The Cove

Sally said, "While you're waiting, Amabel, call Noelle. Tell her how you let him kill me. Yeah, tell her that, Amabel."

He pulled her out of Amabel's sight, then sent his elbow into her ribs. She doubled over, gasping with the pain. He yanked her back up.

"Keep your mouth shut, Sally, or I'll just keep hurting you. Do you want that?"

"What I want," she said when she could finally speak, "is for you to die. Very slowly and very painfully."

"Not in your lifetime, my dear," he said, and laughed.

"They'll get you. There's no way you can escape, not with the FBI after you."

He was still laughing softly, highly amused with her. It made no sense. Then he walked beneath a strong light at the head of the stairs and stopped. He laughed again. "Look, Sally. Look at me"

She did. It wasn't Amory St. John.

The phone service was still on. Thomas called the Portland office. When he hung up, he said, "They're bringing a helicopter up here. Thirty minutes, tops." "What about David?" Corey said.

"Jesus," Quinlan said. "Here, let me call his wife." David's lovely sweet wife, Jane, who'd taken him in when they cracked him over the head, who'd fed him soup. He prayed David was alive. Please, let him be alive.

When she answered, Quinlan said, "Hi, this is Quinlan. Please tell me David's there. What? Oh, no. Shit, I'm sorry. Tell his doctors that he was drugged. That's why he banged himself up. No, no, things are under control here. No, I'm going to call his office and get his three deputies here. Yeah, I'll speak to you soon. Sally? I don't know. We're going to hunt for her now."

He hung up the phone. "David's in a coma. They medi-vaced him to Portland. His condition's stable so far. Nobody knows anything yet, just that he ran off the road into the only oak tree in his neighborhood.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

His wife was the first person to get to him. She said the doctors told her that if he hadn't been transported so quickly to the hospital he probably would have died."

"This is a nightmare," Corey said. "The whole damned town, all of them murderers. I want to get them, Quinlan."

"I sure want them to lose their Social Security," Thomas said. "No means testing."

"That wasn't funny," Corey said, but she laughed.

"It's Shakespearean. You know, comedy mixed with tragedy."

"No," Quinlan said, "it's evil. It didn't start out evil, but they've made it all the way, haven't they? Let's go find my future wife."

It was Amory St. John, but it*wasn't. She blinked up at him. No, the light here was excellent. "Doctor Beader-meyer changed your face, just like he did the man you murdered."

"Yes. I didn't want to be completely different, just different enough that if an old friend happened to see me he wouldn't wonder. He did his nicks and cuts and sutures just after we got you back from The Cove that first time." He patted his neck. "Gravity was taking a bit of a toll, but no longer. He tucked that all up, too. Would you go out with me, Sally, a young woman your age?"

She didn't say anything. She was afraid if he hit her again she'd lose consciousness. She couldn't let that happen. Her legs were free. The numbness was nearly gone. Surely she could run now. She had to get away from him. She had to find Quinlan and the others. What if they were already dead? No, she wouldn't think like that. They weren't dead. There was still time.

She looked up at him. She hated him more than she believed it possible for one human being to hate another. She wanted tc break him. She wanted him to suffer, to realize he'd lost, to realize that he wasn't as smart as he thought he was. "Scott told the FBI everything you'd done. He's cooperating with them, hoping to save his wretched little hide."

"Who cares what the bastard does? Shut up now, and let's get you out of here."

He forced her down the stairs. As if he guessed she would try something, he grabbed her hair and went down behind her.

What to do?

There was a noise at the front door. His hand jerked her hair upward. She didn't even notice. She heard him curse under his breath. She knew the moment when he drew a gun. "Let's just hope it's one of the old folk."

But it wasn't. The door slowly opened. If only they'd been upstairs no one would have heard anything.

She stared at that opening door, mesmerized.

She saw Quinlan's face. She didn't think, just acted. She raised her arms, grabbed his hair, and dropped down. Her Amory stumbled over her head and rolled over and over down the stairs. He landed on his back, panting hard, but still conscious. Quinlan was on him in an instant, the gun pointed at his temple.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Who the hell are you?"

"It's Amory St. John," Sally said. "Doctor Beader-meyer changed his face just like he did that other man's."

Quinlan's SIG-sauer pressed harder against St. John's temple. "Sally, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. My aunt's upstairs. He was taking me away, probably to kill me. He told my aunt that he wouldn't, but he's a miserable liar. James, he hit her and she's all ready to forgive him. What's wrong with her?"

"I'll get her," Thomas said. "Don't worry, Sally. I won't hurt her."

Sally got to her feet. She was sore, her scalp hurt, and she felt better than she'd ever felt in her life.

"James," she said, "I'm so glad to see you. You, too, Corey. Amabel said the three of you were in that shed behind Doc Spiver's cottage."

"Yeah," Quinlan said, "but we're special agents. We got out. Well, actually, it's Corey who's the hero.

You know, Sally, I noticed a gray hair. Let Corey untie your hands."

