LeGarde Mysteries Box Set, page 23
part #1 of LeGarde Mystery Series
I placed the mug in front of him. “Joe?”
“Yeah?” He looked at me with a sad, haunted expression, sipping his coffee.
“Does it ever get any better?”
He knew precisely what I meant and flashed an empathetic half-smile. After a few seconds, he answered. “In some ways, it gets a little easier. The pain lessens as the years pass. But it never goes away completely. That awful emptiness, the sadness—it's always there, lurking in the background, ready to jump up and grab you when you least expect it.”
I searched his eyes and recognized the expression in them. I nodded, unable to trust my voice.
He cleared his throat. “Uh. I guess I oughtta be going.”
I gave him another mug of coffee for Adam, locked the door behind him, and collapsed next to Max on the thick down comforter on Siegfried’s bed.
Chapter 58
I awoke at eight with a start, completely disoriented. Finally, I remembered I was in the carriage house apartment and sat up on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed. Another cop car was parked by the lilacs, and I suspected a new set of eyes and ears were posted somewhere on the property.
I was sick and tired of the game. Wanting my own room back, I clomped noisily down the stairs and marched into the barn. I poked my head into the puppies’ stall and noted they were slurping at a watered-down bowl of puppy chow. Glancing out the stall window, I saw Oscar drop four flakes of hay for Maggie and Diablo. I walked out of the barn in the cold drizzling rain and hailed him.
He looked at me in shock, recovered deftly, positioning the garden hose into the large outdoor water tank. He pulled up his raincoat hood and peered at me through what had quickly turned to a downpour. “Back already?”
I nodded. “Just me, Oscar. I parked out there.” I motioned to the woods.
He walked to the side of the barn and turned on the water spigot. Water gushed out of the hose and the level in the tank began to rise. He came toward me, his eyes full of concern. “Is everyone all right?”
“They’re all safe. But they still haven’t found Baxter.”
A patrolman in a black slicker walked around the corner of the barn to investigate the sound of our voices. He waved when he saw us, and then retreated.
The air felt cold and raw and a low mist swirled at the edge of the woods. We watched water spill over the edges of the tank. I turned off the spigot and followed Oscar to his car. Siegfried’s rooster Rascal perched on the fence post under the protective eaves of the barn. He ruffled his feathers and cocked his head when we passed him. The gummy red waddle at the base of his neck quivered slightly and his beady black eyes tracked us.
Oscar’s blue eyes twinkled. “That’s some mean bird you’ve got there, Gus. He and I had quite a tussle yesterday.” He ran his hands through his unruly white mane and smiled at me. “Being wiser, I naturally defeated him and was able to successfully cross the threshold of the territory he strove so valiantly to protect.”
I chuckled. “The hen house?”
He smiled primly. “The very same, my boy, the very same. Retrieved a nice basket of eggs in the process.”
He stopped beside the car and turned to me. His smiled disappeared. “You won’t be needing me to help with the chores then?”
“I’ve got it covered, Oscar. Thanks so much.”
He gripped my hand and stared into my eyes. “You be careful, now, son. Don’t do anything foolhardy.”
I assured him I wouldn’t, thanked him again, and stood watching as his car bumped down the rutted driveway.
The policeman met me halfway to the house. We agreed that Max and I would stay indoors for the morning and that he and his partner would patrol the outside. I whistled to Max and walked into the kitchen. After preparing a large bowl of kibbles and canned beef chunks for him, I cooked and ate a hearty plate of scrambled eggs, onions, and cheese. I downed two large glasses of grape juice, and finally felt full. Upstairs, I showered, changed, brushed my teeth, and put the dirty clothes in the laundry basket. I checked with the family up at Loon Harbor, and went downstairs and scanned the yard from a window, finding nothing amiss.
Gingerly, I fingered the bump on the back of my head. It had risen to a lump of respectable size, but throbbed less than the night before. After downing a few liquid gel caps of extra strength Advil, I sat on the couch and fumed.
