Wrong Side of the Paw

Chapter 18

I kicked and struggled and bit and clawed, but his strength soon overpowered me. He pulled my wrists behind my back and quickly looped duct tape around them.

“There,” he said, panting a little from the exertion. He shoved me forward, making me stumble, and I discovered that it’s remarkably hard to recover your balance when your hands are tied behind your back.

He pushed me again, this time into a chair, taped my wrists to the chair’s back, then held my kicking legs down as he taped my ankles together. As he crouched to tape my ankles to the chair, he started talking. “What were you doing out there anyway? I thought I was going to die of old age in here, waiting.”

I stared at our captor. This was the guy with the walker who had practically bitten my head off when I’d offered to help. He was the guy who had sat near Ash and his mom and me at the Three Seasons. Bob Blake. He must have heard everything we’d said. At some point we’d talked about the Lacombes, but had this guy been there for that part of the conversation? I couldn’t remember.

Leese was making noises through her gag of duct tape.

“Now, now,” said the man. “None of that. Your loving brother and sister will be here soon enough and then we can all have a nice long chat.”

I stared at him. “You’re Simon Faber.”

“Nicely done, Miss Librarian!” He stood and clapped a few times. “Miss Lacombe here had no idea who I was. She was expecting Bob Blake and that’s who she saw coming in her front door.” He laughed. “You’d think an attorney would be more aware of the potential for personal danger, but there she stood and welcomed me into her home. If I’d known this would be so easy, I would have done it years ago.”

His face suddenly darkened. “She should have recognized me. All of them should have. They ruined my life and now they don’t even acknowledge me. What kind of people are these? How could they not know?”

I didn’t like how his face was edging from bright red to white. His temper had been more even-handed a moment ago, so in hopes of returning to that more pleasant time, I asked a question. “Done what?”

Faber had been limping toward Leese with his hands balled up into fists, but he stopped and turned. “Sorry?”

“You said if you’d known it would be this easy, that you would have done this years ago. What are you planning on doing?”

“Killing them, of course,” he said. “And I apologize in advance, Miss Hamilton, for being the cause of your early death, but collateral damage happens.”

“This isn’t a military operation,” I managed to say.

“Ah, but it is war,” Faber replied with a grin, his good humor apparently restored.

I studied him. A happy Faber seemed much less likely to lash out in anger, and at this point, keeping him happy was the only thing I could think of that had any possibility of bringing this situation to a positive conclusion.

“War?” I asked.

“Certainly.” He limped to the front window and looked out toward the road. “They should be here by now. If they’re Lacombes, I’m sure they’re driving too fast, even on roads with so much snow on them. I hope they don’t have an accident, not at this late date.”

“Why is it war?” I persisted.

He spun. “Look at me,” he ordered. “Just look at me.”

So I did. He stood shifted to one side, favoring his left leg. His right hand was curled up into an odd shape. One shoulder was hitched slightly higher than the other. His unfocused eye, I realized with a start, wasn’t his own; it was a prosthetic. His face, where it wasn’t taut from plastic surgery, was creased with lines and wrinkles and I had no idea if they were the result of aging or pain. Or both.

“I’m not even sixty years old,” he said, “and I look like I’m eighty. I was thirty-six years old when Dale Lacombe crossed the centerline and hit my car. Thirty-six. The prime of my life! My peak earning years still ahead of me. Decades of activity. And what do I get instead? Years of surgeries, years of pain, years of suffering, and half the time I can’t even walk without the use of that thing.”

He glared over my shoulder and I turned my head just enough to see his walker standing in the corner of the room.

“So, yes, Miss Hamilton,” he said, “this is war. They invaded my life the moment of the accident, and they’re all four to blame. Dale Lacombe said so himself. They took away everything I’d accomplished and turned it to dust, and I intend to do the same thing to each of them.”

His face firmed with resolution. I quickly asked, “What had you accomplished?”

“Not nearly enough,” he snarled. “I could have done great things. I was on my way to fame and fortune when this happened. My fiancée left me and my parents went to an early grave trying to take care of me. I’m alone and I know exactly who to blame.”

I suspected I wasn’t getting the entire truth, but I suspected even more strongly that this wasn’t the time to accuse him of telling a one-sided story. “What kind of things were you working on?”

