“You’re right. You can probably help,” she told him. “But sit down.”
She took the long way through town, slowing at corners and looking down streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of Junior. Hoping to catch up to him before the police did. In the back of her mind a little twinge of guilt told her she might be aiding and abetting a murderer, but her instinct said Junior was no killer.
She sped up as soon as she reached the county road. If he cut through the fields, he might be back at the trailer already. Or he might be too afraid to go back to the trailer. He could be anywhere. They may all have packed up and fled. Fugitives instead of itinerants, and that would be her fault.
She turned into the Miller field and was relieved to see that the trailer was still parked near the far trees, outlined by a waning moon. There were two small rectangles of light coming through the windows and the flicker of a campfire nearby.
The car bumped over the uneven ground as Liv sped across the field. Her headlights bounced wildly in the dark. She slammed on the brakes and her car rocked to a stop.
Anton Zoldosky was sitting by the campfire. He stood up and took a step toward Liv, large, formidable, and angry, silhouetted by the flames behind him.
“The police are looking for Junior,” she gasped. “Is he here?”
Anton shook his head. “Why are they looking for my boy? He has done nothing.”
“It’s all my fault. I found out that he’s really Victor Gibson. Someone must have overheard us talking, and now the police are looking for him.”
Anton roared, a sound so primitive that Liv quaked.
“Serge. Georgi.”
The two brothers appeared from inside the trailer.
“We must find Junior. The police know who he is and are looking for him.”
The two brothers jumped to the ground.
“Take the truck. I will stay here.”
They ran for the truck without questions.
“I’ll look, too,” Liv said and got in her car. She backed up and left skid marks in the grass as she turned around. Whiskey fell to the floor with a yelp.
“Sorry, buddy.” She followed the gray truck almost to the road, then stopped. Andy’s truck was gone, but Victor might have gone to him for protection. Because how could Andy not know who he was?
She turned into the drive up to Andy’s house. Drove around to the back of the house to hide her car, knowing she was probably breaking the law, but at the moment she didn’t care. It was her fault they’d found out about Victor. She couldn’t just feed him to the dogs.
Casting a quick glance toward the road and finding it dark, she ran up to Andy’s front porch. She knocked, called out, and finally, getting no answer, put her hands to the window and peered in. His house looked totally deserted. Had he already found Victor and was helping him escape?
“Oh Andy, that’s not the way.”
Whiskey was scratching at the car window, feeling her anxiety. “It’s all right, boy,” she called, and ran back to her car. But when she opened the door, Whiskey shot past her and raced to the barn and scratched frantically at the wide metal door.
Liv ran to the barn and pulled at the door, but it was heavy and her palms were beginning to sweat. She wiped them on her jacket, grabbed the handle, and pulled again.
One side of the door opened a few inches and Whiskey squeezed through. Liv followed and found herself in darkness. She was surrounded by empty space and weird shapes that her rational mind said must be farm equipment. She groped her way to the first one. Felt the cold metal of the machine.
“Victor?” she called quietly, holding on to the machine for balance. “Victor. You have to come out.”
She heard a whimper and followed the sound, squeezing between two machines, then almost tripped on a metal shaft that lay across the floor. She reached for the next machine to steady herself and found that it was covered by a rough canvas tarp. She inched her way past it.
“Victor. Where are you?”
Another whimper. This time from Whiskey.
Ears pricked, listening for any sound, Liv shuffled forward in the darkness. And found man and dog huddled beside the corncrib.
“Victor, you have to come out. The police are looking for you. We’ll help you but you can’t run. It will—”
He moved faster than Liv thought possible and ran past her, knocking against her. Disoriented in the dark, she fell backward, grabbed at the tarp cover trying to break her fall, but the tarp fell with her and she landed hard onto a row of metal teeth. Fortunately they were pointing toward each other and not her.
Whiskey stopped long enough to sniff her, then took off after his new friend.
“Whiskey. Come back here.” Liv wrestled out from under the tarp and grabbed hold of a lever that stuck out right above her head. She hauled herself to her feet.
She ran to the door and saw them headed for the trailer. She saw something else, too. Flashing lights coming over the hill, getting closer. She didn’t stop to get her car but took off across the field as fast as she’d ever run.
The gray truck passed her before she got there. Serge and Georgi jumped out. “It’s the police. We must run. Get in the truck.”
“It is too late,” Anton said, thrusting Victor behind him.
Three police cars turned into the field and sped toward them.
Victor looked up, his eyes wild, and a choked animal cry escaped his throat.
“You must run,” Georgi said. “Run, Junior. To the lake.”
Liv’s hand flew to her mouth as she pushed back tears. Not the lake. Not like all those years ago.
Junior hesitated, shot a fearful look at Anton, shook his head no.
“You must,” Anton told him. “I will take care of things.”
The first car slammed to a stop and the two state detectives got out.
Junior took off toward the water, Whiskey at his heels.
“Whiskey!” Liv cried, but they were already too far away, Junior a mere shadow and Whiskey a phantom cloud of white.
The Zoldosky brothers formed a shield in front of the detectives. But two other squad cars had stopped and four uniformed men were getting out.
