"She's a victim, Frank," Vince snapped. He swiped a hand across his face to wipe away the rain that was running from his hair.
"She was a victim. Now she's an accessory. And if the Newman woman is helping her evade questioning, then so is she."
"That's bull and you know it," Chief Mallory protested. "Amanda wasn't in custody."
"She was told not to leave the hospital without clearance," Selkirk said.
The chief shot Vince a pleading look. Vince read it clearly. He didn't want this asshole to be the one to find Amanda D'Voe. Vince didn't want him to be the one to find Holly. But he was worried about more than that. Holly had a look about her the last time they'd spoken. It was one he had seen before, one that said she was keeping something from him.
"Look at the sign," Vince said, pointing. " 'Emergency Parking Only.' They probably moved the car, and then found a place to get some sleep." He caught the chief's eye.
Mallory was blank for a second, then he lifted his brows and jumped in. "That's right. I think one of the hospital staff was saying the vehicles were going to have to be moved." He glanced out over the lot. "Vince, Jerry, you two check the front lot out, row by row, if necessary. Agent Selkirk and I will cover the lot in the back." He looked at Selkirk. "It's right around the corner. Come on." Then he just started walking, leaving no time for arguments.
Selkirk followed Mallory as Vince led Jerry out into the parking lot, toward his own car. And as soon as the chief and Selkirk were out of sight, he yanked his keys out of his pocket, slapped Jerry on the back, and said, "Let's hit it."
They were in the Jeep, pulling out of the parking lot seconds later.
"So, where do we begin?"
"I don't know," Vince said. "Holly's house. Amanda's house. Whatever the hell they're up to, I imagine it started with a stop at home. Seems like they'd want an umbrella if nothing else."
"I suppose that makes as much sense as anything." Jerry shook his head. "Why do you think they took off?"
"I don't know."
"Do you think they could have reached the same conclusion we did, back there?"
Vince's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "I hope so."
"Really?" Jerry looked at Vince in surprise. "I thought you wanted them kept in the dark until we knew for sure."
"I do. But the only other reason I can think of for them to take off like this is that maybe Amanda started to remember something."
Jerry blinked, then his eyes widened. "About the killer? Holy shit! You think they've gone after him?"
"God, I hope not," Vince said grimly. He remembered all too well what it had done to him to walk into that room in the rundown house and find the bodies of Kara and Bobby Prague. Holly couldn't survive something like that. Amanda probably couldn't either. "I hope not."
* * *
“THIS IS YOUR uncle's house?" Amanda asked, searching Holly's face.
Holly nodded. "I don't understand this. Are you sure, Amanda?"
Amanda looked at the house, at the lighted windows, the shutters. "I remember standing right here, looking at that house, and knowing I had to get away. Away from that house. He was in there." She covered her face with her hands, and Holly wrapped her arms around Amanda protectively, instinctively holding her hard and close.
"It's all right. Nothing can hurt you now."
Amanda looked up, tears mixing with the rain on her face. "We aren't frightened little girls anymore."
"No." Holly's head was still spinning. Uncle Marty. It made no sense. But there was no time to work it all out, not now. "But Bethany is. And she needs us. I can go in alone, if you want."
"No. No, I'll go with you."
Nodding, Holly hooked her arm through Amanda's, and they walked across the lawn, toward the back door. Holly reached up to ring the bell, but Amanda caught her hand. "Just... try the door."
Holly glanced sideways, saw the closed garage door, and beyond its windows, the glint of metal. "Looks like Aunt Jen is home. Her car's in the garage." She couldn't see if Uncle Marty's bread truck was back from its most recent run. It would be around the far side where the driveway looped around the house. "It's going to be all right, Amanda." She gripped the knob, and turned it slowly.
It wasn't locked.
There was nothing strange about that. It was a small town. Folks rarely locked their doors when they were away, much less when they were at home. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The lights were on, and the living room was a mess. Cabinets and drawers, the closet, everything open and things strewn everywhere. The cushions on the sofa were askew, as if someone had pulled them off and then tossed them carelessly back down again. "My God," she whispered. "Someone must have broken in. Aunt Jen?" she called.
