Last Light (44 page)

Slowly, she went to open the door. “Brad, Judith . . . I should have come over to tell you how sorry—”

Brad held up a hand. “No need, Kay. Really, we’re over it.”

“Over it? You can’t be.”

There was no anger on Judith’s face. “Kay, if I’d had the same evidence about you or Doug, I’d have come to the same conclusion. It’s forgotten.”

“We know who the killer is now,” Brad said. “That’s the important thing. And with all that’s going on with Deni and Doug, you don’t need to waste one more ounce of energy worrying about us.”

Judith lifted the towel covering the platter in Brad’s hand. “We made you dinner. Brad and the boys caught a lot of fish today over at Lake Bishop. We had extra. And they picked strawberries on the way back—way more than we could eat.”

Extra? No one ever had extra. Kay’s heart swelled with gratitude. God was providing. Smiling, she took the platter and hugged them both. “You’re such good friends.”

Brad’s eyes glistened with compassion as he looked down at her. “Kay, let me know if you need anything. Whatever I can do . . .”

“I appreciate that. But for right now, I think we’re all right. Jeff’s taking good care of us.”

She glanced back at her son, who stood with that shotgun at his side. He’d grown up a lot in the last few days. Her affirmation seemed to give him strength, and he stood taller as he came and took the platter out of her hands.

He closed his eyes as he breathed in the scent of the meal. A poignant smile came over his face. “God is good,” Jeff said.

“Yes, He is,” Kay whispered. She knew she could trust in that.

fifty-seven

Doug’s legs strained against the pedals of his ten-speed, and he wished he’d bought one that fit his body better. The year he’d bought it, he’d been on a health kick and resolved to ride forty miles a week. That lasted for about three weeks, and then he’d parked the bike and never gotten it out again.

Not until the outage.

Now his body was paying. He’d been riding since the wee hours of morning, and it was dark again.

Whenever he came to a town, or even a sprinkling of houses off the interstate, he stopped and asked if anyone had seen the covered wagon with the Goodyear tires and four horses. It was a slow process, but the few people who had seen the wagon affirmed that he was going the right direction.

He was making much better time than the horses and wagon could. But when he came to Atlanta, he realized he had no choice but to stop and rest.

He loaded his bike into a vandalized full-sized van, dusted the glass off of the seat, and lay down.

He would sleep for a couple of hours, then be on his way again. He was getting closer. He could feel it. But in the darkness, he feared he would pass them without seeing them.

Lord, protect Deni tonight, and protect my family back home. Please, God . . .
He started to weep as he lay there, feeling the sting of his aching muscles, the pang of hunger, the ache of helplessness.
You’re all I’ve got. My refuge and my strength. Please, help us all.

He wiped his tears on his sleeve, and told himself that he didn’t have time to cry. He had to take a nap—just a short one—so that he could get back on the road again.

fifty-eight

Deni woke to the sound of squawking chickens. She sat up, disoriented. It took her a moment to figure out where she was.

Oh yes. The Joneses’ farm.

White lace covered her face. She lifted it up, realizing she’d fallen asleep in her veil. She sat up and examined it. It was wrinkled, but no harm was done.

She had slept deep and long, and she could tell through the curtains that daylight had taken its hold on the day.

She got out of the comfortable bed, stretched, and pulled back the curtain to see what the noise was.

Vic’s wagon was still there.

Her heart plunged. Had Jim decided to let him stay last night?

She saw Vic coming off the porch. He was loading something into the wagon, something she couldn’t see under the tarp roof. When he’d finished, he went back to the porch, and came back with a cage of chickens. As the birds cawed and cackled, he put them into the wagon, walked back to the porch, and came back with another cage.

Why was he taking the Joneses’ chickens?

Maybe he’d bought them with all that cash he had.

She couldn’t worry about it now. Somehow she had to sneak away without him seeing her. She got dressed, brushed her teeth, and packed her suitcase. She left out the hair dryer and flat iron, the makeup mirror, and all the useless things that weighed the suitcase down. Maybe when the power came back on, Frances could give them to her daughter.

She closed the suitcase and looked down at it, trying to figure out how in the world she would carry it on the bike. There was no place to put it. No, it would never work.

She looked around, trying to think of what to do next. Maybe she should just leave it all here, and hope she got back home by nightfall. But if she didn’t make it, she would need a change of clothes, her toothbrush . . .

Even so, she wouldn’t need nearly as much as she’d believed she needed two days ago. The things she
really
needed would fit into her wedding dress bag. Quickly, she unzipped it and threw her necessities in with the silk gown and veil. She could drape that around her shoulders and carry it on the bike.

Now if she could only get out of the house and to the barn without alerting Vic. She thought of going downstairs and having breakfast with the family, but then she’d have to talk to him. He’d be waiting for her, and if she tried to shake him off, he would come after her. No, it was better if she sneaked out the back way, and got out of Dodge before he knew she was missing.

Quickly, she scrawled Frances and Jim a thank-you note.

