She pulled the door toward her and cringed when it gave a little screek. She stopped and listened. Nothing. Just some voices from upstairs. Sounded like Sadie arguing with somebody. Why wasn’t she surprised? She pulled the door another inch closer, listened, pulled. When it was open far enough to squeeze through, she tiptoed to the back door and realized with relief that she could at least wear her boots. She slipped them on then put her hand on the door handle, and turned it slowly. It clicked softly but opened without any tell-tale noises. Thank you, Hugh or Bristol or whoever keeps these hinges in good shape.
The wind would generate a breeze throughout the kitchen and right on up the stairs, so she had to get the door opened, scoot out, and shut it behind her as quickly as she could. The wind buffeted her when she cracked the door and instinct told her to slam it shut and stay inside where it was warm. But staying inside meant doing nothing, and doing nothing meant that Melanie and the other ladies would very likely be hurt. If not right away, then eventually. These guys weren’t fooling around. The women hadn’t blown up the Hummer, but the fact remained that it lay in several smoldering heaps up and down Rivermanse Lane. Those men would be in no mood to show any compassion—old ladies or not.
Faster than she’d done anything in years, Emma was on the other side of that door, shivering coatless in the icy blasts and being peppered with snow. She forced herself to close the door as quietly as possible. She could only hope they wouldn’t notice the breeze swooping through the house. The second the knob latched into place, she turned and scrambled down the stairs, not sure whether she’d actually made contact with any of them. A split-second later she was on the ground, up to her kneecaps in a snowdrift, and plunging forward.
She’d realized while still in the pantry that she’d need to go around the east side of the house if she wanted to avoid detection by anyone still outside. While she couldn’t be sure she’d slip by unnoticed, she was certain that if she went the other way—toward Rivermanse Lane and across it to the church on the other side—she’d alert someone to her presence. If there was anyone left out here, that is. That was one advantage to having more than one man holding Melanie and the others hostage: fewer bad guys to worry about out here. It was slow going slogging her way through deep drifts—rather like running through mud. She hadn’t been outdoors for more than a minute and she was nearly frozen stiff. Plodding through snow up to her knees was a new and definitely numbing experience. Don’t give up, Emma. And God, if You do exist, please show Yourself now. I could use a little help here.
Was that a prayer? Why, after all these years, would she put her faith in Someone Who hadn’t bothered with her when she really needed Him? Why would she think it would be any different this time? After all, what could possibly be wrong with this scenario—an eighty-three-year-old woman wandering around in the dark in a blizzard with no coat or hat, armed men holding her friends hostage, car parts exploding into the night sky and now lying in smoldering heaps all around her? Didn’t that happen to just about everyone at some time during their lives? Why should He come to her aid now after leaving her to her own devices after the untimely deaths of her mother and sister and abandonment by her father? Why indeed?
She reached the corner of the house and turned south. She’d hoped that the wind would be blowing in a different direction when she rounded the corner, but no such luck. In truth, it didn’t seem to be coming from any particular direction, intent instead on surrounding her in its cold fury, enveloping her in frigid blasts that seemed to sail straight through her delicate body. The snow blasted against her exposed skin, leaving a numb pain in its wake before it shifted to attack from a different angle. She shivered uncontrollably. How long could she do this? She lowered her head and bent forward as far as she dared without pitching headfirst into the snow, then alternated between hugging herself and cupping her eyes with her hands to keep the snow out as she put one foot in front of the other.
Her plan was to cut across the front of the inn, skirt the Hummer wreckage, and make her way to the church. Hopefully, any men still outside were hanging around the smoldering car, but for what purpose, she had no idea. Her best prospect was that they were all inside the inn with the women. Nice thought, Emma. She knew if she could make it to the church, the men from the village would take it from there. Right now, though, just getting to the front of the house was a daunting task, and she wouldn’t have bet two cents that she’d make it without collapsing into the snow and dying on the spot.
Just when she thought she couldn’t move another step, she reached the front corner of the house. Her arms were burning now, freeze-died by the relentless onslaught of snow and wind. The feeling in her ears was gone, and she dreaded the pain of thawing out, if indeed she made it far enough to even warrant it. She risked a glance upward, exposing her face and eyes to the cold, and her heart dropped like a brick to the pit of her stomach. Just ahead of her were men, two of them, talking to one another. One looked up—the one facing her direction—and then stared. He seemed to be as shocked to see her as she was to see him.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I thought I was going to be sick. I snapped the phone shut and said, “He’s got her, Bristol.”
“Who?”
“Him. Them. I don’t know who all, but those men have Mel.”
Bristol closed his eyes and shook his head. He turned toward the house and pounded his fist on the clapboard siding. “I’m so sorry, man. We’ll get her out of there, I promise. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get Mel and those ladies outta his hands.”
I gripped his shoulder. “I know. I know. And Mel’s smart. She isn’t going to do anything to provoke them. I just hope the other women don’t get some wild scheme in their heads.” My heart battered my chest; I could almost feel my ribs cracking as it tried to escape, to get out, to run, to do something—anything.
