by Lisa Jackson
“Watch it,” he growled angrily.
And then they were across the porch and inside the cabin, with its weird half-light from the flashlight on the floor.
This was no good! No good! All too vividly she remembered the last time she’d been under a psycho’s control and how the bastard had locked her in the casket. She’d hardly been able to move, barely able to draw a breath, the coffin close, so airless, so unbearable. In a blink, she was there again, in that awful space.
She was starting to hyperventilate, though Camp didn’t notice as he held her tight, his jacket bunching between them, the fabric moving as he propelled her forward.
Don’t freak out. Don’t go there, Nikki. You have to stay clearheaded, you have to find a way out of this mess. Think, for God’s sake, and listen to him. He enjoys reliving his victory over Blondell. He might forget about you for a moment . . . just a moment . . . Keep him talking. Whatever you do, keep him talking!
Reed took a corner a little too fast, the tires of his Cadillac screaming in protest.
His phone rang and he connected. “Reed.”
“What the hell happened to you?” Morrisette demanded. “You go out to take a call, and the next thing I know I get a message saying you’re going to that damned cabin.”
“Nikki’s there. With Camp.”
“What? Holy Christ.”
“I called for backup. I’ll be there in five.”
“I’m on my way!”
Reed hung up and only hoped he wasn’t too late.
“I . . . thought Blondell loved you,” Nikki said.
“So the fuck did I! That’s why I wanted to have it out with her, clear the goddamned air.” He was furious now, reliving that night in his mind. “But things changed when I saw her with that bastard McBaine. Then the goddamn snake got loose. Everything was going to hell in a fuckin’ handbasket, but then McBaine finally leaves and Blondell goes to the porch. I wanted to kill her. I really did. But then I saw Amity lying there on the couch, dead to the world. And God, she was beautiful. More beautiful than her own mother. So I think to myself, what better way to get back at Blondell than to fuck her daughter. Jesus, I got hard just thinking about how she would react. It was, like, almost too good to be true, just there for the taking, like God wanted me to do it or somethin’.”
He said it as if he believed it, as if divine intervention were the reason he planned to rape a teenager. Dear God . . .
“But I never got the chance. The damned snake must’ve crawled into the sleeper, under the covers somehow, and bit her. All of a sudden she’s screamin’ bloody murder, and Blondell runs in! It was as if she’d been waitin’ for me to show up! But we never struggled for no gun. I didn’t have one. I just ran.”
“But no.... the gun, the kids,” Nikki said weakly, trying to keep her wits about her, to process his confession even while she searched for an escape.
“I figured, like everyone else, that she shot ’em to shut ’em up. Probably thought they’d all die on the way to the hospital, and she even shot herself too, to make it look like someone else did it. I always wondered why she didn’t recognize me, but figured it was too dark or she was just too damned freaked.” The knife twitched in his hand, and Nikki sucked in her breath. Already she was bleeding, could feel the warm drizzle of blood sliding down her neck and under her collar. Any second he could slit her throat.
Camp seemed unaware that he’d already cut her as he continued, caught up in his memory, “Maybe she just didn’t see me or was afraid that I’d let on about McBaine being her lover, the father of her new bastard, so she made up the story about some guy with a serpent tattoo—probably thought of that because of the snake. Jesus H. Christ, that woman was a cat in heat and always lookin’ to get pregnant,” he snarled in disgust. “And then she shoots her kids? She’s a freak, let me tell you, a goddamned freak of nature, and should be locked up for life or worse.”
“You could do it. With your testimony,” Nikki ventured. They were halfway across the room, their legs illuminated by the flashlight, the upper area of the cabin dark.
“Who’d believe me? Nah!”
“You could get immunity from perjuring yourself in the first trial, work a deal.”
“Shut up. With the cops? No way. No fuckin’ way. And I’m in too deep. And she’s goin’ to be out anyway. Can’t be tried for the same fuckin’ crime twice, so what good would it do?”
