“That’s great about the boys,” I said. “I’ll go home, clean up, and meet you all at the theater.”
“Fine,” he said. “Has the chief figured out who killed Clay yet?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” I said. “But I’ve figured out that most of my friends didn’t do it, in spite of pretty extreme provocation, so I’m feeling a lot more cheerful. I’ll fill you in later.”
I was about to pull away from the curb when I spotted Vermillion’s car again, pulling up to the stop sign on the side street ahead of me. Weird. To get there, she’d have had to turn off the main road and circle back. Had she left something back at the house?
No. Instead of turning to go back to the house, she continued through the intersection along the side street. I waited a few moments, then pulled back onto the road and made a left to follow her.
I wasn’t sure why I was doing it, but I followed Vermillion for the next ten minutes. She was making apparently random turns, zigzagging through subdivisions and circling some blocks two or three times. Was she looking for something? Or was she trying to make sure no one was following her? If that was what she was up to, she wasn’t very good at it. I’d have had no trouble following her, even if she’d been smart enough to ditch her highly distinctive car for something more nondescript. And she didn’t seem to have spotted me.
Eventually she reached the center of town and pulled into an alley that I knew was a dead end. I continued on past the alley and parked a little way down the street.
After a minute or two, her car backed out of the alley. I could see another person in the passenger seat. Then the passenger ducked down and Vermillion turned onto the street and continued on past me. I waited till she’d pulled a safe distance ahead and then took off after her again.
More perambulations through the byways of Caerphilly. I began wondering if I should give up following her. I was already running short on time if I wanted to get home and change for Michael’s show.
But just as I was about to call off the chase, she stopped in front of a house with a high fence around it. I stopped, too, and watched from a distance as a gate swung open. Vermillion drove inside, and the gate closed after her.
Okay, now what? I parked my car and watched for a few minutes. I should be heading home.
What the heck. I could go straight to the show in what I was wearing. Who dresses up with a foot of snow on the ground?
I got out of the car and strolled down the street, as slowly and nonchalantly as I could. The house was surrounded by an eight-foot-tall wooden fence. There were lights in some of the windows, but all of them were protected by curtains, shades, or blinds.
I continued on to the corner and then paused. I was on a quiet residential street lined with small but tidy bungalows. Even if I had all night to carry out surveillance, there wasn’t really anyplace to hide and keep an eye on the house into which Vermillion had gone.
I turned and headed back for my car, again walking slowly.
This is ridiculous, I told myself. I should come back tomorrow, in daylight, and figure out the address of the house behind the fence. If there were numbers, I couldn’t see them in this light. And then I could look it up in the county records. Get Stanley to check it out. Maybe even tell Chief Burke about Vermillion’s furtive behavior. And then—
“Psst! Meg!”
I was past the gate now. I turned and looked back.
The gate was open about a foot, and Reverend Robyn Smith from Grace Episcopal was peering out.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I followed Vermillion,” I said.
Robyn closed her eyes, sighed, and then opened them again.
“Come in for a minute,” she said.
She swung the gate open. I stepped into the yard and waited while she closed and latched it. Then she led me into the house.
“It’s okay,” she called as she stepped inside. “I know her.”
She moved aside so I could see. The room was filled with women and children and sparsely furnished with what looked like castoffs. Three children were playing Parcheesi on the floor. Another knot of children were playing with toy cars. A girl of perhaps eleven or twelve sat on one of the faded sofas, playing with a baby. At the far end of the room, three women were setting out plates and silverware on two card tables, and another woman peered out from the kitchen.
“Welcome to the Caerphilly Battered Women’s Shelter,” Robyn said.
Chapter 13
“I didn’t know Caerphilly even had a women’s shelter,” I said.
“We like it that way,” Robyn said. “If you tell anyone where it is, you could be putting these women’s and children’s lives in jeopardy. They’re all taking refuge from dangerously abusive men.”