The second aspect was the development of the Will through mental imagery, visualization, and meditation. Once again, no real surprises there. The whole chanting thing was an association she made with religion as a whole anyway. Arden started to get a little leery of the whole thing after that. Ynes ran down the list of the remaining physical and attitudinal changes required to become an adept, and it included everything from the controlled use of drugs to astral projection and sexual magick.
Arden wasn’t so sure she bought the whole hocus-pocus, casting spells thing and told Ynes so. The woman smiled a gentle smile and handed her a card. It was embossed with the symbol she’d seen in the paper and now knew to be the Wheel of the Year. At the bottom of the card was a name and address. Josie Galloway, High Priestess, Hwy 140N.
* * * *
Shaking her head in consternation at what some people actually believed, she entered the lobby of the bed and breakfast, only to be stopped by Mindy Turner in the lobby. Mindy relayed the message that her car had been both released and repaired, and could be picked up at the Chevron station down the street.
Arden ignored the questions swirling through the innkeeper’s eyes, knowing that Mindy had been keeping track of her whereabouts since her dinner with the Sheriff two nights ago. From the hungrily inquisitive look on her face, the Sheriff’s late-night departure last evening had not gone unnoticed.
Refusing to validate or even acknowledge his visit, Arden concentrated instead on the news Mindy had given her. It considerably lifted her spirits. She wanted her own car back, and as soon as possible. The rental she’d acquired was bland and drab compared to the spunk of her little sports car. She bolted up the stairs to her room, contacted the rental company for pickup of the sedan, then hurried to the shower.
With the release of her car she became free of any ties to the Sheriff’s Department. After last night she wanted to stay as far away from Bill Ashton as possible. He was too close and she was too damned attracted to play by even her own rules.
Now that she had her car she could investigate Samantha’s disappearance herself, without any rules or encumbrances. She knew deep inside, that Sam had become the killer’s latest catch. If she could ferret out any information that may save Sam’s life, she would never let it go.
As the hot water pummeled her, kneading the muscles in her neck, shoulders and back, her mind lazily drifted from fantasy to steamy fantasy. Shaking herself out of what was almost a trance, she decided on a course of action. She would meet Josie Galloway and find out exactly how or even if the Wiccans tied into her sister’s disappearance.
* * * *
With something akin to joy, she paid the repair bill for her car, marveling at the low price on the repair of the radiator. Then, in the shadows of the inky garage she saw a Hispanic man staring at her and knew. He was Tony Ortiz, the one who’d found her car. Hesitantly approaching him, she introduced herself.
Tony was immediately apologetic and more than happy to answer questions about his response time to the call and exactly what had been wrong with the vehicle. And while he never said it, Arden knew that he had repaired the little car dirt cheap because he felt guilty about the role he had played in Sam’s disappearance, no matter how small.
Thirty minutes. That was all it had taken Tony to respond to Sam’s call for help. Thirty minutes in time where everyone who touched this event became effected by it. Thirty minutes that changed her life.
Just as Arden turned to leave, Tony made a surprised sound and grabbed her arm. Looking back she saw that he was holding out a piece of paper.
“I almost forgot. I found this jammed in the hood insulation when I was fixing the radiator, ma’am. It musta just got crammed up there. I don’t know why I didn’t just throw it away, but I’ve never seen anything like it, and for some weird reason I thought I should give it to you. It’s probably nothing.” He thrust the paper into her hand and scurried back to the comforting darkness of the garage.
Arden looked at the paper curiously, not even beginning to comprehend what it was that she was looking at. To her it looked like a bunch of abstract lines. Probably some kid’s doodles that flew out the window and got caught in her hood. She absentmindedly stuffed it into her back pocket, heading to her car.
Driving down the highway toward what she hoped would be a gold mine of information, she was completely unaware of the fact that she’d been followed.
* * * *
For a moment Teddy wondered if the target had made her. Why else would she have changed cars? Getting close enough to the garage to hear the conversation between Arden Jones and the mechanic clarified it. Settling back into the seat, looking for all the world like a tourist, the assassin waited to see where the prey would go from here.
