“Cody!”
He glanced up, saw yellow light in the two high windows, yellow beams there and gone: headlights. Cody took a huge backswing, swung the spade with all his might at that iron ring. A two-or three-foot section of the wall caved in and the ring fell free, bolt and all. Cody scrambled around, got his hands on the bolt and chain, thrust it all into Clea’s hands.
“Quick,” he said. They started up the stairs, Cody first, carrying the spade. He opened a door at the top and they hurried into the cider-press room, still lit by the ceiling lantern. Cody glanced around, saw only one way out: the front door. He was reaching for the handle when the door opened: Big Len, 324
with Orton right behind him. They looked shocked, but only for a moment. Cody raised the spade. Orton drew his gun and said, “Drop it.”
Cody dropped the spade.
Big Len turned to Orton. “That’s what you call securing him? You’re fuckin’ useless.” He picked up the spade, gazed for a moment at the blade. “But this’ll do the job.”
Orton, behind him, closed his eyes for a long moment, that way he did, like someone not wanting to see. “Has to be some other way,” he said.
“Dream on,” Big Len said. He motioned with the spade.
“Outside.”
Cody touched Clea’s shoulder. They went outside, Cody and Clea first, Big Len and Orton right behind. Cody’s car stood by the black pickup. Cody felt the spade nudge him in the back, directing him toward his car.
The wind had died down, the snow had stopped falling, and that strange glow in the night had vanished. Cody stood by the car with Clea, one arm around her, facing Big Len and Orton.
“What happens now,” said Big Len, “is an unfortunate accident on one of our many dangerous roads. The real kidnapper, trying to escape the forces of the law, pedal to the metal—hey, not bad. I was thinking of the hairpin bend over the Mohawk 325
Ravine—good for three or four fatalities a season, right, sarge?”
Orton didn’t answer.
“Everyone knows about teenage drivers,” Big Len said.
“Story sells itself. You careless kids forgot to buckle up.” He hefted the spade, then turned toward Clea. She raised her hands and backed against the car, letting go of the chain; it fell to the snow. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Len said.
All at once, the clouds parted and the moon, bigger than the night before, shone through. Cody saw that Clea was wearing the jade earrings. He stepped in front of her.
“Wait a minute,” said Orton.
“Huh?” Len said.
Orton, gun still pointed at Cody, moved sideways, closer to the rear of the car. “He’s got the Colorado plates on.”
“So?”
“I gave him Vermont plates,” Orton said. “Need them back.”
“Why?”
“Why? Goddamn connection is why.” He took out the pencil flash, shone it in Cody’s face. “Where are they?”
The answer was that Agent Brand had them. Was that the right answer for this moment, right now? Cody thought of a 326
better one. “In the trunk,” he said.
Orton took out Cody’s keys, popped the trunk, shone the light inside. “Don’t see ’em,” he said.
“Way at the back,” Cody said.
Orton leaned into the trunk, pencil flash in one hand, gun in the other. “Where?” he said.
“Under all those rags.”
“What rags?”
“Right there,” Cody said, stepping forward.
“Hey,” said Big Len, sticking out the spade, trying to block Cody’s passage.
But not quick enough. Orton started to straighten up, also not quick enough. Cody got both hands on the trunk lid and flung it down as hard as he could. The edge struck Orton on the back of his head, jamming his face into the locking mechanism. He slumped to the ground, the gun flying from his hand, and lay still.
Cody dove for the gun. Big Len hit him with the spade while he was in midair, a tremendous blow that knocked the wind out of him. Cody landed on his back in the snow, hard enough to bury the gun somewhere beneath him. Big Len jumped on Cody, knelt on his chest, raised the spade in both hands, blade pointed straight down at Cody’s face, his eyes bestial.
“Run!” Cody shouted.
327
But Clea didn’t run. Instead she darted in from behind and looped the free end of the chain around Big Len’s neck, once, twice, so fast. He gasped, let go of the spade, which fell beside Cody, grabbed at the chain, tried to get his fingers underneath, could not. Clea pulled on the free end. Big Len squirmed and threw an elbow at her, but she was right behind him, out of range. He struggled, face bloating, eyes bulging. Clea just pulled harder, heaving on that chain. Big Len made gurgling sounds. His tongue hung out. From down at the bottom, Cody had a clear view of the expression on Clea’s face. It scared him, scared him as much as anything that had gone before. Then the sky filled with flashing blue, and sirens sounded, an angry blare that seemed to come from all around. The arrival of Special Agent Brand, accompanied by Phil and a squad of state troopers, saved Big Len’s life. It took two of the troopers to pull Clea off him.
