Them Bones (31 page)

"The entire thing about the severed brake lines, that was just something you made up," I said, looking at
Pasco . "As sheriff, you could make up anything. You used it to frame Hamilton and Sylvia, to throw suspicion on them." His smile told me I'd pieced it together properly. "And the gun that killed Delo? That was Sylvia's. It was a setup, too."

Veronica answered. "
Hamilton should learn to lock up better. He always took it for granted that things would go his way. No effort on his part. He was born the heir. I would have had to beg crumbs from him for the rest of my life."

"You won't get away with this," Sylvia said, her eyes sparkling with high-voltage hatred. "All of these years, I've waited to find you. I've watched the magazines. I didn't care that people thought I was insane. I knew you'd taken your precious Lalique. Even when you were supposed to be dead, you were too greedy to leave it behind. It must have broken your heart to have to leave 'The Pink Lady' in Knob Hill. Father gave her to me, but you always wanted her."

"I'm certain your brother will see fit to ship her to me," Veronica said, unperturbed by Sylvia's anger. "You're going back
to
Glen Oaks, this time as a convicted murderess. Once
Hamilton realizes that at any moment someone can walk into that institution and visit you in your sleep, he'll give me anything I want. And he'll keep his mouth shut."

That didn't sound like the
Hamilton I knew, but I wasn't going to risk giving any advice.

Pasco shifted in his chair, and I knew he was growing tired of show-and-tell. "So where is the rest of the money?" he demanded.

"You got the million--" I started.

Sylvia interrupted me. "Delo buried it. You thought you were so smart, but you weren't. You walked off and left half a million in cash in a dove field." She laughed at him.

Pasco rose slowly. My gaze shifted to Veronica. Of the two, she was the more deadly. She hated her daughter.

"Where is it?"
Pasco asked too softly.

"I'll die before I tell you," Sylvia taunted.

And she would, because there was no money. Isaac Carter had said a million, and though he might not recognize a moral if it bit him, he was a man who was accurate with monetary amounts. This "forgotten" half million was the bait Sylvia had used to set her trap--and she had snared all of us.

Once the pieces of Lalique began to appear in magazines, Sylvia had cast her web. She'd started the rumors about the "forgotten" money. She'd brought
Hamilton back from
Europe . She'd plotted her first escape from Glen Oaks and the eerie visit to the cornfield--all to draw
Pasco and Veronica out of hiding. And she had succeeded masterfully. Except the bad guys now had the guns, and they were pointed right at us.

"Sylvia doesn't know where it is," I said quickly. "I do. If you promise to let me go, I'll tell you where it is."

"You'll tell us without any promises,"
Pasco said, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. He lit one and handed it to Veronica and lit another for himself. He held the pack out. "Want a smoke, ladies? It's traditional."

"I'll take one," I said quickly. I'd read that hostages who developed a bond with their captors stood a better chance of surviving.
Pasco lit another cigarette and brought it to me.

"Where's the money?" His eyes had gone cold.

"I'll have to show you," I said.

"If you're playing games, Sarah Booth, I'll shoot you in your knees and make you crawl back here. If you doubt it, think about Delo. He wouldn't tell me where the money was."

Maybe my plan wasn't such a good one. Then again, I didn't have an alternative. "I wouldn't mess around with you,
Pasco . I'll show you. Delo told me where it was." This was a better lie even than the book business. And it was the only way I could see
to
get
Pasco and the gun out of the house.

"That stupid old man," Veronica said. "He said he didn't know. He didn't believe we'd kill him. Now we've wasted all this time."

Pasco stood up. "Let's go," he ordered, motioning the gun at me.

I rose slowly. "You have to promise me that you won't kill me," I said. "You don't have to give me any money, just promise you'll let me go."

I saw Millie's disbelief turn to revulsion at my betrayal. I also caught a glimpse of Chablis, her nose sticking out from under the ruffle of the sofa.

"Where's the money?"
Pasco asked. He didn't have a high tolerance for negotiating.

"Promise?"

"Oh, for God's sake, promise her," Veronica said.

"Sure, we'll get the money and then we'll let you go."

