by Maggie Pill
Because I was checking my phone to see if Gabe had arrived at Retta’s, I didn’t see Rory’s approach. “What are you out here in the cold for?” he chided when I admitted I was waiting for him. Mentioning the mistake-riddled bulletin board seemed wrong. He touched my arm briefly. “I’ll tell Janet it’s okay for you to wait in my office anytime. Don’t be shy about doing it.”
Once we were inside, I recounted the day’s events, ending with why we’d taken Darrow to Retta’s. “He’s a basket case right now,” I concluded. “He says he needs time, but I know that isn’t possible.”
Rory scratched his chin. “Does Wade know you have Darrow?”
When I shook my head, he picked up the phone and punched a button. “Sheriff Idalski, please. It’s Chief Neuencamp.”
As we waited, Rory didn’t meet my eyes. My heart thumped in my chest as my emotions flickered between anger and dread. Retta had been correct: Rory was a cop first, and our friendship fell somewhere farther down his list of important things. With no discussion whatsoever, he was going to turn my client in.
“Wade? Rory Neuencamp.” He glanced at me. “I have good and bad news. The good part is that Barbara Evans and her sisters have Winston Darrow in custody.” Another glance at me. I stared back impassively as he went on. “The bad part is that someone at your office might be helping the opposing team.”
He explained the situation, stressing the treatment Darrow had received from his abductors. “He says someone in your department is keeping them informed.”
The sheriff’s voice rose as he asked questions, and I bit my lower lip as they discussed what should be done. Idalski spoke for a long time, and though I couldn’t hear the words, his stress came through. Finally Rory looked directly at me, and he said, “I know you’ll get to the bottom of this, Wade, but until you do, I have a suggestion. Only a few people know where Darrow is right now. How about if we leave it that way?”
The sheriff asked a question, and Rory replied, “I’m saying I’ll take responsibility for him while you figure things out.” He paused. “How about if I put him in the custody of a deputy for tonight and hand him over to the state boys in the morning? That’ll give you time to get your problem under control before they descend on you.”
Rory was giving Idalski a chance to clean up his own house before other law enforcement agencies got involved. No doubt the sheriff would appreciate that.
“I will,” Rory was saying. “If I learn anything new, I’ll contact you first.”
I imagined Idalski’s dilemma. He’d be reluctant to let a possible murderer remain on the loose. He’d be embarrassed at the prospect of betrayal of one of his own. He seemed to trust Rory, though. I doubted I’d have gotten the same response if I’d called to suggest he had a crooked cop in his department.
“Good. You can tell your people Darrow’s in custody,” Rory told Idalski in closing. “That’ll turn the heat down.”
When he set the phone down, Rory’s grin revealed satisfaction and something more. “What?” I asked.
“I’m going to need a new deputy to handle this, one nobody knows about.”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “Me?”
“Yup.” Reaching into his desk, he took out a badge and tossed it to me with a playful grin. I caught it deftly, and thirty seconds later I was a sworn deputy of the county, as Rory himself was. It’s common practice, assuring that a city policeman’s jurisdiction doesn’t end at the city limits. My term would last only as long as the present situation did, but it would allow me to keep Darrow away from the men who wanted him dead.
Pleased as I was to have arranged our client’s safety, I also anticipated having time to pick his shallow little brain. Once Darrow was in custody, Glass would no doubt advise him to say nothing. This way we might learn more about the wife Darrow apparently hadn’t known well.
My face warmed with embarrassment. While Rory had neatly solved several large problems, I’d jumped to the conclusion he didn’t trust me. He’d proved the opposite.
He didn’t seem to begrudge me my suspicions. “Now let’s discuss where your prisoner might spend the night.”
“Retta’s house is out of town,” I said, “and we made sure nobody followed us there.”
“That’s okay temporarily,” he replied, “but not long-term. If these guys have a source at the sheriff’s office, they’ll soon find out her name.”
That was an unsettling thought. “So what do we do?”
