Vicious (29 page)

On the way here to Rosie’s, she’d slowed down near the turnoff to Cedar Crest Way. But she hadn’t been able to see if a patrol car was in the driveway to the Prewitts’ cabin. She wondered if the deputy was still there—or if he’d gotten a hot lead from Jordan Prewitt and was now following it up someplace else.

The Prewitts’ place was only five or ten minutes away.

She watched Mattie, entertaining himself in the play area. He was looking the happiest she’d seen him all day—except for when he’d been frolicking in Tom Collins’s backyard.

“Rosie?” she said, starting back to the register. “Could I ask you for a big favor? I need to check on something down the road. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes. Would you mind—”

“Looking after the little one?” Rosie finished for her. She put down her credit card printout and took off her cat’s-eye glasses. “Honey, I’d be delighted. Mattie and I are like old friends already. He’s a peach.”

“Well, the police operator is supposed to call back here.”

“No sweat, I’ll take a message for you,” Rosie said.

“Rosie, thank you. You’re a lifesaver.” Susan moved back toward the play area and crouched down on the recreation mat. Mattie was playing with a big plastic dump truck. “Sweetie, I’m going out for a few minutes. I want you to be a good boy for Rosie while I’m gone. Okay?”

Nodding, he barely looked up from the toy truck. “’Kay.”

“Kiss me good-bye?” she asked. She needed to make sure he understood she was leaving. Often when she left him with a babysitter, he didn’t comprehend what was happening until she stepped out the door—and then he’d scream bloody murder.

But not now. Mattie looked up from his truck, put an arm around her neck, and kissed her on the cheek. “Bye, Mommy.”

She kissed him and hugged him back. On her way down the aisle toward the front of the store, she thanked Rosie again. Heading toward her car, Susan listened for the sound of Mattie’s cries. But it was quiet in the store. Susan told herself that he would be all right without her—for a while.

She remembered in the heyday of the Mama’s Boy murders, she used to wonder if Michael would be all right without her.

Susan wondered why she’d thought of that now.

She jumped in her car and headed toward Cedar Crest Way.

A loud banging echoed from the basement of the Prewitt cabin.

Allen Meeker kept pushing out with his foot, trying to break the leg off the worktable—or at the very least, tear the duct tape securing his ankle to that table leg. Like a crazy man, he repeatedly threw his weight to slam the table against the cellar wall.

With every crashing blow, saws, wrenches, and other work tools that had been hanging from hooks on the wall dropped to the floor—some two or three at a time. The pile of fallen tools lay on the cement floor, just out of his reach. Allen had thought he’d lost all feeling in his hands, arms, and shoulders, but now, every time he banged the worktable against the wall, he felt a painful reverberation in his limbs.

But Allen was relentless. He figured if he could break the table, he’d be as good as free. He wasn’t sure which one of them would give out first—him or the table.

After every violent blow, Allen caught his breath. Then he’d push and pull at the table leg until the joints in his own leg ached.

He was doing that now—putting as much pressure as he could against the wooden strut. His face turned crimson, and the veins protruded in his neck and forehead. “C’mon, you son of a bitch,” he growled.

Then he heard the crack.

It was a lovely sound.

Leo wondered what that noise was. It sounded like he’d hit a tin can along the snaky road to Rosie’s Roadside Sundries. He’d been driving for nearly five minutes and hadn’t seen another car yet. He hadn’t seen any lights either. If there were any other homes or cabins along this route, they were tucked away behind the trees—like Jordan’s place.

The car didn’t seem to be handling right. He’d only gotten behind the wheel of the Honda Civic on the rare occasions when Jordan needed a designated driver. But he could tell something was wrong. He felt as if he were driving over a path of potholes, and yet the road ahead looked smooth. The steering wheel resisted as he tried to maneuver the many curves. “This isn’t good,” he said to himself. “Please, God, don’t let it be a flat….”

Hunched close to the wheel, he eased off the accelerator and felt the car tilt and buckle. “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered—with a pang of dread in his stomach.

Leo switched on the emergency flashers and veered toward the shoulder of the road. The car limped to a stop on the gravel. He left the motor running, climbed out of the Civic, and checked the back tire. It was flat.

