“MaryNell, I couldn’t have imagined it!” Was I trying to convince MaryNell or myself?
I heard Richard groan as the game ended; then SportsCenter came on.
“Of course not,” she said, soothing me, “but have you heard the news tonight? The police can’t even get to the wrecks where people are injured, there are so many of them. Schools are already closed tomorrow. I know you had to be terrified, but you’re okay now. And you’re not going back out. You’ll stay here tonight.”
I started to protest, but I didn’t have the strength. Besides, I didn’t want to go home alone.
“Okay.”
“Good. I’ll fix you another cup of tea.” She took my mug back to the counter. “And we’ve got pecan pie left from supper. What were you doing out in the first place?”
“Randy. I had dinner with Randy.” Dinner at Jimmy Kelly’s seemed years ago.
“Stick’s friend? The songwriter?” She turned to look.
I nodded.
“So?” She came back to the table with more tea and two plates of pie. “Did you have a good time? Before the ice thing, I mean? You realize this is two dates—with two different men—in one week.”
“No. Sam wasn’t a date.” But I had had a good time, and Doug didn’t seem to be coming around anymore. I told her about it, trying to remember that nice warm feeling I’d had when I left Randy—before the idiot on the hill. Trying not to believe someone wanted me dead.
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning I went home to take a shower and change clothes before going to work. The salt and brine trucks had been out, and the main roads weren’t too bad. With schools closed, there would be less traffic, except around the malls, and that would help. Why is it when the roads are too dangerous for schools to be open the malls are always crowded?
There was no message from Doug. No message from Franklin Polk.
My first call was to Polk. His housekeeper answered.
“I’m sorry. Mista Polk is not at home. May I take a message?” He’d told me he was leaving town. So much for finding out whatever he might have told me. Unless he hadn’t intended to tell me anything. Unless his call had just been the bait to get me out on that road. He had been the only one who knew I was there. I shook my head, water flying from my wet hair.
On the drive in to work, I debated calling Detective Davis. MaryNell was my friend. If she hadn’t believed me, I couldn’t imagine Sam Davis would. He would preach at me to mind my own business, and I wouldn’t even get tea and pecan pie.
“You made it!” Lee said as I entered the office.
“Yeah. Did you have any trouble?” No one else was there yet, and I was debating whether to call the others and tell them not to come. Then again, if people were home without much to do, they’d think about tropical vacations and call. On days like this, the idea of getting out of town sounded even better. I’d wait and see how it went.
Lee and I swapped ice stories, and I told him about my hillside adventure of the night before. He sided with MaryNell with more patronizing and less sympathy. “The wonder is that either of you made it down off that hill last night.” He shook his head. “It was a mess.”
“Yeah, I guess.” But he hadn’t been there.
I still hadn’t been able to talk to Doug about the paintings. I couldn’t believe Kenneth could be a murderer, but I didn’t believe he was a forger, either. Doug was in a meeting when I called, but he called back and agreed to meet me for lunch. “I’ll come there,” he said. “No need in both of us being on the road. I’ll meet you at Pancake Pantry.”
* * *
Doug’s face was set and hard when he walked through the door. I was already seated. Not much of a wait today. With the weather so bad, people tended to stay in if they could, eat at their desks.
“What is it you’re trying to do?” he asked. “And what’s your point? Do you even have a point, or do you just get off on making trouble?”
I had never seen Doug this angry. Whatever I’d said about his not expressing emotion I’d have to take back. He sure was expressing it now, and it wasn’t fun. But then I started to get mad, too.
“I could have just told this to the police, you know, or Mark. I came to you because I’m trying not to make trouble, because I thought we were friends, and I should talk to you.”
Face-off. Two angry, red faces.
“One decaf, one regular?” The waitress broke the hard silence.
Doug nodded.
“Please,” I said, “and I’m ready to order.” The waitress’s smile was genuinely bright. Doug and I glared at each other like two gunfighters in the middle of a dusty street.
