by D. C. Brod
Prior to last night, I had never had a gun pointed at me before and, judging my response, I wasn’t getting any more used to it. My voluntary actions shut down. I still breathed, my heart pounded like a jackhammer, and somewhere the blood must have been churning through my veins, but I could not move. Not until Jack pressed the gun to my temple and I felt the sting of the steel.
“Drive,” he said again.
Outside the car, the bald guy was yanking at the door, which Jack had locked. Then he backed up a step and reached beneath his jacket. Just as I saw the glint of silver, Jack took the gun off of me long enough to fire it through the window. Glass exploded and someone grunted. Then the gun was back on me again. Its acrid smell filled my nostrils. I jammed the key into the ignition and found the gear.
“That’s right,” he said, “let’s get out of town.”
Without checking behind to see if I was backing into anyone, I jumped the car out of the space, jammed it into drive and floored it. Traffic had stopped—cars and pedestrians—and a small crowd had gathered outside of the Wired Lizard, but this all came to me in slow motion as we sped west out of Fowler.
I assumed someone was calling the police. Shots fired and a car speeding through red lights didn’t happen every day in Fowler. And then there was my mother, alone in a coffee shop with a psychic and no money.
Jack directed me, telling me to drive down one street and up another. We had turned around completely and were taking side streets east. I tried to spot places I recognized—a Burger King, a Methodist church and Forster’s Veterinary Clinic. Jack kept glancing behind us and shouting directions, holding the gun on me the whole time.
I prayed the police would intercept. Earlier, I’d seen the day ending with me either wealthy, dead or in jail, with heavy odds on the latter two. Right now, jail was starting to look better and better.
He had me turn left on Route 73 so we were heading north. It was a less traveled road and the next town was almost ten miles away. But then we jogged east and then north again and were on a two-lane highway that wound its way past farms and small areas of business. I recognized the road because sometimes I’d take my mother this way for a drive, and there was a bakery in a little strip of stores that made astonishing shortbread. I thought of my mother again and hoped that Erika was taking care of her. Had to believe it. They must have seen some of what went down, and my mother was probably a handful by now.
I guessed we’d keep going north while angling west, toward the less populated areas.
“You were there for the same reason I was,” Jack said, shoving the backpack under the dashboard.
No point in arguing.
“How many people write a script for extortion?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You think I didn’t know what those notes were about.” He snorted. “Haven’t had much practice at this, have you?”
I glanced at Jack and his gun.
“A half mil.” He nudged the backpack with his foot, smiling and nodding like he’d actually earned the money.
We were about a mile from the strip mall with the bakery when Jack told me to turn left at the next light. Here I was unfamiliar with the territory, but I assumed the road would take us across the Crystal River so we’d have our choice of roads heading north.
“Are you planning to escape to Canada?” Which would be absurd, what with border security.
“Not until we stop at my motel room. Got a few things to pick up.”
Not to mention a few things to get rid of—starting with me. “You don’t honestly think you’re going to get away with this, do you?”
“You’d better hope I do.” And then he patted me on the shoulder. I wanted to smack him, but it wasn’t smart to hit a guy with a gun.
We turned, and he looked back over his shoulder as I came to the Crystal. I flirted with the idea of taking the car off the bridge. The rail didn’t look too sturdy, and I’d done an article on escaping from unpleasant situations such as dog attacks, avalanches and submerged cars. But the bridge was about fifteen feet above the river, and it wouldn’t do me much good to know how to extricate myself from my Civic if the crash killed me.
Once over the bridge, he told me to turn right, which I did, and we were heading north again, this time on the west side of the Crystal.
Still intent on something behind us, Jack said, “You know anybody who owns a red Porsche?”
“I wish.” It could be Mick, but I didn’t dare hope.
“Speed up,” he said.
“I’m already going ten over.”
“You heard me.”
