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She wouldn’t be long, she promised, in response to Jake’s offer to grill steaks for the evening. Just long enough to get an inside look at the old hotel-turned-bank-turned-more. Not long enough to draw attention.
She smirked as she trudged up the sidewalk to the skeletal building. Grant acted as if it was such a big deal, allowing her a clandestine peek into the property. It was on the corner lot of Main Street, smack dab in the middle of town. There were no outer walls. People would see them, no matter.
So Gera was surprised when she reached the railed structure and found no tourists taking pictures of the abandoned bank vault, no townspeople milling about the sidewalk. Cars moved along the street out front, but none turned on First Avenue. Most of the businesses along the street were closing now, but one was just getting primed. An unusual string of vehicles fringed the perimeters of the Cactus Bar.
Ah, Tuesday night poker, she remembered.
She was also surprised to reach the locked gate and discover it not locked.
Seeing as she had arrived before Grant, Gera peered through the rails in anticipation. What lay behind the wooden doors? She would soon know. She put a hand on an iron bar and leaned forward, startled when it actually gave way. She jerked as the gate crept slowly inward. The movement felt awkward, as if the gates designed to swing outward had a mind of their own. Her clumsy jerk caused the padlock to clatter to the ground.
Scooping down to pick up the lock, she called out to her host. “Grant? Are you already here?” She kept her voice low, mindful of their cloak-and-dagger game.
She attempted to replace the lock without looking at her hand movements, her eyes already sweeping through the gathering shadows of the interior. Apparently, Grant had gone in without her. When the lock fell to the ground a second time, she impatiently stuffed it inside her pocket and slipped through the gate.
Gera felt a thrill of excitement as she approached the weathered doors. She was stepping into a piece of history. More than that, she was stepping into a crime scene. Anticipation skittered along her nerves, sharpening her senses.
As if she trespassed onto hallowed ground, the hinges protested with a long, painful screech.
“Grant?” she called again. “You in here?”
When she heard no answer, she ventured forward. It was the area she originally pegged as a stage, the first along the narrow corridor of tiny rooms. The strip, defined by brick walls on either side, was the only part of the old structure that still had a roof of any sort, and was a place where shadows gathered deep, like secrets from the past.
Gera still wasn’t certain what this first room was other than an entry, but it no longer offered forward progress. A rickety wall and an opening with bars made certain of that. More bars stood between her and the crumbling staircase to her right. Her only choice was to go left, to the steps where Abe was murdered.
However, that wasn’t entirely accurate, she realized. Now that she was inside, she saw the dark stain of blood. Abe was stabbed here inside the unidentified room, then fell—or was pushed—down the steps.
She snapped a few pictures to document the area.
It was that time of day, she realized, when the light was quickly fading, casting murky shadows and that air of mystique, even in the open areas. Gera discovered that—when inside a forbidden old building, no matter how airy it might be, and when that building was the scene of a recent crime, and when she stood in that odd, shuddered light looking at the dried remains of a man’s blood—twilight could take on an eerie and ominous glow.
For some reason, it occurred to Gera at that moment that she was undetectable from Main Street. Even someone at the park across Main couldn’t see her here, at sub-level. A person would have to be traveling along First Avenue, or peering down from the sidewalk on this side of Main, to notice activity below.
That, she realized now, explained part of how Abe’s murder was undetected.
And she was certain that time of day played a part in the secrecy. Now, like one week ago, time suspended into a lull as people wound up their workday, more focused on getting home than paying attention to the goings on around them. Unless it stood between them and the dinner table, most people were unconcerned with the happenings in town. The day was over, the evening not yet started. This was no time to have their attentions tangled elsewhere.
And light, Gera thought, as she moved down the steps. Lighting would have been a crucial element in order for a murder to take place, unwitnessed, in the middle of town. The streetlights, few and dim though they were, had yet to kick on. Things looked distorted in the low light. Lines shifted, shadows moved.
