The Dark (A Detective Alice Madison Novel)(46)

Alice appreciates the effort and yet has kept her own counsel, which the older woman has begun to feel is her own personal failure as a professional.

“Your grades are very good.” A flash of the Harley smile.

“They’re okay.” Alice shrugs.

“You plan to go to college?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Good, that’s good.” Miss Harley closes the file. “And how are things generally?”

Alice shifts on her chair. She runs with the track team and swims with the swim team; she goes out regularly for burgers and milkshakes with Rachel Lever and a group of classmates, and she has gone out on the odd date. Still, as immersed as she is in the life of Three Oaks High, Alice feels like an odd number where there should only be even ones.

“Okay,” she replies.

Miss Harley’s magic might not be working with Alice; however, that doesn’t mean the woman doesn’t see a troubled teenager when one is sitting right in front of her, even though being troubled is pretty much a synonym for being a teenager.

“Look, Alice, you’re doing really well in school, and from what I hear, you have lots of friends and are involved in extracurricular activities, as well. Great.” Miss Harley doesn’t go for the smile this time; she fixes Alice with her pretty hazel eyes and cocks her head to one side. “Sometimes being smart doesn’t make things easier. Being fifteen is already fraught with all kinds of issues that have to do with growing up, and you are a very smart fifteen-year-old who has dealt with a lot. I just want you to know that it’s okay to feel . . .” Miss Harley waves her hand and waits for Alice to finish off that sentence with whatever word pops into her mind, which would be more appropriate than anything she could supply.

Alice nods, as if a great truth has just passed between them.

“And I’m here,” Miss Harley continues. “For anything you want to talk about, anytime.”

Alice is well aware that her file on the desk says that her mother died three years ago and that she lives with her grandparents. Maybe this well-meaning woman thinks it’s easier to open up to someone closer to her age than to her grandparents.

Alice stands up and picks up her heavy backpack from the floor. She needs to get to the track fast and start warming up, or Coach Lewis will throw a hissy fit.

For a long time she thought that a psychologist like Miss Harley would be able to see right through her and spot the thing, whatever that was, that made Alice feel different, the way a metal detector would pick up a gun. It took her a while, but finally she had to admit that Miss Harley was just as much in the dark as she was, with one difference, though: Alice believes it has nothing to do with being fifteen.

She reaches the track—thank God she is already wearing her sweatpants—dumps her pack by the bleachers, and starts a gentle jog.

“Good of you to join us, Madison,” Coach Lewis hollers from across the field. “Ten laps, and put some mustard in that stride, will ya?”

Alice half raises one arm in assent. Maybe it’s just that they haven’t yet invented the metal detector that works for her particular thing. Maybe a proper psychologist or, even better, a psychiatrist who works with lunatics would be able to take one look at her and say, Yup, girl’s wired up wrong; no need to put her with the crazies, but let’s keep an eye out, for everyone’s sake.

The sweet spring air is a balm after all the hours cooped up inside, and Alice takes it in in big lungfuls. Only time will tell.





Chapter 22





The gates swung slowly open, and Madison put her foot on the accelerator; as they locked shut behind them, she felt Kelly bristle at her side. They had been inside countless jails, and yet a residential home for the mentally ill was a slightly different game, however its landscaped gardens looked.

“Be good to know how Ronald Gray could afford this place,” Madison said.

“It’s prettier than my house,” Kelly replied.

Both of them had forgotten that they were not supposed to talk to each other.

The silver sky brought out the deep green in the firs that dotted the grounds; Boston ivy would make the red-brick building even lovelier in the fall. They followed the drive that wound around the lawn and parked in a visitors’ lot beside the main building; it was Monday, and the lot was almost empty.

As Madison locked her door, she noticed a solitary figure looking out from one of the windows on the top floor, staring at the line of trees. For some reason she turned but saw no one there, only the growing darkness pooling between the branches.

Kelly seemed troubled.

“What’s wrong?” Madison asked him. They had already spoken that day; she figured another couple of words wouldn’t hurt.