So he began a search of it, not unlike mine moments earlier of the Beetle. He rooted through the trunk, looked under the seats, ripped up the back seat. Frustrated, he glared at the car, paced back and forth angrily, looking like Basil Fawlty getting ready to beat it to death with a tree branch. The bat, I suspected, would be more effective.
He took out the front window first. It took about ten swings of the bat to break out all the glass. Then the three remaining passenger windows, and finally, the back. But that wasn't enough to satisfy him. He smashed off the mirrors, then swung the bat into the middle of the hood. The fenders were next, followed by the headlights, taillights, and trunk lid.
Jeez, I thought, why don't you just set fire to it?
Rick went back to his car to hunt for something. He had a rag, possibly part of an old shirt. Then he opened the driver's door on my car, pulled the lever next to the seat that popped the tiny door on the back fender that covers the gas cap, unscrewed it, and stuffed the rag partway down the tube.
Then, with a lighter, he set it ablaze.
Now he had to move fast. He jumped back into his car, backed so far up the drive-through lane of the McDonald's that he was almost behind it but still able to watch his handiwork, and waited for the explosion.
It was a good one.
The back of my car was facing the front of the McDonald's, and when the car blew up, erupting into a huge ball of flame, the front windows of the restaurant shattered and fell, setting off alarms. Rick got out of his car, and even from where I was sitting, I could see the big grin on his face.
It must not have occurred to him until then to wonder why my car was parked there in the first place. He scanned around, looking to see where I might be, figuring that the noise of the explosion would draw me out. Finally, he looked across the street to the grocery store parking lot and saw the Beetle. I tried to slide even lower into the seat but still keep him in view. He knew Stefanie, and it was a pretty safe assumption that he knew the kind of car she drove.
He started coming across the street.
I slipped my hand down into the front pocket of my jeans and took the Beetle key out, then slid it into the ignition. Before I turned the engine over, I pressed the button to lock the two doors.
I had to slide up now to be able to see over the wheel, and when I did, Rick saw me and started to run. Perfect, I thought. I want you as far away from your car as possible before I pull out of this lot.
The engine caught as I turned the key. I threw my left foot down on the clutch, jammed the stick shift into first, and heard the rear tires squeal as Rick came up alongside, screaming obscenities, shaking his fist. He'd left his baseball bat in his car, and managed nothing more than a swat at the car as I peeled out of the parking lot.
Looking at him in the rear-view mirror, I gave him a friendly wave goodbye.
o o o
It was late to be calling on Trixie, but these were, as they say, desperate times. I drove quickly through the streets of our neighborhood. I sped down Chancery Park, approaching the corner of Greenway, and slowed only a little as I went past our house. No cars in the driveway, no unfamiliar lights in the house. I checked out all the nearby streets, including the block behind, to make sure Rick's car was nowhere nearby. It wasn't safe to go back to the house - Greenway and Rick would be looking for me there - but I was curious about whether they were already waiting for me. It appeared not.
I couldn't leave the Beetle in our driveway, or Trixie's. I left it on Rustling Pine Lane, which was two streets over from Chancery, and hoofed it back, the ledger tucked under my arm. Even though our house appeared to be empty, I knew it was possible someone might be waiting inside, looking out the window, waiting for my return, so I got to Trixie's place by working my way through backyards, then coming up the side of her house that was the furthest away from ours. It was, as it turned out, a good thing Sarah had been called in to The Metropolitan to work an overtime shift. She wasn't going to be home until daybreak, and by then, I'd decided, I was going to go to the police with everything I knew. But before I did that, I wanted to be sure I had the deck well stacked against the friendly folks at Valley Forest Estates. And Roger Carpington, even though I was less than certain he'd killed Stefanie Knight. Not that the police wouldn't be able to find plenty of other things to charge him with.
I came around Trixie's garage, noticed her car and one other in the drive, and rang the front doorbell. I figured one simple ring wouldn't be enough to wake her, so I leaned on the button, let it go for a full ten seconds before taking my finger off it.
The tiny speaker next to the door crackled almost right away. "Hello?" Trixie didn't sound as tired as I thought she would.
"Trixie, it's Zack. Let me in."
"Zack? It's one in the morning. What are you doing here?"
Down at the end of Chancery, a small car's headlights appeared.
"Trixie, listen, I don't have time to explain. Please let me in."
"I'll be over in a couple of minutes, I'm -"
"Trixie! I can't go home! You have to let me in! It's an emergency!"