Bristol must have read my thoughts. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back down to the ground. “Me too. I think they’ve just about tapped out their brilliant ideas. For a while, at least. Any idea how many of them are in there with the women?”
“No. But I can’t imagine just one guy herding up all those women and keeping an eye on them—even with a gun.” I grinned at the thought of it. “The bickering alone would drive him nuts.”
Bristol chuckled. “You’ve got that right. So there’s a chance all of them are in there. Especially since I wounded one of them. Any trace of blood?”
I looked around on the ground. No trace, but then the wind was still blowing eighty miles an hour, and there could have been a whole puddle of it sitting there and after five or ten minutes, all trace of it would be obliterated. “Not here, but they had to have gotten in through the front door. Let’s get to the front of the house and take a look.”
We crept, keeping our heads below the window, to the front corner of the house. Bristol took the lead and slowly moved his head forward. He stepped out cautiously, staying close to the house, and I followed. He pulled out a small flashlight and pointed it in front of him. The beam didn’t carry far, but it was clear that someone had been there recently. The tracks were quickly drifting over, but there were enough of them to see that at least two, maybe all three men, had trampled the snow in this part of the yard and up the steps to the porch.
I couldn’t see any blood, couldn’t see much of anything for that matter, but I pointed to a set of tracks and said, “Hey, this looks like someone was being dragged, doesn’t it? Maybe that’s our wounded guy. You think the other two dragged him here?”
Bristol sat on his haunches and sifted through the snow, presumably looking for blood. “Hope so. Looks that way, at least. If they’re all inside your house, at least we know where everyone is.” He stood, snapped off the flashlight, and motioned for me to follow him. We walked back to the front porch and climbed the steps. Here the tracks were clearer, a result of the shelter provided by the boxwood hedge. The lock on the front door was blown to bits. Teed me off; that lock was original to
the house. I looked at Bristol, and he shook his head. “Sorry, Pastor. I’ll make sure I.B. replaces that—with one just as old. Fact is, I’ll be glad to fashion one from his hide, if you’d like.”
He hit the switch on the flashlight and moved it across the snow on the porch. He bent down to look closer, then turned to me and said, “We’ve got some blood. Looks like they brought him here all right.” He stood up and snapped the light off again. “What’s the plan?”
Good question. I didn’t have the vaguest idea how to get to Melanie and the ladies. All I knew was that I wanted to. Had to. Melanie was certainly able to take care of herself under normal circumstances, but these were far from normal. She’d also be worried about the other women, and I had no control over what those ladies would try. They’d already sneaked out of the house with a trussed-up captive. Who knew what foolishness they might attempt with their backs to the wall? Please, Lord, You’ve been with us the whole way. Be with us as Bristol and I get them out of there safely. Give the women in there the courage and wisdom and faith and the knowledge that You’re with them always. In Your precious Son’s Name, I pray. Amen.
I looked up. “Well, we’ve got two options, Bristol. We can either both go in this door or we can split up—one of us goes in here, the other in the back door. Either way, we’re taking a chance that they’ve got one or both doors guarded. Any thoughts?”
Bristol said nothing for a few seconds and just stared off into the snow that scrubbed our faces and whipped the snow into swirling twisters that spun around the yard like giant tops. He looked beyond me to the side of the house we’d come from just a couple of minutes before. His eyes opened wide, and his mouth dropped open. I cringed at the thought of taking a bullet in the back and whirled around to face whatever it was that startled him.
I was prepared to find a gun pointed at me. Instead I saw an old woman trudging toward us, head down, arms wrapped around her body to protect herself from the icy blasts. She wore no coat, no scarf, no gloves. She looked up as she rounded the corner and then dropped to her knees.
We were at her side inside a second. Bristol had his coat off and wrapped around her frail shoulders before I could even get my own unzipped. I tore the stocking cap from my head and crammed it down over her wispy white hair.
What on earth was Emma River doing wandering around in a blizzard?
Chapter Thirty-Four
I helped Bristol lift Emma from the snow and onto her feet, although she was so light he could easily have done it himself. “Emma, what are you doing out here?” I rubbed her cheeks and pulled the stocking cap down lower around her face. The look on her face was one of pure relief.
She had trouble speaking—her face and lips were no doubt frozen numb. “Mel. The others.” She rubbed her lips and tried again. “A man with a gun.”
“We know, Emma,” I said. “We know. How did you get out?”
“Pantry.”
Bristol scooped her up in his arms and said, “Let’s get her to the church. She needs to warm up.”
But Emma shook her head violently and pointed to the house. “No! You have to help them. They’re upstairs. Don’t know how many men, but at least one of them has a gun. Go! I’ll be okay.”
“No you won’t, Emma,” Bristol said. “You’d freeze to death before we could get back out here, and we’re sure as heck not taking you back in there. Let’s go.”
I held up my hand and said, “Wait. You go on with Emma. I’ll try to get inside the house, and you can join me when you have Emma in the church.”
“How about I stay and you take her to the church? That makes more sense. I’m the former detective, you know. Besides, I’ve got the gun. Here.” He passed Emma to me. I was right; she was a featherweight. “Get back here with some men as soon as you can, but try not to make any noise.”