“Stop him,” cried Detective Devoti. “He’s gone to the lake.”
The four new arrivals hesitated. Local men, Liv guessed. They wouldn’t care to be ordered around by some arrogant state detective.
“After him,” Devoti bellowed.
They took off toward the water.
“Leave him alone,” Anton shouted. “You want me. Not him.”
Devoti shot him a derisive look. “Keep it to yourself, old man. We know the whole story.”
Serge and Georgi surged forward, but Anton managed to hold them off the detective.
Devoti stepped back, reaching for his side.
“Don’t shoot,” Liv said. “And tell your men not to shoot. I mean it. He’s unarmed, and if you hurt him…”
Devoti huffed out a disgusted sigh and nodded to his subordinate, Pollack, who took off after the others, running as fast as his crepe-soled shoes would carry him.
Liv watched him go, helpless and guilty. He’d just reached the trees when a shot was fired.
“No!” she cried.
Anton broke for the lake. Serge, Georgi, and Liv followed right behind him, leaving the detective alone.
“Stop. I won’t be responsible for civilian casualties,” he yelled, and trotted after them.
Serge and Georgi easily passed Anton, and Liv had no trouble keeping up. The three of them reached the shore at the same time.
The surface of the lake reflected moonlight, but two feet into the trees was pitch-dark. Liv saw the random motion of flashlights bouncing through the trees as the policeman spread out. Searching for Victor.
Liv just kept looking for a little patch of white. She knew Whiskey would never desert his new friend. She prayed she wouldn’t find either one of them lying bleeding on the ground. She struck off along the shoreline, heard a rustle in the tr
ees to her left, tripped, and nearly went down on all fours.
She peered down at what had tripped her. Just a gnarled tree root sticking out of the ground. She heard shouts down lake and she began to run, heedless of rocks and roots, trying to keep close to the water until it was impossible and she was forced to venture into the trees. Still she ran, not slowing down as leaves slapped at her face and vines grabbed at her ankles.
There were shouts ahead of her and answering shouts behind her. She could hear the men slashing through the woods and hoped it was Serge and Georgi and not that despicable detective. She kept running until her lungs burned and her legs shook, though she knew it was as much from fear as from fatigue.
She stumbled upon a narrow path, followed it, her ears alert, her eyes focused on the ground, and burst out onto an open rocky beach. The policemen faced Victor, his back to the water. Whiskey stood guard at his feet, his coat bristling, the sweet little canine’s teeth flashing menacingly in the moonlight.
Liv stopped, slid on the pebbles beneath her feet.
One of the officers turned. “Can you please call off your dog, ma’am?”
Liv deliberated. She was so out of her realm of expertise. Would Whiskey even come if she called him? And if he didn’t, would they hurt him to get to Victor?
She slowly stepped forward. Caught Victor’s eye, hoping he could see how much she hated having to do this. And instead saw only his fear. Fear of the police, fear of jail. Fear locked inside him for thirty years. Liv saw it. The fight, the chase, the escape. But mainly the fear.
And she saw the moment when he made the decision to flee no matter what the cost. He stepped away and then plunged into the shallow water, splashing and groping for balance. A split second later, Whiskey jumped in, too, paddling alongside him.
Liv cut back a sob as Detective Devoti ordered the men into the water. Serge and Georgi came up behind her just as Victor fell headlong into the lake and the officers grabbed him by the coat and pulled him back to shore.
Beside her, Serge clenched his fist and muttered something she didn’t understand.
Georgi growled in her ear. “See what your meddling has done?”
Held by two policemen, Victor stumbled onto the pebbled beach, hair and clothes dripping, shivering in the night air. The officers were shivering, too, and for a selfish moment Liv hoped they all got nasty colds.
Whiskey reached the shore and shook himself energetically. It was small consolation that Detective Devoti had to jump out of range of the spray.
“Take him away, Pollack.”
The tone of his voice sent Whiskey back to Victor’s feet.
“Now.”
“The dog, sir.”
“To hell with the dog. If he tries to bite you, shoot it.”
“No!” Liv yelled and jumped in front of Whiskey. It was probably the dumbest thing she’d ever done in her life. Half her life flashed before her before a new voice said, “I wouldn’t do that, Detective Pollack.”
Bill Gunnison walked out of the dark and onto the bank. Liv could practically hear the sighs of relief from the four local officers.
“Thank God,” Liv said. “How did you find us?”
“I was monitoring the police band. Looks like I made it just in the nick of time.”
“Stay out of this, Gunnison. You are no longer on this case.”
“We’ll see about that. In the meantime, if you want to take this man in, do it.”
Devoti tried to brush past him, but Bill crowded him back.
“One misstep, one shove, and I’ll nail your ass to the nearest billboard.”
Liv heard a stifled chuckle from one of the men.
“I’ll have you brought up on charges of insubordination.”
“Really? On whose authority?”
There was a brief standoff; then Devoti lifted his chin toward the officers, who were now all shivering with cold and suppressed laughter. “Get him out of here.”
Behind him, Bill nodded and the officers walked right past Whiskey to take Victor. One of them even leaned over to let Whiskey smell his hand, then patted him before taking Victor by the elbow.
