by Sharon Pape
They couldn’t see me from where they stood, and I didn’t need to see them. I instantly recognized their voices. Although Patrick and the mayor were making an effort to keep the volume down, I could tell by the fury in their hushed tones that they wanted to shout. I don’t normally eavesdrop, but I wasn’t going anywhere until I learned why the mayor and his anointed one had had a falling-out at so critical a juncture.
The men had clearly chosen to have their showdown in the cafeteria because the hallway from the front door led to the gym first. There was no reason for anyone to be this far down, except for Rusty, and I suspected he was ensconced at his desk in the basement watching baseball.
“. . . nothing but a traitor,” Tompkins snarled. “Admit it—you were plotting to take advantage of me all along.”
“Plotting?” Patrick’s tone was more bemused than angry. “You’re the one with schemes and plots, Lester. You’ve always been focused on your own agenda. Have you forgotten that you’re the one who came and begged me to return to the board or that I declined the offer? Does that sound like someone who’s trying to play you?”
“You have a convenient memory,” Tompkins said.
“Same old, same old. You attack anyone who gets in your way. Well, there are some things in this world more important than building another hotel.”
There was a pause, during which Tompkins must have been searching for a scathing rejoinder. When he finally lurched on, it was with far less conviction. “You should have come to me as soon as you realized you were having second thoughts.”
“I did,” Patrick said, anger finally sharpening his words. “If you have anything else to say to me, you can do it in front of the board and your constituents.”
I heard his footsteps crossing the cafeteria, so I double-timed it back to the gym more curious than ever. When I slipped into my seat, Tilly was still chatting with her friend. She probably didn’t realize I’d ever left. The three other board members had taken their seats on the podium during my absence. I noticed two of them checking their watches. The meeting was ten minutes late in starting. Patrick entered the gym right behind me. There was nothing about his body language or expression to indicate he’d been in a heated dialogue moments earlier. He greeted the other board members and sat down, leaving the center chair for the mayor.
Tompkins hadn’t regrouped as well. He marched in, eyes straight ahead, ignoring the people who called out greetings. He had more on his mind than good will and the next election. His mouth was compressed into a grim line, his fair skin mottled with the anger raging through him. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam coming out of his ears. He mounted the podium, nodding stiffly at the board members as he took his seat.
Once the room quieted, he opened the meeting by saying that the evening’s purpose was to afford residents an opportunity to ask questions and voice their opinions about the Waverly Corporation’s proposal to build a hotel in New Camel.
“I’ll be acting as moderator. The meeting is scheduled for two hours, and I intend to shut it down at that point. Let me tell you ahead of time that I will not brook any interruptions, foul language, or any effort to disrupt this meeting. If you get it into your head to disregard the rules, you will be spending the night in the Watkins Glen lockup as a guest of the county.”
A buzz of reactions swept across the gym. Even the board members were looking at one another in disbelief. I was probably the only one there who realized Tompkins was flexing his mayoral muscle to intimidate Patrick Griffin into returning to his fold. If I were Patrick, I’d be laughing at the threat. What could Tompkins actually do to make him rethink his change of heart? I doubted there was anything in his arsenal with real teeth. Anything that couldn’t also come back to bite him one day. Tompkins had to thump his gavel several times to restore silence.
“Let’s get started. Raise your hand if you wish to speak and wait your turn.”
As the meeting dragged on toward the two-hour mark, I was increasingly glad we hadn’t brought Merlin with us. Of course, that feeling might change once we got back home. We heard the opinion of every soul in the gym. Some more than once. Those who were against changing the zoning laws were every bit as passionate and eloquent as those who were in favor of it. By my estimate, the audience was split fifty–fifty. Nothing I heard made me change my mind. I suspected that was also true of everyone else there. But at least the board members now had a better idea of how the people felt. Whether any of it would have an impact on their vote remained to be seen.
Tompkins ended the meeting within minutes of the scheduled time. He should have been pleased by how polite and respectful everyone was. But I could tell his anger was still simmering below the surface. On the other hand, Patrick appeared to be on an even keel. Maybe he was just a better actor. I had to find out what had really gone down. What had caused Patrick to spin such a one eighty?
* * * *
I had one stop to make before driving Tilly home. She’d run out of vanilla and needed it for the morning’s baking. The only store that sold vanilla and stayed open late was Bigbee’s, on the road to the Glen. There wasn’t much traffic at that hour. I was driving and listening to Tilly fill me in on her friend’s life. She’d recently become a grandmother for the fifth time, her brother had passed from a heart attack, her daughter had made partner at her law firm, and her daughter-in-law had left her son and their two little ones to run away with another man. Between trying to pay attention to her narrative and keeping an eye out for possums, raccoons, and other nocturnal creatures, I didn’t immediately realize we were being followed. Driving out of the school’s lot, there were a dozen or more cars, SUVs, and vans headed in the same direction we were. The pack thinned as the cars turned down side roads until there was only one set of headlights in my rearview mirror.