“What kind?” He blinked. “You want to know what kind of things?”

“Sure.” Because I couldn’t come up with anything else that would keep him talking that didn’t have the name “Lacombe” attached to it, and that would be sure to get his temper going. “Tell me about them. I’d like to know.” Sort of.

He pursed his lips. “At the time of the accident, I was top sales guy for the biggest computer company in the country. But that was only temporary. I had plans and they were about to come true.”

“What kind of plans?”

“I was having conversations with venture capitalists,” he said. “I had plans for half a dozen new businesses. All it would take was a little bit of seed money and I’d be on my way.”

And I was growing more and more certain the guy was delusional. If he’d owned a place on Janay Lake with money left over for cars, he must have made a good living as a sales rep, but what he’d said sounded unrealistic.

“Wow,” I said, doing my best not to sound sarcastic. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had one good idea about a start-up business, let alone six. Opening a bookstore is about as original as I’d probably get.”

“Bookstore.” He snorted. “No one reads anymore. I don’t know how you keep your job.”

The verdict was in: this guy was definitely delusional. I smiled politely. “Your ideas were better, I’m sure.”

“Electronics,” he said. “Twenty-three years ago, I knew where the world was going to go. All I needed was capital. Putting songs into digital form and selling them? That was my idea first.”

“Really?” I made my face show surprise. From what I’d been told, a number of people had had that idea, but it had taken a while for technology to catch up with the dreams.

“Count on it. I had dozens of ideas that were stolen from me. Laptops were my idea. Those robotic vacuum cleaners were my idea. Cell phones were my idea.” He waved his arms around. “Look around. Every personal technological device you see was my idea first.”

“Tablets?” I asked. “Was that idea stolen from you, too?”

Faber frowned. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. Those are a fad.” He switched his attention back to the window. “I see headlights.” He glared at me as he limped by the chair. “I should have taped your mouth shut. Keep quiet when they come in or I’ll make your death long and lingering instead of fast and almost painless.”

Almost? I couldn’t breathe for a moment. This guy was a lunatic. A killer. And he was practically salivating at the chance to do it again.

I waited until he’d made his way to the front hallway. “Are Brad and Mia really on their way here?” I whispered to Leese.

She shook her head.

I closed my own eyes for a grateful half second, then snapped them open again. Either the headlights Faber was seeing were imaginary or there was a passing car. Then I had another thought. If Faber had forced Leese to make a phone call, maybe she’d done so to someone with whom she shared some sort of emergency code and that person was mustering a law enforcement team and rushing to our rescue.

“Is anyone else coming?” I asked. “Police?”

Once again, she shook her head.

Well, at least Mia and Brad wouldn’t be walking into Faber’s trap. “Can you move your hands at all?”

She nodded.

“Seriously?” Excitement flooded through me. “How much? No, you can’t answer that with a yes or no. Do you think you can get them free soon?”

I could see the tape across her mouth crease as she smiled and nodded.

“Great.” I felt a smidge of hope. Maybe we would get out of this in one piece. “Do you have a plan for when you get your hands loose?”

Her shoulders sagged a little and she shook her head.

After a short pause, I whispered, “Right. We’ll work on this together. I don’t suppose you have a gun anywhere? No, that’s okay, we can do without.” Somehow. “There has to be something we can use as a weapon.”

With an increasing sense of urgency, we both scanned the room for possibilities. The desk lamp? Maybe, but its aerodynamic capabilities were limited. Though Leese’s laptop was heavier, it would be even harder to grasp, especially if her hands had, if mine were any indication, been losing circulation for some time.

“How about a letter opener?” I whispered.

Leese’s eyebrows went up fast, then down again slowly. She nodded, but gestured with her chin to her desk.

“In a drawer?” I asked, and wasn’t surprised when she nodded. “That’ll work,” I said confidently, or as confidently as I could manage at the time. “When you get free, give me a sign. I’ll distract him and—”

Faber’s returning footsteps cut me off to silence.

“Where are they?” he snarled at Leese. “You said they’d be here in thirty minutes and it’s been over an hour.”

“The roads are slippery,” I said quickly, because I’d seen Leese’s chin go up. We did not need her to go all defiant and let Faber know Brad and Mia were not en route. If he knew that, what was there to stop him from killing us right then and there?

