Chapter 32: The Estate
The wooded hill overlooked the Salinger property from the northwest.
I'd found it by studying the terrain on satellite maps during the train ride—a rise in the landscape that would give me sightlines to the main house, the driveway, and most of the grounds. Getting there meant parking the rental a quarter mile away and hiking through private land, but the November woods were empty and the underbrush was thin.
By late afternoon, I'd established a minimal camp.
A dark blanket spread on dry leaves, positioned behind a fallen log that provided cover. The binoculars gave me a clear view of the front entrance and several windows. My bag held enough supplies for two days if necessary.
The Detection hummed at baseline—no immediate threat, no cold presence approaching. Just the normal background noise of a forest settling into evening.
I ate a protein bar and waited.
Peach's car arrived just after five.
A silver Mercedes, moving slowly up the long driveway like she was savoring the approach. She parked near the front entrance, sat in the car for a moment—gathering herself, maybe, or just appreciating the quiet—then stepped out.
Through the binoculars, I watched her unlock the front door and disappear inside. Lights came on in sequence: entrance hall, then a room that looked like a study, then an upstairs bedroom. She was settling in, establishing her space, doing whatever wealthy people did in their family estates.
I scanned the grounds methodically. No other vehicles. No movement in the woods. No cold spike from the Detection.
She was alone. For now.
The night got cold fast.
November in Connecticut wasn't winter yet, but it was close enough. The temperature dropped as the sun set, and my layered clothing went from comfortable to barely adequate within hours. I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and kept my position, watching the lit windows of the main house.
Peach moved through the visible rooms, occasionally silhouetted against curtains. She made dinner in a kitchen I couldn't see—but the light was on, and I caught glimpses of her passing windows. Around nine, she settled in the study with a laptop, probably reviewing notes for the Candace meeting.
Preparing for the conversation that could end Joe. If she lived long enough to have it.
My breath fogged in the darkness. The cold seeped through the blanket, through my clothes, into my bones. I'd expected discomfort; this was pushing toward genuine hardship.
But the stakes were higher than my comfort. Peach's life hung on this weekend. And somewhere, probably already planning his trip, Joe was preparing to end it.
I stayed in position.
The house went dark around eleven, except for one upstairs window—the bedroom Peach had chosen. Reading, maybe, or staring at the ceiling and thinking about everything that had led to this moment.
I didn't know what I would do if Joe arrived tonight. The scenarios I'd imagined were vague—create a distraction, alert Peach, intervene physically if necessary. But intervention meant revelation, and revelation meant losing every advantage I'd built.
Priorities, I reminded myself. Peach's life is worth more than your cover.
Easy to say. Harder to act on when the moment came.
The cold kept me awake better than any stimulant could have. My body shivered in the darkness, generating heat through motion, burning calories I'd need to replace. The protein bars weren't enough. I was going to be hungry tomorrow.
Tomorrow, Joe might come.
Tomorrow, I might have to stop him.
Tomorrow, everything might change.
The thoughts circled without resolution. The bedroom light finally went off around midnight, and the estate fell into complete darkness.
I watched the shadows until my eyes adjusted, then watched them some more.
Nothing moved. The Detection stayed quiet.
The night stretched on.
Dawn came slowly, gray light filtering through the bare branches.
I'd slept in fragments—never more than twenty minutes at a time, always waking to scan the property, check the Detection, confirm no one was approaching. The accumulated rest wasn't enough. My body ached from the cold and the awkward position. My mind felt foggy despite the adrenaline.
But I was still here. And Peach was still alive.
She appeared in the kitchen window around eight, making coffee. Normal Saturday morning behavior. Routine, oblivious, safe for the moment.
I ate another protein bar—down to three left—and drank half my remaining water. The supplies wouldn't last another night at this rate. I'd need to restock if Joe didn't show today.
If he doesn't show today, maybe he's not coming.
Maybe I'm wrong about all of this.
The thought was tempting. But the Detection had never lied to me. Joe's browser history didn't lie. His two hours of surveillance on Peach's building didn't lie.
He was coming. The only question was when.
The morning passed in uneventful observation.
Peach read on the porch for a while, wrapped in a blanket of her own, enjoying the crisp air. She took a walk around the grounds—I shifted position to keep her in sight, heart racing every time she disappeared behind a building or tree. She made lunch, ate it at a window overlooking the back garden, returned to her laptop in the study.
Normal weekend. Normal retreat. Normal nothing-is-wrong.
Around two o'clock, the Detection spiked.
Cold. Focused. Familiar.
Coming from the road.
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