Chapter 22. As the voice announced the temperature again, Reva slowly hung up.

“ REVA—GET HELP!”

A s the voice announced the temperature again, Reva slowly hung up.

She stared at the telephone, her heart pounding.

Grace had been faking that call to Rory.

But why? It didn’t make any sense! Grace hated Rory. Why would she pretend to talk to him when he wasn’t there?

Reva frowned as a new thought occurred to her.

Had Rory ever called? Had Grace been faking everything? The calls, the threats, the black eye?

No, she couldn’t have, Reva told herself. Grace wouldn’t give herself a black eye!

Would she?

I don’t know Grace that well, Reva thought. We’ve been roommates for three months. But what do I really know about her, except that she’s kind of shy and mousy? And that her ex-boyfriend beat her up?

Or did he?

Reva shivered, confused and suddenly frightened.

Who is Grace? What kind of person did I invite home for Christmas?

Well, there was one way to find out, she decided. Talk to Grace’s mother.

Climbing off the bed, Reva crossed to the closet and dug out one of her duffel bags. Inside were some class notebooks and the Smith Student Directory. She pulled out the directory and returned to the bed.

Miller... Morgan... There it was. Morton. Grace Morton, and the telephone number.

Reva gently lifted the phone. The dial tone sounded in her ear. Grace had finished her crazy, one-sided conversation.

Punching in the number, Reva sat tensely as the phone rang at Grace’s house.

A woman answered on the second ring.

“Mrs. Morton?” Reva said.

“Yes?”

“This is Reva Dalby, Grace’s roommate.”

“Oh, yes!” Mrs. Morton exclaimed. “I’m glad you called. I haven’t heard from Grace, and I’ve been wondering how everything is going.”

“You haven’t heard from her?” Reva asked. So Grace lied before when she said she’d been talking to her mother.

Had she lied about everything?

Mrs. Morton laughed a little nervously. “I’m sure you’re keeping her busy, though. Are you two having a good time?”

“Not exactly,” Reva told her bluntly. “To be honest, I’m a little worried about Grace.”

“Worried?” Mrs. Morton’s voice rose. “Why? Is she sick?”

“No.” Not physically, Reva thought. “I just wanted to ask you a question about her old boyfriend. Rory is here. At least, I think he is, and he’s—”

“What?” Mrs. Morton interrupted. “What are you saying about Rory?”

“He’s here, in Shadyside,” Reva told her. “He keeps calling Grace and threatening her. He even came to my house one night.”

Silence.

“Mrs. Morton?” Reva asked.

A low moan came over the phone. “Oh, no! Not again!” Grace’s mother cried.

“What? What do you mean?” Reva demanded. “What’s going on?”

Mrs. Morton drew a shuddering breath. “Listen, Reva. Listen carefully—Rory isn’t calling Grace. He is not calling her. Do you hear me?”

“Yes!” Reva replied, gripping the phone in fear. She already guessed that, but it didn’t make her feel any better to know she was right. “Please, Mrs. Morton, tell me what’s going on!”

“Rory is dead,” Grace’s mother said, her voice trembling. “He died two years ago in a terrible accident.” She fought down a sob. “Grace killed him!”

Reva felt the blood drain from her face. “But you said it was an accident!” she cried.

“It was—but Grace killed him. Get a doctor, Reva!” Mrs. Morton told her. “My poor daughter! I thought she was over it!”

You thought wrong! Reva felt like shouting. This was worse than she’d expected. Much worse. She’d actually invited a killer home for the holidays!

“Get a doctor,” Mrs. Morton repeated. “And, Reva?”

“Yes?” Reva’s mind raced as she tried to remember if she knew the names of any shrinks.

“Get help!” Grace’s mother urged. The sobs and shakiness had disappeared. Now her voice was strong and insistent. “You have to call the police!”

The words hit Reva like a splash of icy water.

“Grace could be dangerous!” Mrs. Morton declared. “You must get the police. She could be very dangerous! Reva?”

“Yes. Okay.” Reva’s heart thundered in her ears. “I’ll get help, Mrs. Morton. And I’ll call the police right now!”

“But don’t let them hurt her!” Mrs. Morton pleaded. “She’s sick. She doesn’t know what she’s doing! I’m going to call her old psychiatrist—maybe I can convince him to come with me to Shadyside.”

“Okay!” Reva repeated, in a panic to get off the phone and get some help. “I’ll take care of it.”

Without saying good-bye, Reva hung up.

As she did, a shadowy movement caught her eye. She glanced up.

And froze.

Grace stood in the doorway, her brown eyes narrowed to slits, her face tight with fury.

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