“Chief Colby has been saying that Zach kidnapped you, but I knew that couldn’t be the case. Zach wouldn’t do something like that—any more than he would have tried to kill Harvey. I don’t know him well, but I do know him well enough to know that he’s a man of integrity.”
“No, he didn’t kidnap me,” C.Z. said, then explained.
“Harvey Summers must have had some men watching me, and they followed me to the cabin. So we ran off into the woods in my friend’s Jeep.”
Mary arched a brow. “According to Chief Colby, one of his men spotted you headed into the mountains late at night and decided to follow you, since they knew the state police had suspected you of helping Zach escape.”
C.Z. shook her head. “The men who found us weren’t police. We’re sure they were Summers’s men.”
“Well, I suppose that doesn’t surprise me too much. Harvey has been beside himself ever since Zach escaped. He’s telling everyone that he’s sure Zach will come back and kill him this time.”
C.Z. took a deep breath. “It’s just the opposite, Mary. It’s Harvey who wants Zach dead. And that’s why I’ve come to see you.”
She saw uncertainty and perhaps fear cloud Mary’s eyes as she got up and announced that the coffee should be ready. C.Z. watched her leave the room, belatedly realizing that Mary undoubtedly thought she’d come here to try to arrange for her surrender. If she did know anything, either she hadn’t put it all together or she was assuming that they hadn’t.
She felt sick, thinking about what she had to ask this woman to do. If she had any information, her reputation could not escape this unscathed. That was exactly the point Zach had made when he’d been arguing that he should come with her.
Mary returned with the coffee and the buns on a large antique silver tray. Seeing the delicate china and the handsome tray reminded C.Z. of something she’d long since forgotten. Mary came from a very old and prominent family in the area. Her father had been a state senator, and her brother was a federal judge. C.Z. could recall her mother having once remarked that Mary had “married down,” a shocking situation for her generation.
And what that meant now was that Mary had even more to lose than she’d first thought.
“Tell me how I can help you,” Mary said. Her words were sincere, but C.Z. thought she could still see fear in her eyes.
She launched into her story, telling it as carefully as she could and watching Mary’s face as she spoke. Then, when she’d told her everything except for their suspicions regarding her father’s death, she paused.
“And that isn’t all. Zach and I now believe that Dad’s death was no accident. We think that Harvey either killed him or paid someone else to do it. We think he did it because Dad was getting too close to the truth.”
There was no doubt Mary was badly shaken, but when C.Z. told her of their suspicions that her father had been murdered, Mary quickly set down the delicate cup she’d been holding. It rattled noisily against the saucer.
“But this is just a theory,” she said. “You have no proof.”
“Not yet, but we will. We’re going to find that truck.”
The one thing she hadn’t told Mary was that Sam had seen her husband’s name on that list of truck owners. She held back that information, hoping Mary would confirm it.
Mary nervously fingered the string of beads she was wearing. “But surely, if you’re right, Harvey would have gotten rid of that truck.”
“We think he abandoned it in the woods. What else could he have done with it? He couldn’t have taken it to a junkyard because everyone was on the lookout for an old black pickup with damage to the front.”
Mary abruptly got up and walked to the baby grand piano that occupied one corner of the living room. C.Z. watched as she picked up a framed photograph, then set it down. From where she was, it was impossible to see the picture clearly. After a moment, Mary turned toward her again.
“It’s all my fault,” she said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.
C.Z. was shocked. What was her fault? Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Mary sank into the chair, and the look she gave C.Z. was a plea for understanding.
“I’m responsible for your father’s death,” she said in a choked voice. “I let myself believe it really was an accident because I just couldn’t believe Harvey would do such a thing.”
C.Z.’s mind spun. “You told Dad something?”
Mary nodded. “Only a few weeks before…before it happened. I’d suspected from the beginning that it might have been Harvey who was driving that truck. I told myself to keep quiet because I wasn’t sure, but there was another reason to keep quiet, too.”
Her story was much as they had guessed, though there were details they couldn’t have known. Mary’s husband had been a regular at Harvey Summers’s weekly poker games at his camp. On the night of the school bus tragedy, he had come home early, while Mary was still awake.
“He said he’d left early because George Shirer left early, too, and both Harvey and Dave Colby had started to get really drunk. He said they didn’t usually do that, but both of them were having family problems at the time.
“He was worried that Harvey would try to drive. He and Dave had come together in Harvey’s car, so Stan took Harvey’s keys. He’d left them in the ignition. He never dreamed that Harvey might drive the truck into town. It didn’t have a current license. But I think that’s what they did. The road where the accident happened wasn’t the fastest way back to town, but they might have taken it because they were driving the truck.
“As I said, when I first heard about the accident and how they were looking for an old, dark pickup, I thought about the truck Stan had sold to Harvey, but it wasn’t until much later, when Stan was dying, that he told me he was sure they’d been driving it that night. He knew it because he was still going into the garage every day, and that next morning, he left early and went out to Harvey’s camp to give him back the car keys. He heard about the accident on the way out to Harvey’s camp. When he got there, no one was there—and the truck was gone. So he just left the keys for Harvey’s car and came back to town. Neither Harvey nor Dave ever said a word to him about it. And he never said anything to them, either.”