She thought a shadow moved now, catching the movement out of the corner of her eye. “Grant?” she called again, her voice stronger this time.
An uneasy feeling tickled her scalp. Danced along the fine hairs of her arms.
She moved further into the open area, where the light was better. She was quickly losing interest in keeping their tour a secret.
She saw the shadows move again, inside the entryway she had just come from. Gera saw the silhouette of a man, but it wasn’t the banker who had invited her. Not unless he had taken to wearing a long-tailed coat and stovepipe hat.
Gera immediately saw the folly of stepping into the lower level. The man posing as Mac stood between her and the only exit.
She was effectively trapped.
And staying here, in the open, wasn’t an option.
Moving forward would leave her far below street level. She could never jump high enough to catch anyone’s attention. And not enough traffic traveled the one-way path of First to see her flagging for help.
The only place that wasn’t out in the wide open was behind the inner brick wall, and in those tiny rooms filled with shadows. Earlier today, she had wondered if those might be closets, offices, or even bathrooms. She was about to find out.
Gera dashed into the first of the narrow doorways. Mac’s lookalike was just on the other side of the rickety wall. The barred opening protected her, kept him from coming forward. She wasn’t sure the same could be said for the thin, rotting wall. It looked as if a strong gust of wind could push it over.
“Gera?” he called softly, his tone taunting. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
The man clung to the shadows of the first room, most likely to remain unseen, should a passerby wander near. Gera scanned the sidewalks in hope, but to no avail.
She pressed against the wall farthest from her stalker. That voice was familiar, but she couldn’t make it sound like Miles Anderson. Not salty enough.
Squeezing around a small sapling that sprouted inside the cubicle, Gera slipped into the adjoining space, the next of the unexplained rooms along the corridor. This one was a bit larger, but more cluttered and more overgrown. Not as badly as the last room, though.
With another wall in front of her, Gera was running out of options, and fast.
“Why did you do it, Gera? Why did you insist on following this story? I told you to leave it well enough alone.”
Gera searched for a way out. Well above her head was a pathetic excuse for a sub-ceiling, and above that, some sort of flat roof. She could see patches of sky between the broken and warped wood of the roof, with the biggest gap in the far corner. She doubted any of the weathered sticks would support her weight, even if she found a way to reach them.
The bottom portion of the wall still sported plaster, perhaps even brick. She quietly kicked at it. Yep, brick. The upper half was more of the slatted wood, with so many gaps she could easily make out the old staircase on the other side. Perhaps she could break through the flimsy wood and get to the other side.
And what? she asked herself. The gates on that archway remained locked, as well. She quickly decided the slim patches of sky were her best option.
Gera swallowed hard. She should think of this as an adventure, a head-on thrill. A wall to scale, much like at an amusement park.
She found the first foothold along the plaster. She lost her footing as she looked over her shoulder, checking her stalker’s progress. Darkness gathered close, the sky now filled with more night than twilight. He would no longer be so worried about being seen.
She had to move fast, before he did.
She found another foothold, and then another. Gera boosted herself higher, using a combination of support from the saplings, the slats on the wall, and sheer determination. Luckily for her, the horizontal slats above the plaster were spaced wide apart, offering enough room for her feet to wedge sideways. More bow legged than any Old West cowboy, Gera scrambled up the wall.
“I liked you, Gera. I didn’t want it to come to this, but you’re leaving me no choice.”
Her foot found a rotted board.
The ancient timber cracked and gave way.
She almost fell.
She searched for another board and pushed off, inching ever higher. She needed to reach the top, before he reached this room.
Gera could hear murmuring below. Anderson was talking to himself, she supposed, but she dared not look down. She was literally climbing a wall, some ten feet off the ground by now, and losing what little daylight there was.
After a series of bumps and a rustling of feet, her stalker spoke.
“We’ve worked too hard to let you ruin it for us now.”
Us? Miles Anderson has a partner? She had never considered that angle.
