The sour cherry surprise

CHAPTER 11

Carolyn was looking limp but a whole lot better. They’d gotten her into a shower. Her long blond hair was washed. And she was on an intravenous drip to bring her back from her malnourished condition. Her color had improved. So had her mental state. She seemed lucid and calm as she lay there in her bed. No restraints needed. For now, they were keeping her on a mild sedative.

She was in a semiprivate room in Middlesex Hospital, which was a half hour north of Dorset up in Middletown. Her roommate was in surgery, so right now Carolyn had it all to herself-not counting the tanned, weathered woman who was seated by the bed talking softly to her when Des arrived.

Megan Chichester of Blue Hill, Maine, immediately got up out of her chair and stuck out a hand.

“We meet at last,” said Des, her own slim hand disappearing inside Megan’s rough, calloused one.

“I came as fast as I could.” Carolyn’s sister was immediately on the defensive. “Not fast enough, I guess.”

“There’s no way you could have anticipated this. Don’t blame yourself.”

“She’s right, Meggie,” Carolyn said softly. “Please don’t.”

“Thank you both,” Megan responded. “But I know what I know. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.” Megan was several years older than Carolyn. Mid-forties, maybe. Their faces had a similar bone structure. Those same high, terrific cheekbones. Otherwise, the two sisters looked nothing alike. Megan was shorter and stockier, her wavy dark brown hair streaked with silver. She wore a faded chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans and work boots.

Des showed Carolyn her smile. “I’ve been sent here by Lieutenant Tedone to ask you a few follow-up questions. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“I don’t mind. It helps to talk.”

“I’d like to stay,” said Megan, hovering over her sister protectively.

“That’s absolutely not a problem.”

Megan sat back down, farmer hands folded in her lap.

Des pulled up another chair and sat, Smokey hat over one knee. The room was on a high floor. She could see the Connecticut River outside the window. “How are you feeling today, Carolyn?”

“I’m not… exactly sure how to answer that,” Carolyn said slowly. “I still feel like I’m not here. Not me. Haven’t been me. Somebody else. Somebody wired and crazy. Or a-a total zombie. God, how do I feel?” She blinked at Des several times, then lowered her blue eyes to the clean white sheet covering her. “Like I want to crawl under this bed and stay there. I’m ashamed of myself. And so tired. I-I keep falling asleep thinking it’s all just one big nightmare. But then I wake up and I remember it’s not. It’s all happening. It’s really happening.”

“We’re going to get through this, sweetie,” Megan said reassuringly. “I promise you we will.”

“Richard is dead!“ Carolyn cried out. “I thought we would always be together. I thought we were happy. We had each other. And Molly. And our work. Then one day he walks in and tells me there’s someone else and he…” She let out a jagged sob. “Just like that it was over. Meggie, I know you two never exactly got along.”

“That’s not true.”

Carolyn’s eyes flashed at her. “It is so. You hated him. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I loved Richard,” Megan insisted, keeping her voice gentle. “I just thought he could be a bit full of himself, that’s all. Everything was always about his career. He treated yours like it was nothing more than a cute little hobby. Which I happened to find very condescending. But as long as you were happy together then I was happy for you.”

Des soaked up this exchange with great interest. Megan Chichester was the only person she’d encountered so far who had a single bad word to say about Richard Procter. Had the negative feelings been mutual? “Carolyn, did Richard tell you who this other woman was?”

Carolyn gazed at her blankly. “Why do you need to know that?”

“Just trying to connect the dots. It’s what they pay me to do.”

“I asked him not to. I didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to keep running into her at the beauty parlor and the hardware store knowing. I simply told him to leave. And he did. This was… a few weeks ago. After that, I was so thrown that I did things I don’t usually do. I-I can’t explain why.”

“You don’t have to explain why,” Megan said soothingly. “You went a little nutty. We all do that sometimes. That’s what keeps us sane.”

“Meggie, I went a lot nutty. Drank way too much. Brought strange men home with me. Got into dope. Me who never so much as smoked a joint before.”

“She’s not kidding about that,” Megan told Des. “When we were kids Carolyn was always the goody-goody. I was the bad seed.”

“Carolyn, what can you tell me about Clay Mundy?”