I pulled out the bench at the Mason and Hamlin and sat down at the piano, deciding that a good hour of practicing would be therapeutic. I needed to keep my wits about me, and elected to play my favorite Chopin etude. I worked the piece slowly at first. As my fingers limbered up, I increased the tempo until they flew furiously over the ivory keys. I pictured Elsbeth sitting beside me, nodding in approval.
“Nice job, Gus. But you’re too stiff. Give in to the music, honey. Just let yourself go.”
I relaxed my back and wrists and felt the connection between soul and fingertips strengthen as they danced over the keyboard. My mood soared ridiculously high. Resolve flooded my being. I’ll get through this. I’ll beat the bastard.
The piece ended with a crescendo that finished in three brilliant A-major chords.
“Double forté,” I said to no one.
A pang of loneliness hit me. I missed the family, and longed for the simple company of each person I’d left behind in Maine—except, I admitted to myself with a small smile, Harold.
Seconds after the last chord resonated in the air, the phone rang. I scraped back the bench and ran to grab the receiver on the third ring. “LeGarde here.”
“Gus? It’s Joe.” His voice sounded thick and stilted.
“Joe? Shouldn’t you be sleeping right about now?”
“Later, Gus. Any chance you could come over here? I thought maybe we could go through the plans to trap Baxter.”
“Sure I can. Are you sure you’re not too tired, my friend?”
He forced a laugh and answered. “I’ll be fine. I can sleep when we’ve caught him.”
I agreed to be there in half an hour. The hunt was on.
Chapter 59
The Hatfield barn loomed out of the thick fog. Joe’s dirt driveway was the next track on the left. The temperature had risen after the cold rain drizzled throughout the morning, and a heavy gray cloud blanketed the hill. I slowed down, peering into the woods for the landmarks Joe had described to me weeks ago when we chatted about his property. Max whimpered softly and tried to lick my hand when I pulled the Jeep into the driveway.
Exactly as Joe had described, a battered blue mailbox stood crookedly at the entrance, flanked by a twenty-foot pine tree stripped of its lower branches. Over twenty sets of antlers were nailed to the bare tree trunk. Joe inherited the questionable landmark when he’d purchased the property three years ago.
I downshifted to first gear and guided the Jeep up the rutted road.
A rusted yellow house trailer appeared out of the gloom. Two or three abandoned vehicles sat on flat tires, parked sloppily on the far side of the property. I imagined Joe had inherited these as well. In surprising contrast, a cherry red Dodge Sport Silverado was parked under a cluster of spruce trees in the small backyard. Surprised, I tried to envision Joe behind the wheel of the truck and smiled. I hadn’t pictured him driving anything except his police cruiser, which sat by the front door with the trunk lid popped open.
Strange.
Maybe he brought in groceries and forgot to shut it?
I pulled up next to the cruiser and opened my door. Max tried to climb over me to escape, but I caught his collar. “Stay, Max. Be a good dog. I won’t be long.”
He lay down on the seat, resting his head on his paws. I leaned over and lowered his window about six inches. The moist fog poured eagerly into the car.
I shivered and turned to Max. “Be back soon.”
He thumped his tail on the seat. I ruffled his ears, closed the door carefully, and walked up to the trailer.
The door opened and light spilled into the eerie gray morning.
“You in there, Joe?”
A muffled sound came from within.
I climbed the stairs and peered inside. “Joe?”
Baxter’s huge body filled the door. He stared with his bloodshot gray eyes. Dressed in a police uniform, he had shaved his red beard, revealing a weak chin and pudgy cheeks. His breath reeked of beer.
With a wicked smile, he waved me inside, brandishing a revolver.
I hesitated.
“Move!” he shouted.
He grabbed my wrist, dragged me indoors, and shoved me toward the kitchen sink, pressing the revolver against my temple. “Hesitate again and your friend dies,” he growled.
Joe sat on the seedy plaid couch. Duct tape immobilized his ankles, arms, and wrists. His head hung to the side, bloodied and bruised. The left side of his mouth was badly swollen, accounting for the thick sound of his voice on the phone.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed.
Baxter mimicked him. “I’m sorry I’m such a hick cop screw-up,” he taunted, lowering the gun from my head. He barked a laugh. “Dick head.”