She could use a partner right about now. Without warning, the slats became closer, too narrowly spaced to fit her fingers between, much less her feet.
What now?
She could fall at any given moment. Her muscles had seen enough abuse Sunday, without adding the strain of clinging precariously to a wall. She couldn’t last much longer.
Gera peered through the shadows, spotting a pipe that dropped down out of the ceiling. Her eyes strained to follow its path as it disappeared into the brick wall.
If the brick was strong enough to hold the pipe, she was in luck.
“The townspeople were convinced, Gera.” Anger moved into his voice. “All it took was a few Mac sightings, a few manipulated witnesses, and everyone was convinced that Mac had turned on them.”
Did she dare try the pipe?
“It was the perfect crime, Gera. We set it up with so much care. Had it all planned out. And then you came to town!” He spat the last out with such hatred, such malice, that Gera knew she had to do it.
She leaned outward, stretching her body until her fingers brushed against metal. Closing her hand around the pipe, she gave a hearty yank. When it didn’t fall from the ceiling, she took a leap of faith. Literally.
Gera jumped, throwing herself off the wall and toward the pipe. For one awful moment, as both hands grasped the pipe and she suspended there in space, she felt the line sag. She thought the old cast iron would give at any moment, and she would go crashing onto the floor.
She held her breath, as if emptying her lungs of air could make the difference in her weight, which dangled there in its entirety from the old plumbing. She shouldn’t have eaten those pancakes this morning. Or that barbecue sandwich last night. Too many carbs. Carbs added weight.
She was forced to take in a sip of air, bracing herself for the worst.
Nothing happened. The air made her no heavier! She greedily swallowed down another gulp, then another. As her lungs filled with oxygen, her mind filled with hope. This might work yet.
Now that she had a close-up and personal view, she realized it wasn’t a roof overhead, but what little remained from the flooring of the first story. The boards there were wide and looked sturdy, so, theoretically, if she could make it up there, she could hide.
Gera began making her way across the ceiling, hand over hand, inching along the pipe. She tried to grab for wood when she could, but twice the boards came off in her hand. One fell noisily to the ground.
“Where are you, Gera?” he called in singsong. “We’re coming after you.”
Gera picked up the pace. Just a few more feet, and she would be at the opening. Just like monkey bars, Gera girl, she told herself. Only these have splinters.
Another broken board and Gera fell, catching her full body weight with her bandaged arm. She gasped aloud from the pain, biting back a cry as her legs grappled with dead air, trying to find a current that would push her back up. Using more strength than she knew she possessed, she pulled her body up and managed to grab the pipe again. She was almost there.
It was fully dark now. She could no longer see the ground beneath her, but she knew she was at a disadvantage. What little light coming into the space came by way of the broken bits of floor just above her head. The moment Anderson or his partner stepped into the room, they would see her, dangling there in the spotlight.
By now, Gera was certain her shoulders pulled from their sockets, yanked out by the roots, but she had finally reached the corner. She had to figure out a way to get through the slats, over the floor joists, and up on top of the boards. Piece of cake.
Gera never considered herself particularly athletic, but she was impressed with her prowess this night. In a matter of minutes, she had scaled a wall, crossed a ceiling while hanging from a pipe, and was now wiggling her way through an itty-bitty gap in the ceiling. It was amazing what one could do when stalked by a madman.
Make that by two. She could hear them both now, closing in on her.
“Damn it, Billy Boy, where did she go!”
Billy Boy? That was his partner?
Gera knew it would be noisy, but there was no other choice. She had to pull away a rotted board. She might even need to push away a bit of crumbling brick, here at the very top of the wall. She had come too far to let a little thing like her hips keep her from freedom.
Gera squeezed her shoulders through the small gap. The fresh night air hit her full in the face, the sweetest thing she had ever tasted. She wiggled some more and felt her shirt catch on a nail and tear, and suspected that her skin may have torn, as well. She felt blood trickle down her back. She pulled at another board. Okay, so maybe her hips weren’t so little. But, damn it, she had to get out of here!
