Twilight (34 page)

Ray gulped back whatever he meant to say. They climbed into the jeep from opposite sides, and Cal fired the engine. Ray rested his hands on the dashboard as Cal backed and turned, then dropped them to his lap as the jeep pulled out shooting gravel behind.

Ray turned his head. “You mean Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?”

Cal gave him a quick glance. “You ever see the movie?”

Ray nodded and looked straight ahead. Cal guessed they were both picturing the ending scene. It wasn’t reassuring.

17

H
E HAS NOT LEARNED THE LESSON OF

LIFE WHO DOES NOT EVERY DAY

SURMOUNT A FEAR
.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

R
EGGIE HELD THE STEERING WHEEL and watched the road, but even on his way to work, he was praying, praying hard. Whatever Cal was doing, it wasn’t good. Reggie could only hope it was right. At any rate, it was the first time Cal had asked him to pray.

That was a bigger step than it seemed for a man like Cal. Just his acknowledging the need was enough to pump Reggie’s spirit. Maybe some of what he’d said the other night had taken root. He pulled into the lot and parked.

With his hands pressed to his face he drew a long slow breath and released it. “Father, into your hands I commit my fr iend.” He climbed out and headed into the psychiatric center.

Rita was at her desk. She looked up with a sharp face. “Have you heard from him?”

“From whom?”

“Cal.” Her eyebrow rose in a peak.

“I just spoke with him.”

She pushed back from her desk. “When? How?”

“I called his place.” He wasn’t sure why; he’d just had an urging. And obviously it had been right.

“He’s home?” Rita looked more agitated than he’d ever seen her. She reached for the phone, then set the receiver down and stared at it.

Reggie cocked his head. “What’s going on?”

Rita stood up and paced to the window. “I should have seen it. I would never have released him if I’d thought … There was no sign of this kind of psychosis.”

What was she saying, psychosis? Cal was not psychotic, and they should both know that. “Dr. James?” Reggie took a step her way.

She turned and tears brightened her eyes. “Could I have failed so completely?”

Regg ie sucked his cheeks. “We all fail completely. It’s our nature.”

Rita half laughed, rested her palm on the desk. “Did you see it, Reg?”

“Maybe you should tell me what you’re worried about.”

She shook her head. “He said Laurie was in trouble. I should have known he meant himself. Was it a cry for help?”

“Rita, what kind of trouble is Cal in?”

Rita raised a hand and let it fall. “The murder of Laurie’s husband.”

Reggie’s heart thumped. “Cal killed Laurie’s husband?”

“Sergeant Danson thinks so.” She stood up and stalked to the window. “You saw him, Reggie. Like a man drowning every time he looked at her.”

Reggie sensed the darkness, a presence seeping into the room, tugging at his faith, hammering his foundations. He’d seen how Cal felt about her, heard him admit it. There hadn’t been any talk about a husband, though. Only an old love that hadn’t worked. Was it possible?

He had just spoken with Cal. Surely his spir it would have recoiled, sensed something more than concer n for a fr iend. He sensed doubt now. Was it an attack on his mind? Rita had no defense against it, nothing but her own human judgment. He had to stand in the gap for her. “I don’t believe it.”

She turned, the dark wedge of her hair spinning and settling back. Her face was pinched. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t believe Cal killed anyone.”

Her voice took on a higher pitch. “Do you think I want to? You know I care about him. But …”

He spread his hands. “What’s the proof?”

She crossed the room to the file cabinet, pulled open the drawer and from that the folder. “This.” She held it out. “Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. An inability to discern the real from the unreal. Lack of debriefing. Self-destructive behavior. Violence under the influence. He beat up his best friend, shot out the tire of Danson’s cruiser.”

All true. Reggie knew what the file held. But God knew there was more than that to the story. Cal was haunted, not vicious. And he was clean. Reggie could swear he was clean.

She dropped the folder onto the desk and returned to the window, arms crossed against her chest. “Add to that his obsession with the woman. Any third-rate shrink should have seen it.”

Reggie folded his hands and dropped his head.
Lord, show me
. He still did not believe Cal had killed anyone. That wasn’t the man he knew. But Rita had the facts, and they didn’t look good.

She expelled a sharp breath. “I never should have made it personal. If I hadn’t been taken in by his smile and his jokes. If I hadn’t been more interested in his friendship than his … sickness… .”

Reggie saw her not as the confident physician but as a lonely, fragile woman. What would it be like as the only doctor inside these walls, trying to do her job without faith to show her the way?

“I compromised my professional abilities.” She turned, her face no longer pained, but barren.

“Rita.” Reggie stood up. “You are not God.”

Her lips came together silently, and she looked at him.

At the inner urging, Reggie went on. “These people in here … they’re not yours to save. They’re not mine. They’re God’s.”

Her brow furrowed, but still she said nothing.

“And whatever the truth of this is, Cal’s in God’s hands.” Reggie held out his own. “And so are you. The question is whether either one of you will realize it.”

Laurie trembled. She had heard Dieter on the phone, but it couldn’t be real. Was he messing with her mind, trying to trip her up, make her change her story? Cal was coming? Bringing cocaine? What about the children? “No, no, no,” she moaned. Luke and Maddie. They were the ones who mattered.

She’d believed them safely away. But how could they be if Cal was home answering his phone? He hadn’t taken them. Hadn’t hidden them. And when Dieter learned there was no cocaine …
“You have lovely children, Mrs. Prelane.”
Her breath came in tight gasps.