She stiffened slightly at the mention of his name. “He was… real sweet. Helpful, caring. A nice man. Or at least I thought he was. He’s not. Nor is Hector. Those two made me do things that I would never, ever…” Carolyn broke off, shuddering violently. “They had friends who’d show up sometimes with deliveries. I did them, too. I had to. If I objected they’d hit me. Or burn me with cigarettes. Or tie me to the bedpost and do what they wanted no matter what. They kept me so stoned that I barely even knew what I was doing. I had no idea if it was day or night. Who they were. Who I was. But I couldn’t make it stop. And after a while it all just seemed… normal. These nurses can shove me in that shower a million times, but I don’t think I’ll ever feel clean again for the rest of my…” Carolyn’s eyes suddenly widened with fright. “What if I’ve picked up some horrible sexually transmitted disease?”

Megan reached over and stroked her forehead. “They’re checking you for every little thing, sweetie. You’re going to be fine. Don’t you worry.”

Carolyn breathed in and out, her calm slowly returning. “Clay’s dope really pulled me in. I was swallowed up before I knew what hit me. I wanted to be swallowed up. Today… this is the first time my head’s been close to clear in ages. I can actually tell the difference between right and wrong. But if you were to stick a blow pipe in front of me right now I’d lunge for it. Give me half a chance and I’ll start up again as soon as I go home.”

“That’s why you’re not going home,” Megan told her.

“Meggie, I can’t stay here forever.”

“As soon as you feel stronger you’ll start your counseling sessions. Those will continue even after you’re discharged. And there are all kinds of support programs. And you’ve got me to look out for you.”

“Is Clay… is he still there?”

“He’s still residing in your home, yes,” Des said. “He and Hector both.”

“I don’t want them there. I don’t want them anywhere near Molly.”

“Molly’s safe. She’s with Kimberly and Jen.”

“And I’ll tell the bastards to get out,” Megan promised her.

“They won’t listen to you.”

“They’ll listen to me,” Des said. “And you have my word that neither man will be around Sour Cherry Lane for much longer.”

“My sweet little baby girl,” Carolyn sighed. “Her father’s dead and her mother’s a drugged out whore. God, what must she think of me?”

“She’s concerned about you,” Megan said. “But she’s resilient and she’s strong.”

“And a lot of good people are looking out for her,” Des said. “Not only the Beckwiths but Amber and Keith. Also Bella.”

“And your friend Mitch, I bet,” Carolyn said, nodding her head. “I know Molly adores him.”

“Well, no. Mitch moved back to New York.”

Carolyn looked at Des in disbelief. “I knew that. You two broke up months ago. Sorry, there are big chunks of things I keep forgetting.”

“The doctor told you there might be short term memory lapses,” Megan said. “But you’re going to get better, sweetie. As soon as you feel up to it we’ll head home to the farm and I’ll put you to work out in the fresh air. You’ll be your old self before you know it. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“If you say so,” said Carolyn, unconvinced.

“How much do you know about Clay’s business?” Des asked her.

“He never works at it very hard. Although he and Hector always have plenty of money. That’s all I know.”

“Those men who you said were making deliveries-deliveries of what?”

“Haven’t the slightest idea. I wasn’t very conscious of what went on outside of my bedroom.”

“Do you remember when I came to your house to tell you that Richard had been hospitalized?”

“Maybe,” she answered drowsily. “Not really.”

“How about when Richard showed up there last week?”

“He wanted to come home. I didn’t want to see him. Or him to see me. I told Clay to make him go away.”

“Carolyn, what can you tell me about last night? Think hard, please. Any light you can shed will be a tremendous help. Did Richard show up there again? Did he knock on your door? Ask to see you?”

Carolyn’s eyelids were starting to droop. “I don’t remember anything like that. Richard knocking on the door. Or anybody else. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I was so high that anybody could have been… They heated up a pizza.”

“Clay and Hector?”

“They were in the kitchen playing cards. I was in bed with my iPod, blissing out on Green. I still love R.E.M. When I was in college they were the coolest band. So smart and hip.”

“What else do you remember?”

“Hector,” she replied, curling her lip in disgust. “He came in and did what he felt like. He smells really bad. I don’t know, maybe I crashed after that. Until there was this huge commotion.”

Des leaned forward slightly. “What kind of commotion?”

“You coming in to tell me that Richard was dead. Only I didn’t believe you. I wanted to see him for myself. And there were police cars. And neighbors standing out there staring at me and…” She trailed off. “I wigged out, didn’t I?”

“Just a little.”