I didn’t know if he was talking to Joe or me. “How did you—”
“How did I know where he lived?” He took a long swig from a bottle of Bud. “These guys are such amateurs.” He burped and sneered at me. “It was simple. Once I reached your property, I realized you’d run away to hide. There were no cars in the yard, for Crikey’s sake. It had to be a setup. I watched for a while, figured out the routine, and then I took a ride in the trunk of his ancient police car at the end of his shift. Simple lock. Not even a challenge.”
Baxter leered in my face and shoved me, knocking my head against the sharp edge of a kitchen cabinet door. The room swam.
He grabbed my arm and pushed me into a sagging armchair. “So now it’s your turn.” His face darkened. “This sonofabitch wouldn’t tell me squat after a nighttime of fun and games. Refused to call you, until I told him what I’d do to your entire family if he didn’t get you over here.”
He sat on the edge of the couch with the gun loosely held in his hand, and leaned over and cuffed the side of Joe’s head. Joe's mouth tightened. His eyes closed in pain. The gash on his temple opened, causing fresh blood to rise to the surface and drip down his face.
“What do you want, Baxter?” I knew the answer, but hoped to divert him from Joe.
“What do I want?” He stood, staggered to the refrigerator, and pulled out another bottle of beer, cracking it open on the edge of the countertop. After downing half the bottle, he belched and leaned close to me, his face inches from mine. “I want what’s mine, LeGarde. I want my kid, and I want a little revenge—if that’s not too distasteful a concept for you to swallow.” His voice rose in pitch and volume. His red hair no longer stuck out in a messy bush around his face, but was closely cropped against his skull, effecting a very distinct change in his appearance. His small gray eyes bulged wildly.
He exhaled putrid, beer-drenched breath in my face. I tried not to breathe it in.
“I want Sadie, LeGarde. And you’re gonna tell me where she is, or your friend here is done for.”
Joe shook his head, staring at me with determination. His eyes said, “No!”
“She’s days away from here, Baxter. Well-protected and living with a family none of us know.” I hoped he’d believe the lie.
Baxter approached me, swigging down more beer. “You expect me to believe that crapola?”
I counted three empty bottles on the counter and a fourth in his hand.
His voice had begun to thicken, and he wobbled when he stood up.
I sat still, watching him get drunk.
He pushed the gun against my chest. Suddenly, as if in afterthought, he brought the gun up to his face, squinted down the short barrel, and flipped open the chamber to check the bullets. Smiling wickedly, he walked back to Joe and slammed the butt of the gun against his temple, knocking him over sideways on the couch. Joe’s eyes fluttered into his head, and he promptly passed out.
“You forget I’m a cop.” He jammed the gun in my chest. “I know she’s still in this county, waiting to be taken away by that freakin’ aunt.”
I looked at him in surprise. “How did you—”
He shoved the gun under my chin, knocking my head against the chair. “I ask the questions, LeGarde. You answer them.” He stumbled and lurched toward the mantle, peering at an old black and white photograph of a uniformed police officer. “I have contacts, you know, throughout the netherworld.” He said the words dramatically, flapping his hands like a goblin. “There are lots of people who owe me big from my days on the force. Lots of people who would hide me, tap into the system, and find out what’s going on in this damned cow town.”
I sat up, flattening my hands against the seat, readying myself for the attack.
He drained the last of the bottle, wiped the froth from his chin, and turned to me. “Okay. No more time for games. Tell me exactly where she is, or I’ll just blow a hole in your friend’s head. After that, I’ll start on you, one limb at a time. And if you don’t come through, my dear LeGarde, I’ll go after your family until I find Sadie.” He grabbed my chin, yanked it toward his face, and pushed it away. “Understand?”
Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I slid to the edge of the seat, ready to jump up. He walked to Joe’s inert figure and jammed the barrel of the gun against the back of his head.
My pulse quickened. “Baxter.”
He turned his big head in my direction.
I held up a hand. “Back off from him, and I’ll tell you.”
He spat out an evil chuckle, swiveling to face me. Tottering a little when he turned, he steadied himself with one hand on the wall.
