Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (70 page)

He hurried back into the car bringing a blast of bracing air with him. She turned to stare at him as he slammed the door.

“Did you just pay at the pump?”

He blinked at her.

“Relax, Aroostine, I used a prepaid Visa giftcard that I bought at the hardware store—with cash.”

She breathed out in relief but then asked, “What’s the point of that?”

“Even though he’s not tracking us, there’s no reason not to be cautious. Every time I hand over cash to a clerk, it’s an opportunity for that person to remember me—or us. So I grabbed a card to use for gas and stuff.”

She sat back, satisfied and surprised. He was proving to be a useful partner. What he did next upped his value even further.

“Excuse my reach.” He leaned across the front seat and pulled open the glove compartment. He withdrew a small, black case and popped it open to reveal two earpieces and a set of cheap-looking cell phones.

He handed her one of each.

“What’s this? I have a phone.”

He powered on its mate before answering.

“Not like this, you don’t.”

She turned the phone in her palm, examining it. It looked like a perfectly ordinary phone.

“Okay?”

He bounced in his seat like an excited kid and angled his phone’s display toward her.

“See, there’s no guarantee that you’ll have a signal way out in the woods, right?”

“I guess not. That’s not good. What if
he
tries to reach you and you don’t—”

He waved off that worry. “Realistically, I’ll be reachable in the motel. If you’re right, and he’s nearby,
he
has cell service. But he’s presumably not skulking around in the trees or whatever it is you plan to spend the night doing.”

“So this phone will have service no matter what?”

“Not exactly.”

She shifted in her seat and tried to mask her irritation. She didn’t have time to play these games with Franklin.

“Then what’s the point, exactly?”

“The point is I modified these phones to act as two-way radios that operate on a whole bunch of frequencies. I’m using the eXRS frequency-hopping spread spectrum so we should have a guaranteed communications range of several miles—at least five, probably more.”

She had no idea what an eXRS frequency whatever whatever was, but it sounded impressive. “Wow, you just did that today?”

“Sure. I had a bunch of old phones and some equipment just lying around the house. It was easy to play with.” He shrugged with forced nonchalance, but his pride was palpable.

“Wow,” she repeated, staring down at the hard plastic in her hand. “Great. And this frequency thingy is secure?”

“Pretty secure. Our communications will be less susceptible to interference or interception, but the important thing is that we’ll be able to communicate regardless of mobile coverage. And, um—technically, we probably should have an FCC license to use these…” he trailed off.

Compliance with federal licensing requirements was quite possibly the least of her current worries.

“Whatever. How do they work?”

“Okay, so I made them voice activated. There’s no touch-to-talk or anything. Just start talking and I’ll hear you. We’re fully charged, so you should be good until morning.”

“And the earpiece?”

His face pinkened. “The earpieces aren’t really necessary. I just thought they seemed cool—like spies or something.”

She swallowed her laugh.

“This is fantastic. I mean it.”

He shrugged again and turned the key in the ignition. “It was seriously no problem. Child’s play, really. We should get going, I guess.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Joe glanced at Mrs. Chang. She didn’t look too steady on her feet, but most of a bottle of whiskey could have that effect. He felt a little bit on the wobbly side himself.

“You ready to eat, Eunice?” he asked as he opened the cabinet and retrieved the last two cans of soup. He turned them so she could see the labels. “Beef stew and minestrone. Pick your poison. Or do you wanna go out in style? I’ll make both and we can have a real feast for our last supper.”

“Don’t.”

He cocked his head. Was the gallows humor upsetting her all of the sudden?

The boozy slur was gone from her voice. She crossed the room, tripping a little, and gripped him by the arm.

“Don’t open the soup,” she repeated.

He rested the cans on the counter and examined her lined face.

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t have to go to the slaughter like lambs, Joe.” She stared back at him with a hard look.

“Mrs. Ch—Eunice, we’ve been over this. He has a shotgun. We have nothing.” He swept his arms wide in a frustrated gesture to include the entire small space.

It was true. They’d spent hours scouring the cabin in search of
something
,
anything
that would serve as a weapon, but the man had taken to care to remove every blunt, sharp, or otherwise useful object: there were no knives in the silverware drawer; no scissors; no razors; no matches; no hatchet, hammer, or wrench. The sole pot was a cheap, lightweight thing. There was no skillet. There wasn’t even a can opener. The man provided them with soup that came in the pop-top cans.

“We have soup,” she answered.

He bit down hard on his lip. Even half in the bag, he’d been raised better than to call an elder a stupid cow, but he desperately wanted to.

