John sighed. “Yes, I know you will, Mitchell. I was a fool to tell you about the gold.”
Mitchell kicked at the ground. “The gold allowed me to manipulate Delston. Those two snakes just complicated matters a little, but I managed to play them in a way that was going to help me get rid of Delston. Don’t you get that, John? Can’t you understand that I’m not you? I don’t follow the ways of our people! I follow my own ways...the ways of money and power.”
“Come on,” Mary told Betty, “let’s get back to the camp and find the rope.”
“It’s in the sleeping cabin I arranged for us to camp in,” Stephanie reminded her.
“Maybe I should go with you?” Andy asked.
“Yeah, maybe we should all go?” Stephanie suggested.
“No...no, stay here with John,” Mary urged. “There’s no sense in us all getting wet again. Besides, maybe while we’re gone you can make Mr. Rideback tell us where his truck is parked. I’m sure he didn’t part it on this side of the camp. His truck has to be parked somewhere down the road, right, Mr. Rideback? I mean, you weren’t going to kill two men and walk back to town, were you? No. You parked your truck on the opposite side of the bridge.”
“Hey, that’s right,” Andy said in an excited voice. “Mary, you’re a genius.”
“No, just a newspaper woman who knows how to hunt facts,” Mary said in a tired voice. She took Betty’s hand and walked to the cave’s entrance. “Mr. Cunningham?”
“Yes?” John asked.
“You did the right thing. I know you believe inside of your heart that you have allowed justice to become a weak hope but trust me, justice will be served.”
John sighed. “Please, go get the rope. I will stand guard here with Mr. Shelton and Miss Aires.”
Mary nodded and stepped out into the storm with Betty. The flooding rains instantly soaked her hair and dress. “Well,” she told Betty as they began walking back toward the camp, “at least this case wasn’t...so bad. I mean, at least we caught the bad guys, right?”
Betty winced at the rain began saturating her frail body. “Mary, all I want to do is go home,” she begged, stepping around a powerful tree. “I want to go home to Pineville, take a hot bath, get a good night’s sleep, and go to the pumpkin fair that’s going to start in two weeks.”
Mary sighed. “It does seem that we get into trouble wherever we go,” she said and began thinking about her warm kitchen back home. “A hot cup of coffee does sound good right about now.”
“A nice slice of apple pie,” Betty said and wiped rainwater away from her eyes. As she did a man suddenly appeared from behind a tree like a monster stepping out of a dark closet. The man raised a gun and pointed it at Betty. “Oh...my...” Betty said and then simply fainted.
Mary froze. “Who...are you?” she demanded.
The man grinned. “Roy Delston at your service. Or maybe not. I’m a man who understands how to do his own dirty work,” he told Mary and pointed to the cave. “I’m a man who knows how to draw all the rats into one hole.”
Mary glanced down at poor Betty, lying motionless on the cold, wet ground. Rain was pouring down onto her pale face. “Oh my...Betty,” Mary whimpered, dropping down onto the ground and placing her hands over Betty’s face.
Roy grinned. “Your friend is going to wake up to a nightmare,” he promised Mary and aimed his gun at her. “You’re coming with me,” he ordered. “Leave your friend.”
Mary looked up into a pair of deadly eyes, felt terror grip her heart, and slowly stood up. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Why, become rich, of course,” Roy grinned. He placed a letter secured in a plastic bag down next to Betty and then forced Mary to walk away into the pouring rain. Poor Betty didn’t know about any of this. She was somewhere far away, caught in a terrible storm.
Roy led Mary through the deep, stormy woods, walking down one strange trail after another, until she finally came upon the raging river. The sound of the river was deafening; the sight of the angry, deadly currents terrifying.
“What are you going to do?” Mary asked Roy in a scared voice, hoping that the deadly creature had no intention of drowning her in the river.
Roy studied the river, saw that the waters were flooding faster than he expected, and looked behind him. He was pushing sixty and not exactly in the best shape of his life, but he felt healthy enough to carry out his plan—in town, of course. “We’re going to walk upriver a little further and cross over,” he explained as the rain poured down on a fat head full of thick, gray hair. “Then we’re driving back to town.”
