by Hannah Reed
Sally came by my jail cell at one point and gave me a blanket. “Will you check over at Stanley Peck’s?” I pleaded with her. “Make sure Noel is safe?”
She came back later and said, “Stanley chewed me out for waking them up. Noel’s fine.”
Patti didn’t get off quite as lightly as I did. Tom Stocke decided not to press charges after he heard she’d been attempting to save his life, but she still had a serious concealed-weapons charge to face after a brisk pat down at the station exposed her darker side.
Forty-one
We came out of the police station at dawn, blinking like moles, smelling like buffalos, and with slightly deflated egos. I didn’t have a single thing to say to Patti Dwyre. And I wasn’t going to let her intimidate me or bully me into any more stupid situations. I refused to feel sorry for her even when I saw her black eyes. Tom really knew how to plant his fists.
Sally drove us back home. She made a few attempts at small talk, but I wasn’t in the mood. “Another storm is brewing,” she said. “I can smell it in the air.”
When we got out of the car, Patti said to me, “I think I might be partially responsible for all this.”
I didn’t even know how to respond to that understatement so I marched off.
My honeybees hadn’t even missed me. That’s one of the beauties of my favorite little gatherers. They are independent little things. Unlike Dinky, who has to be cared for every single second. Thank goodness for Grams.
A few foragers landed on me as I stood surveying my beeyard, calming myself, focusing on the important things in my life. Until recently, I saw the world just as the honeybees did, a mosaic of colors—blue, green, violet, orange, yellow. But not red. Bees can see ultraviolet, but red just looks like gray to them. Today, I felt my world was in shades of gray, too.
I needed to be like a bee and get back to basics, to simply sustain. These little girls only cared about flowers and honey. And making sure their hive was safe.
But my own hive didn’t feel so safe. It felt threatened.
Somebody was watching and waiting and I wasn’t at all sure that certain “somebody” wasn’t watching me. For sure, Patti had a scary shadow. What if I was next?
And what about Bob’s alibi? If he really had been at an antiques fair this whole time, where did that leave us? Nowhere, that’s where.
The air around me was thick with moisture. I felt sweat running down the center of my back and guessed the temperature must be over ninety, with something like 100 percent humidity.
After showering, changing, and eating my standard toast and honey butter breakfast downed with plenty of coffee, I went down the street and opened the store. The day began like all the others.
Stu came in for his morning paper and didn’t say a word about my night in jail. Had I slid through that one without any of the locals finding out? Was I saved from having to endure furtive glances and knowing smirks and secret whispers?
Milly brought in samples of her newsletter recipes for critique. This was my favorite part of composing the monthly newsletter. Milly’s nutty rhubarb muffins were to die for—moist and delicious. And she’d used hickory nuts, though she said that walnuts were an acceptable substitute.
“A real winner,” I decided. “Too bad none of the other staff members are here to experience the next newsletter recipe.”
“I made plenty. I’ll leave some in the back. Then I’m heading home before the weather turns ugly. Wait until you try these.”
Milly opened a plastic container. We peered in.
“Blueberry scones!” I said.
“With honey glaze,” Milly added.
I downed a whole one at record speed and licked my fingers clean. I almost felt human again after a long, painful night away from my own bed with no sleep.
A little later, Carrie Ann called to say that she’d be in late, and that she couldn’t find Holly to ask her to work for her. She didn’t mention exactly how late before disconnecting. Holly, I suspected, was under the covers with her husband, sleeping off a romantic evening. She hadn’t bothered asking off from work or finding anyone to replace her, though. Standard operating procedure.
Mom came in. By her sweet disposition, it was a sure bet she didn’t know about Patti’s escapade at Tom’s yet. Or about me having been in jail. “According to Emily, your scarf hasn’t surfaced yet,” she said. “She feels really bad about it. It’ll show up eventually.”
I highly doubted that.
“Tornado weather,” she said. “Be on the lookout. Tom and I are driving into Milwaukee for the afternoon. We’re going to the zoo. If the weather doesn’t hold, we’ll end up at the art museum.” With that, Mom bounced out.
Stanley came in. “How’s Noel?” I asked.
“Why is everybody so concerned about my grandson?” he said. “Sally Maylor woke us up last night just checking on him.”
“We like to look out for our young people,” I said.
“His head is lost in space with all that chemical stuff, but his body is just fine. He left early again.”
Mid-morning, Hunter called, but I was busy with customers and couldn’t talk. When I had a spare minute, I called him back.
“You don’t have to say a word,” Hunter said. “I know everything.”
“Is that so,” I said, wondering what he knew and what he didn’t. My heart sped up just hearing his voice.
“Johnny Jay asked me to listen to the recording.”
“Recording?” Why did I have such a sense of dread? Please don’t tell me Johnny Jay had recorded last night’s interrogation and delivered it to my boyfriend. “I never gave him permission to record anything. Isn’t that privileged information?”
Hunter, good guy that he is, didn’t mention that his position made him eligible for all that privileged stuff, but still… “He offered the recording as an explanation for the team’s wasted effort last night,” Hunter said. “I know you denied making the call to him about a hostage situation, but did you?”
