She reached into her purse, fingering the gun again, but the trooper had again gone dead. She let it be, got into the car, turned the key, and pulled straight back from the parking space. One trooper lay in the painful pose of a swastika, his body going in four directions at once, while the other lay in repose where he had softly slid from her grille to the pebbled drive when she had backed out.
She turned and pulled out onto the highway, and drove north toward the Spring Brook area and Meredyth Sanger's secret getaway home on Lake Madera. From what she had been able to learn of Meredyth's parents, they seldom visited the Spring Brook home anymore, residing as they did in faraway Clover Leaf. She had learned that Mom and Dad would be arriving home from Europe tomorrow— information she had gleaned from a neighbor when Lauralie and Arthur had arrived at Mrs. Gaines's door, posing as realtors wishing to talk to the Sangers. Mrs. Gaines had been more than willing to help them, and she'd informed them that the Sangers were vacationing in France. Lauralie h^d gotten the Clover Leaf address when following Byron Priestly on his obsessive search for Meredyth the same day of his death. Now the ideal pair of wealthy parents would be blown up in their idyllic golf community, when they turned a key in the door to their picture-perfect, gas-heated retirement home. All it would take now, a single spark between lock and key. Lauralie had gained entrance by night, setting off the alarm, but she had charmed the bored, jaded young security guard who'd led a team of younger men to the location. She'd claimed to be the clumsiest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Sanger, visiting from California, and promising the man a date while she was in town, and young Mike had bought it, waving off the other security guards.
After Mike had finally gone, Lauralie wandered the luxurious house, and she watched the fish in the aquarium self-feed from a dispenser, and then she opened a gas line and left. The deadly gas had now had a twenty-four-hour buildup, and it would be forty-eight hours when the cab from the airport pulled up tomorrow. "What a homecoming for Momma and Papa Sanger," she said to the empty car.
From Paris to paradise, she mused, locating the niche off Highway 41 that led into the Madera Lake Estates. She needed sleep badly and wondered who on the lake might accommodate her.
Tonight she would strike Sanger at her heart, "And just when the bitch thinks she can't possibly stand another blow, she'll learn about Mom and Dad dying in an inferno."
Sleep... rest now, her mind told her. She could not recall the last peaceful sleep she'd had. Her mind seemed always in turmoil, always racing, if not with what she must do, then what she had done, examining, questioning, shoring up, and tearing down.
Her eyes closed, the sound of traffic going by on the paved road just the other side of the stand of trees filtering into her consciousness. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the faint whine of sirens. A ghastly discovery at the local diner, no doubt. She saw a mailbox with the family name carved into the wood—The Brodys—and turning in, she followed a winding dirt road toward the lake, when the Brody house peeked from behind the forest wall. She stopped short, viewing the house in the wood. It loomed large and lovely, a beautiful wraparound porch, several turret like pinnacles, a Cape Cod design. She also spied a row- boat this side of the lake at the pier.
She backed up a bit and pulled into a clearing among the trees, parked, shut down the engine, and considered her options. Somewhere on this same lake, Meredyth Sanger and Lucas Stonecoat were enjoying the warmth of their bed, wrapped in one another's embrace.
Sitting in the morning gloom, Lauralie thought of how she had posed Arthur's body, his heart on his sleeve, his dogs at his feet. She'd wanted Sanger and the others to find him in the mocking pose, and to find Mira's heart in the jar. After posing Arthur, she'd had to struggle with Mira's frozen half-corpse alone, wrapping her and transporting her to the car, breaking her nails and scarring her hands in the process. She had intentionally left her DNA in the freezer. Any idiot could put her together with the abduction and murder of Mira Lourdes by now. The investigation was a farce; any leads they enjoyed had, after all, been supplied by the Ripper herself.
"Catch me if you can, but not before I let you," she said to the empty woods around as she exited the car and began to walk the distance to the house, her purse slung over her shoulder, the weight of the gun pulling it down.
"Time for a neighborly visit..."
