She put down her own book and picked mine up, then flipped it open. Her face lit up—or, more precisely, seemed slightly less like a death mask.
“Hey, it’s autographed. This is better than Tony Robbins.”
David backed away. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone.” For a second, he caught my eye and gave me a look I couldn’t define. Halfway between warning and panic, maybe.
The door clicked shut as I sat across from Angel.
“So you’re an editor,” she said. “That as boring as it sounds?”
“Umm . . . not today.”
She smirked. Obviously she could hear my heart pounding, and knew exactly why.
Setting the Willow book next to the phone, she pushed her chair back from the desk. “I’m more of a numbers person myself. One who likes to get to the point.”
My heart was hammering in my ears now. “I’m here on behalf of a friend. Stuart Lytle.”
She squinted as if accessing a database in her head.
“Two hundred thousand,” she said.
I nodded.
She picked up a black onyx paperweight. I thought she was going to pitch it at me.
“If you’re here to buy time, it’s too late. This is a business. I can’t afford to carry this guy’s debt forever.”
I put the briefcase on my lap and snapped it open. “No need to do that. It wasn’t easy, but we managed to raise the money.”
She set down the paperweight. “You’re lying.”
I lifted the case and put it on the desk. “Count it if you like.”
She raised an eyebrow and touched one of the bills, then picked up the phone. “Send Ernie in here.”
I envisioned a hulking enforcer in a black suit with a bulge under his jacket where a holster might be. But a few moments later a sixtyish, balding man in gray slacks with a white shirt and suspenders stepped in, rubbing his wire-framed glasses with a handkerchief.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Take a look at this. Let me know in five minutes whether it comes to 200K and if it’s legit.”
After putting his glasses back on, he took the briefcase and left without a word.
Turning back to me, she folded her hands on the desk. The death mask was back.
“Ernie doesn’t miss a trick.”
“No trick,” I said. But I couldn’t help swallowing, and it felt like a certain paperweight was stuck in my throat.
We stared at each other, cobra and mongoose.
I wasn’t the cobra.
“Suppose you think I’m some kind of monster,” Angel said.
“I’ve . . . heard some interesting rumors.”
She shrugged. “Some people can’t stand a strong woman. Times have changed, but not enough. You’re looking up at a glass ceiling where you work, right?”
I started to say something about how I don’t yank out the fingernails of authors who don’t meet their deadlines, but thought better of it.
The door opened. Ernie was back.
He set the briefcase on the desk. “It’s all here. But it’s not all real.”
Angel sprang to her feet, looking as if someone had set her hair on fire. When she opened her mouth, the blast of profanity nearly ignited mine.
The door opened slowly. David stuck his head in.
“Everything going all right?”
I got up and backed away.
“She’s a scam artist, and not a very good one,” Angel said.
David’s eyes widened. “That’s news to me. I swear.”
Avoiding my eyes, he turned and left, taking his phone from his pocket.
I grabbed the briefcase and got ready to run.
Angel picked up the paperweight. “Tell Nick to come in here.”
Ernie hurried out.
Drawing back her arm, she proceeded to fling the onyx at me. I ducked and the ball hit the wall, shattering the glass on a photo of Max.
She did the same with Willow’s book, but it landed on the couch.
Reaching into the top drawer of her desk, she slid out a gun and aimed it at me.
“I’ve got all the self-help I need right here,” she said.
I hurled the briefcase at her and ran out.
An ear-splitting kraaaak sounded behind me. Angel was good, but it was a miss.
Suddenly, I ran into something the size of a refrigerator but not quite as steely. I smelled cologne and gunpowder.
“Ow!” it said. “Son of a—”
I looked up into the face of a beefy thug in a black suit with a bulge under his jacket where a holster might be. Must be Nick, I thought. His oversized hands clamped down on my shoulders, but I wriggled out of his grasp before he could make our relationship permanent.
Off balance, I righted myself and barely kept from tripping as I descended the staircase.
As I got to the bottom the front door flew open and Gallagher rushed in, revolver held high. His eyes were wild.
David backed into a corner. I was beginning to wonder whose side he was on.
From behind me another shot was fired. Nick, I guessed.
Gallagher grunted, then swayed, then collapsed on an expensive-looking area rug.
No time to help him. Panting, I leapt over the body.
Another shot whizzed past me, blasting a Chinese urn to dust.
The night air hit me in the face like a load of wet laundry.
Spotting my car in the distance, I ran for it.
Chapter 27
I drove like a maniac, trying not to think about Gallagher lying on the reddening carpet.
The sudden BLAAAAAAA of an oncoming semi’s horn caught my attention. Squinting against its headlights, I swerved right and bounced on the shoulder like a jetliner minus its landing gear.
The truck kept barreling down that open road. I could imagine its driver calling in my license plate number.
Momentarily releasing my grip on the steering, I felt the car veer to the right. I’d shot the alignment.
I wasn’t looking forward to forcing the wheel leftward for the rest of the trip, but didn’t have much choice. We wouldn’t have time to drop in at a Firestone.
Reaching the motel, I pounded on the boys’ door. Stephen answered. “Hey, you’re alive. How’d it go?”