“Now I’m so tired,” she murmured, her eyes falling shut. “I’m just so completely, totally tired.”

A nurse bustled in to check Carolyn’s vitals and change her IV bag. Des put her big hat back on and left the lady to it. Megan followed her out into the hospital corridor.

“May I ask you what else her doctor has told you?” Des said to her.

“That the emotional burden of Richard’s death will make it even harder to wean her off of the meth. No surprise there.” Megan jammed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, rocking back and forth on her heels like an old-timey New England farmer. “He asked me if she’s a strong person emotionally. I told him she is. But dear God, nobody’s that strong.”

“He discussed short term memory loss with you. How about the other possible side effects of prolonged meth use?”

“Such as…?”

“Paranoia and rage. Episodes of violent behavior. We have a lot of criminal cases on file that fit such a pattern.”

Megan glowered at her. “What are you saying-that you think Carolyn may have killed Richard herself and doesn’t remember it?”

“I’m saying we can’t rule anything out.”

“I know my sister, okay? She’s the gentlest soul on earth. She could never, ever do something like that. I don’t care how stoned she was.”

“We believe that two people were involved. The slasher and whoever helped him dispose of the body.”

“She wasn’t involved. And you’ll never make me believe so.”

“I don’t mean to be harsh, Megan. I’m just trying to prepare you. Have you met Clay Mundy yet?”

“I have no interest in meeting him,” she said, yawning hugely. And looking plenty weary herself.

“I take it you sat up all night with her.”

“I did, yeah. I’m told there’s a decent motel across the street. I’ll get a room there until she’s ready to leave.”

“I was surprised it took you so long to get here yesterday from Blue Hill.”

Now she eyed Des very guardedly. “What do you mean by that?”

“When I phoned your partner, Susan, she told me it’s an eight to ten hour drive, depending on the traffic. You left there at noon and yet you didn’t get here until midnight.”

“That’s all true. Except Susan didn’t tell you that I was up at five a.m. putting in a solid six hours of chores before I left. My eyes started to get tired after a few hours on the road, so I pulled off at a rest stop outside of Ogunquit and took a nap for a couple of hours.”

“That would be Ogunquit, Maine?”

“That’s right. Now you’re making it sound like I’m the one who killed Richard.”

“Just connecting the dots, as I said before.”

“And I didn’t like it when you said it before,” Megan blustered. “I’m not a dot. My sister’s not a dot.”

“I take it you and Richard had issues.”

“Richard Procter was an overbearing, pompous jerk. I could barely tolerate the man. Is that what you mean by issues?”

“Did he have a problem with you?”

“Do you mean because I’m gay? As a matter of fact he did. He was not comfortable spending time with us at the farm. Didn’t care for his precious Molly being around ‘The Girls.’ He was petrified that somehow Susan and I would indoctrinate Molly into the secret ya-ya sisterhood of queerdom. When we were here for Christmas he made it abundantly clear to us that he did not want to return to Blue Hill this summer.”

“How did you feel about that?”

Megan shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry for Carolyn, mostly. Richard was a smart man. And a decent father, I suppose. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t be a complete ass. Was I surprised when Carolyn told me he’d been sleeping with another woman? Not at all. Was I surprised that she told him to get out? You bet. And kind of proud of her, too. Carolyn can be something of a doormat. But she stood up for herself this time.”

“Did you encourage her?”

“Maybe I did,” Megan admitted. “She’s my baby sister. I’ve looked out for her since she was in pigtails. But, believe me, I had no way of knowing the two of them would completely crash and burn like they did. I never saw it coming. If I had I would have been down here in a heartbeat. And if she’d wanted to take him back I would have made every effort to help, despite my own feelings for the man.” Megan ran a hand over her face, stifling another yawn. “May I ask you something now?”

“Absolutely.”

“How do I get Clay Mundy and that friend of his out of my sister’s house?”

“We can help you there-when the time comes.”

“When the time comes,” she repeated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Right now, it’s best if they stay where they are.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re suspects in an ongoing murder investigation. We want them right where we can find them. The status quo is the way to go-no matter how odious it may seem. Understand?”

“I’m a farmer. I understand pigs and goats. But you seem to care about what you’re doing, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now. Provided you’re looking out for Molly.”

“Molly’s perfectly safe, I assure you.”

