Scowling, Win turned and caught the bartender’s eye. Carole put her plate back on the table and watched Win’s and the bartender’s reflections in the window. The bartender held up a small bottle. Win nodded. The bartender signaled Win with a thumbs-up, smiled, and dropped something in a glass of wine.
Carole forced herself not to turn around and stare at the bartender when he walked to their table with two glasses in his hands. He set the wine on the table, removed the empties. She knew one of the glasses contained more than just an expensive wine, and her instinct told her that that particular glass was meant for her. Win wanted to drug her. Somehow she had to get away from him, from this place. But how could she do that when she didn’t even know where she was or where the valet had taken her car?
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Alone on the mountain, the sounds in the darkness seemed louder, more threatening than Aurora remembered. Was that a coyote or a dog howling in the distance? She’d felt much safer when Little Guy was with her. Now she had no one—not Sam, not Little Guy, not King, not even daylight. And she was cold and hungry and thirsty. And exhausted. Her eyes still couldn’t quite focus. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed. Her nose started running and she reached into her pocket for a tissue.
“I can’t believe it. I didn’t even bring a tissue with me. I always have a tissue. So along with everything else, I can’t even blow my nose.” She wiped her nose with her shirt sleeve, glanced up at the dark, starless sky. “Sorry, Mom.”
Leaning her back against a giant poplar, Aurora closed her eyes. Her strength, like her spirits and Little Guy, had deserted her. She would stay here until daylight unless Sam—or some wild, carnivorous animal—found her.
Sleep came and went. In her dreams, a hawk pecked out her eyes, a large buck ran his rack through her body while buzzards cleaned the flesh from her bones, bats bit her and tangled themselves in her hair, and Sam chose another woman as his dance partner. Nocturnal animals, intent on tearing her into little pieces, closed in. And now she was about to be gobbled up by a bear.
A bear?
Aurora’s hands closed around fur. She opened her eyes and screamed. She felt his breath on her face. Screaming again, she hit at his head with her fist, groped the ground beside her for a stick to defend herself.
The bear licked her face, whined. Bears don’t act like this, she thought. The bear barked, nudged her arm.
“Bears don’t bark, either. King, it’s you! I found you. Well, no, you found me. Oh, thank you, God. Thank you, King.” Whining, King crawled onto her lap. She hugged him to her, stroked his head and back. For several minutes dog and woman rejoiced at finding one another.
Running her hands over his body, Aurora felt for cuts or any injuries on her beloved dog. In the dark she couldn’t detect any problems, feel any blood.
“I think you’re okay, King, but I’ll check again when daylight comes. Okay, boy, this is the way it is. I’m kind of lost, my head hurts, my ankle is either sprained or broken, and I’m hungry and thirsty. So what would you suggest?”
King yelped, jumped to his feet, grabbed her shirt sleeve, sniffed it several times.
“Yeah, I know. There’s yucky nose junk on it. But it’ll wash out.”
King barked.
“I know you want me to get up, but you’ll have to help.” The Lab lowered his head, nudged it under her arm. She put one hand against the tree trunk, the other hand on King’s shoulders, pushed herself into a standing position. “Guess you’re right. We can’t stay here all night. But why not?”
King barked again.
With her left hand, Aurora grabbed hold of his red collar and put her weight on his muscular frame. “I’m ready, boy. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Wednesday 8:00 p.m.
Jasper Smoot popped a Valium and swallowed it without any water. All his life he’d been proud that he could down pills dry and his perfect baby brother couldn’t. That was one of the few things he did better than his perfect baby brother. Jasper didn’t take Valium often, but today he needed one. Depending on how the rest of the evening went, he just might take another.
The visit from the cops today had seemed to go well. He thought about how his lip had twitched during questioning, was pretty sure they hadn’t noticed. Even if they had, they’d never suspect that the twitching was a nervous habit, one that had also given him away when he lied to folks who knew him well. Thank goodness only his parents and his perfect baby brother knew what the twitching meant. They lied a lot, too, except his mother called her lies prevarications. He figured she’d learned that word in college. He’d caught his kin folks in some really big ones—except for his step-dad who was the most honest, gullible person he’d ever known, a complete opposite of Jasper’s biological dad.
