by Jean Rabe
Hard to keep the car straight, the road slick, the temperature hovering in that murky area to make the pavement icy.
“Teegan! Answer! Shit.” Her cell was in her pocket. One hand on the wheel, she reached for it.
The cell phone flew out of her hand when the truck struck her a third time and she felt the front right tire drop off the road. Piper panicked and jerked the wheel too far to the left too fast, and though the Taurus came back up, it spun sideways, and the truck plowed into her, clipping the passenger side door panel and spinning her some more. A blur of maroon shot past, snow spraying up to cover her side windows. Maroon? The color of the truck? She pumped the brake as the car continued to turn, the right rear tire levering off the road this time. Now she was pointed in the opposite direction, back toward Fulda. A glance in the rearview mirror, the truck was on her, had somehow turned around.
Piper fought the panic. She’d been through worse, a far different clime, far away, riding in an LAV in Iraq, heading out on a downrange mission, unexpected shelling. Dirt and sand flying, the vehicle quivering from a near-impact, a rocket-launched grenade passing too close overhead. She made it through that, and other close calls. Her adversary here was a lone nutso driver in a pickup truck, no mortars or landmines to contend with.
Easy, right? “Easy,” she said, as she pressed the gas pedal down farther.
Just the awful snow to contend with…and someone hell-bent on sending her off the road. Trying to kill her? Why would someone try to kill her? She had no enemies here. No real enemies when she thought of Oren.
She slammed on the gas pedal, tires spinning, heard the engine grumble and a spray of gravel from the shoulder struck the wheel well. The Taurus surged forward, slipping, cutting across both lanes before she could even it out. Another strike and the car shimmied, starting to spin again, but Piper adjusted to keep it straight. If the roads were good, visibility good, she’d be the aggressor, would find a way to turn around and pursue whoever was—
Once more the truck slammed her. Warning lights blinked on the dash panel. She heard a thunk, and looking out the side mirror saw her rear bumper fall off, the pickup weaving to miss it. Thank God the airbag hadn’t deployed, or she’d be even more screwed. Thank God she wasn’t in her “suggestion of a car,” as the Smart Fortwo would be squashed like a stomped soda can.
“Teegan! Teegan!”
Still static.
The pickup roared close and nudged her, trying to push her off the road near a telephone pole. And then what? If he got her off the road, then what? Would he drive away? Or would he come after her…provided she was still breathing?
This had to be related to the Delaney murder, she’d just come from the house.
What had she uncovered at the Delaney house that would cause this?
Piper pressed on the gas, and then the brake, turning the wheel and trying for a controlled spin, something that would take her in the opposite direction once more, let her be the antagonist even though the truck was bigger. She wasn’t going to lose to the madman! She wanted him…to know who he was, why he was doing this, wanted to shove his wrists into a set of handcuffs and push him into the backseat of her wounded Taurus, get the hell back to Rockport and throw his nasty ass in a cell.
He could well be Conrad Delaney’s murderer.
But the slippery road and the Taurus disagreed with her plan, and she instead headed across the other lane and toward what she guessed from her drive here was likely a pretty steep ditch. There was a deep drop off all along this section of road, she just couldn’t see it—couldn’t see hardly anything—because of the damnable snow. The few lights she saw ahead and off to the side were probably houses or farms, and they looked ethereal and ghostly, fireflies in the mist. She somehow managed to coax the Taurus the other way, straighten it again, but it fought her, like the wheels were out of alignment. Should’ve taken Oren’s Explorer, a better match for dealing with the pickup and this snowy morass.
“Holy—”
The pickup was full-sized and then some. She could tell that now because it had finally turned its lights on. It rammed her again, and through the rearview she saw her Taurus’ trunk pop up, so now that mirror was useless and she couldn’t see her attacker. She pressed on the gas, the Taurus punching through a drift of snow, dropping off past the shoulder and then coming all the way back on the road, gaining a few lengths on the pickup, according to a glance out the side mirror. At least she could see a piece of the truck that way. Couldn’t see any details, everything still gray. The pickup looked gray. She’d try the radio again.
