The Ninth Step by Grant Jerkins Page A

see?”
    Helen most certainly did not see. But she was able to piece together that Edgar was investigating his wife’s death, and he thought that Helen was here in response to some flyer or phone call he had made.
    “Do you have something for me? Information?”
    Helen felt blindsided. The moment had rushed up on her.She thought she would have had the chance to feel him out a little and work her way up to this moment. But the moment was here. And there was no equivocation. There was no room for doubt or debate. The man wanted to know. It was a puzzle he could not solve, and he would find no peace until he solved it. It was clear. Now was the time. This was it.
    “Yes,” Helen said. Edgar leaned forward, pen poised over the ledger. “I mean no. I mean… I was there. That night. I drove past. After. I didn’t stop. I didn’t stop and I felt so bad that I didn’t stop and I just—”
    “You’re here because you feel bad because you didn’t stop? After the accident had occurred?”
    Helen nodded, on the brink of tears, ashamed of both her secret and the lie she had just told. What had happened to her courage? To her resolve?
    Edgar reached out, as though to touch her, to comfort her, but then withdrew his hand.
    “No. It doesn’t matter. You couldn’t have done anything. She was dead within minutes. She was… You couldn’t have helped. You have nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing. Were there other vehicles around? Did you see anybody else? The other car?”
    Helen shook her head.
    “Nothing. The ambulance was about half a mile behind me. I’m… I’m an—”
    Edgar nodded and held his hand out in such a way that it communicated to Helen that he was absolving her and at the same time had lost interest in her. He was ready for her to go. He walked toward her, his hand rising to usher her toward the door.
    “I can help you,” Helen offered. She didn’t want the encounter to end. Not like this. Not with the lie still on her lips. “I can talk to people. I can help look. I can—”
    “That won’t be necessary. Thank you for coming.”
    He had corralled her so quickly that she just had time to realize that she was once again standing on the front porch when the door closed quietly in her face.

31
YOU HAVE THREE SECONDS
TO VACATE
    The front door opened and the woman walked back inside his home.
    “No,” she said, “I can’t leave yet.”
    Edgar was appalled. It was bad enough that she had come here seeking only solace for herself; now she was an actual intruder. Some of his puzzle boxes were of genuine value. For all he knew, her goal could be to divert his attention and steal a handful of them.
    “You can’t leave yet? Of course you can leave. Just turn around.”
    “No. I’m… I… I have to help you. I want to help you.”
    “I don’t want your help. I want you to leave. Are you unstable?”
    “Un… ? What? Look, you’re trying to accomplish something here. And you’re alone. You’re alone and… and you don’t have to be. What if I helped make calls or something?”
    “Make calls? I want you to leave my house and take your help with you. I don’t need it.”
    “What if—”
    “No.”
    “Maybe I—”
    “No.”
    The woman—she’d never introduced herself, so he would have no name to give to the police should it come to that—lowered her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. When she raised her head and looked up at him, he saw anger in her eyes. They were like cold marble. And then he realized that it wasn’t anger he saw in those eyes. It was something like anguish. Or was it pity?
    “You need help.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You need help. I need to help someone. See how that evens out?”
    “Equations. Those I can understand. Unfortunately, your hypothesis is wrong. Why would you think I need help? And if I did, why would I accept it from a total stranger?”
    “Because it’s what you need.” She indicated the wall charts, the ledger. “This, this, this. Not