“But you’re the one who killed her.” Don’s last words ended on a whine. “Why’d you have to go and do that, anyway? From some of her ramblings about being followed, I figured you might be watching her, but I never thought you’d resort to murder.”
“That was your fault. I had no choice once I knew I couldn’t trust you to keep her quiet. ‘Take her into your own home,’ I said. But no, you didn’t want to have to deal with her, so you left her with your sister. Where, at any time, she could have experienced a lucid moment and told everyone the truth.”
“Yes, the truth. Don’t forget that. It is the truth. What the town council did, covering things up. It was your father and grandfather along with the rest.”
“Your grandfather was in on it too, or you’d never have known. No, Dr. Virts, I don’t think you can claim any pride in this matter. Especially since you decided to ask me for more hush money rather than turn me in.”
“You’re a fine one to talk about scruples,” Don said. “But then, I knew your family pride would force you to pay. Couldn’t bear to see your name dragged through the mud, could you? The almighty Bakers, founders of the town. And you, swanning about like a fine lady, always acting like your ancestors were some kind of aristocracy when they were lumber barons who lucked into some valuable land and probably stole the rest.”
“Don’t speak about my family that way.” Sylvia’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a tin can’s lid. “You have no right to judge them.”
“Don’t I? I think I can judge all I want. Look what they’ve produced—a murderer who’s cold as the cash she loves to accumulate. More concerned with perpetuating the family name than human life. And for what? You have no husband or children, so who comes after you? Lydia’s niece and nephew are the only heirs to the mighty Baker heritage, if not the name. Is that the real reason you want to kill one of them? To end your illustrious family with you?” Don’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “That would be a shame. She can be a nosy little thing, but at least the girl isn’t a heartless bitch like you.”
“Shut up!” Sylvia screeched. “You shut your mouth!”
“Or what? Don’t forget I still know things. And I’m your best alibi. Me and my clever story about the drifter.”
“Stupid, not clever. Easily disproved.”
“I don’t think so. Anyway, I’m not dispatching your relative for you or that Fields girl either. You want them dead, you kill them.”
“Don’t forget that they can implicate you as well.”
“Doubt they’ll get the chance. I trust your murderous instincts. I’m sure you won’t let them live. But just remember”—the loafers scattered gravel as Don turned aside—“you’ll eventually have to track down the boy too if you really want to do it up right. Kill off the final stumbling block to your claim to be the last of the Bakers.”
“You stay here.”
“I have your car keys. So no, I don’t think I will stay.” The loafers walked away.
“Yes, you will. Permanently,” said my cousin.
Sunny and I fell back on our heels as a gunshot reverberated through the clear summer air.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Had Sylvia actually shot Don Virts? A gust of wind rattled through the barn, followed by a shriek from Sylvia and another gunshot. Although strangely, this one sounded like she was firing into the distance.
Into the woods, where she thought she saw someone lurking before. As Sunny and I clung to each other, certain we would be next, I entertained the momentary hope that someone was there, but logic told me it was unlikely. Sylvia had just been spooked by a random deer or bird or something.
“Hear that?” Sunny asked after a minute or two. “A car, pulling away.”
“But who’s driving?” I released my grip on my friend and scooted back over to the wall. Standing so I could press my eye to one of the wider chinks, I peered out.
There was a body lying on the gravel driveway. A prone form, topped with dark hair.
“Don’s on the ground. Not sure if he’s dead or alive.” I bit my lower lip. “Wonder what that second shot was for? It didn’t sound the same.”
“Don’s obviously hurt, so Sylvia shot him. Maybe twice?” Sunny jumped to her feet and joined me, pressing her forehead to the slatted wood wall so she could peer outside. “No sign of her car, so she must’ve left.”
“Why, I wonder?”
“Maybe she freaked out and just made a run for it.”
“She blasted two other people at close range, but shooting Don Virts in the back freaked her out? Not likely.” I turned to face Sunny. “But for whatever reason, she’s gone for now. So we have to try to get out of here.”
