Grabbing my purse off the sofa, I called, “Natalie, I have to leave. Donovan and Emily are on their way out here to keep you company. I’ll be back later.” I didn’t wait to hear her response.
I hopped in my SUV and carefully laid the picture on the seat next to the clipboard with my copies of the job applications. As I drove down the lane, there wasn’t any sign of the deputy, but a patrol car was parked beside the entrance into the garden. I probably should have stopped and told him where I was going, but by the time I explained, Alicia would be gone.
I kept my window down. The rush of night air made me feel as if I was making better time. I turned on the radio and let the music drift around me. I should have asked Alicia point-blank who had called her. Had I handled this wrong? Maybe, but it was possible that I could discover who was picking Alicia up—if I got there in time.
I pressed on the gas and watched the needle climb. Glancing at the picture, I wished I could study it while I drove. This whole Frankfurt, Minnesota, business didn’t make sense. Just because Frankfurt, Minnesota, had been the return address on the letters written by Paige and Dixie, that didn’t prove either woman had been in that town. Last December, Frankfurt had snow and a bitter wind chill, but Paige had called the winter mild. I was sure Paige hadn’t been where she said, but why lie?
Mail could have been collected from the women and sent to someone in Frankfurt to mail, just as the mail in the post-office box could have been collected and sent to someone in River City. It made sense, especially when I factored in the consideration that there wasn’t a river near Frankfurt, but there was a river very close to the greenhouse.
Suddenly I didn’t want to keep Alicia from leaving, but it was crucial that I be at the East Florence address before she left. If I could follow the vehicle she got into—
I entered the River City outskirts and kept up my speed. The quickest way to East Florence was to travel down Bodine, hang a left on Brunswick, and stay on that main thoroughfare until I came to Pittman Road. I would have more four-way stops, but I could roll through them. I slowed my speed. I didn’t want a cop to stop me. Time was running out. It was only a few minutes until nine.
It seemed to take forever, but finally I turned onto East Florence Street. I was in the six thousands. The address I wanted was two more blocks east. I traveled another block and peered ahead. A pair of brake lights flared red. I saw them flicker, once, twice, and a third time. The driver was impatiently pumping the pedal. I slowed to a crawl, pulled over, and parked. I snapped off my headlights to make it look as if I’d just gotten home. Down the street, I saw Alicia come out of a house. She scanned the block. I saw her hesitate, then walk slowly toward the van.
I’d had my eyes on her, but now I gave the vehicle a quick look. With the help of a street lamp I read the words in block print across the back doors—Parker Greenhouse. My lips dipped down in a frown. The passenger door swung open. The interior lights came on, but the seats had tall backs, and I couldn’t get a glimpse of the driver.
With another look around, Alicia tossed in her suitcase. I could tell she was talking to whoever was inside. I saw her nod and step up into the van. The door swung shut. A rush of adrenaline shot through my body.
I didn’t have a clue how to tail a suspect. I was determined, though, and hoped that would offset my shortcomings. I waited until the van was about a block down the street before I pulled out of my parking spot. I didn’t flip on my headlights but kept up a steady pace. When the van turned left and was out of sight, I put on my lights.
I made the turn and caught my breath. Where was the van? Good Lord, had I lost it already? The air in my lungs whooshed out in a mighty sigh of relief. No. There it was, just up ahead. I dropped back about half a block. We were still in the residential section of town, and the van was easy to keep in sight.
I glanced out my window long enough to get my bearings. A neighborhood grocery store sat on the corner. Next to it was a tire company, followed by a tavern with a neon sign advertising Bud Lite on tap. I grinned when I saw the insurance office. That’s where I paid my premiums. I was on State Street, which intersected with Independence Avenue. If the van hung a right, I had a good idea which route we’d be taking.
Up ahead, the van’s right blinker winked at me. I chuckled. “Thanks for the tip,” I said quietly. We were headed out of town, going south, not north. It looked like our destination was the grand and glorious Ozarks. My heart beat a fast pace. The very direction from which I’d just come.
