Grace had left Emily to show Grandma Wenny the house, knowing her daughter would make the suite they’d renovated for her sound like more of an adventure than a prison sentence. It was one of the reasons Grace had given in so easily to her grandmother coming home with them. It was ridiculous to believe the old woman could somehow protect them, especially since Grace had insisted the .38 stay back at the bungalow. But maybe, just maybe she could convince her grandmother that her presence was wanted and needed in their home.
The bottom line was that Grace wanted Grandma Wenny to live with them, but only if she wanted it, too. She owed the old woman so much, it was her grandmother who had taught her she could do anything she set her mind to. The sacrifices the old woman had made for her were great, but her German heritage would explain it all away as something you just did for family. Family was the most important thing. But her grandmother’s will, her spirit, the kick in the pants and the constant nagging that reminded Grace that she could and would do important things—that was something Grace relied on every day.
She found them in the kitchen, devouring the oatmeal chocolate-chunk cookies that Grandma Wenny and Emily had baked earlier at her house. Emily and Grace had talked the old woman into having dinner out, finally settling on the Greek Isles Restaurant, where Grandma Wenny had explained that the Greeks were a people to be admired for all their contributions, unlike the French, who she insisted couldn’t be trusted, using their high prices and small portions of food as proof. Grace let her get away with this kind of talk. Sometimes trying to change old ways, old beliefs, old prejudices was a losing battle.
“So is this a bedtime snack?” Grace asked, sitting down at the table across from the two.
“I should stay up later to make sure Grandma Wenny isn’t scared,” Emily said, avoiding Grace’s eyes and concentrating on the cookie she was holding over a glass of milk, half dunked.
“I don’t think Grandma Wenny is scared of anything,” Grace said. “Nice try, Em.”
“Emily tells me about her Mr. McDuff.”
“Yeah, I still can’t find him, Mom.”
“I’m sure he’s here somewhere.”
“I don’t like sleeping without him. I thought maybe I could sleep with Grandma Wenny tonight. You know, just until she gets used to the house.”
“I think she’ll be fine in her own room,” Grace said, but she watched the two exchange a glance as Emily finished the last bite of cookie, and Grace knew the matter had already been discussed. “Emily, go on up and get your pj’s on. Grandma Wenny and I will come up and tuck you in.”
“Okay.” But there was another glance as Emily slid out of the chair. Grace could tell Grandma Wenny was listening and waiting until she heard Emily reach the top of the stairs.
“She said the bad man took her Mr. McDuff.”
“She overheard Vince and me talking about a case. She just misunderstood.”
“He was here, in the house.”
“No one’s been in the house.” But Grace knew immediately that Grandma Wenny didn’t believe her. She had never been able to lie to the old woman. Fact was Grace didn’t know if Barnett had been in their house. Was he the one who’d left that stupid ceramic gnome? And if he had been here, what did he want besides letting her know that he could come and go as he pleased?
“I can feel it. He was here in the house.”
“We’ve had lots of workers in and out. They’ve been working on the renovation.”
“No, no. This is a bad man. He was here. And he took Emily’s Mr. McDuff.”
CHAPTER 53
8:50 p.m.
Highway 6
Melanie’s eyes begged to close. Even against the oncoming headlights she was unable to keep them open and remain alert. When was the last time she had slept? She honestly didn’t remember. The adrenaline had carried her this far, but when the sun went down it seemed her energy went down with it.
Charlie had been asleep in the back for almost an hour, according to the snores. Andrew Kane appeared wide-awake in the seat beside her, though his head leaned against the window. Melanie could see his eyes staring straight ahead. Jared looked wide-awake, too. Every time the oncoming headlights lit up the Taurus’s interior, Melanie caught him watching her in the rearview mirror.
Now she heard the rustling of the map from behind her and noticed a stream of light from the Maglite they had found in the glove compartment. There were other things they had found inside the Taurus, things that bothered Melanie for some reason. Instead of a Jesus picture tacked to the visor, there was a picture of a dark-haired woman hugging a little boy who shared her eyes.
On the floor in the front, Andrew had accidentally kicked a stuffed teddy bear. When he picked it up, Melanie was struck by how carefully he handled it, almost as if it were alive. He had laid it on the seat between them, and as much as Melanie didn’t want it there she could also not bring herself to move it. It reminded her too much of Charlie’s old stuffed Pooh bear. And the photo reminded her that this was a mother’s car they had taken. A mother who worked at that manufacturing plant, probably at a shitty job for shitty pay, just so she could take care of her little boy. And now the little boy wouldn’t have his teddy bear tonight.
“The next intersection should be Highway 34,” Jared said, startling her when he leaned up against the front seat. “Take a right.”
“I don’t think I can drive much farther, Jared.”
“I know. I’ve been watching you, Mel.” He put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve done a good job, Lil’ Sis.”
She glanced back at him in the rearview mirror, looking for sarcasm and not able to see a trace. When they were kids he used to call her Lil’ Sis whenever he took care of her, comforting her with that same reassuring tone that made her feel like everything would be okay. But sometimes even Jared wasn’t able to make things okay. Before she could determine whether or not he was still trying to take care of her, he was pointing over the seat at a billboard.
