Return to Appleton

by Sylvia Bambola

  “Thanks,” she said, thinking how kind he was but knowing that Harry was right. She should have sounded the alarm.

  When Gloria and Cutter reached the car, Perth gave them a thumbs-up from behind Harry’s back, apparently indicating that all was well. Except Gloria noticed that Harry’s face was flushed and that he kept his head down, avoiding her eyes. She inserted the key into the car door and unlocked it. Harry was the first to open his door.

  “It’s all right,” she said in a near-whisper, and she watched his eyes soften with gratitude just as he disappeared into the back. Perth followed. Then Cutter slid into the front passenger side. Gloria was ready to get in when she heard a shout.

  “Miss! Excuse me, Miss.” A man in gray overalls charged toward her.

  Gloria eyed the shovel in his hands and stepped back. She had seen him tending one of the new graves and assumed he was the caretaker, but now … she wasn’t too sure. He stopped in front of her, big drops of sweat running down the sides of his nose. His chest heaved as he gulped air. This close, he looked sixty, maybe more, and obviously out of shape. If he tried anything, she was reasonably sure she could handle it.

  Both of his hands were caked with dirt; so were his shoes and overalls. He wiped his empty hand on his pant leg, then dug into his front pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. “A man asked me to give you this.” He handed it to Gloria.

  “What man?” Gloria asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Don’t know. He was dressed in black. Had a ponytail and nose ring.”

  Gloria ripped open the envelope, pulled out a folded paper, and read the words, “YOU’RE NEXT.” She crumpled the paper into a ball. “What do you know about this?”

  Either her expression or her voice or the way she moved into his comfort zone must have frightened the caretaker, because his face turned the color of his overalls, and he backed away. “I don’t know anything, except that this guy gave me ten bucks to give you the note.”

  “Which way did he go?”

  The caretaker shrugged. “I … don’t know, lady. He just got on his motorcycle and left … that way.” The man’s hand waved in no particular direction, so when he turned and scurried away, Gloria let him go.

  Cutter watched Officer Wingate of the EPD, the same sometimes-smiling, sometimes-stone-faced kid that had driven them to the hospital—write down every word Gloria was saying in his notebook.

  For all the good it would do.

  Cutter was under no illusion. If J.P. Gordon and Charlie Watts couldn’t spot and stop the stalker in little Appleton, how were Wingate and the rest of the EPD going to do it here in big, sprawling Eckerd City? Still, Cutter had insisted that Gloria report her encounter and turn in the note. Maybe forensics could do something with it. And maybe the police artist could sketch a decent picture from Gloria’s description. Wingate seemed eager enough, like any new kid on the block looking to elevate his status.

  Still … Cutter wasn’t going to hold his breath.

  He listened to Gloria answer Wingate’s questions. It sounded like they were on their third rep. He wondered if Wingate was being extra thorough, or if it was just police procedure to ask the same question this many times.

  He watched Gloria’s forehead fold into creases and wondered how he was going to tell her she couldn’t stay a few more days with Harry and Perth like she planned. They were all bunking out at the Comfort Inn about five miles from The Lakes. Harry’s building was still sealed off with yellow police tape, and no one could tell them when that would change. But things were progressing in the right direction. The gas company had already fixed the main. And this afternoon a structural engineer was scheduled to check out the integrity of the building to see if the damage was repairable or if the building would have to be condemned.

  They had all been living from hand to mouth, buying underwear and clean clothes and toiletries as needed. No one had been allowed to go to Harry’s apartment to retrieve anything, or even to see if there was anything left to retrieve. And understandably, Gloria didn’t want to leave Harry or Perth in this state.

  But if Cutter had anything to say about it, she was going to. Not that he was in a position to really tell her anything. Or demand that she listen to him. Especially now that he was trying to correct his former overbearing ways, since Gloria didn’t seem to care for them. But in his mind, her safety superseded all other concerns, even if pushing the issue meant making Gloria angry. He had decided, right after Gloria got the note, to take her back to Appleton. For one thing, the town was smaller and easier to patrol. For another, it was familiar territory. The home advantage.

