"That's great," Nolan said. "You should fit right in with Floyd and Goober."
Christa looked back to her daddy. He wasn't smiling anymore. He looked mad.
"What the hell is wrong with you? The first good thing that's happened to me in God knows how long and you can't even be glad for me."
"I'm glad for you," Uncle Nolan said in the same voice Myra had used.
"Daddy?" Christa said. "Does that mean we're going to stay here now?"
He looked at her and smiled again. "Yes, honey. We're going to stay. Oh, and by the way. . ." He turned to Myra. "The boys in the diner were all talking about a gray Buick. It's been seen around town and they're curious. I didn't say anything but once I have that badge I'll feel obligated to contact the sheriff. I know you'd rather keep this thing with your mother-in-law a private war—"
"Then let us," Cal interrupted. "If you involve the police we'll wind up in court. And if we go to court my grandmother will win. Believe me."
"I don't see how, Cal. You'll have all the evidence against her."
"She'll deny everything. She'll say she hired the men but didn't approve the methods. She'll say she was only acting in my best interests. You don't know her."
"Maybe not, but I still think—"
"Please," Cal said.
Christa felt a shudder pass through her. Cal looked scared. Whatever they were talking about, her daddy was scaring him. She went to take her father's hand. "Daddy, please don't be mean to Cal."
At that moment Andy spotted the candy bars in Christa's clutches. She darted forward. "Is one for me?"
Christa shoved a Baby Ruth at her and looked up at her father again. He lifted his free hand and wiped his face.
"This is against my better judgment, but okay. For now. If things get hairy I'm reserving the right to change my mind."
Christa and Myra let out their breath at the same time. This was important, Christa knew. She felt as if Cal had been saved from something terrible. She dropped her father's hand and went to the boy. "It's okay now. He's not going to let the sheriff get you."
Cal smiled at her. "Thanks," he said in a low voice, so low that no one else but Uncle Nolan heard. Christa held out her candy bar. "I'll let you have some if you want."
Cal opened his mouth again, but a sudden crash of thunder drowned out his words. Andy screamed and jumped and Uncle Nolan began to laugh as the soft, scattered drops turned into hard, driving rain. Myra picked up the laundry basket and ran for the house. Her daddy scooped up Andy and did the same. Christa hesitated, liking the sound of Uncle Nolan's laughter and the big smile on Cal's face. She wanted to stay with them.
And she wanted to leave with them when they decided to go.
Drusilla told her they should. Their secret lady didn't use words, exactly, but Christa understood. Something bad would happen if they stayed. Something to do with the people from the town.
She told Drusie they weren't going to live there, that her daddy had said they'd be leaving again soon, but now he changed his mind and Christa was going to have to tell him about the something bad. She might even have to tell him about Drusie, though she knew he would think she was fibbing again. Maybe if she asked Drusilla to show him her blue fingers.
"Your candy bar's getting wet," Cal said. "You'd better get in the house."
"I want to stay out—"
"Go," Nolan said. He was still smiling, but he had peeled off his T-shirt and was reaching for the snap on his shorts. "All we need is a bar of soap, Cal."
"I'll get one. C'mon, Christa." Cal took her arm and turned her away from the garage. "We're going to clean up for supper."
In the rain, Christa thought. They were going to take a shower in the rain. It wasn't fair. Boys got to do everything. Quickly she tried to think of something to say that would make her sound grownup and interesting to him.
"I've seen the lady in your room, Cal. does she talk to you?"
He frowned down at her. "Who?"
"Drusie. The lady with bare feet and wet hair."
Cal's brows met above his nose. "Christa, I don't know what you're talking about. Who's Drusie?"
It was Christa's turn to frown. "You mean you don't see her? Not ever?"
Her hero laughed suddenly. "Yeah, sure I do. I was just teasing you. Go on in now and toss out that bar of soap in the pantry, okay?"
Christa nodded and opened the screen door.
Lying. He was lying to her. Cal didn't see Drusie at all. Maybe smart people couldn't.