“We can get a room at that Comfort Inn. Looks like it’s just on the other side of Hastings.”
She almost asked if they could afford it, but stopped herself. She didn’t care if they could afford it. Just the thought of a hot shower and a soft bed perked her up. She pulled her shoulders back, stretching against the tightness, the knots of stress balled up in the middle of her shoulder blades. Yes, a hot shower and a good night’s sleep would make things better. And tomorrow? Who the hell cared about tomorrow? She had to take one day at a time, one hour at a time.
Melanie saw the brightly lit Comfort Inn sign and then the inn itself on the left side of the road. She smiled, a sense of relief for the first time since this nightmare began. Maybe this is what people meant by an oasis in the desert.
“Don’t pull up to the lobby. Park over there, away from the lights.” Jared was back to giving orders. She didn’t care. She just kept thinking of the hot shower and the cool sheets.
“When you go into the lobby don’t give them your real name. And say there’s only two of you.”
“But won’t they see us all come in to go to our room?”
“It looks like a motel. I think we can get in from our own door. If not, they usually have side doors. Once you have the key card we can get in through them.” More lecturing, more telling her what to do. “If you have to fill out any forms with address and stuff, put California and say you’re headed to Chicago.”
“Where in California?”
“I don’t give a fuck, Mel. Make something up. Jesus! I can’t think of everything.” He counted out eight twenty-dollar bills and handed them to her over the seat. “It shouldn’t be more than this.”
She looked at the rest of the money he still held in his hand. In the dim light of the parking lot she could tell there was more that four hundred dollars. She wanted to ask if he had taken some cash from the convenience store. She quickly decided she didn’t care about that, either.
The lobby was bright and
cozy with a small sitting area to the right and a breakfast or snack area off to the side of the reception cubicle. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee accosted her as soon as she entered. She checked over her shoulder to see whether the Taurus was visible from the desk. Nothing. She’d done a good job parking it away and out of sight.
“God! That smells great,” she told the young man behind the counter. He actually looked pleased to have someone to talk to. The parking lot was pretty empty.
“Help yourself. I just made a fresh pot. Will you be staying with us this evening?” he asked as he began rounding up the necessary paperwork.
Her mind was on the coffee. It had been so long, too long, since she had given it up.
“Ma’am? Are you needing a room for this evening?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes. I will be.”
“Single or double?”
“Double. There are just two of us.” She checked his face. Just? Why the hell did she say just? But he hadn’t noticed.
She saw the small TV he had been watching on the counter behind him. She glanced at the wall clock. Not quite ten. The news would be coming on soon, and she didn’t want to see any of it. Not now when she could blow it. She wondered how much he had already seen or heard. Was he supposed to be reporting in to the police if anyone suspicious showed up? And then she wondered what would make someone look suspicious.
“Smoking or non?”
His question interrupted her paranoia. “Non,” she said out of habit, suddenly regretting that she hadn’t taken that pack out of the farmer’s car. She could use a smoke right about now.
“If you could just fill out this information. How will you be paying this evening?” He handed the paperwork to her, placing a pen on top.
“Cash,” she said, filling in the blanks on the form, pretending that the process didn’t require as much thought as it did. Melanie knew that the best policy was to let others do the talking. KMS was what she lived by—Keep Mouth Shut. Too much information and people looked at you more closely. She didn’t need to be remembered. She knew how to blend in. That’s what she needed to do now. Just look the part of a weary traveler.
“That’s $74.90. Let me get your change. The coffee is complimentary, twenty-four hours a day. We have a free continental breakfast from six till nine-thirty available over in our breakfast area.” He pointed across the lobby, then counted out her change, took the form, looked it over and set it aside.
She almost sighed out loud. Why was this so much harder than blending in with shoppers at the mall, and slipping out of stores with merchandise she hadn’t paid for?
“Here are your key cards. Your room number is listed on the inside of this folder. And let me show you where it is.” He pulled out a paper and showed her on the diagram of the hotel. “We’re here. You just drive around back and the door is the fourth from the north. Any questions?”
“Can I come back for the coffee?”
“Oh, sure. Each room has a door to the hallway inside, too, so you don’t have to go outside. I’ll be here all night. I’ll make sure there’s plenty fresh for you.” He gave her a genuine smile.
“Okay.” She turned to leave. She stopped at the door and over her shoulder said, “Thanks.” It was the first time in a very long time that she truly felt thankful.
CHAPTER 54
9:07 p.m.
South of Nebraska City
“Holy crap!” Pakula said, taking his first look as Sheriff Dawes held open the kitchen door to the farmhouse. The flood of white fluorescent lights inside seemed a harsh contrast to the darkness outside.
The mobile crime techs had beaten him to the scene. Darcy Kennedy and Wes Howard had secured the kitchen, yet Pakula couldn’t help wondering how many from the crowd in the front yard had already trampled through. The body was slumped in the hardback chair, the head rolled back, exposing the gaping wound in the neck, a violent slash of red against the blue-gray skin. It was probably exactly as it had been found. He wondered if the guy’s wife had walked in this very door.