The two cops were waiting on his front porch when he drove into the driveway late this afternoon. They asked more questions about Hessie, wanted the names and phone numbers of all her caregivers and the days and hours the women had worked for the past 30 days. They’d watched him carefully to see his reaction when they told him they would be calling and interviewing each person. He’d lied and told them his records were at his office, that he’d be happy to get them tomorrow. That seemed to satisfy them temporarily.
Jasper opened a notebook and ran his finger down the list of caregivers. His finger stopped at Etta’s name listed under “Substitutes.” She was the one who concerned him the most. From what Butch said about Etta, he was sure she’d blab everything she knew, give the cops Butch’s name, tell them how Butch had hit Hessie. If they questioned Butch long enough, he figured Butch would tell them all about his orders to drop Hessie off on the mountain. Damn that stupid Butch.
Another horrible thought hit him. The cops would surely search Butch’s black van if they hadn’t already done so. Would they find any evidence that Hessie and Tom Southerland had been in it?
Jasper’s lip twitched. Only one sure way out of this dilemma—Etta and Butch must die. And soon. And then he realized someone else needed killing. The cops had mentioned that the kid across the street from Hessie had seen three men (Butch, Shorty and Otis) loading appliances and who they now believed to be a dead Tom Southerland into a black van last Friday night, the same van the kid saw early Monday morning. The kid must die, too. Jasper had never thought about killing a kid. Now several people had to die all because of stupid Butch screwing everything up. He looked forward to killing Butch himself.
For this many killings he’d need help, though—intelligent, cold-blooded help. He couldn’t enlist Otis to do it, either; he was Butch’s huntin’ buddy. But there was someone he could always count on. Jasper picked up the phone and dialed.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
With King’s help, Aurora covered more ground than she’d expected. And her ankle didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had earlier. In fact, she could now move without holding onto King, even though she moved slowly. Maybe she’d just twisted it a little instead of spraining or breaking it. She had no idea where King was leading her, but as long as she had him with her she knew she’d be safe. At first she thought he would take her to the rowboat, but that hadn’t happened.
To keep her mind off her fatigue and the blackness that surrounded her, she thought about all the things that had happened in less than a week and made a mental list of them.
Friday night I met Blanche Southerland for the first time. On Saturday, I helped Hessie Davis and met Dixie Lee Cunningham. Sam tried to find Tom Southerland, Sam and I met Kurt and Carole’s client Winston Ford—didn’t like him! Found Tom’s cap in toilet. Uncle Charlie came to lake. Dixie Lee phoned, said Hessie remembered license number. Uncle Charlie remembered a Dixie Lee.
Jill and Robert stopped by on Sunday. Jill’s pregnant. On Monday morning, I heard that a body had been found in a freezer in the lake. (Learned Tues. that body was Tom Southerland.) Hessie disappeared. I stayed with Dixie Lee, saw Win without sunglasses, recognized his eyes. Kurt left messag
e saying he saw black van at Hessie’s house Sunday night. Car slammed into Jill’s car, Jill taken to a Roanoke hospital. Brought Little Guy home. Kurt gave me license number of van—same number Hessie remembered.
King and Little Guy disappeared on Wednesday. I rowed over to Smith Mtn. to look for dogs. Found and lost Little Guy, hurt ankle, King found me.
Aurora jumped when King woofed and yanked on her sleeve. He whined, barked. A familiar bark a short distance away answered him.
“Little Guy, here boy,” Aurora called. She heard an answering yap-yap, but he didn’t come dashing eagerly through the woods as she’d expected him to.
“King, get Little Guy.” King only whined. “What in the world is wrong with you two dogs? Okay, King, if Little Guy won’t come to me, you take me to him. Let’s go.”
