TWENTY-TWO

Almost before I knew it, the birds that hadn’t flown south for the winter were chirping outside my window. The sun was just coming up over the river, painting the sky in shades of butter and salmon.

I made the bed and tossed a load of laundry into the washer before I got into the shower. Fifteen minutes later I was toweling off and had even managed to wipe the sink and counter. It felt good to do something as mundane and mindless as housework, and yet I still couldn’t get the puzzle pieces to stop rattling around in my brain.

When I got back out to the farm this morning, I’d focus my attention on figuring out what Doreen’s little key went to, not that I’d have a whole lot of time before I had to get back to the restaurant. There didn’t seem to be any alternative other than trying it in every drawer and cabinet until I found what it fit. The prospect was daunting. It might not even be in the house. It could be out in the barn, a place that was probably full of furry wild critters I had no interest in getting to know better. I could ask Channing to go in with me if necessary. He looked like the type that could fight off slavering beasts for a lady.

It was a lovely morning for a drive into the countryside. I stopped at Rainbow Acres for a load of hothouse lettuce and tomatoes, which I packed into the coolers I’d stowed in my trunk. We’d sold a lot last night, so I was glad to have a chance to restock. The weather was good, which meant a lot of day-trippers coming into town for the leaf-peeper cruise on the Lady Liberty tour boat. And that usually translated into a good night at the Bonaparte House.

I drove slowly as I approached Doreen’s farm. I supposed I should start thinking of it as Melanie’s farm, since it had only been Doreen’s temporarily. I’d stayed alone last night in my own home with no problems, but shots hadn’t been fired at me there. Still, if Channing didn’t get there soon, I was going to have to go in. There wasn’t much time this morning to dillydally.

I pulled over next to a field dotted with huge round wheels of hay. My teeth caught my lower lip and I pulled the key and Doreen’s Bingo card out of my purse.

Card. Key. Arrowhead. Card.

I examined it again. The B and the I were scribbled out. That left N, G, O.

N, G, O. I tried rearranging the letters. G-O-N. Gone? N-O-G. Nog? Maybe if it were New Year’s Eve.

G-O. Go. Go . . . north?

My heart rate sped up. The number 68 was circled. Go north 68 . . . degrees? I’d need a compass for that and even then I might not be able to work it. What about 68 . . . feet? Yards? Paces?

After the initial burst of excitement, my spirits sank. Even if I was right about what the card meant, it did me no good. If this was some kind of X-marks-the-spot map, there was one crucial piece of information missing. There was no starting point.

Back to square one.

Or was I? Assuming what I was looking for was at the farm, which direction was north? No clue. And I was fresh out of compasses.

I heard a car coming up behind me on the gravel road. I glanced in my rearview mirror. A car was approaching a little too fast, sending up a fine spray of dirt and tiny stones. Channing had a red pickup, but this clearly wasn’t him because it passed the driveway to the house. My eyes again went to the rearview mirror and the lighted E in the lower-right-hand corner. The Honda was pointed east. Apparently, I did have a compass.

I turned the key in the ignition and moved the car until the display read N. North was a big meadow behind the house. My eyes fell on a tableau of rusty metal. Atop a gentle knoll was some kind of ancient-looking farm machinery, the kind that was probably drawn behind oxen or draft horses back in the old days. My estimating skills were not well developed, but it could be sixty yards or so from the back door of the house. Something certainly could have been hidden in that old machine.

What if it were buried, though? Digging was hard work and I’d never find it without a metal detector. Did Dolly and Harold have one? Possibly, but it did me no good right now.

I debated. Should I wait for Channing? It was already nine fifteen and he was late. If he didn’t show, I wouldn’t be able to test my theory until tomorrow, and even then I’d have to interrupt someone else’s day to come with me.

The heck with it. No way was this waiting until tomorrow. Melanie was the target, not me. I pulled the car into the driveway, parked, and made my way out back.

Despite telling myself that I wasn’t in danger, I’d never felt so exposed in my life as I did walking across that open field. My heart beat wildly and the pulse pounded in my ears. Ridiculous. Mine was the only car here. Still, I glanced over my shoulder more than once as I made my way through the damp knee-high grass.

The knoll was gently sloped up only two or three feet above the surrounding earth. It was circular, with a pronounced depression in the middle, like a bowl made out of dirt and grass. Inside the bowl was an assortment of metal detritus. In addition to the large horse-drawn implement—a hay rake perhaps—there were a number of other items I couldn’t identify. All were in various states of rust and decay, clearly having been left out over many, many harsh winters. A metal milk can was the only intact object, its lid off to one side. I peered into it. Empty.

This had been a waste of time. There was nothing here that required a key, unless it was buried, and I wasn’t about to go digging when I had to go back to work so soon.