A teensy part of my brain started to wonder how he planned to kill us. I’d had a recent and very bad experience with a long sharp knife and hoped that wasn’t his plan. Of course, if I had to die an untimely death, did I have a preferred method? It wasn’t anything I’d ever thought about in a serious way.

“They live here,” Faber snapped. “They should know how to drive in the snow.”

I nodded. “Sure, but this is the first snowfall. People forget the details.”

He studied me for so long I had a hard time not squirming. “Is this a delaying tactic of some sort?”

Of course it was. “Just giving an explanation.”

“Librarian.” Faber grunted. “You probably give explanations every day. Here’s a question for you. Explain why I’m here now, today, twenty-three years after the accident. Explain that, Miss Marion Librarian.”

I hesitated. Had to, really, because I had no idea.

“Explain!” he screamed, and it came to me with a calm clarity that, for the first time in my life, I could well be talking to someone who was truly insane.

With no experience to guide me and no training, I had to rely on my instincts. My first instinct, which was to dive into research mode at the computer, wasn’t useful in the least, so I went to the second tier of thinking out loud. I usually had Eddie for this—

Eddie! Where was my Eddie?

I pushed that fear away and tried to concentrate. This was suddenly even harder to do than it had been, because Faber limped over to stand behind Leese. He put his hands, strong from years of using a walker, around her throat and smiled.

“Explain,” he said in a normal voice, “or I’ll kill her right here and now.”

My brain, which I’d always relied on to give me answers when I needed them, blanked out completely. All I could see was Leese’s fear and those fingers pressing deeper and deeper into her neck.

“Something changed for you,” I said quickly. “Something went wrong.”

“Correct, but a little vague.” He tut-tutted. “And here I thought librarians always had all the answers.”

We did, but we usually had some resources at our disposal and weren’t being faced with the imminent murder of a friend. I had to say something, so I started pulling guesses out of thin air. “Someone died. Your mother or father.”

Faber kept pressing.

“You had a disappointment.”

“My life has been a disappointment for the last twenty-odd years,” he said. “Try harder.”

Leese’s face was turning a nasty shade of red. Guesses spilled out of me. “You lost your job. You can’t find work. You’re going bankrupt. You have cancer. Your house burned down. Your house was flooded and insurance won’t cover it. Your driver’s license was revoked.”

Through all of my increasingly stupid theories, Faber smiled and gripped even tighter.

And then, with a sudden leap of certainty, I knew. “Your doctors have told you there’s nothing more they can do for you. You’re going to be in pain the rest of your life and there’s no hope for improvement. The only thing that’s going to make you feel better is getting your revenge on the Lacombes.”

“Took you long enough.” Faber’s voice was back to a snarl, but he released Leese. Her breaths rushed in and out, and I watched helplessly as she attempted to swallow.

A cold anger settled down onto me. Yes, the man had problems, and I was sorry for the pain he’d been enduring for years, and which might have been the thing that had twisted his mind, but no amount of pain could provide justification for what he’d done to Dale and for what he planned to do yet tonight.

Faber smirked at Leese. “You don’t look like such a high-and-mighty lawyer anymore, do you?”

More proof that the guy had lost the power of rational thought. Leese was about the least pretentious attorney in the world. Not that I knew all of the world’s attorneys, but I’d met more than my fair share, and from that random sampling, I had a good idea of where she landed on the self-aggrandizement scale.

Distraction. What we needed was another reason for Faber to leave the room. Leese needed only a little more time to work her hands free, then she could grab the letter opener, and together we’d subdue Faber.

I fake-opened my eyes wide and darted a look toward the window.

“What do you see?” Faber asked.

“N-nothing.”

“You saw headlights, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” he yelled.

“N-no,” I stuttered, and this time it wasn’t an act, because the reality of our situation was taking hold in the deepest parts of me. This man meant to kill us.

“You’re lying,” he said. “This is what happens to liars.” He grabbed the roll of duct tape, ripped off a piece, and slapped it across my mouth. “Now sit tight, girls, and I’ll be right back,” he said cheerfully. “And this time I’ll bring back a nice surprise.” He limped off, whistling.

A surprise? There was no way that was going to be good. I started pulling at my bonds the second Faber left the room. Kicking my legs, pulling my arms, kicking and pulling, kicking, pulling . . .