The stairs were directly in front of them, running up the back wall. Did he think he could get her to climb up there again? If he did, he’d have to take the knife away from her throat. Maybe he thought he’d throw her over the railing, make it look as if she’d had an accident.
That would be good. She could risk jumping over again.
But he knew that too. Wouldn’t give her a second opportunity.
Where the hell was Reed?
They were at the base of the stairs now, and all of a sudden she realized his intention. It was not to force her up the narrow, open staircase, but to thrust her into the closet of the bathroom, a tiny space filled with spiders and mold without a window or any air.
Oh, God, no!
Images of being locked in the coffin shrieked through her brain. “She got what she deserved. Twenty years locked up and that fuckin’ attorney, your uncle, him too. Had to live with what he’d done and lost his damned case.”
Her heart twisted as she considered Uncle Alex, a weak man who couldn’t resist the seduction of Blondell O’Henry, like so many others. He’d given up his integrity for her, but then maybe he didn’t have much to begin with.
“It was his gun, y’know.”
“What?”
“Blondell didn’t own a gun, but she’d been with him, so I figured he brought it.”
She wouldn’t believe it. “No way.”
“Then she took it from him, ’cause it was his. I figured she intended to kill the kids anyway. They were just added baggage that kept her tied to her ex, and by the way, he’s a real bastard.”
“But to shoot her children . . .” Even to plan it was too gruesome and horrible to consider.
Camp walked her to the closet of the bathroom, an awful, tight place that was so small she could barely turn around, the air inside thick. No, no, no!
“That’s why the gun was never found. I figure she ditched it, called him, and blackmailed him, and he came and got it before the cops got here.”
“That’s all just conjecture, and if he were here,” she said, suddenly desperate to vindicate her uncle, a man who had considered her his favorite niece, “why were there no tire tracks, apart from Blondell’s?”
“For a big deal reporter, you’re pretty damned stupid. He used a canoe, at least that’s the way I figured it. Didn’t he have him a house across the lake?”
“No, he lived in town, but . . .” She thought of the farm with the horses. Oh, God, Uncle Alex had known the truth all along! Had been a part of it! Her knees felt weak at his complicity. She’d discovered his affair with Blondell and half understood it, as his marriage to his wife had withered over time, culminating with the loss of their children, but she hadn’t been able to believe that he’d been here, at the cabin, on the night Amity was killed and the other children wounded. He would’ve heard the shots, even over the rain. And he didn’t turn around, try to come back and save them. But then, neither had the monster who held her in his grip.
“You had to have had a car,” she said, panicking as the door of the bathroom was suddenly in front of her face. She couldn’t go into that bathroom. Couldn’t! Still he propelled her onward.
“Truck,” he said. “An old beater I borrowed from a neighbor who was out of town and barely used it anyway. I parked a mile away near an old huntin’ blind.” He laughed a little. “I know how to make myself disappear, y’know. How to cover my tracks. Been a hunter all my life. That’s where my truck’s parked tonight, and Donny Ray, he’s got another alibi for me. Just like before. Now let’s get this over with.”
&n
bsp; Without another a word, he kicked in the door. Claustrophobia closed in on her, but rather than scream or cry out, she bit her tongue. She couldn’t show him that he’d somehow blundered into her worst fear; she was certain that if she did he would only make it worse.
He gave her a shove, and she stumbled over the remains of the sink, landed on the toilet. “You can just stay in here,” he said, and even in the partial darkness, with only the dim glow from the fallen flashlight seeping around Camp, she saw Effie Savoy, stuffed in the old shower, duct tape over her mouth, her body bound, her eyes open and fixed.
Screaming, Nikki tried to back away to the door, but Camp blocked her exit, his knife in his hand.
No, no, no! It was just like before. Stuffed into a small, tight space with a dead body.
“Surprise,” Roland said with a laugh. “You and Effie, you never should have started messing into things,” he said. “Because now I’m going to have to kill you too and get rid of the evidence.” He reached into his pocket again and this time came up with a lighter rather than a match. “Time to burn the place down. Too bad you have to go with it.”
