by Jenna Ryan
A shudder ran through Raven’s body, but she kept her voice calm. “Did he die naturally, or did you kill him?”
“That would depend, I suppose, on how natural you consider a bullet—no, sorry, two bullets—to the skull to be.”
“About as natural as it was in Phil Herron’s case.”
“Herron was an irritant and an idiot. He tried to force himself on me physically.” She snorted. “As if.”
With the sound of the Reenactment fading, night sounds took over. The roar of the ocean, animals in the woods, the occasional whistle of wind.
Taking a chance, Raven slid her right arm from the sleeve of her cloak. Her two-way had been working earlier. Maybe she could play with the wires and make it work again.
To cover her movements, she kept the conversation going. “Would you have killed Herron if he hadn’t forced himself on you?”
“Oh, come now, Raven. You don’t give a rat’s furry ass about Herron. What you really want to know is, do I kill for pleasure. The answer in general is no. Unfortunately, a death was necessary here, and Herron simply fit the bill. It was imperative that you and your hubby be properly deceived.”
“So you did send a second shooter to the Cove. He just wasn’t Phil Herron.”
“Herron was an abrasive boob, nothing more. My second man was—and I trust still is—Guy Biggs. You know him. Small, wiry man with a long, gray braid and beard. Loves to mix fruit and alcohol in Mason jars. He slipped you the three feathers I’m sure you found in your pocket earlier. I thought it seemed fitting somehow. I warned Guy, via a text message, that he might wind up injured tonight. However, odds were no one would shoot to kill. Too many questions left unanswered that way. No, he’d be wanted alive. So I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. A little pain in return for an offensively large payoff.”
“And the possibility of a prison sentence didn’t factor in there anywhere?”
“No,” Joanne said, and slid the gun up Raven’s spine, “it didn’t. Anyone can be gotten out of a hospital. And on the off chance he remains injury-free—well, let’s say county jails are no more difficult to infiltrate than medical facilities.”
Was she insane, Raven wondered, or merely viciously cruel? Maybe she was both. Fighting the fear that made her stomach knot and her fingers stiff, she kept working the wires and buttons on her radio. If she was very, very lucky Aidan might hear them talking and find her.
Where, though? Find her where?
“Where are you taking me?” she asked again.
“To the far side of Raven’s Ridge.” Joanne chuckled, and the sound was more chilling than her initial threat. “I considered simply putting a bullet in you and tossing you onto the rocks below, but that seemed anticlimactic somehow. Oh, Aidan would find your body one way or another, sooner or later, and he’d suffer when he did, but the shock value wouldn’t be there, and I want that. I want to see his face when I blast yours off.”
Raven’s skin went clammy beneath her cloak. “He’ll find a way to kill you, Joanne. If you know anything about him, you must know that.”
“Did I mention I’ll be shooting you from the distant shadows, at night, with a silenced bullet? It’s been—tricky, what with anonymity needing to be maintained, but I’ve gotten Guy to teach me the ins and outs of using a rifle. It’ll never be my weapon of choice, but if I say so myself, I’ve become rather proficient in the handling of one.”
The mist thickened as they made their way to the more desolate portion of the ridge. Raven was tempted to scream, because—well, why not scream at this point? There was no one in the vicinity except her and Joanne Demars. Maybe a sudden shrill sound would startle the woman long enough for her to knock the gun away.
Another chuckle reached her. “Oh, Raven, I can hear your mind working as clearly as if you were speaking the words. You think you can throw me off my guard and get hold of my gun. But you’re hampered by that cloak you’re wearing, and given that your husband murdered my only son, I have an extremely eager trigger finger.”
Raven heard the venom at the end of her statement, the bitterness and the hatred. But she heard no sorrow and wondered how deeply Joanne must have buried her grief in order to continue running her husband’s criminal operation.
They’d reached the ruins of the west wing, and were heading for the jut of ridge directly behind Blume House. The thunder of drums and horns was far behind them now, and the spotlights were a mere glow of gold above the tree line. Even the woodland sounds were gone. There was only their feet on the rocks, and tendrils of white mist slinking like snakes around the boulders.