I nudged it up another five miles and after a minute, Jack seemed to relax. He couldn’t expect me to outrun a Porsche. I love my car, but its four cylinders didn’t stand a chance.
For several miles we passed open fields and patchy wooded areas. Then a green and white sign told us we’d entered Eden and the population was 1539. Eden had some businesses lining the street, and I wondered what would happen if I were to crash into a parked car. But then I glanced at Jack and he wasn’t getting careless with the gun. At one point he saw me looking, nodded and said, “That’s right. I’m taking you with me.” Then he added, “Watch your speed limit.” I swallowed and slowed as we drove through town. We left the commercial area behind and passed a group of small homes with clever mailboxes at the end of each long drive. It all looked so cozy I nearly choked up. How stupid had I been to bet it all on this? Just past the homes we came upon a wooded area where the road followed the river as it bent west. As we came around the turn, I saw lights ahead of us and began to slow. About thirty feet down the road, two squad cars formed a blockade. In the distance, more flashing lights were headed this way. On the right was the river. I saw a bridge farther down and, beneath it, someone fishing from a small green boat. On the left the woods stood like a palisade with maybe six feet separating the trees from one of the squads. I tapped the brakes.
Jack swore. “Go for the patch by the woods,” he said.
Police stood around the blockade with rifles pointed our way. Maybe I could steer through that patch and maybe I couldn’t.
“Are you nuts?” I asked.
“Floor it!”
“No!”
He leaned over and hoisted his left leg over the console, stomping his foot on the accelerator. The car lunged forward. My surroundings blurred. I saw myself underwater and remembered Erika telling me I was breathing. I jerked the wheel to the right. The Civic bounced over a short stretch of grassy bank and then plunged into the river.
At first we floated. I heard muffled yells and what sounded like a small airplane.
“You stupid bitch.” Jack swung at me. I didn’t see the gun, but did see the bloody gash on his forehead.
I ducked and lunged at him as far as my seatbelt would allow, trying to avoid his flailing arms and a blow to the head. The stick shift jammed into my ribs as I tried to pin him against the door. My Civic wobbled, then tipped. Water gushed into the compartment through the broken window and we began to sink. I gulped, filling my lungs with air. I felt for the door, found it, but the power of the surge tore my grip from the handle. I grabbed for the steering wheel, trying to keep my sense of up and down. Jack kicked at me, and the car pitched to the right. Moments later, fully submerged, we hit bottom. The impact jerked me hard against my seatbelt. I could barely see, but we weren’t far down. God, it was cold. I groped for the door handle again, found it, but it wouldn’t budge. It was supposed to open. I fought the urge to open my mouth and scream. Think. Okay, the car was running, so the locks must still be engaged. Shit. I fumbled for the lock, but felt the window buttons first. I pushed down on the top two and reached for my window. It was moving. Slowly. My lungs burned. I kept one hand on the window button and with my other hand I fumbled with the safety belt release, cursing as it refused to disengage. No panicking. I gritted my teeth, tried again and it gave. As I propelled myself out of the seat and through the window, I looked back at the passenger side, but all I could m
ake out in the murky dark was what looked like Jack’s left foot jerking slowly in the water just above the gear shift.
Once out the window I was afraid to let go of the car; that article I wrote didn’t include a strategy for getting out of the water. But I couldn’t breathe, so I didn’t have a choice. I released my grip, the world brightened as I rose, and I burst above the surface with a ragged gulp. I bobbed underwater again as the current tugged at me. But then someone had my arm and was pulling me out of the current. I kicked, trying to work with my rescuer, and then I felt something solid against my shoulder. I blinked my eyes open and saw a wall of green and then a voice commanding me to “Hold on to the side,” and a pair of hands pulled me out of the water enough so I was able to grasp a hard edge. A moment later, I cleared my eyes and my head enough to realize I clung to a small boat and someone was helping me maintain my grip atop the bow.