“Why?” Mary insisted. She took a second to soak in Roy’s appearance. Roy was a large, fat man possessed with a cruel face. The black rain jacket he was wearing barely covered his large belly, making a mockery of his weight. Not that Mary would ever make fun of a person who was carrying around a few extra pounds, but it was clear to her that Roy’s weight was the result of selfish gluttony. “What do you want with me? Why didn’t you just kill everyone back at the camp?”
Roy leaned back against a tall tree that was bending back and forth in the winds. “Murder comes in many forms,” he explained, keeping his gun pointed at Mary.
“What do you mean?” Mary asked, keeping her eyes peeled on the flooding river, knowing that even though she was a skilled swimmer, the river would certainly drown her during any attempt to challenge its waters.
Roy, a man who liked to brag and look proud and powerful in front of pretty ladies, smiled. “The MacNight Dam,” he explained and pointed his left finger eastward, “is a loaded weapon.”
“MacNight Dam?”
Roy nodded and decided to soften his cruel tone down just enough to make Mary listen and understand without feeling too terrified. “I have three men at the dam right now,” he explained. “The men have set dynamite all around the dam. In less than two hours the dam is going to...go boom and flood this land, killing off all of my enemies.”
Mary froze. “You...monster.”
“No, I’m not a monster, Mrs. Holland,” Roy told Mary, ignoring the blasting rain and the roaring river.
“You know who I am?” Mary asked.
“Stephanie told Dylan all about you,” Roy explained. He leaned up off the tree, checked the walking boots he was wearing, studied the storm, and looked around. “I have decided to let you live to write my story.”
“Your story?” Mary asked in a deep, confused voice. “What in the world are you talking about?”
Roy grinned. “Mrs. Holland, I have already located all the gold. The gold is securely loaded onto a truck that will be in Canada by tomorrow. The truck is parked in a hidden location.” Roy felt pride swell his already bloated head. “You see, Mrs. Holland, I set all of my enemies exactly where I wanted them on the chessboard, including Mitchell Rideback. I won’t go into details, but let’s just say that a man with a brilliant mind was needed to pull off the plan I created.”
Mary stared at Roy with shocked eyes. “You’re...lying,” she said in a hopeful attempt to make the man reveal more of his hidden secrets.
“Am I?” Roy examined the river and then searched the woods again. “Mrs. Holland, we haven’t got time to stand around and...chat, any longer.” Roy raised his gun. “You can either die or write my story. I hope you will make a wise choice.”
Mary threw her eyes at the river. The water was crawling up to her feet. “I’ll...write your story,” she told Roy in a weak voice, hoping to create enough room to plan some sort of escape, run back to camp, and save everyone. The clock was ticking. “But...but...” Mary paused, thought of poor Betty, and decided to play Betty’s favorite game. “I’m...going to faint...” Mary grabbed her head and allowed her body to collapse down next to the river, hoping Roy would get close enough to be pushed or kicked in.
Roy watched Mary collapse onto the saturated ground and rolled his eyes. He carefully took a step toward her. “Why do women always faint?” he complained and then kicked at Mary’s right
foot. “Wake up...Mrs. Holland...wake up...” When Mary didn’t move Roy shook his head and knelt down at her right side. He lowered his gun and tapped Mary in the face with his left hand. “Lady, wake up,” he ordered in a loud voice. “Wake up this instant!”
Mary felt Roy tapping her face. The man’s hand made her skin crawl. “Oh...” she moaned, pretending to be far away in a dark place.
Roy rolled his eyes again and then—foolishly—set his gun down onto the ground and began shaking Mary’s shoulders. “Wake up...the dam is going to explode in less than two hours. We have to leave,” he yelled in an urgent voice.
Mary slightly opened her left eye, saw Roy’s face hanging over her nose, and let out another moan. “Help...help...me...sit up...”
Roy grumbled something to himself and began pulling Mary up. Then, suddenly, to his shock, the woman’s eyes flung open. “What?”
