“You’ve been messing in my business, Cam Flaherty.” Greta’s words came out strained, like she was barely containing her fury. “Who do you think you are, grilling my daughter about my husband’s accounts?”
Cam didn’t dare speak. She changed her mind about getting deeper into the trees. It was a stupid idea. Greta could kill her back there and her body would never be found. She crept past a thick stand of saplings to her left and crouched behind them. At least she wore a dark green shirt and dirt-stained jeans with her vest, the most camouflage she could hope for.
“Asking questions about Wayne’s past, and about mine, too.” Greta now sounded breathless. “Snooping around my barn. Talking to that witch, Judith. She’s one person you won’t be talking to ever again.”
No. She must have killed Judith. Cam couldn’t think about that now. She listened for where Greta’s voice came from. It seemed like she was directing it farther into the woods, that she thought that’s where Cam was heading. Good.
“Judith’s rotting in hell right next to Wayne now,” Greta spat out. “Nothing made me happier than to end his life. Everybody thought he was such a sweet pushover, but he wasn’t. I never got to have my own life.”
Cam eyed another big tree closer to the fields, a craggy dead maple. She felt her side and her hand came up smeared with blood. She pressed the back of her left hand against the wound, wincing at the pain, suppressing a cry. She had to get out of here before she lost any more blood. She took a careful step. One more. And one more. She made it to the safety of the big tree and glanced around before hiding. She couldn’t see Greta anywhere and now she’d stopped talking. Cam let herself take a breath as a hawk screamed its high scratchy call from the sky. From where she stood it looked about thirty feet to the end of the trees. She could make a dash for it except for the underbrush. It would have to be a careful dash.
She counted silently as she inhaled deeply. One, two, three. Go! She walked as quickly and as quietly as she could. She lifted her feet above the dead branches littering the ground, onto a mound of moss, over an unfurling fern. Thorns grabbed at her pants leg. She ripped her leg loose and took another step. The scent of the freshly turned soil of the field reached her nostrils, called to her. Almost there.
A puff of smoke surrounded a hole in the tree right in front of her and another crack resounded. Chips of bark flew out.
“Freeze!” Greta demanded, the word a cold steel dagger.
Cam froze. I don’t want to die.
With a quick rustle, Greta strode toward her. She gripped the gun in both hands. A gun pointed at Cam’s chest.
“Put that thing down!” Cam held a hand up, barely able to speak. “You don’t have to point it at me.” Her hands numbed and her breath came fast and shallow.
“Wanna bet? Turn around. Now.” Greta’s breath smelled sour. The pale skin around her eyes was strained and a tic beat below her right eye. Her hair frizzed loose in all directions above a worn denim jacket. She reached for Cam’s shoulder with her right hand, keeping the gun steady with her left.
Cam turned. The movement sliced her with pain. The gun pressed hard and angry between her shoulder blades. It hurt, but not as much as her side. Her insides turned to ice. Would the police get here in time? They had to.
“Walk.” Greta prodded Cam with the gun. She gripped Cam’s right shoulder with her hand.
“Where are we going?” Cam tried to keep her words from wobbling. Her throat was dry. She could barely swallow.
“You’ll find out.” She pushed Cam back into the woods.
Cam moved as slowly as she could. “Put the gun down, Greta.” Cam croaked as loudly as she could. “You’re not going to shoot me, are you?” Let them hear, let them hear.
“I’m finally going to do exactly and only what I want to do, after all these years,” Greta snarled. “And yeah, it might just include shooting you.” The acrid scent of nerves and desperation exuded from her.
No. Cam’s legs felt like a baby calf’s up on its feet for the first time. “Why did you kill Wayne?” She fervently hoped the phone could pick up their conversation from her pocket. Should she tell Greta she’d called the police? No, Greta would probably kill her on the spot.
“I was going to be a world-class scientist, but he trapped me.” Greta wove through the trees like she didn’t know what her plan was, trudging mostly parallel to the border with the fields. “He kept money from me, he stuck us in this godforsaken village, he made me deal with chicken shit, of all things.” Greta pushed Cam to change direction, heading deeper into the woods again. She fell silent.