I bunched into a tight ball and rammed my shoulder into his bulging stomach with all I had. He wasn’t expecting the attack and the gunshot went wild, lodging itself into a prefab wall above the kitchen sink.
The explosion was deafening in the small trailer. Max barked nervously from the Jeep. Under normal circumstances, I might not have had the advantage, but Baxter’s reflexes were slowed due to the beer, and he toppled heavily onto the orange shag rug, knocking hard against the glass-topped coffee table.
I jumped up and ran to the door, hoping to draw him away from Joe. I yanked open the trailer door and tumbled down the front steps. The Budweiser beer jingle ran crazily through my head.
This Bud's for you.
Max barked furiously, his whole head pushed through the car window.
“LeGarde!” Baxter bellowed.
I scrambled toward the woods.
He jumped off the front stoop in one huge leap. I turned to see how close he was and felt a bullet whistle past my ear.
Move! I pumped my legs as fast as I could and headed into the woods above the trailer, crashing through the underbrush. The branches stung my face as I pushed wildly through them. I heard Baxter behind me, breathing heavily. The cloying fog swirled around and distorted my sense of direction. I slipped on a patch of wet leaves and almost went down, but caught hold of a tree trunk at the last moment and kept running through the mist-shrouded forest.
“LeGarde!” Baxter screamed again. “Hold still. I wanna get off a few good rounds.”
Another bullet sang past me, this time embedding itself in a pine tree inches from my head.
Damn, he’s a good shot. I was panting loudly and the muscles in my legs started to burn. I broke through into a clearing. The fog was blinding, its cold tentacles reaching down the sweaty back of my collar and up my jacket sleeves until I shivered in spite of my exertion. I hesitated for a split second, and then decided to head downhill through the open field. If I headed down, there was a slight chance that I might run into someone who lived along the road. I picked up speed in the open, lengthening my lead slightly.
I could hear Baxter behind me, thundering along the grassy hummocks, cursing. The visibility was about fifteen feet. My lead was no more than ten. He fired another shot, and I felt a scalding pain rip along my right biceps.
It’s nothing. Move!
I pumped my legs furiously, then zigged and zagged left and right, knowing this was the clearest view of my back he’d had since we burst out of the woods. I reached the edge of the field within seconds. A low, wet area bordered the grass just before the woods began. Muddy, water-filled tractor tracks along the edge of the clearing. I leapt over the four-foot obstacle, almost lost my footing when I landed, but stayed upright and kept running toward the cover of trees.
I heard Baxter go down seconds later, and with a wet smacking sound he landed in the muddy mess. His howl was feral. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up straight, but I resisted the temptation to look back, and kept racing into the fog.
My hands bled from the cuts I’d sustained pulling myself through dense branches. Each breath rasped from my lips and my lungs ached. The injured arm throbbed.
I can’t keep up this pace much longer.
The fog was impenetrable. I lost my sense of direction, particularly without Baxter’s thundering feet behind me. I decided to use the fog to my advantage and ducked behind a three-foot-wide tree trunk. I burrowed next to the base of the tree, under a thicket of wild black raspberry bushes. The thorns raked my face and hands. I crouched on the wet ground, trying to still my loud breathing.
“LeGarde! Give up! You can’t escape. I’ll find you. It’s over, LeGarde. Give yourself up.”
Baxter sounded like he was trying to talk down a criminal surrounded by the police.
My heartbeat hammered in my ears. His voice grew louder. He was getting close, too close. Just as I was about to decide if I should run again, I saw him. Lunging up, I tackled him around the waist and knocked both of us into the brush.
We tussled and the gun went off several times before he wrapped me in a bear hug and crushed my windpipe.
His attention broke momentarily as a family of raccoons scurried noisily across our path. I twisted violently to the left and shrugged out of my jacket, breaking free and racing back into the woods.
The terrain grew steeper; I skidded down the muddy slope. The ground leveled out and my feet hit tarmac. The road! I looked frantically up and down the street. The billowing fog rolled noiselessly past me. I could see nothing. No cars passed, and no lights shone out of the gray cloud.