He clicked the lighter, and in the illumination from its tiny flame she saw the evil on his face, the lines of pure hatred. And then he smiled. “But first, maybe some friends to keep you company.”
Reaching into the large pocket of his jacket, he withdrew a leather bag, and with his knife, slit open the string holding the sack together. Immediately three small snakes slithered out, their distinctive bands of red, black, and yellow visible.
Her insides curdled in fear.
The coral snakes belonging to Alfred Necarney.
“These little fellas, they’re shy,” he said as the snakes shrank from him, curling upon themselves, their tiny eyes reflecting the light as they wriggled away. And then another copperhead poked its head from his bag and dropped to the ground.
Oh, God.
“You’ll probably be all right if you don’t move, and if you do, don’t worry. You won’t suffer long. The fire will take care of you.”
CHAPTER 32
Nikki freaked!
No way was she going to be locked up in this tiny room with coral snakes and another copperhead and a dead body. No damned way! It didn’t matter that their venom might not kill her. She was not going to take that chance. As he chuckled at how clever he was, she reached into what was left of the sink, her fingers scraping around the rim until she touched the old pipe she’d seen the last time she was here.
Without thinking, she pulled it from the sink and, using all her strength, hurled the heavy elbow joint at his head.
Thud!
With a groan, he went down to his knees, the knife clattering out of his hand. Moaning, about to pass out, he reached for the knife.
She stomped his hand with the heel of her boot and grabbed the knife.
“Oooowwwweeee!” Camp let out a howl of pain guaranteed to wake the dead in five counties . Then she tried to climb over him, to get away, but his free hand grabbed hold of her injured ankle and he squeezed. Hard.
Pain splintered up her leg and she screamed.
“You little bitch!” He grabbed her other foot just as she felt something slither down her leg. “Aaawwwe!”hecried, and she knew one of the snakes had bitten him.
Good!
For good measure, she kicked his head, then scrambled forward.
Where the hell was Reed?
“C’mere!” Camp growled, rising to his feet again, ready to lunge.
Blam!
In a deafening flash of light, a gun fired, and Roland Camp, six-feet-five inches of muscle, bone, and hatred, jerked backward. He hit the bathroom wall. The entire cabin shook as he sank to the floor, a huge man caught in the light of his own flashlight as a growing red stain seeped through his jacket.
Nikki felt the urge to fall apart and sob in relief when she heard the footsteps approaching. “I thought you’d never get here,” she admitted, climbing to her feet and wanting nothing more than to fall into Reed’s arms.
“What took you so long?” She was hobbling forward and was surprised that he stopped to pick up the flashlight on the floor.
The muscles in her back tensed. Where were the other cops? The sirens? The team running through the house to secure the building?
“Nicole,” a female voice said, and it was tinged in disgust.
“Aunty-Pen?” Nikki was confused. What the hell was her aunt doing here and why did she . . . ?
The big man on the floor groaned.
“I heard his story,” Penelope said, the flashlight blinding, as it was now trained on Nikki’s face. “And he got it all wrong anyway. But then what can you expect from a cretin?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t,” Aunty-Pen said wearily, but with her trademark supercilious sneer.
“The gun? You have a . . . ,” Nikki stopped. “Why are you here? To meet Effie?” And then it hit her. This was all a setup. “You knew what would happen,” she whispered in disbelief. “You knew that Roland would kill her . . . and me.”
“Did you really think I didn’t know what you were doing, Nicole? That I didn’t see you skulking around my house, that I didn’t figure out that you were going to tell that little slut’s story? Like mother, like daughter, don’t you see?” She shifted slightly, and Nikki’s eyes, adjusting to the darkness, caught a glimpse of her in her suit and open-toed heels, the diamonds around her wrist catching in the flashlight’s beam. She’d been to the auction, of course, establishing her alibi.
“What are you getting at?” Nikki asked, hearing another groan behind her.