COGNAC. LUCAS AND Meredyth had, early that morning, settled on aged, expensive cognac, and after a playful contest of who could hold the most liquor before falling into a much-needed, deep slumber, they had nestled into one another's arms and had melded into one another's cognac dreams. Now, at three in the afternoon, they awakened after eight hours of sleep to cognac hangovers.
Meredyth asked herself if she had keyed in the security code downstairs before they had gone to bed. The log cabin-style home was equipped with a state-of-the-art security system, and was built to be impenetrable from the outside—no exposed wires, no weak spots. She brought up the memory of punching in the code, and she also recalled having taken both her cell phone and Lucas's off ring to accept messages only, so as to get some uninterrupted sleep.
Now it was mid-afternoon and Lucas was administering more cognac to combat the hangover, and it worked. They showered together and made love under the warm spray until they took their lovemaking back to the bed. There they luxuriated in one another's embrace, passions, and playfulness.
Sated, lying in one another's arms again, they were moved by hunger to dress, go downstairs, and raid the kitchen for anything they could find in the fridge and on the shelves. As she prepared sandwiches for them, Lucas joked that a typical reservation house could fit into Meredyth's kitchen.
"Is that designed to make me feel guilty?" she asked, punctuating her words with the knife in her hand.
"No...just an observation."
"Well, I hear the Indian casinos are making a bundle," she countered. "So not everyone on the res is piss poor."
"Casinos pay a petty tribute to the tribe, not enough to make a difference to the common good. In effect, an Indian tribe on a modem reservation is a commune—everyone helping everyone, everyone doing his part, all that. But it doesn't ever work out that way, now does it?"
"No...it doesn't. Human nature being what it is."
"Most of the casinos are run by shrewd half-breeds who are as shameless as any CEO you have trading on Wall Street, NYC," he said.
"It can't be that bad."
"You haven't been out to the Coushatta."
"Well...perhaps we can get a little public awareness going, start a drive, have a marathon or something, generate some funds."
"You don't understand. It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
"Because of who we are—American Indians. We have been made charity cases by the state—the U.S. Government—for almost two hundred years now, since the 1820s."
"What's that got to do with what I'm proposing?"
"Damn, it's got everything to do with it. The Cherokee were robbed of their Eastern ancestral lands, an area covering most of Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, and portions of Kentucky. They were given Oklahoma before the Okies arrived, and it became an Indian state. My ancestors migrated from the Tallaquah, Oklahoma, promised lands to here, East Texas, and we cohabited with the Alabama, Coushatta, and other western tribes. What I'm saying is that the Texas Cherokee in particular didn't want any handouts from the U.S. Government. My people left the ancestral lands before Andrew Jackson forced all the southern tribes out of the Southeast on the Trail of Tears. They saw the writing on the wall, so to speak. They next left Oklahoma before the white man's treaty there was made and broken again. In Texas, we found a third home so as to not accept the white man's charity along with his worthless, stinking treaties."
"Nice history lesson, but I still don't see what it has to do with raising awareness and funds for the reservation families and children."
"They don't want your charity, however heartfelt it may be, Mere. Don't you get it?"
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"You don't have to shout!"
He raised his hands as if arrested. "Sony...let's eat."
"I didn't know it was such a touchy subject with you."
"Not me...I'm no reservation Indian, remember? I got off the res a long time ago."
"I'm sorry White America has treated your people so wrongly, Lucas. I wish there was something I could do, that's all."
"Meredyth, no one, least of all this clansman, holds you responsible for the thefts and rapes and lies committed in the past by the U.S. Government and military in the name of Manifest Destiny and assimilation of the aboriginals. So let's leave it at that...and while we're at it, you've got no business feeling guilty in the least for Lauralie Blodgett's becoming a twisted and cold-blooded killer either."
"You saying that maybe I take on too much responsibility on my shoulders?"
"Precisely, yes."
