There it sat, under a pile of magazines on the floor by the sofa. Maggie dug it out. As she looked up the number of St. John’s, the telephone rang. I jumped on it.
“Yes?”
“Alix Thorssen?” I grunted. “You have something that belongs to me.” The voice was soft, almost gravelly, and female.
“Is my mother there? Is she all right?”
“She’s here.”
A shuffling noise, then Una’s voice: “I’m so sorry, Alix, this is all—” She stopped abruptly, and a muffled squeal came over the line.
“Mom? Mom! Don’t you hurt her. She had nothing to do with this. Please, don’t hurt her!” I doubled over on the kitchen floor, sinking to a squatting position, sick to my stomach.
The woman—Isa, I presumed—came back on the line. “Bring the stone to this address.” She recited a number on the highway near Wilson. “You have an hour.”
“I’ll be there.”
I sank farther to the floor, burying my head in my hands. Maggie took the receiver.
“Was it her? Was it Una?” Maggie whispered, rubbing my shoulder. I nodded. “And the white witch?” Another nod. “Damn.”
Maggie pulled me to my feet and pushed my hair off my face. “Well, we tried. Now we give it back. It’ll be all right.”
I straightened my shoulders and looked at her calm face. “That’s right. I give it back.” If it seemed so easy getting the damn stone, maybe giving it back would be simple too. Reasoning like this, I knew, could get you into trouble. If you weren’t already in up to your eyebrows. “Me, just me. They don’t know who you are, Maggie, or they would have gone to your house first. They know me, better than I suspected. There’s no sense getting you involved.”
Maggie shook her head. “I am involved. It was my insane idea to steal this rock. My fault that Una got kidnapped. I’m going with you.”
“No, I can’t let you. I think they just want the rock back. That’s what they say. But what if there’s more? No, you have to be there to tell Danny all about it. To tell the cops.”
Twenty minutes later I turned out of the alley onto Broadway, cruising west past the antler arches on the town square, the rock in an old towel on the seat of the Saab Sister beside me. Maggie hadn’t been easy to convince; the argument went round and round until finally I had to tell her to shut up and go home. I had hurt her feelings by it, I knew. Strong and willful as she is, there is always a point where a person can be hurt. Was it the only way to stop her from coming? I didn’t know, but I had stopped her. That was all that was important right now. I didn’t want to endanger another person. I couldn’t handle that on my conscience.
The day was overcast and grim, the mountains disappearing into the low, pregnant mist, white with snow crystals. What had they done with Artie? One more person to worry about. I hoped he was out here too, and we could exchange everyone for the rock and be done with it. I never wanted to be rid of a slab of stone so bad. I didn’t want it, never did. A terrible mistake, I would tell her. Have your fifteen minutes of fame with it. Go for it. Be my guest.
The highway was clear of snow, a hard, gray twist dodging creeks and buttes. A pretty grove of aspen, the Snake River, iced up and sluggish like a kid with a bad cold. Past the turn to the ski area, where most people seemed to be coming or going. Ahead of me a beat-up VW bus, half green, half mottled with rust: Peace Now, My Karma Ran Over Your Dogma. They were in no hurry.
I drummed my hands, gloveless, against the steering wheel. This was just another day, I tried to convince myself. Then, finally, Nora’s Fish Creek Inn came up on the left. The address was just past it, down a side road. I watched the VW bus turn into the post office, then found the road. It was unpaved, and rutted, as if it was very muddy in warm weather. The stone bumped on the seat next to me.
The first house was a small, white clapboard place right on the road. It was tiny, maybe two rooms, with an outhouse and smoke pouring from the chimney flue. A red pickup truck sat beside it. I drove on.
A string of tall bushes, leafless now, grew on the right announcing the next dwelling. I peered down the driveway that appeared at the end of the gray twigs of the hedge. It was long. Behind several large trees a log house sat hugging the ground that swelled up toward the mountain. I stopped the car, found the number on a listing mailbox, a relic of years when Wilson had home delivery. My breath quickening, I pointed the Saab down the lane.
They stood on the porch, waiting for me. I wondered briefly who lived here, if they even knew what was going on outside their home. Then I saw my mother, her cast poking from the sleeve of her coat. Jesus, she looked scared, with that hulking bodyguard next to her, his hammy paw on her good arm. Next to him, the skinny bodyguard stood in a thin leather coat behind Isa Mardoll.