CHAPTER 16
Diane Fluscher awakened to darkness and the smell of rain. She had lost track of all time, but she remembered seeing daylight once when the old man opened the lid to give her another shot, so it must be Saturday night. That meant she had been in the trunk an entire day. Her throat felt thick and dry; her limbs were dead weight. Nothing wanted to move. What the hell had he given her?
Tranquilizer, she thought suddenly. That's what had been done to her. One shot and she was out in seconds. Where had the old man gotten hold of such a powerful tranquilizer? Did he work at the zoo? Was he a veterinarian? And just where the hell was he taking her?
Kidnapped. She knew that much. She was being taken somewhere until the old man's demands were met. Had her husband been contacted yet?
What an idiot she had been, suckered in by the harmless appearance of a slight, graying, withered old fool with a ridiculously obsequious manner. She was from Chicago, dammit; she should have known better. Living among the fat and pampered lambs had blinded her to the presence of wolves. Kind, indulgent Joseph would be worried sick by now. Their argument had been a fierce one, but he would know she'd never make good on her threat to leave. Diane had made the threat dozens of times; it was just what she did when she was angry over his being gone so much. Then, as yesterday, she would go shopping. A new necklace or pair of earrings always made things better.
How long till Joseph finds the car? He would know she hadn't really left him. Until he received the kidnapper's demand, he might believe she was just playing a game with him. Like the time she rented a room at the Marriott for a few days. Joseph would know. And he would be devastated when the kidnapper called. He would throw down his contracts and perhaps even weep on the shoulder of his ever-present accountant. Then he would call the police. And when the police didn't move fast enough—no one ever moved fast enough for Joseph—he would collect the ransom money and arrange a meeting with the kidnapper to pay for her safe return.
But there was one part that bothered Diane, the part that didn't make sense: An old man. He had to be working for someone, she decided, or with someone. Someone who was waiting at the hideout, wherever the hell it was. She had been unconscious a good deal of the time, so there was no clue how long they had been on the road. It didn't make sense for him to take her too far from the city…did it? And he hadn't given her a shot for some time now, so he must want her lucid. Probably so she could speak to Joseph on the phone and let him know she hadn't been harmed.
Diane closed her eyes and tried to swallow. It hurt. She didn't think she could speak. The old man would have to give her some water if he expected her to talk to Joseph. And food wouldn't be turned down at this point. Yesterday's spinach salad was only a fond memory.
When the car jolted to a stop she actually managed to conjure up some saliva. Thinking about her mama's pasta did it. Every Sunday in Chicago her Italian mother would fill the table with heaping plates of steaming pasta covered with thick, spicy sauce and accompanied by a basket of hot, buttered garlic bread. Diane promised herself she would return to Chicago as soon as she got out of this. She would go see her mama and gain ten pounds on her pasta. Joseph could come along with her and—
A car door slammed. A second later Diane heard the sound of keys being jingled. There was a clicking sound then the lid of the trunk opened. Her nostrils flared as she took in the clean wet smell of rain. She wanted to rise, but the lethargy in her limbs prevented movement.
"You awake?" a voice asked.
She made a noise. It was all she could manage.
"Good. Before I go in, I just want to tell you I'm sorry. I know this ain't like apologizin' to no deer for needing to eat it, but in my mind it runs along the same lines and I'm real sorry about everything. I been thinking about this on the way back and them Indians knew a helluva lot more than folks do today. They were always askin' forgiveness, and the more I think about it, the righter it seems to me. Wish I'd thought of it years ago. But more than anything else, I wish I'd listened to my grandma. She told me to keep my own counsel rather than run with the pack. I never did."
Diane tried to speak again. What came out sounded like the mewing of a frightened kitten.
"Right," the old man said. "Well, I just wanted to say that. I'll fetch Jinx now. Don't go away."
That wasn't likely, Diane thought to herself. Even her lungs were tired and sluggish. The rain smelled lovely, but she couldn't seem to suck enough of the moist air to clear her head. She wished she had her compact with her. Joseph hated her use of cocaine, but she had to find some way to entertain herself while he was gone, didn't she?