“Okay. What is it?” Doug asked as she walked away.
“I thought you’d said Kenneth gave up painting years ago.”
“Yeah. So what?”
“Well, I don’t think so.” I told him about the locked room at the back of the gallery. About the half-copied painting.”
“So what?” I could tell Doug was surprised, but he still didn’t get it.
“There’s more. One of the paintings we took from Hazel’s house is in a museum in St. Louis.”
Doug made a disgusted sound. Then he turned patronizing and sarcastic. “Painters learn by copying great artists; it’s a discipline thing. There’s nothing in that. And your painting in your little museum is probably just another study of the same subject—if it’s even like the one at Hazel’s at all. Or Ken could have sold it to them. He’s an art dealer, you know. It’s what he does.”
I nodded, too mad to speak. I pulled out the note card and the list of Hazel’s paintings I’d gotten from his office. “They didn’t just buy this painting.” I stabbed the card with my finger and pushed it across the table to Doug. “It’s been hanging on their wall, and you can already buy these nice cards.” I flipped it over to show the title and artist’s name. “You tell me if it’s even like the one at Hazel’s!”
I watched Doug and caught the moment he wavered. His eyes moved to the list from his office. He shook his head. “This doesn’t prove a thing.” The lawyer face was back, a cool, hard mask sliding over the anger, over any doubt.
“Fine. I tried.” I drank half the coffee in one gulp and got up. I found the waitress, asked for my lunch to go, paid, and left. Outside, I passed the window by the table where Doug still sat. I looked away.
The cold air felt good against my face on the short walk back to the office.
“Anna called again. Said she still hadn’t been able to get down her hill. I told her I’d call her back when I checked with you, but she should probably stay home. The phone hasn’t rung except for her.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “That’s fine. Have you heard from Martha?”
“Not yet.”
I called her. No answer at home. Already on her way, stuck in traffic, or off in a ditch. I tried her cell phone.
“I’m on my way,” she said, but she sounded stressed.
“Where are you?”
“Not far from home. It’s really slow going.”
“If you want to, just go home. If you can find a place to turn around.”
“You sure?” I could hear the relief in her voice.
“Yeah, nothing’s going on here. Lee’s here. I’m here. Nobody’s calling.”
“That would be great.”
“Do you have any payment deadlines, anything that has to be done today?” I heard a horn. Then a crunch. “Was that you?”
“No. Thank goodness. This guy started sliding, and he just kept going, right into a guardrail. Slow motion.” She shifted mental gears. “No, no deadlines until Monday. Mrs. Turner might call. If she does, just call me, and I’ll call her back.”
“Okay. Well, we’ll see you tomorrow. Be careful.”
“You, too. Thanks, Campbell.”
* * *
Lee and I fielded the few calls and caught up on paperwork. I organized my files on current projects and straightened my desk. I went back through the senior
-trip itinerary and readied the last of the notes, and when the mail carrier came by, I offered her a cup of coffee to warm up. This was a walking route, and it couldn’t be fun today.
Traffic and weather were the news on the radio: wrecks, side streets blocked by cars, and trucks sideways. More freezing rain was due this evening. The sky never lightened up; it stayed charcoal gray all day.
I wondered what Doug had done after I left. Had he called Kenneth?
By three thirty, Lee and I were caught up and staring out the door at the lights that came on automatically, already punctuating the gray sky.
“Why don’t you go on home?” I said to Lee.
“I hate to leave you here alone.” He meant it, but he was thinking about the roads.
“It’s fine. I’ll leave early myself. I’ll just wait until four at least.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. Go. There’s no point in both of us sitting here.”
“You’ve got your cell phone in case you have any trouble getting home?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
It seemed much later than it was. “Why don’t you lock the door? You could unlock it if a client you know comes.” We did that sometimes if one of us was here alone late, after the businesses around us were closed.
I shrugged. “I might. But I’ll be fine.”