Dear Frances and Jim
,

She quietly slipped down the stairs. There was no sign of anyone in the house. They were probably out front with Vic.

She stole through the living room, and into the kitchen. No one was there, either. She reached the back door, turned the knob. Suddenly, she heard him bounding into the house.

“Come on, little gal!”

She swung around. Vic stood in the kitchen doorway, hands on his hips. “It’s about time you got up. We’ve got to get going.”

She clutched the wedding dress bag against her. “Where are the Joneses?”

“Out milking the cows. Come on now.”

She looked through the window on the back door and saw no sign of them.

“Come on, time’s wasting.”

She realized she was caught. There was no way to slip off quietly, so she decided to be direct. “I’m not going, Vic. I’m staying here.”

He stared at her for a moment. “I knew you were gonna pull this. But it won’t work. You’re not going back there to ruin me.” His tone held a deadly calm, and she caught a whiff of whiskey on his breath.

She swallowed. “I’m not gonna tell anyone, Vic. I’m not even going home.”

His eyes were like ice, and something in them terrified her. “That’s not a chance I can take.”

She backed away, looking out the window toward the barn. The cows were in the field. They weren’t being milked. She wondered why he wasn’t speaking in a quiet voice. It was as though he had no fear of being overheard—

A shudder went through her. Something had happened to the Joneses. That was why Vic was still here.

“I told you to get in the wagon. Now.”

She couldn’t catch her breath, and her heart pounded so hard it made her dizzy. What choice did she have?

She decided to feign compliance. “Okay, I’ll come. You’re right. I can’t get to Craig by myself. Just let me get my suitcase.” She moved away before he could grab her, and bolted toward the stairs.

“I’ll get your suitcase. Get in the wagon now!”

Ignoring him, she ran up the stairs and through the hallway. She heard him following her, his feet bounding up the stairs.

“Deni, so help me!”

She ran to the Joneses’ bedroom, threw open the door—

And there she saw them . . . lying on the floor.

Deni screamed.

She heard Vic’s feet stomping up the hall, coming for her. She slammed the door closed, locked it.

“Let me in, or I’ll kill you, too!”

She knew he would. He had to. He couldn’t let her go and expose him as a murderer. Her mind raced as she stepped over the bodies, slipped in the blood. She dropped the wedding dress, and stumbled toward the window. There was no place to go, no place but out the window and two floors down.

He banged on the door, shaking it with his fury. Any minute it would burst open. She went to the open window, put her leg over the sill. She grabbed the curtain and hung on, hoping the rod was well secured to the wall. She let herself down slightly, caught her foot on some eaves over the bottom floor, managed to get her bearings . . .

Then jumped down the rest of the way.

She scanned the acreage behind the house. Off to her right was farmland with rows of green plants about knee high. No hiding place there. To the left was a pasture, where the cows grazed. The chicken coop and barn were on the other side of the pasture—surrounded by woods where she could hide.

She heard the bedroom door splinter open, heard Vic thundering her name. She took off across the grassy field, her feet sinking into the soft soil. If she could get to the barn and get a bicycle, maybe she could get away before Vic caught up to her.

She heard the backdoor to the house crash open, and looked back over her shoulder. Vic was racing after her, lifting his gun, aiming . . .

She reached the barn, threw the wide wooden door open. It smelled of hay and cow dung, and it took a second for her eyes to adjust to the change in light. She searched the junk in the corners, and found the bikes leaning against the wall. Grabbing the first one she came to, she dragged it to the back door and kicked it open.

“You can’t get away from me, little gal.” His voice was confident, bold, as he reached the barn’s front door. She glanced back, saw the revolver first as he cautiously came in.

Throwing her leg over the bike, she launched out the barn’s back door. Pushing the pedals with all her might, she made her way across the soft pasture, straight for the woods.

God, help me!

A muffled
thwack
sounded behind her, and she felt the brush of wind across her cheek. A bullet! He was shooting at her!

She reached the trees, and spotted a walking path. She turned into it, thankful for the harder ground, the clear path.

He was coming after her, but she didn’t dare look back. As she picked up speed, putting distance between them, she saw a road up ahead.

The minute the tires hit pavement, she shifted the levers into the highest gear and took off down the road. She’d have to stick to the back roads, hiding from him until he gave up. But she was faster than he, thanks to the weight of the wagon and the horses’ sore joints. Even if he rode one of the horses after her, she’d gotten a head start, and he didn’t know which way she’d gone.

She cried as she rode, thinking of that evil man killing those kind people. Michael would probably come up for breakfast and find his parents there, murdered because they’d taken in two weary travelers. They would think she was an accomplice. They would consider her a killer, too.

Tears blurred her vision as she came to a crossroads, and tried to decide which way to go. She looked up at the sun, trying to gauge which way was east. Did the sun rise or set in the east? The only thing that came to her was that balcony scene from
Romeo and Juliet
, where Romeo had said something about the east, and Juliet being the sun, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember anything more.