The sound of the front door opening caught me up short. Leese and I exchanged glances. Was this guy’s head so messed up that he’d just left? Maybe he had some bizarre neurological problem and his memory was short-circuiting. Maybe he’d switched from revenge mode to forgetful mode and he’d just left. Maybe . . .

Then the door shut, and his dragging footsteps came closer.

“There you two are,” he said. “So glad you’re both still here. The party wouldn’t be the same without you.”

He sounded like he was smiling, but I didn’t look at his face, couldn’t look, really, because the only thing I could see was the bright red plastic five-gallon gas can in his hand. And from the way he was leaning over, the very full five-gallon gas can.

“I’m afraid,” Faber said, “that the party has to get started without Brad and little Mia. I have to get back to town to finish establishing my alibi. I’m sure you understand. Perhaps this is better in the long run. This way Brad and Mia have to live through the grief of losing their big sister.”

He chuckled as he took the cap off. “And I’ll get to watch. Did you know that I’m a brewing consultant? I must be, since I have a website and a business card that says I am. I’m also a nationally recognized IT expert.” He sighed. “People are so trusting. Tell them you’re up here on a long vacation and would like to see their operations and before you know it, you’re being given a personal tour.”

The smell of gas was wafting out of the can. My memory blinked in and out for a moment. Red plastic gas cans. Lawnmowers. Cut grass. Boats. The marina. Eddie. Rafe . . .

“Are we ready?” he asked. “Oh, dear. Neither one of you can talk, can you? Such a shame, but there’s nothing to be done about that.”

Of course there was. He could pull the tape off our mouths. He could also unwrap the tape from our wrists and ankles and go on his merry way. He could turn himself in to the police and get his lawyers to plead him as not guilty due to insanity. He could be committed to a psychiatric institution and get proper treatment.

Whistling again, Faber started sloshing gas around the room. Onto the area rug. Onto the hardwood floor. Across the wooden blinds. Across the papers on Leese’s desk. Across Leese herself. He splattered gas across the front of the bookshelves and into the wastebasket. Then he held the gas can upside down and walked backward to the front hallway, creating a long thin trail of flammable liquid.

As I watched, still doing my best to break free, it occurred to me that five gallons was a lot of gas. Two would probably have done the trick. Five was overkill.

The front door opened once again and I heard the hollow sound of the empty gas can being tossed out into the snow. “All set.” Faber limped into the room and wrinkled his nose at the smell. “Gas is malodorous stuff, isn’t it? Well, at least you won’t have to smell it for long.” He laughed. “Miss Librarian, I know I said you’d have a quick death, but guess what?” he asked. “I changed my mind.” Shrill laughter pealed out of him.

It sounded more like a ululation from a wild creature than anything created by a human being. One part of me was revolted by the sound; another part felt something almost like pity. That part, however, was quickly quashed by my primary emotion, that of white-hot anger.

“Now.” Faber dusted his hands. “I’d like to say a few last words to Miss Lacombe. You, your siblings, and most especially your father, ruined my life. To even things up, I killed your dear father and—oh, I didn’t tell you that story, did I?” He tsked at himself.

“As I said before, these things are so easy. I simply e-mailed him, asking him to meet me . . . well, not me as Simon Faber, of course, but me as Mike Davis, a prospective client, at one of his building sites. It was understandable that I would like to see his work, you see, but I was on a tight schedule and could only meet him at that particular moment, which happened to be a very unreasonable hour.”

Faber chortled. “I’d chosen the tallest building, arrived early, and made my way to the top floor. When he arrived, I called to him and he came up. From there it was a simple push.” He smiled at the memory. “The hardest part was moving him into my vehicle and then into yours, Ms. Lacombe. A dead weight, indeed.”

Laughing, he moved to the room’s corner and took hold of his walker. “Back to my earlier remarks. In order to even up a life turned to ashes, I killed your father and set out to ruin the reputations of his children. Putting his body in your truck, contaminating Brad’s precious beer, and destroying young Mia’s hard work. But killing Dale was so exquisitely satisfying that I’ve decided to continue in that vein. The best plan is one that can be adjusted on the fly, don’t you agree?”

I did, actually, but it pained me to agree with anything Faber said.

