“Stop it, shrimp,” Trish snapped.
He motioned for his mom to lean toward him. She was ghostly pale and looked confused, so he pinched her arm. “Mom.”
She shifted toward him. “What?”
The truck turned onto the highway into Buffalo.
He whispered, “I need to tell you something.”
Trish said, “Don’t mind me, just in the middle here getting squished.”
“Tell me, then,” his mom said.
“It’s a secret.” He strained toward her and lowered his voice further, so low he couldn’t even hear himself.
“I can’t hear you.”
He tried again.
She sat back. “I still can’t hear you.”
Trish snorted. “Don’t be so rude, Perry.”
His mom sighed. “You can’t tell secrets when we’re packed in together like this.”
Coach Lamkin laughed. “Do you need me to put my fingers in my ears?”
“Mo-om. It’s important.”
“Okay. I’ll give you one more try.” His mom squeezed over into Trish.
Trish put her arms across her chest. “You guys, stop!”
Perry whispered his secret one last time.
His mom flopped back in the seat. “I give up. This truck is too noisy, and I’m still feeling pretty bad. If it’s that important, tell me when we get to the hospital.”
He shut his mouth. Out of his side vision, he saw Coach Lamkin turn to look at him. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she smiled.
“Barb, you missed the turn to the hospital,” Susanne said. She pressed her hand against the window, then put it on her forehead.
Coach Lamkin didn’t answer. She didn’t turn around either. Perry’s stomach started to hurt worse. This wasn’t good.
“What route are you taking?” Susanne asked.
Perry watched in horror as Coach Lamkin slipped her hand into the pocket of her coat. She pulled out a little black revolver. Cocking the hammer, she pressed the end of the barrel into his temple.
The steel was cold and hard against his head. He whimpered and held perfectly still.
“Change of plans.”
Susanne wasn’t looking at the coach. “What do you mean?”
Trish elbowed their mom. “Mom, she’s got a gun.”
“What?”
“She’s got a gun and she’s pointing it at Perry’s head.”
Susanne frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense. Barb, what’s going on?” Her voice sounded loopy.
Coach Lamkin laughed. “You might not have been able to hear Perry, but I did. Crystal clear. Perry, repeat it for your mother. Nice and loud so we can all hear you this time.”
Perry cleared his throat. He felt like he was going to throw up or wet his pants or both. “I said, ‘Coach Lamkin is the one I saw up at Meadowlark. The one who shot the judge’s wife.’”
Chapter Thirty-eight: Reveal
Buffalo, Wyoming
Tuesday, March 15, 1977, 5:15 p.m.
Patrick
Patrick pulled into the driveway to the house. When the hospital staff had been able to help the patients from the pile-up faster than expected, he’d decided to sneak out for a nap and quick dinner after all, even though it had been a short afternoon. He’d have to be back by six-thirty to make up the time Dr. John had covered for him, but that was okay. He parked the Suburban close to the walkway. The area had clearly been shoveled, although the snow was starting to accumulate again. The outside lights were on, and his truck was there. Brandon’s wasn’t, which he counted as a good thing.
“Hello? Anyone home?” he called out, as he entered the door.
No one answered.
Maybe Susanne and the kids had gone to get burgers with a friend. Their family wasn’t usually big on eating out. It was a waste of money, and he and Susanne felt strongly about gathering as a family around the dinner table every night that they could. It was important to share that time with the kids. To hear about their days and to let them know that they were a priority. Things weren’t the same at a restaurant. But after the day they’d had, he wouldn’t blame Susanne if she hadn’t felt much like cooking. Especially since she hadn’t known about his last second change of plans to come home to eat with them. He shrugged. The nap he was craving would be easier in an empty house.