After this she would stop. She'd quit the coke and go back to Joseph's health club. She was tall and thin enough by current standards, but she was getting flabby. The tops of her thighs, especially. She'd have to work on them in particular.
The beam of a flashlight blinded her.
"My goodness. She is a long one, ain't she?"
"That she is, Jinx."
"Well, let's get a move on here, Ed. Fred's callin' the boys, I'll get her legs."
The man called Ed lifted her head and shoulders and Diane let her head loll back as they removed her from the trunk. The motion made her dizzy and dangerously nauseous.
"Sick," she moaned.
"Gonna puke?" the man holding her legs asked. "If you are, do it now. I don't want you stinkin' up my back room."
Diane twisted her head and opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
"That's what I thought," the man said. "Come on, Ed. My back ain't what it used to be."
Two old men, Diane realized as she was carried through a back door and into a glaringly bright room. She'd been abducted by someone’s grandpa and his witless kin.
They placed her face down on a narrow trundle bed and tied her hands together underneath. Diane turned her face away from the bare, soiled mattress and asked for water.
"Give her a sip," Ed said.
The bald man shook his head and shoved a wadded rag into her mouth. "Forget it. Now get them clothes and that jewelry off her before the others get here."
Diane gagged as her clothes were cut away. Cut? They didn't have to do that. Why did she have to be naked? And who were the others? She craned her head in each direction and frowned. The back room of what? There were shelves on each wall and each shelf was filled with items that gave her no clue to her location. On one wall were gallon cans of various vegetables, on another wall were large glass jugs of chemicals with labels her blurred gaze couldn't read. Piled beneath the shelves on this wall were bags of... what? She couldn't read those labels either. Other shelves held hand tools and electrical equipment, and beneath the shelves on the far wall was a counter of sorts that supported what looked like a large metal meat grinder. Diane knew what it was because her Uncle Sal owned a butcher shop back in Chicago. Before he died of prostate cancer. Was that where she was? The back room of a butcher shop?
A hand on the inside of one bare thigh caused Diane to jump. She looked to see the skinny bald man with the purple nose smiling at her. Until that moment the idea that she might be raped hadn't occurred to Diane. These were old men. But once again she realized she had been deceived by appearances and stereotypes. Old or not, this skinny fucker had a hard-on. And he was unzipping his pants to use it.
His smile widened as he saw the realization in her eyes. "I'm always first," he said. "And sometimes I can't wait for everyone to get here." He looked away from her then. "Ed, be sure to get out the canvas head bag. We can't use plastic again. Gil got so carried away with that damn sledge last time he had brains flying everywhere."
Slowly Diane turned her face into the mattress again. Adrenaline flooded her veins and for the first time in hours she was able to think clearly. This wasn't a kidnapping and Joseph wouldn't be able to save her. No one could. She was going to be raped and...
A canvas head bag.
Brains flying everywhere.
The scream that rose in her throat stayed there and choked off her air. She gagged and fought against the rag in her mouth, straining to cry out. Her vision began to darken. Then a sense of calmness and quiet determination replaced the panic. There was no way out. She was going to die. She was at the mercy of these murderous old men and there would be no mercy. But she, Diane Mancuso Fluscher, sixth generation in a long line of willful, volatile Italian women, knew what to do.
With slow deliberation she began to swallow the rag in her mouth, forcing it back with her tongue to block off her breathing passages.
No gagging, Diane. Eat it. It's your ticket out of here, so start swallowing.
A calloused hand moved up the inside of her thigh again. Touched her. Probed her.
Swallow, dammit!
"Hmmm," the man with the purple nose said. "Need to grease you up a bit."
Swallow. Swallow.
Already dizzy. Lungs aching, straining. Muscles contracting in agony.
No air. Oh god no air!
Just another minute or so and we're—damn you, Joseph—out of here. Gone.
