by Paula Munier
They picked their way deliberately across the messy forest floor, and eventually came to a wider trail. Henry was getting tired, but he refused to let Mercy carry him. He preferred to lean on his pal Elvis.
“Take this trail back to the parking lot,” said Yolanda. “You’ll see the pool area on the left.”
“Got it,” said Mercy. “Are you sure you don’t want to come? You’re innocent, you have nothing to hide.”
“You know it doesn’t work that way. I know it doesn’t work that way. Y’all don’t trust Detective Harrington. Why should I?”
“True enough. But we are on your side. And we have friends in high places.”
“Like who?”
“Daniel Feinberg.”
“Don’t trust rich people.”
“He’s different. And Troy’s boss, Captain Thrasher, is a good guy.”
“I’m going back.” Yolanda turned away from Henry, pushing her jacket aside so Mercy could see the service weapon she’d stuck in her waistband. “You should take this.”
“Not necessary. We’re nearly out of here, and you’re going right back into the fray.”
Mercy could see by the set of her jaw that Yolanda was not changing her mind. But neither was she. And she couldn’t waste any more time. “You’re going to need it.”
Yolanda conceded. “Okay. Just get the boy home.”
“Try to stay away from dead bodies.”
Henry started stimming. Mercy wasn’t sure whether it was the talk of Harrington or dead bodies that set him off.
Yolanda took him in her arms, and for the first time, Mercy saw Henry accept an embrace. He almost hugged back, leaning into Yolanda with his head against her chest.
He’s a good judge of character, Mercy thought.
Yolanda gently pushed the boy away. “Go with Mercy now. She’s good people.”
Henry pointed at the dog.
“Yes, and he’s good dog.”
They watched Yolanda retreat into the deep forest. As soon as she disappeared, Mercy and Elvis ushered Henry along the path. This trail to the inn was far easier to traverse, and they made good time.
He was quiet. No stimming, no moaning, no apparent signs of distress or anxiety. He held onto the leash and Elvis walked beside him, head at his hip, the consummate gentleman.
The trees arched above them, a canopy of gold and red and yellow and purple and orange. If they hadn’t been fleeing a crime scene with a possible murderer on their heels, it would have been a lovely walk in the woods on a beautiful October day. There was a slight breeze and the temperature was mild. For a moment, Mercy could almost forget the terrible events of the past twenty-four hours.
Fifteen minutes down the trail, the path opened onto inn’s pool area.
“Okay,” Mercy said. “We’re going to run for the Jeep, which is to our left, about a couple hundred yards away.” She pointed to her vehicle. “Elvis will run with you. All you have to do is stay with him. Don’t look at anything, just keep running unless I say not to.”
Henry stared up at her with big solemn brown eyes.
“Try to be quiet. Pretend we’re deer, running quietly through the forest.”
He smiled at that.
“Start out for the pool, then head for that dumpster. If it’s all clear, we’ll run for the Jeep. Got it?”
Henry nodded.
They skirted the edge of the parking lot, staying close to the trees.
The pool area seemed deserted. Blake must be saving that renovation for later.
As they passed the pool and drew closer to the porte cochere, she spotted people working in the distance. Closer to the entrance of the inn. Closer to her Jeep.
“Next time, we’ll know never to park near the front door.” She stopped at the edge of the dumpster, Elvis and Henry flanking her, peering at the construction workers. About a dozen guys in hard hats swarmed around the front of the inn, reframing the landing that fronted the porte cochere. She hoped they didn’t go up on the roof, where they’d have a perfect view of her and Henry and Elvis. It may not matter, but there was always the chance Harrington was already searching for them, and had alerted the staff to be on the lookout for a red-haired woman accompanied by a small boy and a big dog.
Another hundred yards to the Jeep.
“We’re going to make a run for it. Stay close to me and Elvis.”
Henry held Elvis’s lead tightly in his little fist.
“Ready?”
He nodded.
“On your mark, get set, go!”