“You’ve gone strangely quiet, Raven, for a woman who’s about to meet her maker.”
“I’ve been—thinking,” Raven lied, “about how I would feel and what I might do if my only child had died the way Jason did. Maybe I’d bring the person I felt responsible to a desolate ridge and throw him or her over the edge in the shadow of a haunted house, too.”
“My, but you are a Blume, aren’t you? Such a theatrical mind. If you think for one minute I’m emulating the actions of a certain WWI soldier, you’re wrong. The setting simply suits my purpose. When we get to the lonely part of the ridge, I’ll contact your husband and have my revenge. My closure.”
What could she say? Raven thought. Except... “Did you know Weasel had a tape with your son’s voice on it? We found it in his backpack. It sounded like Jason was talking on the phone. We assumed he was having a conversation with your husband, but I realize now, he was talking to you.”
As she’d hoped, Joanne drew an annoyed breath through her nose. “Jason and I fought over Johnny’s death many times. I wasn’t aware back then that he’d recorded any of our fights.”
“He sounded angry.”
“He was angry, and so absolutely certain I’d killed his father that I thought he must have been hiding in the office that night and seen me do it. He repeated enough of the argument between Johnny and me that there could be no doubt he’d overheard us. But of course I understand now that his knowledge came from that cassette player of his. State-of-the-art was Johnny’s way, the newer the better. But Jason wasn’t like that. He loved electronic gadgets from any era. Still, it’s of no consequence in the end. However Weasel acquired the thing, he’s gone and so is his pathetic attempt at blackmail.”
“Is that why you killed him? Because he tried to blackmail you?”
“He said he knew who I was and what I’d done. He insisted he’d discovered proof of my misdeeds. The fool actually texted me to gloat. And here’s the astonishing thing. He wrote that text message while he was standing outside my food truck. I saw him hit Send. Then he laughed and ordered a raven burger with everything on it. From me.
“He signed his own death warrant then and there. He merely speeded it up when he disobeyed my orders and decided to have a little extracurricular fun with you. I don’t think he was as certain as he pretended to be, or if he was, that he would have done anything about it when he was sober. But he stole one of Guy’s famous Mason jars and consumed a little more of the contents than was wise. He was intoxicated when he sent that text and labeled himself a blackmailer. I didn’t need the problem he’d suddenly become. So I had Guy sic your husband on him—inasmuch as he could—then, when the opportunity arose, I eliminated him.”
She gave the gun a nasty twist in Raven’s back. Which hurt and caused her to twitch away from the tip. “What? Do you expect me to thank you for shooting him?”
Joanne’s laugh echoed across the ridge. “You’re feeling cranky and I understand that, but to answer your question, you should indeed thank me. Because, like Guy, Weasel had a fondness for sharp knives and soft female flesh. And whatever was going on in that sick brain of his, I don’t believe he thought for one minute that I was on his little rodent tail the moment he left the crypt to find you. Oh, the delightful irony of good timing. Or bad timing in Weasel’s case.”
The edge of the ridge came into view ahead of them. Blume House stood da
rk and daunting in the background. Beneath her voluminous cloak, Raven kept pressing buttons on her two-way.
A velvety purr emerged from Joanne’s throat as she stroked her gun along Raven’s spine. “I can only imagine the prayers that must be whizzing around in your head, Raven dear. You want Aidan to come and save you. Well, you’ll get half your wish at any rate. As you see, we’ve almost reached our destination. Once we’re at the edge, I’ll call him. All I have to do then is give you one tiny shove if he steps a foot out of line.”
Raven judged the remaining distance as they walked. Fifty, forty, thirty feet to the rim of the cliff.
Huge boulders, several of them shaped like malformed ravens, rose up around them. Please God, please, she prayed, let Aidan come. But don’t let him die trying to rescue me.
Joanne’s voice cut in again. “You can take off your mask now. We’re well past the point where anyone will spot us.”
The gun jabbed her ribs as Raven carefully slid her right hand back into the sleeve of her cloak and removed her head mask with her left.
