One of those friends was now the focus of his suspicion.
If his memory was correct, she was in just one photograph among thousands. The other night it hadn't meant anything to him. Just another old snapshot of Beth with friends. He probably hadn't looked at it for more than five seconds. But earlier tonight, when he had seen that fiveyear-old photograph of Meredith Borge in her dining room, it hit him. He would have sworn that somewhere in Beth's stack of old photographs was a picture of her and Meredith. If it was really there, Gus had to find it. He had to know how Beth had gotten mixed up with a cult.
He wasn't sure which packet contained the right photograph. Like a Vegas card dealer he flipped through one stack after another with lightning speed. Finally, he stopped. He had found it. He laid it on the carpet beside the five-by-seven he had taken from Meredith's house and compared the two. No doubt about it. The woman in the photo was a younger and much fatter Meredith Borge with long brown hair. The woman on her right was Beth. Curious, he checked the remaining shots from the same roll of film, photos that had seemed so meaningless he hadn't even bothered to look at them the other night. He found another one of Beth and Meredith. But this one was different. There was a third woman, one with her arm around the woman he now knew was Meredith and who seemed particularly chummy with her.
It was Gus's sister.
The operator came back on the line. "Sir? There is no Morgan or Carla Wheatley here."
Before he could speak, Carla interrupted. "Hang up the phone, Gus."
He whirled. She was standing in the closet doorway with a gun pointed at him. The phone was in the other hand. She had been listening to the call.
"Sir?" asked the operator.
Carla said, "Tell her everything's fine, and hang up. Now."
"Sir, are you still there?"
"Uh--you know what, operator? They're pulling up in the driveway right now. Thank you for checking, though."
He hung up and snapped, "What did you do with Morgan?"
"She's fine. And she'll continue to be fine if you just do as I say."
"Are you crazy? What are you doing?"
"I tried to warn you. That note on your windshield. You just ignored it."
"That was in Beth's handwriting."
"You don't think I know what her handwriting looks like?"
"You were behind the 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' message from that pay phone, weren't you? You're the only one who could have known Beth and Morgan's little secret."
"Just shut up, Gus. I'm in control now."
Chapter Sixty-Six.
Ash and burning cinders floated like glowing snowflakes from the barn. A cool wind carried them toward the farmhouse, where a dozen frantic people scurried to the backyard. Two men wearing camouflage fatigues like Tom stood at the open cellar doors and herded them below. Andie knew from her lie-detector meeting with Blechman that the cellar wasn't nearly big enough to hold all the cult members. Between the hangings and gunfire, the ranks had seriously thinned.
Culled, she thought, recalling the term Tom had used at the chicken coop.
The gunfire continued but was erratic, as if they were missing intentionally. Andie crouched low as she and Tom crossed the yard toward the house. Hot cinders landed in her hair and burned her face. It was only a matter of time before the house would be ablaze. Just ahead, people hurried into the cellar, eager for protection. It was certain to be a death trap. She had to break loose.
An argument broke out at the cellar doors. A woman refused to go below. From somewhere in the field a burst of gunfire erupted, killing her instantly. The crowd scattered. In the confusion Andie broke free from Tom's grasp and ran. She dived toward the shrubs alongside the house, where one of the slain workers had fallen off his ladder. He was stone dead, but his pistol was still in its holster. Andie grabbed the gun and stuffed it in her jacket.
Tom barked out some orders to his subordinates, then turned and saw Andie. "Willow!" He hadn't seen her take the gun. She ignored him.
"Get in here!" he shouted.
Andie ran the opposite way, up the back porch and into the house, baiting him to follow. He did. She continued at full speed through the kitchen and down the main hall. The house had been evacuated and no lights were on. Steel shutters covered most of the windows, but not the one over the kitchen sink. That was the only source of light, a faint and flickering glow from the burning barn some thirty yards away.
Or had the house caught fire?
Andie posted herself in the hallway beneath the staircase. She checked her pistol. It was fully loaded. Out of sight in the darkness and with her back to the wall, she waited.
A bullet ricocheted off the shutters on the front picture window, but she didn't flinch. Some of Blechman's lieutenants were apparently still in the field stirring up trouble.
The kitchen door flew open. "Willow!" Tom shouted. "Get your ass down in the cellar."
She didn't answer.