Pushing and clawing and kicking when necessary, finally Gera pulled herself free. A brick broke off and skittered to the ground, falling into the open plaza of the lower level. It took a bounce toward the bank vault.
“I think she’s out here!” Billy Boy said. Gera heard the scuffle of feet as they hurried forward.
Exhausted, Gera lay down upon one of the boards, careful to avoid the cracks. Sooner or later, they could come back in. Sooner or later, they would think to look up. She had to be extremely quiet and extremely careful.
Every muscle in her body ached. It was all she could do not to whimper. She lay there long enough to catch her breath. Long enough to hear the men shuffle back inside the space below. Their voices were angry.
“Where the hell did she go?” Billy Boy stormed.
“How should I know?”
“You were the one to screw this up. You should’ve stopped her to begin with!”
“Don’t get smart with me, young man.”
“Just because you’re my old man, doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”
Gera stopped her silent moaning and turned her head so she could hear better. This bit of news surprised her. Billy Boy was Miles Anderson’s son? She thought he was impotent.
“I own you, boy,” his father said harshly. “I can tell you what to do because I’m the only thing standing between you and a jail cell. I’ve paid off so many of your debts and pulled you out of so many scrapes, you’ll never be able to repay me.”
“I killed the old man for you. That ought to be enough.”
“Well it’s not. It won’t ever be enough, until I get what I want. And I want all three pieces of property.” His vicious tone left no doubt. He would do whatever it took to get what he wanted. “Don’t just stand here, you nitwit. Look for her! Find her!”
“She’s not here!” Billy Boy insisted.
“You’re as worthless as your mother,” he snarled. Gera heard a resounding smack; no doubt, Billy Boy now sported a red mark on his cheek. “Keep looking. I’ll go out to the street, make sure she didn’t somehow make it out.”
“There’s no way out,” the younger man insisted, but she heard banging and shuffling below. He must be moving everything that wasn’t nailed down, trying to find her.
Gera tried to think. What did she do now? What three pieces of property did Miles Anderson want? And why did his voice still sound so odd, not at all like him? Had his gruff, Old West demeanor all been a ruse? His voice sounded smoother tonight. At least, when it wasn’t spiked with hatred.
She should text Jake, she thought. And Grant. He might be able to save her. Where was the banker, anyway? He was supposed to meet her here a good fifteen minutes ago.
What if Miles had hurt him? Gera chewed on her lip as the new worry occurred to her.
“Dude, get in here,” she heard Billy Boy hiss.
His father came quickly. “Did you find her?”
“No, but something just dropped on my head.”
Gera couldn’t see, but she imagined Billy Boy pointing upward. Her shirt was soaked through now, from the ragged scrape on her back. Had a single drop of blood made its way down to drop on his head? Did it take a path down his tattooed arm, following the twist and turn of the inked-on snakes he favored? Or perhaps it was a drop of sweat. She was wringing wet from exertion.
Gera thought she felt the burn of their eyes, searing her back through the wooden floor.
“It’s no use, Gera,” the lawman called out, in his not-like-himself voice. “We know you’re up there. It’s the only place you could be.”
Billy Boy laughed. “That’s okay, she’ll be down soon. The place is crawling with snakes up there.”
In spite of herself, Gera jerked. Forgetting to be quiet, she whimpered as she looked around in panic, searching for slithering, slimy guests.
His ruse worked. “She’s up there all right,” Billy Boy laughed.
“Might as well save us the effort and come on down,” his father called. “It’s getting cold out here. I feel the chill. It must be really cold up there.”
Gera frowned. What was he doing, trying to use the power of suggestion on her? The night was downright balmy. Perfect for sitting on the patio with Jake and eating steaks. If she had chills working her skin like an active ant pile, it wasn’t because of the cold.
His voice grew exasperated. “Will you really make Billy Boy come up there after you?”