The nurse came out of Carolyn’s room. Megan excused herself and went back in to be with her. Des started down the hallway toward the elevator. As she passed the visitors’ waiting room, she discovered Patricia Beckwith seated in there all alone reading Mitch’s tattered copy of Time and Again. Dorset’s meanest, richest widow sat very regally in her cardigan sweater and slacks, her back straight, shoulders squared, sensible shoes pressed close together on the floor.

“Why hello, Mrs. Beckwith,” Des said, surprised to see her there.

“This is a fiendishly clever yarn,” Patricia responded, glancing up from her book. “So inventive. And Mr. Finney’s prose practically jumps from the page.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Not that I am aware of. I’ve stopped by to see if there was anything I could do for Carolyn. When I discovered that you were in there with her I thought it best to give you your privacy. How is she feeling?”

“Down on herself. And plenty sick.”

“Putting all of that poison in her system certainly didn’t help.”

“Never does. Did Fred Griswold run you up here? Because I can give you a lift back if you need one.”

“It so happens I drove here myself,” Patricia said proudly. “I simply could not abide being home with all of those troopers tromp, tromp, tromping around my family’s land, bellowing to each other like wild boars. I felt trapped. Even violated, although I’m not certain why. I simply had to get away, so I got in my car and I drove. Would you believe this is the longest trip I’ve made in ten years? I was quite intimidated by Route Nine at the outset, I must confess. But once I became accustomed to my cruising speed I felt very comfortable. Although I must point out to you that absolutely no one in this state obeys the speed limit. I was doing a swift, steady fifty-five miles per hour and drivers were flying by me. My lord, how fast do they go?” she demanded. “Seventy-five? Eighty?”

“At least.”

“And this is something that you’re aware of?”

“It’s not exactly a secret, ma’am.”

“Well, why don’t you enforce the speed limits?”

“We do the very best we can with limited resources.”

“Yes, of course you do. I didn’t mean to sound critical, dear. I was simply taken aback.” Patricia hesitated, pursing her thin, dry lips uneasily. “The truth is I don’t know why I’m here. I barely know Carolyn. It was Richard who I shared a bond with. I shall miss him terribly. And I wish to apologize to you with all of my heart.”

“For what, ma’am?”

“You entrusted me with his care. I let you down. Let him down.”

“None of this was your fault. I told you that last night.”

“And I appreciate the sentiment. But I do not accept it. Frankly, I am overwhelmed by guilt, which I assure you is not a feeling with which I am accustomed. Nor is… this.”

“What, Mrs. Beckwith?”

“Unburdening myself upon others. Don’t believe in it. Never have. One’s innermost reflections ought to remain one’s own. This is why God invented the diary.” Patricia reached for her handbag and got slowly to her feet, drawing herself up to her full, rigid height. “Do you think I may pay my respects now? I won’t stay long.”

“I don’t see why not.”

With great dignity the old woman left the waiting room and started down the corridor toward Carolyn’s room. Des watched her go, thinking that Patricia Beckwith was not the coldhearted bitch everyone in town thought she was. But that was the reality of life in Dorset-once you got a rep it stuck to you. Des found herself wondering what Mitch would have to say to about this sensitive, caring and highly conflicted lady, probably while spraying a mouthful of his American Chop Suey across the dinner table. The doughboy never failed to wow Des with his keen insights into people. Maybe because his mind had been programmed so differently. Hers was the product of exhaustive professional training and old-school shoe leather experience. His a whacked-out kaleidoscope of human depravity, Hollywood style. Much as she hated to admit it, there were times when Des missed what he had to say. This was one of those times. So she tried putting herself in his Mephisto walking shoes, size chunky, and asked herself what he would see going on here that she wasn’t.

And, damn it, she realized what it might be. Weird, yes. But staring right at her.

She’d been assuming that Patricia’s attachment to Richard Procter was of the motherly variety. What if it wasn’t? What if Patricia was the Other Woman who had destroyed the professor’s happy home? Not your typical May-December romance, to be sure. But this was Dorset, ground zero for unusual love matches-as Des knew only too well. Was a torrid romance between Richard and a lady thirty-something years his senior a totally crazy idea? Maybe. Or maybe not. It would certainly explain why Patricia Beckwith was so wracked by guilt.

The nurse’s station was right next to the elevator. Carolyn’s nurse was parked there over a pile of charts. She was a stern-looking Asian woman in her fifties. Not real approachable.

Des approached her anyway. “How is Carolyn doing?”

“Mrs. Procter has been through a lot,” she answered impatiently.