Pasco didn't even bother to make it sound sincere. But it was all I was going to get. I'd delayed as long as I dared. My only real hope was that Tinkie, Tammy, and James would somehow figure out where I'd gone and send help. "It's in the dog pen," I said. "Delo told me. Mr. Garrett had given him one of the hounds, so he buried the money in the pen. He said it was blood money and that it would only bring bad luck." It made just enough sense that
Pasco bought it.

"I'll get a shovel," he said. He stepped across the room and grabbed my shoulder, his fingers digging into the tendon. "You're coming with me."

"I'll watch them," Veronica said, and I was chilled by the way she looked at her daughter. Sylvia wasn't long for this world, if Veronica had her way.

Pasco pushed me out into the night, and Chablis darted out in front of me and disappeared. The rain had stopped, but the fog was so thick I couldn't see anything. I wasn't familiar with the property and neither was
Pasco . We stumbled around looking for the toolshed, and then finally made our way to the dog pen.

Pasco thrust the shovel in my hand as he swung the flashlight beam over the ground. "You dig."

"It'll take me forever," I said. "It's buried pretty deep."

"Dig. We've got all night."

I didn't like the sound of that, but
Pasco had the loaded weapon. As I started to dig, I realized I'd chosen a pretty good location for a rescue--if the cavalry had been called.

I began to turn the earth in small, shallow shovelfuls. Soon enough
Pasco would tire of my pace and be forced to dig himself.

"Dig faster," he directed with a sharpness that let me know I was getting on his last nerve.

I pretended
to
comply. The sound of barking, muffled and distorted, drifted through the fog. I thought of Chablis. It was a bitter irony that I had gotten into this mess by stealing her. Now I would see the end of it--at least the end of my role in it--still worrying about that damn piece of fluff.

The barking seemed louder, and even
Pasco shifted so that he could crane his neck around the door of the pen and take a look. He saw nothing more than I-- dense fog. I heard the click of the hammer on his pistol, and I knew his patience was almost gone. It would be only a matter of moments before he killed me.

A deep, morbid howl seemed to come out of the night not ten feet away.
Pasco grunted, edging out a little farther to check around the pen. A low, throaty howl came from behind the toolshed. It was a long, hungry sound.

"Keep digging,"
Pasco said as he stepped away from me. His back was to me as he looked into the darkness. I eased the shovel into clobbering position, and got ready to make my move.

Out of the fog a giant, hairy rat scuttled toward
Pasco 's feet. The vermin grabbed hold of his leg and locked on to his calf.
Pasco let out a yelp and began to dance. He pointed the gun down, but couldn't shoot for fear of hitting his own foot.

"Chablis!" I cried at the same instant that I rushed out of the pen and brought the shovel down on Pasco Walters's head. The clang of metal on skull was totally satisfying.

Pasco stumbled, then slowly turned toward me. He brought the gun up and aimed at my chest. I'd hit him hard enough to fell an ox, but he was still standing. He drew back his leg and kicked, and Chablis went flying into the fog.

"You stupid bitch," he said, and his words were mushy, as if he were drunk.

I tried to think of a prayer, but terror blotted everything out of my mind.

Chablis gave one ferocious bark, and then a large body seemed to emerge from the night itself. It was lean and rangy, and it came at
Pasco with such force that it struck his shoulder and sent him sprawling backward into the dirt. The gun flew out of his hand.

Before he could regain his feet, I rushed forward and brought the shovel down on his head again. His body went limp, but I hit him again for good measure. Trembling, I stood over him until I felt the cold nose and wet tongue of one of Delo's hounds nuzzle my hand.

"Revenge is sweet," I said to the dog. I got
Pasco 's flashlight and went in the direction Chablis had been flung. I found her little body near the side of the dog pen.

"Chablis," I said, overcome with grief. She had been such a delicate thing. Jumping off the sofa could have broken her front legs.
Pasco had punted her like a soccer ball. She simply wasn't tough enough to survive a man like him.

I bent to pick her up. I wouldn't leave her in the mud and the cold night. As I lifted her into my arms, I felt her tremble. Then she gave a low growl and before I could stop her, she snapped her under-bitten little jaws shut on my chin and began to tear into me.

"Chablis," I said, as well as I could with a six-ounce biting fury hanging from my chin. "Chablis, it's me, Sarah Booth."

