“I never wanted her to die,” I said. “I just wanted to get away from them and give my baby a better life—the kind of life I had before the car accident. I never thought she’d go after the money.”
“You see, your problem was you underestimated her. She was a first-rate con, and to a con, it’s all about the money. They don’t see things the way you and I see things. They’re wired different. They see your money, but to them, it’s their money. You just have it temporarily, until they can take it from you.”
“So you killed her?”
Fields shrugged. “Had to. But before I could move the money, someone beat me to it. That’s when I figured you were still alive. No way Graham knew where the money was, nor would he go after it with me pushing the DA to name him a person of interest in your disappearance. So I’ll ask again. Where’s the money?”
I didn’t answer.
Fields dropped the butt of his cigarette to the floor. It glowed red, smoldering, but he made no effort to crush it with his shoe. He removed his gun and pointed it at my aunt’s head.
I was about to speak when Stan Fields turned his head at a sound outside, a car engine. He stepped back to the door and looked out. I knew it was a car. I’d become accustomed to the noises out here.
“Stay here,” he said. “Move, and I will kill you both.”
Tracy’s head ached as if it had split open. As darkness gave way to blurred images, she realized she sat slumped on the floor of Andrea Strickland’s cabin, handcuffed to a post. She pulled her body closer to the post to remove the strain on her wrists, wincing at the pain. She lowered her head and touched her fingers to her scalp. When she pulled back, her fingertips were bloody. Slowly, she struggled to one knee. The room spun like a carnival ride and she hugged the post to keep from falling over. When the spinning slowed, she managed to get to her feet, sliding her cuffed wrists up the pole. Nauseated, she fought the urge to throw up and waited for her vision to clear. When it did, she had a bigger problem—getting free. She looked up. The post had been bolted to the ceiling crossbeam with a metal bracket. She looked down. The post went through the floor, likely bolted to a foundation pier. She tugged on the post anyway. It didn’t budge. The cabin had been built to last. The post wasn’t going anywhere.
Outside the front windows, the sky had darkened, but not from the passage of time. The weather had changed. The distant clouds had rolled in over the mountaintops, everything a rapidly darkening gray. Thunder rumbled in the distance, miles off, and the wind had also picked up. She hoped the dark sky and weather would help to hide Andrea Strickland and Penny Orr.
She looked around the cabin for anything she might be able to use to get out of the cuffs, seeing nothing, growing more frustrated by the minute. She hoped, at least, that Andrea Strickland knew the mountains, knew a place to hide, and would maybe ambush Fields with the shotgun.
She heard what she thought to be another burst of thunder, then realized it was the sound of boots on the wooden bridge.
Someone coming. Fields?
She stepped around the pole so the wood was between her and the door. A uniformed police officer crossed in front of the leaded windows. He wore a khaki-colored shirt and forest-green pants.
“Hey! Hey!” Tracy called out.
The deputy stepped over something on the walk and stepped inside, hand on his gun. “Are you Detective Crosswhite?”
Faz. Her message had gotten through. Faz had not let her down.
“Yeah. Yeah, I am. Did you see anyone else out there?”
“No.”
“My badge is on my belt.”
The deputy stepped in. He looked midthirties, shaved head, well built. “We got a call from Seattle said there was an officer in need of immediate assistance.”
“That would be me. There’s a guy around here with a gun, so keep your eyes and ears open. You got a key to the cuffs?”
He holstered his weapon, moving quickly to undo her handcuffs while keeping one eye on the door and window.
Cuffs off, Tracy rubbed circulation back into her wrists. “Tracy Crosswhite,” she said. “Seattle PD.”
“Rick Pearson,” he said. “Inyo County Sheriff’s office. What’s Seattle PD doing way out here?”
“Came to talk to a witness. How many cars did you see parked out there?”
“Uh . . . two . . . and a Jeep. What the hell is going on?”
Fields was still here.
“Is it just you?”
“Yeah. We’re a substation in Independence. There’s another deputy working who I can call in. And I can call down to the main office.”
“Where’s the main office?” She moved to the porch but had to brace herself against the door frame when she became suddenly dizzy.
“That’s a nasty cut on the side of your head.”
Tracy touched the wound and shook away more cobwebs. “Where’s the main office?”
“Bishop.”
“How far is that?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“We’re going to need as many people as you can get.” She stepped onto the porch and retrieved her Glock. “And vehicles equipped for driving out in that terrain.”