“Teegan! Teegan!”
“I’m back, Sheriff, what do—”
“I need backup, Teegan! I’m on 545 somewhere south of—” This time the truck hit her with so much force both vehicles went off the road. She briefly had the sensation of flying and then all the sound in the world went away.
Maybe this was death, an absolute nothingness, swirls of gray and white.
But the sound returned with a roar of protesting engine and crumpling metal, the Taurus’ siren still wailing. The landing was rough.
Piper had been right; it was a long, deep ditch. And everything seemed to happen at once. She had the sensation of the car barreling down the embankment, though her feet were pressed on the brake. Then it listed and she had the image of a pinball caroming along the slope, the brakes worthless, steering impossible, vision a solid sheet of gray-white with flashes of blue from her lights reflecting. A crack and a snap, the car had hit something and she bit her tongue. The airbag popped—she was surprised it hadn’t before now—and pressed her against the seat, smothering her. It felt like she was in a carnival ride from hell. The Taurus flipped. Once, twice, landing on its roof. The dome light came on, her siren’s wail died, and the car made a chugging sound, gasping its last.
Don’t panic! Don’t ever panic! The military had taught her resolve and patience and how to swallow her fear.
Upside down, Piper fumbled in her coat pocket, gloved fingers finding a pocketknife, pulling it out. Couldn’t open the blade, the material of the gloves too thick to find the latch. It took some maneuvering, getting her hand between the airbag and her face, all the while listening. The Taurus made popping and wheezing sounds, the radio crackled. Faintly, she heard, “Sheriff? Sheriff Blackwell?”
She bit the glove and wiggled her hand until it was free, then fumbled around near her face until she felt the trapped pocketknife. A little more wiggling and she had the knife, the blade open and punching at the airbag. Piper closed her eyes and turned her head to the side. She smelled something chemical, some spew from the airbag, and there was the strong odor of Vietnamese soup and chili oil, the takeout splattered over the evidence bags, which were now resting against the roof below her. She snaked an arm out and turned off the car.
“Sherriff Blackwell?”
Nothing felt broken, but everything felt sore. Her head pounded.
The seatbelt was jammed, so she used the knife to cut the strap, bracing herself with her free arm and her legs so she wouldn’t drop on her head. A little twisting and she crouched on the roof, thumbing the radio.
“Teegan, I really need that backup.” She recited a short version while she grabbed up the evidence bags and despite the chili oil, shoved them inside her coat. Couldn’t find her cell phone, and wasn’t going to waste time looking for it. For once Piper was glad she was short. Cramped under the driver’s seat, she worked the knife to lever the window open and crawl out.
The Taurus’ headlights were still on, stabbing crooked beams across an uneven field where cornstalk remnants poked up stubbornly through low drifts.
The snow came sideways, like looking out the viewport of the Millennium Falcon when Solo put it into hyperspace in Star Wars. Piper couldn’t see the pickup, but she barely saw tracks indicating the driver had managed to pull back onto the road and avoid her fate.
She snaked back through the window and thumbed the radio. “Put a BOLO out on a big picku
p, possibly maroon, maybe gray with maroon trim, front end damage.”
“Sheriff Blackwell, are you all right? Do you want an ambulance?”
“No.” Piper meant that on both counts. “No ambulance.”
She crawled back outside and pulled herself up by grabbing a door handle She tasted blood; her lip was split, and when her fingers brushed her nose they came away bloody. She’d been injured worse, took a bullet in the shoulder on her first tour, but she didn’t recall that hurting as badly as this. Nothing broken, she worked her arms and legs to be certain. Well, maybe her nose; that was probably broken.
The radio crackled, Teegan saying she’d found Piper by pinging her cell phone, was directing a deputy there, said that maybe the department Taurus should have GPS to make things easier. Again Teegan asked if Piper wanted an ambulance.
