4th of July (Women's Murder Club 4)

I tried again to get answers, but by now, Ali was incoherent. She clung to me, gulping air and choking out tears, making absolutely no sense.

I pulled on a pair of jeans over my blue silk pajamas and stepped into my running shoes. I slipped my Glock into my shoulder holster and covered up with my denim jacket.

I wrapped Ali in my hooded sweatshirt and lifted her into my arms. Leaving Martha behind in the bedroom, I went with Ali to the front door.

“Honey,” I said to the hysterical child, “I’m taking you home.”

Chapter 136

CAT’S FORESTER WAS RIGHT behind the Explorer, blocking it in. The keys to the Bonneville were in the ignition, and the big gold boat was facing the road.

So I buckled Ali into the backseat, got behind the wheel, and turned the key. The engine vrooomed smoothly to life. At Highway 1, I signaled to go north under a crackling, rocket-streaked sky, toward the schoolhouse. Shockingly, Allison shouted, “NO!”

I looked into the rearview mirror and saw her pale face, utterly wide-eyed. She pointed with her finger south.

“You want me to go that way?”

“Lindsay, pleeease. Hurry.”

Ali’s fear and urgency were electrifying. All I could do was trust the little girl, so I took the car south until Ali whispered from the backseat, “Turn here” at a lonely intersection.

The rat-a-tat bangs of the Fourth of July pyrotechnics overhead pumped adrenaline into my already overloaded system. There had been too much shooting recently, and I was experiencing each bang as an exploded round.

I accelerated the Bonneville up the winding dirt track that was Cliff Road, skidding around the corners like a big rig on grass. I heard Keith’s chiding voice in my mind: “You can’t do this, Lindsay. This is a luxury car.”

I drove through a starless tunnel of eucalyptus trees that finally opened into a wide mountain view. In front of and to the left of us was a round stucco house clinging to the side of the hill.

I looked again into the rearview mirror. “What now, Ali? How much farther?”

Allison pointed to the round tower of a house. Then she clapped her hands over her eyes. Her voice was barely audible.

“We’re here.”

Chapter 137

I PULLED THE CAR just off the road and looked up at the house—a three-story column of glass panes and stucco. Two thin bands of light moved sporadically on the lower floor.

Flashlight beams.

Otherwise, the house was dark.

Clearly, people were inside who didn’t belong there. I slapped at the pockets of my denim jacket and got a sick feeling even before I knew that I was right: I’d left my cell phone on the table beside my bed. I could see it lying against the clock.

This was very bad news.

I had no car radio, no backup, and I wasn’t wearing a vest. If a crime was in progress, going into that house alone wasn’t a real good idea.

“Ali,” I said. “I have to go for help.”

“You can’t, Lindsay,” she said, her voice coming out as a whisper. “Everyone will die.”

I reached around and touched her face with my hand. Ali’s mouth was turned down, the trust in her eyes was heartbreaking.

“Lie down on the backseat,” I said to the little girl. “Wait for me and don’t move until I come back.”

Ali got down with her face against the seat. I put my hand on her back, patting her gently. Then I got out of the car and shut the door behind me.

Chapter 138