  Now to sell her on the idea.

  He was prepared to resort to any means. There was no way he wanted to end up like Harry Grizwald, who was probably even now raking himself over the coals of “If only I…”

  Cutter didn’t know how he’d managed it, but he had. And with very little persuasion or pressure, either. He suspected it was because Gloria understood about the home advantage too. He’d always known she was much smarter than anyone else gave her credit for.

  Gloria was going home. With him.

  It had been a teary good-bye for everyone except Cutter. He had stood quietly on the sidelines, just like he had been doing for the last several days, and felt the palpable sadness in the air. Even when the hugs and kisses were passed around like sweets, he had remained untouched. But when Harry shook his hand and whispered that he didn’t think Gloria could go wrong with the likes of him, Cutter had to swallow hard in order to keep a lump from forming in his throat. He knew Harry didn’t give his approval readily.

  Now, whizzing along I-80 with Gloria at his side, he allowed the memory of Harry’s words to warm him and was surprised to feel his eyes moisten. He glanced over at Gloria. Her head was tilted back, her face toward the side window. He was relieved. It wouldn’t do to have the woman he loved see him blubbering like a girl. He had never subscribed to the thinking that men should get in touch with their feminine side. As far as he was concerned, a man didn’t have a feminine side—unless, of course, the guy was a wimp. It was natural for a man to want to be in charge, to take control. It had always puzzled him that Gloria had never appreciated his efforts in that area when they were growing up. Now he understood that what she hadn’t appreciated was the way he’d done it.

  Well … he would change. He already had. At least, in some ways. For one, he didn’t think about Sadie or any of the others. He didn’t picture their bodies or feel their imaginary hands running through his hair or down his back.

  He only pictured Gloria. He knew she probably wouldn’t like that, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help wondering what she looked like under her layers of clothes, or how she would react when he touched her in those secret places. And he wasn’t likely to find out, either, anytime soon. But there was a passion about her—all wrapped up and safely hidden beneath her soft, quiet exterior—that stirred him. He had seen it in her eyes, felt it in the touch of her hand, heard it in her voice when she had told him she loved him. It boiled his blood. And that made his new watchword, discipline, all the more important. He slid his hand across the space between them and touched her fingers.

  “You want me to drive now?” came a sleepy voice from the side.

  “Nope. You just relax.”

  “Thanks for driving. ’Course, it’s not just anyone I’d let drive Bluebird.”

  “Don’t mention it. And I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  “How far away are we?”

  “Another hour. Then we’ll go straight to J.P. and tell him what happened. After that, you’re under house arrest until we can figure out how to keep you safe.” He glanced at her and saw she was still looking out the side window. No use procrastinating. This was as good a time as any to bring it up. Perspiration pooled around his collar. He cleared his throat. Several times. “ ’Course, you could always move in with me so I could keep an eye on you.” Gloria’s laughter made his heart sink. “Wh
y not?”

  “Can you just hear what the church ladies would say? Can you imagine what my mother would say? And forget Pearl Owens. My goodness, she’d have a field day.”

  Now it was Cutter’s turn to laugh. “I’m not suggesting we live together. I’m suggesting we marry.”

  “Cutter, you know that’s impossible. We have issues, remember? I told you I couldn’t let our relationship progress any further until certain things were resolved. It would never work. It can’t work when we’re so far apart spiritually.”

  “I was listening. To every word. Only, you’re in danger, and that’s all I can think of now. How can I let you out of my sight? It would drive me crazy. I’d be wondering and worrying every minute. The only way I can protect you is to be with you twenty-four hours a day. And I know the only way you’ll let that happen is if … we get married.”

  Gloria gave him one of the sweetest smiles he’d ever seen, then turned back to the side window.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  “I think we’re being followed. At first I wasn’t sure. A lot of bikers wear black leather and have ponytails, but now I’m certain.”

