The Fall Guy

by Barbara Fradkin

  That’s when it hit me. I did have something. My mother hoarded everything. You never knew when you might need it, she said. And if you didn’t, you could always sell it at a yard sale. When I was a baby, she had this little baby monitor. It had a transmitter that went in my room and a receiver in her room. It transmitted every sound I made—every cry and burp—down to the room where she was watching TV. Sometimes she carried it out to the barn or vegetable garden. They had a pretty good range, those little things. Once I’d used it to warn me when a cat was going into labor in the back barn a hundred yards from the house. If I planted one inside the Wilkins’ house and hid down the lane, I should be able to hear everything.

  I knew exactly where the baby monitor was. Aunt Penny thinks my place is just a jumble, but it’s not. It took me less than thirty seconds to reach the shed, get up on the stool and pull it down from the top shelf. I had to replace the batteries, but then it worked as well as the day the kittens were born. But I still had a problem. I needed a way to record what I heard.

  Mom to the rescue again. This time the old tape recorder she’d bought at a yard sale to tape Elvis off the radio. I’d never used it, but I remembered her using it well enough. Sitting on the porch with that dreamy look in her eyes. Swaying to the music from this black box. She’d turn the radio up really loud and then press the Record button on the tape machine. That should work. That cat’s yowling had sounded really loud on the baby monitor.

  I popped the lid and saw there was still some tape in the cassette. I dusted it off, put in new batteries and gave the thing a quick test. By some miracle, it still worked. Maybe for once, the old guy upstairs had decided to humor me.

  I stuffed all the electronics into a backpack and revved up the dirt bike. The sun was getting low in the sky, making it hard to see. But that meant the shadows would be deep and it would be easier to hide. I roared along the highway, through the village and past the church. The parking lot was empty now, the wake over. About half a mile up Wilkins’ road I killed the engine, hid the bike in the brush and walked up the gravel lane. I stuck to the edge so I could dive out of sight if I had to. I felt jumpy as a cat. My heart thumped, and sweat soaked my shirt under the pack.

  The parking area in front of the cottage was empty. No sign of the old Ford or Wilkins’ car. The cottage sat in the shadows, spooky and still. I crouched down and ran up to the front window. Nearly had a heart attack when the security lights flooded the scene. I dove for cover. Nothing happened. I crept back and pressed my ear to the wall. Nothing. No voices. No sounds of music or TV. I peered inside but everything was dark. I ducked and ran along to the next window. That room was dark too. I circled the house, checking out the kitchen, the bedrooms and all three bathrooms. No one was home.

  Perfect luck. I worked one of the windows until it slid open. I climbed inside, hauling my backpack with me. A loud beeping almost sent me through the roof. I was so spooked I’d forgotten the alarm! Lucky for me, Wilkins had given me the code so I could come and go. Hands shaking, I punched it in, and the clamor stopped.

  I stood in the living room, straining to hear. Nothing. In the stillness I pictured the dead woman standing in the middle of the room, giving me that little wave.

  The silence was eerie. I wondered where they all were. It didn’t seem like family outings were high on their list. I stuck the baby transmitter into a palm tree in the corner of the living room. Lori-Anne’s palm tree. She’d said she was hoping it would grow tall and make her feel like she was on a tropical island.

  I shivered, feeling her ghost again. As fast as I could, I crawled back out the window and hightailed it down the lane. I expected to see headlights or hear the purr of Wilkins’ car any moment. There was nothing. The crickets cheeped, the frogs croaked and, far off, a coyote yipped. I found my bike and crawled in beside it, careful to pull the bushes back in front of us.

  Then I dug the baby monitor and tape recorder out of the backpack and settled down to wait.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Darkness fell. I cursed my stupidity. I’d forgotten a jacket. I’d forgotten to eat supper or put on bug spray. Even in September, the little buggers were out in force. I curled my arms around myself and tried to be small while I waited.