He took a few deep breaths. “Okay, okay, don’t panic,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t wuss out….” He’d changed only one flat tire in his day—and even then, Jordan had done most of the work. It had taken them about ten minutes.

Leo figured he was about halfway between the cabin and the store—about three miles in either direction. On foot, it would take him at least twenty minutes. He’d need the car to drive back to the cabin after calling the state police. He couldn’t leave Jordan alone—fast asleep and defenseless—with that guy in the house.

Ducking back inside the car, he switched off the ignition and took out the keys. With the key ring, Leo tried to pop the hood, but nothing happened. Frowning, he tried to unlock it manually. That was when he found a metal piece—it looked like part of another key—jammed in the trunk lock.

“What the hell?” he murmured.

The lock had worked fine yesterday when he’d unloaded their suitcases.

Frustrated, Leo tried to wiggle the piece of metal out of there, but the damn thing was stuck. It looked like someone had jammed the lock on purpose.

Then he realized the flat tire might be on purpose, too.

Leo anxiously looked around and felt swallowed up by the darkness. Jordan’s crippled car—with its emergency blinkers going—seemed to provide the only pool of light for miles.

He couldn’t just stand here. He’d have to run to Rosie’s and call the police.

Leo shut the car door, but left the flashers on. He was just about to start running. But then, in the distance, he saw something on the dark, winding road.

Through the trees, the light seemed to wink at him.

It was coming his way.

Susan couldn’t see anything beyond the twin beams of her car’s headlights—just a small patch of road; the rest of the landscape was black. She’d left Rosie’s just a few minutes ago, and yet she felt as if she were the only person around for miles, the only person in all this darkness. She couldn’t believe it was only 7:20. It seemed more like three in the morning.

She was still trying to make some sense out of Deputy Shaffer’s reporting procedure. Why would he radio the police operator to set up the APB for Allen, but then radio someone else about the girl, Moira? If anything, that helpless teenager’s situation was far more urgent and life-threatening than Allen’s disappearance. Why didn’t the police operator know about it?

Susan took another curve along the dark highway when suddenly a figure darted out from the roadside. The thin man looked ghostly in the harsh glare of her headlights. He ran right in front of her car, waving his arms.

Panic-stricken, Susan slammed on her brakes and jerked the wheel to one side to avoid hitting him. Tires screeched as the car swerved off the road and careened toward a tree.

All the while, Susan had this powerless, doomed sensation. She pumped the brake, but the car kept moving. Automatically, she reached for the backseat with one hand. Her fingers grazed Mattie’s empty child seat, and she realized he wasn’t there. He was all right.

But she wasn’t—and neither was the car.

It slammed into the tree. Susan reeled forward, but the seat belt kept her from hurtling through the windshield.

She hadn’t even had a moment to recover from the shock when the man rushed up to her car window. For a second, Susan thought he was going to attack her. But then she recognized Jordan Prewitt’s friend—and he looked utterly terrified.

“Are you okay?” he called through the closed window.

Rattled, Susan caught her breath. She gazed at him and nodded.

He ran around to the front of the car. “Can you back it up?”

The motor was still running, and it looked as if both headlights were still on. Susan felt her heart racing. Her hands shook as she shifted to reverse and backed up the car a few feet.

“The bumper’s a little dented, but it doesn’t look too bad,” he announced. “I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to make you drive off the road….”

Susan’s first instinct was to step on the gas and get the hell out of there. But something made her hesitate. As he approached her window, she checked to make sure her door was locked. She rolled down her window an inch.

“Listen, I—I know where your fiancé is,” he admitted, hovering by her window. “I need to call the state police. If you’ll give me a ride to the store, I’ll explain everything to you on the way.”

“Where is he?” Susan asked. “Is he all right?”

“He’s okay,” the teenager told her. “I’ll tell you all about it—if you’ll just give me a lift.”

Susan didn’t trust him. She shook her head. “Tell me now. Where’s Allen?”

Jordan’s friend winced and then gave the ground a kick. “Please! My car got a flat, and I’m stuck out here. I really need to call the police—”

“Why?” Susan asked, shouting at him. “Tell me what the hell is going on!”