When she had feeling back in her wrists, she went and stood over the man who'd been her father for so many years, the man she'd hated for so long, the man who hated her. He was on the floor, at her feet.

She got down on her knees. She smiled. "Now it's my chance to tell you what I think of you. You're pathetic. You're nothing. You'll never have a hold over anybody again for as long as you live. I hate you.

More than that, I despise you." She drew back her fist and slammed it into his nose.

"God, I've wanted to do that for such a long time." She rubbed her knuckles.

He was quivering with rage. His nose began to bleed. He quieted only when he felt the gun press still harder against his temple.

“You want to know something else? Noelle is ecstatic that you're gone. She hates you as much as I do.

She's free of you. I'm free of you. Soon you'll be in a cage where you belong."

She stared down at him, at the blood seeping out of his nose, at the rage in his eyes. "Fucking bastard."

She rose and kicked him in the ribs.

"Shut up, you crazy bitch. Hey, you're a cop. Don't let her beat me."

"I'll let her shoot you in the balls if she wants to," Quinlan said. "Sally? Would you like to shoot him?"

"No, not now. Well, just not this exact minute. You know what, old man? Noelle looks utterly beautiful.

I'll bet she'll be going out again very soon. She'll have any man she wants."

"She won't dare. She'd know I'd kill her if she even looked at another man. Yes, I'd kill both of them."

"You aren't going to kill anybody," Sally said, eyes mean and bright, joy in her voice. "You're going to jail for the rest of your miserable life." She patted his face. "You're an old man. Think of how much faster you'll sag and wrinkle in prison."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"I won't go to prison. God, I'm going to get you. I played with you for six months. I should have strangled you."

"Just try it, you old bastard." She smiled down at him, lifted her foot, and landed it square in his groin He screamed, clutching himself "Well done, Sally," Quinlan said. "You sure you don't want to shoot him?"

There was a shot from upstairs.

32

QUINLAN STRUCK AMORY St. John hard on his jaw.

One down, he thought, as St. John's head lolled to the side. They had only one weapon-Quinlan's gun, taken off old Purn Davies, the one that Quinlan had pressed to Amory St. John's temple.

When Thomas had gone upstairs unarmed, Sally hadn't thought, hadn't imagined that her aunt could shoot someone.

Suddenly Corey moved like lightning, throwing herself into the shadowed recess just to the side at the base of the stairs.

They watched in silence as Thomas, his arm bleeding rivulets through his fingers, came down the stairs, Amabel behind him with a pistol to the back of his head.

"Throw that gun toward the living room, Mr. Quinlan."

Instead, Quinlan slid it across the highly polished oak floor right toward the spot where Corey was crouched.

"You don't have such a good aim, do you? No matter. Now, move away from him. That's right. Go stand by

Sally.

"You, sir, keep moving or I'll shoot you in the back of your neck. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

"No," Thomas said, sounding dazed, "1 wouldn't like that at all."

"You're bleeding all over my floor. Well, who cares? I doubt we'll ever come back here anyway. Now, Mr. Quinlan, you and Sally just take two more steps back. Good. Don't try anything. You're always bragging about FBI agents, but this one's just like you, Mr. Quinlan, he's just a man. Look at all that blood-and it's only a little wound in his arm. He's not whining, I'll say that for him. Now don't move." She looked down. "Amory, you can get up now."

There wasn't a sound from Amory.

"Amory!"

She waved the gun and screamed at Quinlan, '-'What did you do to him, you bastard?"

"I coldcocked him, Amabel. Real hard. I don't think he'll be coming around anytime soon."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"I should shoot you right now. You've been a pain ever since you set foot in this town, ever since you first saw Sally. No, Sally, just keep your mouth shut. My future is with him, and I intend to have it. I know the town will fall, but I won't. No one will catch us, not even your precious FBI."

She shoved Thomas to the bottom step. She must have sensed something because she quickly moved back up two steps. "You try to turn on me, boy, and I'll blow your head off."

"No, ma'am," Thomas said. "I won't do anything. Can I go on down and let Quinlan wrap a handkerchief around my arm? I don't want to bleed to death. I don't want to ruin your pretty floor and carpets."

"Go on, but try anything and you're dead."

Thomas was pale, his mouth drawn thin with pain. He was holding his arm tightly. Blood still dripped slowly between his fingers.

"Come here, Thomas," Quinlan said, motioning him forward with his hand. "You got a handkerchief?"

"Yeah, in my right coat pocket."

Quinlan pulled out a spiffy blue handkerchief with the initials TS in the corner and tied up his arm. "That should do it. Too bad you guys killed Doc Spiver, Amabel. Thomas could use his services right about now."

She had to come down those three remaining steps. She had to. Just three steps. Come on, Amabel, come on.

Sally said suddenly, her voice loud with shock. "There's blood coming from his mouth." She was pointing wildly at Amory St. John. "And something white, oh, my God, I think it's foam. He's foaming!"