With her hand resting on his back, Aurora and King forged ahead. Minutes later a dog reunion took place. Little Guy and King acted like they’d been apart for days. Little Guy seemed to feel no remorse for leaving Aurora alone several hours ago. She grabbed hold of him. Good, her belt was still around his collar. She’d worried when he ran off earlier that the belt would get caught on something, that he’d be trapped.
“Doggie,” said a weak voice a few yards away.
Startled, Aurora hushed the dogs and listened.
“Doggie,” called the voice again.
Aurora couldn’t believe what she heard. “Hessie, is that you?” she called. “Where are you?”
“Momma, I want a cookie.”
Aurora pinpointed Hessie’s location and hurried to her as quickly as she could over the rough ground.
“Oh, Hessie, dear. You’re alive. Oh my goodness. It’s Wednesday; you wandered off Monday morning. Have you been on the mountain all this time?”
Aurora sat on the ground and held Hessie in her arms, stroked her matted hair, pulled Hessie’s torn red robe tighter around her. She ran her hands over Hessie’s body and legs. One foot was bare; a ragged slipper hanging together by threads partially covered the other foot. To Aurora, Hessie’s feet felt like chunks of ice. “However in the world did you make it this far?”
King whined, nuzzled Hessie and Aurora. Aurora grabbed hold of the belt on Little Guy’s collar and pulled him close to her. “King, get Sam. Go, boy. Find Sam. Hurry.”
The Lab licked her chin, barked, and disappeared into the night.
Little Guy tugged against the belt. “No, you stay here with me.”
With one hand holding Little Guy’s makeshift leash, Aurora removed her sneakers and socks. As gently as she could, she put one sock on Hessie’s bare foot and replaced the mangled slipper with the other sock. Though not the cleanest around, Aurora’s body-warm socks should feel good to Hessie’s frigid feet.
Hessie sighed, snuggled against Aurora. “Momma,” she said, and fell asleep cradled in Aurora’s arms. In the distance Aurora heard King barking.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Wednesday, 8:20 p.m.
“May I please speak to Kurt Karver?” asked the caller.
“I’m sorry, Kurt isn’t here right now. He’s at his digital camera class, should be home around nine. May I take a message? I’m his mother.”
“What a coincidence. Kurt’s digital camera class is the reason I’m calling.” Jasper snatched up a sales insert from last Sunday’s newspaper.
“Really? And why is that?”
What luck, he thought, as he stared at the digital camera ads right in front of him. He selected the most expensive camera on the page. “Your son—and you, Mrs. Karver, as a loving mother should be so very proud—has been selected to use, free of charge for six months, a Canon Rebel XT EOS digital camera. This camera has 8.0 megapixels, Mrs. Karver, and a 1.8” LCD. There’s also a CMOS sensor and DIGIC II image processor. Isn’t that amazing?”
“Mr. …? I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name. I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. And how is it that my son was, as you call it, ‘selected’?”
“We drew his name from the list of people taking the digital camera class. Believe me, Mrs. Karver, there is no obligation to your son. Or to you. All we ask is that he evaluate the camera after using it for six months.”
“Well, I guess that’s okay. I’ll have him call you. What’s your phone number again?”
“It’s hard to reach me. I’ll give Kurt a call at, say, 9:15 tonight?”
“I’m sure he’ll look forward to hearing from you. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Karver. And have a nice evening.”
Jasper Smoot smiled and hung up the phone. He could hardly believe his good fortune—offering the use of an expensive digital camera to a camera buff would certainly not be refused. Soon Kurt Karver would be a dead camera buff. He grinned, wondered what kind of camera the cops would use when they snapped Kurt’s picture.
CHAPTER FIFTY
At La Grande Maison, Carole tried to hide her fear. She’d heard a lot about drugs dropped in drinks, but had never experienced them herself. And she refused to be a victim. She must think, figure out how to get away from the man sitting beside her. She looked at his eyes. They’d changed. Even though a smile was on his face, his huge grays seemed sinister now. Aurora was right. Winston Ford was dangerous. She wished she’d listened to her friend. Now she’d have to play along with him, wait for her chance to escape.