But the current was powerful, and the lower half of me wanted to travel downstream. I tried to get my other hand up on the boat, but couldn’t find the strength. Just as my secure arm started to give out, someone grabbed me around the waist. I almost fought it, thinking the current had grabbed me. But then a voice behind me said, “Let go. I’ve got you.”
My mind still fought it. After all, I was holding on to a solid object, but the force behind me persisted. “Let go!” he repeated.
His urgency convinced me, and so I did. Then there were more arms wrapped around me, and when I felt for the rocky bottom, it was there. I stumbled, but whoever had hold of me lifted me out of the water and carried me several feet, setting me down on the grass. But he still held on.
I kept pulling in deep breaths, which turned to sobs, and then I let myself lean against whoever held me as someone else threw a blanket over my shoulders. And all I could think was, this never would have happened if I hadn’t thought about stealing that goat. All this was my fault, and I deserved to be at the bottom of the river right now.
But I wasn’t. And I could still be grateful.
I let myself be held, drawing strength from another body. And when I finally looked up, there was Mick. “That was you behind us,” I said, still gasping for breath.
He pulled me closer.
“You okay?” I looked up and saw Hedges crouched in front of me. Did he always wear a sports jacket?
“Yeah.” I nodded, then glanced back at the river. “What about him?”
With a wag of his chin in the direction of my sunken Civic, he said, “Somebody’s going down there. Wouldn’t hold out much hope. Or whatever you want to call it.” He patted my shoulder. “You rest for a minute. Get some strength back. We’ll need to ask you some questions.” Then he stood and headed toward the cars still blocking the street.
I looked up at Mick.
He kissed my forehead but didn’t say anything. That was okay. I had a few items we needed to cover.
“We need to talk,” I said.
“I know.”
“My mother. She’s...” Despite the blanket, I was shaking and my breath was still coming in gasps.
“Is she at the coffee shop?” Mick prompted.
I nodded. God, I hoped she was. “She was with Erika.”
“Sure. Who’s Erika?”
“Our psychic,” I said.
To my relief, he didn’t pursue that. “How about I ask her to take your mom back to Dryden?”
I nodded again. She had seen me underwater. Surviving.
I felt his warm breath on my ear as he said, “Where’s Sassy?”
“Wayside Inn in Bookman. Room eight. With Bix. “
“I got it.”
There was more to tell him, but my thoughts were scrambled.
“The van?” he asked.
“Side street one block west of my place. Keys are under the seat.”
“I got it covered. Anything else?”
I forced myself to focus and took a couple of slow, deep breaths. This part was important. “If Matt—the guy at the Inn—gives you any trouble, tell him Queen Amidala says it’s okay.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I rested my head against his shoulder. “Damn, I really needed that money.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He kissed my forehead again. “It doesn’t matter.”
I didn’t get to Dryden Manor until after seven when Detective Hedges dropped me off.
It had been a long afternoon. He’d offered to take me by my apartment so I could change into some dry clothes, but my key was with all my others in the ignition of the Civic and my extra set at my mom’s. So we went straight to the Fowler Police Station where they found some sweats for me to change into. Then came the questions. And a few answers.
They treated me well, offering me food, soda, coffee, and I felt a little guilty. But my guilt couldn’t even begin to compare to my relief when I learned that the guy Jack shot outside of the bar in Fowler was going to be okay, and that Jack Landis was not. When the car tipped toward the passenger side and sank, he’d been partway out the window and wound up pinned beneath the car. They’d brought Lan-dis’s body up but my Civic was still down there. No hurry.
Most of Hedges’s questions involved Jack and what I knew about him. I did my best to cover for Erika but figured they’d have plenty of questions for her. When asked why I was parked near Phinny’s Tap, I told them the truth. Sort of. Said I was having coffee with my mother and had gone to my car for her blood pressure medication, which was in her overnight bag, now at the bottom of the Crystal River.