“Me?” the other man sulked. “Why me? You climb up there and get her.”
“Do as I say, boy.”
“How?”
“Do I have to do all the thinking for the both of us? Can’t you ever have an original thought in your head?”
“It was my idea to put the snakes in her car,” his son boasted. “And to put the snake in the old woman’s yard. I’m the one who rigged all the lasers, so people would be sure and see Mac around town.”
“After I told you to do it.”
“But that’s the point. You bark out orders, and I do all the dirty work. I’m the one who has to go around in this freaking coat and hat all the time. You try wearing this garb.”
“I did,” his father reminded him harshly. “When your brilliant snake idea went bust, I had to clean up your mess, as always.”
“Yeah, well, your idea went bust, too. So much for choking her. I guess you just don’t have the stomach for the hard stuff.” Billy Boy’s voice was derisive, and filled with loathing.
“I’ve killed too, you know.” It was obvious it rankled him, having his own son doubt him. Having to prove himself, after all he had done for the boy.
“Big deal. You pushed an old woman down a couple of flights of stairs, like ten years ago. Smothered her neighbor, also old, in his sleep. You’ve gone soft, old man,” Billy Boy taunted him.
Gera gasped. The police chief had killed Minerva Cody! He had pushed her, just as Jake suspected someone had done.
“This could’ve all been over, eight years ago, if Leo hadn’t turned their books around,” the madman ranted. “I went to all the trouble of befriending the old broad, convincing her to take out a loan and update her hotel. Then I got her out of the way, so I could repossess The Dove and search for the hidden gold. But those two turned the hotel around, made it profitable again. Paid the whole thing off, before I could call in the loan.”
Wait a minute, Gera thought. Why had the police chief held the mortgage on the hotel?
Then it hit her. That wasn’t Miles Anderson down there.
It was Grant.
Her mind balked at the thought. Grant? Grant, the man she had befriended? The man she had defended to both Loretta and Jake? Look who’s nuts now! her mind jeered.
Well, obviously, it was still him. Crazy was more like it.
But Grant? her mind continued to scream. Billy Boy Macandie was Grant’s son? How had that happened?
She knew how it happened, of course. Thinking about it, she recalled Chief Anderson’s comment, about suspecting Grant still carried on with Tiffany, even after their marriage. Just because she eventually married Macandie didn’t mean he was the biological father of her son.
But still, Grant? Her mind had trouble wrapping around it. Grant was so suave and smooth. And Billy Boy was so... not.
“None of this would’ve mattered,” Grant continued to rage, “if I had gotten that hotel!”
She heard another angry slap.
“Ow! What did you do that for?”
“Because you’re still standing here! Get to climbing, and bring that girl down. She knows too much.”
“Fine,” Billy Boy huffed. “But we’ll have to flip for which of us gets to kill this one.”
While Billy Boy attempted to find a way up, Grant started up a conversation with Gera, as if they met over pancakes again.
“I tried to give you another story,” he said. He chided her with a tsk-tsk. “What kind of reporter are you, Gera? Who wouldn’t jump on a story like the one I gave you, of a town poised to slide off a mountain?”
She finally spoke. Might as well. They knew where she was. “It was too fanatical. Just like you.”
“Ah, but it would’ve worked, if you hadn’t butted in,” he said softly, his voice filled with regret. “I had the townspeople eating out of my hand. I encouraged them to believe it was Mac, and they did. All I had to do was get a few witnesses to confirm they had seen the ghost, doing a handful of dirty deeds. It’s amazing what people are willing to do when you hold the lien on their homes, or on their businesses.” He laughed, but the sound held more lunacy than humor. “They’re willing to perjure themselves, to change county records, to lie in a deposition, or in a courtroom, if need be. Of course, how would there be a court trial, when the guilty party doesn’t even exist?”
“So you never believed in the ghost to begin with?”
“How could I, Gera? Ghosts don’t exist.”