If I was correct, at the next intersection the van would turn left. That street would lead to the on-ramp that circled River City. Once on this route, we’d have smooth sailing until we reached the interstate. That’s when I’d have to be alert. Traffic would be heavier, more cars to interfere with my keeping the van in sight. But I had a few minutes to collect myself before I had to deal with that problem—if the van turned left.
“Hot damn,” I said, as the vehicle ahead of me made the turn.
I’d been hunched over the steering wheel, every muscle charged for action. Now I relaxed, but kept my gaze on that van. From behind me a truck’s headlights glared in my rearview mirror and were distracting. I quickly adjusted the mirror and then glanced back to the road. From a side street, a car pulled out in front of me. I slammed on the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel hard to the right. I missed the car, but gave it a blast with my horn.
My heart was pounding. “Damned fool,” I said under my breath. I leaned forward, peering through the windshield. The Parker van was still ahead of me. Its speed was steady, not too fast and not too slow.
I was about half a block behind it. I closed the gap. Soon we’d be at the interstate. Out my open window I could hear the steady zip, zip, zip of heavy traffic. I was so confident that the van would take the on-ramp, I flipped on my blinker to throw off any suspicion that he was being followed. For good measure, I moved into the turn lane.
Being overly confident is great if you’re right. It’s a real downer if you’re proved wrong. The van zoomed past the on-ramp, under the overpass, and kept going. By the time I realized I’d made a mistake, it was too late to get out of the turn lane.
A blue truck whizzed by. I gave its driver an envious glance then did a double take. My father raised his hand. Forming an O with his thumb and index finger, he told me he had events under control.
I was struck speechless, if you discounted my string of profanity. I gritted my teeth in frustration. Why couldn’t my father go meekly into retirement? Why did he have to meddle?
Like father like daughter, was my immediate thought.
I checked my rearview mirror. Cars were lined up behind me. Cars were in front of me. The light was red, and the van was disappearing with my aged father in hot pursuit. There was no time to wait for the light to change to green.
I stuck my head out the window to see how much room I had to maneuver the SUV. Not much. The guy behind me honked when I put the gearshift into reverse. I backed up an inch at a time. He honked again.
“Leave me alone,” I muttered. “I’ve got enough problems.” I put the gearshift into drive and pulled forward. I just might make it. I nudged the gas pedal and cranked the front tires until the power-steering motor squealed. I edged out of the lane with barely an inch to spare between my bumper and the car in front of me. I took off, leaving a stripe of black rubber on the pavement.
For the next mile I scanned the road, but I saw nothing. I topped a hill and glimpsed tiny pinpricks of red in the distance. Were they the taillights of my father’s truck or the van? Afraid to assume anything but with no other recourse, I sped toward them, closing the breach.
A few miles later, I identified the van’s boxy shape puttering along at a mere thirty miles an hour. I didn’t question why it was going slow, but I did question the whereabouts of my father. I hadn’t passed another vehicle by the side of the road. Where was he?
Playing the part of an impatient driver, I swung into the passing lane, then faked uncertainty
and pulled back behind the van. Without warning the blacktop ended. The chassis of the SUV whooped as it dropped off the smooth road onto gravel. My tires picked up loose rocks and flung them against the undercarriage. The racket was deafening.
I put up my window and slowed down. The dust was thick and made driving as hazardous as navigating through fog. The van’s taillights were blurry, but easy to follow. I was thinking about dropping back further, when those taillights glowed brighter. Abruptly, the van stopped in the middle of the road.
I slammed on the brakes, but I was too close, going too fast. My tires rolled uselessly on the gravel. I saw the crash coming, but could do nothing to prevent it. The nose of my SUV rammed the back of the van.
It wasn’t a violent crash, but the sound of metal being mangled is always frightening. My driver’s airbag didn’t inflate. My seat belt kept me firmly in place. I leaned back in my seat and stared over my crumpled hood at the van.