“Perfect. Your pretty face is exposed and waiting for me to blow it away. Shall we make the call and bring...” A slight scuff on the rocks had her breaking off to demand, “Who’s there?” Her foot came down on the trailing hem of Raven’s cloak and stopped her progress. “Let me see who you are, or she gets a bullet that’ll have her screaming in agony. Shall I elaborate?”
To Raven’s shock—and horror—Gaitor emerged wearing his Reverend Alley disguise. He let the book he’d been holding drop to the ground as he slowly raised his hands.
“You!” Joanne exclaimed. “The oh-so-annoying preacher man. Didn’t you like the answers I gave you this afternoon, Reverend?” She mocked her own response. “No, of course I didn’t mean to implicate you in Phil Herron’s death....” Her laugh was a brittle, tinkling sound in the cool night air. “Over there, old man. The Reenactment might not have been to your liking, but perhaps you’ll enjoy the real thing. This woman’s husband murdered my son. My child. My only child!”
Gaitor stood unmoving while Joanne went from icy laughter to virulent fury. Ahead of them, Raven saw what her captor apparently didn’t—a movement near one of the bird-shaped boulders.
Her breath emerged in a silent rush of relief. And fear.
The relief was short lived as Joanne bunched the long cloak in her free hand and pushed the gun so far into Raven’s side she was surprised it didn’t puncture a kidney.
“I have three-quarter pressure on this trigger, my dear. If you so much as twitch, you’ll be as dead as your raven man ancestor. Keep those hands up, preacher man, or you’ll go before her. Now, here, take this.” Joanne threw a small pack she’d been carrying to the ground. “Raven, you stand on that protrusion. Preacher, you pull the rope out of that bag and tie her up like a Thanksgiving turkey.” She released Raven’s cloak to draw a second gun from her jacket pocket. Pointing it at Gaitor’s head, she said, “Get to work, Reverend. Now!”
Raven glanced at the boulder, but nothing stirred in the shadows behind Gaitor. Then she spotted the movement again and felt her stomach jitter.
Her heart stopped beating when she realized Joanne had seen it, as well.
Ducking smoothly behind Raven, she gave a silky laugh. “Oh, this is rich. He’s here and I didn’t even have to call him. My moment of triumph isn’t quite as I envisioned it, but if there’s one thing I am, it’s adaptable.” Her voice rose. “My gun, Lieutenant McInnis, is currently thrust against your wife’s neck. That makes the range point-blank, and I have a frightening amount of pressure on the trigger. The only shot you’ve got is through her. I want your weapons on the ground where I can see them, and your hands high in the air.”
Two guns landed on the rock. A second later, Aidan emerged, dressed as a raven.
“Interesting choice of attire,” Joanne acknowledged. “Keep those hands way up, McInnis. Move it with the ropes, old man.”
Raven’s heart pounded as terror streaked through her. She didn’t doubt for a minute that the trigger was more than half squeezed. Maybe Aidan could do something, but not before the gun went off, killing her and probably Gaitor, as well.
Gaitor finished securing the knot around her ankles. When he gave the rope an extra tug, Raven lowered her eyes.
And widened them in astonishment.
“Very good, old man,” Joanne congratulated. “Now stand and hobble over to the raven, who’s going to—”
The movement was so fast Raven missed it. With no warning, she was knocked away from the edge of the cliff. The gun disappeared from her neck. Although stunned by the sudden motion, she immediately began struggling with her bonds.
Gloved hands appeared to help her and she stared into the eyes of the raven’s-head mask. “Gotta get you out of here.” Gaitor’s voice came from behind it.
The moment he’d freed her wrists, she shed the ropes around her ankles, then brought her head around as a gun went off behind them—once, twice, three times.
She scrambled to her feet. “Aidan’s unarmed, Gaitor. I won’t leave him here alone.”
“He’s not unarmed... Wait! Raven, come back! I’m the one who threw down my weapons.”
She heard him. She also knew that Aidan was too good to ever be weaponless. But the reverend’s long coat wouldn’t be as easy to shuck off as her cloak. And bottom line? She had no idea who’d fired those three shots.
