little blush and just a little something for my lips, just in case we should meet any cute guys—okay, Anthony!—on the way to class or back home. I just don’t know what he sees in Bethany Howland!

Finally, her hair. She sat at her vanity and took up her favorite old brush—a favorite old brush from Grandma O’Hara given to her as a gift—and stroked it firmly through her thick, wavy black tresses. She wished idly yet again, as she always did when she brushed her hair, that she had straight hair. Hannah’s hair is so beautiful, so sleek and silky. She giggled a moment at the thought of being a blonde, being the object of all those dumb-blonde jokes. Well, Hannah’s not dumb, not at all! She brushed her hair back and gathered it with one long-fingered hand while the other picked along her book-cluttered vanity top for a rubber band or scrunchy to hold it back for dance class. I hate it when my hair gets into my eyes!

He seized his moment as the girl fumbled with tying back her long black hair. At last she’s sufficiently preoccupied. The well-oiled hinges—oiled by his own hand that afternoon—opened silently.

Her hair gathered to her satisfaction, Maggie stood up and pulled her leotard back into place, picked up her glasses off the vanity with a satisfied smile. Well, I guess it doesn’t have to be just Anthony who sees us. She adjusted her svelte oval glasses on her face—she was always particular about her glasses—and one final primp at her leotard, since Hannah has to be wondering—

Before she could even finish her thought, a taut muscular coil magically wound around her arms, pinning them to her body, while a hand materialized from nowhere and clamped itself harshly over her mouth—

“Mmmmm!” Her squeal of sudden shock was all but inaudible, even to her—

He forced back a chuckle as the girl stiffened in his grip. Absolutely perfect! He had waited for hours in her spacious closet for this moment, when she was alone in her room preparing for dance class, and his planning paid off in utter surprise. Tora tora tora!

But now to business. He had calculated he would have sufficient time, but there was no need to lollygag. Wasted time was nothing but an invitation to be caught.

“Now you listen to me, girlie,” he whispered into her ear as she froze in his grip. “You do just as I say, and no one will get hurt, especially you. You understand?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Good. First thing is to make sure you keep quiet. You don’t need to talk so much as to listen anyhow. Now, I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, but when I do I don’t want you making a sound.” Suddenly, in the arm that encircled her and pinned her arms to her sides, there seemed to be a point of some kind that had started to dig into her flank. “Not one little peep, you hear?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Her mind was starting to function again as the initial shock of being seized faded, but her surmises gave her no comfort. Rather the opposite. As soon as she nodded, his hand left her mouth; involuntarily, a frightened whimper escaped her lips—

“Shh!” and there was the hand again, clutching two of her washcloths. “So we’ve got to do this the hard way. Open wide.” Belatedly she understood what he was demanding of her and why, and she hesitated. I don’t want a gag in my mouth—but there was the point again, digging a little more insistently into her side, and with a timorous squeak she parted her lips—

Not even an instant and the hand shoved a cloth into her mouth, prodding a swirl of nausea as it prodded at her uvula—she tried instinctively to push the cloths forward with her tongue, but—

In the very instant the hand had darted away and returned, plastering a long strip of dark gray tape over her mouth, between her parted lips—then another, and finally a third, covering its fellows. Already her mouth was feeling dry as the cloths absorbed all the moisture.

“That’s better.” Maggie tried to catch a glimpse of her attacker. She thought she recognized the voice from the man at Tricia’s house. He guided her backward, still firmly in his grip, toward her bed. “Now, we’re almost done. Just do what I say and you won’t get hurt, nor that little friend of yours out there. I’m sure you don’t want to get her in trouble.” Maggie’s mind reeled as he placed her standing at the edge of her bed, facing it; oh my God, what is he going to do to me? “Now kneel down beside the bed.” He left her no choice, driving her to her knees upon his word. “When I let you go, you’re going to lay your face down on the bed and put your hands behind your back, hear?” She nodded and squeaked faintly—first he gagged me, now he’s going to tie me up, like Hannah and Tricia! His grip was gone, but she could feel him standing over her, and with hesitant obedience she lowered her face to her neatly-made mattress and timorously wrung her hands together behind her back. Oh, please don’t hurt me!

Before she could continue her silent pleas, she felt her wrists seized and pinned together side-to-side by a big strong hand, like the one that had covered her mouth until he had gagged her. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, the rushing blood swishing loudly in her ears, as she felt him wrap taut loops of tight-cutting cords around her wrists, binding them tightly to each other. It hurts! Heedless of her silent complaint, he cinched a couple more loops of rope between her now-bound wrists to secure them even tighter, and Maggie winced at the stinging-tight grip of the cords. I don’t like this! I don’t like this at all! Suddenly she felt the taut sting of even more rope, now being wrapped around her arm just above her elbow—what?—why?—“Mmm!” but her gagged protest went unheeded as the man wrapped more loops of rope around her elbows, pulling them taut, nearly touching, behind her back. That’s not fair!

“Sorry, girlie, but I’m not taking any chances with a tall skinny dancer-type like you. You’re probably flexible enough to get your hands in front of you if I’m not careful. See, this way I can keep your hands behind your back where they belong so you won’t be able to make me any fuss.” With a quick hoist on her bound arm, Maggie was hefted to her feet—he turned her to face him—

She squealed timorously through her gagged, taped lips as she found herself face-to-face with a ski-masked apparition, even his eyes covered with reflectorized shades which made him look like a hooded and jacketed alien creature. And a new wave of throat-tightening fear choked her breath as she looked upon her captor—“We’re going to go on a little trip, but first we have to take care of that friend of yours. Don’t be afraid, girlie,” as he saw the first distillation of Maggie’s fear welling in her frightened black eyes, “I won’t hurt her. We just need to wrap her up too, so we can go on our little trip.” With that, he took her by the arm again and steered her toward her bedroom door to where Hannah sat waiting beyond.

No! Please, this can’t be happening!

I’m being kidnapped!

Chapter Text

8 Wrapping Up

Hannah lounged in the sofa, letting her thoughts stray while Maggie dressed for dance class. That leotard is so cute…I shouldn’t have gotten mad at Maggie. After all, Anthony likes Bethany Howland, so what does it matter anyway? Hannah giggled, thinking of the irony of it all. And Bethany Howland is crushing so bad on Bobby Martin! Of course, if you listen to those rumors Crissy Stanwick keeps putting out, Bethany’s in love with Trish! I wonder how Trish would take it! But I shouldn’t have been mad at Maggie, it’s not her fault that Anthony’s so cute, and it does prove we think alike. She thought about Mom and Mr. O’Hara out on a date; only a dinner at Pietro’s, but…what if they did get together? What if they even got married? Me and Maggie—wow!—stepsisters! I could like that, I really could, even if we do fight over Anthony Scott. Maybe I’ll try to fix her up with Daniel Holman, see how mad Trish would get at me. But you know, ever since last spring, going back and her meeting Eugene…Trish is going to end up with Bobby, I just know it, every day she sees how he’s like Eugene in another new way, and you know how that’s going to end up. Well, okay! Trish would be good for Bobby, and Bobby would be good for Trish, too, but she’ll never admit it. Maggie and Daniel…well, Daniel might be too much of a jock for Maggie, she’d be better with… She looked again at her watch, imagined she could hear movement in Maggie’s bedroom behind her closed door. So modest of her…but you really need to finish getting dressed, Maggie!

Maggie glanced timorously at her abductor as he reached for the doorknob. Please, God, let this just be a bad dream! It can’t be happening! But she remembered when Dad was hunting down the Fire Dragons, how he’d warned her to be careful and not be caught alone, because they might try to take out their frustrations over his crusade on her and hurt her in some way, and it had actually scared her, at least until he’d been shot and her worries found a more viable path.

What if he’s with them? What if the Fire Dragons found him here and are kidnapping me to get back at Dad? Her tortured mind swirling in rising panic, she whimpered as the man opened the door and led her down the hall. Oh please Hannah, get out of here! You can’t let him catch you! You can’t—a gasp—and her eyes met Hannah’s, Hannah’s face vacant with sudden surprise—“Well, now, Hannah,” and the man’s snicker chilled both girls’ hearts, “we keep running into each other! I think you know what happens next!”

Hannah had known nothing until she had seen Maggie. Hannah had sighed patiently as she heard soft footsteps swishing up the hall, and had just decided to tease Maggie about getting all prettied up for the boys they might meet on the way there when she looked up and—

She understood it all at once—Maggie’s mouth covered with tape, her arms pulled tightly behind her, and the ski-masked man with his grip on Maggie’s arm and the knife in his hand—oh my god—it’s him!—

He even knows my name! Hannah quailed when he teased her about running into each other again, but even as he told her that she knew what was going to happen next she felt herself calm down. Just like before, right—tie us up and search the apartment for something, probably not find it like at my place and Trish’s, and leave us here bound and gagged while he makes his getaway. But what could he possibly want that could be here in Maggie’s place that wasn’t in ours?

But it wasn’t only Hannah’s familiarity with this particular home invader that settled her, nor the piquancy of the question of why he was searching here. She could tell that Maggie was terrified—her big brilliant-black eyes were already shimmering with frightened tears behind her glasses—she’s probably never been in this kind of situation before. Maggie had confessed in one of their already innumerable talks that she had never been tied up, not even in a kids’ cops-and-robbers game. And she doesn’t like it at all!

“Yeah, I know. You tie us up and not find what you’re looking for.”

“We’re awful full of ourselves, ain’t we?” and the man slung Maggie to a seat in the living room easy chair. “You just think you know everything, don’t you?” Hannah remained silent, deciding she’d sufficiently made her point for Maggie. Don’t be afraid of him, even if he is in control. “Well, the first thing you’ll do, then, is to shut yourself up.” He tossed Hannah the other washcloth he had in his free hand, along with three strands of duct tape plastered onto a sheet of wax paper he had already prepared. “You know how it works, Miss Know-it-All. Stuff the cloth in your mouth and cover it with the tape.” Hannah thought for a moment about snapping back at him that he’d have to gag her himself, but stopped as she saw the pleading expression on Maggie’s face. Okay, Maggie, just to keep you calm. So with a haughty calm, Hannah pushed the cloth into her mouth—you do have to have the world’s biggest washcloths, don’t you Maggie?—and secured it in place with the strips of tape. See, Mr. Burglar? You don’t have to listen to me now!

