Robert B. Parker’s Revenge Tour

Sixty-Seven

It was what had been Jennifer Price’s house, her cabin, halfway up the mountain, the one that had recently been reclaimed by the Forestry Service, according to Elissa Salzman. It was just starting to get dark by the time I got there. By now I was starting to think my car could have self-driven itself to New Ashford and back.

Somehow, against all odds, the address Samantha had given me worked on Waze, even though when I got off Route 7 I felt as if I were participating in some sort of off-road race.

Samantha’s rental car was out front, in what must have been a small front yard once, now overgrown with wildflowers and bushes and scrub. But there was a light coming from inside. I had no way of telling whether it was a lamp or a high-powered flashlight.

Samantha must have seen the headlights of my car coming up the narrow road, because she came outside, smiling and shaking her head. She was wearing a down vest and jeans and what looked to be hiking boots.

“Was it you or Spike that said Melanie Joan wasn’t much for plans, I forget?” she said.

“Definitely Spike.”

“Well, our girl certainly had one on the way to the private plane,” Samantha said. “Somehow she took you saying you were going to find out about that baby as a challenge. Like it was some kind of contest. And Melanie Joan, being Melanie Joan, just had to be the smartest girl in class.”

“Trust me,” I said. “It’s a lifelong affliction.”

“It only took her one day to solve the mystery,” Samantha said. “But I’ll let her tell you, or she’ll probably fire me.”

I was walking ahead of her into the cabin when I felt the needle go into the back of my neck, and she was grabbing me by the hair.

As I started to sag, I could see the razor blade Samantha had in front of my throat.

From behind me she whispered, “I’m Jennifer Price’s daughter.”