“And here you were supposed to be so smart. Blondell and your uncle? They weren’t fighting over her baby. The bastard was Alex’s, of course, and she was devastated that she’d lost it, but she was even more upset to learn that her own daughter was carrying his child.”
“What . . . no! Amity and . . .”
“Your dear, sweet Uncle Alex.”
Nikki’s stomach threatened to heave. All the conversations came back to her, about the older man, about a secret that would be life and death. Another wave of nausea hit her hard.
“He had this problem, you see. An eye for pretty women. Always. I should have known but I was in love. I gave up everything to be with him, to have his children, and then the bastard let our son drive that damned car when he knew Elton had been drinking! It was Alex’s fault that they died that night, you know. If he hadn’t given Elton the keys, both of them, Elton and Hollis, would be alive today!” Her voice cracked with heartbreak.
“But there was Effie—”
“Effie?” Aunty-Pen sneered. “She was never my daughter. Never. I could never have acknowledged her, the shame of it all.”
“She’s dead, Aunty-Pen. Roland killed her! She’s in the shower in the bathroom. Your own daughter.”
“Didn’t you hear me! She was not my daughter. She was fathered by my stepfather. The bastard who raped me every chance he got. Don’t you see? She should never have been born!” Aunty-Pen was shaking now, the gun wobbling, and over the sound of the wind rushing through the open doorway, Nikki thought she heard the sound of another car’s engine. Reed’s Cadillac! Aunty-Pen didn’t seem to notice. “Alex. He was my savior. He was supposed to take care of me. Of us. But he fell for that horrid tramp and her daughter while my precious babies died. He didn’t even care enough to protect them!”
The rumble of the engine was no more.
Nikki’s heart was pounding, her eyes trained on the pistol being waved in her face, the weapon that had ended Amity O’Henry’s life.
“You killed Amity,” Nikki said, finally understanding. “It was you. You wounded the others and shot Blondell.”
“Roland ran out like a scared rat and I stepped in.”
“But why didn’t Blondell say anything . . . ?”
“Because she didn’t know. I wore a disguise, you see. Bushy hair. Fake tattoo . . . your uncle’s gun.
I thought that was a nice touch. I even left the cigarette butt that he smoked here, but no one figured that out. Not even you. You know he was interested in you too, don’t you? His favorite niece.”
“No . . . Aunty-Pen, don’t even—”
“Shut up! I’m not ‘Aunty-Pen’! Do you know how I abhor that?”
“Penelope—” she tried, but the older woman swept on in a righteous fury.
“The irony of it all is that he asked me to be his alibi for that night. Isn’t that rich? Not only was I his, but he was mine.”
“You were both here.”
“He paddled over in his stupid little canoe, but I rode my horse around the perimeter of the lake. He never saw my car as I parked it in the garage at the farmhouse, but his was right in front. I knew where he was, where he was going. I always knew,” she said sadly, then as if realizing she was getting caught in her memories, she cleared her throat. “Now, you get back into the bathroom!” She waggled the gun toward the open door. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think the moron had a decent idea.”
“No,” Nikki said, not budging. She wasn’t going to be locked in that tiny room with the corpse of Effie Savoy.
“You want me to kill you right here?” Penelope asked.
Out of the corner of her eye Nikki saw one of the coral snakes moving silently across the floor, closer and closer to the open toe of Aunty-Pen’s shoe.
“I think you should turn yourself in,” Nikki said. The snake had chosen a path between her aunt’s legs. And better yet, another one was joining it. Penelope didn’t seem to notice. The copperhead moved silently too, so close to Nikki’s feet that it was all she could do to stay still as it brushed her boot and continued on its slithering path.
“And I think you’re a foolish, foolish woman!” She leveled the gun at Nikki just as one of the smaller snakes started an inquisitive path up Aunty-Pen’s leg.
“Whhaa . . . ?” she cried, then let out a little screech of horror. With a scream she started running, shaking, trying to get rid of the snake that had crawled up her leg. “Get it off me! Oh, God, get it off me!”