The invader chuckled. “Good. By now you should be used to having a gag in your mouth! Probably the best way for your smart mouth to be!” He laid a commanding hand on Maggie’s trembling shoulder and looked down on the silenced Hannah. “Now, lay down on the floor with your face down and your hands behind your back.” Hannah bridled a moment, unwilling to help him do his own dirty work, but there was Maggie to consider. She was still frightened, and the big coward could decide to hurt her if I don’t cooperate.

But she would take her time about it, just to show him she wasn’t afraid of him. She knelt calmly down in front of the sofa, studiously picking at and straightening her leotard as she did so while steering a studiously casual gaze toward him. Next, she reached up to straighten her glasses—he started for a moment until he saw her fingers reach for her sleek wire cat’s-eye frames—so, afraid I was going to rip my gag out and yell for help?—and push them meticulously into place on the bridge of her nose. I’m not about to roll around here on the floor with my glasses falling off my face! Only then, noting with sly satisfaction the budding impatience on his face, did Hannah lower herself delicately onto her tummy. Now she fixed her gaze on Maggie’s frightened face, trying to transmit her calm and reassurance to her apprehensive friend. Don’t be scared, Maggie! His having to tie us up and gag us only proves what a coward he is, that he’s so afraid of a couple girls, so don’t you be scared! Maybe we have to do what he wants to keep from getting hurt, but we don’t have to let him think we’re afraid of him! With a haughty sigh, Hannah reached back and held her hands behind her back for him to tie. Go ahead and get it done, you chicken!

He snickered as his patience returned, sauntering over to stand above the prostrate Hannah. “Yeah, you think you have it all together, don’t you? Smart little girl sleuth thinking you’re smarter than the bad guys, right?” He knelt above her, pulling out a skein of rope from his jacket with one hand while pinning Hannah’s slender wrists together side-to-side with the other. “Well, if you’re so smart,” and Hannah’s wrists were tied under quickly-turned loops of rope, “how come you and your little girlfriend here are the ones getting tied up?” He punctuated his taunt by cinching a final turn of rope between her wrists, locking them together. “Feet together now, girlie,” and with a scornful huff Hannah complied. She noticed that the rope he took up was much longer than he needed to tie her ankles together. Uh-oh. “This will keep you still while I take care of things,” and he tied Hannah’s feet as quickly as he had tied her hands, cinching the rope as he had with her wrists to secure her bonds. With a sudden winking thrust, he seized her feet and bent her knees back, pulling her bound feet up toward her bound wrists, and was rewarded with a sudden flash of apprehension in Hannah’s haughty hazel eyes. Didn’t expect me to hogtie you, did you Miss Know-it-All? With quick, sure hands, he twined the tail of the rope between her hands and feet, pulling and cinching them close together. “Yeah, this’ll keep you from getting up and hopping all over the place and getting help before I’m ready. Can’t take any chances with you dancer types, but this here hogtie will keep you settled down.” He knotted the rope which completed the hogtie, making sure it was where the girl’s long fingers could not reach. He saw that by now she had composed herself again, looking up consolingly at her friend, and he snickered. Bet I can wipe that calm off your face, Miss Know-it-All!

Hannah was indeed calm again after the surprise at having her feet tied to her hands, haughtily refusing to struggle as she maintained her comforting gaze at Maggie. She figured that bad guys liked to see their tied-up victims struggle, and she wasn’t about to give him what she suspected he wanted. We’ll bide our time, Maggie. We’ll wait for him to finish looking and leave, and then we’ll roll over enough for us to get our hands together, then pick a knot or two loose, enough for one of us to get untied, then we’ll try to figure out who this guy is. I know I’ve heard that voice before! Anyhow, once we get ourselves untied we’ll—and her train of thought was dashed apart as she saw the man toss a pair of Maggie’s shoes—the shiny black-patent mules with the chunky two-inch heels—at her feet. Why did he...

“Slip those on your feet, girlie,” drawing a confused stare from Hannah. Not so full of yourself now, are you? “Now that I’ve got your girlfriend here all wrapped up, we can go on our little trip.”

“Wmmd?” cried Hannah through her gag, suddenly realizing with sickened dread what he intended to do. Oh god—that’s why he didn’t tie Maggie’s feet! No! You can’t!—

“Oh yeah, Miss Know-it-All! Didn’t you know? Me and your little friend here are going on a little trip. You don’t have to bother seeing us to the door, though—we’ll just hop out the porch.” Maggie’s apartment, like Hannah’s, had a small balcony attached, but as the apartment was on the ground floor it was more of a porch, barely a foot above ground level. Which was how he probably got in, Hannah lamented to herself. So he could kidnap Maggie! “You can just stay where you are until her daddy comes home from his date with your mommy. In fact, you can leave him a message from me, at least if he’s crazy enough to take that gag out of your mouth.” And he leaned down to whisper in Hannah’s ear.

Maggie had just begun to feel some of Hannah’s calm seep into her, despite knowing that Hannah didn’t really understand what the man was going to do. Hannah thought he was just going to search the place again, and Maggie’s heart continued to race as her imagination painted lurid pictures of what it would be like to be kidnapped, taken away from her home, her friend, her dad… But Hannah’s been through this before, Maggie tried to convince herself as the man made Hannah gag herself. She’s been taken away too, hasn’t she, and she got out of it okay. Maggie squirmed against the pinching, stinging ropes as she watched the man tie up Hannah, feeling a pang of sympathy for her friend as the man tied her feet to her hands. That has to be so uncomfortable! Gradually Hannah’s reassuring gaze had begun to work its magic on Maggie, slowing her pounding heart, warming her fear-chilled hands and feet. Maybe we’ll be okay, maybe we’ll get out of this all right, since Hannah doesn’t seem scared at all.

Then the man chunked her shoes at her feet, and Maggie saw the expression on Hannah’s face contort into sudden dread. Then Maggie realized that Hannah had finally understood what was happening—he’s taking me away!—and Maggie felt her stomach contract into an icy ball as Hannah’s sudden fear infected Maggie so that she could barely slip her feet into her shoes as the man had ordered. Hannah, please don’t be frightened, I need you to be strong for me, please don’t be scared!

“…in fact, you can leave him a message for me,” and Maggie could see that Hannah was herself on the verge of tears. No, Hannah, oh no, you can’t be scared, please! Then he leaned down, whispered something into Hannah’s ear, and Maggie saw Hannah’s eyes go huge with sudden stunned fright, shimmering tears boiling up in Hannah’s frightened eyes. And Maggie, as the man yanked her to her feet and wrapped her coat around her shoulders after setting the stereo to continuous play, leaving the empty arms hanging beside her, felt her frightened dread rush in upon her deeper and more terrifying than ever. We’re in trouble, aren’t we Hannah, really big trouble! She tried one last time, as the man pulled her onto the darkened porch, to see Hannah’s face, hoping to see a glimmer of Hannah’s previous assurance, but all she saw as she was pulled outside was the terror in Hannah’s eyes distilling into big shimmering tears. Hannah, no!

Hannah cursed herself as her fear finally won out in a flood of big frightened tears. I should have known! That’s who he is! And she knew, with sick fearful dread, that she—that Trish—that Maggie—that they were all in the most awful danger. A danger that Hannah had prayed never to have to face again.

She wanted to scream, wanted to run, to get any help she could, but the ropes of her hogtie were too tight, and all she could do was writhe desperately on the floor of the O’Hara apartment and cry the most frightened tears Hannah had ever cried in this life. Or any other.

Chapter Text

9 Getting Up

Anne drank in the expression on Tony’s face much more greedily than she did the Chianti at her elbow. Tony’s face was much more intoxicating than the wine. Don’t stare, Lydia Anne, don’t overplay your hand, no matter how gorgeous Tony is! “I’m sorry,” she apologized preemptively, “I don’t mean to stare at you.”

Tony grinned sheepishly. “Actually, Anne, I hadn’t noticed.” He was having his own issues about staring at Anne too much. Not quite sure that not noticing Anne in any possible way was a good idea, he cobbled together a quick explanation. “Just worrying about Maggie, I guess.”

Anne smiled, ready to agree with Tony about nearly anything. “That I understand. I wonder what she and Hannah are up to!” They laughed, less nervously than earlier in the evening when their self-consciousness was on full alert. “You know,” said Anne, not sure why but somehow feeling that it had to be said, “I don’t think the girls exactly mind us being out together!” You’re pushing, Lydia Anne! “Maybe they’re having a wild party behind our backs!”

Tony knew exactly what Anne meant, and was not at all displeased. “Maggie wanted to pick out my clothes. I think she approves of you!” Don’t push it, Tony! “But yeah, I sort of wonder what they’re up to. I get the feeling that those two aren’t just going to dance practice!”

Maggie saw a person walking at the far end of the long, narrow, dark parking lot. She wanted to scream out to him for help, but she knew he would never hear her. Nor would he notice her distress; her kidnapper had wrapped a scarf around her lower face and covered her head with her heavy knit toque, so that she would look to a casual observer at that man’s distance like any ordinary girl bundled up against the cold. And in a moment, the man was inside his building, leaving Maggie alone with her kidnapper. “In you go, girlie,” and he opened the side hatch of a nondescript panel before bundling her inside. He already had a blanket and pillow on the floor, waiting for her. This isn’t just a coincidence; he’s been planning to kidnap me! Her mind, running in fast, helpless circles, skidded back to a scene from one of her favorite books, Cornwell’s Blow Fly, in which the abducted school teacher lay in the boat’s tackle box awaiting her murder, and her kidnapper asking her for the right word to describe her fear. Maggie didn’t know the right word, but knew she had never been so frightened in her life as the man lay her prone on the van floor and closed the door behind her to take her away.

Hannah tossed herself uselessly on the floor, squealing and weeping as she struggled to free herself. It was him! And the thought writhed inside her, the horrible knowledge that even if she got loose from her bonds she would not be free. His threat would still hang over her, over them, and would force her submission to his demands. I as well just stay tied up on the floor, because I’ll still be bound even if I got out of these ropes! It’ll never end, not as long as… And there was Maggie in his hands, just like… She tried to rally herself, tried to pull herself together. You can’t just give up, Hannah! You have to try again, no matter what!