Dazed, I saw the backup lights come on. I didn’t have time to prepare.
Bam! The van hit my crippled SUV with a resounding crash. My neck popped. Pain shot up my spine and exploded in my head. Through the steam that roiled from the SUV’s crushed radiator, I watched the van speed away.
chapter Eighteen
I turned off the SUV’s useless engine and looked out my window at the lonely night. A cell phone would have come in handy, but I didn’t own one. At the flower shop the telephone was a lifeline for my business. When I was away from work, I didn’t want to be tied to an instrument that could disrupt my free time. Considering my present situation, I decided I might have to rethink that personal aversion.
Without quick access to help, my feet were my only salvation unless I wanted to sit here and brood, which wasn’t a bad idea. My head was splitting and my neck ached.
I flipped on the hazard lights and thought about my predicament. It was obvious I’d been set up by the driver of the van. I wanted to believe I’d done a fair job of tailing up to the point when that car had pulled out in front of me. I’d reacted by honking the horn—an action that had drawn the van driver’s attention. My red SUV must have stood out like a beacon under the streetlight. Once I’d been spotted, the driver of the van had led me away from traffic, disabled my vehicle, and made a clean getaway.
Had he known my father was also tailing him? Where was my father?
That thought prompted action. I opened my door and was ready to step out when headlights appeared down the road. Hoping it was my father but afraid it could be trouble on this remote country road, I got back into the SUV and locked the doors.
I peered through the dusty windshield and caught my breath. It was the van. Scared that he’d come back to finish me off, I scrambled over the console into the backseat. If he rammed the SUV, I’d have the engine and dashboard as a barrier. I crouched on the floor behind the driver’s seat tensed for the collision. I heard nothing except an idling motor. I peeked through the window.
The van had pulled alongside me. The driver’s window was down, interior lights on. Staring directly at me was the old woman I’d seen in the alley. The rubber mask was as grotesque as I’d remembered, but it didn’t have that second-skin look I’d noticed the first time I’d seen it. Beady eyes bore into mine.
The hairs on my neck quivered. Goosebumps pricked my skin as she raised her white-gloved hand and twiddled her fingers at me. The empty tips flapped. Her fingers didn’t quite fill the fabric. My mind registered the fact that there were two people involved in the murders—one with a slighter build than the other.
I shifted my position so I could see Alicia. Her complexion was washed out in the pale light, but she didn’t seem frightened. She gave me a swift look then turned her head.
I screamed, “Get out, Alicia. Run! I’ll help you.”
Alicia jerked around to stare at me. Her lips parted in amazement. I turned back to the driver. The rubber mask concealed her expression, but her spine had stiffened. She clenched the gloved hand. I thought she was going to get out of the van, but headlights appeared on the road behind her. She glanced up at her rearview mirror and hastily stepped on the accelerator. The van roared off, leaving me in a dusty fog.
A few seconds later, my father pulled up. Seeing him at the wheel was both a relief and an irritation. I was glad he was okay, but it irked me that my beloved vehicle had been rendered immobile while his was without a scratch.
I climbed from the backseat and plopped behind the steering wheel. I lowered my window, and Dad asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m not hurt. Just shook up.”
“Don’t fret about your SUV. I’ve phoned for a tow truck and instructed them to haul your vehicle to the service garage we normally use.”
I knew the answer, but I still had to ask. “Where’d you find a phone?”
Proudly, my father held up a cell phone. “I just got it this afternoon. Something told me I might need it. Hop in. No sense waiting around here.” He gazed regretfully up the road. “The van’s gone. If you’d called and told me what you had in mind, we could have double-teamed him. Tailing works better that way. One person is too vulnerable.”
I picked up my purse, the framed photo, and the clipboard with my copies of the job application forms. Biting my lip to keep from spouting off, I got out and went around and climbed into my father’s truck. Once we were under way, I said, “How long were you following me?”
“Since you left Alicia’s house.”