In the kitchen, he checked the table for a note where he and Susanne always left them for each other. There was none. Just a half-full mug of cold coffee, aging. He dumped it in the sink and rinsed the cup, then he opened the refrigerator and pulled out the last of the leftover beef stew. Eating it cold wasn’t optimal, but it was still fuel. He ate to live, he didn’t live to eat. He served a bowl, took it and some utensils to the table, and sat down facing the winter wonderland of their backyard.
And there she was, a vision in the falling snow. His mountain lion. This time, the gorgeous, tawny creature had a cub with her. The two of them were perched on the deck not ten feet away, staring into the window at him.
“Hey, girl. You’re back.” Suddenly, he was surer than ever that these sightings weren’t random, and his blood felt icy in his veins. Where are Susanne and the kids? “What are you trying to tell me? Are you trying to warn me about something?” Her entrance into his life coincided with the threat to his family, and his gut told them the two were related.
He stood, and his movement scared the lions. As one, they leapt from the deck and disappeared into the trees along the creek. He felt their departure in his core, like they’d physically torn themselves from him. Before he could dwell on it, something else drew his attention. Something reddish brown, on the floor by the door. He squinted. Was it blood? He moved closer, knelt, and touched it. It was moist and more red than brown. He sniffed it. Definitely blood. He stood and examined the door. Bloody fingerprints, where someone had pushed it shut. He opened the door, careful not to smudge the prints. The doorknob outside was caked in dried blood, and blood droplets led across the deck and onto the steps, where he found the source. More dried blood, and, to the side, human vomit.
Had Perry fallen when he was outside playing? He could have a concussion, if the vomit was related. With this much blood, the boy would need stitches. Susanne and the kids could be at the hospital right now.
But how would they have gotten there with his truck parked here? He scanned the ground and deck for other clues, but found none, so he hurried back in the house. Intent on calling the hospital, he was sidetracked by the blood leading to the bathroom. The sink and countertop were a blood bath. A head wound, he thought. Nothing bled worse than the head. Which supported his theory that Perry—or someone—had fallen.
The lion had been telling him his family was in danger. He was as certain of it as he’d ever been about anything. He had to find them. His heart was pounding madly, and he realized he was nearing full-blown panic level. There was a reason doctors didn’t treat their own family members. It was too hard to remain calm, cool, and collected when a loved one was ill or injured. Right now, Patrick felt anything but calm. He yelled, venting his frustration and anxiety, and ran from the bathroom to the kitchen phone, banging his thigh against the corner of the table on the way. It felt like getting stabbed. He grabbed his leg and reached for the phone.
Before he could pick it up, it rang. Susanne! He answered it.
Chapter Thirty-nine: Bide
Buffalo, Wyoming
Tuesday, March 15, 1977, 5:30 p.m.
Susanne
“Good thing I have new snow tires.” Barb’s voice was casual, like they were just a couple of friends out for a drive.
Susanne’s head throbbed. She felt anything but casual. Barb was nuts. She had a gun to Perry’s head. How Susanne wished she were at her best. “Why?”
“We’re going to need them where we’re going. Now, Trish, reach into my purse and pull out the duct tape.”
Susanne felt her daughter stiffen.
“Don’t make me ask again, Flint. You may be in good shape, but
I can assure you, you don’t want to be running wind sprints dressed like you are in this weather.”
After another few seconds of silent resistance, Trish dug into the purse on the floorboard. She came up with a silver roll of tape.
“Good. Now, Susanne, starting with Trish, secure her wrists and ankles with the tape. Then we’ll move on to Perry.”
Susanne and Trish locked eyes as they made the tape exchange. Susanne tried to tell her daughter to be brave and that everything would be all right. Trish’s pupils were dilated and her nostrils flared, but she held out her exposed wrists, side by side. She’d taken off her gloves when they got in the truck. They all had, except for Perry.
In a cheery voice, Barb said, “Nice and tight, please.”
Susanne worked a fingernail under the end of the tape, then pressed it against Trish’s sleeve on one wrist. She unrolled the tape as she rotated it around Trish’s wrists two times. The tape stuck fast.