But the ropes were still unyielding, and her renewed wriggling was just as futile as ever. But I have to get Maggie away from him!

Anne wasn’t quite sure what to feel. Her nerves were still strung tight, still she was analyzing and overanalyzing everything she did and everything she said, and she knew she needed to relax, but… But Tony was truly intoxicating, his dark-headed masculinity mixed with a delicious approachability, and no matter how nervous she was, her eyes could not get enough of him. But tonight was only a short date—on the other hand, tomorrow… “I enjoyed the dinner, Tony,” said Anne, her voice an inviting coo as leaned delicately against her front door. “As a matter of fact, maybe I could convince Hannah to let us go out again tomorrow!” I don’t think that would be a problem with her. Certainly not with me!

Tony grinned. “Maggie’s probably waiting up to hear all the details. And she’ll probably push me to ask you out again, so I might as well get it over with!” He hoped he didn’t sound as foolish to her as he did to himself. Since he hardly needed Maggie’s impetus to ask Anne out every single night, if he could get away with it.

“The Canton Palace maybe?”

“I wouldn’t miss it!” Yeah, any place you suggest, Anne!

Maggie felt her already fear-chilled tummy contract even more as she felt the van slow to a stop. The man had been silent, which only added to her growing panic as the minutes, and certainly the miles, passed. Now here she was, but with no idea where here was. “Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” the ski mask and the hood belying his almost-genial voice. “You can either shut your eyes real tight until I tell you to open them again, or I can take your glasses off you and cover those pretty eyes up with a blindfold.” He knew that it was partly a bluff—he could hardly disguise a blindfold as he had Maggie’s gag—but he also remembered from long ago that girls with glasses often hated having them taken off for a blindfold. And this girl too decided to avoid the blindfold, squeezing her eyes shut, wringing a few belated tears down her cheeks. As he guided her to a sitting position by her bound arm, he could feel her pulse pounding beneath her heavy coat. Yeah, I’d say the little thing’s terrified…and terrified prisoners are likely to do crazy things out of sheer panic. No need for that. “Now you just calm down and stop crying, girlie. If you’re good and do what you’re told, everything’ll be all right.” He guided her out of the van across the small space to their destination. “I’m not going to hurt you, honey, I’m just gonna keep you here a while until I straighten things out with your daddy and your friends. I gotta keep you tied up and gagged, just so you don’t run off or yell for help, but I ain’t going to do nothing else to you.”

By this time Maggie could feel a change, the disappearance of the chilly breeze and the sudden crumble of dry dirt beneath her feet intimating to her that she was inside a building. He walked her with slow cautious paces until she found herself in a room that sounded very small, the chilly air close and the sound of their feet reverberating closely to them. A tiny room, she told herself, the fatigue that was a reaction to the terror of her abduction slowing her mind enough for her to begin to think. But where? And why does he have me here, wherever here is—“Go ahead and open your eyes, babydoll,” and her returned vision confirmed what her ears had already suggested. A small, dank room, lit by a small, bare bulb. Dirt floor, cinder-block walls, floor joists for a ceiling. Close and frightening, like a basement or a dungeon…but a scent that she smelled seemed out of place. A smell like…

“I wish I didn’t have to do this, babe,” and Maggie goggled at the length of rope in his hand. “But like I said, I gotta keep you here, and that means making sure you can’t run away on me.” She guessed with a shudder what he meant. Time to tie my legs, too. There was no use resisting, so she obeyed promptly when the man ordered her to put her legs together. And maybe Hannah’s still right—it’s best to stay calm, try to not panic. He did her ankles first, binding them together and cinching a loop between them to tighten their grip. Then he took more rope and bound her legs together the same way just above her knees, securing her legs tightly, completely together. She managed to congratulate herself on thinking to wear her white tights, which made a thin but effective layer of protection between the tight ropes and her bare skin. Her wrists and arms were stinging with rope burn. He laid out a thin old blanket for her to kneel on; she found herself surprised at this mild but sudden concern for her comfort. But after she had knelt, she felt him tie a long rope between her bound hands and bound feet—just like he did with Hannah, except he made me kneel and made Hannah lie on the floor. In any case, there’s no way I can even move now!

He had taken off her coat, and the chill of this basement—for so it felt like to Maggie in her frightened little world—was already tormenting her. She was cold, her wrists and elbows hurt, she was uncomfortable kneeling on the cold blanket on the cold dirt floor, she was tired and frightened, oh so frightened. “I already told you don’t cry, babydoll. I know you’re scared but I already told you I’m not going to hurt you.” But this was one command Maggie could not obey, and she cried tired, frightened tears as she tried to follow Hannah’s advice, frightened not only for her predicament but for Hannah’s.

Funny, Hannah should have been home by now. She called out her daughter’s name, but no answer, and a quick look-see confirmed that Hannah had not yet returned home. The most likely probability, of course was…

A good excuse to go see Tony again, and she strolled down the hall to the first-floor stairs. Those two little connivers probably went back down to Tony’s place to plot how to keep throwing us together! Her one fear as she had started to rebuild a social life was Hannah, that she would not adjust to Mom dating. And to be honest, the wounds Alan had left behind held Anne back from the effort.

But Hannah was rather—no, not rather, but definitely—enthusiastic about Tony O’Hara. She knew it wasn’t just for Tony’s sake; she knew Hannah had connected with Maggie almost instantaneously, not just as neighbors or casual friends but something else, something that had quickly made Maggie O’Hara absolutely precious to her—

“Anne!” she heard Tony yell up the stairs, and—that tone!—

Something’s wrong!

Tony’s reverie about Anne Watson evaporated the moment he opened his door to see Hannah writhing on his living-room floor, weeping and squealing in a tight hogtie—but Maggie—where’s she—

“Hannah!” he cried, rushing over to her and plucking the tape off her mouth. “What happened? Where’s Maggie?” But the release of the tape from Hannah’s lips seemed to unplug a dammed-up flood of horror and fear, and all Hannah could manage as he untied her was a torrent of choked, squealing sobs. Only when Tony had cut her loose and sat her up on the sofa did her weeping slow enough for her to form words.

“…broke in…must have been hiding in Maggie’s room…tied her up and gagged her…I didn’t know…caught me by surprise…tied me up…took Maggie away…he…he told me…told me to…to…” And Hannah’s tenuous composure dissolved, her face collapsing into her hands. “Oh god…Maggie!…” While Hannah cried brokenly into her hands, he ran to Anne’s call for her, and in an instant…

“Hannah! Hannah Nicole!” cried Anne again, her face inches from Hannah’s. Hannah was lost, weeping crazily in her own world, and Anne could not yet break into it… “Hannah!” and Anne took Hannah’s face in her hands, firmly but gently. Hannah’s eyes were wild, gushing with tears and straying all around her, her lips were quivering with horror. “Look at me!” Hannah’s eyes started a moment, and Anne gave it yet another try. “Hannah, baby, you have to look at me!” The big, wet hazel eyes slowly focused. “Good, that’s good, baby, now look at me. Shh…that’s right, honey, calm down, just look at me.” Anne began to see a glimmer of reason return to Hannah’s eyes, her heaving chest began to calm. “Good, honey, now listen…you have to talk to us, honey, you need to tell us what happened. Tony said you told him about someone coming in and taking Maggie.” Hannah’s eyes started to wander again, to run from the horror Anne was making her relive. “No, Hannah Nicole, you have to talk to me. Don’t shut down on me now, okay? You have to tell us. What did he look like? Do you remember? Did he say where he was taking Maggie? We have to know, Hannah, you have to tell us anything you remember about him.” Hannah’s eyes welled again, the mouth quivered with renewed horror. “No, Hannah, you have to stay calm, you have to keep your composure! Now…” Anne reached down, took Hannah’s cold trembling hands in hers. Something’s wrong, this isn’t the Hannah who stared down the man who broke into our apartment! Something awful has happened, something she can’t stare down. “Please, honey, tell us. Just anything you remember about him.” The abhorrence rose on Hannah’s face again, but as if she was sensing Mom’s thoughts, she pursed her lips and blinked hard, as if forcing down the horror. She seemed to whisper, tried to force her lips to form words, and with a desperate effort…

“The man…who broke into our place, tied us up…I remembered his voice, you remember…heard him again…was him…kidnapped Maggie…tied me up…told me to tell you…Mr. O’Hara…” Hannah’s eyes spun out of control again, her mouth fell, but another wrenching effort brought them back one last moment. “Mom…it was him…from…it was George Bauman! It was him!” And Hannah fell apart again, sobbing out her terror.

Tony looked at Anne blankly, the name meaning nothing to him. But he saw in Anne’s beautiful blue eyes an image of the horror that had overwhelmed her daughter. A horror which struck Tony O’Hara’s blood cold.

Chapter Text

10 Desperate Measures

Trish smiled to herself as she and Krysten pretended to study their geometry material—the snow had wiped out Friday’s classes, but there was no rest for the wicked, or in this case, the merit students. You can’t fool me, Krysten Parker! You’re just here to get cute with Tyler! Tyler and his buddies, believing themselves a band, were down in the basement jamming, and Krysten knew very much better than to disturb Tyler while he was at his music. Afterwards was a different thing, especially if Mrs. Dwight didn’t get home from her usual Friday date with Dr. Miyazaki until late and Megan stayed out with her boyfriend Stephen Walker. “Cute outfit,” said Trish, and Krysten knew just exactly what Tricia really meant.

“And just who in the band are you trying to impress, Tricia Dwight?” said Krysten pertly, but with more than enough of her customary cute-innocent smile to disarm her friend. Tricia too had dressed for the evening, a cute bulky sweater of gray and blue over a pert little denim miniskirt and charcoal-gray pantyhose. Which looked very good on Tricia’s precociously voluptuous frame, Krysten had to admit.

Trish giggled roguishly. “Any guy who wants to be impressed! I’m not an old married woman like you are!” Krysten certainly doesn’t look old, though. In that cute pink top and that denim mini, and the hose and pumps, Tyler will definitely have something pretty to look at. Or maybe a little more than look at! “So, when are you two having your first baby?”