“Where are we going?” Cam asked.
“Just shut up and walk.”
They trod, cracking branches underfoot, brushing past young maples still bare of leaves and a young pine straining for the canopy.
“What about Megan?” Every time Cam tried to slow the pace, Greta nudged her with the barrel of the gun.
“What about her?” Greta asked.
“What’s going to happen to her when you’re arrested for murder?”
“For one thing, I’m not going to be arrested. I have a plan. And Megan’s fine. She’s an adult, she has a job.”
The smell of evergreen needles dredged up an incongruous memory of Christmas. What if Cam never saw another Noel? The trees opened up onto the trail. Damn. Greta had found the path, narrow though it was. Now she could easily force Cam to walk far into the woods. Cam needed her own plan, and soon.
“Why didn’t you get a divorce? Or tell him you needed to work in your own area? Why kill Wayne?” She saw a flash of something on her right. She didn’t dare turn her head. Please let it be rescue.
“You make it sound so easy. What do you know?” Greta barked. “You’re single. You don’t have kids. I’ll bet you’ve been handed privilege your whole life.”
Cam forced herself to keep moving, but no police appeared. Apparently the flash hadn’t been her rescue angels. Cam was on her own. She slowed to a halt and planted her feet. She tensed her leg muscles.
“Hey, I didn’t tell you to stop.” Greta’s hand pushed Cam’s back and the pressure from the gun let up.
Cam whipped her head to the left. “Watch that poison ivy,” she cried.
Greta looked. Cam spun to the left. She smashed her elbow into Greta’s face. The gun fired. Cam’s ears rang and another sharp sting hit her right arm. Greta cried out and staggered. She cupped her right hand over her nose, her eyes streaming. Cam grabbed Greta’s left forearm and twisted it until she screamed and dropped the gun. Cam put both hands on Greta’s chest and pushed, ignoring her own pain.
Greta yelled and fell to the ground, landing on her rear with a thud. She reached for the gun, but Cam kicked her hand away. She bent down to pick up the weapon, never taking her gaze away from Greta, and pointed it at her. Cam’s side and arm were on fire, but at least she was alive.
“Don’t move.” Cam willed her hand to be steady on the handgun’s grip, still warm from Greta’s grasp. Cam hadn’t fired a gun since Albert had taught her as a teenager. But if she had to, she would.
“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Greta said thickly. “I was only trying to scare you, get you to quit sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. And now you broke mine.”
“Right.” Cam kept the gun pointed at Greta but made sure she stayed out of reach of Greta’s hands and feet. If the police weren’t on their way, if that flash had been only sunlight on a puddle or a piece of metal, she had no idea how she was going to get Greta out of here and into the hands of the authorities. She assumed the call to dispatch was still live in her pocket. But if that flash was the police, wouldn’t they have appeared by now?
Cam’s right arm started to shake and the upper part where she’d been shot ached something fierce. She brought her left hand up to support the gun. Greta pushed up on her elbows and made a quick scoot toward Cam. She nearly grabbed Cam’s ankle. Just in time, Cam lashed a kick, landing her work boot toe squarely on Greta’s
upper arm.
Over Greta’s yell of pain, Cam said, “I told you not to move.”
Greta grabbed her arm with her other hand and turned her face away. Cam heard a soft rustle. She didn’t dare take her eyes off Greta.
With a rush of noise, three officers burst out of the woods onto the trail to Cam’s right. Led by Ruth, they had weapons drawn and wore thick vests over their uniform shirts. They arrived at Cam’s side in seconds. Greta scrabbled backward with elbows and knees, her eyes wide.
“Don’t move,” Ruth commanded Greta as she pointed her weapon at her.
Greta stopped. Blood ran in rivulets from her nose and dripped off her chin.
“I already told her that,” Cam said, lowering Greta’s gun. She tried to laugh but it came out half sob.
Another officer trained his weapon on Greta while a third rolled her over and cuffed her hands behind her back. Ruth reached out a gloved hand and took the weapon from Cam.
