by L C Hayden
“What’s your theory?”
“Someone saw us going to the movie. Soon as Eric was alone, he grabbed him.”
“So what do you think we should do?”
“Go back to his house and see if someone contacts us. We should also call Bronson.”
“What about the police?”
Jay’s first instinct had been to contact the police but he had decided against it at the last minute. “At this point, we don’t know if he’s been abducted or he gave me the slip.”
“Why would he give you the slip?”
“I’m not saying he did—”
“—but the police would want to know that.”
Jay nodded, then felt foolish when he realized Pete couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Tell you what, I’m going back to Eric’s. Maybe he’ll show up, maybe not.”
“Call me.”
“I will.”
Jay never got the chance to call him back.
* * * * *
“Shiiit.” Bronson kicked one of the two flat tires. That S.O.B. had shot them, and now he was stuck. He wouldn’t be getting back to his Carols any time soon. Might as well do something useful while he waited for the police. From his car, he retrieved a flashlight and headed toward the area from where the shots had been fired.
He pointed the light at the ground where he thought the shooter might have crouched and moved the beam around the area. Some insect scurried out of sight. The wind scattered the leaves. No papers, no cigarettes littered the place. Interesting.
Bronson concentrated on the pine tree, the one that had hidden the shooter from his view. He shook his head in disgust. The shooter didn’t exist. Carrier did.
Knowing this bothered the hell out of Bronson and filled him with dread. Carrier hated guns. They conflicted with his principles. Why then had he chosen to use one?
Bronson flashed the light on the lower part of the trunk and slowly moved the beam up. At eye-level, he spotted a note thumbtacked to the tree. The folded paper read Harry.
“That’s you, buddy boy.”
Bronson jumped around, heart pounding, to stare at his ex-partner’s smiling face. The area behind Mike swarmed with red flashing lights and police cars. A plainclothes policeman bent down by Bronson’s tires as he dictated something to other policemen.
Bronson smiled back. Up to now, he hadn’t realized how much he missed seeing Mike’s goofy face. “Mike.”
“Bronson.”
A wave of relief and nostalgia hit Bronson. “Good to see you.”
“Even under these circumstances?”
“Especially under these circumstances.”
“You seem surprised. Didn’t you hear us?” Mike spotted the note. “Never mind. When you’re in a detecting mode, nothing disrupts you.”
Bronson reached for the note. “Let’s see what Carrier has to say.”
“You’re sure this is Carrier’s work?”
“I’m willin’ to bet a week’s pay.”
“You’re retired. You don’t have a week’s pay.”
“Nice of you to remind me.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for.”
“Does that mean you’re willin’ to give me some money?”
Mike smiled, retrieved a pair of plastic gloves, and handed them to Bronson. “Read your note.”
“As you wish.” Bronson put the gloves on, opened the note, and read:
Harry,
Just so there’s no doubt in your mind, that was me who shot your tires. could just as easily have shot you instead, but we’ve only played two rounds. It’s not your turn to die in Round Three. Whose turn, then? Figure it out and maybe you can finally win a round.
Benjamin Carrier
Bronson felt the sting of defeat erupt like a volcano.
“What’s wrong?”
“Each round ends with a death. If he kills someone, he wins. If I prevent him from killing, then I win. We’re in our third round and so far, I’ve let two people die.”
“Bronson, you’re not responsible.”
“If I’d figured it out sooner, they would be alive.”
“That’s exactly what he wants you to think. It’s all part of his twisted game. This is just one way to demoralize you. That’s why he’s calling you Harry instead of Bronson. He’s trying to get to you. Don’t let him.”
Easy to say. Hard to do, and Bronson realized Mike knew it. Bronson nodded and watched the policemen gather around his car. “The bullets will lead them to Carrier’s gun.”
“Let’s hope so.”
A flatbed tow truck pulled in. “You called them?”
“Helps if you have connections, but let me set the record straight. I called, you pay.”
“I’d say that’s a bargain.”
“Getting shot at is never a bargain.”
“Carrier didn’t shoot me. He shot my tires.”
“Yeah, and that worries me.”
Bronson nodded. “We’re on the same wavelength. Why do you suppose he changed his M. O.?”
Mike shook his head. “Don’t know, buddy.”
A wave of anxiety smothered Bronson. What other rules had changed? The whisper of a cold wind brought back his daughter’s message. A man had stopped by, asking for him.
A man—Carrier.
Carrier had been in his camper, had talked to his daughter. Bronson was convinced of it. A freezing chill engulfed him, increasing his heartbeat. He turned toward his disabled Honda. “My car.”
Mike watched Bronson’s car being loaded. “We’ll use mine. Let’s go.”
Bronson bolted toward the vehicle. Mike followed close behind.
“What’s going on?” Mike fished the car keys out of his pocket.
“Carrier’s been at my camper, talkin’ to Little Carol.”
For a second, Hoover froze. “She’s okay?”
“Yeah. I guess. I’m just . . .”
“—worried.”
“Yeah.” Bronson continued to head toward the rental while Hoover approached a plainclothes policeman. He pointed at Bronson.