At last my voice penetrated her anger and she opened her jaws. I groped at my chin. I didn't feel a gaping wound, but it hurt like hell. "Good girl," I said, kissing her hairy, pugnacious little face. A bitten chin was a small price to pay for my life.

I found
Pasco 's pistol and started toward the house.

In the distance, the mournful wail of a siren was headed my way. Out in the fog the hounds began to howl. To my surprise, Chablis, snug in my arms, joined in with them.

29

Because my experience with guns was limited to water pistols, and because my knees had begun to feel liquidy and unreliable, I waited for the cavalry.

Sheriff Coleman Peters got out of the car first, with
Hamilton rising out of the passenger side. His eyes moved up and down me, and I felt a surge of warmth. Tinkie and Tammy got out of the backseat.

Gordon Walters rode alone in the second patrol car.

Hamilton started toward me, but Tinkie beat him to the punch.

"My darling," she cried as she lifted Chablis from my arms. "Sarah Booth, are you okay?"

"Sylvia and Millie are in there," I said. "And--" I dreaded saying it, but worse than the shock of my telling would be seeing her alive. "And Veronica. She isn't dead,
Hamilton ."

"I know," he answered, and then he put his hand on my shoulder. "Sylvia never believed she was dead. And I've suspected for a long, long time."

"Veronica has your sister and Millie." I knew I sounded pitiful, like a whipped dog. This wasn't a fitting conclusion for the fact that I had single-handedly-- well, with the help of the dogs--brained Pasco Walters. I bucked up and gave a tight smile. "Pasco Walters is by the dog pen. He won't be giving anyone any trouble for a while." I was rewarded by Gordon's hand lifting his service revolver out of the holster.

"Good ol' Daddy. I knew he was too mean to die," Gordon said as he checked his clip.

For all of my bravado, I wanted to fling myself against
Hamilton 's chest. It wasn't a Daddy's Girl maneuver; it was a simple human need. I wanted to rest for a moment against someone who seemed capable of taking the reins. But
Hamilton only rubbed my arms and then moved toward the house with Coleman.

"Take the back door," Coleman directed him.

Tinkie and Tammy huddled behind the patrol car. "Oscar is just going to die when I tell him about this," Tinkie said. "So when you were telling me about a dark, dangerous man from the past, you weren't really talking about
Hamilton . It was
Pasco all along."

"I was afraid it was
Pasco . In my dreams, I'd seen him in the dove field with a shotgun. I feared that he was still alive," Tammy said. "Millie let it slip that Sylvia was laying a trap for them. She got Delo to play along, never dreaming that he might be hurt."

Gordon started toward the dog pen. "I'll take care of my father."

I started after Gordon.
Pasco was my trophy.

"Mrs. Garrett," Coleman called out into the night. "We've got you surrounded.
Pasco is in custody, so you'd better come out."

The house was dark and silent as I slipped into the fog and followed Gordon. He looked back over his shoulder at me. "You know, you're a real pain in the ass," he said. "Hamilton and I figured you'd get blown to bits before the night was over, but there wasn't a damn thing we could do to stop you from poking your nose in it."

"Thanks," I said. It was something of a compliment.

He went to his father's inert form and stood over it. He nudged him with a boot.
Pasco 's eyes blinked open.

"Hello, Daddy," Gordon said, before he bent down and snapped on the cuffs. He pulled
Pasco to his feet, and I followed them back to the house.

Headlights cut a dim halo in the fog as another car approached. I wondered if it was going to be old home week at Delo's house. I wasn't even surprised when I recognized Harold's Lexus, the headlights aimed directly at the front door of the house. He left the lights on and got out of the car. My thumb gave a weak tingle, and I waited for him to come to me. I was simply too tired to move.

"Stay back," Coleman ordered Harold. The sheriff stepped to the front door. Just as he was about to kick it in, the door slowly opened. Then Millie and Sylvia ran out onto the porch and fled into the yard.

"Sylvia!" Harold cried. He rushed past me and caught her in his arms. "Sylvia," he said again, crushing her to his chest. Tinkie, Chablis sleeping in her arms, and Tammy surrounded Millie and pulled her back to the safety of the patrol car.

I was left alone, standing in the yard, holding a pistol that I wasn't even certain I could use. The man who'd offered me marriage was consoling another woman. Somehow, I wasn't surprised.