A door slammed. The side door.
Holly jumped out of her skin, and Amanda gripped her arm. "Come on."
Slowly, they moved forward, into the dining room. The kitchen and its side door were off to the right, but Holly could see nothing that way except more chaos. Certainly no one was out there. The screen door was banging in the wind, though. That must have been the slam she had heard.
To the left was a short hallway, leading to the bedroom. She turned in that direction, with Amanda clinging to her arm, and went to the master bedroom door. "Aunt Jen?"
No sound came in reply.
She pushed the door open. The light in there was off, so she reached around to snap it on.
In the middle of the floor, Aunt Jen was curled into a tight ball, in a pool of crimson. It looked as if a pile of raw meat had been dumped on her back, but only at first glance. A large meat cleaver was implanted in the back of her head.
Amanda made a choking sound, and twisted away, stumbling back down the hall.
Holly, shaking all over, didn't. She moved forward. "Aunt Jen? Oh. God, Aunt Jen?"
Her feet stopping at the outermost edge of the blood pool, she reached down to grip her aunt's warm wrist. She had to. The edge of Aunt Jen's sleeve was soaked in crimson. It touched Holly's fingers as she searched for a pulse, but she found none.
Vaguely she heard a motor start. She dropped her aunt's wrist and left the bedroom. Amanda was standing in the dining room, staring out a window, and looking close to the edge of endurance. Eyes wide, pupils dilated, not even blinking. Holly went to her. "Are you all right?"
"I was never in this house, but I saw him come in here. That's why I had to run away from it. That's why I saw it from outside. I was never in the house. I was in the truck."
Holly looked, just in time to see the taillights of the familiar bakery truck drive away. It was her uncle's truck. He'd driven it for years. The familiarity of it now seemed ominous rather than comforting.
"I was in the truck!" Amanda shouted. "Holly, he's getting away!"
"I know, I know. But we'll never catch him on foot." Holly ran to the phone in the kitchen, yanked it up. Silence greeted her. She looked at the line, saw it cut cleanly in two. "Damn!" Then her gaze hit the key rack hanging beside the phone. Aunt Jen's car keys, or God she hoped they were. She snatched them. "Come on, Amanda! We'll take my aunt's car. We have to stop him."
Amanda nodded, running into the kitchen. They ran through the door at the far end that led to the attached garage, and Holly hit the button to raise the overhead door as she passed.
She got behind the wheel. Amanda grabbed something off the workbench in the garage as she passed, before diving into the passenger side, while Holly frantically jammed keys into the switch until one fit. She twisted it. The car started. "Thank God." As she shoved it into gear and pulled out into the pouring rain, she glanced sideways at Amanda.
In her lap were a hammer and a tire iron.
* * *
HOLLY'S HOUSE HAD been empty, and Vince saw no signs that anyone had been near it. But at Reginald D'Voe's, it was a different story. The gate was unlocked, closed, but unlocked. Amanda's car was in the driveway. No one in it, though. And the house was pitch dark.
He went to the door, rang the bell, pounded on the wood. "Amanda! Holly, open up, it's Vince!"
No answer. He tried only once more before drawing his gun, breaking the glass, and reaching through it to unlock the door.
"Jesus, Vince, you don't have a warrant," Jerry said.
He said nothing, just ducked inside, Jerry right on his heels. He paused there, flipping on the lights, and looking around. Wet footprints still dampened the floor in the foyer. "They've been here. But why the hell would they leave on foot?" He crept through the darkened mausoleum, calling, but there was no reply.
* * *
HOLLY STEERED THE car in the direction Uncle Marty's bakery truck had gone.
"What if we've lost him?" Amanda asked, knuckles flexing and releasing on the tire iron, eyes wide and fixed straight ahead.
"We won't. There are no turns off this road for miles, and the truck can only go so fast." She hit a pothole as if to emphasize her point.
"Where does it go?" Amanda asked.
"It hugs the lake, most of the way around it. Passes through some towns farther north, but it's damn barren up to that point." She glanced sideways at Amanda. She was rocking now, slowly, steadily back and forth in her seat "Amanda?"