Piper wasn’t going to crawl back into the car to answer. Instead, she slowly trudged up the embankment, slipping and falling, getting up, falling, and clawing her way until she felt gravel beneath her knees and the ground leveled out. She’d found the shoulder. Crawling was easier, getting back on her feet was a serious chore. When she managed it, she spread her legs for balance as a wave of dizziness hit.
So cold.
So pissed.
Piper had a suspect now, someone who drove a big pickup, maybe maroon, maybe gray. It would be damaged. They’d check all the area body shops. Maybe Nang knew who drove a big pickup with those colors.
“You get the son of a bitch,” Dr. Neufeld had told Piper this morning. “You and Oren catch whatever sick son of a bitch would do that to my friend Conrad.”
And who had also tried to kill her.
Nine
The sweatshirt was too large, but she pushed the cuffs up past her elbows. It was royal blue, faded in places, and had a vinyl Superman “S” on the chest that was shot through with spidery cracks like the face of an antique porcelain doll. The sweatpants were a different shade of blue and also voluminous; she’d used shoe strings tied above her knees to gather the legs so she wouldn’t trip. But the borrowed outfit was warm and dry and did not smell like chili oil. She was thankful Randy’d had it in his locker and loaned it to her.
She sat at her desk, turned to the side, and Randy hovered with a first aid kit. He’d been the deputy who picked her up and said he was taking her to the hospital across the river in Owensboro. She’d declined. Too much to do, not hurt all that bad, nothing broken except her pride and her nose, the latter of which he’d set with a painful jerk—he’d clearly performed that trick before. She’d washed up in the restroom.
“No concussion, Boss,” Randy pronounced after shining a flashlight in her eyes. “But I really think—”
“I’ll go to a doctor tomorrow if I need to.” While Spencer County lacked hospitals, there were several physicians in Rockport and Santa Claus, including a cheery-looking place called Santa’s Med Center. “But now I need to work.”
“And call your father.” This came from Teegan, who poked her head around the corner. Teegan was a dispatcher/secretary who resembled Morticia Addams because of her pale complexion, straight black hair, and heavy eyeliner. “Paul called twice, was listening to the scanner and—”
Piper groaned.
“I told him you were okay. You are okay, aren’t you, Sheriff Blackwell?”
“Fine. I’m fine, Teegan.” But she didn’t feel fine. She felt like an old tennis shoe clunking around inside a clothes dryer. She felt pretty awful, and she was getting a hell of a bruise from where the shoulder strap of the seatbelt had held her.
Piper closed her eyes while Randy cleaned up her face and lip, wiped the dried blood from under her nose. On the drive here he’d given her a rundown on the evidence collected from Abigail Thornbridge’s house, what they would send to the state lab, and the Christmas cards and address book that was bagged and in the other room.
“Oren’s going home after he’s done at the vet’s, probably done by now, actually. He’ll be in early tomorrow. Dr. Neufeld is scheduling the Thornbridge autopsy, but doesn’t have a time yet.” Randy stood back and nodded. “Better.”
“Thanks. How ’bout you go home, too,” Piper suggested. “It’s almost seven, been a long day.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
“I’m gonna be here a while.” She shook her head and winced as she felt a stab of pain behind her eyes. “Really, there are some things I want to look through, think about, peek at the budget and figure out what to do about a car because—”
“—that Taurus is history, and any body shop around here’ll agree. We don’t have an extra floating around, not in the budget. So we have a few dealerships on a list to bid on replacing vehicles. Ford dealer in Evansville usually wins. Insurance should cover most of it.” Randy closed up the first aid kit. “But that’ll take days, and there’s a report to file first, county board requires it, and—”
“I have a lot to learn,” Piper admitted. “About paperwork.” It was something she wouldn’t have said to Oren or her father or—
“There’s a used car dealer in town we’ve rented from before…when something’s been out of service or otherwise wrecked. Good prices ’cause she likes us. Her grandfather used to be in the department. We’ll call her in the morning. And we’ll have to rent two because of Buck’s slippy-slide.”
