Who used pay phones, except people whose cell phone batteries had run out, or who had something to hide? Or both?

She watched him hang up the phone and hurry toward the house, so it was definitely Grady. Her thoughts raced. If he had stopped at Bennie’s on impulse, he probably hadn’t told his friends or family where he was going. And if he’d asked his law partner to cover for him on a family emergency, then his office didn’t know he was at his old girlfriend’s. Odds were, no one knew Grady was here.

Perfect.

Alice grabbed a wad of Kleenex from a box on the night table and flopped face-down on the bed, burying her face in the pillow as if she’d been crying. In the next minute, she heard the front door open and close downstairs.

“Come on up!” she called out, forming a new plan. If Grady didn’t mention that he’d made a phone call, it could mean he was getting suspicious of her.

Boyfriend might have to get dead, after all.

Mary put the realtor’s card back down on the bedspread. Anthony hadn’t called, but she wasn’t about to stand on ceremony. Partners didn’t play power games, except when it was billable.

She speed-dialed him and listened to the phone ringing. Once, twice, three times, then his voicemail came on. The sound of his voice gave her a familiar pang, but she didn’t give in to a love attack. She thought about leaving him a call-back message, but she didn’t want to do that either. Why hadn’t he picked up? Was he blowing her off?

She put down the BlackBerry. Maybe he was in the bathroom or the shower. She got up, stretched her legs, and went to the bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later, made a beeline for the BlackBerry, and speed-dialed him again. Still no answer. She could feel herself start to simmer. When the voicemail came on, she no longer felt a pang when she heard his voice.

Would it kill you to pick up?

She felt grumpier by the minute. She had a right to buy a house if she wanted one. Anthony should be willing to talk about it. Who was he to not take her phone calls? They said they loved each other, didn’t that mean anything? At the very least, it should mean I-take-your-calls-even-when-I’m-pissed-at-you.

She picked up the laptop on its pillow desk and logged on to her email, killing time before the next phone call. She’d gotten two zillion emails from clients and she kept opening them without really reading them, preoccupied. Anthony could at least pick up. His mother spoiled him. He was the darling of the family, just because he wasn’t on parole.

When she figured about fifteen minutes had passed, she called him again. No answer. She found herself boiling over, but when the beep came on, she restrained herself and hung up. She would give him one last chance. And by the way, she was sick of always being the one to make up after they fought.

She tried to return to her email, but she’d worked herself up too much. She called Anthony and listened to the phone ring again. Frustrated, she picked up the realtor’s card and called her cell, and the call was answered in the middle of the first ring.

“This is Janine Robinson.”

“Hi, it’s Mary DiNunzio, and we met today at the open house. I came with my boyfriend.”

“Yes, I remember you. How can I help you?”

“I’m sorry to bother you after hours, but I’ve been thinking about that house all day. I wanted to ask you a few questions, like how long it’s been on the market and-”

“Let me stop you right there. I already have two offers on the listing.”

Mary’s mouth dropped open. “You mean two people have already put in bids?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Does that mean I couldn’t have the house, even if I wanted it?”

“You weren’t working with anyone, correct?”

“I have no broker.” Mary could almost hear Janine running the numbers in her head, coming up with a boatload of dough.

“I can tell you, confidentially, that neither of these bids is for the asking price. You’re free to make an offer, and I can come to your house with the paperwork. Do you live in the city?”

“Yes. How much time do I have to decide?”

“I’m in the car as we speak, driving to meet with the owner. If you give me the word, I’ll stop by my office, pick up the papers to bring over to you, and take all three offers to the owner.”

“At this hour?”

“Yes. If you’re going to make an offer, it will have to be within the next half an hour. I warned you, houses like this don’t come along all the time. In fact, the best listings are going off the market. Sellers are figuring that the prices will go back up in a few years, when the economy rebounds. Are you looking for a decent house in the next three to five years?”

“Yes.” I want a baby and a house and a husband, but not in that order.

“Then you’d better act now.”

Mary swallowed hard.

“Help! Help!” Bennie hurried to the white pickup truck that was pulling over to the side of the road. The door on the driver’s side opened, and a man stepped out, a shadowy figure behind a tiny flashlight beam, jittery as a lightning bug.

“Somebody there?” he called out, and as he got closer, she could see that he was a small, older man in a mesh John Deere cap and a white T-shirt. She stutter-stepped to him, her knees finally buckling, and he caught her, dropping the flashlight. “Good Lord, lady! What in the hell?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so tired.” Bennie sagged against him, and he almost fell over.

“You stink to high heaven! Is that blood? What happened here?”

“My twin buried me in a box and there was a wolf. I almost died and-”

“Buried you? With a wolf? Are you crazy, lady?” The old man struggled to support her, and Bennie tried to rally, straightening up.

“I need to get to the police and tell them about Alice.”

“Hold on now. Put an arm around me. You’re a sight! Cover yourself, I’ll get you to a hospital, sure enough.”

“No, please, let’s call the police. Do you have a cell phone?”

“Lady, I can’t hold ya. Put your arm ’round my neck. You need a doctor.” The old man took her upper arm and wrenched it around his shoulder.

“We have to call the police, do you have a cell phone?”

“My wife does. Lady, please. Walk to my truck, would ya?” The old man half-lifted and half-steered her to the pickup, and Bennie couldn’t seem to stop talking, the words spilling like a torrent.

“We can use your wife’s phone and call, then the cops will come and find Alice, she won’t get away.”

“Here we go.” The old man led her to the truck, opened the door with difficulty, then helped her inside. Her foot grazed a chainsaw that sat on the floor, filling the cab with a gasoline odor. She practically fell into the seat, and he closed the door. “Now stay here. I’m goin’ back for my flashlight.”

Bennie slumped in the filthy truck, wondering where his wife was with her cell phone. Clothes sat mounded next to old newspapers, coiled rope, empty bags of Doritos. There was a can of orange soda in the cupholder, and she upended it, but it was empty. She searched for another can, tossing aside some newspapers and receipts, but couldn’t find anything to drink.

“Got it,” the old man said, returning to the truck. He opened the door and sat inside, with a grunt.

“I’m so thirsty. There’s nothing to drink, do you have any more?”

“Drink?” The old man twisted on the ignition, setting a large key ring jangling. “Some pop in the holder.”

“It’s gone, and I’m so thirsty, I haven’t had a drink in so long.” Bennie tried to think. “What day is it? I last had a drink on Friday.”

“Oh, so that’s the deal here.” The old man chuckled, and the truck took off. “You like to drink?”