I pulled into Bigbee’s parking lot; the other vehicle pulled in right after me. I assumed it was someone else who needed a few late-night items. There were five other cars in the lot, a few owned by the grocery store’s skeleton night staff. I pulled into a spot close to the door. The other vehicle parked at the far end of the lot. It was a dark-colored pickup truck, most likely black. I watched it for a minute. The driver shut the lights and the engine but didn’t emerge, which struck me as odd. It was probably the mom or dad of a kid working late at the store, I told myself. But why park so far away? It sure seemed as if the driver didn’t want to be seen.
“What are we waiting for?” Tilly asked when I didn’t get out.
I lied. “I’m trying to remember if I need anything while we’re here.”
“You’ll figure it out sooner in the store than you will sitting here like a bump on a log.” She opened her door and started to get out. “Come on. We’ve already left Merlin alone for too long.”
That got me moving. I followed her into the store, glancing back at the truck. I wanted to believe that if there was danger lurking, Tilly would have felt it in her bones. But I knew better. My aunt, the brilliant psychic, was often inept when it came to herself and her nearest and dearest. Neither Bronwen nor Morgana had ever figured out the dynamics of her huge blind spot or any way to correct it. My theory was that it must be a survival mechanism to keep her sane. Constantly being aware of every threat, large or small, to herself and her loved ones would have driven her mad by now.
Tilly found the vanilla and decided she needed a few overripe bananas for banana bread. I took two green ones that I realized I needed after all. We were back in the car in fifteen minutes. The truck hadn’t moved. I debated going into the store again and reporting it or calling 911, but it seemed like an overreaction. In the morning, I’d probably be laughing at my bout of paranoia.
But just in case I was wrong, I started the engine and threw the gearshift into Drive as soon as I heard my aunt’s seat belt click in. We sped toward the driveway, Tilly exclaiming about pulling Gs. She must have been watching the SYFY network again
. I heard the truck’s engine turn over and saw its headlights blink on as I took the driveway fast enough that we were lucky to be belted in.
“Kailyn,” Tilly yelled. “Take it easy before you make Merlin an orphan.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled as I swung right to head home. The truck followed. Adrenaline kick in. “We’re being followed,” I said. I didn’t like scaring her, but I thought she deserved to know. “I’m going to try to lose him, so hang on.” Tilly grabbed the armrest with one hand and the edge of her seat with the other.
I waited until the last second and swung a hard right onto the next side street, nearly doing a stunt driver’s wheelie. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until the car stabilized and a whoosh of relief escaped my mouth. I snuck a peek at Tilly who was uncharacteristically quiet. Her eyes wide, she gaped as if she wanted to scream but was temporarily rendered mute.
I checked my rearview mirror. The pickup had been too close to execute such a sharp turn without flipping, which had been my goal. The driver must have come to the same conclusion because he shot past the street. We weren’t home free, though.
“Call 911,” I said as I wove in and out of streets I’d never traveled, hoping to lose our pursuer.
Tilly rummaged around in her huge tote of a purse for a while before coming up with the phone. “Where are we?”
I realized I had no idea, and I didn’t dare slow down at cross streets to read the signs. The truck could be waiting to intercept us at any moment. “Tell them we’re on the outskirts of New Camel”—I glanced at the dashboard—”going mostly north.” I was still making rights and lefts all over the place.
Before Tilly could punch in the numbers, she fumbled the phone, juggling it between her hands until she lost it to the floor. “Oh no,” she cried, leaning down to see. “I think it went under the seat. I have to take off my belt to try to reach it.”
“Absolutely not!” I shouted. “What if I have to slam on the brakes or make a sudden turn?”
“Where’s your phone?”
“In my purse in the back somewhere.” It was probably a bad idea to call for help anyway. An additional car racing through the streets might wind up killing us instead of saving us. It wouldn’t be the first incident to end with that kind of irony. Fate had a grim sense of humor. But we couldn’t ride around all night. I needed a plan, a destination. If I tried to make it home, I could be leading our enemy there as well. We’d be too vulnerable getting from the car into the house. “Do you have any sense of who’s in that truck?” I asked her.
“I’ve been trying to pin it down,” she said, “but you know how it is when I’m this nervous.”
I was afraid of that. Adrenaline could act like interference, blocking her ability to read another person’s mind. “It’s okay,” I said. “We’ll be fine.” The words were barely out of my mouth when a screech of tires made us both jump in our seats. The pickup flew around the corner we’d just passed and came up so close to our tail that I could barely see its headlights in the rearview mirror. I didn’t dare slow down, or he’d been in my back seat. My attempt to lose him had apparently only served to make him more aggressive.
“Wait, I know...what to do,” Tilly said, her breathing erratic. “Turn around...head for the police station...in New Camel.”
“You’re brilliant,” I said, wishing I could hug her.
“I learned that... at the safety...class at the...Y.”
I was worried that her struggle to breathe might be a sign of an impending heart attack. I asked if she had pain in her arm, her chest, her jaw. Was she nauseated?
Before she could reply, the pickup hit us hard enough to jolt our heads back then forward to the headrests. I had to fight the steering wheel to stay on the right side of the road. The driver was making it clear this wasn’t just a beer-fueled lark to scare some witches.