"What?" Amabel came down the last three stairs, slowly, trying to keep her attention on the two agents and Sally and see what was wrong with Amory. "All of you, bunch together, there. Sit on the floor.

Now."

They all sat.

Just a bit further, Quinlan said to her silently. Just a bit further. He saw Corey poised in the shadows, his SIG-sauer at the ready in her hand.

Just then Amory St. John groaned. He jerked up, then fell back. He groaned again, then opened his eyes.

"Oh, God," Sally shrieked, "there's blood in his eyes. James, you hit him that hard?"

In those precious seconds when all of Amabel's attention was focused on Amory, Corey leaped from her left side, a lovely training move taught at Quantico, her right fist going right into Amabel's side, her left fist straight into her neck.

Amabel turned, but not in time. The gun went spinning out of her hand.

Corey said, "I'm sorry, Sally," then hit Amabel square in the jaw. She crumpled to the floor.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Amory St. John groaned again.

"Corey," Thomas said, "please say you'll marry me. Like a reformed smoker, I'm now a reformed sexist.

I'll become a feminist."

Sally laughed from sheer relief. Quinlan told Thomas to stay where he was on the floor. He rose and shook hands with Corey and hugged Sally to his side. "Now we'll just wait for the cavalry to arrive."

"1 smell smoke," Thomas said, stiffening as he sniffed the air. "Jesus, Quinlan, there's smoke coming from under that door."

"It's the kitchen," Sally said, dashing to it.

"No, Sally, don't open it. It'll just suck the flames in here."

Amory St. John moaned again and lurched to his side.

"God, more flames," Corey said. "Someone's set us on fire. Jesus, the old folks have set the place on fire!"

"I'll carry St. John. Corey, you get Amabel. Sally, can you help Thomas? Let's get the hell out of here."

"Whoever set the fire will be waiting for us," Sally said. "You know it, James."

"I'd rather risk being shot than burn to death," he said. "Everyone agree? There's no other way out except through the kitchen, and the door's already burning. It's got to be the front door."

"Let's go," Corey said, as she shoved the SIG-sauer in her belt. She heaved Amabel over her shoulder.

Quinlan, with St. John over his shoulder in a fireman's carry just like Corey's, kicked the cottage door open. The sun was just rising, the dawn sky streaked with pink. The air was crisp and clean, the sound of the ocean soft and rhythmic. It was a beautiful morning.

There were at least thirty people standing in front of the cottage, all of them armed.

Reverend Hal Vorhees shouted, "Throw down your gun, Mr. Quinlan, or we'll shoot the women."

Well, damn, Quinlan thought. At least the old folk hadn't automatically shot them down when they'd come out of Amabel's cottage. All the bravado about preferring a gunshot to a fire-was bullshit. Nobody wanted to die. Now they had some time-at least he prayed they did.

Quinlan nodded to Corey. She threw his SIG-sauer right at Reverend Hal Vorhees. It landed close to his feet.

"Good, now lay that madman down, Amabel next to him. We don't care what happens to him. He's evil and a blight. He's nothing more than a filthy traitor. He made Amabel turn on us. Come on now, the four of you come with us."

"We're going to a church service, Reverend?" "Just shut up, Mr. Quinlan," Hunker Dawson said. "A helicopter will be arriving in just about five minutes, Hal," Quinlan said after he'd dropped St. John to the ground, landing him in the middle of Amabel's daffodils.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“We called the FBI office in Portland from Doc Spiver's cottage. Sheriff David Mountebank's deputies will be here soon as well."

Actually the deputies should have been here long ago. Where the devil were they?

"No, we took care of the deputies," Gus Eisner said. "Come now. We don't want to waste any more time. You're lying about that helicopter. Besides, it don't make no difference. You'll be gone by the time the Feds arrive." "You'll never get away with this," Sally said. "Never. Don't you have any idea at all what you're dealing with?" "Look at us, Sally," Sherry Vorhees said. "Just look at all these nice old people. We wouldn't even kill mosquitoes, now would we? Who would deal with us? Why, there's nothing to deal with. I'd invite them all in for some of the World's Greatest Ice Cream."

"It's gone far beyond that now," Sally said, stepping forward.

Reverend Hal Vorhees immediately raised his gun higher. "Listen, to me," Sally went on. "Everyone knows that James and the other agents are here. They'll mow you down. Another thing, they'll dig up every grave in the cemetery and they'll find out those are all the missing people reported over the past three years. It's all over. Please, be reasonable about this. Give it up."

"Shut up, Sally," said Hunker Dawson. "All of you, enough of this bullshit. Let's go."

"Yes, sure thing, Hunker," Quinlan said. They had more time. How much more, he had no idea. But even one more minute meant hope.

They walked like condemned prisoners in front of the mob. He was aware of the unreality about the whole situation even as he felt fear seeping deep into him.

Quinlan said over his shoulder, "What will you preach on this Sunday, Hal? The rewards of evil? The spiritual high of mass murder? No, I've got it. It'll be the wages of trying to bring justice to people who were brutally murdered for the amount of cash they carried."