“You’re hurt,” Ruth said to Cam. Worry lines creased her face as she looked at Cam’s arm.
“She hurt me, you know,” Greta said, struggling against the restraints. “She broke my nose. She lured me out here and was going to kill me. I think she killed my husband, too. She’s the one with the gun.”
Cam turned her back.
The cuffing officer squatted next to Greta. “Keep quiet. We’ve been listening to you our whole way over here.” He read Greta her rights as she glared at Cam with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils. The other office spoke into the mike on his shoulder, saying something about the woods and about gunshot wounds.
“You were great,” Ruth said to Cam, holstering her own gun. “Let’s get you out of here.” She ushered Cam a little ways down the trail until they could see the fields. “I need you to sit down. The paramedics can get to us just fine.”
“She shot me in the side, and then my arm got hit when I attacked her. She fell for ‘made ya look,’ the oldest trick in the book.” Cam made the smallest of smiles as she started to sway. Ruth extended her hand and helped Cam sink to sitting on the mowed path between the woods and the last field. The ground was cold but at least it was solid. And safe.
“Hang on, Cammie.” Ruth squatted next to her. “Medical is on its way.” A siren confirmed her words as it keened ever louder.
“You could have stepped in a minute or two earlier.” Cam’s words came out so slowly it was like talking underwater.
“Believe me, we got here as soon as we could.”
Two EMTs carrying bags appeared at the opening to the fields. Ruth stood and waved them toward Cam. “She’s been shot,” Ruth called.
They hurried toward Cam. “Ma’am, can you tell us what happened?”
“I got shot in a couple of places.” Cam glanced up at a concerned-looking EMT. “I just need to rest a little.” Drawing her knees up, she folded her arms on them. Blood dripped from her upper arm onto her leg. She lowered her head, closing her eyes.
And then everything went black.
Chapter 32
Cam opened her eyes. To her right, sunlight filtered into the room through half-closed blinds. She sniffed a sweet smell, then spied a bowl of blooming narcissus on the windowsill. Next to which sat Pete, engrossed in his phone.
She was in a hospital room. The sheets and blankets were white. The wall across from her was fake wood paneling and the other walls were painted a pale green. A tray on a stand next to the bed held a plastic cup, a pink plastic pitcher, and a matching basin. Her right arm hung in a sling over a blue-print plainly styled nightgown. The memory of the attack flooded over her. Greta, a murderer of her own husband. And of Judith, and almost of Cam, herself.
When she shifted in bed, a sharp pain stabbed her side, making her moan. Pete looked up. He strode around the bed and picked up her left hand.
“Oh, Cam,” he said. His eyes filled and he blinked hard.
“Hey, I’m alive, aren’t I?”
He nodded, smiling.
“But my side and my arm hurt like hell.”
“You took a round, but it really only scraped through the top layer of flesh. A slightly different angle and it would have nicked a rib, or worse. Same for your arm. You’re going to be fine.”
“Good,” she said slowly. She stared at the blanket on her lap. She had rescued herself. She could still feel the gun poking her in the back. She remembered her desperation to stay out of the deep woods. Greta saying she’d killed Wayne and shot Judith. And . . .
Her stomach roiled. “Oh, no. Give me that.” Cam clapped one hand over her mouth as she pointed at the pink kidney-shaped basin next to the pitcher.
Pete handed it to her. Cam bent over it, despite the pain, and retched up the remnants of her long-ago lunch, her heaves making the injury in her side burn.
Pete stroked her hair off her forehead and murmured, “It’s okay. You’re going to be all right.” When she was done, he took the basin to the bathroom and came back with a damp washcloth.
She wiped her eyes and mouth, and gazed at him. “I’m sorry. That was gross.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. You were tough and brave today, and you overcame a murderer.” He took the washcloth and tossed it into the bathroom, then poured her a little water before taking her hand again.
“Are they giving me pain meds?”
“I imagine so, but we can ask the nurse.”
“Those things never agree with me,” Cam said after she sipped the water, grateful that her stomach now felt settled again. “Any idea why I’m wearing this sling if the shot only nicked my arm?”