I started back across the field, my legs and feet wet from the dewy grass. A woodshed was built onto the back of the house, like most old farmhouses in this area. Above the woodshed were two windows that overlooked the field, half covered by old curtains. Had I been in one of those rooms yesterday? I tried to orient myself but it was no use. I had no sense of direction and probably never would.

A curtain moved. I started, then shook my head. The house was a hundred and fifty years old and had likely never been insulated. It would be full of drafts. And it occurred to me I had left a window open upstairs yesterday.

A dark red pickup truck sat in the driveway. I hadn’t heard it pull in. This must be Channing. I was never so glad to see someone else’s boyfriend in my life.

Only, I didn’t actually see him. The cab of the truck was empty, unless he was lying on the front seat. He wasn’t on the front porch, nor was he in the yard. There’d be no reason for him to be in the barn. I hadn’t been inside the house yet so the doors were still locked. Or were they?

The front door stood slightly ajar.

“Channing?” Maybe I’d neglected to make sure the lock was engaged yesterday. He must be inside evaluating what needed to be done.

Nonetheless, I put my hand on the canister of pepper spray I’d lifted from Melanie’s purse before I left.

I approached the door and gave it a gentle kick. It swung open on creaky hinges. “Channing? It’s Georgie.”

A grunting sound came from the back of the house.

“In the kitchen. I’m looking at the pipes under the sink.”

I relaxed. As I suspected, the front door must not have latched properly. Mr. Handyman Hottie could take a look at it before he left.

At the kitchen door, I froze.

Channing wasn’t under the sink.

He was holding a knife to Caitlyn’s neck.

I took a deep breath, determined to stay calm even though panic was rising like spring snowmelt through my chest and head.

“Channing. What are you doing?” Did my voice quiver? For Caitlyn’s sake I would not show fear if I could help it. How had she gotten here? Had he brought her in his truck?

He snorted. “You’re not really in a position to be asking questions.” His dark eyes flashed. “But why don’t you ask your little friend here?”

It wouldn’t do much good. She had a gag in her mouth and wouldn’t be able to answer. Her pale skin shone with perspiration.

“She’s not my friend.” Forgive me, Caitlyn. “What’s she done?”

“Don’t lie to me. You’re in on this with her and Mommy.” He had a handful of Caitlyn’s hair and he pulled back, exposing her throat. She winced. “She’s been following me around for days, trying to pretend she’s crushing on me. It’s ridiculous. I’m way out of her league.”

Conceited ass. “Why’s she following you? I honestly don’t know.” If he was talking, he wasn’t cutting—or killing.

“She almost ruined everything with her snooping.” Caitlyn squirmed and emitted a muffled cry through the gag. “Sit still! I’m not through with you yet.”

I decided to press the issue. Gently. “What did she almost ruin? Because I can tell you she’s been a serious pain in my ass too.” I wished Caitlyn could see my face, so she’d know I was doing everything I could for her, but her head was pulled back at too sharp an angle. Apologies would have to come later—if there was a later.

“The trust, idiot.”

Understanding dawned as I fought the urge to lash out at him for calling me a name. “You’re an heir to the Bloodworth fortune. A descendant.”

Understanding faded with his next word.

“No.”

“Then why do this? It doesn’t make sense. You don’t have a pony in the race.”

“There’s only one rightful heir to those millions. And it wasn’t Doreen and it isn’t your mother.” He pulled the tip of the knife away from Caitlyn’s throat and pointed it at me. “But I’m going to finish the job I started on her just as soon as I take care of you two. No loose ends, no one to stand in the way when the truth comes out.”

What the hell was he talking about? He was keyed up, but he didn’t seem crazy. Although how sane could someone be who killed over and over for a fortune that wasn’t even his?

Three sharp knocks sounded at the front door. All three of us froze.

“Georgie? Channing? Can one of you stop by the Acres on your way back to town? I’ve got a yogurt delivery and my truck broke down.” Hank stepped into the kitchen doorway.

I saw my chance. I pulled out the canister of pepper spray and gave Channing a blast full in the face. He dropped the knife and threw his hands up to his eyes as he broke into a full-out sweat. Hank kicked the knife out of Channing’s reach and grabbed him in a bear hug from behind. Channing writhed in his arms, in pain that was almost palpable. This stuff really did work.

I ran to Caitlyn and untied her. She was panting, and her light sheen of sweat had turned into a full drenching. She coughed. “My glasses,” she wheezed. “The spray hit them. Take them off me,” she begged.

“What should I do with him?” Hank grunted. He was sixty if he was a day, not to mention a smoker.

Before I could answer—and not that I knew the answer anyway—the younger, more agile Channing twisted out of Hank’s sinewy arms and ran for the front door. I grabbed Caitlyn’s arm and pulled her along behind me.

Channing jumped into the front seat of his truck and started the motor. Hank raced after him, but had to jump back when Channing peeled out of the driveway. He fell to the ground.