The entire time Grant was speaking, his son tried to scale the wall. But he wasn’t as light, nor as graceful, as Gera. His attempts were futile. After a dozen tries, twice as many angry curses, and a handful of splintering slats, he turned around to yell at his father, “This isn’t working!”
“Because you’re a clumsy moron. And keep your voice down, you fool.” There was a long pause. Gera couldn’t see what was happening below, but she could hear them. “Here,” Grant eventually said, “we’ll pull you up.”
“That’s an extension cord,” Billy Boy protested. “What are you going to do? Light up the place so everyone can see?”
“No, you idiot, I’m going to throw it around that ceiling joist and use it like a pulley to hoist you up.”
“It’s not long enough.”
“Then get that other one and tie them together. Pull them tight, so they can’t come apart.”
Gera heard them working on the plan. After a few minutes, she heard a familiar slap against wood, as Grant attempted to hit his mark.
They knew she was here. She had nothing to lose. She pulled out her phone and sent a text to Jake.
SOS. We were wrong. It’s Grant. Top of old hotel. Hurry.
Below, Grant still hadn’t made the throw.
“I thought you were some hotshot basketball star,” Billy Boy sneered.
“It’s not as easy as you think, you moron. That’s a long way up there, and these cords aren’t cooperating.”
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, it might have been comical. They sounded like a couple of actors from a slapstick western, but Gera knew that wasn’t the case. These men were deadly. If they ever found a way to execute Grant’s plan and Billy Boy made it up here, she was dead.
She should distract him, she realized. Throw off Grant’s concentration.
“Why did you do it, Grant?” she called down to the banker. She might as well move around now, look for a way off this strip of leftover floor.
Gera carefully stood, balancing herself on the warped plank of lumber. Her shirt was sticky with blood, and clung to her back. She eyed the roof of the adjacent building, but it was too high to scale. The brick wall beside her stretched just as high, all the way to the top of the one-time roof. No one on the street could ever see her.
“Why?” Grant answered. “Because there is hidden gold here in Jerome, Gera.”
“Legend, Grant. Nothing but legend.”
Perhaps she could pick her way forward toward First Avenue, and somehow jump to freedom. It was worth the risk.
She stepped onto the next piece of wood and felt it give beneath her foot. She moved over, stepping gingerly onto another plank. This one felt solid.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Grant said. “I have it on good authority that not all the gold was turned in, back when Roosevelt confiscated our country’s gold. Did you know about that, Gera? Did you know FDR took gold from the people of the United States?”
“Yes, Grant. I know that.”
Careful. Another rotted board.
“But some of the people outsmarted him. Some people hid their gold. People like Richard Luna, and Eli Cunningham, and Cecil Thurman. All three were executives at the mines, and all three lived way up high on Cleopatra Hill, all in a row.”
Gera carefully maneuvered her way forward. This plank wasn’t rotten, it was flat-out missing. She held her arms out from her sides, balancing on a ceiling joist beam.
In the dark, it was slow progress. One misstep and she would go tumbling below.
“I’ve been working on this for a very long time,” Grant informed her coldly. “Why do you think I agreed to come back here, to this God-forsaken town? Do you know there is a clause in my trust fund? I have to live here on this mountain to retain ownership of the bank.” His voice shook with fury.
Good, she thought with satisfaction. He’ll be too shook up to make a good throw.
“I could’ve been somebody, Gera! Somebody important, somebody powerful! I was on my way up in the financial world. And then I was called back home, to fulfill my duties as heir to the throne.” He spat the words out, his voice filled with hatred.
Billy Boy broke it with a snide, “Hey, Dad, does that mean I’m next in line?”
“Shut up. Get ready, I’ve almost got it now.”
She couldn’t allow him to concentrate. “So you heard about the hidden hoards of gold and decided to find them for yourself. How’s that going for you, Grant?” she goaded. The more flustered he became, the less accurate he would be.
Or not.
