CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (27 page)

"I'd like to place a collect call to White Plains, New York," she said.
"Saint Thomas College. Dr. John Tyler."

There was a pause before the operator returned and directed her
to say her name.

"Cotten Stone. John?"

There was a pause.

Finally she heard John's voice. "Cotten? What's wrong? Are you all
right?"

"They tried to kill me!"

In the heart of Hickory Nut Gorge, North Carolina, lies a spectacular
lake that National Geographic has called one of the most beautiful
man-made lakes in the world. The sparkling water of the Rocky Broad
River surges through Hickory Nut Gap, and through a valley that is
shaped like a Croix Patee to form Lake Lure.

COTTEN'S EYES SEARCHED HER surroundings as she talked from the
phone booth in the park. She finished telling John the details of
Vanessa's death. "Whoever blew up my car must believe that Thornton told me what he had discovered. They must think I know whatever Thornton found out. What should I do? I can't go home. They
know where I live."

"Do you have any money?"

"Maybe forty or fifty dollars. I've got my debit card and a few
credit cards. I could get a cash advance."

"You need to get out of South Florida. Out of sight."

"I don't know where to go, what to do."

"Listen, Cotten, my family has a cabin in the mountains near Lake
Lure, North Carolina. No one uses it this time of year. You'd be safe
there until we can figure out what's going on. Book a flight to
Asheville. That's the closest airport."

"Okay, okay," Cotten said. "Asheville."

"Right. Then rent a car. Call me when you get into Asheville and
I'll give you the exact directions."

Cotten twisted around to look over the park again, coiling the
phone cord. "All right," she said.

"There's an old friend of the family who lives near Chimney
Rock. He keeps an eye on our place during the winter-he's got a key.
I'll let him know you're coming."

She swallowed, her throat tight. "I'm scared."

"I know, Cotten. Just hang on until you get there. Let's get you
some place safe, and then we'll try to figure everything out."

"John ..."

"Yes?"

"Will you come ... be there with me?"

There was a long pause.

"Yes," he said before hanging up.

"I need a ticket on the next flight to Asheville, North Carolina. Coach.
One way." Cotten stood at the Delta counter in Miami International.

The agent stared at her computer screen. "Our next flight departs
at 12:55."

"That's good," Cotten said, glancing about but trying not to seem
anxious.

"There's a change in Atlanta. Arrives in Asheville at a quarter to
five. Would you like to-"

"Yes." She looked up at the clock. It was 11:05.

"Your total with tax and fees is five sixty-one fifty," the agent said.

Cotten dug into her purse and pulled out her wallet. She took her
Visa card and handed it to the agent. "Can you hurry, please?"

"I need a picture ID."

Taking out her driver's license from the window in her wallet, she
handed it over.

"Is this your current address in New York?"

"Yes."

After typing in the identity information, the agent swiped the
credit card and waited for confirmation.

Cotten watched the woman run the card through the processor
slot a second time. "I'm sorry, Ms. Stone, but this card has been
declined."

"That's impossible;" Cotten said. She felt a growing flush spread
through her body. "Could you please try it again?"

"I tried it twice. Do you have another?"

Cotten took out her debit card knowing she had enough in her
checking account to cover the ticket. "I'm sure there's some kind of
mistake."

"The bank's system could be down." The agent swiped the second
card and stared at the digital authorization readout. "Sorry."

Cotten was suddenly drenched in nervous sweat as she took the
cards back. She knew that no matter how many she tried, they would
all be declined. Whoever had tried to kill her had frozen her accounts.
My, God, she thought. Who has this much power?

"How about cash?" the agent suggested.

"I don't have ..."

Cotten turned and walked away, feeling the stare of the ticket
agent on her back. Oh, God, what's going on? How could they have
done this to me so fast? She had about fifty dollars in her purse, and
that was all. Even an ATM would be of no use.

She found a pay phone and called John again. There was no
answer when the college switchboard rang his office. "Shit. His cell.
What's his cell number?" Cotten scrambled through her purse and took out her wallet. She fumbled through the batch of business cards
she had tucked away. "Come on, come on." Finally, she found it. She
had kept his card from their first meeting. Her hands shook so that
she had a hard time holding it steady enough to read as she dialed.

"I couldn't get you," she cried when he accepted the collect call.

"Take it easy," he said. "Settle down and talk to me."

