Fat Cat Takes The Cake

THIRTY-FOUR

It was snowing hard when Chase came out of the Amble Inn. She trudged across the parking lot, horizontal crystals stinging her face. She shielded her face with her forearm, since she hadn’t taken the time to wrap her scarf over her nose and cheeks. After she got inside her little Ford, though, and had caught her breath, she took the trouble to protect her face. She was going to have to get out and scrape her windows. After turning the ignition on and aiming the heat full blast at the windows, she got out and started scraping. Luckily, the new snow was a mere dusting, lying over a very thin layer of ice, so it all came off easily.

Back in the car, the inside had reached a toasty temperature. She dialed the heat down slightly and set out. It soon became apparent that the storm was just getting started. It worsened by the mile. As she drove through the almost whiteout conditions, she wished she had taken Eddie up on his offer to drive her home. She had driven through storms like this before, but had never liked it.

The traffic moved like a row of metal snails down the unplowed streets. There had been about two-and-a-half feet on the ground already and it might send them into record-setting territory. That was confirmed when she turned on the radio and heard the dire predictions. Maybe she wouldn’t be working tomorrow, after all. If no one could get to the Bar None, workers or patrons, she could nestle upstairs with Quincy and stay warm and dry.

Once she made it home. If she made it home.

The car in front of her slewed as the brake lights flashed through the white haze. The rear end swung to the left. The driver didn’t know how to correct the sliding and turned right, making the skid worse and spinning the car around.

Chase carefully applied her brakes, trying to stop before she hit it and also trying to avoid skidding herself.

The car kept spinning and swung into the oncoming lane where it clipped a truck. Both of them careened to the other side of the road, away from Chase’s car with a sickening thunk of metal on metal. Those poor people, she thought, but was glad she was unscathed.

She pulled into an empty parking lot to recover from the fright. Taking several deep breaths, her mind wandered to everything that had happened that night.

Bart, working at the pizza place. He wasn’t truculent at first. Had speaking about Dillon’s coma upset him? Maybe. Or . . .

What had they been saying when he delivered their drinks? That’s when he had started steaming. Panic iced the nape of Chase’s neck, even though it was muffled in her warm scarf. They’d been talking about the e-mail, hunkyb.

Emergency vehicles, lights flashing and sirens wailing, sped past on their way to the accident she had just witnessed.

Chase squeezed her eyes shut and tried to recall the e-mail exchange.

rnorth83: wotz ur problem man

hunkyb: its all yr fault stay away from her its all yr fault

rnorth83: or?

hunkyb: ill smash in ur ugly face

“Stay away from her.” Of course. It was Bart Fender. The D in Ron’s notebook—that could be Dillon. She had been one of Ron North’s stalking victims. Bart could very well have been threatening him. What was all Ron’s fault? Dillon’s coma? Julie had been driven nearly crazy by his harassment. At one point, Chase had been afraid she was desperate enough to hurt herself, but Julie had insisted she wasn’t. Did Dillon try suicide because of Ron North?

If Bart were hunkyb and if he had killed Ron North, and if he had overheard them trying to put everything together, she and Julie may be in trouble.

She called Julie. “Did you make it home?”

“Just walked in. How about you?”

“I would be home by now, but someone spun out and caused an accident in front of me. I pulled over to catch my breath. I’m going home right now.”

She told Julie what she had put together and told her to be very careful.

“You, too!” Julie said. “I’ll keep my doors locked. Do you think he might try something tonight?”

“It’s getting harder and harder to get around. I don’t think so.”

“Call me as soon as you make it home.”

“I’m only about six blocks away.”

“I don’t care,” Julie insisted. “Call me.”

Chase promised to do that. She left her phone muted so she wouldn’t have any distractions. Driving in this blizzard would take all her attention.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel and her shoulders tensed as she pulled onto the treacherous street. She was unaware that she was speaking aloud until she heard mumbled prayers spilling out of her mouth. Her prayers didn’t affect the snow, sadly. In fact, the intensity increased and the wind picked up in those last few blocks. She drove about five miles per hour.

By the time she steered into her parking lot, her whole body was as taut as a brittle gingerbread snap.

An older, beat-up car was the only other one in the lot. She didn’t recognize it. Maybe someone had left it there and gotten a ride. Nothing was open on the block and hers was the only residence.

She glided to a slow stop near her door, got out, and locked the car door.

Again, she shielded her face with her right forearm, not bothering to pull up her scarf for such a short distance, and waded through the snow. It had drifted to depths of at least four feet in places.

It was hard to see even a few feet ahead. Her boot sunk into a drift and cold snow came in at the top.

After six or seven steps, an arm snaked around her neck. Instinctively, she left her right hand on her face, keeping her arm between her neck and the incredibly strong person trying to get her in a strangle hold.

“You’re coming with me.”

She smelled pizza sauce on his breath. It was Bart.