* * * *
Stumpy woke with a phlegmy snort. His neck ached with a crick more painful than a kick to the balls. He could barely lift his goddamned head, for Christ’s sake. He experimentally shifted his body, sitting up gingerly, looking around the deserted street. Shit, he’d slept the morning away. It had to be at least ten.
Looking around for the military-babe’s car, he spotted the sedan parked in the overflow lot halfway down the street. Frowning, he decided what to do. Why was he even here in the first place? He still couldn’t remember what had compelled him to stake out the broad’s place. Damn. He could have been home sleeping in his own bed, maybe with a piece of tail if he’d played it right. Instead, he’d fell to sleep sitting up and drunk in a public parking lot. He was lucky one of the other deputies hadn’t seen him. He was already in enough trouble with the Sheriff as it was.
Shaking his head in disgust, he pulled the pickup truck out into traffic, heading toward his trailer. Just as he reached the main drag in town he saw a bright red flash and blond hair flowing in the breeze. Now there’s a pretty picture, he thought, straining to focus his blurry eyesight on the young blonde in the convertible. His bleary eyes widened as he realized that Arden Jones had just driven past him, headed due north on Highway 140.
He turned right onto the road, cutting into traffic behind a nondescript sedan. Both cars were headed out of town, toward Yosemite. Yawning behind a huge hand, Stumpy hoped like hell she wasn’t headed for the Park for a day of sightseeing. He hung back, putting plenty of space between himself and the little red convertible. He knew these roads like the back of his own hand. He’d been driving them since before he was legal.
As the three-car procession wound through the steadily rising hills of the Midpines area, he began to get a feeling, and it was a bad one. He couldn’t pinpoint it, and didn’t even try. Something was wrong, and that’s all there was to it. Fumbling for the cell phone the Sheriff had nagged every officer into carrying, he set it on the seat beside him and then concentrated on the highway unfurling before him.
* * * *
Arden had never seen a road or country like it. She was only five minutes out of town and already the scenery had changed dramatically. She approached a passing lane and pulled over to the right, enjoying the landscape too much to charge pell-mell up the hill. Only two vehicles were behind her, and both seemed content to continue up the mountain at a leisurely pace. Just as she thought she couldn’t be surprised, the trio topped the crest of a golden peak, and the road began a deep, curvaceous descent. Initially, the road was composed of wide sweeping turns, and Arden gleefully put the car through its paces. The hairpin turns further down the mountain were no match for the superb handling of the car and soon she left her driving companions in her wake. The downward grade finally began to level out and take a final elliptical turn. As she rounded the corner, the Merced River spurted out of a ravine to her left, bordering the road she drove on, churning alongside the rock wall separating it from the two-lane road.
Arden had never considered herself to be a tactile sort of person, but it seemed today she was just that. She reveled in the sensation of the sun raining down upon her, the fresh, warm air whipping through her hair. It was freedom she felt, an
d it was wonderful. Gone were all thoughts of Sam and mysterious callers and her undeniable, ever-increasing attraction to the Sheriff. Just as when she ran, her problems faded away and the world became hers.
She traversed the narrow road, looking for the landmarks Tony and Ynes had described to her. There it was up ahead. A dilapidated old building on the other side of the river. Squeezing the car onto the side of the road, she took the business card out of her pocket, squinting at the address that had been painted onto the rock wall aeons ago. Yes, it matched. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and crossed the highway to the swaying bridge, preparing to enter the world of a Wiccan coven.
* * * *
Teddy drove past the bridge, doing a quick reconnoiter. There, just up the road was another turn out. The assassin expertly maneuvered the sedan into the tiny space, then eased out the door, making sure that the target was still on the bridge. Sure enough, she was. Pulling the .38 from its holster hidden inside the windbreaker jacket and hiding it against a denim-encased leg, Teddy glided toward the gently swaying bridge, quickly catching up with the woman feeling her way for each step.