“Now.” He gave a perky grin. “Here’s how things are going to work. Gas burns quickly and I need time to get away, so I’m going to light a candle by the front door. I’ve put some tinder around its base, and when the candle burns down, it’ll light the tinder, which will light the gas, which will flame up nicely.”

A candle? He was going to light a candle! Hope flared inside me. A candle would take time to burn down. Leese would get herself loose and put out the flame before it—

Faber reached into his pocket, searched around, and held up a birthday candle. “Just right for a party, I’d say. And though, thanks to the Lacombe family, I can’t walk very fast, I’m sure I’ll have time to walk to where I’ve hidden my car before the fire grows large enough for the neighbors to see and call the fire department. Plenty of time for me to drive away and not be seen, especially if I don’t turn on the headlights.”

He shuffled toward the door, then paused. “Have a good night, Miss Lacombe, Miss Librarian. Hope things don’t get too hot for you.” Cackling, he made his way to the hallway.

I cocked my head, listening. Maybe he was too far gone to be thinking clearly, maybe he’d leave and forget to light the candle, maybe he’d—

Leese and I both flinched at the sound of a striking match. “Ahh,” Faber said. “Nicely done, if I say so myself. Toodle-oo!” The front door opened slowly and closed gently, so as not to let the cold air rush in and blow out the candle.

Silence settled over us, a silence so thick and deep I wondered if my ability to hear had been consumed by the sheer fright that was blooming inside me. Then I heard something.

On the other side of the room, Leese’s shoulders were jerking up and down and back and forth. She was trying to get her hands loose, and what was I doing? Nothing but wondering about hearing loss. Leese was a far better person than I was, and it was just too stupid if she had to die because I couldn’t be bothered to think of a way out of this mess.

“Mrr?”

I turned my head as far as I could, but didn’t see my cat. If I’d trained Eddie properly, I could have instructed him to knock the candle over onto the floor, away from the gas. Of course, since I couldn’t even figure out a way to keep Eddie off the kitchen counter, and since I was bound and gagged, that would have been difficult, but still.

“Mff.”

This time it was Leese making the noise. Her shoulders had a wider range of movement; she must be getting close. I was making a little bit of headway with my feet, but my wrists were stuck together tight.

“Mff!”

Straining with my legs, working hard with my arms, I looked up at Leese. Only she wasn’t looking at me; she was staring past me with eyes open so wide the whites were visible all the way around her irises.

There was only one thing that could make her look like that. I whipped my head around, turning far enough so I could see the door and saw . . . nothing. Then my brain jolted. A glow. There was a glow of light near the base of the door. A flaring glow that meant the birthday candle had reached the tinder and was burning it down.

With a horrified fascination, I watched as the glow grew and grew and then began to fade as tinder burned itself out. Then, just when I’d begun to hope that Faber’s plan had gone wrong, I heard a whoof!

“Mffff!”

I knew Leese was shouting, knew there was a ripping noise, knew her hands were coming free, but there was too much gas poured in the room, too much on her, too much everywhere, and she wouldn’t be able to get away in time, she would be burned, her clothes would burn, her hair would burn, she would . . .

Gathering everything I had, all my strength, all my weight, all my energy, and what was left of my courage, I flung myself to the side, leaning and straining with every muscle in my body, and tipped my chair, crashing to the floor hard, using my body to block the rushing run of fire.

Heat seared the small of my back and I knew the flames were eating away at my clothes. I rolled toward the fire, trying to squash it out, afraid that my efforts weren’t enough, afraid that Leese was going to die, afraid that Eddie was going to die, afraid that—

A heavy weight was thrown over me and I suddenly couldn’t see anything. “Mff mfff!” Leese shouted. “Mfff mfff!!”

I had no idea what she’d said, but I couldn’t respond anyway since tape still covered my mouth and something was pinning me to the floor.

There was another ripping tape noise. “Hold still!”

Oh. Well, that I could do.

“The fire’s almost out,” she panted. “Hang on.”

A few seconds later, the weight was gone and I could see again. Leese, still with her ankles taped to the chair, was on her hands and knees next to me, the quilt that had formerly hung on the office wall piled in a heap.

“He only got gas on the corner,” she said, nodding at her grandmother’s handiwork.

