“May I offer you ladies a lift?” Don said, doffing an imaginary hat.
Dana looked puzzled. “Do you know this man?”
“Sort of,” Monica said. “Get in and I’ll explain.” She all but fell into the front seat. Every inch of her was aching and her palm was throbbing from when she’d fallen flat on her face.
A shot rang out and Don jumped. “What was that?”
“Someone who’s trying to kill us. Let’s get out of here.”
Don stepped on the gas and the ancient car shot forward, its springs squeaking and its muffler belching noise and smoke.
The interior smelled of cigarette smoke, cheap booze and exhaust fumes.
“Is that someone behind us?” Dana said, swiveling around to look out the back windows.
“Do you see anyone in the rearview mirror, Don?” Monica groaned as she tried to turn around in her seat. Every little movement hurt.
“I do see some headlights in back of us. They disappeared when we went around that bend, but now they’re back again.”
“Do you have a cell phone?” Monica said to Don.
“I’ve got one of those prepaid jobs. Will that do?”
“Absolutely.”
Don pointed at the glove compartment. “It’s in there. I don’t hardly ever use it. I keep it in case of emergencies.”
Monica opened the glove box. She found two empty cigarette packs, an empty pint of whiskey, one glove with a hole in the thumb and finally the cell phone.
She quickly punched in Greg’s number and explained the situation. Monica heard his sharp inhalation of breath but somehow he managed to keep his voice calm and steady.
“Where are you?” he asked.
Monica glanced out the window but all she could see were trees.
“I’m not sure. But I think Joyce may be following us. There’s a car behind us but I can’t be sure if it’s hers or not. It was dark when she made us get into the trunk and it was dark when we got out.” Monica bit her lip. “I wish I’d taken down the license plate number.”
“Do you think you can make it back here?” Greg said.
“I think so. She probably plans to ambush us when we pull into the driveway.” The thought gave Monica chills. “Listen. Call the police and ask them to send some patrol cars to Sassamanash Farm. If that is Joyce behind us, she’ll get a surprise welcoming committee that she didn’t expect.”
“Will do. And Monica? I love you. Please be careful.”
Monica clicked off the call. She felt tears trembling on her lashes and quickly brushed them away.
“I can’t believe Joyce is the one who killed my sister,” Dana said as they lurched down the road. “All I ever heard was what good friends they were.”
“It seems Joyce had been harboring a seething resentment for years and it finally exploded when she found out that Marta was the one responsible for the accident that killed her boyfriend.”
The lights from the car behind them suddenly illuminated the interior of Don’s car. Monica jerked around to look out the back window. The car was inches from their bumper—it had to be Joyce.
“She must be crazy,” Dana said.
Suddenly the car behind them rammed their bumper.
“What the . . . ?” Don said, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “I think we need to get out of here.” He stomped on the gas pedal and the car shot forward, nearly lurching off its chassis.
Monica closed her eyes and tried to breathe normally as Don flew around corners, hit potholes at top speed and wove back and forth across the yellow line.
She didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until she saw the lights of Cranberry Cove winking in the distance. Never had the view looked so good to her.
“Turn here,” Monica yelled as they were about to whiz past the road leading to the farm. “There’s a driveway on the left. Make another turn there.”
Don slowed slightly as he took the turn on two wheels. Soon they were rocketing down the driveway to Monica’s cottage, Joyce’s car in hot pursuit.
At first Monica didn’t see any patrol cars and she felt panic washing over her. All the lights in the cottage were off, including the light over the back door, which she and Greg always left on.
Don stopped the car and Joyce came to a halt right behind him.
Suddenly headlights from three patrol cars hidden in the dark shadows flashed on, as blinding as klieg lights on a movie set. Several officers appeared beside their cars, guns drawn and aimed at Joyce.
Joyce attempted to get back into her car.
“Hold it right there,” one of the officers yelled, his finger on the trigger of his gun.
Two other officers hastened over to Joyce and within seconds she was handcuffed and marched to the patrol car that had just pulled into the driveway in back of the other cars.
Monica felt a stab of pity as Joyce was led away. She’d allowed her emotions to twist her and torture her until she had finally resorted to murder. How miserable that must have made life for her.
Greg came out of the house then. He was in his shirtsleeves. He put his arms around Monica and buried his face in her hair. They stood like that for several seconds.
“Let’s all go inside,” Greg said finally, still not releasing his hold on Monica. “I’m sure everyone could do with a shot of whiskey after that ordeal.”