He checked the time. “Can Faye handle the office tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“All right. I know a spot where both he and Retta will be safe.” He explained what he had in mind, and though the location he suggested didn’t appear on my Bucket List of places I wanted to visit, it was about as safe as Darrow could get. And right now, safe was better than sorry.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Faye
Retrieving Retta’s car took longer than expected. As Gabe and I traveled west, the dark sky dropped wet, dense snow on us. The roads were treacherous. Half-frozen ruts made by previous drivers pulled Gabe’s worn tires first one way then the other. He handled it well, keeping his attention on the road and both hands on the wheel as the slush hummed wetly beneath us.
When we reached the diner, a plow truck rattled back and forth in an attempt to clear the parking lot. The body was half rust, and its gears ground with each change, but in Michigan anybody with the engine power and a snow blade can make extra money removing snow in winter.
We got out and went to Retta’s Acadia, which was coated with an inch of heavy snow. As I started the engine, Gabe cleared the windows, headlights, and taillights. The plow-truck driver waited politely for us, and I glanced at him apologetically. He was on the phone, probably setting up his next job. That made me feel less guilty about holding him up.
Through the diner’s window, I noticed a man watching us as a waitress poured coffee for him. When he picked up the cup, it almost disappeared in his sizeable paw. After a sip he returned to looking out at Gabe and me. Barb’s description of the guy who’d been watching her came to mind: big man, short hair, nice suit.
“Gabe, did you tell anyone we were coming here?”
He paused with the snow brush in mid-air. “Some guy at the gas station asked how the roads were. I mentioned we were coming this way. He said he was, too. I told him he’d be fine as long as he took it slow.”
A third ape had joined the Hulk and Monster Brows. Where were these guys coming from?
I surveyed the parking lot. Besides Retta’s SUV, Gabe’s truck, and the plow vehicle, there was a sedan with a dozen faded stuffed animals lined up in the back window, a rusty conversion van, and a gray, late-model Audi. “Gabe, park in front of that car and just sit for a while.”
“What for?”
“Just do it, okay?” I gave him the rest of the money Barb had promised. “If the driver tries to leave, pretend your truck quit and you can’t get it started.”
Peering at the diner window, he said, “That’s the guy from the gas station. What if he asks where you went?”
“Tell him I hired you to drive me over, but you have no idea where I’m going now.”
Getting into Retta’s car, I quickly acquainted myself with the dashboard (Why isn’t there a law that says they all have to be set up the same way?) and shifted into drive. The wheels spun briefly then caught, and I was on my way. Gabe did as ordered, backing his truck into a position where it blocked the gray car in. I watched in the rear-view mirror as we left the parking lot, anxious to see if the guy left the diner. He didn’t. Big sigh of relief.
Not far down the road I came up behind a snowplow. I followed impatiently, not daring to pass but eager to get as far from the diner as possible. The huge blade on the plow’s front threw wet snow to the side in a slushy rooster tail, at one point sending a mailbox spinning into the ditch. The owner would be irritated, but the other choice, a clogged road, was worse.
The plow eventually
turned down a side road, but when I reached the main highway, there was plenty of traffic to slow me down. Everyone drove cautiously, and we edged along at the pace of a funeral procession. I checked the rear view mirror. None of the cars behind me was gray.
After a mile or so, a dark car three back from me started nosing into the other lane then disappearing again, anxious to pass a small red car but wary of crossing the slushy middle of the road. If I could have given him the benefit of years of winter driving experience, I’d have counseled staying in his own lane. Passing in winter is often iffy; passing in half-frozen slush is downright dumb.
Finally the driver made his move. I heard the beep of a horn as the red car’s driver braked to let the dark car by. When the impatient driver pulled back into his lane, the slush caught his tires, sending the car sideways. The vehicle slewed wildly for several very long seconds, clipping the front of the red car lightly before hurtling into the snowy ditch, back end first. Though the car stayed upright, its airbags deployed, filling the window and obscuring the driver’s face.