Mary stopped and gave C.Z. a silent plea for understanding. “Stan knew he was dying, and he was worried about providing for me and for Steve. A new garage had opened, and he was worried about the competition. Harvey had always had all his trucks serviced at Stan’s garage. It was an important account. So he kept quiet. I know that sounds terrible, when all those children died that way, but Stan kept saying that it was all a tragic mistake, that Harvey would never have deliberately done such a thing.
“Anyway, he didn’t tell me all of this until just before he died—and I never told anyone until your father and I became close. Even then, I probably wouldn’t have told him, but he used to talk about the case and about how much it bothered him that he hadn’t found the driver.
“I found out then that Stan’s truck was on a list your father had gotten, but when he’d talked to Stan, Stan said that he’d junked it, which really wasn’t a lie, but wasn’t exactly the truth, either. Your father believed him, of course—they were old friends. So he never checked on it.”
Mary’s knuckles paled as she gripped the wooden arms of her chair tightly. “Oh C.Z., all of this is our fault, Stan’s and mine! If he hadn’t taken Harvey’s keys, he would never have been driving that truck on that road. And if I hadn’t told your father about it, he wouldn’t have died.”
C.Z. got up and went to Mary and took her hands. “Mary, it isn’t your fault, or Stan’s. Stan did what he thought was right when he took Harvey’s keys, and you both did what you had to do to protect your family.”
It made C.Z. uneasy to realize that she was sincere in what she said—even though the consequences of their actions had been so horrific. The truth was that she wasn’t really sure she would have done anything differently herself. She wanted to
think that she would have, but…
“When that thing happened between Zach and Harvey, it just never occurred to me that it could have anything to do with this,” Mary went on. “I knew Harvey and Zach didn’t get along and never had.”
“Harvey obviously guessed that Zach would be just as persistent as Dad had been,” C.Z. said as she sank to the floor beside Mary’s chair.
Mary nodded. “I should have seen that. They’re very much alike. And I would have guessed it if I’d suspected Harvey of having anything to do with your father’s death. But I didn’t. I’ve known Harvey Summers all my life, and I just can’t see him as a murderer. I mean, I know he was responsible for the deaths of those children, but I suppose I made the same excuse for him that Stan made.”
C.Z. nodded. “I understand. It’s hard for me to believe it, too. But seemingly good people can make one mistake and then somehow justify more to cover it up. I guess it’s human nature to protect yourself any way you can.”
Mary nodded. “Just as Stan and I did,” she said sadly. “I told myself—and I’m sure Stan did, as well—that telling what we knew wouldn’t bring those children back, so it didn’t make any difference. But your father pointed out to me what it could mean to the families to know that the man who was responsible had been brought to justice. I know most of those families, and I should have thought about that.”
She got up slowly. “I think we could both use some more coffee.”
When she returned, C.Z. could see a new determination in her, and she felt relieved. In a way, the hardest part hadn’t yet been discussed. Would Mary be willing to tell what she knew?
“What can I do now?” Mary asked. “I can’t very well go to Chief Colby, since I’m sure he was with Harvey that night, and he obviously lied about what happened between Harvey and Zach.” She paused, frowning.
“Dave Colby has a lot to answer for, but I’d bet that he had nothing to do with your father’s death. He liked your father a lot—really admired him.”
“No, I think Colby’s innocent of that, and Zach isn’t even sure he knew ahead of time that Harvey planned to kill him. In all likelihood, he didn’t, and he might even have saved Zach’s life by refusing to go along with it.
“But I’d also guess it was through Colby that Harvey found out what Dad knew, so even if he wasn’t involved in Dad’s death, he still must have been suspicious.”
“So what do we do now?” Mary asked.
“I think the best thing for you to do at this point is to go to Sam Gittings. He knows all about it.” She explained her meeting with Sam and what he had done.
“Sam will know what to do, which may be nothing at this point. Zach and I need to find that truck, and he seems to believe we will. But I wonder if even that will be enough. Even if we do find the truck and we can prove it was the one that caused the accident, how can we prove it was the same truck Stan sold to Harvey?”
“I can help with that, too,” Mary said after a pause. “Years ago, when the truck was still new, I was driving it one day when I went to the store. Instead of putting the groceries into the back, I put them on the passenger seat and the floor.
“On my way home, a dog ran out in front of me and I had to brake hard. The bags fell over and somehow the top came loose on a bottle of bleach. I didn’t even notice until I got home, but some of it had trickled down under the floor mat and bleached the rug. It wasn’t obvious because the mat covered it, but it would still be there.”
“Another piece of luck!” C.Z. grinned, then went on to explain how it seemed that after despairing of ever getting the proof they needed, suddenly things appeared to be going their way.
“You’ve seen that list your father had, haven’t you?” Mary asked. “You knew that Stan’s name was on it.”
“Yes,” C.Z. admitted. “And I thought you knew something, but I wanted you to tell me yourself. I know how difficult this will be for you, Mary, and I appreciate it We both do,” she added.