“I’d say it’s to immobilize it so you don’t irritate the wound as it heals. But you can ask the nurse when he comes back in.”
“Sit down, will you? I still have questions.”
Pete obliged, hiking up a hip to perch on the edge of the bed facing her. “Hit me.”
“You got my message about Judith’s trash?”
“I did. I tried to call you back but you never picked up. It must have been when you were on with dispatch. Anyway, Judith had called us, too. She found a little wand under her trash barrel. Like a miniature magic wand.”
“I’ve seen that.” Cam narrowed her eyes. “It was on Greta’s key chain. You know what a big Harry Potter buff she was.”
“Yes. And Judith knew it wasn’t her daughter’s.”
“Right, she’d said her daughter hated Harry Potter,” Cam said.
“Then Judith went and checked her security camera footage. You were right. Greta had stolen Judith’s nicotine canisters and planted them near Wayne and on the property. We knew Greta had made Wayne’s breakfast. Looks like she poisoned it, too.” He blew out a breath. “Our cyber-crimes guy found something else. Wayne never invited Judith over for breakfast. Greta used his account to send the e-mail, but she sent it from the library’s computer when she was logged in as herself.”
“To make it look like Judith could have poisoned his breakfast.”
Pete nodded. “If she’d sent it from their house, we wouldn’t have known. I don’t know if you’ve heard that Greta shot Judith?”
“She implied that she killed Judith. Is she—”
“Judith will live,” Pete said. “Greta only wounded her, as it turns out, but Judith was smart enough to lie still and make Greta think she’d succeeded with another murder. I was over there when you called. Judith’s only mistake was to go to the Laitinens’ this morning and confront Greta about the theft.”
“Megan told me about that.” Cam stroked the back of Pete’s hand. “You know, I’m glad it wasn’t Paul. He’s a single dad of three little boys. Can you imagine?”
“People driven to murder are all types. You know that by now.”
“I guess. But I’m glad he wasn’t the one. And I never did think Katie could have killed anybody.”
“You were right about that,” Pete agreed.
“Judith, maybe. But it seemed kind of extreme for somebody like her, with all her money.” Cam pushed down
with her left hand to shift position. “Ow.” She squeezed her eyes shut at the sudden stab in her side. When she opened them, Pete was looking at her with his own eyes full of pain.
“Hey,” Cam said. “I’m going to be all right. You said so, remember?”
“I know. And you will.” He smiled. “I hate to see you hurting.”
“Now you know how I felt when you got your own arm shot up not that long ago.”
“Fair trade.” He gazed at her. “You know, you were amazing today. Speaking up for the dispatcher even as Greta had you at gunpoint. And then disabling an armed murderer. Where’d you learn that elbow jab?”
She laughed. “Just made it up. I’m taller than Greta, and I’m pretty strong from all the farm work. It was the only tool I had at hand. But I also used to read a lot of female superhero comic books. They’re always elbowing somebody or other in the face. Or worse.”
“It was very effective. I think from now on your middle name is Courage.”
“Nah.” She batted down the suggestion with her good hand. “What else was I going to do? I was just glad Ruth and the others showed up when they did.”
“Do I hear my name?” Ruth peeked in around the door. “Permission to enter?”
Cam smiled at her. “Granted.”
Ruth walked in holding a huge bunch of yellow tulips in one hand and a vase in the other. She went around the other side of Pete and bent down to give Cam a kiss on the cheek. Pete glanced at her.
“No, you don’t get one, too, Detective.” Ruth lifted her eyebrows but her eyes were smiling. She wore black jeans with a red sweater instead of her uniform.
He laughed. “That actually wasn’t my primary concern, Officer Dodge.”
Ruth focused on Cam. “I’m sorry we didn’t get there sooner. Based on what you very intelligently let the dispatcher hear, we had to detour around to the road behind your neighbor’s place and come in through there so Greta wouldn’t see our vehicle. We knew we couldn’t charge in from the direction of the barn or you might have been dead before we got there. Luckily the neighbor has an access way to the other road or it would have taken us a lot longer.”
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