I frowned. “DeeDee didn’t have Alicia’s address. How did you know where she lived?”
“I had the phone number. I looked it up in the crossreference directory I picked up last week at the River City Chamber of Commerce. The woman there was most helpful. She told me how easy it is to find anyone in town. All I needed was a starting point. I had to have either a name, or a phone number, or an address. You want me to pick you up a copy?”
Miffed that he would assume I didn’t know about such a directory, I said, “I already have one, thank you.”
My father was too hyped to notice my bad humor. He swung into an explanation of his adventure. “I didn’t know what was going on when you called DeeDee, but she was worried. I figured I might be able to help you. As I said, I was already parked on Florence Street when you arrived. When you didn’t get out, I assumed you had a plan. I laid low and saw you follow the van with your lights off. I kept pace, but you really threw me for a loop when you got into that turn lane.” He glanced at me. “Was that a tactical maneuver to confuse the driver of the van?”
“Yeah. That’s it,” I muttered, slouching down in my seat.
“Worked damned good,” said Dad. “I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but since I was already behind the van, I decided to stay with it. I tailed him for about a mile before he slowed down. Seeing as how we were on a secondary road with few turnoffs, I decided to pass him. I went another couple of miles and parked in a lane. I figured when he went by, I could pull back in behind him, but he didn’t appear. I waited and finally decided I’d better find out what had happened.”
He took a hand off the steering wheel and patted my knee. “That’s my story, daughter. Your turn.”
“My turn?”
“Yeah, tell me what happened to your SUV. From what I could see in my headlights, you must have had one helluva showdown with that van.” His voice took on that I’m-not-going-to-lecture-you-but-you-should-listen-to-me tone. “Of course, you shouldn’t tangle with a vehicle bigger than your own or you’ll come out the loser.” He glanced at me. “But I guess that’s a lesson you’ve learned—the hard way.”
I didn’t reply. I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned my head against the window. My brain felt as if it were wrapped in cotton batting. There must be some action I should take. I could call Sid, but what would I tell him? I could ask him to put out an APB—all points bulletin—for the van, but I’d need a damned fine reason. Alicia had made it clear she was in the front seat by her own free will, so a kidnapping charge would be u
seless. I’d been hit by the van and it had taken off. Perhaps I should file a hit-and-run charge?
“Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” asked my father. “Maybe we ought to have a doctor check you over.”
“No, that’s not necessary. I just have a headache.”
“It’s the stress. Once you’re home in your own bed, you’ll feel better.”
I opened my eyes. “I need to go to the lodge. Natalie is there alone.”
“Aren’t deputies still patrolling the grounds?”
“I assume so. Donovan and Emily were visiting Natalie, but they’ve probably left by now.”
“That was a Parker Greenhouse van. Do you know who was behind the wheel?”
“No, but I think it was a woman.”
That admission was all my father needed. It opened the door for speculation, and he loved to theorize. His voice deepened. “I’ve been giving this case some serious thought, even though I’m not getting paid for my trouble.” He stopped, waiting for some encouragement from me.
I sighed.
Apparently, Dad was satisfied that I was interested. “Marnie seemed like an intelligent young woman,” he said. “When I spoke with her, I got the impression she was at Parker Greenhouse because she was looking for something. She mentioned she’d applied for the job at the request of another person. What got my attention was that it hadn’t been Marnie’s idea to work at Parker Greenhouse. Someone had put her up to it. If that was the case, then someone was manipulating Marnie. She didn’t seem upset, so I’m assuming this person was important to her, and whatever she learned working at Parker was beneficial for both.” He waited a second then asked, “Do you know who this person is?”
“Yeah,” I murmured, keeping my gaze on the flashing scenery outside my window. We were on the loop that circled River City. Thousands of lights cast their glow against the navy blue skyline. Neon signs from fast-food restaurants, from gas stations, and from convenience stores turned the locale into a kaleidoscope of color.
Reap a Wicked Harvest Page 17
