Orton leaned into the trunk, pencil flash in one hand, gun in the other. “Where?” he said.
“Under all those rags.”
“What rags?”
“Right there,” Cody said, stepping forward.
“Hey,” said Big Len, sticking out the spade, trying to block Cody’s passage.
But not quick enough. Orton started to straighten up, also not quick enough. Cody got both hands on the trunk lid and flung it down as hard as he could. The edge struck Orton on the back of his head, jamming his face into the locking mechanism. He slumped to the ground, the gun flying from his hand, and lay still.
Cody dove for the gun. Big Len hit him with the spade while he was in midair, a tremendous blow that knocked the wind out of him. Cody landed on his back in the snow, hard enough to bury the gun somewhere beneath him. Big Len jumped on Cody, knelt on his chest, raised the spade in both hands, blade pointed straight down at Cody’s face, his eyes bestial.
“Run!” Cody shouted.
But Clea didn’t run. Instead she darted in from behind and looped the free end of the chain around Big Len’s neck, once, twice, so fast. He gasped, let go of the spade, which fell beside Cody, grabbed at the chain, tried to get his fingers underneath, could not. Clea pulled on the free end. Big Len squirmed and threw an elbow at her, but she was right behind him, out of range. He struggled, face bloating, eyes bulging. Clea just pulled harder, heaving on that chain. Big Len made gurgling sounds. His tongue hung out. From down at the bottom, Cody had a clear view of the expression on Clea’s face. It scared him, scared him as much as anything that had gone before.
Then the sky filled with flashing blue, and sirens sounded, an angry blare that seemed to come from all around. The arrival of Special Agent Brand, accompanied by Phil and a squad of state troopers, saved Big Len’s life. It took two of the troopers to pull Clea off him.
After that, Cody just wanted to jump in his car with Clea and take off for home. Instead they had to go to a hospital for a few hours to get checked out—the same hospital where Orton and Big Len now lay, cuffed to their beds. Then came a day or two of talk, with Agent Brand, the state attorney general, lots of other officials Cody couldn’t keep straight in his mind.
He and Clea hardly left each other’s sides, not even at night. Maybe the adults didn’t like that, but somehow they’d lost their moral authority, if only for a while. The very first thing, the very first night, Clea said, “I have bad judgment sometimes.”
“Who doesn’t?” Cody said.
“I was an idiot. I got…swept up. Then all of a sudden he just wanted the money.”
“Me, too,” said Cody. “This minute.”
“I’ve got other plans for this minute.”
From all the talk, Cody learned that Phil had acted right away on his cry of “Brand, Brand.” Brand had hurried to the barn, where Ike described seeing Cody and Orton coming out of the office. Ike had hidden the ledger in his room just after he and Cody had checked it, because he “couldn’t trust nobody.” A state trooper had spotted Cody’s car on the road from the bear claw place to the cider house, and called in.
Betting slips turned up that proved Orton had fallen deep in debt to Big Len, although he made no admission and Len was saying nothing. Townes was arrested on conspiracy charges. His big-time lawyer, an old friend of Townes’s father working for free, vowed those charges wouldn’t stick. The attorney general’s spokesman said the state would prove that Len had learned of Clea’s post-practice rides in the woods from Townes. The big-time lawyer denied that and claimed Townes was one of the victims. One thing Cody knew: Townes searching the woods like a madman—that was unforgivable.
Cody’s own father arrived, together with Fran. Cody’s father was quiet, seemed smaller than usual, patted Cody on the back a few times and accepted congratulations from many strangers. Once or twice, Cody caught his father glancing at him in a new way, kind of proud and amazed at the same time. Fran passed on the news that Clea’s father had opened his eyes, even spoken a bit, first some gibberish about his country club, but then as his mind cleared a single word: “Clea?”
Larissa organized a candlelit ceremony for Bud. Clea held Cody’s hand the whole time. Lots of Dover Academy kids came, including ones like Alex and Simon, whom Cody had gotten to know a little bit. They all looked at him differently. Cody preferred the old way. The only person who looked at him the old way was Ike.
Fran made arrangements for shipping Cody’s car home; over his objection, but it happened during one of the frequent times in that period when he could hardly keep his eyes open, so he didn’t put up much of a fight. That ended the driving-back-across-the-country idea, just the two of them. Cody, his father, Clea, and Fran flew home on the same flight. Cody and Clea sat together, the armrest pushed back, sharing a blanket. They slept the whole way.
About the Author
PETER ABRAHAMS is the bestselling author of DELUSION, NERVE DAMAGE, END OF STORY, OBLIVION, THE FAN, BEHIND THE CURTAIN, and INTO THE DARK as well as LIGHTS OUT and DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE, for both of which he received Edgar Award nominations. Peter makes his home in Falmouth, Massachusetts, with his wife and four children. You can visit him online at www.peterabrahams.com and www.echofallsmysteries.com
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ALSO BY PETER ABRAHAMS
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Credits
Jacket art © 2009 trees: Don Hammond/Design Pics/Jupiterimages boy: JoelSartore/GettyImages
Jacket design by Carla Weise
Copyright
REALITY CHECK. Copyright © 2009 by Pas de Deux. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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