Hour Game

Chapter 69

“Somebody blocked up the vents on your heating system, Sean,” Todd Williams told King and Michelle at the hospital later. He was there along with two of his deputies and Sylvia. “All the fumes came back into the cabin. You’re lucky Michelle got there when she did.”

“I almost didn’t,” she said, rubbing her injured arm, which was now in a sling.

King scowled at her from the bed. “You said you were okay. I don’t believe getting shot qualifies as being okay,” he grumbled.

“It was just a nick.”

“Not quite, Michelle,” said Sylvia. “It’s on the inside of your arm. Another inch and it could have hit your torso and the damage would have been far worse.”

Michelle shrugged off this dire pronouncement and said, “Anyone find the bullet or the shooter?”

“No on both counts,” said Williams. “The slug’s probably in the lake. The shooter, who the hell knows?”

“Well, one good thing came of it,” said King. They all looked at him. “If the killer wanted to get rid of me, we must be getting closer.”

“Well, we’re not going to catch him while I’m sitting here,” said Williams.

After he had departed, Sylvia said to King, “You can’t go back to your houseboat. You can stay at my place; I’ve got plenty of room.”

Michelle stood and said firmly, “He’s bunking at my house. I’ll be able to keep an eye on him there.”

King looked awkwardly at the two women. “She’s right, Sylvia. You’ve got a lot going on. You can’t exactly sit around and babysit me, although I feel fine.”

Michelle shook her head. “You heard what the doctor said, Sean. You have to take it easy for a few days.”

“That’s right,” said Sylvia. “They’ve pumped you full of oxygen, and you might feel fine now, but your body’s undergone a shock, and if you overdo it, you’ll end up right back here.” She looked at Michelle. “Well, you take care of yourself too.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks.”

Sylvia gave King a hug, whispered something in his ear and then left.

“What’d she say?” asked Michelle.

“Don’t I have any secrets?”

“Not from me. I just saved your life. Not the first time either.”

King sighed. “Okay. She said not to scare her like that again.”

“That was it?”

“I’m sorry if you’re disappointed. What, did you expect her to profess her eternal love? A couple needs to work up to that. At least three meals, a movie and some heavy petting, or so I’ve heard.”

“Smart-ass. Shows you’re getting better.”

“Can we get out of here now?”

“They want to keep you for observation for a while longer.”

“Damn it, all I need is some fresh air, and you can’t get any of that in a hospital.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. We can run by your place so you can pick up your things.”

“Can you drive with that arm?”

“Drive and shoot. The way things are going we’ll probably need both.”

As they pulled out of the parking lot an hour later in Michelle’s truck, King said grumpily, “Well, at least this time they didn’t blow up my house.”

“I admire a man who can find the silver lining in all situations.”

“Now I face only one more challenge.”

Michelle looked at him with a confused expression. “What’s that?”

“Surviving at your house.”

It was barely light outside when Sally Wainwright rose from her bed to start her work. Horses needed to be fed, ridden and groomed. Stalls needed to be mucked and bridles and saddle cinches mended, plus a host of other chores that would make the hours race by. Always the first one up, and usually the first in bed, she was moving more slowly this morning after her late night. She was scared of what might happen after her conversation with Sean King. Yet like he’d said, it was the right thing to do. At least now everyone would know Junior had been innocent.

She dressed and headed out into the crisp morning air, her quick strides carrying her rapidly to the stables. She approached the stall of the first horse, one she was dutifully trying to break in. She wondered how much longer she’d be working here. Only Savannah and Eddie rode, and with Savannah possibly leaving, would there be any need for horses and stables? Maybe it was time to move on anyway. Too much tragedy, too much death. She started shivering just thinking about it.

The serrated knife sliced cleanly through Sally’s neck, severing the carotid arteries and jugular veins, cutting so deeply, in fact, that it carved into her cervical spine on its jagged crescent path from her left to her right ear. She sputtered, tried to speak, felt the blood rushing down the front of her shirt, emptying far faster than it was possible for her body to replenish. She dropped first to her knees and then onto her face. Sally Wainwright’s stunned brain realized she’d been murdered an instant before she died.

Her killer used the rake to push Sally over on her back. She stared up but couldn’t see the person now, of course. The rake came down directly on her face, breaking her nose. Another blow caved in one of her cheeks; a third blow shattered her left eye socket. By the time the blows stopped raining down, Sally’s mother would not have recognized her own daughter.

The rake and knife were dropped beside the body as the killer continued to hover. The face held an expression of fury, of hatred for the fallen woman. A moment later Sally was alone in her death, the straw all around soaked through with her blood. The only sound was that of the horse as it jostled the stable door, waiting impatiently for its morning ride; a ride that wouldn’t be coming.