The young man let out an exasperated sigh. “My friend, Jordan, he’s pretty sure your fiancé is the guy who killed his mother.”

Susan stared at him. She wondered if she’d heard him right. Hadn’t Jordan’s mother been one of Mama’s Boy’s victims?

“I know it sounds crazy, but I think Jordan might be right. Jordan has him tied up in the basement at the cabin. We’ve been talking to him, asking him questions, trying to get a confession out of him….”

Stunned, Susan kept shaking her head.

“Jordan has a gun, and I was worried he’d—he’d
do something
. He’s been acting kind of crazy. I put some sleeping pills in a drink and gave it to him. He’s sleeping right now—and—well, your fiancé is all right. I promise. But I need to call the state police and let them handle this before somebody gets killed.”

“Your friend believes Allen murdered his mother?” Susan asked, incredulous.

He nodded glumly. “I’m sorry, but I think he might be right.”

“Do you know that, when he was younger, your friend attacked two total strangers on the street because he thought
they
murdered his mother?”

The teenager frowned. “Where—where did you hear that?”

“One of his neighbors here in Cullen told me today,” she said. “Allen’s been in your basement all this time?”

He nodded. “Since early this afternoon. I wanted to tell you when you stopped by, but I couldn’t. Please, I can explain everything in the car if you just—”

“Have you two been communicating with Allen before this?” she interrupted. “Did you coerce him into taking this trip?”

“No, Jordan didn’t even know who he was until today. He spotted him at the store this afternoon, and suddenly recognized him….”

“What happened to that girl you came here with?” Susan pressed. “Do you have her tied up in the basement, too?”

“God, no—”

“Then you didn’t e-mail that picture of her to Allen?”

“What picture? What are you talking about?” His hand came up to the glass.

“Did a police deputy come by your cabin earlier tonight?” Susan asked.

“Yes,” he nodded quickly. “But you started to say—did something happen to Moira?”

He seemed genuinely concerned—panicked even. But Susan still wasn’t sure she trusted him. Maybe this was a case of three bored teenagers preying on a tourist couple as part of some twisted, deadly game. She’d seen plotlines like that in the movies. They picked some couple and terrorized them.

“Please, tell me,” he pressed. “Did something happen to Moira?”

“The deputy didn’t say anything to you?” Susan asked.

“Not much,” he answered. “He seemed a lot more concerned about finding your fiancé. He asked if we knew where Moira was, but that’s about it.”

“Well, do you? Do you know where she is?”

He shook his head. “She and I went for a walk in the woods earlier. We had a fight, and she told me to get lost. So I left her there.” He heaved a sigh. “That was five hours ago, and I haven’t seen her since. I told all this to the deputy, and he said Jordan and I should get some flashlights and go look for her in the woods.”

Susan stared at him and blinked. It didn’t make any sense. Earlier, she’d made it clear to the deputy that the poor girl was being held prisoner someplace. Why would Shaffer tell the two boys to go look for her in the woods?

Nothing this young man was telling her made any sense—especially the part about Allen being a murderer.

“Listen, please,” he said. “We’re wasting time here. If you could just drive me to the store…” He hurried around the front of her car and then reached for the passenger door.

Susan swallowed hard and then stepped on the gas.

He pounded on the car window. “No, please, wait!” he screamed.

But Susan pulled onto the pavement.

“God, please, no, don’t leave me here!” he cried, chasing after her.

Susan pressed harder on the accelerator. She just couldn’t believe anything he was saying—except maybe the part about them holding Allen prisoner in the basement of that cabin.

She was headed there now.

Picking up speed, she watched Jordan’s friend in the rearview mirror as he ran after the car. For just a few seconds, she thought about turning back. What if he was telling the truth?

But Susan pressed on. She looked at him in the mirror again. He’d stopped running. And he became smaller in the distance until darkness swallowed him up.

He glanced out the kitchen window toward the bay. He watched his kayak rocking and banging against the side of the dock—though the blue-grey water didn’t look all that choppy. There were only a few whitecapped ripples on its surface. And it was strange how the little, hollow boat made such a loud clamor against the dock pilings.

