I wasn’t afraid of Aubrey, but maybe I should be. After all, he had barely appeared on the scene when Silas Snow was killed. Maybe he
was
involved in that, in spite of his alibi.
True, if Vernon and Maia had lied about being home at the time Silas was killed, it looked as if the two of them were the most likely culprits. But Maia was closely hooked up with Aubrey; he might be her accomplice.
Letting Aubrey out of that cellar might be the dumbest thing I ever did in my life. It might even be the last thing I ever did in my life.
I decided Aubrey could stay in his cellar a little longer. I tossed my dead branch aside. Then I went back to the bathroom, lay down on my stomach, and called out. “Aubrey!”
“Get me out of here!”
“I can’t get into the house! I’ll have to go for help!”
“No! No! It’s nearly five o’clock! He’ll be back!”
“Who?”
“Vernon! He locked me down here.”
Vernon? I didn’t have time to analyze the situation thoroughly, but Vernon was definitely on the list of possibles for Silas’s killer.
But why had he kidnapped Aubrey?
I had no idea. Not that Vernon wouldn’t make an ideal kidnapper. He was so dependable. Aubrey would trust him, just as I would have. If Vernon came by my house at three a.m. and said, “Let’s go for a ride,” I’d get right in his pickup. And if Vernon were going to kidnap somebody, the Grundy cottage would be a logical place for him to keep his captive imprisoned. Vernon was in charge of the Snow property, at least for the moment, and he could well be familiar with the cottage and its facilities—such as a cellar none of the rest of us had realized was there. And the Grundy cottage was remote from yearround houses. Unless some of the high school kids decided to go treasure hunting, no one was likely to come by.
Yes, I could picture Vernon as a kidnapper.
Aubrey started banging on the board again.
I yelled. “I’ll hurry!”
Then I jumped to my feet, moved to the sapling where I’d tied Monte, and began to loosen his leash.
I was still on my knees when I heard a motor.
It sounded powerful. Could it be a truck? I couldn’t see it, but it seemed to be pulling into the Grundy cottage. I froze as the sound stopped. Then I heard a door open. It was right on the other side of the cottage.
It had to be Vernon. He was there to check on Aubrey. And he’d been entering the cottage by its back door, a door that wasn’t ten feet from me.
The leash came loose, and I grabbed it. Then I scooped up Monte and ran for the nearest hiding place—under that darn bathroom. I dropped to my stomach and, moving sideways, I scrunched back in among the spiders and dirt.
My life depended on Monte. If he made a noise, Vernon might haul me out, and if Vernon was really a killer, he might then beat my head in.
I pulled the little dog close to me. Then I took another doggy treat from my jacket pocket and gave it to him. I understood the danger, but Monte was only a baby animal. If he barked, yipped, or whined, I’d be killed.
I cuddled him and stroked his chocolate fur, each motion a prayer. Beyond him I saw heavy farmer’s boots come around the corner of the cottage. A picnic cooler, the kind with a top that swings open, was placed on the grass. I heard sounds of metal on metal, then the back door of the cottage swung in. A large, strong hand reached down and picked up the cooler. Vernon—I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t doubt it was him—went inside.
I gave him a moment, listening to the noises from inside the cottage; then I gave Monte another doggy treat to keep him quiet, and I crawled out from under the bathroom. I got to my feet, scooped the dog up, and tiptoed across the yard, headed for home, telephone, and police.
That was my intention, anyway. But the back door to the cottage was standing open. I hoped that Vernon was down in the cellar with Aubrey, but I didn’t dare pass that open door. I stopped and looked through the crack between the door and the jamb.
The door opened into the little kitchen area of the cottage. I could see glimpses of the apartment-sized range, the tiny refrigerator, and the back of the small counter that separated kitchen area from living room. Right in the middle of the kitchen floor was a trapdoor, fastened down with a padlock.
And kneeling on the floor beside it was Vernon.
I nearly died. We weren’t three feet apart.
Luckily, Vernon was looking down, fooling with the padlock. I jumped back and stood beside the door, with my back against the wall. If Vernon turned around or put his head out the door . . . well, I might be able to outrun him.
Unless he had his rifle handy.