“How? There’s a lock on the door.”
I stared between the boards at the thrown bolt. “Yes, but”—I wiggled one of the boards—“if we could tear away some of these, maybe we could actually reach the latch.”
Sunny slapped her hand to her forehead. “Stupid me. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you were drugged most of the time.” I pulled harder on the board. “We need an object that will pry this out or break it. Think there might be something metal in here?”
“Horseshoes, maybe?” Sunny crossed to the other side of the tack room in two strides. “I’ll check over here. You take that side.”
“Okay.” I dug through a pile of burlap sacks and popped open a battered crate, but all I found was mouse droppings. Or rat droppings? I wasn’t sure which they were; I was just relieved I hadn’t encountered the actual animals.
“Snake skin,” Sunny said. “Big one too. But fortunately the snake seems to have moved on.”
“Hopefully,” I muttered.
We dug around for a few more minutes, turning up nothing useful but a rusty metal flask that broke in half when Sunny slammed it against one of the boards.
But that made me think . . . drinking bottle. “The thermos!” I shouted as Sunny snatched it off the floor.
“Great minds,” she said, waving the silver metal thermos.
“It might be heavy enough,” I said. “We can take turns—one keep a lookout while the other hits at the board, and then switch off.”
“This is the spot.” Sunny tapped her fingers on a section of the wall near the door. “Already has a crack in it, see?”
I examined the rough board. There was a long split, running from one side to the other. “Perfect. All right, let’s give it a try. You watch for Sylvia, and I’ll take out my aggression on that board.”
It took several rounds of each of us hitting at the wood to splinter it. It cracked the thermos as well as the wall, but we finally broke the board enough to pull the bottom section free, creating an opening just wide enough for a slender arm to slide through.
Sunny pressed her body tight to the wall. “Almost have it.”
I peered through the higher chink, afraid I’d see Sylvia’s car pulling up at any moment. “Do you need help?”
“Yeah. Take hold of my waist and keep me balanced. I’m going to try to shove the bolt back and might need to get on tiptoe to reach.”
I grabbed her waist, gripping the sweat-dampened fabric of her cotton sundress with my fingers, and held on tight as she lurched forward.
“Got it!” She slammed the palm of her hand against the bolt. It slid back, and the door immediately swung open, the rusty hinges squealing in protest.
We looked at each other for only a second before dashing out into the open center aisle.
The barn obviously hadn’t been used in some time. The straw bales stacked at the far end of the aisle were brown with mold. Glancing up, I could see why—a section of the ceiling was missing, and the barn roof was open to the sky.
“Sylvia must’ve bought this property in a bankruptcy sale,” I said, wiping bits of straw from my denim shorts.
“Seems likely.” Sunny swayed slightly.
I gripped her arm. “Steady.”
“Sorry. Guess I’m still woozy from those d
rugs.”
“And dehydration, probably. We need to get you to the hospital.”
Sunny leaned against me. “First, we need to get out of sight. Sylvia could return any second.”
“You’re right. Let’s head for the woods. We can follow the road but stay hidden in the trees. As soon as we reach someplace with a phone, we’ll call Brad and send the authorities after Sylvia.”
“Shouldn’t we check on Don?” Sunny’s face expressed her distaste for this task, but she resolutely strode over to the dentist’s prone body. He lay facedown in the gravel. The back of his shirt was soaked in blood. I doubted he could be alive, but Sunny was right. We had to know.
Kneeling down, Sunny laid her fingers against his neck. “No pulse. I guess he’s gone.” She stood, wiping her hand against her dress. “So dirty already, it doesn’t really matter,” she said when she caught my eye.
I glanced at the road. “We probably should get moving.”
Sunny nodded and motioned toward the trees. “Thank goodness I wore my good sneakers to the protest.”
I lifted my foot. “The soles of these are like rice paper, but what the hell. I’d walk barefoot to get away from here.”