They took off. Mercy kept one eye on Henry and Elvis, and the other on the workers. She didn’t have to look for the Jeep; Elvis would lead them straight to it.
About halfway across the parking lot, Henry stumbled and fell to his bandaged knees. But he didn’t cry out.
“Good boy,” she whispered, pulling him to his feet. Elvis gave him an encouraging nuzzle. “We’re almost there.” She glanced at the entrance, but no one seemed to pay them any mind.
She half carried Henry the rest of the way, her long arms wrapped around his thin torso, his boots scraping the ground. His eyes were closed, his lips moving in what she assumed were silent expressions of prime numbers.
She didn’t think anybody saw them.
She put Henry in the back seat with Elvis and fastened his seat belt. “We’re going to go see your grandmother. Maybe we’ll get her to make us one of her famous burgers, huh?”
Henry blinked. She supposed that was a yes. Poor kid must be hungry. She was hungry. And from the way Elvis snorted at the word burger, she knew the dog was hungry, too. There was no place better to eat than the Vermonter. That might be the one bright spot in what so far had been a rotten day.
She drove as quietly and slowly out of the parking lot as she could to avoid any attention. There was no sign of Detective Harrington and no sign of Captain Thrasher and no sign of Daniel Feinberg. A couple of uniformed cops were parked near the gate, but they paid her no attention. Maybe nobody knew about the murder at the gazebo yet.
Mercy pulled out along the road, deciding to take a roundabout way to the Vermonter.
She could have taken the faster route, but she did not want to encounter any police cars or other law-enforcement vehicles headed to the crime scene. This meant traveling on back roads, rarely used and with good reason. The majority of Vermont roads were unpaved and most people avoided them, especially as winter drew near.
She turned on the radio but couldn’t get a station. She glanced in the rearview mirror, and caught sight of Henry, still whispering prime numbers.
Time to sing. She knew that Troy’s singing had calmed Henry, and she thought maybe her singing might as well. She warbled out the opening lyric of her go-to kids’ song, Randy Newman’s “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” from Toy Story.
He ignored her. She switched to “My Favorite Things.” She had high hopes for the Sound of Music classic, but Henry just primed on. Halfway through the chorus, she gave up.
“Okay, no singing.” Mercy laughed. She was no Troy Warner. “We’ll just take a nice, quiet ride then.”
They bounced along in the Jeep, winding through the forest. Eventually the road took a wide curve, leaving the forest and entering a wide wetland.
“Hawk,” said Henry, startling Mercy from her thoughts. He pointed out the window. Circling the marsh, looking for its next meal, was a broad-winged hawk.
“Beautiful.” Mercy looked at Henry in the rearview mirror again. “How clever of you to know what kind of bird that was. You knew the falcon, too. Do you study birds?”
Henry didn’t answer, but she figured the answer must be yes. He probably knew a lot about birds of prey and falconry and anything else figuring into the medieval fantasy role-playing world. She scanned the sky as she drove, looking for more birds that might interest Henry.
Elvis barked, his quick, urgent, scary, pay attention now bark. She glanced back at the shepherd. In the rearview mirror, she spotted a dark SUV pulling out b
ehind them, off a logging road.
“Good boy.”
Henry straightened up to see what was going on.
“It’s all right, Henry.”
Weird, she thought. They hadn’t seen anyone else on this narrow road and hadn’t expected to. Not this time of year. The only people out now were hikers and hunters. As nightfall approached, hikers would be sheltering in place. And hunters would be going home if they weren’t there already, as hunting after dusk was forbidden.
The SUV raced up behind her. She honked, rolling down her window and waving the guy on so he’d pass her. The just barely two-lane dirt road was narrow, but Mercy thought he could make it.
But the SUV did not go around her Jeep. It pulled closer.
Tailgating closer.
Dangerously closer.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FORECAST: FALLING TEMPERATURES AS A FAST-MOVING STORM GATHERS OVER THE MIDWEST AND HEADS EAST TOWARD NEW ENGLAND LATE TONIGHT.
THE SUV’S TINTED WINDOWS were as dark as its charcoal paint. Obscuring the driver.