“What about the car?” he asked the sheriff, who stayed in the doorway. When Dawes didn’t answer, Pakula glanced back at him and realized the sheriff hadn’t stayed back in order to give them room to do their work, but because he looked as if he might upchuck. The man stood well over six feet, tall and skinny, teetering back and forth on the heels of his pointed-toed cowboy boots. “Sheriff Dawes, where’s the Saab?”
“Oh, it’s still in the garage. Nobody’s touched it. Keys are in the ignition.” He seemed relieved to have something to concentrate on. “State Patrol told me they’d have roadblocks from here to Kansas City. There’s an APB out for the Chevy. We’ll get the bastards. Maybe before morning.”
Pakula hated to discourage the sheriff’s optimism. If that Chevy already had an entirely different set of license plates on it, they might slip through the roadblocks.
“You pulling a double shift, Wes?” Pakula walked a wide circle around the corpse, careful not to interrupt the techs’ grid.
“I could ask the same about you.” The kid smiled but didn’t take his eyes from the fingerprint he was making appear on the counter next to the bloody butcher knife that had been bagged.
“Why bother tying the guy up? And why do you suppose he used a knife?” Pakula started asking questions out loud as he sorted the pieces.
“He wasn’t out of bullets,” Sheriff Dawes said from his sanctuary. “He used one on the gas station clerk up the road.”
“And that’s where you might think he’d want to keep quiet instead of risking someone hearing the gunshot.” Pakula squatted in front of the corpse so he could be eye level with the wound. “Yet out here, where nobody can hear it, he uses a knife.”
“Is he making a statement of some kind?” Darcy asked.
“You tell me.” He stood up, rubbing his eyes and wishing this kitchen wasn’t so fucking bright.
Darcy pointed to the gash that started up under the left earlobe. “He did it from behind, left to right, so he’s right-handed. No big surprise there. There was a lot more force than needed, practically decapitated the guy. Definite overkill. The kind of stuff you’d find in a crime of passion. But I’m thinking he didn’t know this guy.”
“Maybe he reminded him of someone.” Pakula looked around the kitchen as if searching for answers. “Anything else taken?”
“Wife’s pretty upset,” Sheriff Dawes said. “I didn’t ask.”
“Looks like his wallet is still in his back pocket,” Wes pointed out.
From this angle Pakula decided it wasn’t possible that the cash and credit cards were removed and the wallet replaced. He had started a credit card check on all of Andrew’s cards. By morning he’d have the information. Sometimes they got lucky. Sometimes the kidnappers were stupid enough to charge hotel rooms. Pakula was still hoping these guys were stupid enough.
“When will we have fingerprint results from the Saturn and here?”
“There’s too many prints in the car to isolate,” Darcy explained. “I can’t tell which ones might be the robbers’ and which ones are probably the previous occupants’. We did find a thumb and forefinger inside the car’s back window. I’m guessing it’s got to be one of theirs. Because there’s vomit smudges. I’m running it for a match but haven’t come up with anything else. Might be someone who’s never been in the system.”
“How ’bout here? Anything?”
“We should have him right here,” Wes said, holding up the plastic bag with the butcher knife. “The son of a bitch didn’t bother even wiping it.”
CHAPTER 55
9:56 p.m.
Comfort Inn—Hastings, Nebraska
Melanie finished the last of the convenience-store pizza. It was cold, the cheese hard, the pepperoni congealed in its own cold grease, and yet it tasted delicious. After her shower she had curled up in one of the double beds, the cool sheets tucked around her, her head and back propped against the pillows. She had a Snickers bar on the bedside table
and control of the TV’s remote. For the moment, she needed nothing else.
Jared had disappeared out the door to the hotel’s hallways and lobby, saying he’d be back, not indicating when. He left the car keys and his precious gun with Charlie, so she knew he’d be back.
Leaving the gun seemed unnecessary. The writer, Andrew Kane, wasn’t going anywhere. As soon as they’d entered the room, Andrew dropped into the recliner in the corner and hadn’t moved except once to go to the bathroom. Now he simply stared at the TV screen.
Charlie stretched out on the other double bed, not bothering to pull back any of the covers or take off his high-tops, despite Melanie telling him twice. It was probably his way of getting back at her for hogging the remote. He had even pouted at first until he discovered a couple of comic books in the convenience-store stash.
Melanie considered telling him to put the gun someplace where she didn’t have to look at it. She hated being in the same car and now in the same room with it. However, tonight she could pretend that it didn’t exist. Tonight she needed to pretend none of it—the bank, the car chase, the cornfield, the forced road trip—none of it existed. At least for tonight.
She flipped the channels, trying to avoid the news, but finally gave up and left it on the CBS affiliate, waiting for Jay Leno. She snuggled down farther into the pillows and closed her eyes, remembering how much she had wanted to close them less than an hour ago. She tried to think of something, anything, that would take her mind off the gun and help relax her.