Quinlan staggered from the blow on his shoulder.

"That's enough," Gus Eisner said. "Just shut up. You're upsetting the ladies."

"I'm not upset," Corey said. "I'd like to pull out all your teeth and listen to you scream."

"I don't have any teeth," Hunker said. "That ain't a good punishment for this group."

What to say to that? Quinlan thought and winked at Corey. She looked furious. Thomas was walking on his own, but Corey was helping him. His arm wasn't bleeding so much now, but the blood loss was taking its toll, that and shock.

Sally was trudging along beside him, looking pale and very thoughtful. He said out of the side of his mouth, real low, so maybe all those old people wouldn't hear him, "Hold up, Sally. We'll figure out something. Hell, I could take at least a dozen of the old guys, no problem. Could you pound the old ladies?"

That made her smile. "Yeah, I could pound them into the dust. But I want to go back and get Amory St.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

John. They just left him and Amabel there, James, both of them. They'll get away. My aunt, well, I don't know, but she's not quite the aunt I'd hoped she was."

An understatement, Quinlan thought. Another blow for her, another person she'd believed she could trust had betrayed her. Thank God her mother had come through for her. He thought he just might come to like Noelle St. John a lot in the future. If he had a future.

Quinlan said, "Maybe the calvary will arrive before St. John and your aunt get their wits back together and can get away. But even if they do escape, we'll get them sooner or later."

To Quintan's surprise, they were herded up the wide, beautifully painted white steps and into Thelma's Bed and Breakfast. He guessed he had thought they'd be taken to the Vorheeses' house.

"I'll be damned," Quinlan said as he got a poke with a rifle, shoving him into the large drawing room.

There was Thelma Nettro, sitting on that chair of hers that looked for all the world like a throne. She was smiling at them. She was wearing a full mouth of false teeth and her pumpkin peach lipstick.

She said, "I wanted to join in the fun, but I just don't get around as well as I used to."

There was Purn Davies sitting on one of the sofas, looking white and shriveled. Good, Corey had whacked him hard.

"Why are we here?" Quinlan asked, turning to Reverend Hal Vorhees.

"You're here because I wanted you here. Because I ordered my people to bring you to me. Because, Mr. Quinlan, I'm going to tell you all what we're going to do with you."

They all stared at Martha as she moved from behind Thelma Nettro's chair. There was nothing soft and bo-somy about her now. There were no pearls around her neck. Her voice was loud and clear, a commander's voice, not her gentle cook's voice announcing an incredible meal. Jesus, Quinlan thought, what was going on here?

"Martha?" Sally said, bewildered. "Oh, no, not you too, Martha?"

"Don't look so surprised."

"I don't understand," Sally said. "You're a wonderful cook, Martha. You go out with poor Ed. You take grief from Thelma. You're nice, damn you. What's going on?"

Quinlan said slowly, "I knew there had to be a ringleader, one person with a vision, one person who could get all the others to fall in line. Aren't I right, Martha?"

"Exactly right, Mr. Quinlan."

"Why didn't you just let them elect you mayor?" Sally said. "Why murder innocent people?"

"I'll let that go, Sally," Martha said. "Oh, poor Mr. Shredder. You, Corey, set him down in that chair.

Too bad Doc Spiver fell sick of cowardice and remorse. He drew the straw and had to kill that woman who'd overheard a meeting we were having. We caught her on the phone, dialing 911. Poor bitch. She was different. We didn't know what to do with her. She wasn't like those tourists who came into town for the World's Greatest Ice Cream. No, we wouldn't ever have picked her. She was too young; she had Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

children. But then, we didn't know what to do with her either. We couldn't very well let her go-

“When she got loose that first night and screamed her head off-you heard her, Sally, Amabel told us the next day-we put a guard on her. But then two nights later she got loose again, and that time Amabel was forced to call Hal Vorhees over, because of you, Sally. There was no choice. Since it was Doc's fault that she got loose, since he'd been her guard, we all decided that she had to die. There was simply no other choice. We were sorry about it, but it had to be done, and Doc Spiver had to kill her. He just couldn't stomach it. He was going to call Sheriff Mountebank." She shrugged.

"Fair is fair. Yes, we've always been scrupulously fair. Helen Keaton drew the straw. She put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. If it hadn't been for that sheriff and that medical examiner down in Portland, it would have been declared an accident. Yes, that was a pity. Amazingly unfair."

It was remarkable, Quinlan was thinking, that every criminal he'd ever known had loved to talk, to brag about how great he was, how he was smarter than everyone else. Even a little old lady.

"Yeah," he said, "a real pity." Martha was fiddling with her glasses, since she wasn't wearing her pearls, but her voice was calm and assured. "You don't appreciate what we've done, Mr. Quinlan. We turned a squalid little ghost town into a picture postcard village. Everything is so pristine. Everything is so beautifully planned. We leave nothing to chance. We discuss everything. We even have a gardening service for those who don't enjoy tending flowers. We have a painting service that comes in every week.