Mary smiled sadly. “Believe it or not, it won’t be that difficult. Even before I knew that Harvey had murdered your father, carrying this secret around was a heavy burden.”
“We still can’t be sure of that,” C.Z. reminded her. “And we might never know—unless Harvey admits it You should talk to Sam about whether there’s anything you can be charged with. I don’t think there is, but he’s the one who would know. Will it be difficult for you to talk to him? He said there are some hard feelings between you two because of your brother’s divorce.”
Mary waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I was angry with him for a time, but that’s all in the past I just never found a way to let him know that. I’ve always liked Sam.”
She looked at C.Z. consideringly. “I’ve been hearing rumors that you and Sam have been seen together, and I remember that you dated him years ago. Is there anything between you two? Because Sam and Zach are good friends and—”
“There’s nothing more than friendship,” C.Z. said quickly. “In fact, that’s how I came to be at the cabin where Zach was staying, when Harvey’s men found us.” She explained about Zach’s disguise and about his seeing them together.
Mary’s smile grew, and it held no sadness this time. “So it’s you and Zach. That doesn’t surprise me. Your father would be very pleased.”
C.Z. nodded. “Yes, I think he would, too.” She glanced at her watch. She’d been here longer than she’d intended and she feared that Zach might be worried about her.
“I have to go now. Zach will be waiting for me.”
“But where are you two staying?”
“In the woods, but we’re fine.”
“It’s so cold out,” Mary protested. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? You could leave before daylight.”
“No, I can’t do that, but thank you.” She kissed Mary on the cheek. “And thank you for all you’re going to do. I’ll be in touch with you or Sam as soon as we find that truck.”
Mary seemed to be about to say something, but held back at the last moment. C.Z. knew what she was thinking. What if they couldn’t find the truck? Without it, all they had were guesses and suspicions, even with Mary’s story.
Chapter Ten
C.Z. found her way to the campsite, even though she was preoccupied with the good news she would have for Zach. But when she reached it, he wasn’t there!
Her elation shifted abruptly to fear. What if he’d been captured when he returned to the municipal garage for gas? She’d expressed that concern to him, but he’d been certain that his earlier theft wouldn’t be discovered.
Terrified and cold, C.Z. crawled into the tiny tent and wrapped the sleeping bag around her, all the while listening for the Jeep.
One hour dragged by and then another—and still no Zach. When she wasn’t worried about him, she kept thinking about the warm bed Mary had offered her. Then she would chastise herself for thinking about her comfort when Zach might be in trouble. And as still more time passed, she became convinced that their luck had run out as quickly as it had begun.
But there was another, deeper fear that hovered at the edges of her mind. What if Summers or his men had found Zach? They didn’t want him to be captured—they wanted him dead.
She wasn’t aware of having dozed off until she awoke suddenly, roused from her stupor by the faint sound of an engine. And then she feared it might not be Zach. Her gaze went to her father’s gun, lying in its holster next to their meager food supplies. Zach had his gun, having gotten it when they went to his house.
She got up and peered through the small plastic window but could see nothing. The sound of the engine was growing steadily louder, but it seemed to be coming from the opposite direction from what she’d expected. That increased her fear that it wasn’t Zach.
She picked up the gun, wondering if she could use it even to save herself, then unzipped the tent flap and crept out. As soon as she peered around the side of the tent, she could see the lights, still some distance away in the woods.
Wild
, totally irrational thoughts bounced through her brain. Mary had called Harvey Summers, or Summers’s men had been watching Mary’s house. They’d already captured Zach and had forced him to tell them where she was.
At some level, she knew none of this was possible, but fear had destroyed her common sense. Gun in hand, she crept into the woods, then flattened herself on the ground to wait.
The lights grew brighter, although they weren’t aimed at her hiding place. She tried to see beyond them but couldn’t. Then the lights went out and the engine was turned off and the darkness and silence were total—and terrifying. She heard the sound of a door being opened and then closed, but she could see nothing. Minutes passed. The gun was cold and heavy in her hand.
“C.Z.! Are you out there?”
She couldn’t answer at first. When she tried to call out to him, all that came out was a squeak. He called again, a sharp edge to his voice that she recognized as fear. She understood that, all right. She struggled to her feet. “I’m here.”
“Where?” A flashlight beam swung around, then caught her in its glare. She ran to him, totally forgetting the gun in her hand.
Zach saw it and grabbed it from her before he drew her into his arms. “What happened?” he demanded harshly.
“Nothing,” she admitted, only now realizing how foolish she’d been. “I came back and you weren’t here, and I fell asleep. Then I woke up and heard someone coming and…” She paused for breath. “I don’t know what I thought.”
He continued to hold her, running one hand soothingly down her spine. But she could feel her father’s gun in his other hand and the hard bulge of his shoulder holster beneath his jacket, and it took a great effort on her part to push away her fear.
“I’m sorry about all this, love,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I forget just how hard this is for you.”
She stretched and kissed him. “That’s because I’ve been very good at hiding it. I don’t want you to feel responsible.”
Runaway Heart Page 19