“Tricia!” and Krysten’s naturally-pink face went instantly scarlet. “We don’t do that!” But you’re still smiling, Krysten!

“I was just teasing! I know you two don’t do that. Just a little tonsil hockey when Mom isn’t around.” Krysten’s blush took on a more agreeable shade. “And sometimes checking out each other’s back pockets.” Krysten’s lip sagged an embarrassed millimeter or two, and yes, your skirt does have back pockets, I see, Krysten! “And every once in a while”—

“Tricia, you just stop right now!” Krysten’s face was again scarlet, but with more indignation than embarrassment on her face. “What about you and Daniel Holman during camp?” Now it’s your turn to blush, Tricia! “More dreams about you tying him up in The Alley?”

Trish giggled, not fazed by Krysten’s good-natured gibes. “In nothing but his tighty-whites, either!” Everyone knew Trish Dwight was starting to turn into a terrible flirt, to use a polite term. The phone on the wall rang; Krysten, being closer to it, stepped over to pick it up. “See? That’s him calling now!” Krysten replied with a deadpan expression on her face as she picked up and said hello—

“…yes, but who are…hello? Who is—oh, my…Hannah, is that you? Hannah, what’s…Hannah, slow down, I can’t understand you! What”—Krysten steered a grave glance at Tricia. Something’s seriously wrong with Hannah, Trish! “Hannah, you have to calm down, I can’t…Hannah? Hannah, you have to calm down, stop crying…okay, yeah, she’s right here, Hannah, you just hang on a second, okay?” She covered the handset, gazed at Trish again with perplexity coloring her gravity. “It’s Hannah, but—but it’s like she’s terrified of something! All I could get from her was something about someone coming back again, and she had to talk to you. Anything else, she was crying too hard for me to understand!”

Tricia took the phone. “Hannah, it’s me…yeah, I remember…you…you’re sure? How do you…yeah…” And Tricia’s apple-cheeked face rounded into an expression of horror that chilled Krysten. “Oh my god…oh my god!… When did…oh my god…and you’re sure it’s…Hannah, listen to me, okay? You stay right there—right there, you hear? I’m coming over right now!” And the phone was in its cradle, Trish racing to gather up her coat—

“What’s wrong with Hannah?” Krysten was far from certain she wanted to know the answer to her question as she stared at Tricia’s sudden near-panic. Something’s terribly wrong!

“Maggie O’Hara’s been kidnapped!” and Trish threw herself into her coat. “He broke in, tied up Hannah and took Maggie away!” As horrible as the news was, Krysten could see in Tricia’s horrified eyes that there was much more, and much more horrible, than even that. Krysten instinctively grabbed her coat. “No, Krys, you stay here—this is something Hannah and I have to do ourselves!”

“No! If you’re going, so am I! We stick together, just like always!”

“Krysten, I mean it! This is something that’s about me and Hannah! And Maggie,” Trish added with a strange softness.

“You’re in trouble, and you need all the help you can get. I’m coming too!” Trish had no time to argue, and in moments the two Snoops were running off toward the Snowden Place Apartments.

Anne had sent Hannah up to their apartment as soon as she could get Hannah to respond to her, had in fact led Hannah up to the apartment by her hand and sat her, still weeping, in the big easy chair before running down to Tony’s place. For a moment she stopped before Dr. McNeil’s door, wondering whether to…

No. Anne knew what had happened to Hannah and Tricia at George Bauman Junior’s hands that spring, but it still took a concerted effort on her part to believe it had actually happened. Had she not seen the evidence FBI Special Agent Bentley had shown them that day at the Cook Pot, she could never have believed it. So how could Jennifer? Not knowing what came next, she rushed down to console Tony and try to figure out their next step.

The stillness of the apartment coaxed Hannah’s reason into a semblance of function. Have to call Trish! As she dialed, the horror of not only Maggie’s peril but their own danger swirled in upon her again, and she could barely make herself understood to first Krysten, then Trish, and no sooner had she hung up than she had dissolved again, unable to face what she knew she had to face yet again.

From the haze of a conscious nightmare Hannah could hear a knock on the door, and she looked up at the opening door—

“Audrey?” she choked, for it was indeed Beatrice Anderson’s nightmare she had been reliving.

“That little cookbook?’” asked Anne, her hands wrapped around Tony’s. It was the message Hannah had been told to deliver by George Bauman, Junior—bring the cookbook. And the swirl of that spring day, the evidence Agent Bentley had provided…yes, that’s what it has to mean! “Tony, you know your grandfather was a professor here during World War Two, right?” Through his tears, he nodded. “You probably don’t know what he worked on,” remembering the utter secrecy of the Wells Machine.

“It was a time machine. Ma told me about it, from when she was a girl here.” He tried to rein in his tears as he looked up to face Anne. “She said she even saw it, she and a couple friends of hers from here got Granddad to sneak them in…It was why I picked Snowden State over USC, Anne, I wanted to look into it after Ma died, find out what it was all about, you know, and…” His self-control was crumbling again, and Anne strengthened her grip on his hand. “She told me she got kidnapped too, a couple Nazi agents, and…why? The war’s been over for ages, everyone’s dead by now! Who could…why drag Maggie into it? All the time dealing with those goddamned Fire Dragons I warned her to be careful, and now we come out here to the middle of nowhere, and…”

“It’ll be all right,”and Anne pressed Tony’s shuddering frame to her. “We’ll get Maggie back, I promise. We’ll…” She held back her own emotion, forced herself to stay rational. “We’ll figure out what to do, and we’ll get her back. Believe me.” From the look on his horror-contorted face, she could tell he wanted to believe.

“I don’t get it!” cried Krysten. “Who is this George Bauman? What would he want with Maggie O’Hara?” Tricia huffed impatiently—

But she really doesn’t know. She was doing the virtual wall, and we never told her before Agent Bentley… It had been a secret she and Hannah had kept, remembering Agent Bentley’s instructions. Besides, how could Krysten ever believe what had really happened, the lives and deaths Tricia and Hannah had fallen into? Only the memories of Audrey Browner’s long-lost life allowed Tricia herself to believe it had all really happened…and there was no time to explain it all now.

“Krys, I don’t have time to explain this to you! All I can say is that he’s serious, that Maggie’s in real bad trouble!”

“And us too,” said Hannah from the side of her bed, where she had gone to try to compose herself. “He wants us too, if Mr. O’Hara doesn’t have what he wants.”

“But what?” cried Krysten, her nerves strung beyond endurance by the mystification. “I don’t get it! What could you have that he wants? What’s so important that he wants all three of you!” And something finally struck her, something she had heard Hannah cry just as they opened the door… “And who’s Audrey? Hannah, you asked for Audrey! Who is she?”

“I…I can’t explain it,” said Tricia, the memories of Audrey’s last moments of life flooding in upon her again, knowing she might have to face that very same fate this very night. “But we have to go, Krysten, just me and Hannah, to save Maggie.”

“I’m going too!” Krysten would not be dissuaded.

“The police…” Tony choked, and Anne felt her heart squeeze in her chest. She had been there in the Cook Pot that day Agent Bentley had explained what he and Hannah and Tricia had lived through the Wells Machine, and its utter secrecy. “We can’t go to them. They’d never believe this, and if Ma was right, it’d still be top secret.”

“Yes. Hannah and Tricia tried to look into it last spring.” Hannah saw the confusion in Tony’s face. This has been way too much for him! “And we found that out the hard way.” How hard Anne hardly knew, for Hannah spoke little to her about the adventure of that very long day in the arboretum. “This cookbook…it’s the instructions for operating the Machine, isn’t it?”

Tony nodded. “Ma gave it to me a few months before she died, told me it was Granddad’s notes on how the Machine was built, how it runs. I tried to read it once but it was all gibberish to me. I’m just a cop, not some physicist.” He shuddered with horror. “I can’t give that to him! If this machine really does what Ma said it could do, who knows what could happen!” She saw him shudder again, saw his tears fall again. “But he has Maggie…I don’t know what to do!” Anne touched his trembling shoulder, saw that he was no longer a hardened cop but a helpless father frightened for his child. She knew what that felt like, too.

“I think we know someone who might be able to help us.” Thinking of a certain forensics professor who had had a number of her own adventures.

Tricia’s voice was squealing out of control. “Krysten, you can’t! I’m serious! There’s nothing you could do to help us! You’d only get hurt too!” Krysten saw the fear storming in Tricia’s eyes, and knew only something of the greatest danger could generate that kind of fright in Tricia Dwight’s eyes.

“Then I’m going to the police! If it’s too dangerous for me, it’s too dangerous for you too!” She sauntered toward Hannah’s bedroom door—

“No!” Hannah fairly screamed, bolting toward the door, barricading it with her own body after slamming it shut. “You can’t do that! Krysten, you don’t know what you’re doing!”

“The police would!” Krysten nerved herself to wrestle Hannah away from the door. “Hannah, we have to tell them!” She was the most diminutive girl in the room, but she was going to get to Detective Klasko no matter what—

Tricia saw that Hannah in her distraction had carried with her the very ropes Bauman had used to hogtie her, and an idea burst upon her. It was terrible, an awful betrayal, a part of her understood, but if it would save Krysten… She held up the ropes so Hannah could see, pointed silently at Krysten—Krysten saw a sudden sly understanding in Hannah’s hazel eyes as they seemed to glance past her—she turned—

“Trish, what are you doing with those”—and in an instant, Hannah’s long arms coiled around her—what?—“Hannah!” Hannah, pressing her advantage gainst Krysten’s surprise, drove Krysten toward the bed—“Trish!” as Tricia helped throw Krysten face-first on the bed—“what are you”—

“We meant it, Krys,” said Trish as she held Krysten down face-first until Hannah straddled the small of her back. “You can’t go with us, and you can’t go to the cops. It wouldn’t help—it would hurt!” She tossed the ropes to Hannah—

“Stop!” Krysten squealed as Hannah gathered up Krysten’s flailing arms. “ Stop it!” but her protest was useless, Tricia helping hold Krysten’s arms behind her and Hannah looping rope around Krysten’s wrists. “You can’t do this to me!”