Lee had his stuff together to go in seconds. “If you’re sure.”
“I’ll be fine. Go.”
He went.
The office was silent except for the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights and the printer.
I jumped when the phone rang. “Get Out of Town. This is Campbell. May I help you?”
“You’re still there?” MaryNell. “Why don’t you come back and spend the night again tonight? I’ve made chili.”
“That sounds good, but no, thanks. I’m just going to go home and turn on the fire. Drink hot chocolate maybe.”
“You should leave before the ice moves in again.”
“Yeah, I’ll probably close up in a few minutes. It’s dead here. Been that way all day.”
“Well, do call me if you have any trouble.”
I laughed. “Yeah, what will you do?” MaryNell’s husband handled the vehicles. Division of labor.
“I’ll send Richard. And call me when you get home so I don’t worry.”
The phone rang again, but no one spoke when I answered. I hung up. Bad weather does funny things to Nashville phones. It rang again immediately. My mom.
“There’s more bad weather moving in,” she said. “You ought to go home early if you can.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll go soon.”
“Well, be careful. Call if you need us.”
Another ring. Lee and I had sat there all day; now the phone was ringing off the hook.
“Get Out of Town. This is Campbell. May I help you?”
“I’m ready to get out of town. You got a nice, warm, sandy beach somewhere?”
It was Sam.
“I could arrange that.”
He laughed. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m about to close up and go home.”
“Good idea. Be careful. Call me if you have any trouble.” That was nice. “You staying out of trouble?”
“Of course! I did hear from Franklin Polk yesterday, but nothing came of it.” Oops. I realized I didn’t want to tell him the whole story.
“Yeah?” His voice was alert.
I gave him the edited version. “So I tried to call him this morning, but he’d already left town.”
“This car was trying to force you off the road?”
“I doubt it. You know how last night was. I was just spooked. It was nothing.”
“You call me when you get home, okay?”
“I’ll be fine!” I heard the edge in my voice. How many times had I said that today? He was just trying to be nice. “Really. But thanks.”
“Yeah. Look, I think Julie’s staying at her mom’s tonight. No school tomorrow. Nights like this can get crazy, but”—he paused—“okay if I come by later if I get loose?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. I’ll, uh, see you later then.”
“Yeah, see you later.” Okay. Tonight I would definitely tell him about Kenneth Elliott and the twin paintings. He’s homicide, not forgery or whatever that could be, but at least maybe he’d know what to do.
A few minutes later, the power went out. Tree limbs fallen across electric lines somewhere probably. Enough! I was going home.
* * *
It was slow, but I stuck to main roads that had been salted or sprayed with brine. Schools were closed, which took some of the traffic off the roads, but that meant a lot of parents were taking off early, too. It took an hour and a half to make the twenty-minute trip. By the time I exited on Music Valley Drive, my shoulders were in knots. I was looking forward to a hot, relaxing bath. Then I was going to turn on the fire and read. Detective Davis or not, I was getting into some flannel. Something soft and warm anyway. Maybe not flannel, maybe my new sweater. Blue. Like my eyes. Candles. Candles would be warm. And cozy.
The sleet had started, clicking softly on the windshield. It was fully dark now, and I was glad I was almost home. I passed the vacation condominiums and left all traffic behind. Then a car pulled out behind me. Where had it come from?
It looked like the same car from the night before.
I reached for my phone just as it hit me, slamming me forward. I bounced off the steering wheel, and the phone flew out of my hand. I tried to feel for it; it had landed in the passenger seat. I pulled it toward me and tried to punch the numbers, watch where I was going, and see what the big black car was doing, all at the same time. I pressed the buttons for Sam’s number. It rang, and the car hit again. SLAM!
This time it wasn’t just an icy hillside; the Cumberland River was below me. With rocks in between. He was pushing me now, relentless, my little Spider scooting along like dirt in front of a bulldozer. I kept trying to steer away, but I couldn’t evade him. I was bouncing over rocks closer and closer to the river bluff.