No one messes with a Mancuso. See how the skinny bastard likes fucking a corpse…
CHAPTER 17
Nolan sat on the toilet lid in the bathroom and examined his hands. The burns had at last stopped oozing and the healing appeared to be well under way. He reached for the ointment and began humming an Elvis Presley tune heard on his car radio the night before, I Can't Help Falling in Love with You. He knew all the words, so after a moment he stopped humming and started singing. It felt good, the porcelain acoustics were great.
He paused during the second verse to chuckle. He had been singing in bathrooms as long as he could remember. From an early age he displayed an affinity for music. He could hear a tune three times and know the lyrics and music by heart, and oh God, how he wanted his mother to buy him a guitar for his tenth birthday. He remembered begging her on his scabby knees to buy him the Les Paul guitar in a store window. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
His mother purchased a piano instead, a piano and then lessons with a piano teacher.
Nolan shook his head and went on with the song, his voice full. He didn't have to worry about being heard, Vic took his girls to Denke's Sunday morning service, and Cal and Myra were outside picking tomatoes. Big Al Dunwoodie was coming for Sunday dinner. For some reason Vic acted pissed about Nolan inviting the man to the house, but Nolan figured he owed Al, and Nolan had donated more than enough money to the grocery fund to cover one dinner for a friend. He didn't know what the big deal was.
He finished with the ointment and, still singing, reached for the bandages. He should probably leave soon. Vic was acting weird about a lot of things and Nolan didn't want to endanger their friendship by overstaying his welcome. By all indications familiarity was in heat and ready to start breeding a little contempt. Maybe he'd leave tomorrow, Monday. No, wait, Cal wanted to go fishing tomorrow night. The smart little shit had whipped up a net to seine the pond. He didn't want the kid to go by himself. Myra had the pistol right now but he didn't trust her chances against the assholes in the gray Buick. Their absence of late was making Nolan nervous. Guys like that didn’t give up so easily. They were planning something, but what?
Why the hell he cared was another good question. The answer, he supposed, was Cal. He liked the kid. Cal had spunk and wit and he didn't brag about his brains like the eggheads Nolan remembered from his own school days. Cal listened when you told him something. Nolan could see him leaning over the M
ustang's innards, his young face a study in concentration. "Shroud, overflow, heater hose, transmission fluid line, radiator hoses. . ." He repeated everything Nolan said to him.
Jokingly, Nolan had suggested that maybe Cal should go to work on Al Dunwoodie's superconductors. Cal looked up, smiled, and said he had been thinking the same thing, and then he went off into energy, electrons, magnetic fields, copper oxide, barium carbonate, and a whole list of other chemistry lab shit—until he saw the Lost in Space look on Nolan's face and apologized. When Nolan looked at the Mustang again he felt like he was looking at Fred Flintstone's car. By Cal's standards, everything under the hood had to be Stone Age technology.
Ancient or not, both cars were now drivable. Vic drove the Lincoln into town and the Mustang was out of the barn and parked in front of the garage. Nolan felt good about that. Though Cal had done most of the actual labor, Nolan felt he helped the cause by providing the parts and supervising the work. Now everybody had transportation and Cal had successfully completed Auto Shop 101.
He taped off the bandages and rose from the toilet seat to put everything back in the cabinet. When he saw himself in the mirror he noted that he needed a haircut. The hair on the back of his neck itched, and one long strand that grew out of a half -assed cowlick in front kept falling over his forehead into his eyes. He pushed it back with his fingers and just for fun sang one verse with his lip snaked up in Elvis-fashion. He was still smiling to himself when he opened the bathroom door and found Myra leaning against the wall in the hall.
"Singing to the mirror?" she asked. "I know that's the only person you couldn't help falling in love with."
"Where's Cal?" Nolan replied.
"Cleaning the fish I caught last night. Do you mind? I have to go."
He moved aside to let her enter the bathroom. "You shouldn't fish at the pond by yourself, Myra."
She closed the door on him. He positioned himself against the wall and waited. When she came out he said, "I mean it. What if they decide to snatch you instead of Cal? If you disappear Cal will have no choice but to go back to his grandmother."
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