“Krysten, we have to,” said Tricia, not unkindly, slipping off Krysten when she saw that Hannah had Krysten’s hands controlled. If Krysten gets help too soon… She scurried over to Hannah’s wardrobe as Hannah herself finished tying Krysten’s hands behind her back, discovering a cache of bandannas Hannah was in the habit of tying her hair back with when playing golf with her mom at Snowden Country Club. Perfect.

Krysten squealed when she saw Tricia approach with the big navy-blue bandannas, instantly divining what Trish intended for them. “Trish, no! I’ll scream!” Quick, before—

Trish timed her move perfectly, jamming one of the wadded big blue bandannas between Krysten’s lips the instant the diminutive redhead opened her mouth to scream. As the sound of the scream buried itself in the muffling cloth, Krysten looked up reproachfully at Tricia. “Twmmsh, nnm!” but Trish quickly spun the other bandanna into a cord and tied it between Krysten’s gag-parted lips.

Trish seemed apologetic. “I don’t like doing this, Krysten, but I meant it, okay? You can’t go with us!” She gazed a long moment at Hannah, remembered Beatrice, and Audrey herself began to speak. “Look,” Trish-Audrey murmured, gazing into Krysten’s confused and increasingly frightened eyes, “you have to stay here, because…” Tricia held back Audrey’s voice, spoke quietly to her first-ever Snowden friend. “Because…” and the fear that had been building in Tricia began to spill over in warm tears, “…if something happens to us…if we don’t come back…you have to—have to tell everyone what happened, make sure…” And her words were interrupted by a sigh from Hannah’s fear-parted lips. So intent was Krysten upon Trish’s words that she had hardly noticed Hannah tying her into a stringent hogtie. She followed Trish’s sudden glance up at—

“Audrey?” whimpered Hannah. Tricia-Audrey saw Beatrice’s timorousness glimmering in Hannah’s eyes. “What do we do now? Where do we go? He said to go back there with the cookbook. He said it like he thought I knew, but I was too scared to think! Where do you think he meant?”

“He wants the Machine, Bea,” said Audrey, Trish having retreated back inside herself as Hannah so obviously had done to make way for Bea, “just like before. That’s where we’ll end up.” She mused a pathetic, quiet moment. “But he has to be hiding somewhere with Maggie. And remember Willa Bauman saying that kids were stealing the padlocks off her basement?”

“He found out she closed it up. I’m sure she wouldn’t help him, but”—

“But he’d remember it from before, when they kept Maggie there. Magdalena, I mean.” Bea nodded soberly. “And you know he’ll be waiting for us. You know he’ll have set a trap, just like they did for us before.” Bea nodded, her lower lip betraying just a hint of a frightened quiver. Audrey noticed the quiver and the hesitancy it betokened, fighting one off herself. “Bea, if we don’t…everything we died for will be for nothing.”

Krysten’s mind reeled in helpless confusion as her two friends—why are they calling themselves those names?—quietly discussed dying, as if they knew that death was awaiting them. It was too surreal for Krysten to even think of fighting her bonds, of even making a noise…then Trish—why is Hannah calling her Audrey?—turned again to Krysten, knelt down to look into her eyes, Krysten suddenly wondering who she was looking at. “Please don’t try to stop us, Christine—Krysten, I mean,” said Trish, smiling sadly at her. “We have to do this alone, just us. Just…” The girl Krysten knew as Tricia Dwight—did she just call me Christine?—teared up again, laid a soft, moist, cool hand on her shoulder as their eyes met with a depth which tripped Krysten’s heart in her chest. “Don’t…don’t forget us, okay?” And she rose quickly, wiping the tears which had begun to fall.

Now Hannah knelt beside her, also locking her eyes in on Krysten’s. Hannah—Bea?—what’s happening? “I don’t think we’ll get out of this one,” said Hannah, hazel eyes full like Trish’s, “but…but if we do, I promise we’ll explain all of this to you. If we don’t…” Hannah’s tremulous mouth choked on a sob—“if we don’t, just…” Suddenly the cool trembling lips kissed Krysten’s cheek, her long cold fingers gently caressed Krysten’s straying red tresses, and for a moment that seemed to defy reality itself, the two girls gazed into each other’s eyes. “G-goodbye, Krysten,” and Hannah—or Bea?—stole away with a gasping sob, closing the bedroom door behind her on a Krysten even more helpless in her frightened consternation than she was in her hogtie and gag.

Lord, help me. No—help them!

Chapter Text

11 Traps

The sudden news—the two neighbors so stricken with it—had more than stunned Jennifer McNeil. Maggie gone! Kidnapped!—and the little imagination it took to picture what peril poor little Maggie was in utterly blindsided her, took her as if bodily back to that moment again, that one moment of all others in her whole adventurous, often perilous life which she would give everything to forget. Even better, to go back and keep from ever happening.

“Dr. McNeil?” cried Anne, seeing her neighbor sag in her chair. “Jennifer?” The given name made Jennifer start, recall her a tiny degree or two from the emotional whirlpool that one soul-destroying moment had spun for her. “What do we do? You’ve handled these kinds of things before—what should we do?” But Jennifer was still distracted, her mind fixed on that one image she was sure linked little Maggie O’Hara to that one moment. Ligature marks. She tried to speak, tried to rally herself, but the image consumed her again, as it had ever since then, every time her carefully-disciplined mind had wandered back. “We can’t go to the police, Jennifer, and we’re at our wits’ end!”

“Then…” Jennifer trailed off, thinking of all she could have done to stop that moment, replaying all the things she had constantly berated herself for not doing, not realizing—again—that all those options weren’t really real. “You have to see him, deal with him…just get her back, Anne, Tony, just…get her back. Lord, get her back…” She swung her face away, choked out a sob. If only…just…get her back…”

Anne stared, tried to understand why the famously level-headed Dr. Jennifer McNeil was so unraveled by the news. Yes, she likes Maggie, but… “Jennifer?” Despite the press of the racing minutes but unwilling to leave her neighbor to her so-obvious distress, Anne rallied Dr. McNeil. “Is there something wrong?” Dr. McNeil’s face swung around, eyes ghastly round—

“No,” Jennifer murmured, managing to control her face despite the horror. “Just…go find her…get her back…”

Main Street at night, almost deserted with the snow and cold, looked to the two girls like it had before, back in that last spring of their lives, 1942. They could picture Wakeman’s Pharmacy in its place, the diner, the bank…

“The bakery,” said Audrey in a hushed voice, knowing what Beatrice was thinking. The act of doing something, anything, even just walking into the trap, settled their fear, and Audrey found herself once again sharing Tricia’s self with its owner, as Tricia too found courage in taking action. Be brave, Tricia. “Willa said she could hear the rats down there. I bet it was a bigger rat than she ever thought!” Bea’s eyes turned toward her, Hannah managing a dismal smile at a joke she recognized as indubitably Trish’s.

“What do you think he has planned?” As if it mattered anyhow.

“He’ll get us inside first. Once he has us, Maggie’s not important to him except to get the cookbook or whatever from her dad.” She gazed darkly at her friend. “Of course, she doesn’t actually have to be alive for him to do that.”

Hannah nodded, fighting her fear with all her and Beatrice’s might. “He’ll threaten to hurt her, and we can’t let him.” And there was the basement door, hidden in the shadow of the alley, no padlock in place. Inviting their entry.

“We’ll get Maggie,” and Tricia gently squeezed her friend’s elbow. If it kills us, as it probably will. She turned the doorknob, but the door didn’t move.

Anne was loath to leave Jennifer in such obvious distress. She offered tea, a blanket, a neighbor to come to her—just the kind of thing that’s up Betty Tompkins’ alley, Anne told herself—but Jennifer refused all aid, merely urging Anne and Tony to get Maggie back. Get her back.

“I’ll get my coat,” Anne said to Tony as they passed Anne’s front door. “I think I have an idea where they might”—and she pushed open her front door, opening to an empty living room.

“Hannah?” she called. “Hannah Nicole?” And a muffled, mewling squeak reached her ears from behind Hannah’s bedroom door—

“Hannah!” and Anne raced to the door—

They heard a familiar voice from behind the door. “I see you’ve arrived, girls,” the voice of George Bauman Junior teased. “Just a moment, and you’ll be able to open the door.” They thought they heard a small scuffling sound through the door, and then a small silence. “Come in, don’t be shy. Your friend is waiting for you.” With a frightened smirk, Tricia pushed the door—it yielded easily, silently, to her push—

They were confronted with a small curtain just inside the door. “Close the door and come on through,” said Bauman, his voice a deadly tease. “Close the door first.” Imagining a knife at Maggie’s throat at that very moment, Hannah complied and shut the door. The parted the light black curtain—

Hannah’s eyes instantly met Maggie’s, and the distress in her bound-and-gagged friend’s black eyes—she’s been crying, Hannah thought with sudden anger at Bauman—pushed Beatrice Anderson aside as Hannah tried once again to console Maggie with her expression. We’ll rescue you, Maggie!

Trish saw that Bauman sat with Maggie across the small basement, a knife point resting lightly on the side of Maggie’s throat. Damned coward! Hannah was right—he’s going to use Maggie to control us! She saw the means of that control hanging from a nail at the foot of the now-useless stairs, the very one Bauman had escaped up that afternoon last spring. Two pairs of dimly-glittering handcuffs.

Bauman grinned as he saw her notice the cuffs. “That’s right, Miss Dwight. I ain’t going to try to fight two strong young ladies like you and Miss Watson, so you’re going to restrain yourselves. To keep your friend Maggie here safe,” and he dug the knife ever so slightly into Maggie’s throat, eliciting a timorous squeak from Maggie’s taped mouth. “We haven’t all night to do this, girls! I’m getting impatient, so just do what I tell you. Take down the handcuffs—there’s one set for each of you—and cuff your hands behind your backs. For Maggie’s sake.” and he glanced whimsically down at the knife teasing at Maggie’s tender throat.

Tricia scowled at him as she and Hannah took down the handcuffs. “You’re a coward.” Baffled by Bauman’s knife at Maggie’s throat, Trish snapped the cuffs on her wrists behind her back as ordered—the man snickered at her helpless outrage.