Hedges seemed satisfied that they’d found Mary Waltner’s killer. Not only did Mary and Jack have a history together in California, but a receptionist at the hotel where Mary had stayed identified a photo of Jack. He’d been seen with her in the lobby on the day she was killed.
When I asked how they’d found Jack and me, Hedges told me that Mick had seen it go down and had followed us out of town, contacted the police and kept them informed as to our route. “Mainly,” Hedges said, “it was a matter of waiting until you stayed on one road long enough to set up a blockade.”
I was surprised to learn that Mick worked with the cops so well.
At one point Hedges asked me if Jack had mentioned another person who might have been in on the goat heist with him. I could truthfully say “no.”
Mainly, I hoped that after today the lies were over.
When I arrived at Dryden, Hedges pulled up in front of the building and said, “You’ll be able to get home from here?”
“Sure. If not, I can always stay with my mom.” I considered that for a few moments. “No, I’ll find a way home.”
“You got an extra set of keys?”
“In my mom’s room.”
He nodded his approval.
Then I asked, “Do you know if the goat was returned to Bull Severn?”
“Yeah. We got a call around four thirty. Found the goat in a pasture with a bunch of cows.”
“Do you know who called?” I sure hoped he didn’t.
“No. Could’ve been an accomplice. But the goat’s photo had been on the news, so it also might have been someone who saw it there and didn’t feel like leaving his name.”
“That’s good. That he’s back where he belongs,” I said, so relieved my fingers tingled. Then, “Severn never did call the police about the goat, did he?”
“Nope.” He practically spat the word out. “First inkling we had was when shots were fired on Main Street.”
“If he had, what would you have done?” I paused, searching for the words. “I mean, it was a goat.”
“Yeah.” He chuckled a little. “But there was a half million attached to it.” He paused, tapping a finger against the steering wheel. “Hard to believe someone would come up with that kind of money for a goat.”
“Must’ve been special,” I said.
Before I got out of the car, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper—the letter—and the env
elope with the inverted Jenny stamp. “We checked out Landis’s motel room.These were there. The envelope was addressed to your mother. Clearly, Robert Savage wanted her to have them.”
I took them and looked at the odd little stamp.
“What’re you going to do with it?” Hedges asked.
“Sell it,” I said, then glanced up at the door to Dryden. “This is an expensive place.”
He nodded his understanding, but there was something else there, like maybe a question unasked. Fortunately, he left it that way.
I thanked him and got out of the car. On my way up in the elevator, I read my father’s words; I saw his handwriting. The letter was sweet, sad and peppered with the guilt he must have carried with him for years. If only I’d believed in our love the way I believed in the power of money. It had the dying person’s determination to atone for his perceived wrongs. I can’t get back those years, I can’t ever set things right. But this letter is sealed with a kiss that I hope will bring you some comfort. His love for my mother was in his words. And his sadness over never meeting me, well, that was there too. I imagine she’s like you, Lizzie, a beautiful, clever and tenacious woman.
If he only knew.
I knocked on my mother’s door, waited a brief moment, then opened it.
“Oh, Robyn.” My mother pushed herself up from her recliner and did a fast shuffle toward me, her hands clasped at her chest.
As I wrapped my arms around her bony shoulders, she shook with dry sobs. I patted her back and rocked her slightly where I stood. That was when I saw Erika Starwise. She’d been sitting in the chair I usually occupy, and now she stood, reached for the television remote and lowered the volume on the TV. All I saw were blurs of color on the screen.
“Don’t you ever do something foolish like that again,” my mother said into my shoulder. “You could’ve been killed.”
“I won’t, Mom.”
“Then what would have happened to me?”
Erika and I exchanged a smile.
“You’re a survivor, Mom.”
Erika picked up her purse. “I’m going to leave now, Lizzie.”
My mother detached herself from me and took Erika’s hand. “You’re a dear, Erika. I don’t know what I’d have done. What with Robyn leaving so suddenly.”