* * * *
Arden was surprised to hear a voice calling to her from the road. Turning carefully, she glanced back at the woman approaching her. She was young and attractive, with curly auburn hair and a wide, welcoming smile. She was dressed in loose-fitting blue jeans and a windbreaker, which seemed odd on a summer day, but different strokes for different folks. She also seemed to be holding onto her leg, although she didn’t walk with a limp.
Arden smiled, maybe this was Josie Galloway. What a break that would be.
“Hello, I’m Arden Jones. Are you Josie?” She asked hopefully.
The other woman smiled. “No Arden, my name is Teddy. I’m glad I finally get to meet you in the flesh. You’re much prettier in person than on TV.”
Arden froze, looking at the woman in uncomprehending shock. She knew that voice. It was the voice from yesterday, the voice that had promised to find her, the voice that was looking for Samantha. How could those silkily dangerous sounds come out of such an ordinary looking woman?
“Listen,” she said shakily, “I have no idea where Samantha is. I want to find her just as badly as you do. Please…” she began, then was cut off by the cold muzzle of an enormous gun that magically appeared directly in front of her nose. Her mind whirled, running over every scenario ever taught to her in the military, ever seen on television, ever read in a crime novel. She came up devastatingly empty.
“Walk. We’ll talk about Samantha and money and Carlos to your heart’s delight in a moment. Just keep walking.” Gone was the warm sexless voice she’d been greeted with. The cold, measured tone of a person more than ready to do as she said took its place. Arden looked at the woman’s uncompromising face, swallowed, then nodded and began her careful traverse of the bridge once more.
* * * *
Stumpy saw the two women on the bridge before he even reached Arden’s car. They seemed to be talking, and then he saw the shape of what was unmistakably a gun in the shorter woman’s hand. Cursing, he swerved to the side of the road, putting on his flashers and thumbing open the cell phone. Taking deep breaths to clear his clouded head, he quickly reported what he’d seen, then snapped the phone shut, turned off the volume and began a hunt of his own.
* * * *
Oh Jesus, Oh Jesus. That was the only thought that seemed to run through Stumpy Goltree’s mind. He’d never had to throw down on a woman before. Shit, he’d never had to draw on a man either. But sure as Christ coming, he was gonna have to now. Pulling his backup gun from the holster strapped to his left calf, he crab-walked sideways, putting his back to the wall of the ancient house. He heard the rumble of an engine and quickly glanced over his shoulder, over the sluggishly drifting waters of the Merced, past the swaying bridge, praying that backup was here. Instead, a motorhome crawled past, beetling it’s way up the river road toward Yosemite.
Taking a deep, silent breath, he slid further down the wall. Hazarding a quick peek, he poked his head around the corner of the decaying old building. There she was. She was pointing a monstrous handgun at Captain Jones and speaking so quietly he couldn’t hear a word she said, even though he was less than ten feet away. Goddamn. Pulling on a reserve of strength and courage he’d never known he had, he stepped around the corner, bringing his weapon to bear.
“Freeze. Sheriff’s Department.” He stood in that wide-legged pose taught to law enforcement officials from day one, his tall, sturdy body as fixed as an oak. Everything moved in slow motion. The woman began to spin around, bringing up the deadly handgun. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Captain Jones moving, trying to bring down her stalker.
“Nooooo,” he yelled, watching as the gun arced toward him, watching as the military officer tried to tackle her assailant and missed, watching as the assassin’s finger tightened on the trigger.
He threw himself across the dusty yard toward Arden, attempting to cover her with his body or deflect the assassin’s attention, firing as he did so. The shots deafened him as the tiny semi-automatic SIG Sauer he held stitched bullet holes across the woman’s chest, bringing a look of shock to her uncomprehending face. Her finger tightened again on the trigger of her pistol as she began a slow turn, the first act in a ballet of death.
He hit the ground with a dull thud, jacking the clip out of his weapon and slapping a new one in even as he scrambled to put himself between Miss Jones and the shooter. The would-be killer was writhing on the ground, but still held the gun in a deathly grip.