The door banged open, and Luìs came inside with two large gasoline cans. He set them down, turned to Dieter, and said something in Spanish.

Dieter grunted. “Put her in the hole.”

Laurie cringed as Luìs approached. He tied a smelly rag into her mouth, and then he grabbed her into his arms and carried her to the center of the floor. He laid her down and yanked open a rotting trapdoor. Then he pushed. It wasn’t a long fall, but with her arms tied, the impact jarred the breath from her, and she lay gasping until it returned. Sobs caught in her chest as she rolled to her side and lay there. Overhead, she heard a sound of splashing, and the smell of gasoline stung her nose. She stared frantically into the darkness under the floor. Would they burn her?

A scream rose up in her chest and caught there, though the gag would make it futile. Only Dieter and Luìs would hear. And God. She struggled to her knees, the rope between her wrists and ankles pulling painfully tight as it tangled.
Oh God
.

How could she pray? She remembered sitting on Gram’s knee.
“Jesus, tender shepherd, look down upon this child …”
She started to cry, tears choking and burning their way out. What was the use? What was the use?

Cal approached slowly with Ray beside him, the jeep’s low rumble sounding loud against the silence of the deserted farm. Only the barn and the blocks on which the house had rested were left standing. Had the house been lifted and removed? There was something unnatural about a home being carried away, but just now Cal was glad. It meant there was only one structure to search.

He braked the jeep far enough away to scope the situation. He would have liked to assess from three sides according to his training. But that would mean getting out of the jeep and circling on foot. He wasn’t sure yet that was the best plan. He glanced at Ray. “Looks quiet.”

Ray nodded.

Cal regretted having brought him. It was one thing to risk his own neck …

“There’s someone in the barn.” Ray pointed.

Cal riveted his focus. “How do you know?”

“I saw someone move. In that crack there next to the door.”

Cal squinted. “You have good eyes. Well, guess this is the place. I’ll go on alone.”

Ray shook his head. “You take the suitcase. I’ll carry the gun.”

“No way.”

“The way Aunt Millie does. Just holding it like I mean business.” Looking at Ray’s face, Cal’s nerves tensed. Ray didn’t look concerned at all. That wasn’t a good thing. “If we walk up with a shotgun, we’ll start more trouble than we can finish.”

“I won’t start shooting unless I have to.”

“No, Ray. Listen. You stay in the jeep. Give me cover, but don’t be seen. Don’t touch the gun unless you have to. I’ll make the switch, then hope they leave town without sampling the wares. Cornstarch could wreak havoc with the sinuses.”

Ray didn’t get it, but that was all right.

“Get down behind the seats.” That was no easy task for Ray, but he obeyed. Cal pulled the jeep in closer, certain they’d heard him by now. “Stay in the jeep, Ray.” Cal climbed out and pulled the suitcase behind him, then walked to the center of the dirt yard. He made no move to go inside. Neither did he holler. He waited.

After a moment, the door opened. A blond-spiked punk stepped out. The sort of drug dealer you’d see in a bad comedy and know his role immediately. But there was nothing comic in this scene. It was deadly serious. Cal wished he hadn’t risked Ray, but there was some comfort knowing someone guarded his back. Cal only hoped Ray wouldn’t shoot while he was still in front.

The punk held a gun, a handgun like the one Laurie had wielded. Why hadn’t she used hers to protect herself? Or had she thought killing Brian was enough? The gun barrel was leveled at his chest. And here he was armed with cornstarch. Cal leaned the suitcase against his leg. “Where’s Laurie?”

The man gave a slow jerk behind him. Cal glanced at the barn. Something quivered his nostrils. Gasoline. It didn’t fit. The old barn stood black and gray, patches of dirty paint and rusty tin on rotting wood. It was too long deserted to carry smells unless …

“The case.” The punk lowered the gun and held out his other arm.

“Not until I see that Laurie’s safe.”

The man sneered. “Once you turn over the goods, you can go get her.”

Cal shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

The punk raised his gun to face level. Cal looked from the barrel to the icy blue eyes behind. If Laurie was dead it didn’t much matter what he did now. But if she lived, if she was just inside …

“Okay.” He set the case down and stepped aside.

“Open it.”

Cal stooped and worked the heavy latch. For a moment he thought it had locked, and he fumbled with it, tension wrapping his stomach tighter than the bands inside a golf ball. Then it sprang open catching his thumb knuckle. Leave it to Mildred. He pulled the lid open to display Cissy’s neat packaging.

The punk looked down briefly enough to keep Cal from lunging for the gun. “Put it in the car.” He indicated a Mustang with rental plates, Cal noticed, tucked within a ragged fringe of apple trees gone wild.

Cal guessed as soon as his back was turned he’d feel the bullets. But he bent and closed the suitcase, just as the punk swung his foot. Cal caught it in the chest and sprawled. A bang and scattering of shot enveloped him. Ray. He tried to holler, but the punk opened fire on the jeep, and Cal rolled wielding the suitcase like a shield. One bullet from the punk could end it, but Ray had his full attention. Cal got to his knees, swung the suitcase into the back of the man’s knees, but with too little force.

The man whipped the butt of the gun into Cal’s head and landed a kick to his chest. Cal fell backward expecting the shot. The punk must have spent his ammunition. He wrenched the suitcase from his grasp, turned, and ran for the car. The engine roared. Another man ran from the barn, and just behind him Cal heard the sudden whoosh of flame. The car raced out of the trees and took off in a cloud of dust.