I braked, as did the car behind me, but there wasn’t much either of us could do. Two cars farther back pulled over to help, turning on their flashers. With a final glance at the half-buried sedan I continued onward, glad the idiot driver hadn’t hurt anyone. I was relieved he hadn’t been passing me when he lost control, because I couldn’t imagine telling Retta that I’d dinged up her beloved vehicle.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Retta
Winston was still sound asleep when I heard the garage door rumble open and looked out to see Faye pulling in. She closed the door behind her, but I heard the honk of a horn and, looking out front, saw Barbara’s Escape pull into the driveway. I opened the garage door again, and she parked next to my car.
Already telling each other their news, my sisters entered and shed their winter wear. When I shushed them, pointing to Winston, Barbara rolled her eyes at Faye the way she does when she thinks I don’t see it. I started for the kitchen, but the sound of yet another vehicle sent me back to the window. Rory Neuencamp had parked his truck at one side of the drive. I had a moment of irritation. Not only did Barbara insist on consulting her boyfriend, she’d brought him along, too.
Pasting a smile on my face, I went to the front door to let him in. Pulling off his gloves, he said, “Hello, Retta.”
There’d been a time when Rory first arrived that I thought he and I might hit it off, but I soon figured out he wasn’t my type. Reserved, even a little cold. Like Barbara. It was no wonder they enjoyed each other’s company.
“Come in, Chief.”
He politely toed off his shoes and left them by the door. “Barb told me what’s going on. I think I can help.”
I led the way to the kitchen, where Barbara had pulled the spare chair up to the table and Faye was setting out plates for cake. When we were all seated with cake and tea or coffee, Barbara Ann said, “Rory deputized me.” She added a half-teaspoon of sugar to her cup. “Darrow is ours until tomorrow, when the state police will take custody.”
“We’ll stay here?” I asked.
“Rory thinks we should snowmobile to his cabin.”
“Me?” Faye’s voice was a squeak.
“No sleds in your future,” Barbara said with a tiny smile. “Your job is manning the office.”
“Good,” she replied. “If I remember right, the last snow vehicle I rode was pulled by a wooly mammoth.”
I turned to Rory. “Where’s this cabin of yours?”
“On the Paling River. It needs work, but I tightened up the seams and put in a generator, so it’s habitable.”
“It’s a hunting camp?”
He chuckled. “So far I haven’t found time to hunt. It’s just a place to get away.”
“Nobody knows about it?”
“Nobody who’ll guess you’d be there.” Leaning back in his chair, he glanced at Winston, who’d begun to stir. “Barb says he needs time in a safe place.” He turned his mug back and forth on the tabletop, making a grinding sound. “There’s more here than a marital quarrel.”
It was nice that Rory accepted what we’d told him—well, what Barbara Ann had. “Thank you, Rory. We don’t know who these men are, how many there are, or what their intentions are, except that they aren’t honorable.
“Barb says you have snowmobiles?”
“Two of them.”
“And enough gear to outfit all of us,” Barbara put in.
“Great,” Rory said. “Show me where the machines are kept, and I’ll check them out.”
I took keys from a hook by the back door. “Pole barn’s out back. Fuel’s in the red can.”
After he left I said, “You’re going along, Barbara? You aren’t exactly Ms. Outdoors.”
She shrugged. “Rory promised the sheriff we’d keep Darrow in custody. That means he doesn’t leave my sight.”
“Okay.” Going to a double-wide closet in the hallway, I began pulling out snowsuits, boots, helmets, and accessories. As I worked I heard an engine start, and soon a machine roared up to my back door and then idled down to a low growl. A few seconds later another engine started, roared, and came toward the house, where it, too, idled down.
By the time Rory rejoined us, I had four piles of clothing. “Nice machines,” he commented.
“My daughter and family were home for Christmas,” I said. “I had them tuned up so we could ride together.”
“You’re an experienced rider. Who else?” Rory asked.
“Not so much,” Barbara said. She probably tried snowmobiling once—in the Kennedy era.
Winston stumbled into the room, rubbing his head like a sleepy six-year-old, and frowned at the gear as if he’d come upon alien relics. I introduced Rory then asked, “Ever ride a snowmobile, Winston?”
