Full Dark, No Stars

Tess began with the invitation from Books & Brown Baggers. Betsy Neal said little, only occasional y adding an “Uh-huh” or “Okay” to let Tess know she was stil fol owing the story. Tel ing it was thirsty work. Luckily, Betsy had also brought two cans of Dr. Brown’s cream soda. Tess took one and drank it greedily.

When she finished, it was past one in the afternoon. The few people who had come to the common to eat their lunches were gone. There were two women walking babies in strol ers, but they were a

good distance away.

“Let me get this straight,” Betsy Neal said. “You were going to kil yourself, and then some phantom voice told you to go back to Alvin Strehlke’s house, instead.”

“Yes,” Tess replied. “Where I found my purse. And the duck with the blood on it.”

“Your panties you found in the younger brother’s house.”

“Little Driver’s, yes. They’re in my Expedition. And the purse. Do you want to see them?”

“No. What about the gun?”

“That’s in the car, too. With one bul et left in it.” She looked at Neal curiously, thinking: The girl with the Picasso eyes. “Aren’t you afraid of me? You’re the one loose end. The only one I can think of, anyway.”

“We’re in a public park, Tess. Also, I’ve got quite the confession on my answering machine at home.”

Tess blinked. Something else she hadn’t thought of.

“Even if you somehow managed to kil me without those two young mothers over there noticing—”

“I’m not up for kil ing anyone else. Here or anywhere.”

“Good to know. Because even if you took care of me and my answering machine tape, sooner or later someone would find the cabdriver who brought you out to The Stagger on Saturday morning.

And when the police got to you, they’d find you wearing a load of incriminating bruises.”

“Yes,” Tess said, touching the worst of them. “That’s true. So what now?”

“For one thing, I think you’d be wise to stay out of sight as much as you can until your pretty face looks pretty again.”

“I think I’m covered there,” Tess said, and told Betsy the tale she had confabulated for Patsy McClain’s benefit.

“That’s pretty good.”

“Ms. Neal… Betsy… do you believe me?”

“Oh yes,” she said, almost absently. “Now listen. Are you listening?”

Tess nodded.

“We’re a couple of women having a little picnic in the park, and that’s fine. But after today, we’re not going to see each other again. Right?”

“If you say so,” Tess said. Her brain felt the way her jaw did after the dentist gave her a healthy shot of novocaine.

“I do. And you need to have another story made up and ready, just in case the cops talk to either the limo driver who took you home—”

“Manuel. His name was Manuel.”

“—or the taxi driver who took you out to The Stagger on Saturday morning. I don’t think anybody wil make the connection between you and the Strehlkes as long as none of your ID shows up, but when

the story breaks, this is going to be big news and we can’t assume the investigation won’t touch you.” She leaned forward and tapped Tess once above the left breast. “I’m counting on you to make sure

that it never touches me. Because I don’t deserve that.”

No. She absolutely didn’t.

“What story could you tel the cops, hon? Something good without me in it. Come on, you’re the writer.”

Tess thought for a ful minute. Betsy let her.

“I’d say Ramona Norvil e told me about the Stagg Road shortcut after my appearance—which is true—and that I saw The Stagger Inn when I drove by. I’d say I stopped for dinner a few miles down the

road, then decided to go back and have a few drinks. Listen to the band.”

“That’s good. They’re cal ed—”

“I know what they’re cal ed,” Tess said. Maybe the novocaine was wearing off. “I’d say I met some guys, drank a bunch, and decided I was too blitzed to drive. You’re not in this story, because you

don’t work nights. I could also say—”

“Never mind, that’s enough. You’re pretty good at this stuff once you get cooking. Just don’t embel ish too much.”

“I won’t,” Tess said. “And this is one story I might not ever have to tel . Once they have the Strehlkes and the Strehlkes’ victims, they’l be looking for a kil er a lot different than a little book-writing lady like me.”

Betsy Neal smiled. “Little book-writing lady, my ass. You’re one bad bitch.” Then she saw the look of startled alarm on Tess’s face. “What? What now?”

“They will be able to tie the women in the pipe to the Strehlkes, won’t they? At least to Lester?”

“Did he put on a rubber before he raped you?”

“No. God, no. His stuff was stil on my thighs when I got home. And inside me.” She shuddered.

“Then he’l have gone in bareback with the others. Plenty of evidence. They’l put it together. As long as those bad boys real y got rid of your ID, you should be home and dry. And there’s no sense

worrying about what you can’t control, is there?”

“No.”

“As for you… not planning on going home and cutting your wrists in the bathtub, are you? Or using that last bul et?”