“That she has.”

It wasn’t long before the nurse realized that Des was lingering there. And looked up at her, frowning. “Is there something else, trooper?”

“There is, actually. And if I’m out of line please say so, but I was wondering if you could do me a small favor…”

The call came through as Des was steering her Crown Vic back down to Dorset on Route 9, her hands wrapped tight around the wheel, mind turning over what the nurse had just told her:

Today her blood pressure was even higher-144 over 92. Not that this should have surprised her. Not when she’d come so close to blacking out at The Works when was she was with Bella. They’d been walking out to the parking lot. Bella was telling her about Mitch’s new TV gig out in L.A. when, wham, there it was-the whole world a-rocking and a-rolling before her eyes. She’d recovered quickly, but Bella could tell something was wrong. Bella knew her.

So why can’t she understand Brandon and me?

Maybe because no one else can understand what goes on between two other people. Those who seem to have nothing in common, like Amber and Keith, can’t take their eyes off of each other. And yet the couples that seem to have it all together, like Carolyn and Richard, can unravel with the slightest tug of a thread.

The nurse had jotted down Des’s blood pressure reading on a card and handed it to her. “Be sure to report this to your doctor when you speak with her.”

“I understand these numbers are a bit borderline.”

“They are not borderline, trooper. You may need to go on medication.”

“I hate pills. Is there no other alternative?”

The nurse looked her up and down before she said, “Have you thought about a different line of work?”

This was where Des’s head was when her cell phone rang. It was 5:30.

“You told me to call if I ever needed to tell you something or whatever…” It was Jen Beckwith, trying real hard not to sound upset.

“Absolutely, Jen. What’s up?”

“Probably nothing. I mean, maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

“Jen, what is it?”

“I think Molly has gone in the house.”

“What house?”

“Her house.”

“I thought we all agreed that Molly was going to stay out of there.”

“We did. We absolutely did.”

“So how did…?”

“I was in the kitchen getting dinner started. My mom’s not home from work yet. So I’m rummaging around in the fridge, you know?” Jen’s words were tumbling out fast now. “And Molly calls out to me from the living room that she has to go fetch this copy of To Kill a Mockingbird she’s been reading. Like she has to return it tonight or it’ll be overdue. That girl is so anal about library fines. So what if a dumb library book is overdue one day? What does that cost, a whole nickel?”

“Jen, did she tell you that she’d left the book in the house?”

“No way. I’d never have let her go. I thought she meant she left it up in her tree house. She promised me she’d be right back. Only she’s been gone for half an hour now. Which is why I’m starting to worry.”

“Can you tell me if Clay and Hector are home?” Des asked, keeping her voice calm.

“Their van’s parked in the driveway. But I can’t say for sure whether they’re there. Maybe I am just being paranoid. The squirt could be chillin’ in her tree house. Or maybe she went out to Bella’s to feed the kitties. Except her basketball’s still here, and she never travels any distance without it. She’s working on her left-hand dribble.”

“Jen, when is your mom due home?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe.”

“I’d like you to stay put until she arrives. Please don’t go over there by yourself. I’ll check things out from my end and call you back in a few minutes, okay?”

Des hung up and speed-dialed Bella to see if Molly had shown up out there. Got Bella’s machine. Oh, right, today was her yoga class at the senior center from 5:00 to 6:30. Then she and some of the other Q-tips usually went out for Chinese food together. So she wouldn’t be home until at least 8:00. Damn. Next Des tried Bitsy Peck, who thank God was home. Asked her to check the barn for Molly. Bitsy promised she would. Called Des back a few minutes later to say that there was no sign of the girl. Or anyone.

She tried Jen again. “Has Molly come back yet?”

“No…” Jen answered warily. “But Hector’s out on the porch now.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Just sitting there.”

“Is your mom home?”

“She just called to say she won’t be here until at least seven. Dr. Gardiner booked a last-minute appointment. Some old lady with back spasms.”

“Jen, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“What should I do? I can’t sit here and twiddle my thumbs.”

“I was just coming to that part. Go outside and start shooting baskets in the driveway like nothing’s wrong. If Hector waves to you, wave back. And when I get there I want you to act like you were expecting me. Strictly a social call, got it?”

“Not really, but okay,” the girl replied hesitantly. “Des, should I be scared?”

“Be aware. Be prepared. Don’t ever be scared,” she said as she ended the call.