He looked blank, and Rory and Barbara exchanged knowing glances. “You take him,” Barbara said. “I’ll ride with the chief.”
I handed her a navy blue, one-piece snowsuit. “This is
Tony’s from high school. Rory and Winston need the bigger ones, so it’s the closest I’ve got to your size.”
Barbara took the suit and held it against her body. It looked long, but her hips would take up some of the slack. “It’ll be fine.” Her nose wrinkled at the slightly gassy smell the fabric tends to retain. She was probably reluctant to complain with Rory there, but her mouth turned down in silent disapproval as she started getting ready.
“We’re going to ride snowmobiles to somewhere out in the woods?” Winston’s voice revealed disbelief.
“All you have to do is ride along,” Rory assured him.
“Can’t we borrow somebody’s pickup?”
“That’s the point,” Faye said patiently. “You’ll be safe out there, because it’s only accessible by snowmobile.”
He frowned. “But it’s getting dark. And it’s cold, too.”
“You’ll enjoy it,” I said, hoping to perk him up. “It’s pretty out on the trails.”
“Pretty noisy!” Barb muttered, but I don’t think anyone heard except me.
Taking the two-piece suit I offered, Rory tossed his coat aside, stepped into the bibbed pants, and topped them with the short, matching jacket. The nylon fabric whistled as he dressed. “Riding double will be tough in this wet snow, and it’s at least ten miles from here. The trip’s going to take a while.”
Winston looked on helplessly until Faye picked up the snow pants I’d set out for him and held them out. He just stared, so I took them from her and pressed them onto his chest. “Put them on.” When he’d done it, I held the jacket for him then fastened the zipper. Leading him to a bench near the door, Faye helped him put on the snowmobile boots, tying them for him as if he were a backward kindergartner.
“We won’t be able to use our phone out there,” Rory said, “too many trees. I’ve gotten texts, though, so we can communicate that way.”
“Good. Text to let me know you made it.” The waver in Faye’s voice revealed she wasn’t t
hrilled about being separated from the rest of us.
“We will.” I swept a stray hair off her shoulder.
“And when I figure out what’s happening tomorrow,” Rory said, “who should I call?”
“Faye,” Barbara replied. “She can relay the message.”
“Okay.” Rory turned to me. “Do you have a couple of sleeping bags, Retta?”
“Sure,” I answered. “I’ll get them.”
As I burrowed in a different closet, I heard Rory closing the zippers that ran down his pant legs and snapping the bottoms around his boots. His movements were confident and efficient, and I couldn’t help comparing him to Winston, who looked on vacantly as Faye helped him with his gloves. I reminded myself that Winston had been through all kinds of trauma today and Rory had not, but Winston still suffered in the comparison.
Returning I asked, “Faye, can you put these in a couple of trash bags to keep them dry?” She went to the kitchen, and I turned to help Barbara with the zippers and snaps on her suit. She let me, though her expression said she’d rather I didn’t.
“There.” I checked everyone over. “Are we ready?”
To my own suit I added a tight-fitting nylon hood to protect my neck and most of my face from the cold. Pushing the bottom edge under the suit’s collar, I adjusted the face hole so it covered my chin and forehead. After snapping the suit snugly at my neck, I handed helmets to Win, Barb, and Rory and then put on my own and tightened the chin-strap. Last I pulled on my mitts, which have clever, fold-back tops. I can uncover my fingers when I need full dexterity, but otherwise they stay warm.
“Styx!” I called. “Come here, baby!” He followed me into the garage, where I set his food and water dishes at the back wall. The doggie door would allow him into the back yard when he had to potty, and he’d sleep on a pile of old blankets in one corner. Before I closed the visor of my helmet, I turned to Faye. “Can you come out and feed Styx in the morning?”
“Sure. Just don’t be gone too long.”
I gave her an awkward hug, since my outfit made it impossible to get close. “We’ll be fine, Faye.” In her ear I said, “Barbara will hate it, but it’ll do her good to try something different.”