But Jordan didn’t really question it. Nor did he question that he was sitting at the dinette table in the
Spice Rack
–wallpapered kitchen in the cabin—and yet his view of the bay was from the sunroom in the old house on Birch Way.

“Drink up, kiddo,” his mother said, setting a tumbler of orange juice in front of him. She wore a cardigan sweater over her nightgown. She didn’t seem to notice the loud banging outside.

Jordan started to drink the orange juice, but then something clicked against his teeth, and to his horror, he saw shards of glass floating in the juice. He set the tumbler down and pushed it away—toward a wire cage on one corner of the dinette table. Inside the cage was a grey rabbit with pink eyes. It was trembling.

“You’re going to have to kill him,” he heard his mother say—over the constant banging.

Jordan leaned closer to the cage. The nervous little rabbit turned toward him, and its face morphed until it resembled some kind of mutant rat. The thing hissed and bared a mouthful of sharp, pointed teeth. It leapt toward him, crashing into the cage’s thin bars.

Jordan suddenly bolted up in bed, gasping.

He heard another loud crash. It seemed to come from downstairs or outside. In a stupor, Jordan glanced around and realized he was in the master bedroom at the cabin. The digital clock on the nightstand read 7:39
PM
. He’d been asleep for nearly an hour.

Jordan tried to move, but his limbs felt so heavy. He patted his pockets, but his car keys weren’t there. He vaguely remembered Leo taking them. His friend had walked off with the gun, too.

“Damn it, Leo,” Jordan muttered.

He was pretty sure Leo must have slipped something into his Vitaminwater. He’d gotten awfully punchy and sluggish immediately after drinking it. Jordan had spent enough time medicated in his younger days to know when he had some kind of drug in his system. Back at the Patrick-Hannah Clinic, the sleep aids they gave him usually knocked him out, but he’d always be wide awake an hour or two later.

The stuff Leo had slipped into his drink must have been pretty potent, because Jordan felt a bit woozy as he sat up.

He guessed his friend had gone to Rosie’s to phone the police.

There was another loud crack. Jordan could tell the sound came from the basement.

He sat in a stupor for a few moments. He had to do something—go downstairs and maybe even hit Meeker over the head to knock him out again. It sounded like Meeker was breaking up the worktable. There were plenty of tools down in the cellar the scumbag could use as a weapon once he freed himself. Overpowering him wouldn’t be easy—especially since Leo had taken the gun, damn it. Jordan contemplated making himself throw up—so he’d get the rest of the sedative out of his system.

His limbs still ached, and his head felt like a big wad of chewing gum. He wasn’t sure he could even make it to the bathroom without collapsing. But he had to try. He couldn’t just sit here and allow Mama’s Boy to escape.

He couldn’t let that thing get out of its cage.

His lungs were burning, and cold sweat flew off his forehead. Leo was exhausted and scared, but he kept running along the shoulder of the snaky road. Every time he came around another curve, he prayed he’d see the lights from the store up ahead. But all he saw was darkness and the shadows of trees looming over both sides of the winding highway.

He couldn’t believe that stupid woman had left him stranded on the roadside. Then again, he couldn’t really blame her. After all, he’d made her crash her car, and he probably sounded like a total nutcase—explaining how he and Jordan were holding her fiancé prisoner. Hell, he was lucky she didn’t back up and mow him down.

What she’d said about Moira baffled and worried him. Why had she asked if they’d tied up Moira in the basement, too? And what was that about an e-mail with Moira’s photo? He had a feeling Moira was no longer lost in those woods and that something far more terrible had happened to her.

The more he wondered about it, the faster Leo sprinted along the roadside. It seemed he’d been running forever. He thought for certain he would have reached that store by now.

It had been almost an hour since he’d left Jordan asleep in the house—with that man who could be a murderer. Even if the guy was tied up and locked in the basement, Leo couldn’t help worrying. He also wondered if he’d given his buddy too many pills. Would the police have to pump Jordan’s stomach when they got to the cabin—or would they be too late by then?

