The shooting began again. This time, I could see the laser light and spit of fire—from the Ferris wheel. As the ancient wheel turned, so did the gun.
I crept up the back of the hill hoping the growing darkness provided cover. Below, more police cars were arriving—an entire SWAT team from the looks of it. Man, we’d really stepped in a fire ant nest this time.
Authorities took too long. My family was trapped up there, and that freakin’ gunman was going down. Well, literally going down right now as the wheel swung his seat away from us and toward the ground on the far side. The blasted ride had only three seats and he’d claimed one of them.
Finally finding Julie’s ugly pink coat behind some ragged weeds, I belly-crawled up behind them. Julie poked the long, lanky body lying beside her, and Zander turned. He held up his sling shot and shrugged, indicating their helplessness.
“Zander knocked him down with a stone,” Julie whispered proudly.
“And then Lucas arrived, and Gregory got up and ran,” Zander explained in disgust. “The wheel is slow, so he can climb on and off easily, but he just sits there, shooting at anything that moves.”
“A dream come true for a real sportsman,” I said sardonically, judging the angle of the wheel and our hiding place and deciding we were safe enough if we kept our heads down. “Where is our super-genius FBI informant?” I didn’t know Lucas, but in my opinion riding up on an assault rifle was not a good tactical maneuver.
“He learned Gregory killed his sister,” Julie whispered in a voice full of horror. “Lucas has been trying to confront him, but Gregory is always surrounded by men, until now.”
Since they all had access to my findings about Gregory’s prison record and theories about Rebecca, I didn’t even bother asking how Lucas knew. With the FBI at his fingertips, he probably had access to more records than I did.
I wondered if Laura Jeffrey had bothered sending Gregory a warning, and if he knew the jig was up.
I pulled out my phone and showed the twins the air-to-ground photos Graham was sending me of the cops in a stand-off with the bulldozer guys at the Jesus Cave. “Looks like they’re holed up in that cement bunker with an arsenal. Gregory must have decided he’d rather die on high ground than starve to death with Jesus.”
Zander snorted. Julie glared at my disrespect. The assault rifle continued spitting fire but mostly as laconic warnings. Or look at me, I’m up here, pigs.
“You can’t touch me,” he slurred as the wheel circled downward. “I have a second amendment right to bear arms and protect myself from a government I don’t recognize!”
Oh yeah, here came the drunken justification. A man who beats up his wife and murders his girlfriend, probably hadn’t the ability to calculate any further than a grandiose super-stud ending like in the movies. The news was filled with idiots like that.
“I ain’t goin’ back to prison,” our bright bulb shouted.
If he thought we’d respond to that and make targets of ourselves, he’d seriously underestimated the enemy. Of course he had.
Julie nodded worriedly in the direction of the road. “Lucas is armed, too. He has a rifle.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” I said in disgust. “Stay here.”
I gauged the distance to Gregory’s monster truck where it blocked the road, then found the shadowy figure kneeling in a pile of boulders with his rifle in the ready position. When Gregory’s amusement park seat revolved down the far side of the wheel from the road, I darted out of our hiding place. He might see my movement, but he’d have to shoot through the wheel supports and his truck to reach me.
Lucas heard me coming, swiveled, rifle ready, then made a gesture of disgust, and returned to following his target like any good sniper.
In my fury, I felt his disrespect justified my reaction. I picked up a good-sized rock, smashed it against his trigger hand, kneed him in the back, and ripped the rifle away. Half of my success is surprise. No one expects a shrimp to attack. I heaved the weapon down the hill as he turned to grab me.
“Don’t make a bigger asshat of yourself by hitting me in front of Julie,” I warned. “Going to jail and ruining your career for revenge is the act of a temper-tantrum-throwing toddler.”
“How many more people does he have to kill before I’m allowed to take him down?” Lucas asked angrily.