“Drop your weapon, now!” Stumpy roared, centering his sights on the center of her forehead. He watched in disbelief as she fumbled with the weapon, then took one quick step forward and kicked it out of her hand.
Teddy looked up at him, really seeing him for the first time, then passed out, knowing even as she dropped off that she was dead, and that Samantha had won, again.
“Captain Jones, are you OK? Ma’am?” Risking a quick glance behind him he saw Arden sitting in the dust, leaning up against the side of the house. She clutched one shoulder, trying to stem the flow of blood as it blossomed across the blinding whiteness of her tee shirt. “Shit, shit, shit. Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I really need your help here. Can you get up?”
Arden struggled to stand, leaning heavily on the grayed and peeling siding of the building. “Yeah, hold on just a second.” She pushed away from the building, then walked unsteadily to where the big man was standing over the unconscious woman. He shrugged out of his western-style shirt, then began to peel off the tee shirt he wore beneath. “What do you need me to do?”
“First, let me look at your wound.” Keeping an eye and his pistol trained on the prone woman at his feet, he inspected Arden’s wound with his free hand. He grunted. “Bullet’s still in there. Here.” He handed her his tee shirt. “Hold this against your shoulder to staunch the bleeding.” He pressed Arden’s hand hard against her blood and gore-stained shoulder.
She swayed alarmingly, grabbing onto his arm to regain her balance. This close to him she could smell the sour odor of last night’s whiskey and the sweat that always accompanies a good drunk. She closed her eyes until the grayness and it’s accompanying dizziness retreated, then pushed away from the big deputy. “I’m okay now. Really. What should I do?”
Stumpy looked at her for a long second, trying to tell if she was bullshitting him, or if she really could stand. With a short nod of approval, he refocused that half of his attention on the wounded woman on the ground. Reaching into his back pocket, he withdrew a tiny cell phone. “Call 911 now. Tell the dispatcher that I’ve got your stalker contained, but that we need an ambulance right now, or she’s never gonna make it out of here alive.”
The peace officer dropped to his knees, training his weapon on the woman with one hand and prodding her wounds with the other. There was no response. She was clearly unconscious.
Arden stood over the deputy, absently lookin
g down at her bloodstained shoulder as she dialed 911 with the other hand. As the dispatcher came on the line, Arden relayed his request, stopping only when the operator asked which deputy she was referring to. She looked down at him, the beginning of a smile combating the lines of pain surrounding her mouth. “They want to know who you are.”
“Just tell them its Stumpy.” He said without glancing back at her. “Never mind. Do you know how to use one of these? Okay, then hang on to it while I try to stop her bleeding.” He handed her the SIG and took back the telephone, tossing it to the ground next to him as he began to work on Teddy, leaving the connection open so the dispatcher could hear everything that transpired.
Arden started to laugh. Hysterically laugh. The deputy looked over his shoulder at her as he ripped his overshirt into strips. “What’s so damned funny?” he growled.
“You’re Stumpy? Oh, this is priceless. What a perfect end to my day.” She sat down hard in the dirt, tears rolling down her cheeks as she alternated between hysterical crying and laughter. She took one hard look at the woman who had wrought such destruction in her life in such a short amount of time. All because she was Samantha’s sister. All because they must have known that she would never let it go, not until Samantha was found, dead or alive.
She could hear the dispatcher hollering at them through the phone then heard her screaming, “Officer needs assistance, officer needs assistance.” They’ll be here soon, she thought, Oh God, I hope they’re here soon. Stumpy, she hysterically thought, then the world grayed out.
The Fourth Fold
It is the end of her first week. Of course she doesn’t know that.
Samantha sat in the chair, brooding over the hundreds of books staring back at her. She was getting a damn headache. She’d been reading entirely too much and what she read just confused her. She knew that this was his purpose, but there was nothing else to do besides read, or go slowly out of her mind.
The Summerland Page 11