“One more go-round, if you don’t mind.”
Susanne put a third layer of tape around Trish. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed at her.
“Now her ankles.”
Susanne bent over. The position forced the air from her lungs and sent a wave of nausea cascading through her. She wrapped fast and blindly and sat back up, pressing her fingers against her lips.
“Flint, hold those ankles up where I can see them.”
Trish leaned back and slung her ankles onto the dash. Barb glanced over at them and pursed her lips.
“That will do. Now, on to Perry.”
Trish swung her feet back to the floorboard. Susanne pushed into Trish to get slightly in front of Perry and reach his wrists. His gloved hands were trembling in his lap. Big tears pooled in his eyes. “It’s okay,” she mouthed to him. “I love you.” His wide eyes said he understood, but he kept his head motionless, with Barb’s gun barrel still pressed against his temple. Susanne wrapped his wrists, then laid across Trish’s knees to get to his ankles.
Barb kept glancing down at them. Susanne didn’t think she could see Perry’s ankles, so she only pretended to wrap the tape the second and third times. When she was done, she held her breath, but Barb didn’t comment.
“Your own ankles next.”
Susanne wiped sweat from her forehead. She put her ankles over Trish’s and started wrapping herself. Barb had a clear line of sight and watched her the whole time. Susanne hated immobilizing herself. Hated it even more than she hated doing it to the kids. She was their mother. They were her responsibility. How could she protect them if she was trapped? She was already at a disadvantage because of the headache. Maybe if she had been herself, had been able to think, they wouldn’t be in this mess now.
“Looks good. As soon as you’re done, we’ll be making a stop.”
Barb must have been driving in a circle around town, because they were back near the turn to the hospital.
Susanne said, “I am done.”
“Not quite. Tape Perry’s wrists up on the rearview mirror.”
Susanne’s heart cracked. Her emotions had been numb with shock, but they were catching up to her fast now, and she wanted to cry. All of the blood would drain from his hands. It would be painful, quickly. Plus, leaving his feet loose wouldn’t do much good if his hands were taped to the mirror.
“Can’t I—”
“No.”
Slowly, Perry lifted his arms over his head. Susanne wrapped his wrists twice, sticking them to the mirror.
“Three times.”
She added a third layer of tape.
“Now, tape your wrists to Trish’s.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you can figure it out.”
Susanne started the tape on Trish and got it halfway around their four wrists.
“That’s as far as I can go.”
Barb pulled the truck into a dark, empty gas station, stopping with the driver’s side door next to a pay phone at the corner of the building. “I’ll take it from here.” She turned off the truck. “No funny business. Even if you get loose, I’ve got Perry.” She opened her coat and tucked her gun in the waistband of her jeans. “Hold your wrists up for me, ladies.”
Susanne thought about defying Barb’s order and making a break for it, but she knew she would fall face first out of the truck. Running would be impossible. Screaming wouldn’t do any good. They were alone, and the station was closed. If Susanne made her mad, Barb might hurt one of the kids. Or leave Susanne and take the kids without her. As long as the three Flints were alive and together, Susanne bought another chance for escape with every moment that passed. She had to believe that and wait for the right time.
She clenched her teeth. She and Trish stretched their wrists toward Barb.
“Good.” Barb wrapped them five times, then taped them to the handhold over the glove box. “Now, I still have tape left. Can we agree on no screaming, or do I need to add some tape to your mouths? I don’t want to make this anymore unpleasant than I have to. I actually like you guys.”
Trish’s words exploded in the truck cab. “Are you and Brandon . . . are you . . . are you . . . doing it?”
Barb stared at Trish for a moment, then exploded with laughter. “Oh, you poor thing. You really don’t have a clue, do you?”
Trish’s voice broke. “You are. I knew it.”
“No, Flint, I’m not. Children aren’t my thing. But Brandon is seeing someone.”
“A teacher?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. But let’s keep that between us. We don’t want to get Tara fired.”