I nodded and turned to leave, but Emma pushed against me and said, “Wait. Bristol, there’s another way.” She turned back to me and started to wiggle. “Put me down, Hugh. I have to tell you something. It’s important.”
“You can tell us from right where you are, Emma. Make it quick, though. Time’s a wastin’, and we’re all freezing to death.”
“There’s a passage.”
“Passage? As in secret passage?”
She nodded. “Yes. When I was a little girl, my sister and I used to play in it—you know, when we wanted to get away from our aunt and uncle. Could be gone by now for all I know. Haven’t been down there in years. But if it’s still there, and if we can get to it, it’ll get you into the house without them knowing.”
“We?”
“Yes, we. I didn’t freeze-dry myself just to have someone else have all the fun.”
My mouth dropped open. “Are you insane?”
“Could be, pastor man, but we can figure that out later.”
I looked at Bristol who was watching Emma as if she’d materialized from another dimension and was offering world peace and an end to hunger. “He’s right, Emma. You are nuts.” He looked to the church and back to the inn. “Okay, but we still have to get some men over here. Hugh, you take Crazy Lady with you to the church, warm her up, and I’ll hold down the fort here. You know, make sure they don’t leave the house with the women.” I heard his unspoken words, Or start shooting. “Get back here as fast as you can, though.”
“Bristol,” Emma said, “you can’t stay here without your coat. Take it back—I’ll be fine with Hugh here until I get to the church.”
Bristol started to protest.
“Wait a second, you two,” I said as I set Emma down and unzipped my coat. “Bristol, you take this. I’ll get another one at the church. Sorry I didn’t think of it before this. Where’s my head tonight?”
“Upstairs in that house,” Bristol said, pointing upstairs.
I nodded and tried to swallow a lump the size of a soccer ball in my throat. “Yeah, right. Here you go.”
“Thanks, Hugh.” He slipped it on. “And Emma …” She cocked her head at him. “Thanks for what you did.”
She nodded.
“Watch your back. I’ll be back with the reinforcements.” I picked Emma up again and headed to the west. I couldn’t see the church through the swirling snow, but unless God had picked it up and moved it in the past hour, it was dead ahead.
Emma punched me in the shoulder. “We’ll be back,” she said. “We.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ten minutes later—ten of the longest, coldest, windiest minutes of my life—Emma and I stumbled into the church. I moved past the men in the foyer—still on guard, still arguing—stepped into the sanctuary, and set her down. She sank into the nearest pew and sat there shivering.
“Blankets, guys? Can we get some blankets over here? We need to warm this lady up.” I signaled Leo to join me. Within seconds, Emma was wrapped in a variety of crocheted afghans, compliments of decades of crafty churchwomen. Dewey brought both of us a cup of coffee, and Pastor Parry sat next to Emma, probably to ask her what she was doing there looking like an elderly Popsicle.
Leo joined me and started up with his relentless chattering. “Hugh.”
“Leo,” I said. “Things going okay over here?” He nodded, removed his pipe, and blew a squiggle toward the ceiling. I’d never been happier to see smoke rings. “No more holes shot in the roof? Nobody’s knocked anyone out with a shovel or maybe staged a coup?”
He put his pipe back in his mouth as if to stem the flow of words eager to spew from his mouth. “Nope.”
“Good, ’cause we have a situation. As you know, the Hummer was blown to smithereens. Any ideas on who did that?”
Out came the pipe. He pointed toward the brightest spot in the room—a head of orange hair bobbing up and down like one of those balls rubber-banded to a paddle.
“Sherman? Geez, how’d he do that?” I hollered to Sherman and waved him over. A second later, he was beside me, all grins. “Hey, Hugh, how’s it going?” He bounced on the balls of his feet, his head bobbing up and down l
ike someone who perpetually agrees with whatever you’re saying. I was getting nauseous just watching him.
“How on earth did you blow up that Hummer?”
He grinned that loopy grin of us. “Dynamite.”
Oh right, dynamite. Well, that explains that. “Where on earth did you find dynamite?”
“Had it with me in the truck. Always carry it. Me and Dad blow up stumps with it, and I thought to myself, ‘Sherman, what’s a good way to get those ghost guys’ goats?’” His eyes lit up. “Hey, try saying that three times real fast. Ghost guys’ goats. Ghost guy ghosts. Goat’s guy ghosts. See? Can’t do it!”
I just stared at him. He took the hint and got down to business. “Anyways, I just snuck out there, lit a stick of it, and tossed it under the truck. ’Course I hightailed it outta there soon as I could ’fore she blew. And man, did she blow! Did you see it? Like to lit up the whole state. I hid in the trees for a few minutes and jest watched two of ’em screamin’ and hollerin’ at each other—like one of them was to blame for their own car getting blown to kingdom come.” He slapped his knee. “Man, I’d give just about anything for my dad to have seen that. Yep.” He stared off into space, all dreamy-eyed, as if having his dad witness him destroying a $70,000 vehicle, jeopardizing property and people, and maybe getting himself blown up or shot in the process was the best darn thing he could imagine. It doesn’t take much to please some folks.
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