On the next try, she heard his triumphant gloat. “See? Your old man’s still got it,” he told his son.
“Yeah, yeah, just hoist me up.”
“You see, Gera,” Grant continued, “if you want to make a plan work, you have to be committed to it. Dedication is the key to success. I’ve been working on this for the better part of a decade. The gold is my way off this mountain. When I get my hands on the gold, I won’t need my trust any longer, or the bank. I will be free to go back to the life I deserve.”
“To hell, in other words,” she said sardonically.
He took no offense at her words. He merely gave a flat laugh. “Ah, but that’s where I’ve been, my dear, for the past ten years.”
Gera’s foot found another rotted board. This time, she wasn’t quick enough to save herself. Her leg plunged through the soft spot in the wood, sinking her all the way to her knee. She struggled to free herself. She looked back over her shoulder, just as Billy Boy Macandie pushed through the opening from below.
Stovepipe hat and all, he burst through with flailing arms, splintering the pieces of wood all around him as if they were nothing more than matchsticks.
For one crazy moment, Gera watched in something oddly akin to admiration. He makes it look so easy, she thought in awe. Took me twice as long and a dozen splinters in my hands to break less than half as much away.
She quickly shook the thoughts away. She had no right to admire him, not when he was here to kill her. She was still trapped, caught here like a sitting duck.
Not only was Billy Boy not as light nor as graceful as Gera, but it was also not as smart. He paid no heed to rotting boards or weakened floor joists. He barreled forward, intent on getting his hands around her neck.
Maybe he wouldn’t wait for a coin toss. Maybe he would kill her himself, right here, before his father ever had the chance. Gera caught a flash of moonlight on that despicable ring as Macandie’s tongue darted in and out like a snake, saw the evil glimmer in his eyes, just as she felt the first tremor.
At first, she thought it was just her, shivering with fright.
Then she felt the shift.
Felt the boards around her list to one side.
Saw Billy Boy’s eyes widen.
First in surprise, then in realization.
But it was too late. The added weight of his body with hers was too much for the old floor to support. There was a great groan from the floor joists, and then, with no other warning, the floor began to fall, folding in upon itself.
What happened next was hard to explain. Later, Gera wouldn’t be able to say exactly how it happened. Even what happened.
Her leg was trapped. She was on her way down, a horrific fall of at least twenty feet. By some cruel twist of fate, the floor tilted her way, spilling Billy Boy right upon her. If he didn’t strangle her with his grappling hands or the tails of his long coat which somehow whipped around her throat, his weight might very well smother her.
She was destined to die, tangled up like a snake with this vile man.
And yet, she didn’t.
She didn’t die. And she didn’t get tangled up with him.
She didn’t even fall.
From out of nowhere, Gera saw a shadow. It was tall and lean, and wore a steep hat.
From out of nowhere, gentle hands freed her leg, and delivered her safely to the floor below.
Not the broken, rotted heap that was once the second story floor. Not the twist and tangle of boards and pipe and sharp, rusted nails. Not the whole of the mess, which plunged straight toward an unsuspecting Grant Young.
Gera was delivered, instead, to the plaza floor. She felt the press of cold coins into her skin, as she was settled with great care upon the floor of the would-be wishing well.
There was no explanation for it. No reasonable explanation.
She looked up, dazed, in time to see another inexplicable sight. Billy Boy Macandie fell through the air, riding a rotted board to his death. He unceremoniously flapped his arms and grabbed for something, anything, that might stop this terrible fate from happening. The tails of his long coat flew in the wind behind him, the stovepipe hat lifted from his lopsided haircut and came back down again with an undignified plop.
The shadow appeared again, almost a mirror image of the man falling through empty space. The shadow, however, had a certain grace about him, even with his stovepipe hat sitting at a distinct angle.
The shadow rammed itself into Macandie, with enough force to knock the man back up through the air, and with enough force to slam him against the brick wall. The brick wall studded with the sharp, jagged edges of broken pipes and splintered iron and thick, pointed spikes.