Not good, not good at all. “I thought if anybody believed me, it would be you.”
“I had to ask.” Hunter didn’t sound happy with me. “We need to talk.”
I had a perfect excuse for dodging him. “I’m alone at the store. I can’t leave.”
“Promise me you’ll stay right where you are,” he said. “And stay out of trouble.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling like a child about to be scolded. I hated that feeling. Hunter and I had a lot of respect for each other and usually didn’t waste our precious time together nagging or criticizing, so what was the deal with his attitude?
I put it out of my mind.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, making me wonder how Grams was doing with Dinky, since the little dog was terrified of storms. I’d hoped to keep that particular problem from my grandmother until she was in too deep to back out. What would happen now?
A little while later, Eugene Petrie came into the store for the second time ever. I considered hiding under the counter, but he’d already spotted me.
“I thought you were out of town,” I said, plastering on a big friendly smile.
I didn’t get one in return. “I’m sure you did,” he said. “I’m here for two reasons.”
I gulped. How had he picked a time to show up when nobody was in the store? Had he been outside, watching? “Okay,” I said, dropping the smile.
“First, I’m warning you. Stay away from my family.”
“That’s easy,” I said, refusing to whimper until later, after he left. “I’ll do that.”
His face was about two inches from mine. It wasn’t pretty. Long nose hairs hanging out of his nostrils, pores like volcano craters, broken blood vessels, breath that could stop a whole hive of bees in midflight.
“Two,” he said. “I want my shovel back.”
“I gave it to Johnny Jay,” I lied, just like I’d lied to the police chief and told him I’d returned it to the Petries’ backyard shed. Since Eugene was asking, he
hadn’t gone around to the back of the building and found it in my truck. Otherwise he would have taken it and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Although, I had no idea why I wasn’t giving the thing back.
Eugene wasn’t pleased with my answer. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but it stops now. Or else.” That was a direct threat, no doubt about it.
How dare Eugene! Coming into my store and threatening me. “You know where I found your shovel?” I said, narrowing my eyes, too.
“My shed,” he snarled.
“No. In the house next to mine. The same place Ford’s body was found.”
Eugene smirked. “You’re trying to set me up, aren’t you? You and Patti Dwyre.”
I could have said, No, I’m not trying to get you, I’m after your son, but that wouldn’t be too smart.
“Unless you’re going to shop,” I said to him, “I suggest you leave.”
I’d misjudged Eugene Petrie. All this time, thinking he was a better person than the nasty woman he was married to, but he wasn’t one bit nicer.
Eugene swung his head around as if he were looking for something, like he maybe had another reason for being inside my store. His eyes landed on my honey display. “I need honey sticks,” he snarled.
“Any special kind?” I asked, thinking the faster I got the jerk out of my store, the better.
“Root beer,” he answered.
I almost keeled over.
Forty-two
Root beer honey sticks!
Noel Peck’s favorites.
“We’re all out,” I managed to stammer. Which was true. Noel had wiped me out of every single one. Then the blurty, blabby part of me took over, taking control of my impulsive side, so I said, “Could I interest you in… oh, I don’t know… a little fertilizer? Hydrogen peroxide, matches?” What else went into explosives? I tried to think of more ingredients.
While I was considering my next sassy response, Eugene headed for the door. He acted as if he hadn’t heard me. He didn’t say one single word more, which was creepier than if he had. At the door, he turned back. Judging by the expression on his face, I was doomed.
Me and my big mouth.
Why did I always have to have the last word? Thanks to my wayward impulses, I’d just let him know I knew what he was up to.
Jeez. Now what?
Part of me argued that lots of people like root beer. Why shouldn’t Eugene be one of them? It could be purely coincidental. After all, who didn’t like root beer? And the way he’d acted? That could be explained away, too. He’d been living with a professional sneerer his whole life.
The other part of me, the side that wasn’t rooting for root beer, ran to the front door, threw the bolt into the locked position, tore through the store gathering my things, slipped out the back door, and blew out of the parking lot in my truck. The sky had darkened with black clouds, but I didn’t turn on my headlights. The air was scary still.
This might be my only chance to find out if Noel was actually in trouble or just looking for trouble. I really couldn’t see a twelve-year-old intentionally committing a crime of this magnitude, even if he was a fanatic about explosives. Which made me think he’d been fooled somehow, or threatened, or… something.
I didn’t see Eugene Petrie nearby, so I took a chance and guessed that he would head north toward his house in Colgate. I headed that way, and picking up speed, pretty soon I spotted him ahead of me, driving the white van. I’d guessed right about the direction he’d take, thank God. If I stayed back a little, he wouldn’t get suspicious. And while I did that, I’d call for backup. I’d call Hunter, tell him to get his gun and Ben and join me, and I’d explain all of it while he was on his way.
Only my cell phone wasn’t in my pocket.
Then I remembered what Patti had done to it, and I was ticked off all over again. After this, we were through as so-called friends. Because of her, we might be attending a funeral soon—mine, or some innocent bystander caught in a blast, or, if I got my hands on her before my own demise, a funeral for P.P. Patti.