They fell silent for a time, listening to the robins and sparrows circling and darting through the trees outside the kitchen window in what seemed an eternal dance, but was in fact a series of short-lived bursts of energy in a chase of give-and-take, back-and-forth. A Texas raven cried off in the distance, while hummingbirds, tasting of the nectar of oleander bushes, silently hovered about the windows. A mild scent of oleander wafted into them. Meredyth smiled and pointed at the hummingbirds, telling Lucas they had once had a family of hawks visit the cabin and take up residence for two months before they'd disappeared.
Together, they made their way out on the wide screened porch, taking their sandwiches and drinks with them. Here they looked out over the lake to one side, the horse stables to the other. "What shall we do now?" she asked. "Water play or horse play?"
A phone rang somewhere deep in the house. "That sounds like my cell phone," he said. "And I left it upstairs in the bedroom."
"It's most likely mine. I switched it back on when we woke. My secretary at the practice is likely wanting to know when she can begin scheduling patients again."
"So where's your cell?"
"Upstairs alongside yours. But I didn't activate yours again," she lied.
"So not even Sophia knows the phone number to the cabin?"
"Not even Sophia, no, since there is no phone in the house. It's my one sinful indulgence, this place, and I vow it will never be spoiled by TVs, telephones, radios, computers, E-mail, or any other gadgets of labor. If I have to make a call out from here, it's done on my cell."
"You mean to tell me you don't have one TV or radio in the entire house?"
"I thought you knew that from your last visit."
He blew out a lungful of air. "Guess I was having too much fun to notice."
"The only radio is the one in your car, Lucas."
"Hmmm...I see. And you're not curious about what's going on downtown?" he asked. "I mean with the case, any results on the APB on the girl or the car?"
"Not in the least, not today."
"I can't help but wonder if there've been any sightings of her... what her whereabouts might be... any new developments we should be paying attention to... that sort of thing, you know."
"Lucas, listen to yourself. No wonder you're so tightly wound."
"Whataya mean?"
"You left the scene of a grisly murder maybe ten, eleven hours ago, one in which you were relieved of command by your superior—remember that?"
"Yeah, yeah, but—"
"But nothing! You as much as told Lincoln to cram it."
"I did? I don't remember telling him to—"
"You told him he could rely on Jana North to assist the FBI, implying you wouldn't be available for such duty, and he took you up on it, Lucas."
"All right...I remember... but you know as well as I do that we're both too much a part of this case to simply step off."
"Lauralie has seen to that, and up to this point, she's been pulling all the strings, pal, but not anymore...at least not my strings. I'm more highly invested in this case than anyone, Lucas, but I'm not playing her game any longer. I am stepping off this lunatic's merry-go-round."
"Bravo! I think that's excellent advice you're giving yourself, Mere. Go for it."
"I intend to. Maybe Patterson and Lincoln are right, Lucas. Maybe you and I should have turned over the investigation from the moment we realized the killer's mania was focused on me and you."
"Well, now you've got your wish. Removed from the case, way out here in a place where she can't get at you...it's the right thing to do. Mere, absolutely."
"You make it sound as if I'm washing my hands of any responsibility."
"No, not at all. I don't mean to suggest anything of the sort."
"What's the alternative? Go on the offensive? Attack this crazy young woman where she lives? I might like the plan except for the fact we don't know where the fuck she is or where the fuck she will be in an hour, a day, a week. And you, Lucas 'Wolf Clansman' Stonecoat, what do you do given an opportunity to wash your hands of it? You fight it tooth and nail!"
"All I'm suggesting is we answer the cell phone, Mere."
The ringing from upstairs stopped.
"Bullshit. At least be honest with me, Lucas."
"What?"
"My restless Cherokee detective. You want to leap back into the chase with both feet. You're chomping at the bit like Says who and Yesyado when Jeff jingles their reins. You are that anxious to get back to tracking that bitch."
"All right, I admit that I'm a little eager to know what, if anything, has come to light since we put out the APB on the car."
"Do you have to be a cop twenty-four-seven?"