Up ahead, Leo saw a pinpoint of light on the bleak, dark horizon. He thought it might be the store in the distance. But then the light disappeared. He pushed on, though his throat was dry and his chest hurt.

Then he saw the light again, peeking through the trees, closer now. Leo realized it was a pair of headlights. The vehicle came around a curve in the road, and the twin lights became brighter.

Leo slowed down and waved his arms over his head. He told himself not to run in front of the car like an idiot.
Please, please, stop,
he prayed.

Directly above those approaching headlights, a red strobe went on. It was a cop car. Its siren briefly wailed as the vehicle veered onto the shoulder. Leo heard gravel crunching under the tires as he staggered forward a few more paces. The squad car stopped directly in front of him.

Leo let his arms drop to his sides, and he managed to smile and nod at the patrolman. He couldn’t quite get his breath yet. His vision was a little blurred, but he could see the cop stepping out of the driver’s side. “Thank you!” he managed to gasp. “Thank you for stopping!”

“So what’s going on here, hotshot?” the cop asked, swaggering toward him.

Leo recognized the deputy. “I was—I was trying to get to the store to call you guys,” he explained. It hurt to talk because his throat was so dry. He still couldn’t get his breath. He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. “My car got a flat a few miles back. Listen, I wanted to—I wanted to tell you earlier when you came by the house, but I couldn’t….”

“Tell me what?” the deputy asked.

At last, Leo got a few good breaths. “My friend Jordan and I—we have that guy you were looking for. He’s tied up in the basement of the cabin.” Hands still on his knees, he glanced up at the cop to see his reaction.

Stone-faced, the deputy stared back at him and said nothing.

“Jordan thinks he’s the one who killed his mother,” Leo said, straightening up. “And I have to tell you, I think he’s right.” Leo took a few more breaths. He explained to the cop everything he’d just told Susan Blanchette a few minutes ago. He said how he didn’t want anyone to get hurt, so he’d drugged his friend. “Jordan conked out pretty quickly,” he said. “I was just so worried he’d use that gun. Anyway, I put him to bed upstairs. In fact, I’m wondering if maybe I gave him too many pills….”

“What about the gun?” the deputy asked.

“I hid it,” Leo said. “That was almost an hour ago. I—”

“So let me get this straight,” the cop interrupted. “You have Allen Meeker bound and gagged in the basement of the cabin, and your friend’s upstairs—unconscious and unarmed.”

Leo nodded. “I wanted to make sure when the police arrive there, nobody gets hurt.”

The deputy cracked a tiny smile. “Well, you did a good job, kid. You’ve made it really easy for me.”

Leo smiled back at him, then leaned forward and set his hands on his knees once again. He drew a few more breaths—and started to feel normal.

“What did you say your name was?” the cop asked.

“Leo,” he said, still bent over.

“Well, thanks a bunch, Leo,” he heard the cop say.

Leo looked up in time to see the cop reaching for his nightstick.

“What are you doing?” Leo asked. “Wait—”

But he didn’t get another word out.

After that, everything turned dark again.

She saw the turnoff for Cedar Crest Way up ahead.

Susan squirmed restlessly behind the wheel. Something in the car had been rattling ever since she’d plowed into that tree. But all her dashboard indicator lights—fuel, battery, and temperature—looked okay, and she didn’t see any smoke wafting from under the hood, so she tried to ignore the rattling noise. Similarly, she’d been trying to ignore the notion that Jordan’s friend had been on the level with her a few miles back.

She’d passed his abandoned car—with its emergency flashers going—on the shoulder of the road a few minutes ago.

Part of her still felt horrible for leaving him stranded. But it would have been incredibly foolish to give him a ride. How could she trust him? He’d admitted he and his friend had abducted Allen. What was to keep him from attacking her?

He’d said Allen was tied up in the basement, and Jordan was asleep. She might have turned around and gone back to Rosie’s and phoned the police once more. But why—so she could talk to the operator again? And she was no longer sure how reliable the deputy was. She had to see for herself if Allen was really at that cabin.