Finally, when he was sure he could answer calmly, he said, “Exactly. We have soup.”

He turned back to the counter, snagged the can of beef stew with his right hand, and reached for the pot with his left.

“No. Joe, we have
soup
.” She grabbed the can from his hand and hefted it in her bony palm. “And we have socks.”

She mimed dropping the can inside an invisible sock and winding it up to take a swing.

He stared dumbly at her for at least ten seconds.
Of course.
Any playground bully knew that a sock full of quarters made for a dangerously effective improvised weapon.

He flung himself into the rickety chair and started pulling off his black socks. His trembling fingers made it a harder task than it should have been. His heart thumped in his chest as he wrestled the socks off first one foot, then the other.

He jammed a can down deep into the toe of each sock, suddenly grateful for his oversized feet—or flippers, as Aroostine used to tease him—and then stood and twisted the leg material. He handed one to Mrs. Chang.

“Sorry about the smell. I’ve been wearing them awhile.”

She waved away the apology and gave the sock a test swing.

“If memory serves,” she began, “you’ll want to hold this close to the heel, near the can to keep the weight stabilized.”

He didn’t ask what memory that would be, although the curiosity ate at him. There’d be time for that later—assuming this plan worked.

“So what’s the play?”

She blinked at him, surprised that he was looking to follow her lead. But she was the one who’d hit on the idea of using the cans. He assumed she had a plan.

He assumed right.

“Well, I was thinking that he usually comes in gun first, real fast, and shouts for us to get in the back room, right?”

“Sure.”

“And he’s always focused on you. He thinks you’re the bigger threat.”

He nodded. It was true—that was what the man seemed to think. Judging by Mrs. Chang’s recent behavior, he suspected the man was wrong.

“When we hear him coming, I’ll get behind the door. As soon as he steps into the room, you stop in the doorway of the back room but don’t go in like we usually do. He’ll have his eyes on you, and I’ll crack him from behind. Then you can rush him from the front.”

If he doesn’t blow my head off first
, Joe thought.

He saw the idea mirrored in her eyes, and uncertainty clouded her face.

He hurriedly said, “Let’s do it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could kill us,” she answered instantly.

“He’s going to kill us anyway.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Aroostine patted the last of the twigs and dead leaves into place and rocked back on her haunches to admire her handiwork. She’d made better shelters, but this one would suffice for one night. It was located just one hundred paces north of the spot where she’d had Franklin drop her off, so finding her way back to their meeting point theoretically would be simple. It was situated due west of the stream she hoped would lead her to the cabin. And, considering how rusty her wilderness survival skills were, it wasn’t half-bad.

She had dug out the vegetation from under a canopy of low-hanging tree boughs and insulated the ground with the leaf and twig debris. It was likely more comfortable than whatever bodily-fluid and germ-encrusted cheap mattress Franklin would be bunking down on at the motel.

She fiddled with the earpiece in her left ear.

“You there?”

They’d agreed not to use any names or other identifying information in their transmissions, both in case someone was monitoring the radio frequencies and because she had no idea how many laws they were breaking.

“Just checked in. This place is a dump.”

She grinned at her makeshift bed, doubly satisfied with her efforts.

“It’s just one night.”

“Yeah. And I doubt my mom and Joe are enjoying even this much comfort.”

The chagrin in his voice was palpable.

“Right. Listen, you’re sure the man doesn’t stay with them overnight?”

“I’m not positive, but I really doubt it. His usual pattern was to make my mom available to talk either in the evening or midday. I don’t think he sleeps where he’s holding them—he doesn’t strike me as a roughing it kind of guy.”

“Okay. Good enough.”

She checked the time. It was after two in the morning. If he wasn’t sleeping there, he would definitely be gone by now. And if for some reason he
was
sleeping there, the overnight hours would the best time to take the offensive against him—tribal stories always featured surprise attacks under cover of darkness and taking advantage of the target’s Circadian cycle. First thing first, though.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to take a short walk and then get some shut-eye.”

“You’re going to sleep?” His voice dripped with disbelief.

“Yes. Sleep is a weapon. I’ll catch a nap and then head out for a longer recon before daybreak. I suggest you get some sleep, too.”

She didn’t particularly care what he thought of her plan. She knew her body and her mind, and she needed some rest.

“Okay, okay. Got it.”

“Good night.”

She looked up at the cloudless night sky to orient herself with the stars. The beauty of the low-hung moon made her catch her breath. It felt right to be in the woods again.