Amanda gave her head a shake, pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. "It's coming back. It's all coming back, and I don't want it. Dammit, I don't want it."
"I'm sorry, Amanda." Holly reached out to stroke the girl's hair, but Amanda pulled away from her touch.
"There was a room. In a house. He kept me there. Oh, God, for so long, I don't know. It seemed forever. Chains. My wrists." She rubbed at the phantom marks that must have once been on her wrists. "Water, once in a while. Hardly any food. And I was alone a lot of the time. All alone, in the dark. No lights. It was so cold there at night. But it was worse when he was there. It was so much worse."
"Amanda..."
"He ...hurt me."
Those three words, spoken so softly, carried more pain in them than Holly had ever heard before.
"If I could make the memories stop, I would."
Amanda turned toward Holly. "You can't."
"I know."
Thunder cracked like a rifle shot and Amanda cringed, closed her eyes. "It was just like this. There was a storm, and I was so afraid in the dark, with the thunder and lightning crashing, that I pulled, and I pulled. And my wrist slipped right through the metal bands." She looked down at her own hands in wonder.
"You'd probably lost enough weight that it made the difference," Holly said.
Amanda nodded. "I heard him coming. So I ran. I found my way out of the house. I was so weak. And so cold. And then I saw a truck. It was parked down the street. I just wanted to get in out of the rain, and I thought it was safe. Something about the truck... told me it would be safe. I couldn't reach the doors in the front, but the back wasn't shut tight. And I could smell the bread. It smelled so good. I crawled inside. I ate and ate. And then I wrapped up in a piece of canvas or something I found back there, and I went to sleep." She looked at Holly again, eyes wide. "I didn't know it was his truck. When I woke up it was moving. And when it stopped again, I peered out through the crack where the back door was still open just a little. And I saw your aunt's house. And I saw him going into it."
"You recognized him?" Holly asked.
"Not his face. I'd never seen his face. He always wore a mask when he was with me."
Holly's memory flashed back to the man in the mask, tearing her sister from her life. And suddenly those ice blue eyes were familiar. They were her own uncle's eyes.
"But I knew it was him," Amanda went on. "His walk. His shape. His way. I just knew. And it was still storming. But I realized I still wasn't safe—the truck I thought would be my escape was his truck. It was his truck, and I had to get away. So, as soon as he went inside the house, I climbed out, and I ran away from the truck, away from the house."
"Into the woods," Holly said softly. "And you wound up at Reggie's."
Nodding, Amanda sniffed and swiped at her tears. "Reggie never hurt me."
"I never thought he did."
Amanda nodded, lifting her head. Then she froze. "Look. Taillights."
Holly looked ahead and saw them. She quickly turned off the car's headlights so Marty wouldn't see them coming. "Uncle Marty and Aunt Jen have two daughters," she told Amanda. "Kelly and Tara. Five and seven years older than me. When I was a little girl I thought they were the wisest, the coolest girls in the world." She sighed, shaking her head. "When Kelly turned eighteen she dropped out of high school, took Tara, and ran away. They turned up months later, living on the west coast, making their own way. I never knew why." She bit her lip at the inevitable conclusion.
"They must have been his first victims."
Holly nodded. "And my sister was his next."
"Oh, God. Holly, I'm so sorry." Amanda's hand, cool and soft, smoothed back a lock of Holly's hair, and stroked a path down her cheek. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have told you all I did. It was cruel."
Holly looked at her, her own eyes welling with tears. "At least you got away. I'm so glad of that."
Amanda nodded hard. "And Bethany will, too. We'll see to it."
Suddenly a soft tone beeped.
"What was that?" Amanda looked around, her eyes wide. Holly checked the lights on the dashboard.
"None of the warning lights are on. Oil, gas—"
It beeped again.
“It's in here." Amanda popped open the glove compartment Then she released a loud breath. "Oh, God, it's a phone!" She yanked it out, looking at its face. "It's the low battery signal."
"Pray there's enough for one call," Holly said.
Amanda looked at her. "Who should we call. Nine-one-one? Chief Mallory? The hospital?"