Maggie mewled at Hannah in protest as Hannah snapped the first cuff on her wrist. “No, it’s okay, Maggie,” said Hannah as a desperate idea suggested itself to her. “As long as it gets you set free, it’s okay.” With a nervous sigh, Hannah slipped her hands behind her back and fastened the cuffs in place. “The only important thing is you. You’ll be okay.” At least if my idea works.

Bauman demanded to see the girls’ handiwork, and they both turned him their backs to show that they had indeed securely handcuffed themselves. He called them over. “That’s better.” he grinned airily. “Come on over to me.” His newest captives shuffled toward him across the dirt floor with surly pouts on their faces. “You can’t put up much of a fight that way.” He reached for cloth and tape. “But we also have to make sure you don’t put up any fuss either. So let’s just fill up those pretty little mouths of yours.”

“Look,” said Hannah, “you have us now. We won’t fight you. But you don’t need Maggie now. You can let her go.” Hannah felt her tummy contract as the man grinned at her. “Please, just let her go.” Trish, listening silently to Hannah, understood now better than ever what Hannah felt for Maggie. You love her, Hannah—you love her like a real sister! “Please…”

“Oh, but I do need Maggie. Her daddy still hasn’t brought me my cookbook. I trust you delivered my message, Miss Watson.”

“Yes,” said Hannah, trying not to cry in front of Maggie. “I did just what you told me. So please, please let Maggie go!”

Bauman winked. “No such luck. And you’re just making enough noise to convince me you need that gag. Open wide,” and he raised a cloth to Hannah’s lips. “For Maggie’s sake.” Which was all the convincing Hannah needed.

“Krysten!” cried Anne as she rushed to the tightly-hogtied redhead mewling on Hannah’s bed. “What happened? Where’s Hannah? Where did he take her?” Anne picked at the cloth cleaved into Krysten’s mouth; with an impatient flick of her head, Krysten finished freeing the gag from her mouth—

“They left,” Krysten gasped, squirming to help Mr. O’Hara untie her. “Trish and Hannah, they—I told them we should go to the police, but they wouldn’t, and I tried to get out and go get them myself, and then they grabbed me and tied me up and gagged me, and…” Now the memory of those last moments rushed in upon her, and her delicate brow knit. “They’re going to see George Bauman, they told me they had to go back there and see him to get Maggie back, and…” Krysten’s face twisted into bewildered, frightened confusion. “They said something about a machine he wanted, that he’d set a trap for them, and…they said something about dying, they said if they didn’t go everything they died for was for nothing, and…I don’t get it, Ms. Watson! When did they die—and what was it? What are they talking about?” Krysten read a world of ominous meaning into Ms. Watson’s silence. “And they’re scared, Ms. Watson, they’re so frightened! They think they’re going to die…they told me goodbye, to remember them…” Krysten, remembering those last moments, the tenderness on Trish and Hannah’s faces, felt her moist blue eyes welling up with her own frightened tears. “And...and they called each other Audrey and Bea! They called me Christine! What’s it all about? I don’t understand!”

“You will later,” said Anne, squeezing her small pink hand. “Honey, thank you so much for telling me what they did. If we’re lucky, we’ll get them all back all right.” She gave Hannah’s distraught friend a gentle, reassuring squeeze to her trembling shoulders. “I promise, honey.” She stood, seeing the determination in Tony’s eyes Anne felt in her own frame. We really will.

Bauman snickered as he helped Maggie to her feet, having cut her legs free from the ropes which bound them. “Now we’re all ready for our road trip.” He had exchanged the handcuffs he had forced Tricia and Hannah to bind themselves with for rope, tying their hands and then releasing the cuffs. Just in case he needed them, he told the girls with a cruel snicker. For Tony, the girls guessed dismally to themselves, unable to speak for their taped gags. The three girls exchanged worried looks as Bauman corralled them toward the door. Trish and Hannah knew there was a van parked right outside. “We’ll take care of my business, and then we’re done.” And so are we, Trish and Hannah told themselves as they exchanged a frightened glance. But please, Hannah pleaded desperately to whatever deity could hear her, certain her idea had not worked, not Maggie too!

Krysten had been left in the Watson apartment under strict orders to stay right where she was. But her acute hearing, as she mutinously cracked the front door open just the slightest bit to see what was happening, could pick up the sound of Ms. Watson talking to Dr. McNeil down the hall, the forensics professor Trish had been so excited about meeting. Soon enough, though, she heard Ms. Watson and Mr. O’Hara hustle downstairs. Why wouldn’t Dr. McNeil help?

She sat dismally in the apartment as Ms. Watson ordered, wondering what was happening around her. Nothing about it made sense except that Maggie was kidnapped and in danger, and Trish and Hannah were risking their lives to try to save her. Of course Mr. O’Hara and Ms. Watson were frightened—who wouldn’t be?—and Dr. McNeil had to see that! Why won’t she help?

The three girls were sat unceremoniously in the back of the van; first Maggie, then Trish, finally Hannah. Where they sat, Bauman quickly tied each girl’s feet with a quick but effective-enough loop of rope. Hannah nearly wept at the cruelty of their arrangement; he could have sat Maggie and me together! But it would be of little matter, Hannah knew; soon enough it would all be over for her and Tricia, and…well, Hannah mused as her tears fell again, at least I had a sister for a little while!

Obedience was part of the very core of Krysten Parker’s being. From her earliest childhood she had been taught by precept, example, and the occasional spanking to obey her elders. By this her fifteenth year, it was utterly instinctual for her to obey her elders. And Ms. Watson had told her to stay in the apartment.

And if I do, Hannah and Trish might die! They need help, and I don’t think Ms. Watson or Mr. O’Hara are in any shape to help them! But Ms. Watson told me to stay here!

How did Tricia and Hannah die before? When? Why? Is it something to do with them calling each other Audrey and Bea? With calling me Christine? Why Christine? Krysten remembered, with a shudder, her own death only a couple years back, the frigid waters of Cold Water Lake, the horror of feeling her life slip away as she watched Trish writhing beside her, helpless in the killing depths. We both should be dead! And from some bleak corner of her imagination, Krysten pictured Tricia and Hannah in caskets, friends filing past, horrified at what had been done to them—

And the instinct broke under Krysten’s feet, feet which ran toward Dr. McNeil’s apartment to beg her to help save her friends.

“Are you sure this is the place?” asked Tony as he and Anne stared at the empty basement. There had been no padlock, and the door yielded easily. To reveal nothing at all. “Someone’s been here,” the cop that Tony still was observed darkly.

“This was where they kept your grandmother, Tony,” One of the few things Hannah had spoken of from the spring she had spent as Bea Anderson that day was Maggie Provenzini’s kidnapping, since the final denouement of “the case of the secret weapon” had ended in this very basement at Agent Bentley’s hands. Except for George Bauman Junior getting away. “And yes, they’ve been here.” She stooped and picked up something from a corner of the floor. “I gave this to Hannah for her birthday,” and Anne held out a small silver pinky ring. “She was on a jewelry kick this fall, and she just loved it!” And just maybe… “I bet she left this to show they were here!” And Anne felt hope rise inside her.

“But where are they now?”

“The Wells Machine!” Anne seized Tony’s hand and led him to the waiting car.

Jennifer McNeil stared at the shallow amber pool in the small glass she held, staring at nothingness as the images trampled her psyche yet again. As they had before, they crushed all life out of her, left her with nothing except a desire to erase them from her memory. She remembered, with a wave of self-revulsion, that she had fallen into the trap of the drink, had hoped it would kill enough of her mind to erase that one poignantly destructive moment. She had hated her Uncle Declan for that very weakness, as a youth had been sickened by old man’s drunkenness, and the very thought of it again dragged her memory even farther back, to a certain friend she had had for all too short a time.

She put down the drink, tried to make herself move, make herself help Anne and Tony. But it was no use, and she sat drowning in the memories which imprisoned her—

The door opened with an imperative swish—a small young lady, pink-toned and redheaded, marched through it—“Dr. McNeil, I’m Hannah’s friend Krysten. She’s out there with Trish, they’re trying to find Maggie O’Hara, but they need help. They need you!” Her nerve exhausted by her imperative arrival and short strong speech, Krysten held out her hands. “Please, Dr. McNeil, they need you!” She was rewarded only with a strange stare.

Jennifer McNeil belatedly recognized the girl from Hannah’s yearbooks, the cute, heart-shaped face and limpid blue eyes clearly those of one Krysten Parker. But this was no black-and-white yearbook photo, and the resemblance as this small, dewy girl stood imploring her help in her very presence, was uncanny. No, supernatural. The red hair was more fiery than the strawberry blonde she remembered, the height just a little less, the high bright voice smaller and more delicate, but the face—oh, the face, the delicate pink tone, the liquid blue eyes, the small sweet nose and mouth, the expressive little chin… It’s impossible, beyond reality. Maybe even beyond coincidence!

And she’s right, like Anne and Tony were right…and with this miraculous little girl here, speaking straight at me, it’s as if…and suddenly Jennifer found she could put the image aside; it still oppressed her but could not enervate her, the small sweet face drawing her to her feet, drawing her past the image.

“You’re right,” said Jennifer—Calico—McNeil, rising to her feet. “And I think I know where we might find them.”

He had parked below the arboretum, walked the three gagged, helpless girls through the trees from a direction no one on a deserted-campus Friday night would notice. Toward the Machine, Hannah and Tricia noted with quivering dread.

Hannah had managed to wriggle herself beside Maggie, steadying her quailing spirit by keeping her friend in her gaze, compelling herself to be strong for Maggie’s sake. Yes, Trish, Hannah almost managed to smile to herself beneath the tape over her mouth, like a big sister.

And there was the place—the small steep embankment, the rocky ground, the depression where the hidden door stood. “Well, here we are. Now, Miss Hannah,” and he rudely pulled her away from Maggie with a crushing grip on her arm, “you’re going to get us inside. I know you can do it; you did it before.” That awful day in spring, Hannah recalled.

All she could do was buy time for Maggie. She shuffled her feet, moving small rocks to find the one which opened the door to the long-lost sub-basement. She moved deliberately, taking her time finding the small rocklike switch. A cold breeze chilled her leotard-clad frame as her foot found the slyly hidden cover—

“Stop right the hell there, Bauman!” a man’s voice cried from the darkness—

Mr. O’Hara!