  Cutter checked his rearview mirror and saw a black-clad figure on a motorcycle. Cutter was driving in the left lane. So was the biker. Though there were scores of cars in the right lane and a trail of cars behind the Harley, only two cars separated Cutter from the stalker. A vision of the biker riding up to his window and whipping out a shotgun, then blasting away, filled Cutter’s mind.

  Too much NYPD Blue.

  There were far too many witnesses for the biker to make that kind of move. But up ahead, when Cutter turned onto RR40, it would be a different story. There, you could go for miles and not see another car. If he were the stalker, that’s where he’d strike, presuming the stalker knew the area. And what was Cutter going to do about it?

  His mind buzzed like a Milwaukee chainsaw, chopping apart several alternatives: One—he could get off now and try to find a police station. But that was a pretty lame idea. The roads off I-80 around here were mostly rural, and he wasn’t that familiar with the area. There was a good chance he’d end up in some deserted place, cornered by the stalker. Two—he could continue driving along I-80 until the stalker got tired and just stopped following him. Another bad idea. Bluebird had only a quarter of a tank of gas left. Three—he could call the police on his cell. Sounded good. But was it? Chances were the stalker would take off as soon as he saw a squad car and disappear along the zillions of miles of roadway veining the countryside.

  No, not one of the ideas had merit. Think, Press, think. He couldn’t let anything happen to Gloria. It was up to him to get them both out of this safely. God, we’re in trouble here. I know I have no right to ask, but I really need Your help. The prayer whirled around and around in his head, while Gloria stared silently at the side mirror. They went on this way for a good five miles. Then the thought hit him. The Four-Towns junction was the perfect place for a showdown—four wide roads forming an intersection, room enough for an army of squad cars to set up a blockade, deep gullies along the sides of the roadway, and enough rough vegetation to keep anyone from making a premature exit off the pavement.

  He’d call J.P. and tell him to go there and set a trap. Then he’d lead the stalker right into it.

  He pulled the cell from his shirt pocket and dialed the number he’d learned when he was eight years old and found his father dead on the living-room sofa from a heart attack. When J.P. answered, Cutter offered no pleasantries, only a terse summary beginning with the explosion in the Eckerd apartment and ending with their current situation.

  “What did he say?” Gloria asked after Cutter hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

  “He said he and Charlie Watts and Jack Springer and some backup from the other towns would be waiting.” Gloria frowned. “And he said not to worry. They’ll get us through this.” A glance at the rearview mirror told Cutter the stalker was now only one car behind them. “He also said to use the cell to keep him posted. You have your cell, just in case?”

  Gloria nodded, then reached into her purse—the purse she had been able to retrieve from Harry’s apartment only late yesterday, after the engineer said the building was structurally sound enough for her and Perth and Harry to go there and collect a few belongings. She pulled out her phone and groaned after she powered it on.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Battery’s low.”

  “All right, keep it off in case we need it for backup. Mine’s fine, so there shouldn’t be a problem.” Cutter gnawed the inside of his mouth. Another thirty miles and they’d be getting off I-80. That’s when it was going to be tough—those seven miles on RR40 before they reached the junction.

  The sound of Gloria’s heartbeat whooshed in her ears as Bluebird sped down the highway. She closed her eyes. Outside, the landscape was a blur, and that, plus the motion of the car, made her nauseated. When she felt her nails dig into her palms, she opened her eyes and was surprised to see her hands balled into tight fists. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. They had to keep their wits. Not panic. She was glad Cutter was driving. He was a lot more aggressive behind the wheel than she was, and they’d need that now. It would take all of Cutter’s skill, plus God’s grace, to get them out of this safely.

  Up ahead, she spotted the large green sign for RR40 and was about to mention it to Cutter when she felt Bluebird swerve. She grabbed the armrest just as Cutter sliced through a small opening between two cars and moved from the left into the far right lane, crossing two lanes of traffic. She glanced at the side mirror and saw the stalker’s motorcycle also cut right. Oh, faithful Jesus, protect us. Gone were the illusions that this issue would go away or end in some benign fashion. The stalker had killed Dorie, maybe Benny Holt—Santa Claus—and who knew how many others. What were two more lives to him?