The White Queen of the Runes had the same determined set to her jaw that I’d seen all weekend. The same steely look in her eyes, the same unsmiling ferocity. She made me shiver. Her long navy coat was pulled tight across her body, the white turtleneck at her throat, the black boots on her feet. She was no Lara, I thought, remembering my first impression of her in that coat. No Lara jumping onto the tracks; Isa would be the one pushing her in front of the speeding train to get what she wanted.
I parked the car and turned it off. Swallowing hard, I took in the sight of them waiting for me. I scooped up the stone in the dull orange towel and pulled it against my chest. My kingdom for a stone. My kingdom—what was that? My family, my loved ones, my friends? They were the only kingdom I cared about, the only dear things in the world to me. This hunk, this slab, was meaningless in comparison to my dear, sweet mother who trembled just thirty feet away, afraid because I had tried to do what I thought she wanted. Had I even discussed the possibilities of the snatch with her? Had I even contemplated, admitted to myself the dangers? Obviously, so obviously, not.
The snow crunched under my feet, hard and brittle as the sky. I stopped halfway to the porch. The cold needled my face, my ears. My heartbeat was amazingly even, steady, as if I could control it with my breathing. Maybe I could. Maybe this would all be over soon.
Isa stepped out from the group, down one porch step, then two, but didn’t come any closer. She eyed the orange towel coolly. “Let me see it,” she said.
I took a step forward. She put up her hand like a traffic cop. “No. Open it there. I can see it.” She stood ten feet away in dull light. I guess I didn’t have time to make up a fake stone, that was her thinking. She didn’t need a close-up examination. There was no time for papier-mâché or chisels.
Tilting the rock out on one forearm, I tugged off the towel wrapping, revealing the carved runes on the front of the stone. I lowered it an inch so Isa could see it. She looked, then turned to the skinny bodyguard. He stepped off the porch, walked up, and took the stone from me, letting the towel drop to the snowy lawn. As I stooped to pick up the towel, I heard the vehicle noise. A van pulling a small trailer moved out from behind the house, blocking the Saab. The driver turned off the big white conversion van and stepped out.
I stared, stunned. Bjarne Hansen looked sheepish as he walked toward me. No, he was walking toward Isa. He stopped next to her, and their arms circled each other’s waist I felt like a knife was twisting in my gut and I fought to breathe.
The bodyguard beside me took my arm. Isa and Bjarne came forward, followed by the heavy man and Una. Isa spoke again: “You will understand, Miss Thorssen. We need some time. This stone is bigger than you can imagine. It proves everything that we have said for a century. We need the time to prove its legitimacy, though”—here she looked up at Bjarne and smiled, almost laughed—“though we know it is real. We know it in our bones.”
I didn’t understand what she was saying. And Bjarne so smug and straight, a self-righteous stoic who had us all fooled. Why hadn’t I listened to my instincts? Why hadn’t I known—in my bones, as Isa says—that he was dirty somehow? That he was toying with me? Was I so vain, so lonely, that I was blind?
I stumbled fo
rward, where the bodyguard pulled me. He had given Isa the stone now, and dragged me toward the trailer. The other man pulled Una the same way. I blinked hard as they opened the back of the small trailer, no bigger than a single horse trailer but windowless, dark, and cold. I balked.
“Wait. What is this? What do you think you’re doing?” I screeched, my voice ruined with emotion.
Una looked at me, her eyes wild with fright but her face expressionless. She couldn’t speak, though her mouth opened and closed. She was too far away to hold.
“Put them in and tie them,” Isa demanded. The men pushed us to the door. I put my foot on the metal floor, holding myself out of it, dreading the darkness, the future.
Bjarne turned to her and whispered. She listened, head down, shaking her head violently. He gestured, and whispered more. She looked at him, frowning. We couldn’t hear him; their voices were too low, too far away. Was he bargaining for our lives? God, hope springs eternal.