“You are not judge and jury. The cops will be sending in experts shortly. It’s just you down here wanting to kill right now, which makes you as bad as him. You and the twins could drive away, and he’d be up there all by his lonesome. How long do you think that would last?”
He growled an expletive and glared at the sky. “The cops will let him surrender when he gets tired. He’ll lawyer up. There won’t be enough evidence against him. He’ll get away to do it again.”
Possibly, but I could not condone his testosterone-addled version of justice. Young men simply did not have the brain wiring to think through the hormones, which probably explained half the world’s problems. Still, I had enough experience to sympathize with his frustration and the need for release. “If I bring him down, will you promise not to kill him and to keep me and the kids out of it?”
I was hoping Graham’s men were handling Laura Jeffrey and any other killers on the premises. I could manage only one situation at a time, and the twins came first. I would not let them think it was okay to kill, or take justice into their own hands. But I wasn’t averse to teaching lessons.
If laughing wouldn’t have drawn attention, Lucas probably would have rolled around and howled at my suggestion that I could do what he could not. Instead, the snot looked me up and down and made a rude noise. “Sure, knock yourself out.”
After that, I had enough rage to knock him out. Instead, I pointed at the boulders we were hiding behind. “At the count of three, push.” I placed my palms squarely on the top rock.
I couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but he caught on quick. He raised his head above the rocks, gauged the angle of our target, placed his greater muscle power in a strategic position, and we rocked and rolled.
The first boulder bounced off the rest of the stack and only rolled half way toward our target. Gregory shot in the direction of the noise, and fragments spattered.
“What did Rebecca do to you that she deserved to die?” Now that he knew our position, I felt free to shout at the wheel as we rocked another boulder.
“I didn’t kill her!” Gregory shouted. “She couldn’t swim. That ain’t my fault.”
“It’s hard to swim if you’ve been strangled to death,” Lucas roared at his sister’s killer.
Gregory answered with gunfire. So much for making him talk like they do in the movies. I didn’t expect to get sense out of him anyway.
Having a better idea of how much strength we needed now, we gauged the next boulder better, and the one after that. They bounced and rattled and flat-lined while Gregory emptied his ammo using them for target practice. Eventually, a boulder slammed into the Ferris wheel mechanism.
The wheel slowed down.
“Ancient engine,” Lucas said in satisfaction. “We’ve got him.”
“Remember, you promised to keep us out of this. You can have all the glory,” I warned before pushing the next rock.
He didn’t argue but shoved.
Sure enough, the next rock bounced off the others, arced through the air, and smashed into the lever that operated the engine. The wheel shuddered, groaned, and Gregory—standing up to better aim at us—flew over the back of the seat. Fortunately for him, he was on the downside roll. His gun went one way, he went the other, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath from him.
I ran for the rifle. Lucas ran for the man.
It might have been better if Gregory had fallen while the wheel was at its height. Then he could have broken his neck and not known what hit him.
Colored lights flashed across his stunned expression as Lucas grabbed his shirt, hauled him to his feet, and slammed a fist into the gut of
his sister’s murderer.
I walked away from the one-sided battle. Cop cars were on their way up the hill. I’d done what I could. Let them handle the rest. The twins and I were outta there, escaping authority—as Magda had taught me.
Chapter 27
Sam was waiting at the gate to take us home as ordered. Silently, Julie and Zander piled in after me, apparently shocked senseless by their recent violent experience. Chaos takes time to process, but I was proud of how they’d held up.
When the limo finally deposited us on our doorstep, Magda was there, helping EG string popcorn around a tree blinking in lopsided glory. The domestic scene, alone, after the gun violence was sufficient to push me into overload. Mallard hanging tinsel had me toppling in shock.
I grabbed a wall, and our little family waved in welcome. Shaking my head to clear it, I followed the twins and staggered toward the stairs and showers.
At that point, I really didn’t care what Laura Jeffrey had to do with a wife-beating killer, a bunch of AGA thugs, and Arden’s board of directors. It would no doubt make more sense when I read the police reports in the morning. For now, I was home, my family was safe, and Graham was landing his damned helicopter in his private heliport. I hugged safety around me like a cozy sweater and abandoned the outside world.