“Sam!” I yelled. “Sam! He’s back. He’s pushing me in the river!” I don’t even know what I said. One more crunch, and the phone went flying again.
I got my foot back on the accelerator to give myself a little space, then twisted the wheel hard to the right. I tried to aim for a tree big enough to keep me out of the river. I saw trees flash by me as I hurtled downward; then I was headed straight for a large one. I hit it, and everything went black.
I don’t think I was out for more than a few seconds, but I knew I had to get out of the car—and fast. Who was that guy? An irrelevant memory of Paul Newman and Robert Redford trying to outpace trackers flashed in my head. I knew that, whoever he was, he wouldn’t give up now. He couldn’t give up without making sure I couldn’t tell anyone what had happened.
I flipped my seat belt off, opened the door, and fell into mud and wet leaves. I could hear his car above me, its headlights shining through the trees and into the dark space out over the river. The hill was steep enough at this point that the lights were overhead and might give me time to get away from my car. I rolled away from it, hoping I’d live long enough to know whether or not I was rolling in a patch of poison ivy.
The leaves were mostly off the trees, so the trees wouldn’t provide much cover. The leaves underfoot were wet enough that they weren’t making a lot of noise, but they were slippery. I tried to run, although my head hurt and my eyes were blurry. I couldn’t see well, and I kept slipping in mud, running into trees and vines, and tripping. I lost a shoe and kept going. I was trying to run parallel to the road toward home or the first house I came to with lights on. Always go downhill when you’re lost, my parents had told me on those long-ago trips to the Smokies. That’s where civilization is. Go downhill and follow a running stream. But downhill was the Cumberland, and it would be a tough call whether I’d freeze first or drown there.
He must have had
a flashlight, because now in addition to the lights from his car shining into the trees above me, a light was also moving around me. I tried to hide. Did he have a gun? I dropped behind a fallen tree and stayed still. The damp chill was soaking through my clothes; I couldn’t feel the toes of my shoeless foot. I tried to wiggle them. I knew I needed to be able to run without stumbling. I kicked off the other shoe for better balance.
“Campbell?” A man was yelling my name. I couldn’t get the fog out of my head now. I knew the voice. Doug? Was it Doug? I almost called out to him. But something wasn’t right. Not Doug. Doug wouldn’t hurt me, would he? Kenneth?
The light moved on, and I got up and ran. Like a stage spotlight, it came back, found me, and I could hear him in the trees. This chase seemed to go on forever. My head was throbbing. He was gaining on me. I slipped. I got up and tried to run and heard a siren in the distance. How far? Had Sam gotten my message? I had to keep going.
The siren grew louder. I could hear cars on the road above and to my left, but he was close enough that I could also hear his rasping breath. Or was that mine? It was hard to tell. My blood was pounding in my ears.
Something hit my shoulder, and I realized he was trying to hit me with his flashlight. He too was slipping in the mud and leaves.
“Why?” I gasped. “Why are you doing this?”
“You thought I’d just let you blackmail me. Easy money, huh? Everybody wants a piece of it. You’re not going to ruin it for all of us. Not, hunnh, not after all this time.”
I dodged sideways, anything to buy some time. I was dazed and exhausted, and I knew I couldn’t last much longer. But one phrase stuck in my mind. All of us.
Just then I fell, and Kenneth Elliott lunged for me. I rolled; he slipped and went farther past me.
I scrambled to get up. He was turning back to me when my hand found a tree branch. I grabbed it. He was reaching for me when I remembered the self-defense demonstration I’d seen on the news. The head is a difficult target. Go for the arms and shoulders, soft targets. You want to cause pain, not kill. I shook my head to clear it. Keep your eye on the ball and watch it all the way in. You’re not trying to kill the ball; just make contact. It was my brother’s voice in the backyard repeating what he’d learned at Little League practice. Level swing, just a good level swing.
Your Killin' Heart Page 19