They didn’t tie us. That was the bargain. And we got Bjarne in the trailer, perched on the floor like an athlete ready to spring from the blocks. Una and I sat on a pile of moving pads, holding each other in the utter blackness. The doors slammed shut, latched. The van started up, doors closed. The rutty lane tossed us; the highway proved a smooth, if small, blessing.
Chapter 19
Seldom sleepeth the sense of wrong
nor either hate and heartache.
Both his wits and weapons a warrior needs
Who would fain be foremost among folk.
An hour later my mother lay back on the pads, her coat wrapped tightly, legs pulled up. I scooted over, put my hand on her side protectively, and told her to sleep. The road made you weak, if not tired, its rhythm and motion sapping you of everything you need to stay alive. In the dark I felt my senses shutting down. I needed to feel Una’s coat to stay sane.
I couldn’t see Bjarne, but sometimes I thought I heard him breathing. My shock wore off, and anger took its place. Finally I couldn’t stop it from erupting.
“So did you burn Hank’s boat too?” I said, my voice echoing in the trailer. In my mind’s eye I could see the photograph Luca had taken, and see Bjarne there, in his long shaggy coat, torch in his hand.
No answer.
“You played me for a fool, didn’t you? You bastard.” I wanted to go on, lash out at him, but that would be admitting that I did feel something for him, even if it was only lust. The hot whispers in my ear—Jesus, I could still hear them, still feel his lips on mine. Still feel his warmth. I could only think of the hotel room, Carter’s smirk, my pants around my knees, with hot shame. What a jerk I was. All along thinking he liked me. Waving so brightly from the float, twirling me around in the bar after his race, telling me so earnestly that he needed me. No wonder he seemed too good to be true.
“So what was the plan? Keep me panting after you, and I wouldn’t—” Wait a minute. I met him before Glasius was killed. I had even introduced them. “Was it you? Did you kill Glasius?”
“No.” His voice was hard, clipped. “I did not kill anyone.”
“But you know who did, don’t you? Was it Isa?”
“Be quiet. Don’t talk.” He paused. “Please, Alix.” His voice was different, pleading. Oh, there I go, naive Alix again. So wanting to believe, I am.
“Please Alix what? Please don’t remind me I’m a lying bastard with no scruples? Please don’t remind me my lover is a thief and a fraud? Please don’t tell me—”
“Stop it! Now!”
There was a scuffling noise, and I turned my head away in case he was coming to hit me. I expected it, tensing, moving my hand off Una to shield my face. But there was nothing. The quiet settled in again. I felt my mother stir next to me. My hand lay again on her thigh. It was cold, damn cold.
Another hour or more passed, time drifting in blackness. The van and trailer slowed, stopped, moved forward again, stopped again. Car horns, a motorcycle. A town, I thought, trying to calculate which town it would be, some two or three hours from Jackson: Idaho Falls, Lander, Riverton, West Yellowstone, Rock Springs? I couldn’t even be sure whether we’d gone right or left on the highway by the house.
Footsteps outside, then the latch on the door scraping. The metal door swung open, letting in dusky, electric-lit night air. How long had we been in here? I checked my watch. It was five-thirty. But when had we left?
The heavyset bodyguard leered into the darkness. He said nothing, just pointed at Bjarne and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. Bjarne glanced at me for a split second, then climbed out. The door shut behind him. Una woke up.
“Where are we?” she mumbled, sitting up.
“Don’t know. A town,” I said. “I’m going to try the door.” I knew it would be locked but, well, I had nothing better to do. I yanked at it fruitlessly. I pounded on the sides of the trailer a couple times and hollered, “Hey, anybody out there? Let us out!”
Una didn’t move. She said nothing. She let me holler and pound, then at last said, “Save your strength, honey. Somebody will get us out of here.”
“Only it’ll be them,” I said, sinking to the floor of the trailer by the door. Maybe I could make a break for it when they came back. And leave Una behind? No.
Chin in hand, I waited fifteen minutes for someone to return. Bjarne opened the latch and pulled the door, holding two clear plastic trays of sandwiches in one hand. He handed them to me, his face grim I looked beyond him, at a motel and a bar. The Sleepy Hollow, the sign said, with little white cabins trimmed in green. Where were we?
I handed Una a tray. I was famished, but the white bread looked soggy and unappetizing. My breath hung in the doorway, frozen.