Graham didn’t come down for dinner, but he sent me Arden’s hospital report. Our favorite preacher was recovering after having his stomach pumped for poison. Nurses reported that Laura Jeffrey had arrived during lunch and had been the last person to see him before me. Josh had cleared me because he’d eaten nothing while I was around—I do that to people.
The police had Laura in custody, but she would be encircled by lawyers.
One could hope Arden would finally report everything he suspected about people he could no longer trust, but I wasn’t holding my breath. He was probably praying for them. If he’d reported his suspicions earlier, Melissa might still be alive.
Nick and Patra came over to celebrate with us—and to collect information the media didn’t have yet.
“What will happen to Jesus World?” Patra asked, not out of any concern for the park and its supporters but planning her next story. I knew my sister well.
Magda actually sat at the table with us. With a nonchalant wave, she answered with assurance, “Arden’s followers will be praying for God’s will. That should provide all the funding he needs to rebuild.”
Yeah, she’d probably have the CIA secretly fund overseas schools. I gave her the stink eye but kept my mouth shut. My concern was for Julie, who was looking intensely thoughtful. I had about decided that was a dangerous thing.
After dinner, we carried our drinks to the parlor, much to Mallard’s immense dismay, and admired our first family Christmas tree. EG insisted on carols. We didn’t know any. Julie gallantly sang some South African hymns. We bumbled through “Jingle Bells.” I pried EG away from package sorting, and called it a night. That was enough family togetherness even for me.
Finally, I was able to take the hidden stairs from the room next to mine up to Graham’s lair to see what he was doing. To one side of the wall his monitors displayed the park, but it was too dark and potentially dangerous for the cops to explore it tonight if there were any more booby-traps than the ones on the fence. They’d installed lights and guards and had the place under surveillance.
Graham had some new activity rolling across the other screens. I wasn’t interested.
Instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck from behind and leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you.”
“For what?” He hit his keyboard and changed the monitors. One showed Julie slipping outside to meet Lucas in the barren grape arbor behind the mansion. . .
“I knew you’d have the arbor bugged,” I complained, switching off that screen. “Leave her be. She’s old enough to make her own bad choices.”
“He’s not bad, just inexperienced. Your sister is the crazy. Once you give her her share of the money, she’ll give it away, probably to Arden.”
“Her choice. It’s allowed. EG and Tudor are the only ones who need real guardians right now. I can handle that.”
He snorted. “You haven’t a clue what Tudor is into. And EG will be worse in a few years.”
EG was pretty bad now, so I didn’t argue. “I just need to steer them down the right paths. It will be easier here than wandering the back roads of the Middle East.” As our small family had done in Magda’s misbegotten youth went unsaid.
He couldn’t argue that either. “Keep an eye on Magda.”
My turn to snort. “Like that’s happening in our lifetimes. I’m guessing she won’t stay long enough to enjoy a gift of wine. So I bought her a red emergency phone with all our numbers in it, and I’m giving the phone number to the kids for Christmas.”
He chuckled. “You’re mean. Did you buy Mallard his wine?”
I nibbled Graham’s ear lobe before answering. “I bought him shares in his favorite Irish pub. He’ll be paying himself when he runs up his tab.”
Graham stood abruptly, grabbed my waist, and pulled me hard against his hips. The heat of his kiss was worth the aggravation of dealing with his insanity.
On the night before Christmas Eve, Julie waited until the house settled down, and carried her stack of presents downstairs. She was still a little uncertain of her place in the family, but she enjoyed gift giving.
To her surprise, their mother was sitting in the ugly Morris chair, sipping a glass of wine and watching the lights on the tree. She looked up with a smile as Julie set her colorful stack on the floor. In the dim light, lines of weariness formed around Magda’s mouth and eyes, but her sleek blond hair was as elegantly styled as her ensemble of form-fitting red sweater and wool slacks.