“Sorry, Mr. Gibson, but you’ll have to come with us.”
Liv marveled at the young officer’s civility. He wasn’t even born when Victor had disappeared and yet he treated him with respect. Because he was one of them. She really loved this town and its inhabitants, even the cranky ones.
They led Victor past the little group congregated on the shore.
Victor held back when they reached Anton, who was still breathing heavily from the run. “I didn’t kill him, Anton.” His teeth were chattering so hard he could barely form the words.
“And get him some dry clothes,” Bill ordered.
“I swear I didn’t.”
“I know. I will fix it.”
They escorted Victor away from the lake.
Liv grabbed Whiskey as he tried to follow and held him tight. He shivered against her.
Anton turned on Liv. “Your fault,” he said and hurried to catch up to the detectives, Serge and Georgi following close behind him.
“What did he mean, your fault?” Bill asked.
“Someone overheard me ask Junior if he was Victor Gibson.”
“So that’s how they found out.”
Liv nodded, the enormity of what she’d done tightening her throat. “Did you know? You could have prevented this if you had just trusted me.”
“I didn’t know. Dammit. The Zoldoskys have been coming here for several years and I never recognized him. I don’t think anyone did.”
“People didn’t really look at him; they didn’t want to stare. You could see them avert their eyes when he was around. I did it, too.”
Bill shook his head. “He was here in plain sight every year and he never said anything. Why?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him that. Dolly asked him and he just said that he couldn’t.”
“He didn’t say why?”
“No. But I don’t think he killed Pete, even though he had every right to.”
“Liv, no one has the right to exact that kind of vengeance, even if it’s deserved.”
He was right. But she was still glad Pete Waterbury had gotten his just deserts, no matter who had been the hand of justice.
“Well, let’s get up the hill. I’d better accompany them and make sure nothing untoward occurs.”
The police cars were driving away when they reached the trailer. The two detectives were standing by the campfire while Anton gestured wildly in the firelight. Georgi and Serge stood directly behind him. A united front.
“Enough, old man. We’ll get to you later.”
“Junior did not kill that man. I did.”
“Sure you did. Nice try, but you’re in enough trouble. Harboring a felon. Aiding his escape. Don’t worry. We’ll be back for you. So don’t think about leaving town.”
Ignoring Bill and the others, he walked back to his car. Detective Pollack made an apologetic grimace before following him.
“Ugh,” Liv said. “He’s been watching too many bad cop shows.”
“He’s an egomaniac and his partner is an imbecile. This was their last case to see if they could redeem themselves after a long line of mishandled cases. Pollack might get a desk job if he’s lucky, but that so-and-so Devoti is about to get drummed out.”
“Good. He’s awful.”
Another truck was making its way toward them.
“Andy,” Bill said, and turned to wait for him.
The cab door swung open; Andy Miller jumped down and ran toward them. “What’s the commotion? What were those police cars doing here?”
“They have arrested Junior,” Anton said.
“What? No. They can’t.” He looked at Bill. “He’s innocent.”
“I hope so,” Bill said. “Did you know he was Victor Gibson?”
Andy’s eyes slid away.
“For how long?”
“A few days. A wee
k, maybe.”
“You never recognized him all the years they camped out here?”
Andy’s mouth trembled. “He never got close enough for me to see. I guess he was afraid. And he was my friend.” He scrubbed his hand over his eyes. “All those years.” He drew himself up. “I think I should—”
From the corner of her eye, Liv saw Anton give one, barely perceptible shake of his head.
Bill had seen it, too. Maybe he wasn’t as slow as Liv thought. But what did it mean?
“I think I’d better get back to town and oversee the arraignment.”
“We will raise the money for bail,” Anton said.
Bill shook his head. “If the judge grants bail at all, it will be more than you probably have.”
“I’ll see to it,” Andy said. “And we can count on Joss, too, if need be.”
“I don’t think they have enough to hold him. They were a bit too quick on the trigger. Let’s just wait and see.”
“I do not want him locked up,” said Anton. “He will be afraid away from the family.”
Bill’s mouth tightened. “I’ll see what I can do. But…” He looked around the group, his eyes resting on each one of the men. “Do not interfere. Understand?”
Anton and Andy nodded. Even Liv nodded. Serge and Georgi just looked on and scowled.
Bill pointed at the two of them, then said to Anton, “Don’t let these two hotheads do anything rash. Come on, Liv. Where’s your car?”
He dropped her and a very dirty, wet Whiskey off at her car. Waited for her to start the engine, then drove away.
She jacked up the car’s heater, but couldn’t move any farther, just sat there, close to tears as the enormity of what she’d unleashed took hold. Fought a losing battle against tears. Brushed them away with an impatient hand. Noticed the residue of rust across her palm. Damn machine. Damn detectives. Damn everything.
She rubbed her hands on her jacket and drove back to town.
Everyone had already left and she was alone on the road. A metaphor for her life in Celebration Bay. She brushed away another tear. She had caused a whole lot of trouble for nothing. Unless Victor really was guilty. It didn’t make her feel better that she might have helped catch a killer.
Foul Play at the Fair Page 25