Elvis barked again.
“I hear you.” Mercy stepped on the gas. There was nowhere to turn around and no side roads that she remembered. Her only choice was straight ahead, all the way to Route 7.
Night hunter, she thought. Maybe one of Troy’s night hunters. Maybe a murderer.
“We’ve got company, Henry.” She turned around and gave him a quick smile. He didn’t smile back. “Could get a little rough. Just hunker down. Sit tight.”
She floored it. The SUV came after her. Engine roaring. Bright lights on. Not slowing down. Not passing. Not playing nice.
He’s trying to push us off the road, she thought. And the way the Jeep was careening down the road, he just might succeed.
“Hold onto Elvis and close your eyes.”
She plowed ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel, foot firmly on the gas pedal, the Jeep jolting up and down on the potholed road. But she couldn’t outrun them.
The SUV slammed into the back of the Jeep. As metal hit metal, Mercy twisted the steering wheel hard, and veered away from the SUV, escaping the worst of it. She sped ahead, pushing the Jeep as fast as it would go.
The SUV had more power than her Jeep. It was gaining on her. On this road, she was at a clear disadvantage. She had to think of something. The only something that occurred to her was maneuverability.
Her vehicle was the more agile. What it lacked in speed, it made up for in tighter turning radius.
The Jeep jostled along, Mercy jerking the steering wheel back and forth. Zigzagging down the road, trying to stay out of the SUV’s way.
She saw her opportunity about a quarter mile up the road where the wetland ended and the forest began again.
The road came to a fork. Mercy recognized the old fire tower inside the fork—one of many abandoned fire towers throughout the forest. Troy had converted a similar fire tower into a fine home. A beautiful place with a spectacular view.
No such luck for this fire tower, now in permanent disrepair. The forgotten structure had seen better days, although now it might signal her salvation, just as fire spotters signaled forest fires from its heights back in the day.
If she could just make it to the fire tower, take a hard left, and floor it, she might lure the SUV onto an old logging road with a notoriously bad bump. She’d been down it on her mountain bike more than once as a kid. A significant crack in the road that she knew had sunk more than one vehicle. And spun out lots of mountain bikers. She had a small scar on her left calf to prove it. She knew how to navigate that sinkhole. She’d done it before. She prayed that they hadn’t.
Mercy raced for the fork, her eyes on that fire tower. She angled to the right, as if she were going to make a right turn, which is the direction most people would veer to avoid the sinkhole. At the last second, she wrenched the steering wheel to the left and hurtled down the other side of the fork.
The SUV couldn’t react fast enough. The driver tried to make the turn, but was too late, and took the turn too slowly. In a screech of tires and squeal of brakes, the SUV rammed into the fire tower. The violent crunch of fender against beam was sweet music to Mercy.
But she knew that would not be the end of it. Their pursuer’s vehicle was big enough and tough enough to survive a crash or two. Even if the SUV were disabled temporarily, it wouldn’t be for long. She glanced back at the back seat.
“Don’t look. Just close your eyes and keep on counting.”
Henry did as he was told. He sat, facing straight ahead, eyes closed. Counting, counting, counting.
“Hang in there. We’ll be rid of this guy soon.”
In the rearview mirror, she watched the SUV back up, turn around, and start after the Jeep again. Its smashed front end did not appear to affect the vehicle’s power. The driver was pushing the SUV to its limits. Putting on speed.
She hoped he was frustrated now, not paying attention, and that she could use that frustration and inattention to her advantage.
The sinkhole lay just ahead. Mercy drove as fast as she dared.
The deep depression fell in the center of the road. Over time, so many people had avoided the sinkhole that there were trodden paths along both shoulders of the road.
She sped forward, waiting as long as she dared. At the last second, as she approached the sinkhole, she jerked her Jeep hard to the right, onto the shoulder. Skirting the sinkhole, she kept up the speed so her tires wouldn’t get stuck in the seeping muck.