  Trust Me.

  Gloria curled her fingers around the strap of her seat belt and bit back tears. Oh, Jesus, why can’t You show me angels positioned on Bluebird’s hood and trunk, or the stalker’s tires going flat, or the asphalt splitting open and swallowing him up, or … With a deep sigh, she sank into her seat, still clutching her belt. I do trust You, Jesus—I do. I know Your ways are perfect. Let Your will be done.

  By the time Cutter saw the RR40 sign and moved toward the exit, the Escort and Harley were no longer separated by another car. The stalker’s motorcycle roared only inches away from Cutter’s bumper, its chrome-plated T-handlebars glinting in the sun. They were both going much too fast. Cutter hit the brakes and took the winding ramp on two wheels. The tires squealed as they left rubber and a burning smell. The motorcycle kept pace.

  “Let me have your phone,” Gloria said, sounding shaken.

  “Why?”

  “I’m calling J.P. to tell him where we are.”

  Cutter pulled the phone from his pocket and handed it to Gloria. Her fingers were white from grasping her seat belt. She dialed; then Cutter listened as she updated J.P.

  While Gloria talked, Cutter watched the stalker move closer, then begin to pass. The next thing Cutter knew, the motorcycle was parallel to his door. What was the guy up to? The road was deserted, but it was treacherous here with its hairpin turns. Not a good place to make a move.

  Cutter clutched the steering wheel, then floored the gas pedal, taking another turn on two wheels. For a minute, the car threatened to overturn, but it landed back on all fours with a bounce, then a skid. It took all of Cutter’s skill to keep the car from spinning out. When he did, he didn’t even slow down but pushed the pedal even harder. They had gained some ground, but only a little. The Harley roared near Cutter’s left bumper. What did he have to do to shake this guy?

  Trees and telephone poles whizzed by in a blur as Cutter tried to calculate how far they still had to go. When he saw the blue-and-white billboard announcing the Dutch Inn’s homestyle cooking, he knew they were only four miles from J.P. Thank You, God.

  Ba
rely a half mile later, Cutter saw the yellow zigzag sign. “Brace yourself,” he said, as his hands tensed around the wheel. If he judged the turn just right, and if there were no oncoming cars, he could make it. But he’d have to concentrate. Keep focused.

  As he entered the bend, Gloria screamed. The Harley had gained and was once again parallel with Cutter’s side. “He’s got a gun!” she shouted.

  Cutter glanced left. The next thing he heard was the crack of breaking timber as his car grazed two saplings on the side near the shoulder.

  It was too late. He couldn’t get the car back on the pavement. Two tires were already on the soft dirt shoulder, and his speed propelled him farther in that direction. For a second, the car took flight, actually hovered in midair as the dirt shoulder gave way to nothingness, then a steep slope. Then came a grinding metallic sound as the car came down hard on the incline and toppled to the left. The chassis scraped against rocks and underbrush as it slid all the way down the embankment on its side. Cutter had a vague sensation of Gloria’s limp body listing toward him, held only by her seat belt. Objects ricocheted around his head: his cell phone, Gloria’s purse, two empty Styrofoam coffee cups, some papers, a pen. Blood trickled from his mouth and from Gloria’s forehead. When the car finally shuddered to a stop, he reached over with a trembling hand and shook Gloria, who hung in the air like a rag doll. The left side of the car had become the floor. The right side, Gloria’s side, was now the ceiling.

  Please, God, let her be all right.

  She opened her eyes. “What … happened?”

  The motor was still running, and Cutter smelled oil. Something must have ruptured. Even if he and Gloria could put the car back on its wheels, he’d never be able to drive it up that embankment. He studied the terrain in front of him and suddenly knew where they were—in the forest on the other side of the fishing hole.