  The sound of a broken muffler woke me with a start. I peered at my watch: 9:05. The Ford rumbled by me. It was too dark to see inside, but I sat up at attention. I listened as the car growled to a stop and car doors slammed. Distant voices drifted toward me. One girl, one boy. Loud and angry. Good. I pressed the Record button and waited to see if my contraption would work.

  For a minute, nothing. Then vague sounds crackled through the receiver. A thud, the clink of bottles. Then a voice, so loud I jumped out of my skin.

  “I can’t believe there was nothing! Not a fucking penny!” Bethany said.

  “Why should there be? Mom didn’t have a penny of her own. He made sure of that.”

  “He made sure of a whole lot of things.” A loud thump. “Goddamn bastard.”

  Bethany must have been right beside the palm tree, because her voice just about broke my ear drum. But Daniel had gone farther away. The kitchen, maybe? He muttered something I couldn’t hear.

  “Somebody had to say it,” Bethany replied. “It was true. This was all his fault.”

  “Bethany, I’m sick of this!” Daniel had come back into the room, shouting. “Can’t you see what’s right in front of your eyes? This isn’t his fault! He’s a moron, he’s a tightwad, he’s an asshole, but he didn’t kill Mom. Face it!”

  “But if he’d hung that bird feeder like he promised. If he hadn’t been so lazy that she finally got fed up. This would never have happened!”

  More thumps. “So he was lazy! Jesus Christ, it wasn’t him that fucked up. Face that, at least.”

  Bethany started to wail. “Don’t turn on me, Danny. I haven’t slept a wink since it happened. I didn’t know! She said he was going to hang it as soon as the deck was finished. There wasn’t much time.”

  “Then you should have warned her!”

  “Warn her how, Danny? Say, ‘Oh, by the way, Mom, I’m planning to unscrew the railing so your bastard husband falls off the cliff, so don’t lean on it?’ You know she wanted him dead, Danny. How many times did she talk about how great it would be?”

  My heart was racing, my hands were slick with sweat. I could hardly breathe through my horror. Bethany! I watched the tape recorder, making sure the red light was on and the spools turning.

  “Yeah, but that was just dreaming,” Daniel said. “That’s all Mom ever did. She’d live her whole life dreaming.”

  “And I was sick of it!” Bethany shouted, so loud I jumped a foot. “When I heard about the bird feeder, I thought, This is our chance!”

  “Some chance! Mom’s dead, and for what? Less than nothing! Jesus. At least before, the bastard was paying our college fees to keep us out of his hair.”

  “He still might. He said he would.”

  Daniel snorted. “Get real, Bethany. He’ll forget us tomorrow. The guy’s got at least twenty years. He’s going to snag some other stupid woman with stars in her eyes, and then we’ll lose it all.” A chair scraped and Daniel’s voice began to fade. “But that’s not our biggest problem right now.”

  “What?”

  Silence. The clink of glasses. “What do you think?”

  “The handyman?”

  “Yeah.” Daniel said something else, but I couldn’t hear.

  “What do we do?” Bethany asked.

  I turned up the receiver as loud as I could, but Daniel’s voice was still a mumble. Everything echoed. I started walking up the road, balancing the receiver on top of the recorder.

  “You should never have tried to run him off the road,” Daniel was saying. “Nobody would have listened to him.”

  “I tried to fix it, but he has that damn dog. I couldn’t get close enough,” Bethany said.

  I nearly dropped the recorder. So that car at my farmhouse had been her! />
  “Wait!” Daniel’s voice was sharp.

  “I’ll think of something else, Danny. He’s got propane tanks in his yard, and lots of junk that could blow up—”

  “Shut up! I hear something!”

  I froze. I heard footsteps, the front door opening.

  “Fuck, there’s somebody out there,” Daniel said. His real voice, not the receiver. I was that close. I turned and pelted down the lane. The receiver fell to the ground, but I hung on to the recorder like my life depended on it. Maybe it did.

  I heard footsteps behind me. I had to get to my bike. I had to get it started and get the hell out of there, all with only a fifteen-second head start. There was no way. I veered off into the bushes. Raspberry canes ripped my skin as I ploughed through them. A few yards in, I stopped and crouched down. My heart hammered so loud I was sure they could hear it in the next county. I tried not to breathe.