Piper nodded and waggled her fingers. “Go home, and drive carefully. Get some rest.”
“And how will you get home, Boss?”
She shrugged, setting her shoulders to throbbing. “I’ll get someone tomorrow to drop me by my apartment.”
Randy leaned against the doorway and yawned. “I thought you lived with Paul…your dad.”
“Not exactly. There’s an apartment above his big garage. Once upon a time he rented it out. Now it’s mine. I need my own space. He needs his own space.”
Randy stared at a spot on her desk. “How’s he doing? Your dad?”
She shrugged again; it didn’t hurt quite as much this time. “I’d like to say well, but I don’t know, really. He’s got six more treatments before he gets another scan. I’d like to be optimistic, but…”
“I should stop in and see him soon, have some coffee. He brews a great coffee. He’s a good man, your dad. It was good you came back for him.” Randy stood there, like he was going to say something else. Finally, he turned away.
Piper wondered if Randy was going to say good she came back, bad that she won the sheriff’s race. Her desk was empty, save for the laptop and an ancient-looking phone. She intended to bring in a few things, personalize it, a group shot of the guys from Fort Campbell, a paperweight she’d bought at a market in Egypt when she was on leave, maybe have a photo framed—one of her dad in front of his beloved Christmas tree. But she’d been plunged into the job, not eased into it like expected.
The department building was reasonably new, as in built within the past dozen years or so. Piper remembered that the previous building was old, like much of the downtown, had leaks, everything outdated. A glance at the phone…some things still were outdated. This building was something to be proud of, though, with an attached jail, brick exterior, white walls inside. Pictures on the walls, including in her office, of past sheriffs and different angles of the courthouse. She’d see about painting her office beige or gray or “potter’s wheel,” a shade she noticed in the hardware store when ogling colors for the apartment.
She opened her laptop and turned it on, sat back in the chair, and then reached for the handset. It had a cord; at least it had push buttons rather than a dial. She’d spotted one phone in the office that was rotary. She held the handset for a moment, it seeming to weigh a ton because it might impart bad news.
“Get it over with.” She’d call her dad, see how he was doing, tell him she was fine though she ached all over, tell him she would be here through the night. Lord knew he’d pulled plenty of all nighters. Besides, Piper wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, as uncomfortable as she was, and all these things whir
ling in her head.
Somebody had tried to kill her.
Teegan poked her head back in, hair dangling down. Piper wondered if the woman ironed it. She spotted blue at the tips, not quite matching the pantsuit. Teegan was forty-something, not a single gray hair—of course, from the unnatural inky color she displayed it was obvious she relied on dye.
“Yes, Teegan?”
“Nothing on that gray or maroon pickup yet, Sheriff Blackwell. The BOLO’s out with city police, Vanderburgh County Sheriff, Evansville, Owensboro, got it on the wire and—”
“Thanks, Teegan.”
“Somebody really tried to kill you, huh? Not some road rage nutball ’cause you cut somebody off?”
“I didn’t cut anyone off.”
“Not some slippy-slide ’cause the roads were icing over?”
“Someone really tried to kill me, Teegan.”
“It was the murderer then, right, whoever gacked Conrad Delaney?”
“And Abigail Thornbridge,” Piper said. “Yeah, I think so.”
She saw Teegan shudder. “Wow. How about some coffee, Sheriff?”
“That’d be lovely. Black.”
“That’s how your father drinks it, too. How’s he doing, by the way? You should call him, you know.” Teegan pointed at the handset and disappeared without waiting for an answer. “Call him,” she hollered from the other room.
Piper called and gave him an abbreviated version of her day’s events. When she asked how he was feeling, he said he had to go, that his show was coming on. “So he’s feeling lousy,” she translated. Piper stared at the laptop; the screensaver image was a shot of the courthouse in the spring, dogwoods in full bloom, matching one of the pictures on her wall.