gone back on your agreement. Luke was mad." Regina didn't seem to have much grasp of consequences.
"What about Rory? Did Luke go in the house and kill him too?" "No. Luke needed him to stay, get the baby back, and return him to Corinth. I suppose in the note... Margaret promised him more money if he brought the baby to them. But we brought the baby, and we wouldn't have given him up to Rory. All Rory was, was a problem. So today, Luke shot Rory." I could see the whites all around Regina's irises.
"Both gone," she whispered. "Then why am I alive?" That was a good question, and unexpectedly astute of Regina if she'd meant it literally. While she sat in disbelieving silence, I gave her the bare bones of our trip to Corinth, of what had happened at the farm this afternoon. And I had to tell her that Margaret and Luke had the baby. Regina began to cry, but I had no comfort to offer her. My own problems overwhelmed me. I couldn't move without waves of pain and nausea, and I could no longer put off my fear for Martin. I didn't have enough energy to worry about Karl Bagosian, too; I thought, obscurely, He's got plenty of family, and I did my best to dismiss him from my mind.
My thoughts wandered away from the chilly cellar and the stupid young woman beside me. I fantasized that maybe Martin had managed to make it to the road and was flagging down some passing car. That was the least taxing way to get help I could imagine. Even then, the struggle down the snowy driveway, the long cold wait... I remembered how sick Martin had looked, and I wondered what was wrong. After a while, I admitted to myself that I figured it was his heart. I recalled Martin's hesitance when I asked him about his physical, in what seemed the long-ago past. I suspected that Martin had learned then that something was going wrong inside him. But with the troubles of his family, and the troubles of my family, he'd thought it best to put off having that explored; that was what I would have done, and I was sure Martin would think that way. "You think Uncle Martin will get us out?" Regina asked, in a voice worn limp with tears.
I lay there and hated her. "He didn't look good when I last saw him," I said.
"Over at the farmhouse."
"We're on our own?" Regina sounded as if that was unbelievable. All her layers of backup, gone. I could sympathize. "Have you heard from my mother?" "Not a word."
"So she's still on her cruise," Regina said. She sat for a long time in silence, which I welcomed. When she finally spoke, it was hardly reassuring. "So they'll kill us, now that they've got the baby," she said, and I whispered, "Yes." She'd reasoned herself to the end of the line.
We fell silent. We waited.
Chapter Eleven
Later, I thought of asking Regina if the Granberrys kept any dogs.
"No," she said, obviously thinking I was an utter loon.
"Good." Any idea of escape would be complicated by dogs. Once we heard Hayden crying upstairs, and both of us twitched as if we were going to rise and tend to him. (In my case, that meant my arm moved.) I knew that sooner or later I was going to have to get up and go to the bathroom, and I dreaded it... when I had any dread to spare.
Margaret and Luke didn't put in an appearance. Probably totally wrapped up with their new baby, I thought bitterly. Though I wanted them both to die in agony, if they were going to live I wanted them to bring me some Extra-Strength Tylenol.
I slept some, though it wasn't like normal sleep; it was suspiciously like falling unconscious. Regina moaned and wept. I couldn't blame her, but the noise grated at the terrible sore ache in my head. Finally my bladder couldn't hold out any longer, and I talked my niece into helping me up. The trip to the little room at the foot of the stairs was about as much fun as I thought it'd be. At least I emptied myself completely in one trip, since I threw up. I knew I had a concussion, but people survived concussions - right? In mystery novels, the hero always checked out of the hospital when he had a concussion, and went on about solving