Even though she was terrified herself. Positive that Clay and Hector had taken Molly hostage. Which was precisely the unforeseen circumstance she’d worried about when Cavanaugh had insisted upon holding off for another day. He wanted to see what Clay and Hector’s next move would be. Well, they’d made it. Snatched up that little girl-because the opportunity had presented itself and because she was their last and best hope. They were staring at a murder charge. Sitting on a stash of meth. Surrounded by state troopers. And desperately in need of a bargaining chip. Now they had one.

Molly Procter’s life in exchange for their freedom.

Des knew perfectly well what she was supposed to do next: Call her troop commander and fill him in. But she stopped herself because once she did she’d set off a full-scale siege scenario. And she did not want that. Not yet. Not when she thought she knew how to pry Molly out of there. The higher-ups would never, ever let her make her play once word got out about this.

Dorset was her town. That made this her mess. So there would be no such phone call. Not yet.

She always kept a gym bag full of spare clothing in the trunk. Needed to for all of those times she got drenched or splattered on the job. She pulled over onto the shoulder of Route 9, fetched it and climbed into the back seat. Stripped off her uniform. Changed into a pink polo shirt, jeans and running shoes. Then got back behind the wheel and resumed driving.

They still had the barricade set up on Old Shore Road at the turnoff for Turkey Neck. She passed through that, then through the second cordon where Turkey Neck met Sour Cherry. There was plenty of daylight left. Men were still out there combing the brush for the murder weapon.

“Thought I’d swing by to see how the little girl’s doing,” Des explained to the troopers on the barricades.

Which was fine by them. They didn’t question what the resident trooper was doing there. As for Grisky and crew, well, they might wonder. Maybe go cellular about this unscheduled visit of hers. But by the time everyone had talked to everyone else she would have made her play.

Jen was dutifully shooting jumpers in the driveway, her face scrunched even tighter than usual. Hector was sitting out on the porch watching the trim young blonde dribble and shoot, dribble and shoot. Des had no doubt whatsoever that he was picturing Jen doing these things entirely naked.

Des pulled into Jen’s driveway and got out, her unholstered Sig tucked into the rear waistband of her jeans, shirt untucked so as to conceal it. She waved hello to Hector, who raised a hand ever so slightly in response. Then she called out, “Hey, Jen, where’s my girl?” Keeping her manner relaxed and casual. She was off duty. Not someone to be concerned about. “We’re going to be late for the game.”

“Molly’s around… somewhere,” Jen responded guardedly, chewing on her lower lip. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Better find her or we’ll miss the opening tip-off. Did she go home?” Des asked, nodding at Jen encouragingly.

“Maybe.”

“Super, I’ll grab her up.” Des crossed the lane and climbed the Procters’ porch steps, a big, friendly smile on her face. “Hey there, Hector. Could you tell Molly I’m here? I promised to take her to the basketball game tonight.”

Hector sat there glowering at her. “What basketball game, lady? Ain’t no basketball game now. It’s summer.”

“Which is when the girls come out to play.”

“What girls?”

“The WNBA, Hector. Our very own Connecticut Sun are playing Charlotte tonight at the Mohegan Sun Arena. I’ve got courtside seats for Molly and me. Only we’re going to be late. Where is she? Is she inside?” Des swept past him, pushed open the front door and bounded inside, hearing his howl of protest behind her. “Hey, Molly, are you ready to rumble?” she hollered, the floorboards of the old farmhouse creaking underfoot as she crossed the living room to the kitchen. “Let’s go, girl! Molly…?”

Molly was seated there at the kitchen table with her library book. She looked wide-eyed and terrified but okay-all except for those fresh red finger marks around her upper arms and neck. One of the bastards had grabbed her and squeezed her tight. Seething, Des shot a look over at Clay, who sat across the table from Molly smoking a cigarette and acting as genial as can be. The very model of folksy charm.

“Why, it’s just the lady I was hoping to see,” he said, treating Des to a crinkly-eyed smile.

“Is that a fact?” she said, smiling right back at him.

“Sure is. See, I’ve got me a whole batch of gutter installations scheduled for up in western Massachusetts,” he explained, stubbing out his cigarette. “It means I’ll be away for the next month or so. Me and Hector both. What with Carolyn’s situation, I thought Molly and me better figure something out. We’ve grown real close these past few weeks, you know. So I was thinking if she wants to tag along we’d be more than happy to have her.”