“Take the Beemer,” Caitlyn said. “It’s faster than your car.”

“Where is it?” I demanded. I was not going to let him get away, and the Beemer was nowhere in sight.

“In. The. Barn.” Caitlyn continued to wheeze. Was she asthmatic or had she gotten more exposure to the spray than I’d thought?

I glanced back at Hank, who had gotten to his feet and had a cell phone to his ear, presumably dialing for help. I threw open the barn doors and we raced into the car. She tossed me the keys and I backed out after Channing, who was approximately a quarter mile down the road by now.

My foot jammed the pedal to the floor. “Call the State Police or the Sheriff’s Office,” I said, oversteering a bit and having to correct my course. “For God’s sake, don’t call 911.” Cindy in dispatch couldn’t be trusted to get the message right.

“I can’t look up the number without my glasses!” she wailed.

Well, nuts. Channing crested a hill ahead of me. There was an intersection just beyond that. I sped up so I’d be able to see which direction he turned.

“Call 911, then. The numbers are big enough for you to see, right?” Maybe we’d get lucky and Cindy was off today.

I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road to see if she was managing. Channing made a left turn, back toward the Bay, wobbling all over the road, probably because he couldn’t see through his physical reaction to the spray. I followed as fast as I dared drive.

“Hello? This is Caitlyn Black. I’m Melanie Ashley’s assistant. Yes, that Melanie Ashley. I know who killed Doreen Webber and Spencer Kane. It’s Channing Young and he’s headed—”

Out of the corner of my eye I could see her turn toward me. “Route 12 south toward Bonaparte Bay.”

She repeated my directions. “Red pickup truck. I don’t know the license plate but he’s got one of those big silver toolboxes in the truck bed. And he’s driving erratically.”

Caitlyn turned her head in my direction. “They’re sending out cars now.”

“I hope they hurry. There’s no telling where he’s headed. If he makes it back to the Bay, he could find a place to hide the truck.” I oversteered again and the car fishtailed slightly. When we were back on course, I said, “You want to tell me what happened back there?”

Channing surprised me by not turning right into the village of Bonaparte Bay under the neon “Welcome” arch. He bypassed the village and continued south on Route 12. Where was he headed? If he made it as far as Watertown, his chances of hiding out for a while were even better.

“Uh, not really,” Caitlyn said.

“Yes, really. This has to end. So let’s start with what you were doing at the farm. Why did you hide the car?”

“There’s some . . . documentation I’ve been looking for. The same documentation Channing was looking for, but for different reasons. When I overheard Liza telling Channing that you wanted to meet him at the farm today, I was sure he’d take the opportunity to look for it. So I got there early, hid the Beemer in the barn, and went into the house with the extra key I had made.”

My lips pursed. Channing was still headed south. We were lucky he couldn’t go at maximum speed. It seemed to be all he could do to stay on the road.

“And this documentation is what? From where I sit, neither Channing nor you for that matter stands to benefit from the trust. So why are you two involved up to your necks?”

At that moment Channing slammed on his brakes and took a sharp right onto the exit for the Can-Am Bridge. He left skid marks and the smell of burnt rubber in his wake. I braked more gently and pulled off. Sirens wailed in the distance.

He couldn’t possibly be trying to cross into Canada, could he? Would he have had the foresight to bring his passport? But there was no way he was getting past the border patrol in his current condition anyway.

The sirens drew nearer. Channing passed the duty-free shop and entered the base of the bridge. I pulled up behind him, honking my horn to try to attract the attention of the guards. It apparently worked, because all of a sudden there were border patrol agents everywhere, some with guns drawn.

I found myself on the bridge behind Channing. There was nowhere to pull over, so I kept going. As we approached the highest point of the bridge, Channing pulled off sharply with his truck at an angle. I slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting the truck. A line of cars with top lights whirling had formed from both the Canadian and the American sides. Channing was trapped.

He got out of the truck. Caitlyn and I followed. We shouldn’t have, what with all those firearms aimed in our direction. But I had to see this through.

Channing climbed up onto the framework of the bridge. What was he doing? It was a hundred or more foot drop into the St. Lawrence. I looked through the lattice of steel girders. A laker honked its horn as its bow passed under the bridge.

He stood up straight on the outside of the bridge, holding on with both hands as though he’d just conquered the world’s largest set of monkey bars.

“Don’t move,” came a voice magnified through a bullhorn. “Or we’ll shoot.”

Channing spun his head in one direction, then the other, until his dripping eyes landed on me.

“Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I tried.”

And with that he let go, threw his arms out perpendicular to his body, and sailed through the September air.

I squeezed my eyes closed. But of course that couldn’t mask the sickening thud as Channing’s body hit the deck of the giant oceangoing freighter. I reached for Caitlyn and wrapped her in a hug.