  Daniel and Bethany came running down the lane, cursing and slipping. Suddenly the footsteps stopped.

  “What’s that?” Bethany’s voice.

  I strained my ears but heard nothing but breathing. Then “What the fuck?”

  “What is it?” Bethany whispered.

  “It’s…” Daniel’s voice was puzzled. “I don’t know. Goddamn it, it’s some kind of fucking bug!”

  “A bug!” Bethany shrieked. “You mean, someone—?”

  “Sh-h!!” Daniel’s voice dropped to a whisper. I ducked my head and held my breath. Slowly they began to walk again. Toward me. I could hardly see them in the weak light of the stars, but I could hear their footsteps. Coming along the edge of the road like they were looking in the bushes.

  “We need a flashlight,” Daniel said. Practical guy, this Daniel. Bethany was the one with the emotion. “You keep an eye while I get one.” He turned to head back.

  “Don’t leave me here!”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! It’s your fault we’re in this mess. Your fault, Bethany! Own it, for once.”

  I heard her scurrying after him. He seemed to give up the fight, and they both disappeared into the house.

  I scrambled back out of the bushes. I figured I had at most a minute before they found a flashlight and came back. I ran down the rest of the lane, not caring how much noise I made. Found my bike, dragged it out onto the road and shoved the recorder into the backpack. I started to run, pushing the dirt bike and hoping it would catch. Finally, I heard the weak, sputtering sound. Louder, more regular. Then the engine flared to life. Noisy as hell. I heard shouts behind me, heard the sounds of car doors slamming before it was all drowned out by the sound of a jet plane and the wind in my ears.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I’d driven this road lots of times in the past month, so I knew every turn and pothole. The dirt bike was nimble. Much nimbler than a huge old Ford with no shocks. But the Ford had power to spare on the straight stretches, and just when I thought I’d lost them, they roared back into the game. I heard the thunder of the broken muffler as they floored it. I opened up the bike’s throttle and hung on to the handlebars, praying like hell the bald tires would hold.

  I kept my lead on the twisty back roads, but the highway was coming up ahead. It had smooth pavement and long straight parts. My thoughts raced. What other choices did I have? The bike could handle off-road, but the tires might not. If I got stuck or flipped it, I’d be a sitting duck. I didn’t want to think about what they might do. They were kids who’d gotten in over their heads, but that made them even more dangerous. Blowing up my propane tanks?

  A few houses flashed by, with lights glowing in windows. I thought of running inside, but there might be children. Old people. I couldn’t put more people in danger. I was amazed how clearly I figured that out through my panic. I needed the police. The cop station was a good five miles away once I reached the main highway. Five miles was way too far if I wanted to stay alive. Think! Think!

  Then I remembered. Up ahead there was an old logging road that led to the edge of Silver Creek. Once there had been a log bridge across the creek for people to walk across. On the other side, the logging road continued and met up with the highway about a mile from the station. As a kid, I used to play on the road with my bike, replacing the logs as they rotted. But that was a long time ago. Could I get through? Would it kill my engine?

  Behind me, the Ford’s headlights grew huge.

  If not for those headlights, I would have missed the turnoff. It was overgrown with weeds and brush. I leaned hard, put my foot down and swerved onto the track. Branches whipped my face and stung my eyes. I jolted and slid, fighting to hang on. I heard the Ford shoot past the turn, slide to a stop and back up. A moment later, headlights flooded the track. Damn, they were going to try it!

  The middle of the track was overgrown with tall weeds that hit my legs as I raced past. Stones and potholes came at me out of the dark. I dodged, stomped the brake, twisted the gas and worked my way deep into the woods. Up ahead, the creek glinted in my weak headlight. I approached it full speed. If I was going to get across, I had to have momentum. I had to fly. Up close, I panicked. There were no logs!

  Too late! I couldn’t stop.

  I bent over the handlebars, gritted my teeth and pulled up at the last second. For a few yards, the bike sailed through the air before hitting the surface. Water swooshed around me. The bike slithered. Coughed. Mud and weeds closed in, and the bike stopped.