Mary threw her hand up and grabbed Roy’s wrist, and then, with every ounce of strength she had in her small body, she threw all of her weight toward the river, holding onto Roy for dear life. Roy, taken off guard, felt his body lose its balance and tumble over Mary. Mary, feeling Roy’s body crash over her, let go of the man’s wrist, slid a few inches away, lifted her legs into the air, and yelled: “Take this!”
Roy lifted his head, scrambled to his knees, and leaned up just in time to see Mary’s legs flying straight at his chest. Mary made direct contact, kicking Roy straight in his chest and knocking the man backward. Roy flung his arms through the stormy air, tried to catch balance, caught nothing but wet, and then crashed backward...straight into the river. Mary watched the river swallow Roy’s body and yank him under the raging waters. A few seconds later Roy’s head appeared. “Help...me...help!” Roy screamed, throwing his arms against the river, trying desperately to swim for shore.
Mary hurried to her feet and began running down the river, dodging one tree after another, watching Roy vanish under the raging waters, reappear a few seconds later, and then vanish again. Finally, unable to keep up with the currents, Mary stopped running and watched the river drag Roy away into what appeared to be a watery death.
“The wicked always comes to a violent end,” she whispered and then, even though her heart panicked and her mind was terrified, she took off running back toward camp. “I’ve got less than two hours to save my friends.”
Mary ran as hard as she could, slapping rain and wet tree branches away from her voice, fighting her way through the vicious burst of thunder that shook the land, fighting her way over rocks and broken tree limbs littering the trail. “Have to hurry...have to hurry...less than two hours...oh...less than two hours and—” Mary felt her right foot hit a slippery rock hidden under wet leaves. She looked down and watched her ankle, as if in slow motion, twist into a painful cry. She toppled down onto the trail, landed hard on her knees, and let out a miserable cry. “No...”
Panic-stricken, Mary reached down and felt her ankle. Her ankle whimpered in pain and then began swelling. “No,” Mary cried. She looked up at the stormy, dark sky and closed her eyes against the raging rain. “No,” she begged, feeling despair and hopelessness begin attacking her heart. “We’ve got less than two hours...”
And then, as if her husband had flashed before her troubled eyes, Mary saw John Holland standing next to a tree, smoking his usual pipe, staring at her. “John?”
“Mary Holland, what have I taught you?” a loving but stern voice asked Mary.
Mary blinked. “John...is that really you?” she asked, staring through the rain as tears flooded down her red cheeks. She raised her right hand and shielded her eyes against the howling winds. “John?”
“Mary Holland, you can sit there and feel sorry for yourself or get up and finish your story,” John told Mary. He took a puff of his pipe and continued. “You’ve come this far and now you’re willing to quit. I didn’t marry a quitter, Mary Holland. I married a fighter.”
“But...John...my ankle...” Mary cried. “I can’t walk.”
John pointed at a fallen stick lying close to Mary. “Make a walking stick and get back on your feet, Mary,” he said in an encouraging voice. “You’re my number one reporter. You always finish your story.”
“But John...Farmer Griffin...the death of that actor...that awful mansion...Uncle Albert...it’s all been too much,” Mary complained. “I can’t keep fighting...I’m just too tired. This trip was supposed to be relaxing. And...poor Betty...she’s been such a fighter, but now her life is danger and it’s all my fault.”
“Mary Holland, shame on you,” John scolded Mary with a soft tongue. “You know as well as anyone that being a reporter means that you have to be prepared to enter an endless war. That’s why I trained you to be a fighter, not a quitter.” John lowered his pipe, allowed the rain to pour right through him, and looked at his injured wife with caring eyes. “Mary, I know you’re scared. I know you’re tired. I know you’re ready to give up. Mary, that’s not who you are. You’re a fighter, Mary Holland, a fighter. Do you hear me? I married a woman with a special heart that never gives up and throws in the towel.”
Mary wiped at her tears. “Oh, John, I’m so scared,” she cried. “I’ve been...so scared.”
“I know, I know,” John said with a whisper that Mary somehow heard over the raging storm. “I wish I were home.”
“Me, too.” Mary felt her tears turn into hot, painful coals. “It’s not fair, John! That awful war has taken you away from me! It’s not fair!” she screamed. “If you were home, I wouldn’t be scared...you could hold me and comfort me. But...I’ve been fighting the shadows alone...scared.”