Of course, we also have a chairperson for each service. We are an intelligent, loyal, industrious group of older citizens. Each of us has a responsibility, each has an assignment."

"Who selects the victims?" Corey asked. She was standing beside Thomas, her hand on his shoulder. He was still conscious, but his face was white as death. She'd wrapped a hand-crocheted afghan around him. It looked as if a grandmother had spent hours putting those soft pastel squares together.

Quinlan stared at that afghan. Then he stared at Martha. He'd be willing to wager that she had knitted the afghan. No accounting for grandmothers. Martha was a vicious cold-blooded killer.

Martha laughed softly. "Who? Why all of us, Ms. Harper. Our four gentlemen who play gin rummy around their barrel? Yes, they look over everyone who drives in for refreshment at the World's Greatest Ice Cream Shop.

"Zeke down at the cafe eyes every tourist from his window in the kitchen. When he's too busy, then Nelda pays attention when folk take out their wallets to pay.

"Sherry and Delia run the souvenir shop in that little cottage close to the ocean cliffs. They check out tourists there. As you can imagine, we must make decisions very quickly." She sighed. "Sometimes we've erred. A pity.

One couple looked so very affluent, drove a Mercedes even, but we only found three hundred dollars, nothing else of any use. All we could do was send Gus to Portland with the car to sell it. It turned out it was leased. That was close. As I recall, Ralph refused to lay them out, didn't you, Ralph? Yes, that's right, you said they didn't deserve it. And we all agreed. They weren't honest with us. They lied."

"Exactly right," Ralph Keaton said. "I just wrapped them each in a cheap sheet, the dirty liars. Helen wanted the name Shylock on their grave marker, but we knew we couldn't be that obvious so we changed it to Smith, so nondescript it was like they'd never even existed."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"This is amazing," Sally said, looking at each one of those old faces. "Truly amazing. You're all mad. I wonder what they'll do with all of you. Put you all on trial as mass murderers? Or just chuck you into an insane asylum?"

"I hear a helicopter," Reverend Hal Vorhees said. "We've got to hurry, Martha."

"You're going to shoot us?" Corey asked, stepping away from Thomas. "You honest to God think you can get away with killing all of us?"

"Of course we can," Purn Davies said, rising from the sofa, looking a bit less pale. He picked up a shotgun from beside him and walked forward. "We've got nothing to lose. Nothing at all. Isn't that right, Martha?"

"Perfectly right, Purn."

"You're all senile and stupid!" Sally screamed.

In that instant, when most attention was focused on Sally, Quinlan grabbed Purn Davies's sawed-off shotgun and leaped to Martha. He took her down and rolled over her. He had his arm around her throat and the gun digging into the small of her back. His right hand was tangled in the chain that secured her glasses.

There was stunned silence. Thelma Nettro slowly turned around in her chair. "Let her go, Mr. Quinlan. If you don't, we'll just kill her along with the rest of you. You agree, don't you, Martha?"

There was no choice, none at all. Quinlan knew that. He knew he had to act quickly, with no hesitation.

He had to make them believe. He had to scare them shitless. It had to be shocking. It had to punch these old people back to reality, out of the insane world they'd created and inhabited. He had to show them they had no more control. Quinlan raised the shotgun and shot Purn Davies in the chest. The blast knocked the old man off the floor, against an ancient piano. Blood spewed everywhere. The old man didn't make a sound, just slid onto the floor. There were a dozen screams, curses, and just plain horrified yells.

Quinlan shouted over the din, "I can get at least three more of you before you get me. Want to bet it's not going to be you? Come on, you old geezers, come and try it." The shotgun was double-barreled. One of them would realize quickly enough that he had only one shot left. "Corey, grab my gun, quick."

She had it in an instant. Reverend Hal Vorhees raised his pistol. Quinlan shot him cleanly through his right arm. Corey threw Quinlan his SIG-sauer.

"Who else?" Quinlan said. "This gun is a semiautomatic. It can take you all down. Anybody else? It will make a bigger, bloodier mess than that wimpy little shotgun did on old Purn. It'll spew your ancient guts all over this room. I'll bet none of you has ever dispatched your victim with a semiautomatic. It ain't a pretty sight. Just look at Purn. Yeah, look at him. It could be you."

Silence. Dead silence. He heard someone vomiting. That was amazing. One of them could actually throw up seeing Purn Davies after they'd killed sixty people? Thelma Nettro said, "You all right, Martha?" "Oh, yes," Martha said. She flexed her hands. She smiled. She kicked back against Quinlan's groin. He felt searing pain, felt his head swim with dizziness, felt the inevitable nausea. He took the SIG-sauer and hit her on the temple.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

He didn't know if she was dead. He didn't particularly care. He said between gritted teeth as the nausea began to get to him, "Sally, get me Gus's gun. Be sure to stay clear of any hands that could grab you. The rest of you, drop all your weapons. Ease those old bones of yours down to the floor. We're going to stay here nice and quiet until my guys arrive."

Thelma Nettro said, "Did you kill her, Mr. Quinlan?"