After that, Cody just wanted to jump in his car with Clea and take off for home. Instead they had to go to a hospital for a few hours to get checked out—the same hospital where Orton and Big Len now lay, cuffed to their beds. Then came a day or two of talk, with Agent Brand, the state attorney general, lots of other officials Cody couldn’t keep straight in his mind. He and Clea hardly left each other’s sides, not even at night. 328
Maybe the adults didn’t like that, but somehow they’d lost their moral authority, if only for a while. The very first thing, the very first night, Clea said, “I have bad judgment sometimes.”
“Who doesn’t?” Cody said.
“I was an idiot. I got . . . swept up. Then all of a sudden he just wanted the money.”
“Me, too,” said Cody. “This minute.”
“I’ve got other plans for this minute.”
From all the talk, Cody learned that Phil had acted right away on his cry of “Brand, Brand.” Brand had hurried to the barn, where Ike described seeing Cody and Orton coming out of the office. Ike had hidden the ledger in his room just after he and Cody had checked it, because he “couldn’t trust nobody.” A state trooper had spotted Cody’s car on the road from the bear claw place to the cider house, and called in.
Betting slips turned up that proved Orton had fallen deep in debt to Big Len, although he made no admission and Len was saying nothing. Townes was arrested on conspiracy charges. His big-time lawyer, an old friend of Townes’s father working for free, vowed those charges wouldn’t stick. The attorney general’s spokesman said the state would prove that Len had learned of Clea’s post-practice rides in the woods from Townes. The big-time lawyer denied that and claimed Townes was one of the victims. One thing Cody knew: Townes 329
searching the woods like a madman—that was unforgivable. Cody’s own father arrived, together with Fran. Cody’s father was quiet, seemed smaller than usual, patted Cody on the back a few times and accepted congratulations from many strangers. Once or twice, Cody caught his father glancing at him in a new way, kind of proud and amazed at the same time. Fran passed on the news that Clea’s father had opened his eyes, even spoken a bit, first some gibberish about his country club, but then as his mind cleared a single word: “Clea?”
Larissa organized a candlelit ceremony for Bud. Clea held Cody’s hand the whole time. Lots of Dover Academy kids came, including ones like Alex and Simon, whom Cody had gotten to know a little bit. They all looked at him differently. Cody preferred the old way. The only person who looked at him the old way was Ike.
Fran made arrangements for shipping Cody’s car home; over his objection, but it happened during one of the frequent times in that period when he could hardly keep his eyes open, so he didn’t put up much of a fight. That ended the drivingback-across-the-country idea, just the two of
them. Cody, his father, Clea, and Fran flew home on the same flight. Cody and Clea sat together, the armrest pushed back, sharing a blanket. They slept the whole way.
330
About the Author PETER ABRAHAMS is the bestselling author of DELUSION, NERVE DAMAGE, END OF STORY, OBLIVION, THE FAN, BEHIND THE CURTAIN, and INTO THE DARK as well as LIGHTS OUT and DOWN
THE RABBIT HOLE, for both of which he received Edgar Award nominations. Peter makes his home in Falmouth, Massachusetts, with his wife and four children. You can visit him online at www.peterabrahams.com and www.echofallsmysteries.com Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
A L S O B Y P E T E R A B R A H A M S
THE ECHO FALLS MYSTERIES
Down the Rabbit Hole
Behind the Curtain
Into the Dark
Credits
Typography by Jennifer Rozbruch
Jacket art © 2009 trees: Don Hammond/Design Pics/Jupiterimages boy: JoelSartore/GettyImages
Jacket design by Carla Weise
Copyright
REALITY CHECK. Copyright © 2009 by Pas de Deux. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader March 2009
ISBN 978-0-06-185837-6
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Document Outline
Cover Image
Title Page
Dedication Page
Contents Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
About the Author
Also by Peter Abrahams
Credits
Copyright Notice
About the Publisher
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
About the Author
Other Books by Peter Abrahams
Credits
Cover
Copyright
About the Publisher
A L S O B Y P E T E R A B R A H A M S
Reality Check Page 22