LITMIR.BIZ

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where Haley had had her accident. That overpass eventually led to the highway on-ramp, and once on the interstate she could be at the hospital within two minutes.

      But her thinking was muddled. Of course, they were rerouting traffic at the accident site. Cars lined up bumper to bumper as she approached the overpass. A detour sign had been placed at the last turn before the overpass, and a cop waved at her to make a left, where traffic seemed to move at a crawl. Ahead, Karen could see cones lined up, emergency flares sizzling on the concrete, and swirling red strobes from police cars parked at the start of the overpass. She saw something else, too: Kurt’s Toyota.

      “My God, they made a mistake,” she whispered to herself. The cop had told her on the phone that Haley had gone off the overpass, yet there was Kurt’s car, all in one piece. The front door was open, and someone shined a flashlight around inside the car. All she could think was Maybe Haley’s okay after all, maybe they got it wrong….

      “Keep moving!” yelled the cop in front of the detour sign. He waved at her impatiently.

      Karen rolled down her window. “The police called me fifteen minutes ago,” she said. “They told me to go to Harborview. I’m a friend of Haley Lombard. But I think they made a mistake—”

      “Okay, you can go ahead,” he grumbled, motioning her forward.

      Karen slowly continued down the hill, where the police kept onlookers at bay. She caught another look at Kurt’s Toyota. The man inside with the flashlight was inspecting the glove compartment.

      “You need to turn your car back around!” another cop screamed at her.

      She shook her head and called out the window to him, repeating what she’d told the first patrolman. “I think there was some kind of mistake about the victim’s identity.” She nodded toward the Toyota. “That’s Haley Lombard’s father’s car over there.”

      The cop had her pull over to a small lot by a chain-link fence overlooking the freeway. “Lemme get someone to clear this up with you,” he grunted.

      Karen parked her car and climbed out. For a moment, her legs were unsteady. She kept looking for a mangled section of the overpass’s guardrail, some indication that another vehicle had plowed through it and careened down to the freeway. But she didn’t see any damage at all. She wandered toward the railing edge and peered over it. About five stories below, on the interstate, a line of emergency flares cordoned off two lanes, and traffic was at a near standstill. Several squad cars, their flashers going, surrounded a smashed-up SUV. A tow truck was backing up toward it. From the skid marks on the pavement, it looked as if the SUV had swerved to avoid hitting something, and then crashed into the concrete divider. The tire markings on the pavement veered in front of a pool of blood. It almost looked black in the night.

      Confused, Karen glanced to her right and tapped a young policewoman on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I’m a friend of Haley Lombard’s, and they called me. They said she went off the overpass. But her father’s car is right there, and I don’t see where anyone could have driven off—”

      “Haley Lombard, yes,” the policewoman said, nodding. She seemed distracted by a voice crackling over the walkie-talkie on her belt. “Hell of a mess down there. An SUV almost hit the body. Thank God no one in the vehicle was seriously injured. Your friend didn’t drive off the overpass. She jumped. It looks like she was drinking. They found a bottle of bourbon in her car. She was DOA at Harborview ten minutes ago. You need to talk to somebody there.” She turned away and started barking a bunch of police code numbers on her radio.

      Karen couldn’t hear what she was saying. She just stood there by the overpass’s guardrail, with the wind whipping at her. She was thinking that it all made sense now. She should have seen the signs. Some people about to commit suicide can appear very calm. After a period of torment, they can suddenly seem at peace, because they have come up with a solution for their problems. That had been Haley only two hours ago. She’d taken control of her situation and made up her mind about what to do.

      “Karen, you’re not going to forget me, are you?”

      A loud beep, beep, beep from below made her turn toward the guardrail again and gaze down at the freeway. A cleanup truck had backed up toward the dark puddle. Its hoses went on and started to wash the blood away. Pink swirls formed in the water that rippled across the pavement to the highway’s shoulder.

      Kurt and his ex-wife both blamed Karen. Haley had lied to them about where she’d been going that night. Kurt pointed out that he’d asked Karen to stop seeing Haley, but she’d met with her anyway, and just look what had happened. She must have said something to Haley during their secret dinner that helped push their girl over the edge.

      Karen didn’t have it in her to fight with Haley’s grieving parents. She didn’t go to the funeral. She knew she wasn’t welcome.

      Just three weeks after the burial, Karen had her first meeting with Amelia Faraday. For a while, Amelia reminded her so much of Haley, it hurt. But since then, she’d gotten to know Amelia, and really couldn’t compare her to anyone.

      The telephone rang, and Karen jumped up from the breakfast table. She figured it was Amelia again, and grabbed the phone before Jessie even had a chance to wipe off her hands. “Hello?” she said into the phone.

      “Is Karen Carlisle there, please?” The man sounded as if he had asthma or something. His breathing wasn’t right.

      “This is Karen,” she said.

      “Um, my name’s George McMillan. My niece is one of your patients, Amelia Faraday….”

      “Is Amelia all right?”

      “She isn’t with you?” he asked. “I just spoke with her five minutes ago, and she said she was at your house.”

      “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. McMillan, but she isn’t,” she replied. “Amelia called me, too. She indicated there was some kind of emergency. Is everything okay?”

      “No, it’s not.” He cleared his throat, but it still sounded like something was wrong with his breathing. “She—she had this premonition. She phoned saying she thought her parents and my wife—that’s her aunt—”

      “Yes, Amelia has mentioned her.”

      “Well, see, they went away for the weekend at the family cabin on Lake Wenatchee, and Amelia was convinced they’d all been killed last night.” His voice cracked, and Karen realized he was crying. That was why his breathing sounded so strange. “And she—she was right. I talked to someone who lives near the Lake Wenatchee house, and this neighbor, she found the bodies.”

      “Oh, my God,” Karen whispered. She sank down in one of the chairs at the breakfast table. “I’m so sorry….”

      Karen heard him trying to stifle the sobs. He explained how he’d spoken to this neighbor—and then the police in Wenatchee. It appeared as if Amelia’s father had shot his wife and sister-in-law with a hunting rifle, and then he’d turned the gun on himself.

      “My God, Mr. McMillan—George—I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “Poor Amelia. You—you said she had a premonition about this?”

      “Yes, but she doesn’t know yet that it’s true. I called and tried to persuade her to come over here. But she said she needed to see you. I—I couldn’t tell her over the phone what happened…”

      Karen’s front doorbell rang. Rufus started barking and scurried toward the front of the house.

      “I think that’s her at my door right now,” she said into the phone. She turned to the housekeeper. “Jessie? Could you? If that’s Amelia, could you please have her wait in my office?”

      Jessie nodded, wiped off her hands and started out of the kitchen. “Rufus, knock it off!”

      “Mr. McMillan, are you still there?” Karen said into the phone.

      “Yes. Would you—would you mind driving Amelia over here? We live in West Seattle.

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