“That’s very generous of you, Mr. Mundy,” Des said. “Molly, we’ll really have to scoot if we want to make the opening tip-off. You ready?”

Molly was too afraid to answer her. Or swallow. Or so much as blink. The girl was trembling with fear.

“What I was wondering,” Clay went on, “was how long it’ll be before they’ll let us leave town. Because I’m going to fall behind schedule. And I sure could use the money.”

“There’s a murder investigation underway, Mr. Mundy. And the Major Crime Squad may need your help in apprehending the perpetrators. That’s why they’ve asked everyone on the lane to stick around for the time being. You’ll want to talk to Lieutenant Rico Tedone regarding this matter. It’s his call. He may be cool with you splitting tomorrow morning. That’s really not my thing. I’m strictly about local neighborhood issues. Plus I’ve punched out for the day. But I’ll be happy to leave you his number.” Des reached for the pad and pencil on the table. “Molly, why don’t you go ahead and wait for me out in my ride? I’ll be out just as soon as I write down this information for Mr. Mundy.”

Molly’s eyes darted toward the living room doorway. But she didn’t move a muscle.

“Do you girls really have to rush off like this?” Clay protested.

“A promise is a promise,” Des said, grinning at him. “Hey, would you like to come with us? It shouldn’t be hard to scare up an extra ticket.”

Clay shook his head at her regretfully. “Lady, I have been nothing but cooperative, know that?” He fished another cigarette out of his pack, looking around the cluttered table for a match. “Me and Hector both.”

“And I appreciate it, Mr. Mundy.”

“Is that right?” Clay got up out of his chair and got a book of matches in the drawer next to the sink, lazily lighting his cigarette. He tossed the matches back in the drawer, then yanked a Glock semiautomatic out of there and pointed it right at her. “So why are you treating me like a fool?”

Across the table, Molly let out a gasp.

“Let’s just take it easy now.” Des kept her voice low. “You’re scaring the child. Please put the gun down.”

“Not until I get some straight answers.” Clay’s manner had hardened. No more easygoing charmer. That particular act had left the building. “They haven’t hauled me in for questioning yet. Now why is that? I’m the obvious suspect. Hell, I’ve got a big red X on my back. And yet a whole day’s gone by and nobody has reinterviewed me. Or Hector. Not so much as a single follow-up inquiry. No search of the premises, nothing. I find that mighty damned peculiar. Don’t you find that peculiar?”

“Mr. Mundy, if you’ve got a lost tricycle then I’m your girl. But I’m not involved in the investigation of Professor Procter’s death. Now why don’t you just put that gun down, okay?”

“They think they’ve got something on me, don’t they?”

“Sir, I’m afraid I’m not following you.”

“He knows, Trooper Des,” Molly spoke up, her voice soft and quavery. “That I told you I was supposed to stay out of the root cellar or else. I-I didn’t want to tell, honest. But he made me. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Don’t be, Molly.” Des’s eyes never leaving that Glock. “You’re going to be fine. Everything’s fine. Isn’t that right, Mr. Mundy?”

“Let me spell a little something out for you, lady,” Clay responded coldly, his jaw clenched tight. “I’ve been on my own ever since my tight-ass stepfather kicked me out of the house when I was fourteen. I live by my wits. Play by my own rules. And not once has the law ever touched me. For damned sure not some village Barney Fife with tits such as yourself. I haven’t spent a single night in lockup my whole life. Not anywhere. And I never will. Small spaces get to me, okay? I’d sooner die than get locked up in some cage. I will die if I have to-and take a few of you with me for good measure. That’s a promise. But so far it’s never come to that. Because I’m careful and smart and I know how to take care of business.”

“Your business being seamless gutters, I understand.”

“Don’t get cute with me,” he snarled. “Do you people actually think I don’t know when I’m under surveillance? I always know. I can smell you from a mile off. I’ll walk into a place, any place. For the sake of conversation, let’s say it’s McGee’s diner down Old Shore Road. Everybody looks up at me as I come through the door, checking me out. Everybody except for this one guy with muscles who’s sitting there over his coffee trying real hard not to look at me. That’s when I know it’s time to pick up and move on. Who thinks they’re on to me? Is it the FBI or the DEA? Tell me, damn it!”

“Sure, I can do that,” Des said. “If you’ll do something for me.”

“I’m the one holding the piece, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“And I’m the one who has the information you want.”