"I don't know," he said, the pain still roiling through his groin.

"Martha's like a daughter to me. Don't you remember? I told you that once." She raised a pistol from her lap and shot him.

In the next instant, the front door burst open. Sally, who was running to Quinlan, heard a man shout,

"Nobody move! FBI!"

33

"MR. QUINLAN, CAN you hear me?"

"Yes," he said very clearly. "I can hear you, but I don't want to. Go away. I hurt and I want to hurt alone.

My Boy Scout leader told me a long time ago that men didn't whine or moan, except in private."

"You're a trooper, Mr. Quinlan. Now, I'll make that hurt go away. How bad is it?"

"On a scale from one to ten, it's a thirteen. Go away. Let me groan in peace."

The nurse smiled over at Sally. "Is he always like this?"

"I don't know. This is the first time I've ever been around him when he's been shot."

"Hopefully that won't happen again."

"It won't," Sally said. "If he ever lets it happen again, I'll kill him."

The nurse injected morphine into his IV drip. “There,'' she said, lightly rubbing his arm above the elbow,

"you won't hurt very soon now. As soon as you have your wits together, you can give yourself pain medication whenever you need it. Ah, here's Dr. Wiggs."

The surgeon was tall, skinny as a post, with the most beautiful black eyes Quinlan had ever seen. "I'm in Portland?"

"Yes, at OHSU, Oregon Health and Sciences University Hospital. I'm Dr. Wiggs. I took that bullet out of your chest. You're doing just fine, Mr. Quinlan. I hear you're a very brave man. It's a pleasure to save a brave man."

"I'm going to get even braver soon," Quinlan said, his voice a bit slurred from the morphine. He was feeling just fine now. In fact, if he weren't tied to this damned bed with all these hookups in every orifice of his body, he'd want to dance, maybe even play his saxophone. He'd like to call Ms. Lilly, maybe even tell Marvin the Bouncer a joke. He realized his mind wasn't quite on track. He had to remember to ask Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Fuzz the Bartender to get some decent white wine in stock for Sally.

"Why is that, Mr. Quinlan?" the nurse asked.

"Why is what?"

"Why are you going to get even braver?"

He frowned, then smiled as he remembered. He said, his voice as proud and happy as a man's could ever get, "I'm going to marry Sally."

He turned his head and gave her the silliest smile she'd ever seen. "We're going to spend our honeymoon at my cabin in Delaware. On Louise Lynn Lake. It's a beautiful place, with smells that make your senses melt and-''

He was out.

"Good," Dr. Wiggs said. "He needs lots of sleep. Don't worry, Ms. Brainerd. He'll be fine. I was a bit worried for a while in surgery, but he's strong and young and he's got a will to survive that's rare.

"Now, let me just check him over. Why don't you go outside? Mr. Shredder and Ms. Harper are in the waiting room. Oh, yes, there's a Mr. Marvin Brammer there too and a man who's sitting on the sofa with a computer on his lap."

"Mr. Brammer is James's boss. He's an assistant deputy director of the FBI. The guy with the computer-''

"The sexy one."

"Yes, that's Dillon Savich. He's also FBI."

"Mr. Brammer's got quite a twinkle in those eyes of his," Dr. Wiggs said. "As for Mr. Savich, no matter how gorgeous he is, I don't know if he's even aware of where he is. I heard him say, to no one in particular, 'Eureka!' but nothing else. Go out now, Ms. Brainerd, and leave me alone with my patient."

The waiting room was just down the hall. Sally ran into Marvin Brammer's arms. "He's all right," she said over and over. "He'll be just fine. He's already complaining. He was talking about his Boy Scout leader telling him that men never whine or moan except when they're alone. He'll be just fine. We're going to get married, and I'll make sure he never gets shot again."

"Good," Marvin Brammer said, hugged her tightly, then turned her over to Dillon, who gave her a distracted hug and kiss on the cheek. "I've found them, Sally," he said. "I've found that damned jerk who isn't your father."

Marvin Brammer said, "Eureka?" "That's it. I've got to get to the FBI office in Seattle. They're at Sea Tac Airport. Yeah, the stupid bugger bought two tickets to Budapest, via New York. He used a phony credit card and a phony passport."

"Then how the hell did you get him?'' Thomas Shredder said, walking over. His arm was in a sling. He had good color in his cheeks again. He was no longer in shock. "He doesn't look like Amory St. John anymore." "Not hard," Dillon said, patting his laptop. "Me and MAX here and our modem can do Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

anything. Sally's aunt used her own passport. Ain't that a kick? She had to, I guess. I suppose they just prayed that she'd get through. They should have laid low until they'd gotten a phony one for her too.

Corey, you and Thomas must have scared the shit out of them. They couldn't wait to get out of the country."

"So," Sally said slowly, as Dillon phoned the Seattle FBI office. "It's nearly over. What's going to happen to the town, Mr. Brammer?"

"Agents are all over the cemetery. Like the old folk said, they buried all the people they murdered with their identification, so there's been no problem determining who anybody is.