Cotten explained what happened.

"Give me a half hour, then go back to the Delta counter. I'll order
the ticket prepaid. And I'll have a car rented in your name at the Avis
desk in Asheville."

"I'm sorry I had to ... I don't know how to thank you."

"We'll get through this, Cotten. Just stay safe. Call me when you
land. I'll fly down as soon as I can."

"How soon?"

"Tonight-tomorrow at the latest. Okay?"

"Yes."

Thirty minutes later, Cotten walked up to the ticket counter
again, choosing a different agent this time.

"May I help you?" the agent asked.

"You're holding a ticket for me. My name is Cotten Stone."

The woman typed in the information. "Can I see your ID?"

Cotten put her driver's license on the counter.

The agent checked it then handed back the license. "Your flight
will begin boarding in about twenty-five minutes, concourse D, gate
23. Do you have any baggage to check?"

"No," Cotten said. "I'm traveling light."

"Jesus Christ, Cotten, I thought you were dead," Ted Casselman said.
"What the hell is going on?"

"It wasn't me in the car. It was my friend." Cotten choked with
tears as she whispered into the air phone. "Ted, they murdered
Vanessa." She sniffled and wiped under her nose with the cuff of her
sleeve.

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"And they killed Thornton, too."

"Cotten, you're not making any sense."

"Ted, they've even canceled my credit cards. They're after megoing to kill me because they think I know something-something
Thornton told me. He didn't tell me anything. I don't know who
these people are. I'm scared to death."

"Where are you?"

Cotten didn't answer as she stared out the plane's window at the
thick blanket of clouds.

"How can I help you if I don't know where you are?"

Silence.

"Cotten, please."

"Find out what Thornton was afraid of, what he was working on,
what he had found."

"I'll try, Cotten, I will, but how can I help you now?"

"You can't," she said.

Snow fell as Cotten drove the rental from the Asheville Regional Airport along U.S. 64 through the town of Bat Cave toward Chimney
Rock. She remembered watching the movie The Last Of The Mohicans and longing to see the area where it was filmed. You're about to
get your chance, she thought.

John had given her directions when she called from the airport,
telling her that even though the cabin wasn't that far from the city, it would be an arduous drive along the snaking, narrow mountain
roads. Once she left U.S. 64 she realized he hadn't lied. She wasn't
used to mountain highways, especially with the weather turning
nasty. The light snow became sleet and freezing rain-a gunmetal
gray twilight veiled the dark mountains.

Cotten followed the country road, from time to time seeing the
faint lights of farmhouses barely visible through the sleet. With the
windshield wipers flapping to a honky-tonk song on the radio, she
strained to see a mailbox with the name Jones on its side. Pulling into
a dirt driveway, she drove up to the old two-story farmhouse.

The porch light flicked on when she knocked on the front screen
door.

"You must be Ms. Stone," the farmer said, opening the door. "I'm
Clarence Jones. Get in out of this before you catch your death."

Cotten guessed he was in his middle to late seventies. He had
thick gray hair, leathery cheeks, and worn overalls. He bore the
hunched back and bony hands of a man who spent his life working
hard.

"Sit right here while I get the key to the place," Jones said. He patted the back of the couch.

"Thanks," Cotten said. The furniture was old and threadbare, but
comfortable looking, she thought as she sat on the sofa. Pictures covered the walls, most likely of his family. Jones had been handsome in
his youth.

"Is that your wife?" she asked when he returned. She nodded to a
gold-framed portrait.

"That's my Lilly. She passed 'bout five years ago. Used to aggravate
me from morning to night. Pretty lonesome around here, now. I miss
her." He placed the key on the coffee table in front of Cotten. "That's
the key to the Tyler place. I've already gone up and turned on the gas. You'll still want to build a fire, but it'll be fairly warm by the time you
get there."

"This is awfully nice of you," Cotten said.

"Owen Tyler's boy said you needed to get away for a while. Well,
you sure picked the right spot."

"I hope so."

"You gonna be up there alone?"

"No, John is coming."

"Then I won't have to go checking on you."

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

"There ain't no phone, so if you need anything, you're gonna have
to come down to get it. There's a grocery store in Chimney Rock
proper, and a gas station, too."

"I'll remember that." She looked at her watch. "I really should be
going. I'm pretty exhausted." She stood and walked to the door.