“Pack your bags.”
Stuart looked over Stephen’s shoulder. “Again?”
“Yeah, we seem to do this a lot,” Stephen added. “And then we argue about where to go next.”
I threw up my hands. “What part of ‘Pack your bags’ don’t you understand? For all I know, Nick could be right behind me.”
“Who’s Nick?”
“I’ll tell you in the car if he doesn’t kill us first.”
Mumbling, Stephen closed the door. I dashed to my room and scooped my possessions into a motel laundry bag.
We checked out and piled into the car. When I started to leave the parking lot, Stephen whistled.
“You’re out of alignment. What did you do, run over somebody?”
“No, but I wanted to.”
Back on the Interstate, I looked in the rearview mirror at Stuart.
“Angel’s got your money and the counterfeit bills.” He stared straight ahead.
All at once he reached toward the door. “This is where I get off,” he said, sounding almost hypnotized.
“What are you, crazy?” Stephen yelled, grabbing his shirt. When I hit the child safety lock to keep him from falling onto the pavement, the car careened to the left. A horn beeped behind me.
Shaking his head, Stephen let him go. “Dude, you’re psycho.”
“I know. But I’d rather end it now than wait for them to end it for me.”
“Can’t afford to lose my best children’s author,” I said.
He sank into his seat, silent.
Stephen looked out the window. “Now will you tell us what happened?”
I described it all, right down to the onyx paperweight. And, of course, what appeared to be Gallagher’s last stand.
“Is he dead?” Stephen asked.
“Not sure. If he isn’t already, he will be soon.”
“So will we if we don’t find a new place to hide,” Stuart said.
A half hour later we paused to gas up at a truck stop. “This time you pump and pay,” I told Stephen.
“I can’t afford it,” he whined.
“How much is your life worth?”
“Is that a threat?”
“Take it any way you like.”
I headed toward the convenience store, hoping to find a pay phone. There was one, but when I picked up the receiver it was clear that vaudeville and chivalry weren’t the only things that were dead.
I’d have to chance calling David on my cell. It connected, but there was no answer.
I wondered whether Angel had guessed he’d betrayed her.
Going inside, I perused the shelves for something to keep me awake and comfort my twisting stomach. I ended up with a canned latte and a package of donut holes.
Back in the car I waited while Stephen and Stuart foraged for sustenance. I looked toward the highway. Were Jeremy and the Nameless Girl after us? Did Nick ever leave the estate?
I took out my phone and called Marvin.
“Cranberry! Thank God you’re okay. Wasn’t sure I’d hear from you again.”
“Me neither.” I gave him the same rundown I’d given my colleagues.
There was a long silence. “Sounds like everything’s fallen apart. I never should have suggested—”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time. Even to me.”
The back doors opened. Stephen and Stuart climbed in. I could smell nachos.
I put Marvin on speaker. “Let’s take a vote. Where do you think we should go?”
“Is Pluto an option?” Stephen asked. He started crunching.
“I guess Florida’s out,” Marvin said. “Not that we wouldn’t love seeing you folks again.”
I opened my can of fancy coffee. “So’s Idaho.”
“And Manhattan,” Stuart said.
I unwrapped the donut holes. “What about going back to the Amish community?”
Marvin cleared his throat. “Honey, that sounds way too dangerous. Unless you can convince the Boudreauxs you’ve gone somewhere else.”
Stuart shook his head and unscrewed the cap from an orange soda. “It would be even better if we could convince the family we’re dead.”
“Are you serious?” Marvin asked.
“It worked for the Boudreauxs, didn’t it?”
I opened my mouth for rebuttal, but something white caught my eye.
A Cadillac was pulling up to a nearby pump. The Cadillac.
Jeremy got out, looking exhausted.
“We’ll talk later, Marvin,” I whispered and stuck the phone back in my pocket.
“Seatbelts,” I said. We took off, the car still trying to convince me to turn right.
I had to assume Jeremy had spotted us and would follow, but couldn’t be sure.
“It’ll be hard to fake our own deaths without actually dying,” I said. “Stephen, can you find somewhere we can slow down enough to jump from the car and let it go over a cliff or something? I can’t believe I actually said that, but it’s the best worst idea we’ve got.”
He ate the last of his nachos and started searching on his phone.
Stuart tapped the buckle on his seatbelt. “Should have let me jump when you had the chance. Seriously.”
I checked the mirror. “White Cadillac about a mile behind us.”
“Got it,” Stephen said. “Take this next road to the right.”
I let go of the steering wheel and let the car have its way.
“I’m trying not to think about what’s going to happen when the rental company hears their car has burned to a crisp,” I said.
Stephen snorted. “Probably will, given the full gas tank. But they won’t find any bodies—unless we screw up.”
“Maybe they’ll think we were thrown clear and survived. They’ll search for us. But they won’t know we’ve gone to Pennsylvania.”
Stephen looked at his phone. “Slow down.” He paused. “Are they still behind us?”
“Yeah, about half a mile.”
“Okay. There’s a sharp left turn and a ravine about 300 feet ahead. We’ll have to bail out before that.”