"What about you, Doctor? Heal thyself. Do you have to be a shrink twenty-four-seven?" he countered.
"Touche, mon amour. I guess we both know each other better than most couples, hey, Lucas?"
"That's usually a good thing, isn't it?"
"Dr. Phil would say so, but sometimes there's such a thing as too much honesty."
"Really? And when is that?"
"When the truth is clearly that two people are incompatible."
"You think that's the case with us?" he asked.
"Do you?"
"What kind of word games are we playing here, Mere?
What's more important than the truth that... that I love you?"
This silenced her for a moment. She raised her lips to his, kissing him. "I love you too, Lucas, truly."
The noise of birds skimming over the lake at the bottom of the lawn rose up to them. "Then we have no problem we can't overcome."
"You buy into that? That love can overcome any problem, any obstacle?" she asked.
"In my culture, aside from God, it is the most powerful force in the cosmos."
"Once you loved Tsali, and once she loved you, but what happened to your powerful force then?"
He dropped his gaze and sipped at his lukewarm coffee. She saw that she had hurt him, her words stinging. "That was young love. Our love, Meredyth, makes us feel young, but it's more solid, grounded. We have much more in common than you had with Byron and I had with Tsali, and we learn from each other each day."
She wrapped her arms around him. "So much evil is done in the name of love, like this love-starved, love- seeking Blodgett girl, searching for the attention of the world because she couldn't get it from her own mother."
"Every beat cop and detective on the force knows that love kills," he replied, holding her tight. "If it's not a prostitute murder, it's a stalking-ex murder, and if not that, the father who kills his family, why? Because 'I loved them too much.'"
"So many deaths all balled up with love and its many permutations. And yet so many beautiful and wondrous outcomes have resulted from pure, genuine love."
"Let's don't ever take our love for granted, Mere."
"Agreed. Let's celebrate it often."
"Right you are. All the same, sweetheart, I am curious to know if anything's come of our APB."
"Christ, Lucas, it's not our APB anymore. Ahhh," she mock-screamed. "I give up. Make the call. No! W
ait a minute. Hold on!" She had pushed him away from her and stepped back. "If you love me, you'll get it off your mind for a while."
"Celebration time, you mean?" he asked, holding his arms out for her to return to him.
She fell into his arms. "I'm not referring to sex. I'm talking about having some fun—F-U-N!"
He held her at arm's length, staring into her sea-green eyes. "Hell, you're right. I've forgotten how to spell it. As for the Ripper business, it's not even my case anymore. Let them deal with it."
She pulled away and went to the porch swing, pulling herself into a ball there. "I really don't want to hear another word about the fucking case, Lucas." She pulled her feet up and under her. The swing swayed only slightly, unhappily.
"Isn't that what I just said? Am I missing something here?" Lucas watched her sulk, and then he stared down at the movement around the stables. Men who worked the horses and saw to their needs had already begun to exercise some of the animals. "Let's go for a ride, shall we?" he suggested.
She remained balled up, but her eyes found his. After regarding him for a moment, she smiled. "Now your're talking."
"Walk you to the stables?"
"You're on." Meredyth's smile broadened, lighting up her features.
"Is this how you intend to always get your way with me?" he asked.
"Whatever are you talking about?" She pushed open the porch screen door and skipped down the stairs. "I have no modus operandi that you don't know about."
He followed her down the steps and along the gravel drive to the path leading to the stables. "I meant the way you had me come to the deduction you wanted."
"Are you suggesting that I would stoop to some sort of Aristotelian third degree to bring you around to the conclusion you'd already logically deduced, Detective, in the subterranean depths of that big head of yours?"
"Aristotelian...is that a shot?" He grabbed her and began tickling. She ran ahead of him with Lucas giving chase. Their laughter joined with the robins and the sparrows nipping at one another, flitting in and out of the trees. Their laughter echoed in the quiet and rumbled down to the workmen at the stables, who looked in their direction, and the laughter traveled across the lake.
04.Final Edge v5 Page 37