Bauman smiled ironically. “Ah, my friends told me you might drop in on me.” Bauman chuckled. “In fact, they were counting on it.”

“Well, I’m here. Give me back Maggie.”

“And Hannah,” Anne demanded in a similar truculent tone. “And Tricia.” Lest Trish think we’re abandoning her. They advanced threateningly on Bauman—

Bauman snickered as they advanced, only a few steps away now. “Only in exchange. My friends and I want something from you, O’Hara. I think you know what it is.”

“Go to hell.”

“I see you need more encouragement.” Bauman glanced narrowly—yes, close enough—and with a quick grab he caught Anne by surprise, dragging her back against him by her arm—

“Let them go!” O’Hara’s resolution was shaken by the sudden capture and the possible meaning behind that mention of friends. Not Anne too! “It’s me you want, the cookbook. Let them go and you can have me. The book too.”

Bauman giggled, certain he was in command. “You know it doesn’t work that way. Lucky for me I kept these cuffs handy,” and in moments he had cuffed a stunned, disoriented Anne’s hands behind her back. He grabbed Maggie, gathering both her and Anne before him, the knife now unsheathed at their throats. “Poor Tony! I have his two favorite girls right here helpless, and he can’t do anything about it. Well,” and his smile was cruel, “there is one thing! See, Ms. Watson’s little girl here is going to get us in to the Wells Machine, where we’re going to wait while you go fetch the cookbook. Then you and me, O’Hara, are going to take a little trip back home. Your home, that is, to go see my friends”—and a sudden racking click in the darkness suddenly stopped Bauman’s taunting. The click, and of course the sudden cool press of a pistol muzzle against the back of his head.

“Move one muscle, just one.” Calico McNeil pressed the muzzle even harder against Bauman’s scalp. “I’d love an excuse.”

“I’d watch where that bullet goes,” said Bauman, all strained nonchalance, rallying against this sudden surprise. “You wouldn’t want to hurt Detective O’Hara’s two best girls, would you?” Calico hesitated a moment, trying to quickly calculate the path of her shot and whether it—

Bauman spun quickly, catching Calico off-guard, but his grasp at her pistol failed, a sudden slash of his knife deflecting off her coat sleeve. She brought the pistol to bear again—

“Stop!” a voice shrieked, and suddenly Anne and Maggie were tossed to the ground—Calico fired at the fleeing man—

“Damn!” Calico swore. “He got away!”

“That’s all right,” cried Tony, running to the fallen girls and helping them up. “You saved Maggie and Anne. And Hannah and…” For a moment he forgot the mischievous brunette’s name. “Anyhow,” and he peeled tape from the girls’ mouths and gathered Maggie and Anne to him, “thanks. Thank God!” he mewled, hugging those two best girls of his—

“Yes,” said Dr. McNeil as she helped untie the girls, “thank God.” She turned to where a small redhead was emerging from the screen of trees. “But thank Krysten most of all.” She smiled at the miraculous little girl, who blushed and smiled in reply as she helped free her friends. “I certainly do.” For saving me.

Chapter Text

12 Hearts and Hearths

They searched the arboretum in vain for Bauman; even his van had disappeared. Obviously, Trish deduced, Bauman had escaped while Dr. McNeil and Tony freed the rest of them. “You should have run after him,” said Trish, mildly reproachful as the group trooped to the road where the two cars were parked. “You could have untied us later! We weren’t going anywhere!”

“Normally I would agree,” said Hannah, guiding Maggie toward the road with a gentle hand on her shoulder, “but I’m just as glad they cut Maggie loose when they did.”

“I was okay,” said Maggie, objecting mildly, her naturally-nasal soprano abetted by the breezy chill, clinging close to Hannah—to share body heat, she lied to herself. “Well,” and she cringed sheepishly, “I was pretty frightened, but only when I was alone with him. When we were together,” and she smiled up at the slightly-taller Hannah, “I was pretty okay. Just seeing how strong you were.” It was a better act than I thought, Hannah decided.

As they walked, Dr. McNeil seemed more and more troubled, more and more shaky, so Anne drove her back to Snowden Place in her Buick with Krysten and Tricia while Tony took Anne’s own car back with Maggie and Hannah in tow. In moments they all were back in the warm, dim surroundings of Apartment 214, the residence of Dr. Jennifer—Calico—McNeil. “I’m okay, honest,” Jennifer objected quietly as her unexpected troop of guests tended solicitously to her comfort. None more so than a bemused Krysten. “This little lady,” and she smiled moistly at Krysten, “did wonders for me. Thank you so much.” She reached up from her chair to touch Krysten’s small pink hand.

“You’re welcome,” said Krysten, smiling with her usual sweet politeness, “but I’m still not sure what I did!” She cringed a little. “I’m not even sure what-all just happened!”

Jennifer smiled sadly, the image still there, but in her grasp instead of her in its. “No, you wouldn’t, sweetheart. It’s just…well, you remind me of someone very special to me.” Anne, and Hannah, Tricia, and even Maggie sat close, understanding that somehow their friend Krysten formed a link to whatever it was that had so prostrated Dr. McNeil.

“Who?” asked Anne, reaching for Jennifer’s hand. And finally, after so long, surrounded by loving friends who needed nothing from her but instead were giving her so much, she found the need to finally say it, to finally speak of the image she had never spoken of, had won out over the old impulse to put it away from her forever. She sighed, felt herself blinking hard as the memory—all the memories—began to speak.

“You know my girl Bridget, and my son Cody, the drill instructor,” pointing out the photos decorating the shelves and walls. “But…but there was one other,” and she took a small box from the bottom of a shelf. “I—I loved her so much, my baby…” Trembling hands produced a small framed photo, a high-school senior drape photo, a young lady with wavy strawberry-blonde hair, and a heart-shaped pink face with liquid blue eyes and small delicate features. Who bore a striking similarity to Krysten. The girls all sighed sadly, beginning to understand. “Michelle,” whispered Jennifer, gazing tearfully on the photo. “She’s my”—she swallowed a sob, held the photo close to her. “She was my youngest. She looked so pretty in her yearbook drape…” Jennifer’s face streamed now with released tears. “She went to Temple, to study journalism. She was going to be an investigative reporter.”

“Tell us,” Krysten whispered. “Tell us what happened.”

Looking upon the miraculous child, the weeping Jennifer nodded. “She and her friend, Miranda…” Jennifer lifted up a smaller photo of two little girls posing merrily at a birthday party, a perky strawberry blonde and a bubbly little brunette, “best friends all their lives, they both went there, Miranda went into criminal justice, she was going to be a detective…everyone called them M ‘n’ M, Michelle and Miranda, where you found one you found the other…” Sort of like us, Krysten’s moist blue eyes told Tricia’s, whose misty brown eyes agreed. “Last spring,” and Jennifer’s face contorted just the smallest degree, “Michelle told me she and Miranda had caught on to a drug-dealing ring on campus, they were going to expose it and turn them in to the police. The girls were so excited…” Jennifer’s lip began to quake. “I told them to be careful, druggies can be nasty when it comes to protecting their franchise, be careful…but they’d done that sort of thing before, just like you girls…” Suddenly, Jennifer’s face looked very old, as if the memory drew life out of its owner. “That day, it was a Saturday I remember, I asked Michelle to lunch that day but she was busy…they called me in to Exam Two, it was a new assistant, hadn’t met the girls…just told me it was a bad one, thought the whole business was exciting…then…oh, God… Miranda …” The only sound in the apartment was Jennifer’s tremulous breathing, her broken voice. “Ligature marks around her wrists and ankles, narrow, broke the skin, piano wire, some of the nastier muscle uses it to keep their victims from struggling. The bleed-out from all the cuts, the bruising…no fiber or tape residue around her mouth, no gag, so…” Jennifer shuddered. “They tortured her, probably to find out what she might have told anyone about them…then…deep cutting ligature mark around her neck, they…they strangled her with the wire…” Jennifer’s voice swirled with agony. “I was just wondering how…how I was going to tell Michelle…Bob came in, asked me into Exam One…I didn’t notice the look on his face, not until after…then…then…I went into One…” Her voice dribbled to a halt, unable to go on to the last thing, the image itself. But she didn’t have to.

“Oh my God,” Anne’s stricken whisper breathed, her hand at her lips as she understood what Jennifer had beheld there. But her soft cry seemed to rally Jennifer, whose lips moved, breath finally coming to her.

“…they’d tortured her too, tied her with that wire, cut her and beat her, the…the marks, and… my baby …” And now the final stopper to her emotions had fallen free, and she wept with the broken sorrow she had never allowed herself in the face of needing to be strong for Bridget and Cody. A whole year of bereavement poured out of her as all of her guests circled her, twined their arms and their sympathy around her, absorbed an agony beyond any they could comprehend. It may have been five minutes, maybe five hours or five days, but slowly Jennifer returned to herself by small bits and pieces, mastered an agony that had been her master for a year since that day, and she managed a sad smile even as her tears kept coursing down her face. “I couldn’t go back, every time I even looked at the building all I could see was…was my baby…Snowden had already contacted me, and I went back and asked if the offer was still open…so I closed up and came here. Bridget wanted me to move out West with her, have a gracious retirement. Mom just wanted me to settle down with her at home, Cody wanted me to go down to South Carolina and be a consultant, like Kay Scarpetta I guess…” Tear by tear, Calico McNeil was mastering herself again. “But I could still feel it, I still knew I had something to do, and if I couldn’t keep at my work, well, I could…teach others to do it, and…well, here I am!” She managed a warm smile now, looking up at that bunch of young ladies. “Things don’t happen for no reason. I was meant to be here. Maybe it was to remember why I started in crime detection in the first place. Maybe it was to make more like me. Maybe even including you,” and she winked at the Snoops. Then her gaze fell on Krysten. “And maybe it was so I could feel again, start to heal. Maybe it’s all of that. And maybe it’s so I could be here for a bunch of wonderful young ladies, help them, protect them…” Jennifer even managed a miserable giggle. “I do know a little about being a girl-sleuth!” Well, Trish smiled at Krysten as they soothed and petted Dr. McNeil, not all Snoops have to be teenagers, I guess!