The quilt was a mess of scorch marks and blackened holes. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “It’s ruined.”

Leese, who was untaping her ankles, snorted. “You should see your coat.”

“It’s just a coat,” I said. “No sentimental value attached.”

“Bottom line, that quilt saved our lives. Grandma would be pleased.”

She kicked free of the tape and the chair and went to work on me. In short order, my hands were their own again, and so were my feet. Together, we scrambled to stand. “We have to get out of here,” I said, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the door. “It’s too dangerous.” Both from the danger of fire and the danger of Faber returning.

After one glance around her office, Leese came along with me.

“Eddie?” I called. “Here, kitty kitty kitty.”

My cat, for once, actually came when I called, trotting into the formal dining room. I stooped to snatch him up, carried him into the kitchen, and pushed him into his carrier. “Let’s take my car,” I called to Leese over my shoulder. “I’m in front of your garage door.”

“Be right out.”

I picked up the carrier and started down the steps. “Leese Lacombe, get out of the house this minute.”

“Behind you, I promise.”

“If she’s not,” I said to Eddie, “as soon as I get you in the car, I’m coming back inside to drag her out.”

“Mrr!”

We charged outside, where it was now full dark, and for the first time ever, I put Eddie into the backseat. “Hope you understand,” I said, pulling the seatbelt around the carrier. “Because though you’re on the biggish side for a cat, you’re not anywhere near the size of a normal human, let alone Leese. She wouldn’t fit back here for beans.”

As I shut the back door, the dark shape of my friend came pounding down the stairs. She ran the few steps to my car and we got in, slamming our respective doors simultaneously.

I started the engine and pressed the gas pedal down hard. The tires spun in the slick snow. Muttering a curse, I let off the gas, used the transmission to rock the car back and forth, and slowly pulled forward through Leese’s turnaround.

“Do you have your phone?” I asked. “Call nine-one-one.”

“Can I use yours? Mine’s in my purse.”

She’d brought something with her from the house; I’d assumed it was her purse, but maybe she’d grabbed whatever she valued most, just in case the gas did ignite and her house burned to the ground. “Sure,” I said, and directed her to my backpack, down by her feet.

“Mrr.”

“Sorry about the smell, Eddie,” I said. The car had almost reached the road and I was starting to turn right, heading for the safety of Chilson. “I know we reek of gasoline, but we didn’t have much choice, and—”

“Mrr!”

“Will you quit?” I asked. “We have a guest in the car, you know. She’s not used to your whining.”

“MRR!!”

This time he was so loud my entire body cringed. My foot came off the gas and the car slowed. “Eddie, will you—” Then I noticed something. “Leese, there aren’t any tire tracks on the road. Not any other than mine.”

Her quick mind caught up to me in half a heartbeat. “Faber didn’t come this way.”

Our heads turned to the left. “What’s down there?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Leese said slowly. “Not a single thing. This isn’t technically a dead end road, though. It turns into a seasonal road a quarter mile down, but it connects to another road on the other side of the ridge.”

I’d lived in Tonedagana County long enough to know what that meant. “What kind of shape is it in?” Seasonal roads could be well-maintained gravel versions, or they could be little more than two tracks made by the occasional passing car.

“Horrible,” she said. “I walked it last week and called the road commission because there was a fallen tree across it. They said they might get to it before spring, but wouldn’t make any promises.”

My foot hovered over the gas pedal. “He’s probably still down there,” I said.

“Yes.” Leese stared at the snow.

“I mean, where else could he be?”

“Yes,” she said.

“He could be hurt.” I waited, but she didn’t say anything more. “Call nine-one-one,” I said. “Tell them about the gas in your house.” I stared straight ahead. “Tell them we’re on our way to check on the guy who did it, because he might be having a medical emergency.”

“Yes,” Leese said.

For a long moment, neither one of us moved. Simon Faber had killed my friend’s father. He had tried to ruin her sister’s, her brother’s, and her own reputation. He’d done his best to kill her and had almost burned down her house. Now it was likely that he had either fallen in the snow or crashed his car or . . . or something else that wasn’t good. No matter which way you looked at it, Simon Faber had intended to come out of the woods, and hadn’t.

Then, at the same time I put my foot on the gas and turned left, Leese picked up my phone and pushed the three numbers.