The SUV barreled after them. She watched in her rearview mirror as it swerved to avoid hitting the sinkhole. Too late. The SUV’s front tire caught the edge of the hole, sinking like a stone into the crevasse.
The tail end of the SUV flew up in the air and flopped back down. Hard. The vehicle lurched to a dead stop.
It was only about another half mile to the main road. She floored it all the way, ruts and potholes be damned.
Henry clutched at Elvis. The shepherd licked the boy’s face. Unlike Susie Bear, Elvis wasn’t much of a licker. Except with Martinez. She was moved to see him licking the boy, comforting him as best he could.
“Just a little longer and we’ll get that burger from your grandmother,” she said with more confidence than she felt.
She grinned as Route 7 came into view. Once she hit the main road, she’d be back in cell-phone range. She could contact Troy and tell him what happened. He’d tell Thrasher, and Thrasher would send someone after that SUV.
She didn’t know whether the driver was targeting her or targeting Henry. But she wasn’t taking any chances.
Turning onto Route 7, Mercy whooped with relief. Henry joined in, whooping, too. Elvis barked.
Only twenty minutes down the road now to the Vermonter, and no SUV in her rearview mirror. She quickly texted Troy. She owed Daniel Feinberg a call, too, but that could wait.
Henry snuggled up to Elvis and started to hum “My Favorite Things.”
She smiled. His way of thanking her. She hummed along. The boy lasted through the chorus before dozing off. All that adrenaline catching up with him. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.
Mercy was suddenly very, very tired. Elvis poked his nose over her seat and nuzzled her ear. The Vermonter was just around the next bend. The shepherd would be as glad to see it as she would.
“Time to eat,” she told him. “It’s been a long day and we’re all hungry.”
She just hoped they could all stay awake long enough to get through dinner.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Any person 50 years or older may use a crossbow during any season when the use of bow and arrow is permitted. Crossbow disability permits are required for those 49 years and younger. Includes archery deer, archery turkey, and archery moose seasons.
—VERMONT FISH AND WILDLIFE REGULATIONS
BY THE TIME TROY GOT BACK to the gazebo and called in the murder, Harrington was long gone from the Bluffing Bear Inn and back to the office. A fact for which he was actually quite grate
ful. The detective would make his way back once he heard about Farrow’s death, but for now Troy didn’t have to deal with him.
The Major Crime Unit showed up about thirty minutes later, and Captain Thrasher came with them. He and Troy stood by the side of the crime scene watching as techs collected evidence. The diminutive Dr. Darling was her usual cheerful self. She called Susie Bear over for a quick belly rub. The Newfie mutt loved the medical examiner. They shared the same love of their work and good-natured temperament.
“That’s it, girl.” Doctor and dog got to their feet. She gave Susie Bear one last hug and started suiting up. Susie Bear knew the drill, settling at Troy’s side for the duration. This was the boring part, at least for her.
Dr. Darling finally acknowledged Troy and Thrasher. “We got another one, huh, guys? And so soon.” She regarded Troy with a sly smile. “Where’s your better half?”
He patted his thigh, and Susie Bear leaned into him for a good head scratch. “Susie Bear is right here.”
Captain Thrasher laughed. “I don’t think she means the dog. But the fact that you thought she did worries me.”
Dr. Darling approached the corpse, crouching down next to the recently departed Caspar Farrow. “This arrow’s not the same as the one we pulled out of Alice de Clare.”
“No,” said Troy. “It’s from a crossbow.”
“Really.” She grinned widely. “My first crossbow homicide.”
“Congratulations,” said the captain without a trace of irony.
“This one went all the way through the body,” she said. “Another ruptured aorta is my guess. Although of course I’ll question everything when I get the body back to the lab.”
“How long has he been there?” asked Thrasher.
“Not long. Maybe a couple hours.” Dr. Darling paused. “But don’t quote me on that.”
Troy nodded. “I suspect he was shot shortly before we came upon the gazebo.”
“What were you doing out here?”
“We were trying to calm Henry down. The detective wanted to interrogate the boy and Henry doesn’t like him much.”