“Alix, listen to me,” Bjarne began, whispering. He looked over his shoulder nervously. “I don’t like this. If she wasn’t my— well, if I hadn’t said I’d help her, I’d be gone. Never did I think—” He shook his head.
“Help us, Bjarne,” I urged, throwing down the sandwich. I grabbed his arm. “Help us get out of here. She doesn’t need us. She’s got the rock, that’s what she wanted, even though it isn’t hers. Let her have it, but let us go.”
He bit his lip, his blond hair disheveled. “She says she needs you quiet. Until the thing with the rock is settled. You know too much.”
I took his hands, both of us freezing. “Look at me, Bjarne. Help us. My mother is a crippled old woman. She doesn’t need to be riding in a trailer, and who knows? Shot, stabbed, dumped by the side of the road? Is that what she has in mind? Bjarne, if you ever meant one tiny thing you said to me… No, I know you didn’t, I—”
“I have to tell you this,” he said, taking my shoulders now in his hands. “She told me to do this, but I was willing. I liked you very much. When I kissed you, I felt it here—” He pounded his chest with a fist. “I was not making the fool of you. Alix, you must believe me.”
I looked into those blue, blue eyes, impossible to read for their whispers of robin’s eggs and oceans and the never-ending sky. Was he lying? Who the hell knows? But when he looked around again, motioned my mother out of the trailer, and told us to run, I didn’t care.
We hadn’t gotten half a block when I heard that now-familiar “Hey!” The fat bodyguard. I grabbed Una’s arm to speed her, but her ankle buckled. Before I could figure out what to do, I looked back, saw Bjarne charging toward us. He scooped Una into his arms, and we began to run.
The corner loomed, around which we would at least not be in their line of sight I looked around wildly for somewhere to hide, to duck into, a gas station, a store, a restaurant, anything. But everything was closed here, a short retail strip of gift shops, T-shirt stores, a pharmacy. Still the corner was near. We hobbled toward it. Bjarne doing the best he could with Una in his arms, she holding his neck for dear life.
Almost there—and the shot rang out. Bjarne cried out, sank to his knees, laying Una unceremoniously on the cement on her backside. I caught her shoulders.
“Oh, God—Bjarne,” I moaned, seeing
him hold his leg, the blood seeping through his fingers onto the snowy sidewalk. I pulled Una to her feet.
“Go, go,” Bjarne croaked through his grimaces.
Una took a look at the bodyguards, running toward us now, guns drawn, and forgot she had a sprained ankle. I took her hand, and we dashed around the corner, relieved to see the lights of a motel ahead, a lobby. Another shot behind us. I screeched a little, flattened us against the motel, kept us moving. We were inside. The clerk was a little surprised that we crouched behind her desk, so we pulled her down with us. “Tell you in a sec,” I whispered. The footsteps paused in front of the motel, then a voice far away shouted something unintelligible.
The door opened, tiny bells tinkling. His ragged breath filled the small reception area, grunting. I shrank against the wastebasket fresh with cigarette butts. The door closed again.
“Is there a back door?” I whispered after a long minute.
“That way,” the clerk said, nodding to a door behind the counter. I grabbed Una’s hand, pulled her to her feet, then put my hand on her head.
“Stay down.” I crouched down and led her through one door, then another, past boxes of supplies, mops, and buckets, to an alley door. I cracked it, then stuck my head out. Nobody there. “Let’s go.”
I took her hand and began to run down the alley. We got halfway to the far street, and Una collapsed, groaning and holding her ankle. I pulled her up, put her arm around my neck, mine around her waist. “Come on. It’s okay,” I gasped.
The alley was slick with ice and chunks of snow. Garbage cans, Dumpsters, coffee grounds, and trash bags lay in snowy heaps. I didn’t bother to try the doors back here—they would be locked. We made slow progress, linked together, my mother hopping on one foot.
We reached the sidewalk, eased out cautiously, and looked each way. Two snowmobiles ripped by on the snow-packed street, the streetlights glinting off chrome and helmets. The smell of their exhaust lingered, smoky and sharp. We were in West Yellowstone, I figured. West was the only town I knew where it was legal to snowmobile on the streets.
Nordic Nights (The Alix Thorssen Mysteries) Page 23