Ahead, Eugene rounded a bend in the road, vanishing from sight. My heart almost stopped working. I really didn’t care about Tom’s money or what happened to it anymore, but these people were ruthless. They’d killed once; they would kill again. And if Noel was involved, no way would they let Stanley’s grandson live to tell the truth.
Even though I’d been using the they word, I hoped that Bob and the other Petries really were still out of town, because I really, really hoped to deal with only one of them. One was more than enough.
Several times, I thought I saw movement in my rearview mirror, but each time on closer inspection, nobody was following me. My nerves were almost shot. Now I was seeing things.
Eugene’s white van came back into view again. My hands were sweaty on the steering wheel and my mind refused to operate at full bore, which was a really bad time for it to shut down. But it had never been asked to handle a situation quite like this before.
Right when I was convinced that Eugene was going to his house, he abruptly slowed down and turned left. I slipped back a little to give him more space. Then I turned in, too.
He made another right into a driveway, one with a for-sale sign at the end of it. I stopped along the side of the road on the far side of the driveway and studied my options.
If I could find a phone, I could call Hunter. He would come. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d show up. My boyfriend would give me as many chances as I needed to get it right. Wouldn’t he?
The what-ifs started going through my half-numb mind.
I should have brought Stanley Peck along. He had knowledge of weapons, knew how to use them, and had a personal stake in the outcome. Sometimes I’m totally dense. I wanted to chastise myself more, but right now I needed to figure out exactly what was going on inside that house. Without something concrete, I had nothing.
Which meant sneaking up and scoping it out, while staying furtive and in the shadows. I certainly wasn’t going to announce myself.
I couldn’t see the house from the road because of all the trees and bushes, maples and honeysuckles dominating the landscape. They would conceal me from view. Besides, Eugene didn’t have any reason to be suspicious that I’d followed him. This should be easy. Sneak along the house, peek in a few windows, get my evidence, then go and find a phone and call Stanley and Hunter.
With a bit of luck, I’d even get a glimpse of Noel, alive and well.
A car passed by and the driver waved at me, something we tend to do in this area. If you’re on my road, you must be my neighbor. Neighborly is one of our most striking traits. And if you aren’t my neighbor, I’ll still consider you a potential neighbor who might buy that house you’re sitting in front of.
That’s how we think, so I waved back. So much for being sneaky.
Once the car was gone, I got out of the truck, and stole along the edge of the driveway until the house came into view. Then I darted among the trees, feeling more than slightly silly. This was a job for Patti Dwyre, not me. Something about peeking around tree trunks didn’t fit into the image I had of myself.
The sky was growing darker by the minute and thunder rumbled in the distance. The only positive thing about that was the extra cover the fading light gave me.
I could see the van. The back door was wide open, but I couldn’t see inside. I didn’t hear any rummaging around nearby, so Eugene had to be in the house, either getting ready to put something in the back of his van, or he’d just taken something out.
Either way, he’d come back out and shut the van door any minute.
I ran over to the vehicle in a hunched-down position and crawled into the back.
Right into the middle of enough proof to take down the head of any terrorist group. I recognized all kinds of chemical containers. I didn’t know how to make explosives, but I was pretty sure you’d use some of this stuff. Especially that thingamajig that looked like the panel from the inside of a computer.
I had my proof. How easy was that? Piece-of-blueberry-pie easy.
I’d just tell Hunter this van was loaded with explosive material and he and his C.I.T. team would be on it like American tanks rolling through the Middle East.
Before I could retreat, a door slammed from the direction of the house. I slithered into the front seat, lying flat between the bucket seats, looking for something to cover my really exposed body. Footsteps on the driveway. I made like an ostrich and buried my head. It was the most I could do with a moment’s notice.
While my head was buried in the sand, somebody grabbed my ankles. I felt myself sliding backward. There’s not a lot a woman can do when a strong man has her in that position. I couldn’t kick or karate chop or do anything other than dig my fingers into the van’s smooth metal floor. That didn’t work at all.
I felt ropes winding around my lower legs. I tried to wrench away and that’s when I got a glance at Eugene. He was busy trussing.
And he was really good at it.
Now I knew why Patti hadn’t been able to get away either time. Or why she hadn’t seen her attacker. He had the element of surprise with her. I’d heard him coming and I still hadn’t stood a chance.
I remembered that Eugene Petrie had been in the military. He must have been the sadistic GI who tied up the enemies. And waterboarded them. When he’d threatened Patti and me with that when he caught us in his garden, he hadn’t been kidding.
Now Eugene grabbed one of my hands and wrenched it behind my back. I fought as hard as I could, considering my already compromised position, desperately looking for something to use as a weapon. Neither of us said anything while we struggled, but we were both breathing hard, focused on winning.
I lost.
He slapped a piece of duct tape over my mouth and left me there. I rolled around and managed to fall out of the back of the van. Which really hurt.
Eugene came out of the front door and held it open. Right behind him was Noel Peck. Not tied up or anything.