As Bronson climbed into Mike’s passenger seat, he looked at his watch, thought of calling Carol again, but decided against it. That would give her one more reason to worry. He watched Mike talking to the detective and wished Mike would hurry. The detective nodded and Mike ran back to the car. “He wants to know if you want a police escort.”
Bronson shook his head.
“Figured as much.” Mike started the engine. “He made me promise to bring you back as soon as possible.”
Bronson nodded. “I just need to see them—be sure they’re both okay.”
“I understand.” He pulled out.
twenty-four
“Relax, will ya? I can see your camper from here and it’s intact. Take a deep breath,” Mike said as he pulled into The Roost Resort.
Bronson sat up, leaned forward, and scanned the area. Nothing unusual stood out. Bronson relaxed, but a small twinge of worry hung on. “Seein’ is believin’.”
“You bet.” Mike slowed down as he entered the campground.
He pulled in behind Bronson’s camper. “Get out of here. Go check on your wife and kid.”
As Bronson stepped out, he glanced at the empty lot next to his. Linda’s unit should have been there. Had she taken the time to hitch her Mercedes to the back of the camper and then drove the camper to the Purple Pie Place? He remembered seeing her car, but not the motor home. That meant she had to unhook the car and park the camper elsewhere. Why? It didn’t make any sense. He made a mental note to check on the camper.
But first, his family. Seconds later, he stood in the motor home’s living room, glancing, searching.
“Dad, you’re home.” Little Carol sat, curled up on the couch, a magazine by her.
Bronson stared at his daughter. Her thick black curls framed her round face. Her warm smile filled him with relief mixed with pride. She looked so beautiful.
“Dad, you look dorky. What’s wrong?”
&nb
sp; So much for pride. “Your mom, she’s home?”
“No. Tonight they’re meeting at Leslie’s.”
“But she’s okay?”
“Of course. Why?”
A knock on the door interrupted them. Bronson looked out the window and Mike waved at him. Bronson swung the door open.
Little Carol sprung to her feet. “Uncle Mike.” She hugged him.
Great. Mike gets the hug. I get I-look-dorky.
Little Carol stared at her “uncle,” then at Bronson. “Dad, something’s going on. What’s wrong?”
“You’re gettin’ to be more and more like your mom every day.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now tell me what’s going on.”
Bronson led the way to the brown plaid couch, and both he and Mike sat down. Little Carol curled up in the reclining rocker with her feet wrapped under her.
“You told me a man stopped by to see me. I need you to tell me exactly what he said and what he looked like.”
“He was nice enough looking and had a real good body.”
Bronson cocked his head and stared at his daughter.
Mike smiled and Bronson glared at him.
“Oh, sorry, Dad. You didn’t let me finish. He may have been a looker, but something about him seemed to be off.”
“What does that mean?”
Little Carol shrugged. “He was, well, creepy.” She got to her feet. “Mom told me you’d want me to describe him, so I did one better. I drew a picture of him.”
Drew a picture? When had she learned to draw? What else didn’t he know about his daughter?
Little Carol retrieved a piece of paper from the magazine rack and handed it to him.
Carrier’s face stared back at Bronson, the image chilling him. His daughter had captured Carrier’s harsh, cold gaze. The image hypnotized him and drew him in. Maybe Carrier’s victims felt the same way.
“You did this from memory?” Mike asked.
“Yeah. I memorize people’s features. Took me a while to master the skill, but I’m getting better.”
“We need you in the police department. Anybody who’s so observant and remembers details like this—” Mike pointed to the picture. Then he saw Bronson’s glaring eyes. Mike hushed.
Little Carol looked at her father, then at Mike. “Oh, dad. It’s sweet of you to be concerned, but I don’t need to be protected anymore. I’m old enough to make my own decisions.” She smiled at him, perhaps in an attempt to soften her words.
Amazing how much she reminded him of her mother. “What exactly did he say?” Bronson asked.
“Exactly?”
“As close as possible.”
“He said, and I quote, ‘Tell him Round Three is almost over.’ I asked him what he meant by that, and he smiled and said you’d know. Then he said, ‘Remind him I’m still one step ahead and always right behind him.’ What did he mean by that? Is he dangerous?”
The message cut through Bronson’s heart with the precision of a sharp blade. He forced his fears down. “He’s very dangerous and if you see him again you’re to steer away from him. Is that clear?”
“Dad, I’m twenty-five years old.”
Mike smiled.
“Sorry, Sweetheart. It’s just that sometimes I—”
“I understand, Dad.”
“Thank you.” Bronson looked at his daughter. She had blossomed into a beautiful, strong woman. Suddenly, her nickname, Little Carol, seemed inappropriate. “You’re sure your mom is okay?”
“I just left her less than five minutes ago. What about you, Dad? Are you in danger?” She bit her lip and looked at him with concerned eyes.
Bronson opened his arms and drew her in. “Nothin’ to be worried about.” His gaze traveled over his daughter’s shoulders and landed on his ex-partner.
Mike flashed him a hard look.
Bronson released his daughter from his embrace. “Linda Randig, the lady next door, where did she go?”
Little Carol shrugged. “I don’t know. She was here this morning when Mom and I went to Leslie’s to rehearse. When I got back, I noticed the camper gone.”