“You okay?” I asked Tilly, still worried about her heart.
“Don’t...worry about...me.”
“I’m getting you to an ER,” I said, with no idea where we were or how to get to the closest one. “Hang in there for me.”
“No ER. Get us to the...police station.” Her breathing was getting better, probably through sheer determination.
I looked in the rearview mirror. The truck was closing in again. “The phone,” Tilly said, leaning over as far as she could in the seat belt. “The jolt must have pushed it out.” She sat up, already punching in the emergency numbers.
“The police can’t get here in time to help us,” I said.
“I want whoever’s on duty to be watching for us.”
She was talking to Officer Justin Hobart when the pickup hit us again. Harder this time. We were thrown toward the curb on the right where I missed a row of parked cars by inches. I dragged the wheel in the opposite direction. With tires squealing, I hooked a left onto the next cross street. Our trajectory sent us in a wide arc bumping along the far curb until I wrestled the wheel under control. When I looked back, the truck hadn’t made the turn yet.
Tilly and I saw the traffic light at the same moment. It was maybe six blocks ahead of us. If we reached it on the green and the truck missed it, we had a chance to make it back to the police station. On the smaller side roads at that hour, there hadn’t been other traffic. Now, for better or worse, there was. Maybe our pursuer would give up the chase for fear of involving other vehicles and being caught. Or maybe he didn’t care whom he injured. But I did.
“He’s coming,” Tilly said, looking in her side mirror. In spite of her fear, her voice was steady. She was holding it together.
We were two blocks from the light when it turned green. I gunned the engine, swinging a left at the end of the yellow. We’d finally caught a break. Not only were we headed south to the police station, but I also recognized the stores we were passing. This road would end at the loop onto Main Street. But we had at least a mile yet to go.
“He’s still coming,” Tilly reported.
The other cars on the road were turning off onto side streets. We were alone again, except for the pickup and it was gaining on us. There was one more light ahead of us. We made it through the yellow again. Our pursuer was stopped by the red, but only for the seconds it took for him to check for cross traffic. Getting a ticket was small stuff when vehicular assault topped your list of priorities.
We were coming to the loop. Without decelerating, I turned right, grateful there were no other cars to worry about. The pickup flew onto the loop after us. In the rearview mirror I saw the driver lose control. He sideswiped a parked car but quickly recovered.
The loop curved onto Main Street, where Hobart was hopefully ready and waiting to assist us. I was checking the mirror again when the pickup hit us for the third time. The force of the impact made my hands fly off the steering wheel and threw our heads back and forth again as if we were ragdolls. My car veered across the center line into what would have been oncoming traffic in a larger town. I grabbed the wheel and slammed the brake pedal down to the floorboard. But there wasn’t enough time or space to avoid a van parked at the curb across from the police station. We hit it with a glancing blow before coming to a stop on the wrong side of the street.
Hobart was at my door in an instant. I opened my window with a shaky hand, and he leaned down to ask if we were okay. I turned to Tilly, who looked as though she’d been on a roller-coaster ride through a tunnel of horrors, but she wasn’t clutching her chest, and her color was returning to normal. I had no idea how I looked, but I was pretty sure I’d aged a couple of years in the past hour.
“That was quite a hit you took. I’m calling for an ambulance.” He pulled his phone from his utility belt.
“No, we’re fine. We’re absolutely fine,” I said with all the strength I could dredge up.
He seemed reluctant to take my word for it. “You’re sure?”
“We’re both absolutely fine, Of
ficer,” Tilly chimed in with cheerful vigor to back me up.
“All right then,” he said, putting his phone away. “I’m going to need you to make a U-turn and park across the street. Or would you prefer me to hop in and do it?”
I told him I could do it, but I didn’t realize how shaken I was until I parked and got out of the car. My knees threatened to give way, but I drew myself upright before Hobart could grab his phone again and have us carted off to the hospital. I walked around the front of my car to check on the damage. The driver’s side fender needed some work, but I’d been pretty lucky about that too. Things could have been far worse.
“Please come inside for a minute, Ms. Wilde. I need to write up a report, and you and your aunt need a little time to decompress before you drive home.”
If I was unsteady, Tilly was a jellyfish. Hobart and I had to help her out of the car and into the station house. He pulled a second chair over to the one in front of his desk and gave us each a bottle of water from a small fridge in the corner of the office. Once he was seated behind the desk, he asked me to begin. I explained what happened, with Tilly filling in details here and there. I would have sworn I recalled every second of the incident, but she brought up things I’d missed or already forgotten. It was a scary lesson in how stress affects your memory.
I asked him about the paperwork for the insurance company, and he told me I could download the forms on the DMV site. “Were you able to get a look at the driver or his license plate?” I asked.
Hobart shook his head. “It was dark, and he was moving too fast. My first concern was to make sure you were both all right. Don’t worry. We’re going to catch the creep. I’ve sent out an APB for a black pickup with front-end damage. If you ladies are ready to head home, I’m going to follow you and make sure you get there safely. Lock your doors and windows, and if you have a security system, use it.”