I swallowed and sent up a quick prayer. Were I Catholic, I’d be grabbing my dashboard St. Christopher.
Slowing to about 15 miles per hour, I unsnapped my seatbelt and hoisted my purse on my shoulder.
“We’ll have to make a run for it,” Stephen said. “Into those trees on the right.”
Glancing in the mirror, I saw Stuart clutching his suitcase, pale as parchment.
“I’ll count down from ten,” Stephen said. “Try to hit the ground running.”
We were nearing the cliff. I gripped the handle of my overnight bag.
“Three . . . two . . . one,” Stephen said.
We flung the doors open. “Now!”
I rolled through the weeds, hoping I’d stop before I ran out of ground. Stuart was on my side, and hit the dirt like a bale of hay.
I helped him up. Stephen was dusty but apparently unharmed.
The three of us fled toward the trees. Stuart was limping.
The car sailed over the edge, hit the rocks, and burst into flame.
Chapter 28
We huddled in the trees. I hugged myself, numb. Stephen and Stuart looked at each other.
“Cool explosion,” Stephen said.
Stuart just stared.
The swish of brush and pop of gravel made us shrink behind what looked like a pine. Slowly the Cadillac approached.
Jeremy and the Nameless Girl got out and peered over the edge.
He swore, no doubt feeling cheated of the chance to kill us himself. She craned her neck but apparently saw nothing.
He took out his phone.
“We’re at the edge of a cliff outside town. They’ve gone over. Car blew up. Can’t be any survivors.”
For a moment he listened, then stuck the phone back in his pocket.
“You look disappointed,” the girl said.
He swore. “Don’t worry about me. Just do your freakin’ job, okay?”
“Will you please chill? It’s like riding around with that guy in Pulp Fiction.”
“John Travolta?”
She nodded.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
They climbed in the car and took off.
Stuart sagged against the tree, eyes shut.
“Can you walk?” I asked.
“Not very far.”
Stephen scanned the ground. “Anybody seen my phone?”
“Maybe it fell out when you hit the ground.”
He wandered over to a clump of foliage and felt around with his shoe. “Wish I had a flashlight.”
I took out my own phone and called him. Jackson Browne’s “Running on Empty” burst out of the bushes.
“Ah,” he said, and started punching buttons. “Wonder if we can get an Uber out here.”
He frowned. “Only one bar.”
After three tries, he gave up. “Probably wouldn’t come out here anyway.”
“Up for a hike?” I asked, trying in vain to clean myself off with spit and a Kleenex.
Stuart groaned.
“Stay here if you like,” I said. “If we make it back to civilization, we’ll send someone back to get you.”
He grunted. “I don’t think the outdoors is as great as it’s cracked up to be.”
“Me neither.”
The three of us started walking back toward the highway, dragging what was left of our luggage behind us.
The lights of the truck stop glowed in the distance like a desert oasis, or at least the Desert Inn Casino in Las Vegas. I’d never been there, but I’d seen pictures. Lots of red neon.
I felt every inch of the mile-and-a-half trip back. Stuart’s limp was worse but he looked too ti
red to complain.
The closer we got, the more I smelled exhaust fumes and chicken nuggets. Stephen took a deep breath and smiled.
“Sometimes truckers pick up hitchhikers,” he said. “Or at least they used to on TV.”
We reached the edge of the concrete pad with the pumps. Stephen bent down and picked up a dirty white piece of cardboard next to a puddle on the ground. “Hold this,” he said.
I did, for a second, then leaned it against a telephone pole.
He went into the convenience center. Stuart was trying to hold his breath.
Finally, Stephen came out. “Got a black Sharpie. They’ve got everything in there.”
We watched as he wrote PENNSYLVANIA OR BUST on the poster board.
“Nobody says ‘or bust’ anymore,” I muttered.
For the next 45 minutes, we stood near the Interstate entrance and took turns holding up the sign.
No takers.
“Show a little more leg,” Stephen told me.
“This is me ignoring you.”
“I’ll try Uber again.”
“Or Lyft.”
He smiled. “I’ve got bars.”
Somebody must have answered. He described our location, then paused. Face falling, he hung up.
“They don’t come out here. Too far from a city, even the suburbs.”
“What now?” Stuart asked, holding his nose.
“Beats me.”
“There’s a motel next to the truck stop,” Stephen said.
I shuddered. “Looks like a haven for hookers and a breeding ground for bacteria.”
Just then a huge Mack semi rumbled to a halt in front of us, brakes hissing. A tough-looking woman with a red face, braids like hemp rope, and a bandana around her neck stuck her head out the window.
“Take you far as Oklahoma City,” she croaked.
I tossed the poster away. “Thank you.”
We clambered into the cab. It was cramped, but we managed to find just enough room to stow our luggage. I could hear a dog whining in the back.
“That’s Queenie,” the driver said. “Pay no attention to her. She’s a big baby. Just got fed.”
She stuck out her hand. “I’m Paula.”
Murder Most Unlucky: A Cozy Mystery (A Carolyn Neville Mystery Book 5) Page 15