Susan switched off her headlights as she turned into the driveway. Then she slowed down to a crawl. White-knuckled, she clutched the steering wheel and kept looking for a little break in the trees and bushes on either side of the drive. Up ahead, she could see the cabin. There weren’t any other cars in the driveway.

Susan noticed a clearing on her right. She veered off the drive and wound around some bushes and trees until she figured the car couldn’t be seen from the driveway. The motor made a weird wheezing sound as she switched off the ignition. She hoped it wasn’t an indication that the car might not restart.

Fishing the pellet gun from her sweater pocket, Susan climbed out of the car and quietly closed the door behind her. She glanced at the front of her Toyota—and the dented bumper. The license plate was mangled and precariously hanging to one side. Otherwise, the car really didn’t look too bad. Jordan’s friend had been telling the truth about that.

She shivered in the cold night air. Clutching together the front of her cardigan, she crept to the edge of the wooded area lining the driveway. She studied the quaint, two-story brown-shingle cabin. A light shone in the second floor window—and it looked like some outside lights were on in the backyard, too. One side of the house stood in the shadow of a towering elm tree. Some tall, wild bushes nestled against the other side. Their branches swayed in the breeze. Susan noticed a light in the basement window behind those shrubs.

She wondered if it was true. Was Allen really tied up in that cellar? Could it be that all this time he’d been their prisoner? Meanwhile, she’d convinced herself that he’d had a secret, sordid agenda for this trip, that he was devious and untrustworthy. She’d even let herself get interested in another man—a stranger, practically. What the hell was wrong with her?

Susan imagined how awful the last few hours had been for him, held captive by two teenagers—maybe three, if the girl was in on it. And one of those teens suffered under the insane delusion that Allen had killed his mother. Susan remembered what Tom had said—how Jordan had actually hurt one of those innocent men he’d attacked, and he’d only been a little boy at the time. Jordan’s friend had mentioned they’d tried to get a confession from Allen. He hadn’t explained exactly how they’d gone about that.

All at once, a loud crash came from inside the Prewitt cabin. It gave her a start.

Susan looked for some movement inside the house, but saw nothing.

Weaving around trees and shrubs, she silently made her way toward the side yard. She raced across the driveway, hoping no one spotted her for those few fleeting moments she was out in the open. But she stumbled across something on the gravel. It rolled across the driveway and clattered against a rock. Susan quickly regained her footing and ducked amid the bushes alongside the house. Catching her breath, she reached for the metal object she’d kicked. It looked like the head of a rake—with thick pointed prongs.

Jordan’s friend had said he’d gotten a flat. Had he run over this thing with his car?

Another loud crack reverberated from inside the house.

Susan dropped the hunk of metal and crawled toward the basement window.

“My God,” she murmured. Past the dirt-streaked pane, she spotted Allen in the cellar. He was shirtless, and his trousers were all torn. Sweaty and panting, he looked like a wild man. He held a hammer in his hands. A rope hung from his wrists, which were bound with duct tape. The same tape had been wound around his ankles. One ankle had a splintered piece of wood still taped to it. It looked like he’d smashed up a table. The wood pieces were scattered around him. Allen kicked aside the tabletop and reached for something on the floor.

Susan was about to knock on the window, but she heard a car approaching. She turned and saw the headlight beams sweep across the trees bordering the driveway. She retreated from the window and hid behind a shrub. Then the headlights suddenly went out. But she could still hear the motor running. It sounded like the car had stopped halfway down the driveway. Had someone discovered where she’d hidden her car?

Susan scurried out from the shadowy bushes and darted behind one tree, and then another. Finally, she dashed into the wooded area by the drive. Catching her breath, she tried to get a glimpse of the car that had stopped just short of the Prewitts’ driveway. She couldn’t see it through the bushes and trees. But she heard a voice on a static-laced radio. Susan couldn’t make out what the woman was saying, though it sounded like the police operator.

Then she heard Deputy Shaffer talking in a whisper: “Well, hell, Nancy, I don’t know anything about that. Ms. Blanchette never said anything to me about a missing teenage girl. She must be confused. If you ask me, that woman is N-U-T-Z, nuts. She’s got me running around in circles looking for her missing fiancé. I tell ya, these damn tourists are going to be the death of me….”