"Mass murder, nothing else to call it, all by a bunch of senior citizens." He shook his head. "I thought I'd seen just about everything, but this takes the cake.

"Evil," he added, stroking his chin. "Evil can sprout up just about anyplace. None of the seniors is saying a word. They're loyal to each other, I'll say that for them, even though it doesn't matter. That Martha Crittlan, she'll pull through, although I'll bet she'll wish she hadn't. Just imagine, that seemingly sweet old lady was the brains and resolution behind the town."

"She's the most wonderful cook," Corey Harper said and sighed. "That last dinner was the most delicious meal I've ever eaten in my life."

"Yeah," Thomas Shredder said, "and it could have been our last meal, since she drugged us."

"You'll survive," Marvin Brammer said. "Oh, yes, one of the agents found a diary that old Thelma Nettro kept throughout ail her time in The Cove."

"Oh, yes," Sally said. "She always had it with her. Do you know that she had a black circle on her tongue from licking the end of the fountain pen before she wrote?"

"Knowing our people, they'll probably check for that. Old Thelma was very specific about how everything came about. It's probably the best proof and history anyone could have of the entire episode.

I mean, she wrote everything, beginning back in the 1940s when she and her husband came to The Cove.

"It's all the attorney general's problem now. I'll wager they're hating every minute of it. You can't begin to imagine what the media are doing with all this. Well, maybe you can. It's nuts. At least Sheriff Mountebank came out of the coma this morning, that's one good thing. His three deputies are pulling through as well.

They were dragged and tied up in that shed where you guys were."

"Amory St. John and my aunt Amabel," Sally said. "Mr. Brammer, what will happen to them when you nab them?"

"He'll be in jail three lifetimes. As for your aunt, Sally, I don't know if they'll toss her in with the other seniors or if they'll add kidnapping charges and conspiracy charges. We'll just have to see."

"Eureka again!"

Everyone turned to Dillon. He looked up, grinning a bit sheepishly. "Well, I just wanted all of you to Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

know that Sally's divorce will be final in six months. Let's make it the middle of October. I've booked Elm Street Presbyterian in D.C. for the fourteenth. Everything's set."

"Will you marry me, Corey?" Thomas Shredder said.

She gave him a sharp look. "You have to prove to me that you're no longer a sexist. That could take a good year, even if you try really hard. Don't forget, a condition is that I become the SAC of the Portland office."

"You could always shoot him in the other arm if he backslides," Brammer said. "As to special agent in charge, why, Ms. Harper, I'll do a great deal of thinking about that."

Sally just smiled at them all-all of them lifelong friends now-and walked back to James's room.

He would live. As to all the rest of it, well, she just wasn't going to think about it until she had to.

Life was all in your perspective, she'd decided during that helicopter ride to Portland, James white as death lying on that stretcher beside her, tubes sticking out of him. She was going to keep her perspective on James's face. A nice face, a sexy face. She couldn't wait for him to get well so they could go to the Bonhomie Club and he could play his saxophone.

* * *

The next morning, Quinlan opened the Oregonian that a nurse had brought him. The headline was: AMORY ST. JOHN KILLED WHILE FLEEING FBI

Like he didn't deserve it, he thought. "Yeah, poor bugger," he said aloud, and read on. Evidently Amory St. John had tried to run, but he hadn't made it. He'd left Amabel in a flash, jumped onto a baggage truck, knocked out the driver, and driven off, the FBI right behind him. He hadn't gotten far. He'd even been stupid enough to fire on the agents, refusing orders to stop and throw down his weapon.

He was dead. The bastard was finally dead. Sally wouldn't have to go through a trial. She wouldn't ever have to face him again.

What about Amabel?

Apparently the Oregonian hadn't known which headline to splash-The Cove murders or Amory St. John.

Since The Cove had gotten the big print the day before, he supposed they decided it was Amory's turn.

Amabel Perdy, he read, had pleaded innocent of all charges, both with regard to Amory St. John and with regard to The Cove, saying she had no idea what was going on in either case. She was an artist, she maintained. She helped sell the World's Greatest Ice Cream. That was all she did.

Wait until the media found out about Thelma's diary, he thought. That would nail her hide but good. All of the seniors' hides. He was tired, his chest hurt real bad, and so he pumped a small dose of morphine into his arm.

Soon, he knew, he would be sleeping like a baby, his mind free of all this crap. He just wished he could see Sally before he went under again.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

When she appeared at his bedside, smiling down at him, he knew he must be dreaming.

"You look like an angel."

He heard a laugh and felt her mouth on his, all warm and soft.

"Nice," he said. "More."

"Go to sleep, buster," she said. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Every morning?" "Yes. Always."

Epilogue

SALLY ST. JOHN Brainerd and James Railey Quinlan were married on the date Dillon Savich had set for them- October 14. Dillon Savich was Quinlan's best man and Sally's mother was her matron of honor. She attended her daughter's wedding with Senator Matt Montgomery from Iowa, a widower who'd taken one look at Noelle and fallen hard. She had worn a two-piece bathing suit that summer.