“I’m going to the office to see if they know anythin’. You wait here for your mom.”
She cocked her head and pinched her eyebrows together.
“Sorry.” Bronson reminded himself that his daughter was now a grown woman. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He stepped out and Mike followed him.
“That son-of-a-bitch was in my motor home,” Bronson said once they were out of his daughter’s hearing range. He spoke between clenched teeth.
“I know how you’re feeling. He wants you angry and afraid so you won’t be able to think straight. Clear your emotions and keep a level head. You need to come up with a plan. Let’s hear it.”
“I’m getting’ the hell out of Dodge.”
“Which direction are you heading?”
“I’m going back to the Purple Pie Place, talk to the police, and hopefully hook up with Linda. Her destination is Minnesota, so I think I’ll head that way.”
“Sounds doable, but I have one worry.”
A squirrel scurried across their path, leaped onto a pine, and wiggled its way up. Bronson switched his attention from the squirrel back to his ex-partner. “Carrier’s message.”
“Exactly. ‘Round Three is almost over.’ Who’s going to die?”
“Only one I can think of is Linda, but if she’s with me, I’ll be able to protect her.”
“Then there’s you.”
Bronson shook his head. “By his own admission, too early in the game.” He paused and looked back at his camper. “That’s why I’m leavin’. He’ll follow me and hopefully leave my family alone.”
“I’ll stay with them. I’ll tell them I can’t afford a motel. I’ll be here twenty-four-seven. When I have to leave, I’ll make sure there’ll be someone to watch them. They’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”
Bronson recalled doing that for Mike’s family. Families should be left alone, but criminals seldom, if ever, followed a set of ethics. “I appreciate that.” They reached the front office and waited while the owners checked an elderly couple in. The minutes dragged and Bronson wished he could jump to the back counter, check them in, and dismiss them.
When they finally headed out, the clerk looked up at Bronson and Mike and said, “I’ll be with you in a minute.” She pounded on the computer keys. When she finished, she looked up at them. “Need a spot?”
“Got one already. I’m just wonderin’ about my neighbor, spot 71. Do you happen to know when she left and where she went?”
The clerk shook her head. “No idea. We don’t check ’em out. They just leave.”
“Would there by any chance be a message for me?”
“What spot are you holding?”
“Seventy.”
She checked and shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Thank you anyway.” Bronson and Mike headed back to Bronson’s motor home. “Now what?” Mike asked.
“Now I leave.” Bronson’s cell rang. The caller I.D. read Jay. A sinking sensation hit Bronson. “Jay, is everythin’ okay?”
“Not really. You need to get over here as soon as possible.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Can’t say over the phone. I’ll explain when you get here. Eric’s disappeared. I’ve contacted the police.”
Shiiit. Bronson rubbed his forehead. “The baby?”
“He’s fine. He’s with the babysitter, one block away from Eric’s. Pete’s with them.”
“What’s the babysitter’s name?”
“Brookes Berry.”
Bronson wrote the name down. “I’ve got some unfinished business to take care of. I’ll meet you as soon as I get free from here. Where will you be?”
“At my house.” Jay gave him the address along with directions.
Bronson recorded it and snapped the cell shut. “We may have the victim of Round Three.”
“Who?”
“Eric.�
��
twenty-five
When Bronson pulled into the Purple Pie Place’s parking lot, Detective Chuck Gorman approached him. “You’re Bronson.”
“I am.” Bronson stood by the cruiser, digesting his surroundings.
“Took you long enough to get back. When I said you could go, I thought maybe it’d take you fifteen minutes, not half an hour.” He peered inside the cruiser. “Where’s your partner?”
“He stayed behind. He’s watchin’ over my family.” As though you cared.
“I need him here. I’ll send a cruiser to babysit your family.” He looked around and signaled one of the young officers to approach.
The rookie’s body stiffened and for a second, Bronson assumed he would salute Detective Gorman. Instead, he headed their way.
Gorman turned to Bronson. “Tell him how to get to your place, then join me.” He looked at the officer. “You, get over to Bronson’s camper and watch his wife and daughter. You suspect anything, call for backup.” He turned and walked away.
Bronson nodded a greeting at the officer and gave him directions. “Please take good care of my wife and daughter. Your presence might scare them.”
“I’ll watch them from the distance. They won’t even know I’m there.”
The rookie seemed familiar with procedure, but maybe all he knew about protecting a family, he’d learned in a classroom. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re right, you know,” the rookie said.
Bronson looked at him.
“I’ve never done this before, but I graduated top in my class. I know what I’m doing.” He threw his shoulders back, making him look taller. “What are their names?”
“Both are Carols.”
“Let me assure you, Mr. Bronson, that I’ll keep a real good eye on them.”
Bronson believed him. He nodded. “I know you will. Thank you.”
The rookie got in the car and Bronson watched him disappear over the horizon. As the police car vanished from his view, he wished he could be the one to protect his family. He shook himself and focused on the current dilemma. He approached Gorman. “Where’s Linda?”
“Who?”
“Linda Randig. She was supposed to meet me here. I don’t see her.”