something.
She had gone into the swamp alone, fully expecting to find the corpse of her husband. It wasn’t as if she’d simply stumbled upon the body and gone into a panic.
Making up his mind, he left his office and started back toward the hospital.
Amelie lay in bed, waiting for the next contraction to seize her. She was trying to keep track of how long it was between them, but she couldn’t concentrate.
She was still thinking about the police chief coming out to talk to her about George.
She knew he hadn’t quite believed her this afternoon—knew he suspected that the body she’d found last night was her husband, no matter what she’d said.
And what she’d told him hadn’t really been a lie, for until Clarey Lambert had appeared that morning to tell her that George wouldn’t be coming home again, even she hadn’t been certain the body was his. Indeed, Clarey herself had never quite said that it was.
Of course, when she’d looked into the lifeless eyes of the corpse in the water, she’d recognized George right away. It was the eyes—flat and dead. But when she’d finally been able to look at his face, instead of just his eyes, she hadn’t been so sure.
The man’s face had looked so old.
And George, when he’d left last night, hadn’t looked any different than he ever had. But he had looked scared.
So she’d gone off and found Judd Duval, which she probably shouldn’t have done at all.
What she should have done was just gone home, and never told a soul what she’d found. But she hadn’t, and then, when she’d come back with Judd and the other fellow, she’d seen the gaping wound in his chest.
Whether the body was George’s or not, she’d known what happened to him.
She shouldn’t have given herself away like that, talking about the Dark Man.
Still, the police chief hadn’t pushed her when she’d lied to him.
And, thank God, neither had Clarey Lambert.
This morning Clarey had rowed up and climbed onto the porch. Amelie knew right away why she’d come, so the old woman’s words hadn’t come as a surprise.
“George won’t be coming home no more,” Clarey had told her, easing her bulk into the rocking chair on the porch. She’d reached out and squeezed Amelie’s hand. “I don’t s’pose that’s the worst news you could’ve heard, is it?”
Amelie had said nothing, waiting for the real reason for Clarey’s visit. It hadn’t taken long for it to come. “I heard the people from town found a body last night,” she said, and Amelie was certain the old woman had deliberately not told her it was George. “So I figure they’ll come around askin’ everyone questions.” Her eyes had fixed on Amelie, two dark embers that felt like they were burning into Amelie’s very soul.
Amelie had thought quickly. If the old woman didn’t know it had been she herself who had led the police to the body, then she wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. “What you want me to do?” she’d carefully asked.
Clarey had been silent for a while, her tongue poking around in her mouth where her molars had once been. At last the old woman’s gaze had fixed on her again. “Don’t say nothin’. If they ask, you tell ’em George ain’t here and you don’t know where he be.” Amelie’s head had bobbed up and down, and Clarey heaved herself out of the chair. “They come around, don’t you say nothin’, you understand me?”
And she hadn’t said anything, not really.
She’d said only as much as she had to, and denied that the body she’d found was George’s.
Another contraction wrenched Amelie’s body, and she clamped her eyes closed in an attempt to shut away the pain. A few seconds later, as the pain began to ease, she opened her eyes again.
And froze.
Standing a few feet from the bed, framed by the doorway, was Tim Kitteridge. Instinctively, she turned her head away, but the police chief came and sat down by the bed, taking her hand.
“It was George you found last night, wasn’t it?” he asked.
Amelie tried to pull her hand away. “You got no business comin’ in here.”
Kitteridge’s grip tightened. “I need to know, Amelie. Was it George? Do you know what happened to him?”
Amelie’s eyes darted around, searching for help; but of course she found none. Another contraction seized her. When it finally subsided, she felt exhausted, too tired to defend herself against his question. “Maybe it were,” she breathed. “But I didn’t