The lackey cringed. “It appears, ma’am, that our man in Snowden has failed. O’Hara and the Wells Machine are both out of our grasp.”

She sat staring coldly at nothing, digesting the news of failure. With a servile cough, the lackey spoke again. “This Bauman has run away. Should we settle accounts with him, ma’am?”

She had already digested the failure of this attempt, already planning the next steps to take. Bauman was in the past. “No. This Bauman is a fool, and fools never fail to meet their just desserts. We have no time to pursue him, but I expect he’ll cross our path again. We can settle matters when that happens. We should focus our efforts on the Wells Machine. Bauman was right about that one thing, that O’Hara went to that place because of it. The Machine will bring both itself and O’Hara to us if we pursue them properly.” And with that, the lackey knew, the conversation was over, and he obsequiously withdrew.

Yes, patience is the thing, Madame Chang told herself. Time is on our side.

Trish and Hannah had both felt their secret companions, Audrey Browner and Bea Anderson, fade back into their subconscious minds as the adventure fell behind them. But that night in Hannah’s room, they had slipped free, free enough for someone to notice.

Krysten.

She had bugged and cajoled for a week, enlisted Missy’s insistent aid, then Maggie’s, wore down Trish and Hannah’s resistance until finally cornering Trish on another snow day and forcing out the story through means of a creatively vague threat about things she would tell Bobby Martin and Anthony Scott if Trish and Hannah would not satisfy her curiosity. Small and dainty as Krysten Parker was, both Snoops knew she could be dangerous when crossed, so… “Well, for one thing,” said Trish, temporizing between bites of Big Mama’s pizza fairly delivered by dogsled, “I didn’t want to ruin the way you think about your grandmother”—

“I always knew my grandmother is a stuck-up biddy, Trish! That’s where all the Simpsons get it from!” Krysten allowed herself a sip of cola; it was forbidden in her home. “That’s what got me thinking most of all. You never knew my grandmother was named Christine, and that’s the only Christine you could confuse me with.” And again the conundrum creased Krysten’s brow. “But...seriously, really...you went back in time? That was what you and Hannah did while Missy and I were doing the virtual wall project? How many times did you”—

Hannah giggled, enjoying the agog stared from Krysten. And Missy. And especially Maggie. “You’ve heard of ‘all summer in a day?’ They’d read the short story in eighth-grade language-arts class. “We did all spring in one afternoon!”

“And you said...that night, while hogtying and gagging me, you two said you’d died!”

Which wiped the giggle straight off Hannah’s face. “Bea blew up the first version of the Machine to keep it away from the Nazis. They couldn’t escape, and old Bauman was about to hand it over to the Nazi spies, but she could reach one of the levers with her feet.” Hannah sighed back the memory. “That’s why we sneaked her and Audrey’s names onto the virtual wall. And why we have to keep watching for George Bauman. He still wants the Machine, and he knows Maggie’s dad has the instructions. He went back with us too.”

“I found their old yearbook,” said Missy, unnerved by the ominousness of George Bauman. “You and Trish really do look like that Audrey and Beatrice!” She blinked hard at Maggie. “And you’re like an identical twin for that Maggie Provenzini! No wonder you got that weird feeling about the bakery! I bet part of her is in you like these two liars say the other girls are in them!”

Trish rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Missy.” Big Missy bridled—“And so of course your dad brought back the instruction manual. Part of me would kind of like to try it again.” Hannah winked. The part of you that’s Audrey, I bet. Like Bea does too. “And by the way, Missy, did you know that before your grandmother and Maggie Provenzini became friends, she called her a fish-ea”—

Missy’s lip dropped. “You can’t know that! She only told me once, when I was fighting with Krysten back in fourth grade!”

Trish got her grin back. “I was there, Missy! I knew your grandmother Grace, and Maggie Provenzini, and”—

“And Eugene Fulton,” said Krysten with a sparkling giggle that flicked a momentary blush onto Trish’s face. A blush Trish could not suppress quite in time. “I saw his picture in that yearbook, too. And the obit that said Bobby Martin’s his great-grandson! They’re another set of twins!” The dismay on Trish’s face was precious, she decided. “And you’ve been getting more and more friendly with Bobby ever since, so...”

“Don’t-even-think-it, Krysten Parker!” Trish bridled, but the sly grin on Hannah’s lips gave Krysten permission to think it anyway. You are so right, Krys—there’s no way they don’t end up together! I was there to see that, too, Audrey Tricia!

Tony and Anne had planned a long evening that Friday night. Dinner, an exhibit at the Snowden State art gallery, a movie in Center City, maybe even a couple drinks afterwards. Their dinner at the Canton Palace was an exquisite hint of the evening to come, despite the two parents’ worries that their children might end the evening with yet another life-and-death crisis. A worry they knew was merely superstition, for Hannah and Maggie already had a date of their own.

With Dr. McNeil.

Not merely Hannah and Maggie, but Tricia and Krysten and even Missy Bonhart had been called out as guests of the famous Dr. McNeil for a night of girl-sleuth war stories over a long languid dinner at Pietro’s. It wasn’t the best Italian, both Dr. McNeil and Maggie agreed, but taken together with their company it was more than good enough.

They had closed down Pietro’s, not difficult in itself since the restaurant closed at eleven, and Dr. McNeil drove her car-full of young guests home afterward. Krysten and Missy, next-door neighbors, were first; Krysten would rather have been dropped with Tricia at her boyfriend Tyler’s house, but Parker curfews were dangerous things to trifle with, even by a Snowden State professor. A sleepy Trish was dropped at her home on Passmore Street, pleased with herself not only for impressing Dr. McNeil—oops, she reminded herself, she wants us to call her Calico!—with her sleuthing exploits but also for catching the eyes of the college boys partying a few tables down. Well, she smiled as she closed her door with a drowsy hand, we all got a few looks, even Calico.

Which left Hannah and Maggie. Seeing that no one was yet home at either the O’Hara or the Watson apartment, Calico invited—as prearranged with both Tony and Anne—Maggie and Hannah to pass the time with her until the two parents got back from their date. The drinks were the soft variety, of course, and upon discovering that her guests were hungry again already Calico ordered in pizza. While checking that she had plenty of Tums and telling herself she was getting just a bit old to be trying to keep up with two teenage girls—

Who were still looking as fresh as the proverbial daisies at midnight and past. Maggie’s glossy, wavy raven and Hannah’s silky blonde tresses were still perfect, their eyes still bright, their energy still keen. No wonder they turned those guys’ heads, Calico smiled to herself; they’re both beautiful! The unexpectedly warm—lows only in the mid-30s—early-February night convinced Maggie to wear a layered rose-and-white tee with a black-satin miniskirt and matching rose pantyhose, and Hannah chose a somewhat longer royal-blue skirt with white top and tights. Which earned both of them their fair share of guys’ glances. “Well,” Maggie said quietly as she noted the 12:45 on the wall clock in Calico’s living room, “if they’re out this late, maybe that’s a good thing.” Her two friends, Hannah and Calico, both knew what she meant. Ever since that harrowing night at George Bauman Junior’s hands, his mention of “friends” still lively in Tony’s memory, he had ruminated about whether to pick up and move again, lest those friends turn out to be the remnants of the broken Fire Dragons come back for vengeance. Anne, for her part, had pointed out that if the Fire Dragons had found him on the opposite side of the country it would matter little wherever he moved; Maggie, for her part, did not miss the trenchant irony that she, who had pouted for weeks at the prospect of moving to Snowden, had now gone on an extended pout at the prospect of moving away from Snowden. But she had her reasons, the most important of which was at that moment nibbling tepid pizza with her and Calico.

“Mom can be very convincing,” said Hannah, hoping herself that Tony could be persuaded to put down permanent roots.

“What will happen, will happen,” said Calico as lightly as she could with heavy eyelids listening to the siren call of sleep. “Remember, everything happens for a reason, girls, I learned that from the bunch of you. Especially Krysten.” Such a miraculous little gi—I mean, young lady! “You two need a little more faith!” And even as Calico smiled at her new friends, they heard the tread of footsteps—a man’s and a woman’s—pass the front door.

The girls strained to hear what was happening outside the closed door, but the voices were just too low by half to be understood. With a sly slow hand, Maggie opened the door a hairsbreadth—

“You’re a Snoop, all right,” whispered Hannah as Maggie lowered her ear to the minute crack. “Does your dad know you’re into eavesdropping?” Maggie urgently pressed her finger to her lips, and Hannah quieted, even putting her own ear to the crack—

They heard low voices at the very edge of audibility, Tony speaking of danger, of not wanting to draw Anne and Hannah into his mess, and the two daughters’ hearts tightened. But Anne held her ground; she spoke of courage, of not running away, of having already faced danger. The voices lowered even more, until finally neither girl could hear anything. Long minutes of silence, until their patience could bear no more. With a breathless sigh, Maggie and Hannah pushed open the door enough to peek out into the hall—Calico heard two shocked gasps from her guests—

“Wow,” cried Maggie as she pushed the door all the way open, taking in the scene down the hall, “that’s serious tonsil hockey!” And giggled at the term she had picked up from Trish Dwight. Calico could practically hear her two young guests’ grins—

“Mom,” said Hannah, teasing Anne and Tony with a sly, grinning tilt of her head and a humorously-embarrassed twist of her hips, “you guys need to go rent a room or something!” Only then, positively busted, did Tony and Anne’s pressed-together lips part, but their arms remained tightly wrapped around each other as they turned blushing smiles toward their daughters. And Hannah’s grin warmed into something very much deeper as she read the triumphant glow in her mom’s eyes.

“We’re adults, Hannah Nicole,” said Anne, teasing back.

“And this is a second date, Maggie!” said Tony with a wink at Maggie that instantly evaporated her apprehensions, just before he turned his attention—and his lips—back toward Anne.

“Whatever, Dad,” said Maggie as she and Hannah strolled past their passionately-consumed parents. “Hannah and I, we’ll just crash downstairs tonight. We’ll see you two in the morning!” and she winked jocosely at her dad as she passed, tossing a meaningful smile at Anne. And as she and Hannah fairly skipped down the stairs, they shared a bubbling-over excitement that something very big was beginning to happen for them.

finis