“Who?” Trish croaked. “Who is Tara?”
“Tara Coker?” Susanne said. “The one you brought to lunch today? She’s sleeping with my daughter’s teenage boyfriend?”
“MY Ms. Coker?” Trish shrieked.
Barb laughed. “I warned you, Trish. With a boy like Brandon, you just have to share and accept it.” To Susanne, Barb said, “Tara wasn’t very pleased with me for inviting her to lunch with you. I didn’t tell her you were coming. It was a fun surprise for me to see her with her boyfriend’s girlfriend’s mother.” Barb winked. “Now, I have a phone call to make, if you’ll excuse me.”
Barb got out, leaving the door open. She dropped change in the slot, then dialed the phone.
“Mom, what is she going to do with us?” Perry whispered.
“I don’t know. Hopefully nothing.”
“Right,” Trish said. “She’s just going to tape us up and hold a gun to Perry’s head and do nothing.”
Susanne sighed. Now wasn’t the time to rebuke her daughter. “Point taken. We have to get away from her.”
“How?” Perry’s voice broke. Young man to young boy in one syllable.
“I don’t know yet. Right now, we have to concentrate on staying alive until someone realizes we’re gone. Your dad and Ronnie will figure it out.”
“When? Dad won’t be home for hours.”
Outside, they heard Barb say, “I have your star witnesses, so you’d better not hang up on me.”
Susanne frowned. Star witnesses? That sounded like a trial. It had to be the Kemecke trial. Was she talking to Donna Lewis? Susanne dismissed the thought immediately. Trish and Susanne weren’t stars for the Kemecke clan. They were stars for the state of Wyoming. That meant it had to be the county prosecutor on the other line. Max Alexandrov.
“There’s no trial without them. You have half an hour to meet me at our place.” Their place? Holy smokes. Barb was dating Max. Max was the father of her baby. “Come alone. If you make me happy, you’ll get them back, and your career will be made. If you don’t, you won’t. It’s that simple.”
Barb was lying, of course. Susanne knew that from the second Barb realized Perry could identify her, the Flints were history. A thought teased her laboring brain. Susanne had been so focused on what Barb was doing, that she hadn’t stopped to think about the why. As in why had Barb shot Jeannie Renkin? Was it for Max, because he wanted the trial in Buffalo for the sake o
f his career?
Barb listened for a moment, then turned back to the truck and leaned her head around the door. “My friend wants to hear you each say something.”
“Who is it?” Susanne said.
“Thank you, Susanne. Now you, Trish.”
Trish muttered. “Whatever.”
She went back to the phone. “Did you hear them?” After a pause, she said, “No more excuses.” Then, “I love you.”
If that was love, Barb had a funny way of showing it. It sounded a lot more like extortion to Susanne.
Chapter Forty: Dismiss
Buffalo, Wyoming
Tuesday, March 15, 1977, 5:30 p.m.
Patrick
“Susanne?” Patrick shouted into the receiver. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
The heavy breathing in his ear didn’t sound like his wife. It sounded masculine. Anxious. A little like a man in the early stages of congestive heart failure. Whoever it was, a cat had his tongue.
“Who is this?”
The voice was a rasp. “You wanted to talk to me about keeping your wife and daughter out of court. Let’s talk.”
“Judge Renkin?”
“Yes.”
Patrick’s brain felt like he’d just stuck his finger in an electrical outlet. “I don’t follow you.”
“Come to my place. We can talk there.”
The blood. The vomit. The truck parked at home but his family gone. “I can’t. Someone bled all over the place at our house, and there’s no one here. I need to run to the hospital to check on my family.”
Patrick heard an odd sound on the other end of the line. Like a groan.
Then the judge said, “Damn her.”
“Excuse me?” Patrick’s temper flamed. He needed off the phone. He didn’t need to listen to Judge Renkin badmouth his wife. “I have to go.”
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