She leaned against him. "Y'all are gonna be a riot. I can tell."
Henry's plan to trick the agents worked. In less than half an hour he rejoined her and Luther at the appointed street corner.
He arrived on foot and jumped into the front seat of the Camaro the second it pulled to a stop. Luther floorboarded the accelerator, and they sped off with a squeal of tires.
Ricki Sue thought Luther was just as cute and charming as his twin. With all of them crammed into the front seat, she had to straddle the console, which generated a round of double entendres and lewd comments. The car jounced over potholes, tossing her toward the ceiling and causing a great deal of hilarity. - She had a bottle of Jack Daniels tilted toward her mouth when they crossed the railroad cracks. She spilled the liquor down her front. "Now look what you made me do!" She gasped, laughing so hard that she could barely draw breath.
"Hey, Luther," Henry said, "on account of your reckless drivin', the lady got all wet."
"The least we can do is help her wipe it up."
"The very least."
Ricki Sue slapped each of them on the thigh. "Y'all are so naughty! I know what you're thinking."
Henry leaned over and began licking her neck. " 'S that so?
What are we thinking?"
Ricki Sue's head lolled back and she began to moan and squirm.
"No fair, you two," Luther whined. "I gotta drive." But he managed to steer with one hand while the other groped between her thighs.
Later, Ricki Sue couldn't actually remember who had first suggested stopping at the motor court. Perhaps she had. It certainly wasn't the first time she had been to that particular motel. The desk clerk was a dopehead. He was always stoned and couldn't care less who signed the register, or even if it was signed, as long as a twenty was laid on the counter.
However, it was the first time she had been there, or any where, with twins. The novelty of it heightened her excitement as she stumbled drunkenly into the rented room.
Luther, or maybe it was Henry. The more she drank, the less distinguishable they became. Said something hysterically funny. In the throes of laughter, she fell across the bed.
Luther lay down on one side of her, Henry on the other.
One kissed her. Then the other. Then the first again. And so it went, until she couldn't tell one mouth from the other.
With good-natured protests, she shoved them away. "Stop.
Listen. Wait a minute. Hey, y'all, hold jr!"
She staved them off and struggled to a sitting position. The room reeled, and she raised a hand to the side of her head to help regain her balance. Assuming the solemnity that only the extremely inebriated are capable of, she said, "Patience, boys. From here on, nothing happens without rubbers."
As the twins grappled with the foil packets she produced from her handbag, Ricki Sue languished against the bed's flimsy headboard, anticipating the attention she would get tomorrow morning at the coffee machine. Would she ever have some wild stories to tell!
Chapter 36
Matt drove until Gibb instructed him to stop at a roadside park. Staying within the speed limit, and observing all traffic laws, he had put what Gibb believed was a safe distance between them and the town of Sheridan.
Gibb was eager to learn what the contents of the shoe box found underneath Ricki Sue's bed might reveal. He emptied the cards and letters between them on the seat of the car. They divided them and began reading.
It soon became apparent that Ricki Sue had saved every piece of correspondence she had ever received from a male.
The task became tiresome. Matt grew bored.
"There's nothing here."
"We can't dismiss a single one," his father said stubbornly.
"It might be just the one that could tell us something."
Among the lurid letters from former lovers was a badly printed note from a grade school classmate named Jeff, asking if Ricki Sue would show him her panties. Another long, rambling letter had been signed by her cousin Joe, who had served his country aboard the USS John F. Kennedy and who had promised to pass along her address to his lonely shipmates.
There was a postcard from her Sunday school teacher, Mr. Howard, telling her that she had been missed the preceding Sunday.
Then Matt picked up a postcard and immediately recognized the handwriting. "This one's from Kendall."
He couldn't work up any enthusiasm for the find. He was on automatic pilot, and he seemed incapable of resuming control. It was easier just to do as he was told. The automation was a buffer that shielded him from the pain of feeling.
He had been like this since Lottie's murder.
It was as though he had died, too. He couldn't see himself writing another editorial, putting out another issue of his newspaper. He couldn't imagine having a zest for anything food, drink, hunting, the Brotherhood, life in general. Lottie's death had left an emptiness inside him that would never be filled. Dad had told him that he would feel differently when they found his son, but Matt had his doubts.
As wrenching as his heartache had been when he and Lottie were youngsters and his father had forbidden him to see her, there had always been a glimmer of hope that one day they would be together. He had clung to that hope. It had gotten him through days when he thought he would die from wanting her.
Now that she was lost to him forever, there was nothing to look forward to. In an attempt to console him, his father had reminded him that their real reward was waiting for them in Heaven, but Matt had found his own heaven with Lottie.
He wasn't certain he wanted life everlasting if it meant living through eternity without her.
Kendall was responsible for Lottie's death. His father had awakened him to that fact. If Kendall hadn't butted in to things beyond her understanding, if she had been the meek and obedient wife she should have been, none of this would have happened. Lottie would still be alive, greeting him with the smiles and kisses and embraces that he had lived for.
Each time he thought of his loss, he nearly choked on his hatred for Kendall. She would pay. He would see to it. Just like all the others who had been punished by the Brotherhood, it was Kendall herself who had brought on their judgment.
He stared down at the postcard, hating it because it had come from her. "I recognize her handwriting."
"When was it written?"
Matt held it up to the dome light. "The postmark is smeared, but it looks old. It's yellowed around the edges."
"Read it anyway."
" 'Having a wonderful time, except for heat and mosquitoes.
Almost carried me off yesterday when G and I went to favorite spot for picnic."
"G must refer to her grandmother," Gibb said. "Anything else?"
