Free Nowhere to Hide by Joan Hall Hovey Page A

a brown crepe dress, the ivory cameo brooch at her throat, as familiar as a uniform, Ellen remembered how distraught she’d been when Ellen dropped out of school to find a job. Yet in the end she’d been there to support her decision. "None of that seems to matter now, does it?" she said.
    "Of course it matters," Miss Layton said adamantly. "You have nothing to berate yourself for. You always felt you could make things right, Ellen. And sometimes that simply is not possible. Sometimes terrible things happen over which we have no control. My dear, you were fiercely protective toward your family—and your little sister in particular."
     

 
     
    Eleven
     
     
    It was late afternoon when Ellen arrived in a gray, bitterly cold New York. When she got to the apartment, Sandi Rousseau was grimly packing her things. She hadn’t taken off her coat.
    "Gail didn’t date," she said in answer to Ellen’s question, dashing back and forth between the dresser and the bed as she’d been doing the whole time they talked. With every turn her hair swung like a sheet of beige satin. "She was completely devoted to her career. Oh, she was friendly enough with her pianist, Doug Neal, but not in any romantic way. Though Doug might have felt differently. I talked to him on the phone. He’s devastated, poor guy."
    Sandi dropped an armload of designer sweaters into the suitcase, patted them down carelessly. Sighing, she turned to face Ellen. Her lovely eyes were red-rimmed from crying. Ellen envied Sandi’s tears.
    "Why do you think it was someone she knew?" Sandi asked.
    Ellen wasn’t surprised she was moving out. Another day and she might have had trouble getting in touch with Sandi.
    "Maybe not someone she knew," Ellen said calmly. She was sitting in the one chair in the bedroom, trying not to look at the fading chalk outline of Gail’s body on the carpet. "But someone who knew her. He was waiting for her, Sandi. He must have known who she was, that she would be coming home alone."
    The girl clutched a full-length tweed coat about her, as if she were suddenly feeling vulnerable. "Maybe you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that." She sagged down on the bed. "She had a lot of fans. Sometimes they get—obsessed or something." She gave Ellen a look of pure misery. "I’m so sorry, Ellen. I wanted to come to the funeral, but I-I just couldn’t."
    Ellen crossed the room and sat down beside her, touched her arm. "I know. And I do understand. Gail would have, too."
    "Oh, God, I hope so. I can’t believe she’s gone." Her voice broke. She pulled Kleenex from her pocket and wiped away a fresh welling of tears. "Who would do such a horrible thing? What horrible fiend would do that to her? She was such a sweet person."
    "I don’t know, Sandi. But I intend to find out."
    "Gail adored you, you know. She used to talk about you all the time. She told me about your parents, the drinking and all that—and then that terrible accident. She said you were always there for her."
    No. Not always, Ellen thought. "I was the older sister. I did what I had to do. Gail would have done the same for me." I liked it that Gail needed me. It was never a burden. I liked being the one she looked up to.
    "She was real proud that you went back and got your degree. That must be hard when you’re older."
    Ellen smiled. "Not terribly. I always liked school." We did make it all work out, dammit, we did! Her gaze wandered involuntarily to the chalk outline on the carpet. Her throat tightened. Why? Why did this happen to her? Reverend Palmer was wrong. There was no great purpose being served here.
    Seeing where Ellen was looking, Sandi rose abruptly, causing the bed to squeak. The dresser drawers open and empty, she attacked the closet, tearing dresses and coats from their hangers, leaving them to rattle like old bones in her wake. "I have to go. I’m sorry, but I have to get out of here."
    "Of course. Sandi, you mentioned obsessed fans. Did Gail ever talk about anyone