  Behind me, I heard the rumbling Ford. I jumped off the bike. Sank into water to my knees. I tugged, pushed, shoved, dragged. Slowly the bike came out of the mud. More shoving and I was up on the other bank, pushing the bike along the track to shake loose the mud. The engine caught again. I shouted aloud, not caring if they heard me. My hands shook with the terror of my near escape. Take that, you bastards!

  Jumping aboard, I headed to the highway. Almost there now. Suddenly, amazingly, headlights lit the woods behind me. They had made it across!

  How the hell?

  That old Ford had more rust holes than floorboards. It must have hit the water fast enough to plane across. It was a race now. I still had the advantage in the woods, but that last mile on the highway would be a killer. I pushed the bike as fast as I dared, bending low to avoid being swept off by branches.

  In minutes, I bounced up the ditch and onto the highway. It shone black and straight ahead of me, its broken white line snaking down the middle. The police station was in the middle of nowhere so it could serve the whole county. During the day, it was a busy road, but at night there was usually nothing but transport trucks. Even one of those would be welcome, but tonight there was nothing.

  I maxed the gas and aimed the bike. The Ford did the same. I didn’t dare look back to see how close they were, but I knew they were gaining. What would they do? Run me off the road again? I gulped. This time I wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Something metal flashed in my headlights as I sped by a turnoff. A moment later, new lights lit the road from behind. Red and blue. A siren screamed. I eased up and turned to look just as a police car pulled alongside me. Trembling, I steered the bike onto the shoulder and wobbled to a stop. The Ford shot past and around the bend ahead. As I turned off the engine, the cop car pulled in front of me, and Constable Swan climbed out.

  I was never so happy to see anyone in my life.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sergeant Hurley put out an all-call. He brought in all the off-duty cops and neighboring detachments to help in the search. The little detachment was full of cops lounging against tables, drinking coffee and trading stories about Wilkins, Lori-Anne and her messed-up children. They acted like they’d seen trouble coming a mile off.

  “She knew exactly what she was getting when she married Wilkins,” Parker said. Parker was all heart. “His name, his status—”

  “And a jealous streak a mile wide,” said a female cop. “He kept her like a bird in a cage.”

  “Aw, come on,” the guy said. “That big fancy cottage is hardly a cage. Some women don’t know when
they’re well-off.”

  “Jeez, Parker, you can’t blame her for what her kids did,” the woman said.

  “They were kids,” Parker said. “Bethany’s what—eighteen? All her life Lori-Anne’s fed her nothing but sob stories about her hard life. Not that she ever tried to get ahead on her own. One man after another.”

  The rest of them all looked at him, and I wondered if he’d been one of those men himself. I didn’t like listening to them picking people apart like this. People screw up. They want things and they don’t know how to get them. I was no better. I knew everyone laughed at me behind my back because I collected junk everyone else thought was worthless. I saw it differently. And it was my life after all.

  I was sitting in the big chair behind the desk, wrapped in a blanket, while a paramedic put ointment on all my scratches and bites. No one was paying much attention to me. But in the interview room behind, I could hear the recording I had made. Swan and Hurley were in there, listening to it. They’d laughed when I first brought the recorder out of my backpack. It was big and clunky, and I had to show them how it worked. Then they stopped laughing.

  The phone rang on the desk, and one of the cops picked it up. He listened a moment, then gave a thumbs-up. “Hold on, I’ll ask the Sergeant what he wants done with them.”

  He put the phone down and spoke as he headed toward the back room. “They caught the kids fixing a flat just the other side of Silver Falls. Couldn’t get a peep out of them. They just sat on the curb and cried. Silver Falls Detachment is bringing them back up here.”

  “Well, we’ve got all the admission we need on tape, thanks to Rick here.”

  They all laughed. Hurley came to the phone, and I got up to give him space. Picturing the kids sitting on the curb, I felt bad. I knew they’d tried to kill me, but I couldn’t help thinking, sometimes people just find themselves in a dark place they never planned on.