“Fuck.” He went for the dresser—and discovered what he was looking for in the bottom drawer. It was shoved in a corner, under a pair of ratty gray towels. Bear grease, half a jar of it. And under that, a jar of camouflage paint.
There’d been four men in the camp when Johnny had arrived in Deception Cove. Laidlaw’d spent a good amount of time watching them. Johnny had killed three the first day. But what about number four? Where had he gone? What was he doing at that moment?
Thunder, still moving southward, had enough force behind it to rattle the small building. Bottles clinked in the cupboard, but even with the extraneous noise, Johnny detected the tiny creak of wood. And no lawman could miss the distinctive sound of a rifle being pumped behind it.
A familiar voice reached him. “You want to stand up, Johnny, slow and easy. No sudden moves, no going for your gun. Hands where I can see them at all times.”
Swearing inwardly, Johnny did as he was instructed. Then he swung on his heel to face the person in the doorway.
The barrel of a .30-30 greeted him. Along with the vicious expression of a person who wanted him dead.
…
“I don’t know where my rifle is, Mel.” On the phone and obviously upset, Joseph sounded as if the missing .30-30 was being held to his head.
“I believe you.” She placed her palm over her free ear. The line was terrible, static filled and crackling. “I’m not accusing. I just need to find it. Did you loan it to someone and forget?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You had it the other day. That’s the last I saw of it. I don’t like firearms of any kind, you know that. I only brought it into the house because of those thugs who beat me up.”
“Who’s been out to your place since then?”
“I don’t know. Linda and Carl once. Ethan because you sent him.”
“Anyone else?”
“Cas. I told you, I saw him coming out of my shed.”
“But not carrying a rifle.”
“No. That’s where it was by then, though. I hung it over the door.”
“Loaded?”
“Of course loaded. I told you, I was afraid other thugs might come back. I’m just that much more afraid of having guns in my home.”
“It’s registered, right?”
“Yes. Chrissakes, I bought the thing last year, all legal and aboveboard.”
“Bought it from who?”
“Whom.”
“Joseph…”
He swore, then heaved a breath. “Ethan, Mel. I bought it from the sheriff, Ethan Travers.”
…
Johnny had already figured out the motive, but he went through the motions anyway. Satyr wasn’t the only one who understood the value of stall tactics.
He kept his hands raised and his question casual. “Why?” he asked simply.
“Because of Cas.” The .30-30 shifted in a sweaty grip. “He needs Melia.” Lightning flashed, revealing a face taut with strain. “So does my son.”
Johnny took in Mabel Travers’s tight-lipped expression. The gun barrel was trembling visibly. Clearly, she’d never killed anyone before. Unfortunately, just as clearly to him, she intended to follow through with her plan.
“The town needs her, as well.” Mabel remained in the doorway, an avenging angel illuminated by sheets of lightning. “Cas responds to her, you saw that for yourself. He likes her. He could love her given half a chance.”
“Anyone could love her given half a chance. But I warn you, you’ll be making a huge mistake if you kill me.”
“Screw that.”
“You’re forgetting the explosions. One at Mel’s home. A second at the clinic. The third outside the theater. And there were other times, other attempts.”
“On your life,” she spat.
“On hers.” Johnny’s gaze didn’t waver. “My fault, I’ll admit, but she’s the one in danger, not me.”
“You’re right. You’re not in danger. You’re dead.”
“You said you’d been in therapy the first day I met you, Mabel. In and of itself, that doesn’t mean anything. But I’m a suspicious man by nature, and this situation’s made me doubly so. I’ve been checking out everyone and everything, you included. You didn’t just have anger management issues, you had episodes of violence as a teenager that went way beyond what would be considered normal. You tried to choke a girl once. Another girl swore you tried to drown her. No charges were ever laid, but you spent time in a juvenile facility being treated for extreme problematic behavior.”
“Fuck that, pal. I haven’t had a violent episode for thirty years.”
Johnny looked at her weapon, then at her. “What do you call this?”
She glared back at him. “I call it necessary.”
“You kill me, Mabel, you kill Mel. There’s a man, a powerful man, who hates me.”
“Great. We have something in common.”
“Yeah, except his idea of punishing me is to kill Mel, then watch me suffer. And that’s the best-case scenario. If the man’s boss gets involved, we’re talking torture with knives and razors and a whole lot of blood.”
“You’re lying!”
“Wish I was, but I’m not.”
He took a step toward her, saw the tip of the rifle jerk. He thought he heard the woman swallow. “If I shoot you, he’ll have no reason to want her dead.”
“Fuck that, lady. He’ll cut her down in a heartbeat, and anyone else in his path. The man’s psychotic. Worse than that, he’s obsessed. You screw him around by offing me, and you’ll go before Mel does. You don’t interfere with Benjamin D. Satyr’s plans. Not when they involve revenge.”
When he took another step forward, she fired. Over his head, but considering how hard her hands were shaking, the bullet could just as easily have gone through his chest.
“Mabel, think.” He spread his fingers in a direct appeal. “I’ll be dead, you’ll be dead, and so will Mel. How’s that going to help your grandson? Or Ethan, for that matter? You’ll destroy him.”
She moved the rifle, licked her lips. “I thought someone was trying to blow you up.”
“I wasn’t even at the clinic when the place was gassed. And it was Mel who was outside helping the minister’s wife when her vehicle exploded. Mel’s truck.” He extended a hand. “Be sensible. Give me the rifle.”
“No.” She backed up two paces, then wiped her perspiring upper lip on her wrist. “I didn’t want to do this face-to-face. I tried across the river, but guns aren’t accurate and I haven’t hunted in years. You moved when I was on the roof of the hardware store. After that, those two idiots working with Percy got in the way. So I gave up on bullets and decided maybe poison would do the trick.”
A picture of Gert lying in pain in the guesthouse popped into Johnny’s head. “You put something in the food you gave to Mel to take home. Jesus, Mabel, you could have killed her instead of me.”
“She bakes cakes; she doesn’t eat them. Not generally. I put two pieces in the basket. A big one for you, a small one for her.”
“Gert ate the cake,” he told her, and saw the rifle barrel drop.
“Is Gert dead?” Shock melted into impatience. “Oh who the hell cares? Silly old woman. Doesn’t even know who she is. Stop moving, Johnny,” she ordered. “I’m going to do this once and for all.”
“And damn the consequences.” He let his hands fall and his eyes slide past her shoulder. “Grab her, Laidlaw,” he said.
She spun. The rifle went off, but all it did was damage the dresser.
Johnny had her in a hammerlock before she finished the turn. She dropped the rifle and immediately began clawing at the arm pressing into her windpipe.
“Stop struggling,” he ordered her. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I sure as Christ will if you keep gouging my arm with your fingernails.”
He whipped them both around in a half circle and, in the next glimmer of lightning, caught sight of the duffel bag again. Drew Bigalow’s duffel bag. Drew Jubal Bigalow, who shot at dogs and old men, who wore bear grease in his hair and camo on his face. Sometimes.
Realization hit. “Fucking hell.” He released Mabel so swiftly she pitched forward onto one of the cots. She was coughing and gasping for air when Johnny scooped up the .30-30 and ran for his truck.