“Carole, snap out of your daydream. Didn’t you hear me?” Win reached over and caressed her cheek.
“No, I’m sorry, Win. It’s just that this place is so overwhelming, so breathtaking.” She smiled a smile she didn’t feel. “I know there’s not enough time before dinner for you to show me around—the chef would send someone to drag us back if we left the table—but will you please describe the layout of the house and grounds for me? Will you do that for me?”
“Why so interested, Carole?”
Playing to his gigantic ego, she said “Win, my little brain can’t comprehend such a place as this. I love houses, especially estates like this one, although I’ve not had the good fortune to visit one this extraordinary. Don’t forget that I’m in real estate.” She leaned toward him, put her hand on his arm, said softly, “Will you bring me back here, Win? When I can stay longer?”
If the situation hadn’t been serious, she would have laughed at the puzzled expression on his face. She wondered what he’d do now with the drugged wine he’d arranged for her to consume. She figured he’d go ahead with his plan.
“Now about the layout….”
Win traced his finger across the linen tablecloth in an attempt to show Carole the floor plan of the house.
“I must be dense. I’m sorry. I could understand it much better, though, if you could draw it on a piece of paper. Would that be possible?” Carole smiled, giggled. “Oh, what a silly thing for me to say. Of course you could draw it. I’ve finally realized that, for you, anything’s possible.”
“I’ll be right back.” Win stood up and hurried toward the bar for a pencil and some paper.
Carole watched his movement in the window’s reflection. When positive neither Win nor the bartender would catch her, she switched wine glasses.
When he returned, Win sketched a rough floor plan of the house on a piece of paper. “You haven’t tasted your wine, Carole. It’s delicious.” He sipped his, set his glass down.
Carole took a swallow. “Yum, you’re right. Delicious.” She smiled at him. He grinned back at her, drank more from the Waterford crystal wine goblet.
Pointing to the house plan, she said, “Now where approximately is that stable you mentioned earlier? And are there any other outbuildings other than the guest houses?”
“There are four tennis courts, two 18-hole golf courses, a putting green, a clubhouse, and an exercise building with a spa and indoor pool. On the lake side is a marina with a boardwalk leading to a few buildings equipped with top-of-the-line clothing, gift shops, and nautical stuff.” Win quickly drew them on the map.
“The lake you mentioned.
Do you mean Smith Mountain Lake?”
“Yeah, but it’s real private here.”
Five minutes later, Carole stared down at a crude layout of the house, the grounds, and the waterfront. She now knew there were ten guest houses—two with five bedrooms, two with four, two with three, and four with two. All bedrooms had private baths, and all guest houses were equipped with designer kitchens and high-speed internet hookup.
The main building housed six suites, each with two bedrooms, two and a half baths, and a great room equipped with a luxurious kitchenette. All suites were on the third floor. Each suite had its own elevator and private balcony. Carole had already seen the billiard/game room, the pub room, and the enormous foyer. Win told her that a dining room with a banquet-sized table with seating for up to 60 people was behind the pub. The back wall in the pub could slide open when needed to host a larger crowd. The library, on the first floor to the left of the foyer and in the front of the house, contained volumes of rare books, along with the classics, contemporary novels and important nonfiction. A computer room equipped with eight computers, printers, a fax and high-speed internet adjoined the library. She studied the house’s floor plan and the layout of the grounds. It didn’t take her long to memorize the drawing.
“So what do you think, Carole? Is this place nice or what?”
“This is the most fabulous place I’ve ever heard of, much less experienced personally. What’s it called?”
“La Grande Maison—The Big House. Which it definitely is, as you see.”
“You were so sweet to introduce me to all this elegance. The ‘commodities’ you said you deal in must bring in loads of money in order for you to live like this.”
“I earn enough.” He smiled, drank from his wine glass.
Carole watched for signs that the drug intended for her was working on him. Nothing yet. She hoped she could stall his advances that she knew would be coming her way. She sipped her wine.
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