Chapter 10: Cellar Door

"An hour ago," I said. "You told me to go home an hour ago."

Maeve turned from the window.

"And you did. Then I came back here to wait for you. You didn't know I would."

"I knew you would."

"How?"

"Because I know you."

That was the answer a friend gives, and it was the wrong one.

You don't call the police on a friend and then tell her you know her.

I stood up.

"Nina, don't."

She reached for my sleeve, and I swung my splinted hand up and knocked her fingers away.

Pain shot up my arm and made my eyes water.

I ran.

The cellar door was off the pantry, where it had always been.

I took the stairs two at a time into the dark.

Behind me Maeve called my name, and then someone pounded on the front door.

"Police. Open up."

The cellar smelled of coal dust and apples.

At the far end was the old slanted bulkhead that opened on the backyard.

Nan had kept the bolt oiled for forty years.

I threw it back and shoved up with my shoulder.

Snow fell into my face.

I climbed out into the yard and ran across it without a coat.

Behind the fence were three more backyards, and I knew every gap in every hedge.

I went through three of them with my head down.

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