Through the open back door of her house she could hear the phone ringing for the third time in an hour. She never took calls during her gardening time, everyone who knew her knew that. But three calls in an hour made it seem like someone was desperate to get hold of her, and a strange uneasy feeling moved through her.

Her parents were both alive and well, but that didn’t mean something couldn’t happen to them. Her sister Amy was vacationing on a ranch in Idaho. She could have fallen from a horse or been attacked by a bear while hiking.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jane muttered to herself, but she was moving toward the house and pulling off her gloves as she said it.

The answering machine had picked up by the time she walked through the kitchen to her antique desk in the front room. Angry red numbers flashed seven messages unheard. She hadn’t taken the time to listen to the four that had been there the night before. She had been tired and had gone straight to her room for a bath, bed, and a chapter of Sense and Sensibility.

The first message was from her assistant at the center, Tuesday, 10:34 A.M.

“Hi, Jane. Sorry to bother you, but Quinn, Morgan and Associates called to say that Karly Vickers was a no-show this morning. Today was supposed to be her first day on the job. I thought you’d want to know.”

Second message: Tuesday at 3:23 P.M.

“Miss Thomas, this is Boyd Ellery from The Nature Conservancy. Could you please give me a call when you have a chance. I want to run something past you with regards to the benefit.”

Third message: Tuesday, 5:14 P.M.

“Jane, it’s me again. I’ve been trying to contact Karly, and she doesn’t answer her phone. I’m going to drop by her house on my way home and make sure she’s all right.”

Fourth message: Tuesday, 7:11 P.M. “It’s me again. I’m at Karly’s. She’s not here. I don’t know what to think.”

Fifth message: Wednesday, 7:27 A.M. Her assistant again. She sounded tired and nervous.

“Jane, I don’t know what time you got in last night. Did you see the news? Call me.”

Sixth message: Wednesday, 7:39 A.M.

“Jane, it’s Mom. We haven’t heard from you in a couple of days. We just saw the news. Please call and let us know you’re all right.”

The news. What news? Why wouldn’t she be all right?

Seventh message: Wednesday, 7:52 A.M. Her assistant again.

“Jane, there’s been a murder. Answer your damn phone. I have a terrible feeling it might be Karly.”

Tommy hadn’t slept very much at all. Every time he had started to fall asleep, he had jerked himself awake, afraid of the dreams he knew would come. But every time his father or mother would come to check on him-which they did several times-he would pretend to be sound asleep.

He had gotten up as soon as it started getting light outside and started the homework he hadn’t done the night before. He didn’t know what the day would bring. Maybe he would be taken to a doctor or a psychiatrist, or maybe the police would take him in for questioning. The thing he most wanted to do was go to school and carry on as if the day before had never happened. As if.

Now he sat in the school office, waiting, his mother on one side, his father on the other. The secretaries kept looking over at him, then exchanging glances. He felt like a freak in the circus. Murder Boy.

He sighed and shifted on his chair. His father put his hand on his shoulder and gave a little squeeze. His mother got up and went to the counter to ask the secretary how long it would be.

“Are you nervous?” his father asked.

Tommy shrugged.

“All you have to do is tell the detective what happened and what you saw.”

Tommy said nothing. He stared at the doorway that led into the hall where the principal’s office and the conference room were, willing Wendy to come out and give him some kind of signal.

He heard a door open, but it wasn’t Wendy who emerged from the hall. It was a dark-haired man in a coat and tie, and he looked right at Tommy, then at his dad.

“Dr. Crane?”

“Yes,” his father said, rising.

His mother turned away from the secretary and stepped forward with her hand outstretched and her smile wide. “Janet Crane.”

“I’m Detective Mendez.” The detective greeted his parents only briefly, then focused on Tommy, bending over and offering his hand. “Hey, Tommy. How you doin’?”

Tommy shrugged and slid off his chair, sticking his hands in his pants pockets. Adults always thought they could impress kids by pretending to treat them like they weren’t kids.

“Tommy,” his mother said. “Manners.”

“I’m okay,” Tommy said. He was fine for having fallen on a dead woman.

They all went down the hall to the conference room, where Miss Navarre was waiting, trying not to look anxious. Pale with dark smudges under her eyes, she smiled at him like she was willing him to be brave.

“Did you get any sleep last night, Tommy?” Miss Navarre asked as they all took seats at the big table.

“He slept through the night,” his mother announced. “I gave him an antihistamine before bed. To help him relax.”

Detective Mendez raised an eyebrow but didn’t look at Tommy’s mother. He was messing with a tape recorder and shuffling through some papers.

“Tommy has allergies,” his mother went on. “He has a prescription. It’s nothing he hasn’t taken before.”

The detective spoke to the cassette recorder, telling it who was in the room.

“Dr. Crane. What kind of a doctor are you?”

“I’m a dentist. Tommy has a pediatrician, of course.”

Mendez pursed his lips and went, “Hmmm.”

Tommy’s mother frowned, displeased. She thought the detective was disapproving of her. Tommy could tell by the way she narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together.

“I spoke to his doctor last night,” she said. “I was concerned about Tommy having nightmares.”

“Tommy, did you have any nightmares?” the detective asked. “You had quite a scare yesterday.”

Tommy shook his head and scratched his left forearm where his cuts had begun to itch.

“Really? That’s impressive. I had nightmares. Miss Navarre had nightmares.”

“I was just asleep,” Tommy said, looking down at the tabletop.

“Can you tell me how it went down yesterday?”

“We were running, and we fell down a hill, and I landed by the dead lady.” Short and sweet.

“Did you see anyone else around? Any adult?”

“No.”

“Do you think the killer could have still been there?” Tommy’s mother asked, alarmed.

“I don’t know,” Mendez said. “I’m just asking.”

“He could have seen the kids,” his mother went on, her eyes widening. “And now their names will be in the press.”

Mendez flicked a glance at her. “They’re minors. No one can legally print their names without permission.”

“We’re certainly not giving permission.”

“It wouldn’t be very likely that the killer was there,” Tommy’s father said. “Right? I mean, he would have to be crazy to bury a body in the park in broad daylight.”

“Who other than a crazy person could have done this?” his mother asked.

“You’d be surprised, Mrs. Crane,” Detective Mendez said. “I’ve done a lot of research on the subject. This guy could appear as ordinary as anyone in this room. He’s not crazy in the common sense of the word. In fact, he’s probably of above-average intelligence.”

“That’s unnerving,” Tommy’s father said.

“Ted Bundy had been to law school. He was a Young Republican and people in high places believed he had a big future ahead of him. He murdered-”

Miss Navarre cleared her throat the way people do when they want someone to shut up. Mendez looked at her and she tipped her head in Tommy’s direction.

Tommy made a mental note to look up this Bundy guy in the encyclopedia.

“Is that what you think is going on here, Detective?” Tommy’s father asked. “A serial killer? What would make you think that?”