You've Been Warned

And the very last thing I’ll hear is the music now starting to blare in my head.

Somehow, though, I keep breathing. What saves me is my lack of appetite last night. The stomach’s barren; there’s nothing left to get caught in my throat. I’m dry heaving and it hurts like crazy, but at least I’m alive.

Any other morning I’d be crawling back into bed, calling in sick. Instead, I take a shower and quickly get dressed. I don’t have a choice. No free will at all. This is no time to be on the sidelines.

I try calling Michael at his office. The odds are he’s arrived by now, but his line rings and rings and rings. It’s too early for his secretary, Amanda. She doesn’t normally get to her desk until around eight-thirty.

So I head off to Fifth Avenue, knowing no more about Michael’s intentions than I did yesterday. Is he going to hurt somebody? Is he another Scott Peterson?

For the first time, I’m actually eager to see Penley. She needs to be okay. I certainly don’t want her murdered. My God, could it have happened already? Is that why Michael isn’t at work?

Chapter 94

“KRISTIN, IS THAT YOU?” I hear from down the hall as I step into the foyer of the Turnbulls’ apartment.

“Yes, it’s me.”

And that’s her. Phew. I instantly feel guilty about thinking the worst of Michael, putting him in the same company as a wife killer.

Penley turns the corner of the foyer and peers suspiciously at me. She’s dressed in her “workout” clothes.

There’s a moment as we eye each other, and it feels weird. So what else is new?

“Are you okay?” she asks. “You look a little pale, Kristin. You’re not coming down with something, are you?”

“I’m fine. A little tired, I guess.”

She gives me that “just us girls” smirk. “Late evening, huh?”

And a rough morning to boot. Of course, I’m not about to let on to anything, not with her. “No, it was pretty quiet,” I say.

“That reminds me. Maria said you called last night. Did you need to talk to me about something?”

Thanks, Maria!

I hesitate, thinking fast.

“Oh, that,” I say. “It was a false alarm. I thought I’d left my cell phone here.”

She seems to buy it, nodding anyway. This is some game we’re playing here, the Pencil and I.

“By the way, how was your dinner?” I ask.

“Pardon?” Point, Kristin.

“You and Mr. Turnbull. Maria told me you went out to dinner. Just the two of you?”

“Yes. It was very nice, thank you,” she says. “We don’t do it enough. The two of us, no kids.” Point, Pencil.

“Is he at his office now?”

As soon as the question leaves my lips, I regret it. I’ve never asked her where Michael is; why would I now? Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Sure enough, Penley gives me a quizzical look. “Where else would he be?”

Chapter 95

IT’S A VERY GOOD, very logical question and just about the only thing I’m thinking about as I walk Dakota and Sean to school.

That is, until Sean interrupts me with one of his own questions. A real doozy too.

“Miss Kristin, am I going to die?”

I’m stunned. By the question and its timing. Why ask that now, Sean?

The sweetness in his voice brings a lump to my throat. For the second time this morning, I can barely breathe.

I try to fake a reassuring smile for him. “Sean, honey, why would you ask that?”

“Because Timmy Rockwell at school said I was going to die. Dakota too. Is he right?”

I need to be careful how I answer. Five-year-olds can be so impressionable. I don’t want to scare him, but I also don’t want to lie.

In the meantime, Dakota couldn’t care less either way. Seven-year-olds have no need for tact. “Everybody dies, stupid!” she says.

Sean squeezes my hand hard. I can feel how frightened he is about this.

“Is that true, Miss Kristin? Does everybody die?”

I stop walking and kneel down, pulling the two of them close to me. “No one gets to live forever, Sean. But you don’t have to be scared, because you’re going to be alive for a very, very long and wonderful time.”

He blinks slowly. “Really? I am? And Mommy and Daddy? And you, Miss Kristin?”

“Yes, of course. And that goes for you too, princess,” I say, giving Dakota a poke in the belly.

“What about Timmy Rockwell?” asks Sean. “He’s mean, so will he die sooner?”

I smile. “It doesn’t quite work like that. Mean has nothing to do with it.”

“It should,” he says.

I throw my arms around them both again, and for a moment the island of Manhattan is just the three of us. Three. A much better number than four.

“Okay, c’mon,” I say, standing up. “We’re going to be late for school, and that is unacceptable.”

I grab their hands—but I don’t walk a step.

“What’s wrong, Miss Kristin?” asks Sean.

“Yeah,” says Dakota. “Why aren’t we moving?”

The answer is staring at us from across the street. We’re no longer alone.

The Ponytail is back.

“Hey!” I yell. “Hey! You! Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Where I get the courage—or is it stupidity?—to bark at a guy who’s been scaring the bejesus out of me, I don’t know. That is him, though, isn’t it?