Holly met her eyes. There was only one person she wanted to call right now. "Vince," she said. "We have to call Vince."
Amanda's lids lowered quickly.
"I know you don't trust him, Amanda, but I do. And you trust me, don't you?"
Lifting her gaze again, Amanda hesitated, then finally, she nodded. "What's the number?"
Holly rattled it off and Amanda punched the buttons, then handed her the phone. She heard Vince's cell phone ring once. Then again.
"He'd better answer fast," Amanda said. "The bakery truck is stopping."
Holly hit the brakes, pulling off to the side of the road as much as she could, as the truck did the same a short distance ahead. She drove into the darkest, most shadowy section of the roadside she could see. Then she cut the engine, staring dead ahead.
"Answer, Vince. Dammit, pick up your phone!"
TWENTY-ONE
VINCE'S CELL PHONE bleated as he was wandering around a make-believe Halloween graveyard in the pouring rain in the dead of night. Which explained why he jumped out of his skin, fumbled for the phone, and then dropped it.
It had rung three more times by the time he fished it out of the mud, wiped it on his coat, and punched the right button.
"Hello?" he said, when he brought it to his ear.
"Vince! We need help."
"Holly, where the hell are you? What's going on?"
A static buzz hit his ear. Then, "It was Uncle Marty. Aunt—zzz—house—zzz—dead."
"What? Holly I can barely hear you. Are you all right?"
"Lake Road," she said, between further buzzing. "—ing north."
"Holly—"
"Hurry.'"
And that was it. The connection was dead.
"Jesus Christ," Jerry said. "Look at this."
Vince turned, and looked beyond the broken section of fence, just inside the woods. Jerry was there, holding up what seemed to be a rectangle of the ground, like a door. "It's some kind of old root cellar. The top was completely covered in soil and leaves." Jerry flipped the door all the way over and left it open.
Gabbing Jerry's arm, Vince started back to the car. "Ten to one that's how he got the kid," Vince said. "He slipped away from the
party, came out here, and waited. Grabbed her when she passed closely enough. Drugged her, hid her there in that freaking tomb, and rejoined the party. It would have only taken a few minutes. Then he came back for her later, after the party was over, and the searchers had moved farther out into the woods."
"And when he did, he left the top, slightly askew. Otherwise I'd have never seen it. But how do you know he was at the party?"
Vince looked at the phone. "I'm pretty sure Holly just told me it was her uncle Marty."
“The guy you rented the cabin from?" Jerry asked, hurrying to keep up with Vince.
“The same." He was thumbing the buttons of the cell phone even as he opened the car door and got behind the wheel. "Mallory? It's Vince. Holly's in trouble. It was a bad connection, but I got 'Lake Road' and 'North.' How do I get there fastest from the D'Voe place?"
The chief gave directions as Vince drove, back wheels slipping sideways in the mud.
"Meet me out there," Vince said. "Bring everyone you can muster. Feds included. And some ambulances. God only knows what we'll find when we catch up to them."
He hung up and looked at Jerry as he negotiated the rain-wet, unpaved road, and turned onto the one called Lake Road. No one would ever know it. It didn't bear a sign. "Mallory says this road runs for seventy miles, around the lake. God only knows how far ahead of us they are."
"Just don't kill us before we get there," Jerry suggested.
* * *
HOLLY WAS STILL speaking into the cell phone when she realized that Vince was no longer replying. Twisting the phone in her hand, she scowled at the panel that had gone dark. "Damn, damn, damn." She punched buttons to no avail. The thing lit up only once, just long enough to flicker "low battery" on its face before it died again. Holly flung it into the back seat.
A hand clutched her arm. "Look."
She glanced at Amanda, then toward where Amanda was staring. The taillights on the bakery truck went out, leaving the deserted road almost pitch dark. Then the truck's door opened, and an interior light spilled out just enough to illuminate Uncle Marty as he got out.
He hopped from the step, down to the road, then slammed the truck's door closed. Pausing a moment, he looked up and down the wood-lined road, then he came walking straight toward Holly and Amanda.
Gingerbread Man Page 27