I decided passing the open door was too risky. I’d have to circle around the house.
I edged to my right, giving Monte another dog yummy, passed the bathroom, and went along the south side of the cottage, keeping as quiet as possible. I reached the corner by the disheveled porch and started to cross in front of the cottage.
Then I saw movement through the trees.
Immediately I jumped back, behind the solid wall of the south side of the cottage. I knelt and peeked around the corner. In that position my head was behind the old rusty cot frame in the corner of the sleeping porch. I hoped I’d be able to see if someone was coming. I squinted my eyes, trying to locate the movement I’d seen.
It wasn’t hard. I’d barely poked my head around the corner when the bushes between the cottage and Lake Shore Drive parted.
Maia stepped out.
My first thought was that she must have come to rescue Aubrey. She was such a fan of his. Maybe she had figured out that Vernon was holding him prisoner and had come to let him out.
Then I noticed Maia was holding a rifle across her chest. Maybe she hadn’t come to let Aubrey out. Maybe she’d come to kill him.
I’m no expert on firearms, but my father is a deer hunter, and he tried to get me interested in the sport. The rifle Maia was carrying would have been right at home in a Texas deer camp. It had a long barrel. It had a scope. I could see the bolt used to cock it.
Maia was marching along, holding the rifle with its barrel pointed upward, as if she were making a training video on hunting safety. She was smiling a little. Her eyes were fixed. She walked between the cottage and Vernon’s truck, which he’d parked in the drive, and disappeared from sight.
Now how was I going to get home? If I went around the back, past the back door, Vernon might look out and see me. If I went around the front, I might run into Maia. If I went through the bushes to get to Lake Shore Drive, I’d be crashing around, and one of them would hear me.
I decided I had to cross in front of the house and peek around the corner. Maybe Maia had followed Vernon to the back door. She’d been marching forward so purposefully that I doubted she’d notice me unless I punched her between the shoulder blades.
So, feeding Monte another treat, I crossed in front of the cottage and peeked around the corner. No Maia. She’d apparently gone around the corner and was behind the house. I started to slip around on the other side of Vernon’s truck. I could hide behind it and get to Mary Street.
This would have been a good plan, if there hadn’t been a window in the cottage. Somehow I’d forgotten that, and I crossed right in front of it.
It was a miracle that neither of them saw me. But I saw what was going on inside, and I was so startled I stopped in my tracks and looked into the cottage.
I didn’t see Maia. What I saw was Vernon. He was kneeling on the kitchen floor, right where he’d been when I saw him a few seconds earlier, but he’d turned to face the door. He was holding his arms up as high as his head. He had his back to me, because he was looking out the back door.
Then I saw the rifle barrel.
It was pointed through the back door. Right at Vernon. Maia was holding her husband at gunpoint.
I couldn’t see her, but the cottage was small. I could hear Maia’s voice. She was speaking calmly and rationally.
“Don’t you see, Vernon? I had to kill Uncle Silas. He was going to lie, to tell everyone that my grandmother—my very own grandmother!—killed Dennis Grundy. I’m so sorry you interfered. Now I’m going to have to kill you.”
Maia was going to kill Vernon. And maybe Aubrey.
What could I do?
Before I could figure out the answer to that one, it was too late to think about it. I guess I got so scared I lost muscle control. I didn’t faint, scream, or wet my pants. I did something worse.
I dropped Monte.
Barking joyously, he ran for the corner of the cottage, eager to get back under that darn bathroom, where he could dig and yap at his master.
I jumped for the trailing leash, then realized I’d better let the dog go. I needed to get out of there. I probably should have run for Lake Shore Drive, but I was facing toward Mary Street, so I ran that way. As I passed the corner of the cottage, I heard a man’s voice, roaring. And I heard a scream.
I looked right, ready to duck a rifle shot—as if I could—and I saw Vernon sprawled on top of Maia. They were struggling for the rifle. Maia still had it, but Vernon was trying to take it away from her. And somehow Monte and his leash were part of the mix.
I didn’t consciously change my route, but the next thing I knew I’d joined the fray. I was kicking at Maia’s hand. Then I grabbed the butt of the rifle and yanked.