“Mary,” John spoke gently, “you’re going to have to continue fighting the shadows alone. The war is far from over and I won’t be home for quite some time.”
“It’s not fair!” Mary cried, watching the rain fall through her husband. “It’s not fair, John! I’ve been trying to be so brave...but now...I just can’t fight anymore.” Mary touched her ankle. “I can’t walk...my ankle...I can’t walk...the fight is over.”
John’s face became stern. “Mary Holland, you grab that stick and get up,” he ordered. “You get up and fight, do you hear me!”
“But there’s too much to fight,” Mary complained. “Everywhere I look...shadows in every corner, too many of them...plotting this scheme or that scheme, trying to kill this person or that person.” Mary shook her head. “Dylan Roltdale...Tom Mintson...Roy Delston...Mitchell Rideback...I tried to figure out their schemes, John, honestly I did.” Mary wiped at her tears. “Farmer Griffin was killed by a corrupt man who worked for the FBI. A man from our hometown who became an actor was killed by a very deranged woman. A little old man in Maine was killed by his own brother. And Uncle Albert...oh, John...they were all so awful, but I was brave. I forced myself to be brave and fight. But now...I just don’t have the strength.”
“Get up and stop complaining,” John ordered Mary. “You’re a reporter and a fighter, Mary Holland. Get up and finish this story.”
“Why?” Mary begged. “Why do I need to finish this story, John? There will only be another...and another...and you’re not home to protect me.”
“Mary, look at me,” John ordered. Mary raised her tear-filled eyes and focused on her husband. “When we give up the fight the enemy wins.”
“But people die and—”
“It’s our duty as journalists to fight for the truth,” John told Mary. “Roy Delston was willing to spare your life because he wanted you to praise him with your words. Your job is to let the world know who Roy Delston really is...who they all are, Mary. That’s your duty. Now grab that stick and get moving. You don’t have much time.”
Mary stared into her husband’s loving face and then, to her utter sadness, she watched him vanish into the storm. “No...John...don’t leave me!” Mary screamed in agony. “Don’t...leave me...”
“Mary?”
Mary threw her head to the side and listened. “Betty?” she whispered.
“M
ary?” Betty screamed. “Mary, was that you?”
“Betty!” Mary yelled in a panicked voice. She looked around, spotted the fallen stick, and managed to grab it. The stick was sturdy. “Betty...I’m down here...down the trail!”
“Mary!” Betty yelled. “Hang on...I’m coming.”
Mary drew in a deep breath, prepared herself, and then forced her way up onto her leg, leaving as much pressure off her right ankle as possible. The pain was horrible, but, working slowly and carefully, Mary managed to stand up. A minute later she saw poor Betty appear over a small hill on the trail, nearly slip and fall, and then hurry down to her.
“Oh, Betty,” Mary cried and pulled Betty close with her left arm.
“Mary...I thought I would never find you,” Betty cried, wrapping her arms around Mary and squeezing her best friend tighter than a grizzly bear could squeeze a lost hunter. “Oh Mary...Mary...”
Mary closed her eyes and rested her chin on Betty’s shoulder. “The next time I suggest we take a trip...tape my mouth shut,” Mary begged.
“I will,” Betty promised. She leaned up, looked Mary in her eyes, saw a deep pain, and said: “Oh, you’ve been crying...and you’re hurt.”
“My right ankle is twisted,” Mary explained and placed her head back down on Betty’s shoulder. “Roy Delston is dead, Betty...and we’re going to be too in less than two hours.” Mary raised her head and explained about the dam.
Betty’s eyes grew large with fright and panic. “Mary...we have to go back and get the others,” she begged. “When I came to...oh my, I found this letter.” Betty reached into the front pocket of her dress. “I wasn’t thinking...all I knew was that I had to find you...and I kinda got lost. I came across this trail and began following it. That’s when I began calling out your name.”
Mary stared at the letter in Betty’s hand and wondered what cruel trick Roy Delston had devised. “Come on, we have to hurry. I’m going to need your help because time isn’t on our side.”
Murder at Camp (Pineville Gazette Mystery Book 5) Page 11