“Then let’s make tracks.” Sunny shoved her hair behind her shoulders and headed for the trees.
I followed, listening for any sound of Sylvia’s car. But all was quiet as we plunged into the shadowy woods.
* * *
We walked for what felt like miles, keeping the road in sight but staying behind the tree line. By the time we reached a paved road, I had worn a hole in the bottom of one sneaker, and scratches had etched my bare arms and legs. But we hadn’t seen Sylvia’s car, which was a relief.
The fact that we hadn’t seen any vehicles was less appealing. I could tell Sunny was rapidly running out of steam. No wonder, if she hadn’t had anything to eat and little to drink for almost two days.
“Here, let’s stop for a minute,” I said, guiding her to a birch tree. I leaned against its smooth trunk, allowing Sunny to rest her head on my shoulder.
“Must find a phone,” she muttered.
“And we will. But I don’t want you collapsing on me. I can’t carry you, even if you aren’t that big.”
Sunny lifted her head and looked out toward the road. “I’ll make it.”
“Of course you will, but take a minute to catch your breath.” I gently pushed a tangled lock of her hair behind her ear. “You know, you really would make a great mayor. You’re smart, and fair, and determined.”
“Some would say stubborn,” Sunny replied with a wan smile.
“Nothing wrong with that. Might be a positive trait in a mayor. Fight the good fight and all that.”
“I am seriously considering it.” Sunny straightened and patted my hand. “Now let’s keep moving. I won’t get to be anything if Sylvia finds us.”
“Right. So encouraging,” I said but managed to twitch my dry lips into a smile.
We set off again, following the paved road. When we came to a road sign indicating its name, Sunny let out a little whoop before slapping her hand over her mouth.
“Oak Level Road—I know where that comes out,” she whispered between her splayed fingers. “Connects with Old Ford Turnpike.”
“Which bisects Main Street. Hallelujah,” I said.
Obviously revitalized by this discovery, Sunny squared her shoulders and picked up her pace. “We should come upon a house or two soon.”
“Hey, slow down. You’re still not in shape to jog,” I said, following her as best as I could.
She stopped short, causing me to step on her heel. “Sorry.” I placed my hand on her shoulder to steady myself.
“Shhh . . .” Sunny turned her head, her finger to her lips. “Car.”
My fingers dug into her shoulder. “Sylvia?”
“Not unless she’s switched vehicles. It’s sort of a maroon color. Look, can you see it?” Sunny pointed toward a break in the undergrowth.
I squinted. The vehicle was a dark-crimson SUV, moving slowly. “It’s Walt’s car! Come on, we have to flag them down!” I ran, ignoring the throb in my head as my feet pounded the hard ground. Batting aside the thorny branches of some wild shrub, I made straight for the road.
Sunny was right on my heels. “Hey, hey!” she shouted, waving her bare arms over her head as we stumbled onto the grassy shoulder.
I reached the edge of the road, shrieking, “Stop!” at the top of my lungs.
The SUV screeched to a halt a few yards beyond us. Both the driver and passenger doors flew open, and Walt and Zelda jumped out.
We ran toward each other like actors in some romantic commercial. But this wasn’t a blooming meadow, it was a hard-surface road, and if Sunny and I looked anything like Walt and Zelda, it resembled clumsy jogging more than graceful leaping.
But that didn’t matter because we were safe.
Walt wrapped his arms around Sunny as she faltered and almost fell to the pavement. “Thank God,” he said, holding her on her feet. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
Zelda reached me and hugged me so tight I coughed. “Lydia will be so happy to see you!” She released her hold and slid her hands down my arms to my wrists. Holding me at arm’s length, she examined me. “You look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet. But Lydia won’t give a flip about that for once. She’s been so frantic, I thought she was going to have a heart attack.”
“Come on. Let’s get you in the car.” Walt guided Sunny to the SUV and flung open one of the back doors. He helped her inside while Zelda put her arm around my waist and led me to the vehicle.