Maia was screaming, Vernon was growling, Monte was barking madly, and, from inside the cellar, Aubrey was yelling for help.
Suddenly the rifle went off. The kick made Maia lose her grip, but I still had hold of the butt. I flew backward and landed on my rear end. But I had the rifle.
Vernon was still trying to pin Maia down. Neither of them seemed to be bleeding, and I didn’t think I’d been shot, either.
I scrambled to my feet and looked at the rifle. I fought the impulse to throw it into the bushes.
Instead I yelled. “Stop fighting!” Then I threw back the bolt and cocked the rifle.
That noise got their attention. Both Maia and Vernon stopped moving, though Maia had begun to sob.
“Maia’s not the only person with deer hunters in her family,” I said. “I know how to use this thing.”
Maia sobbed. “But you’re dead!” she said. “I tried so hard to kill you. The police said you had disappeared.”
“I’m back,” I said. “And you’d better not move a muscle.”
It took me a few seconds to figure out what I wanted them to do. After all, we were in a deserted spot. Even firing off a rifle was not guaranteed to bring the cops running. I had two prisoners—three if you counted Aubrey. What was I going to do with them? March down the road to Aunt Nettie’s? That didn’t seem like a sensible idea. Finally I figured out a simple plan.
“Vernon,” I said. “Dump Maia down in that cellar with Aubrey.”
Both of them were tangled in Monte’s leash, so it wasn’t easy. Maia fought and screamed, but Vernon finally managed to get her into the cellar. He’d removed any stairs or ladder that had once been there, so he just dropped her over the edge. Then he turned to me. He looked relieved. “That’ll keep her safe for the moment.”
I still had the rifle pointed at him. “Now you. Into the cellar.”
“But, Lee, I didn’t kill anybody! I just penned Aubrey up to keep Maia from killing him!”
“I don’t care why you did it. Get down there.”
He still hesitated, and I spoke again. “If you leave them down there alone, they’ll kill each other.”
He grimaced, knelt and slid into the cellar feet first. Just before his head disappeared, I spoke again. “Wait! Where’s the padlock? And the key?”
“They’re on the counter.”
Monte had been whining, wanting to go down in the cellar and join his master. Luckily, he was afraid to jump that far. I was able to scoop him up, swing the trapdoor shut, and lock it. I hid the rifle under the porch.
Then I ran for Aunt Nettie’s, still holding Monte in my arms.
I pounded along, down the overgrown road that led to Silas’s apple orchard. Then I turned onto Mary Street and began to run down the sandy lane. I felt as if I was home free.
Until I rounded a curve, and I collided with a tree trunk.
At least that’s what it seemed like at the moment. I ran right into a tall, thin, hard thing that loomed up right in the middle of the road.
The tall thing and I were lying in a heap before I realized I had run headlong into Joe.
I dropped the dog and threw my arms around Joe’s neck. “Everyone’s gone besieged! I mean, berserk! I locked them up!”
But Joe wasn’t listening to me. He was talking. “Lee! Lee! If anyone’s done anything to hurt you, I’ll kill ’em! I couldn’t go on living without you!”
Chapter 20
T
hen we spoke—or maybe we yelled incoher ently—at the same time. I said, “Where did you come from?” Joe said, “Did you tangle with Maia?”
“I tangled with Maia! With Vernon! And with Aubrey! With every nut on the lakeshore!”
“You found Aubrey? Hogan was sure he was dead.”
“He wasn’t a minute ago, but he may be now. He’s locked in the cellar of the Grundy cottage with Maia and Vernon.”
“You’re kidding! How did that happen?”
“It was the only way I could think of to make the three of them stay put. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. We heard the shots. Nettie’s calling the cops.”
Then he kissed me. Not passionately. Tenderly. He pulled me really close, which is an awkward thing to do when you’re both sitting in the middle of a sandy road and there’s a big puppy involved. But he managed it. And when he spoke again, he’d stopped yelling. He whispered. “Lee. If anything happened to you—I just couldn’t go on. When I heard those rifle shots, I thought my heart had stopped beating. I didn’t see how you could escape that crazy woman with a rifle twice. If you don’t marry me, I may . . . I don’t know what I’ll do.”