"She was running out of room. The writing is cramped."
Matt squinted to read the smaller letters. " 'I've told you about the place, CSA cannon, waterfall, etc. See ya soon." That's all. She drew a little heart instead of signing her name."
"CSA? Confederate States? There's a Confederate cannon in her favorite spot. Did she ever mention this place to you?"
Matt searched his memory, but it was hard to see past the mental picture of Lottie's lifeless eyes. "She might have. I think so. She told me she and her grandmother spent their summers at an old farmhouse."
"An old farmhouse located near a Confederate cannon and a waterfall." His excitement growing, Gibb opened the glove compartment, removed the Tennessee road map, and eagerly spread it open in his lap.
"What do you know about wildlife, Matthew?" he asked.
"When an animal has been wounded, or when it's frightened, what does it do? Where does it go?"
"To its lair."
"In other words, home," Gibb said. "Kendall didn't return home. She couldn't. So she might have gone to the next best place. We need to find a Civil War memorial near a waterfall."
His eyes twinkling, he added, "Think of it, son. By dawn you could be holding your baby boy."
Matt tried to work up some enthusiasm. He tried to envision bouncing his son on his knee. He tried to imagine himself laughing, feeling happy and free. Free? Yes, he realized. In his whole life, he had never felt free.
And never more shackled than now.
Kendall eased out of John's embrace. He mumbled an unintelligible question.
"I'm going to the bathroom," she whispered. "I'll be right back., He drifted back to sleep. She leaned over and kissed his forehead, then paused and gazed at his face, memorizing every nuance of it.
If everything went according to plan, this would be the last time she saw him.
She felt a sob rising. Quelling it, she slipped out of bed and dressed silently and quickly in the darkness.
From the moment Ricki Sue had told her of Matt and Gibb's escape from jail, Kendall had known she must flee. There was no more time to spare. She had already waited too long. In spite of the time it had cost her, she had given herself one last night with John.
Matt and Gibb would track her and find her. She knew they would. She had Or more confidence in their hunting instincts than she did in the FBI's Lacy computers and network of investigators.
If it were only her life involved, she would risk staying with John. But she had Kevin to think of. If the Burnwoods found her, they would kill her and take him. It was too horrifying to contemplate. Even if they were recaptured, Kevin would become a ward of the state, and his future would be determined by a committee of strangers.
She had to protect her child, even though it meant leaving behind the man she loved. She would leave without explanation, without saying goodbye. In the morning, when he discovered that she was gone, he would be confused, probably angry. But it wouldn't last long.
She was writing him a note, promising that help was on the way. Before lea ving town that afternoon, she had sent a postcard to the local authorities telling them where they could find John McGrath, the missing U.S. marshal.
As soon as they got mail, they would dispatch someone to the farmhouse. John's friend Jim Pepperdyne would see that he got the best neurological care. In time, his memory would return. It broke her heart to know that he might not remember this time they had shared.
As much as the thought saddened her, she knew it would be for the best if he didn't remember. He couldn't be held accountable for all that had happened between them, either to his supervisors or to himself.
Moving soundlessly into Kevin's room, she retrieved the bag that was already packed with his clothing, diapers, and several days' supply of everything else she considered essential.
She planned to travel as light as possible.
For the time being she left Kevin in his crib. Peeping into the bedroom, she saw that John was still sleeping soundly.
She made her way through the house and let herself out the back door.
Dawn was still hours away, but every minute counted now.
She placed the bag in the car. Earlier she had found some paint in the shed behind the house and used it to make 8s of the two 3s on the license plate. The alteration wouldn't stand up to close inspection, but it might keep her from being stopped until she could unload the car and buy another.
Returning to the house, she went to the pantry, where she had sacks already loaded with nonperishables and bottled water. She could eat and drink while driving, stopping only when she had to feed Kevin or use a restroom. Of course, they'd have to stop to sleep. She would choose out-of-the-way motels where paying with cash wouldn't arouse suspicion.
When she needed money, she would make arrangements with Ricki Sue, as they had done before. She trusted Ricki Sue implicitly, but, for her friend's protection, Kendall wanted to postpone contacting her until it was absolutely necessary.
After placing the sacks of food in the car, she returned one last time to the house and went into the living room. Kneeling in front of the fireplace, she reached up into the chimney and withdrew the pistol.
The gun was the only real protection she would have against Matt and Gibb if they found her, but she was still loath to touch it. Handling it with the utmost care, she placed it in her skirt pocket.
Then a disturbing possibility occurred to her. What if the Burnwoods tracked her here before John could be rescued?
They would know that he was the marshal she had "kidnapped"
from the hospital in Stephensville. They would murder him without a qualm.
She removed the pistol from her pocket and carried it to the kitchen. She lay the envelope containing her note on the table and anchored it there with the revolver. It seemed fitting somehow, that the last thing she returned to John was the first thing she had taken from him while he lay unconscious on the rain-soaked ground.
How far they had come together since then.
Feeling the onset of tears, she tiptoed quickly into Kevin's room and lifted him from the crib. He mewed an objection, but she settled him against her shoulder and he immediately went back to sleep.
Glancing one final time into the dim bedroom, she saw that John hadn't moved. She went swiftly down the hallway and through the kitchen. Regardless of her determination not to cry, a tear slid down her cheek.
These were the last few moments she would spend in this house that held so many precious memories for her. Once discovered, she could never use it as a refuge again. She could never return to these rooms that echoed with Grandmother's laughter. Here she had known love, first from Grandmother, then from John.
Must she always say goodbye to everything and everyone she loved?