There were 150 special agents from the FBI, including two special agents from the Portland field office, one of them the newly appointed SAC, or special agent in charge. Every Railey and Quinlan within striking distance arrived at the Elm Street Presbyterian Church in Washington, D.C. Sally was simply enfolded into her new family.

Ms. Lilly, Marvin the Bouncer, and Fuzz the Bartender were in attendance, Ms. Lilly wearing white satin and Marvin announcing to everyone that the chicky looked gorgeous in her wedding dress. Fuzz brought a bottle of Chardonnay for a wedding present. It had a cork.

The media mobbed the wedding, which was expected since the trial of Dr. Beadermeyer-aka Norman Lipsy- had ended just the previous week and Sally had been one of the major prosecution witnesses.

He'd been found guilty of conspiracy, murder, kidnapping, extortion, and income tax evasion, which, a TV news anchorwoman said, was the most serious of all the charges and would keep him in jail until the twenty-second century.

Scott Brainerd had plea-bargained to a charge of kidnapping and conspiracy, which the government finally agreed to, since the Feds could find no solid proof of his activity in arms dealing. He was sentenced to ten years in jail. But Sally knew, she told Quinlan, that Scott would have the best behavior in the entire prison system. She'd just bet the little worm would be out in three years, curse him. Quinlan rubbed his hands together and said he couldn't wait.

In the previous June, Sally had become the senior aide to Senator Bob McCain. She had begun showing Quinlan a glitzy Washington, D.C., that was sleazy in a very different way from what he was used to. He said he wasn't certain which Washington was more fascinating. Sally was running every day, usually with James, and in July she began to sing in the shower again.

Amabel Perdy, it had been agreed to in late July, was going to be treated differently from the other fifty members of The Cove. Besides committing eight murders- four by stabbing-she'd also shot a special agent, kidnapped her niece, and aided and abetted the escape of a murder suspect, thus becoming an accessory. Her trial would be held at the end of the year. Neither Quinlan nor Sally was looking forward to it.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

All the murders were detailed in Thelma Nettro's diary-how they had been done, when, and by whom.

Thelma Nettro wrote that there was little or no remorse among the townspeople after the twentieth victim had been dispatched. Poison was the favored method, she wrote, because Ralph Keaton didn't like mess when he laid the people out for burial.

She herself had murdered two people, an old couple from Arkansas, she wrote, who'd died quickly, smiling, because they'd eaten slices of Martha's New Jersey cheesecake and hadn't tasted the poison.

It came out that the last two murders of old people who'd had the misfortune to want to try the World's Greatest Ice Cream had occurred just two months before Sally Quinlan had arrived for the first time in The Cove to hide at her aunt Amabel's cottage. Reverend Hal Vorhees had drawn the highest number.

He'd persuaded an affluent old couple to remain for a special evening spiritual revival service that had just been organized that very afternoon.

Thelma had written in her diary that it had been a very pleasant service, with many people rising to give thanks to God for what He'd done for them. There were punch and cookies after the service. Revered Hal hadn't put enough arsenic in the cookies, and the old couple had had to be poisoned again, which distressed everyone, particularly Doc Spiver.

Three books were being written on The Cove, all with a different slant, the biggest best-seller presenting Reverend Hal Vorhees as a crazed messiah who had murdered children in Arizona, then come to The Cove and converted all the townspeople to a form of Satanism.

Since it was obvious that the murders would have continued until either all the townspeople died off or were caught, as was the case, the Justice Department and the lawyers agreed that the old people would be separated, each one sent to a different mental institution in a different state. The attorney general said simply in an interview after the formal sentencing, "We can't trust any two of them together. Look what happened before."

The ACLU objected, but not very strenuously, contending that the ingredients in the World's Greatest Ice Cream (the recipe remained a secret) had induced an irresponsible hysteria in the old people that led them to lose their sense of moral value and judgment. Thus they shouldn't be held answerable for their deeds. When the ACLU lawyer was asked if she would go to The Cove to buy ice cream, she allowed that she would only if she was wearing tattered blue jeans and driving a very old Volkswagen Beetle.

Perhaps, one newspaper editorial said, it was a collective sugar high that drove them all to do it.

Thelma Nettro died peacefully in her sleep before the final disposition of her friends. Martha hung herself in her cell when she was told by a matron in mid-July that young Ed had died of prostate cancer.

As for The Cove and the World's Greatest Ice Cream, both ceased to exist. The sign at the junction of Highways 101 and 101A fell down some two years later and lay there until a memorabilia buff hauled it away to treasure it in his basement.

Hikers still visit The Cove now and again. Not much there now, but the view from the cliffs at sunset-with or without a martini-is spectacular.

The End

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

About this Title

This eBook was created using ReaderWorks®Publisher 2.0, produced by OverDrive, Inc.

For more information about ReaderWorks, please visit us on the Web at www.overdrive.com/readerworks