“I am glad we had this chance to meet,” Magda said in a low voice that wouldn’t carry far. “Your father would be so very proud of the two of you.”
Delighted with this opportunity to know her mother better, Julie sat cross-legged at her feet. “We’ve always understood that you and Father had a higher calling. I’m not sure I’ve found mine yet, but I hope it is one that will allow me to visit often with family. I feel accepted here as I do not always elsewhere.”
Magda laughed softly. “You were all born with rebel genes and excellent brains. You will never fit in with flocks of sheep. The world needs more people like us. But you will find unique friends who will be as close as family someday.”
Julie nodded. “I think this is so. Where do you go from here?”
“It’s best if you do not know. But Ana will be distributing your funds soon, so you may travel where you will. Let your brother handle your money so you never go hungry. When I was your age, I didn’t realize how harmful poverty could be, and Ana and Nick suffered for it. Keep enough to care for your children.”
“I do not know if I shall have children, but you are correct. I should keep emergency funds. Our father would hope that we would always have a home for you, should you need one.”
Magda leaned over and patted her cheek. “Ana would argue with that, and rightly so. I am dangerous, but I appreciate your compassionate heart. You inherit that from your father’s side of the family. Have children. Create your own dynasty and save the future. But for now, go on back to bed. EG is up in her room, plotting our entire weekend. You will need your rest.”
Julie did as told, fearing her mother was saying good-bye. She did not completely regret losing a chance to know her better. In her own odd way, Magda had given a legend to all her children, so she was always present wherever her family was gathered.
After a day of EG’s idea of a family Christmas Eve—visits to the White House lawn to see a real Christmas tree, more shopping with carolers, hot cider, and of course, watching A Christmas Carol production—I was wiped.
But I’d finally finished my Santa shopping and, with everyone in bed, I needed to fill EG’s stocking. She’d found an enormous red furry one and added more glitter to the glittery stars already
there. The stocking was large enough to hold a library. I added books and a paint set and some chocolates and still had room left over.
I stopped to admire the tree before turning off the lights. Among the branches, I found a new ornament—a tiny crystal cherub with a gold base. Curious, I turned it over. On the base was inscribed: In memoriam, Anthony Hostetter, 1991. Magda must have hung it there.
Anthony was my baby brother, the one I couldn’t save from bombs. Apparently, Magda hadn’t forgotten that painful time, although she’d divorced Anthony’s father shortly thereafter and moved on with her life—to Africa, to be precise. I’d never forgiven Magda for the baby’s death. Maybe it was time.
Distracting myself, I watched the snow starting to fall out the front window, coating the historic street lamps and creating a Victorian panorama.
I gave the stacks of gifts beneath the tree one more glance and frowned. They’d been rearranged. I sat down to examine tags, like the child I’d never been. Nick and Patra had been smuggling in gifts from their respective abodes, so the stack was acquiring mountainous dimensions. They’d promised to show up early in the morning to watch EG tackle the motherlode. I didn’t have to shake the box labeled from Nick to me. I knew it would be clothes. I just prayed they were something I dared wear.
Then I noticed that the gift I’d wrapped in elaborate velvet and gold for Magda wasn’t there. I shoved larger packages aside but the square phone box had vanished—and so had all the other packages addressed to her.
She was gone.
At least she’d taken her gifts with her.
I can’t say that I felt surprise or even sadness, except for EG and the twins, who would have liked pretending they had a real mother. But it was hard to miss what you’d never had. I’d long ago accepted that—whatever her reasoning—Magda loved having children. She took pride in our achievements. She simply didn’t have the patience for tending us.
I didn’t know if her departure meant I’d won Patra’s wager and got to keep my fake Birkin bag or not. Our mother hadn’t overwhelmed us with extravagant gifts to make us look like pikers, then run. Instead, she’d left each of us identical, small, rectangular packages.
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