And that, he knew, was easier said than done.

Now that the three women were finally ready to leave, they were immobilized with fear.

It was four o'clock in the morning, and they estimated that they had approximately two hours before dawn. They huddled

together at the kitchen table, dressed for the forest in layers of clothes, sipping hot tea to fortify them against the night air.

A frigid breeze poured into the kitchen from the hole in the pantry wall.

"What if Monk put down trip wires or something?" Carrie asked. "What do we do then? We won't see them in the dark."

They all worried about the possibility, and then Sara said, "I don't think he'd take the time to climb up the side of the mountain.

I'm sure he thinks he's got us locked in tight."

Carrie was so scared, she was trembling. "Listen," she whispered. "If I don't make it…"

"Don't talk like that. We're all going to make it," Sara said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Let me say this," Carrie insisted. "If I die, I want you two to promise me you'll make the police find Avery and protect her.

Call my husband," she added. "Tony will want to help keep Avery…" Her voice caught on a sob, and she couldn't go on.

"Focus on one worry at a time," Sara suggested.

"That's right," Anne said. "Concentrate on climbing down the rope."

Carrie nodded. "Yes, all right." She pushed her teacup away and stood. "We should go now. No more stalling."

Anne grabbed Carrie's hand. "Everything is going to be fine. You'll see."

Smiling, Carrie squeezed her hand. Uh-oh. Anne's eyes were getting that glassy look. She had probably taken one of her pain

pills. When Carrie had searched the upstairs for a way out, she'd noticed the bottles of medications lined up on Anne's vanity. There were enough to start a small pharmacy.

"Did you remember to put your medicines in your jacket?" Carrie asked.

"Yes, of course I remembered."

"I could put some of the bottles in my jacket."

"No need," Anne assured her.

"What about the letters," Sara asked Carrie. "Did you zip them in your pocket?"

"Yes, I've got them."

"Okay, then," Sara said. "Let's do it."

They had already decided that Sara should go first. One end of the sheeted rope was anchored to the kitchen table, which couldn't be pulled through the doorway, but Carrie and Anne were still going to hold the rope while Sara lowered herself to the ground. Anne had tied big knots twelve inches apart so they would have something to grab.

Carrie was the second one to go because Anne had argued that since she weighed the least of the three, she stood the best chance of getting down on her own if the rope came loose from the table.

Carrie had wanted to go last, but Anne wouldn't hear of it. "If the rope doesn't hold or I fall, you and Sara could maybe catch me, but I couldn't help catch you or Sara. I have to go last."

"Oh, God, don't think about falling. You made a good, strong rope, Anne. It's going to hold."

"Yes, we'll all be just fine."

Anne sounded obscenely cheerful. Was she getting nuts again, or was the pain pill responsible?

Sara led the way into the pantry. Carrie and Anne watched as she picked up the end of the rope and tied it around her waist.

"I hope this is long enough."

Sara got down on her knees, then scooted to the opening. "Get down on your stomach," Carrie whispered. "And go out slowly, feetfirst."

"Did you put the penlight in your pocket?" Anne asked.

"Yes, I've got it."

Carrie sat on the floor and braced herself with her feet against the two-by-fours. Anne got behind her to help hold the rope.

Just when Carrie thought Sara was never going to reach the ground, the sheet went limp. Carrie fell back against Anne. Recovering her balance, she took a deep breath and said, "Guess it's my turn."

She rolled onto her stomach and scooted to the edge.

"Wait," Anne whispered. She grabbed Carrie's jacket, shoved a thick envelope in the pocket, and zipped it closed.

"What are you doing?"

"You're the strongest of the three of us, so if Sara and I don't make it, you make sure…"

"Yes?" Carrie prodded. "Come on. What?"

"Just make sure. Now go."

Carrie didn't waste time arguing. She would find out what Anne meant after they'd gotten away from the house.

Her hands were bleeding and raw, and she was too frightened to cry. She slowly lowered herself down.

Anne tried to help, but when she tried to pull up on the rope so she could get a better grip, she almost went out the opening headfirst.

Carrie made it to the ground.

The rope went slack and Anne fell back. Quickly straightening, she looked down, trying to see the two women. She stayed on

her hands and knees for a moment and listened to the soft calls from below.

Then she pulled the rope up. She backed away from the opening. "Three blind mice, three blind mice," she sang. "See how they run, See how they run… "

She stood up, brushed the dirt off her borrowed sweatpants, and walked into the kitchen. "See how they run," she sang. Odd, that that particular melody had popped into her head and wouldn't let go. She and Eric had decided never to have children, yet now she was singing a silly nursery rhyme. Her father used to sing that song to her. How did the rest of it go? Was it, "They all ran after the farmer's wife, she cut off their heads with a carving knife"? Or was it, "They all ran away from the farmer's wife"?

And why couldn't she remember the rest of the song?

"Three blind mice," she sang softly as she knelt down and tried to get the knots out of the sheet. Realizing she could break a

nail, she got up, went to the counter to get the scissors Carrie had brought down, and cut the rope from the table leg.

"Three blind mice." She stood again, paused to take a drink of her lukewarm tea, and then, because she knew that Carrie and Sara were anxiously waiting for her, she walked to the opening in the pantry and dropped the sheets down. They surely couldn't misinterpret what that meant, for she'd tossed away her only lifeline. She heard one of them cry out, thought it must be Sara, for, of the two women, Sara seemed a tad more tenderhearted.

"Three blind mice. My goodness, I can't get that silly tune out of my head," she said as she shut the pantry door. Noticing the messy kitchen, she went to the sink, filled it with soapy, hot water, and did the dishes. When she was finished, she straightened

the table and chairs, put fresh place mats in front of each chair, then blew out the candles and headed for the stairs.

She was feeling so tired and old and haggard. A good long nap would fix that, she thought. But first things first. She simply had to do something about her sorry appearance. She couldn't understand how fashion-minded women with money, like Carrie and Sara, could ever wear sweatpants. Why, even the name was offensive. Ladies shouldn't sweat. They shouldn't even perspire. Only common, coarse women did such disgusting things as sweating and belching and body piercing… or letting others, like doctors, mutilate their bodies for them. Hadn't her loving Eric told her that was how he felt? He adored her body and couldn't stand what the surgeon wanted to do.

Feeling a bit light-headed, Anne gripped the banister as she slowly made her way upstairs. After she took a long, hot shower, she curled her hair with her curling iron, then brushed it and lacquered it in place with hairspray. It seemed to take an hour to decide which of her new St. John knit suits to wear. The mint green with the adorable silver clasps won because she thought it was both elegant and chic. Slipping into her silver pearlized high heels, she picked up her favorite platinum-rimmed diamond earrings and put them on. The diamonds were a gift from Eric on their last anniversary.