Gera didn’t see the gory details of how it happened, but she knew. She knew that Billy Boy Macandie was dead, pierced against the wall by a shadow that had saved her life.
She heard Grant moan from beneath the rubble, calling for help, at the same time that she heard Jake’s voice. The walls were still crumbling, falling like dominoes in slow motion, stirring up a hundred years’ worth of dust and dirt. Jake ran through the gritty filth of history destroyed, frantically calling her name.
Her own Superman to the rescue.
“Here, Jake,” she called weakly. She lifted her hand, blood running down her arm, as she waved to him. “Out here. I’m safe.”
Jake swooped her into his arms. Miles Anderson was fast on his heels, with Mike Cooper not far behind.
They all bombarded her with questions, all at the same time.
“Are you all right? Babe, you’re bleeding!”
“What’s this about? Where’s Young?”
“Did he hurt you? Is he armed?”
She answered in reverse order, answering Cooper’s question first. “I—I don’t think he’s armed, but he is dangerous. He and Billy Boy Macandie were in on this together. They posed as Mac and committed the string of crimes, to set up the perfect murder. They killed Abe, and—and others, too.” She couldn’t break it to Jake this way, not here, telling him that his beloved grandmother had died at the hands of the madman. She touched his face, inadvertently smearing a bit of blood onto his cheek. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just a little blood. It washes off.”
“Help me!” Grant called from behind the brick wall. His voice was stronger now, and filled with more outrage than pain. “My leg is trapped! I think it may be crushed.”
“Won’t matter, Young, not where you’re going,” the police chief said in a matter-of-fact voice. He seemed in no particular hurry as he and his deputy ambled toward the destruction.
“Jake—”
“Shh, babe, don’t talk. Just tell me again that you’re okay. There’s blood all over your back, and your arm, and your fingers.” He touched each one carefully, cataloging her injuries.
“I am. I’m okay, Jake.”
It didn’t take long to pull the banker from the rotten heap. He came out limping heavily, his normally meticulous outfit now filthy and torn, his shaved head ringed with dust and splintered wood. He leaned heavily into the men on either side of him, holding him up, but he played out his innocence, right to the end. He had no qualms of turning on his biological child.
“It was Macandie! That derelict kid did all this! He killed Abe, and tried to kill me. Hit poor Gera there on the head. She’s been babbling out of her mind. You should call her an ambulance.” Quite the actor, he shot her a look of concern, even after everything that had happened.
“He’s lying,” Gera said. “There’s some legend about hidden gold, here on the mountain. He wanted to own as much of Cleopatra Hill as he could, especially Abe Cunningham’s place, The Dove, and that old house in between.”
“I know all about the legend of the hidden gold. I grew up here, you know. Done a little research on it, myself,” Anderson said smoothly. “And we know he’s lying. Young, you should be more careful with your cell phone. Turns out, you left a very long and detailed message on my answering machine. A taped confession, before I even get the pleasure of arresting you.”
“That—That’s impossible!” Grant insisted, but his face lost all color. “My cell phone was off. I made certain of it.”
Miles Anderson shrugged. “Well, somehow it turned itself on and dialed my number. Somehow it recorded your conversation, starting with you saying how cold it was.” The chief swiped the back of his hand against his brow, slinging away a fine sheen of sweat. He stared at the injured man, one side of his handlebar mustache lifting in a sneer. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say a ghost may have turned your phone on.”
In spite of herself, Gera made a bit of a strangling noise. The men looked at her in concern, but she waved away their worry.
“By the way, where is Macandie? Did he get away?” Cooper asked.
Gera shook her head. She didn’t need to see it again. The image would be burned into her mind for months to come. She pointed her hand in the general direction, and buried her face in Jake’s neck.
“It’s over now, babe,” he whispered, rocking her slowly back and forth. “It’s okay. Let’s get you home.”
