Slugfest

Sixty

The sky was turning blue-black. We were going to need another torch; Wrentham would be harder to find as the night wore on. What I didn’t want to think about was where Emma was. And where “Mr. Rose” was.

I had the lantern that we’d used on the highway in my car, but I could tell from Spade and Archer strapped to the top that the Jeep was buried in back of the lot. Guy’s Escalade was still front and center. I ran to the attendant just as he was getting in to park it.

“My husband forgot something in the trunk—I’ll just be a minute.” The attendant helpfully popped the trunk lid. A plastic orange crate held Guy’s emergency kit—jumper cables, a flashlight, a piece of carpet, and some flares. Next to the cables was Guy’s sample case, with tumbled blocks and, for comparison, a few pieces of the real thing. I dumped all but two of the stones and put the flashlight and flares in the case. You never knew. Nothing else useful was in the trunk, just a lot of old magazines, a map of upstate New York, and a pair of foam stadium seats from the Mets’ new home, Citi Field.

“Mr. Rose—I can’t believe I just got it. It’s not the flower, it’s Pete Rose. Bambi-no’s founder is a baseball freak.”

I slammed the trunk shut. Lucy and I took off with the map and the stuff from Guy’s car. I carried the sample case like a handbag, albeit an ugly, heavy one, and slipped past the crowds that were shrinking closer to the house as it grew dark and the gardens were less visible.

The Great Pond was the biggest, and it would take the longest to get around. As much as I’d snickered about Terry Ward’s sensible shoes I was glad to be wearing mine. So far Lucy’s canvas wedges were holding their own in the soft, moist soil near the pond, but they started to make sucking noises as we got closer to the water.

“I will sacrifice the red scarf and these shoes, but, please lord, do not let anything happen to the jacket Paula is wearing.”

“Sshhh. I think the lord has more pressing business right now.” We crept around slowly until we were close to one of the spotlights. Lucy’s white jacket shone like the moon. That was good if one of the Wrenthams saw us, bad if it was Shepard. I told her to take it off. In deference to her prayer, I took mine off and gave it to her to wear. If it fell in the mud now it would be her doing.

A third of the way around the pond we heard another sound from my phone. Wrentham was trying to say something. Either we were getting closer to him or the killer was. Then we heard footsteps, someone slogging through mud. We’d moved into a muddy area. Was I hearing my own steps echoed on the phone? Were we that close to Wrentham? Or were they someone else’s footsteps? We stopped moving, but the sounds continued. I thought I saw movement in the reeds, so we crouched down and waited until it passed. Two glowing yellow lights emerged from the reeds and I held my hand over Lucy’s mouth to stifle the scream.

“Raccoon.”

There was a storage shed twenty-five yards behind us, a custom-made version of the expensive prefabs sold at the show. I motioned to Lucy to creep back to the shed and stay hidden until we knew what was going on. And we did that until her cell rang.

“Where the hell are you?”

Lucy handed me the phone. “It’s for you,” she whispered.

It was Stancik. He’d tried my cell, but it had been busy. He was returning Lucy’s call.

“I heard from Emma. She’s hiding somewhere on the Moffitt property. She thinks a man named Mr. Rose killed her father,” he said. “She’s terrified.”

“I can identify with that. Except I think Wrentham is still alive. I can hear him breathing. And I think Mr. Rose is Marty Shepard, the Bambi-no guy.”

“You’re right. We found his wife stranded in a ditch off the Hutchinson Parkway. She was babbling about a red dragon flying through the air that caused her accident. I think she must be drinking that crap they’re selling. Where are you?”

“On the right side of the Great Pond. Wrentham’s on the phone—not with us. I’m not sure where he is except there are frogs there.”

“Where the heck is the Great Pond?”

“Didn’t they give you a map when you entered?”

“Only one guy was at the table; the rest were scrambling around the parking lot. A lot of ticked-off people walking around in the dark, trying to find their cars.”

“Okay, forget the map. It’s the large pond in the center directly opposite the terrace where the band is playing.”

“Stay put, you lunatic.”

“Did he just hang up on you?” Lucy said. I didn’t bother to answer. I handed Lucy her phone and pressed my own to my ear. I still heard breathing. That was good. I tried to think of something positive to say.

“Hang on, Lincoln. There’s a beautiful woman here who wants to go to bed with you.” It was the only thing I could think of to keep his spirits up. The last thing I wanted to do was mention his daughter. For all I knew she was lying on the ground beside him. The beautiful woman remark got us a grunt and I took that as a positive sign.

When we got to the shed, Lucy reached for the doorknob, but I grabbed her hand first. I wanted as much notice as possible if I was walking into a space already occupied by a killer. On my hands and knees, I crept to a side window and half stood to peer in. The shed looked unoccupied. Just then something drifted onto my hair and made me look up.

“Jeez!”

Standing over me with a flaking, rotten tree limb in her hands was Emma Franklin, poised to take a crack at my skull.