Clay narrowed his eyes at her shrewdly. “What do you want from me?”

“The truth about Professor Proctor’s death.”

“How would I know? I had nothing to do with it. I’m trying to keep a low profile here. You honestly think I’d murder a guy and bring the law down on me? I’d have to be pretty damned stupid.”

“Or just a hothead with a temper.”

“It wasn’t me who killed him.

“Liar mouth!” Molly cried out. “I heard you!”

Clay looked at her in annoyance. “What’s this now?”

“The night you beat up Daddy in the driveway. You said if you ever saw him around here again you’d cut him!”

“Well, I didn’t,” he insisted. “Wasn’t me.”

“And I’d like to believe you,” Des said, her eyes on that Glock. And her thoughts on the Sig stuffed in her rear waistband. “Do you know what sure would help convince me? If you’d let Molly go.”

“I’m not holding her,” he said easily. “We’re just hanging together.”

Des glanced over at the French doors that led out to the back deck. “You’re saying she could walk right out that door if she wanted to?”

“Absolutely. She just doesn’t want to.”

“Is that right, Molly?”

The girl sat frozen at the table. “I’m fine right here, Des.” Her voice barely a whisper.

“There, you see? She’s fine. We’re all fine. Now it’s your turn, lady.” Clay jabbed the air with the Glock. “Who thinks they’re on to me?”

“It’s a joint task force. And they don’t ‘think’ it-they’ve known it ever since you left Atlanta. They’re getting ready to shut down the entire Vargas drug trafficking operation.” Des shoved her heavy horn-rimmed glasses up her nose and said, “You just described yourself to me as someone smart.”

“So…?”

“So let’s say you have a big-league stash of ice down in that root cellar. If I were you I’d be trying to cut a sweetheart deal for myself right about now. Seriously, you are staring at a golden opportunity. Provide the Feds with detailed inside testimony and you’ll be out in no time. Hell, they might even put you in the witness protection program. I heard them talking about it last night.”

“Thanks for thinking of me. That’s mighty generous.” Clay kept the Glock trained right at her, giving her no opening to make a move. None. “But I’ll take my chances south of the border. It won’t be the first time Hector and me have had to disappear into the hills down there for a few months. That’s how we’ve kept our records so clean. We know how to go native. Pay the right people off. The Feds don’t. We’ll be clearing out tonight. And you’ll be helping us. You and Molly both. You’re going to be our exit visas.”

“Your hostages, you mean.”

“We’ll let you two go just as soon we cross the border. Then again

…” He grinned at Des wolfishly. “Life is full of surprises. By the time we get there you may feel like going native with me.”

“Dream on. If you want to hold me, fine. Why not let Molly go? You don’t need us both.”

“Not a chance. But maybe you’d like to see it for yourself.”

“See what?”

Clay gestured to the trapdoor in the floor. “What’s down there.”

“You want to show it to me?”

“Absolutely.” He groped around in the drawer behind him until his hand came out with a length of rope. “Put your hands behind you. Wrists together.”

Des didn’t budge, her mind racing. It was now or never if she was going to make a move for her Sig. But could she make it without endangering the girl? Or would she better off making a dive for his Glock? Yeah, that was it. Go for the Glock. Go for it. Go…

“Hands together now,” Clay barked impatiently.

As Des stood poised there, ready to spring at him, it dawned upon her that she did not like how the kitchen floor had suddenly started rolling back and forth. Or the way Clay Mundy’s face was swimming in and out of focus… Oh, no, not now! No, please… As she fought off the wave of dizziness, struggling to keep her wits, a cold splash of reality jarred her back to here and now: I have no time for this. Molly’s life is on the line. Blinking, she saw Clay clearly once again. Only now he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was over her shoulder at the living room doorway. And now she was hearing the creak of a floorboard-Hector coming up behind her.

“Run, Molly! Get out!”

Molly darted for the glass French doors just as Des dove for Clay’s gun, wrestling him for it. He got off one quick shot in Molly’s direction, blowing out the glass as she ran out. Then a second, wild shot into the ceiling. Des could not tell whether Molly made it. Because by now Hector was all over her. Both men were-pummeling her, kicking her. Des gave as good as she got. Landed a hard right to Clay’s nose that sent blood spurting. But then she felt a tremendous explosion inside of her head and this time there was no fighting it, no chance.

This time everything went black and stayed black.