Free The Best American Mystery Stories 2012 by Otto Penzler Page A

light went out presently, but Mattie did not drive home for some while.
    She did the same thing the next night, and for several nights thereafter, establishing a pattern of leaving the house when Don was asleep and returning before he woke. On occasion it became a surprisingly close call, since whether the light stayed on late or was already out when she reached the condo, she often lost track of time for hours, staring at a dark, empty window. She continued to check in regularly with Pat and Babs in Witness Point; but she never told them about her new nighttime routine, though she could not have said why, any more than she could have explained the compulsion itself. There was a mindless peacefulness in her vigil over her would-be murderer that made no sense, and comforted her.
    From time to time, Olivia Korhonen came to stand at her window and look out at the dark street. Mattie, deliberately parking in the same space every night, fully expected to be recognized and challenged; but the latter, at least, never happened.
    She took as well to following Olivia Korhonen through Moss Harbor traffic whenever she happened to spot the gleaming Prius on the road. In an elusive, nebulous way, she was perfectly aware that she was putting herself as much at the service of an obsession as Olivia Korhonen, but this seemed to have no connection with her own life or behavior. She could not have cared less where the Prius might be headed—most often up or down the coast, plainly to larger towns—or whether or not she was visible in the rearview mirror. The whole point, if there was such a thing, was to bait her bridge partner into doing something foolish, even coming to kill her before she was quite ready. Mattie had no idea what Olivia Korhonen’s schedule or program in these matters might be, nor what she would do about it; only that whatever was moving in her would be present when the time came.
    When it did come, on a moonless midnight, she was parked in her usual spot, directly across the street from the condominium. She was in the process of leaving a message on Pat and Babs’s answering machine—“Just letting you know I’m fine, haven’t seen her today, I’m about to go to bed”—when Olivia Korhonen came out of the building, strode across the street directly toward her, and pulled the unlocked car door open. She said, not raising her voice, “Walk with me, Mattie Whalen.”
    Mattie said into the cell phone, as quietly as she, “I’ll call you tomorrow. Don’t worry about me.” She hung up then, and got out of the car. She said, “The people I was talking with heard your voice.”
    Olivia Korhonen did not answer. She took light but firm hold of Mattie’s arm and they walked silently together toward the beach, beyond which lay the dark sparkle of the ocean. The sky was pale and clear as glass. Mattie saw no one on the sand, nor on the short street, except for a lone dog trotting self-importantly past them. Olivia Korhonen was humming to herself, at the farthest rim of Mattie’s hearing.
    Reaching the shore, they both took their shoes off and left them neatly side by side. The sand was cold and hard-packed under Mattie’s feet, this far from the water, and she thought regretfully about how little time she had spent on the beach, for all the years of living half a mile away. Something splashed in the gentle surf, but all she saw was a small swirl of foam.
    Olivia Korhonen said reflectively, as though talking to herself, “I must say, this is a pity—I will be a little sorry. You have been . . . entertaining.”
    â€œHow nice of you to say so.” Mattie’s own odd calmness frightened her more than the woman who meant to kill her. She asked, “Weren’t any of your other victims entertaining?”
    â€œNot really, no. One can never expect that—human beings are not exactly sheep, after all, for all the similarities.