“You were out looking for us?” I asked as I climbed in beside Sunny.
“Yes, everyone is.” Zelda slid into the passenger-side front seat and turned to face us. “When Lydia got home from church and you weren’t there but the house was locked up tight, she called Richard Muir to find out if he’d seen you. Of course, he said you’d left his house and headed home some time before. So that set off all the alarms.” She studied us, her full lips trembling. “Poor dears, you look so rough. Walt”—she added as he started up the car—“go straight to the hospital. These girls need to be checked out immediately.”
I almost protested, then thought about Sunny and nodded. “We think Sunny was drugged. And she hasn’t had any food or clean water for quite a while.”
“And Amy was bopped on the head with a gun,” Sunny said, laying her head back against the leather upholstery. “We’re going to mess up your car, Walt,” she murmured.
“Not a problem,” Walt said, shooting us a quick smile in the rearview mirror. “Just glad we found you. Now tell me, what the hell happened?”
“It was Sylvia Baker,” I said, “and Don Virts. They were in on it together, although only Sylvia actually killed anyone.”
“Well, I never.” Zelda fanned herself with her hand. “Always disliked the woman but would never have imagined her a murderer.”
“I think she was counting on that,” I replied, finally allowing my aching limbs to relax into the soft leather of the car seat.
Zelda dug through her purse and whipped out her cell phone. “I must call Lydia.”
I straightened a little in the seat. “Can you call Deputy Tucker or the sheriff’s office first? Sylvia fled in her car, so they need to know to look for her. And she told me something about using aliases. They should know about that right away.”
“Sure, dear.” Zelda tapped an icon on her cell. “Preprogrammed,” she said, holding the phone to her ear. “Can’t be too careful.”
“What about Dr. Virts?” Walt asked.
“Dead,” Sunny said. “Back at the barn where they held us. It’s off that old gravel road that intersects with this one somewhere higher up.”
“Logging Road.” Walt’s face in the mirror was thoughtful. “That’s where they found Bob Blackstone’s car. Must be connected.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I think we’d better inform the sheriff or Deputy Tucker
about Sylvia before we explain everything to you, but it is connected.”
Zelda handed her phone back to me. “Here. Got Brad Tucker on the line. Maybe you should talk to him directly.”
I took the phone and cleared my throat before speaking to Brad.
He listened without speaking while I filled him in on what had happened to Sunny and me and what we’d heard from both Sylvia and Don. When I finished my story, he asked several questions about Sylvia’s car, what I might have seen of her gun, and where his team would find Don’s body.
“And Sunny is safe?” he asked for the umpteenth time after I provided all the requested information.
“Yeah, just dehydrated. And we think she might have been drugged with something, so she’s a bit groggy. Walt and Zelda are taking her to the hospital.”
“Meet you there,” Brad said before hanging up.
I glanced over at Sunny, whose eyes were closed. “He’s very concerned about you.”
“I’m official business,” she said. But she smiled.
“Now call your aunt,” Zelda said.
“Yes, ma’am.” I popped my hand up in a mock salute, only to touch the side of my head and wince.
“Hard to believe Sylvia Baker is behind all this,” Walt said. “Although I always did think her obsession with family heritage was a little extreme.”
“Just a little,” I agreed. “But her motive was also tied up with her business interests, which apparently are not all entirely legal. And it was Don who started it all, as you heard. If he hadn’t blackmailed her . . .”
“And Bob,” Zelda said, glancing over her shoulder. “Your aunt. Call.” She shook her finger at me.
I punched in our landline number, hoping Aunt Lydia was at home.
She was. Her relief at hearing my voice was palpable, but once she determined I was okay, she demanded to speak to Zelda. To arrange to meet us at the hospital, no doubt.
“Call Sunny’s grandparents,” I requested.
“I will, right away. And Richard. He’s out searching, you know.”
“I’m sure. All right, here’s Zelda, and”—I choked up as the enormity of the day’s events hit me—“I love you.”
A Murder for the Books Page 25