She was running past a huddled rock formation when a pair of hands came out to haul her in.
She fought automatically and only stopped when she recognized the hiss of pain.
“Aidan?” On her knees, Raven took his now-beardless face in her hands. “Thank God, you’re all right.”
“Not sure I’d go that far,” he replied. “Don’t ask,” he said before she could. “I don’t know where she is, or I’d tell you to get the hell away from here.”
Raven looked around but saw nothing. “She has a rifle stashed somewhere up here. Her plan was to get you to come up to this part of the ridge so she could kill me in front of you. She specifically said she wanted to see your face when she blew mine off.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see whose face gets blown off.”
Raven started to speak, but choked the words back when he pushed her to the ground.
A moment later, the ridge exploded with light and sound. Raven heard gunshots, possibly rifle shots and a cacophony of other noises she couldn’t identify.
When she finally got her head up, Aidan was using his Glock, while above them, a dazzling display of fireworks illuminated the night sky. Much lower to the ground, the top of the rock formation blew apart, so, yes, she had indeed heard rifle shots.
“Where is she?” Raven yelled.
“She’s moving,” Aidan shouted back. He used his two-way. “Gaitor, can you pinpoint Joanne’s location...? Gaitor?”
Raven’s eyes landed on a pair of feet sticking out from behind a boulder. “Aidan, he’s hurt!”
“Stay behind me.” He waited through another round of shots, then tapped her hip. “Okay, head for the boulder.”
Raven stayed low and ran. High above them, starbursts of gold, red and silver rained down. When she reached the misshapen rock, she went to her knees beside the older man. Thank God, the pulse in his neck was strong and steady. “Gaitor, can you hear me?”
A hand came out of the darkness. Cruel fingers sank into Raven’s hair and wrenched her sideways half a second before Aidan appeared.
“Nice try, ace, but as I’ve told you many times, my son’s dead, therefore, Raven’s dead. Move one muscle, Lieutenant, and her brain leaves her body in bloody bits.”
The tip of her gun pressed into Raven’s temple. She looked up at Aidan, who tossed his Glock and raised his palms in an outward show of surrender.
“Very good,” Joanne’s voice tightened. “Now get up, Raven. We’re exactly where we need to be for this little drama of mine to play out. Who knows, maybe we’re exactly where the soldier from
your legend murdered his friend on the rocks below.”
With a gun to her head, Raven had no choice but to comply. That didn’t mean she had to make it easy for the woman holding it. She kept her eyes on Aidan, saw his faint nod and held herself perfectly still.
Fireworks continued to rain down on the other side of the ridge. She had to step over Gaitor’s prone body to reach the ledge that protruded over the wild ocean waves. Drawing a deep breath, Raven deliberately stumbled on the older man’s legs.
Because her hand was now firmly clamped to Raven’s arm, Joanne stumbled with her. Off balance and momentarily startled, the woman’s grip faltered. In that split second, Raven got her elbow up to knock the gun aside.
She saw Aidan’s lightning-fast reaction but doubted she would ever know how he got his backup out so quickly.
“Don’t,” he warned, when Joanne would have swung her arm back. “Let her go.” He extended a hand. “Raven?”
Although she hated to leave Gaitor, Raven worked herself free of the woman’s grip and started toward him.
Joanne stood, a statue in black spandex with her back to the crashing waves and the glittering explosions overhead.
“Drop the gun, and come away from the edge,” Aidan told her.
They both saw her smile.
“Go to hell,” she replied, and, snapping her hand down, took aim at Raven’s head.
A single shot rang out between starbursts.
For a frozen moment, Raven thought whoever had fired must have missed. Then Joanne’s arm dropped, her eyes opened a fraction wider, and, taking one staggering step backward, she plunged over the side of the cliff.
Unbelieving, Raven stared—so long and hard she almost tumbled into the water herself. But Aidan’s arm around her torso drew her firmly back.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” Sliding his other arm around her, he set his cheek against hers. “Danger’s gone. Look up instead of down.”
