Spencerville

As Keith watched, the light in the lit window went out, then a few seconds later, the light in the window toward the rear of the house, probably a bedroom, went on. A minute later, the light in the second window went out, and he lowered his binoculars. It didn't seem logical that someone in the house had just been killed and that the other person turned off the lights and went to bed. In hunting country, he assured himself, there were lots of shots fired, even at night, and because of the lake and the trees, it was difficult to tell where that one had come from.

He got himself under control and glanced at Billy, who was looking at him, waiting for him to say something. At this moment, as they both knew, waiting at the jump-off point, conversation was essentially reduced to three commands: go; no go; hold. "No go" was not an option, "Hold" was what you wanted to say, and "Go" was irrevocable. Keith asked, "Ready?"

"Ready."

"Let's go."

Chapter Forty-one

A

She rested a moment and listened. She could hear Cliff snoring twenty feet away in the bedroom down the hallway. She stretched as far as she could toward the poker, and it was close, but her fingertips were still a half inch away.

She tried again, stretching as far as she could, but her fingertips only brushed the handle of the poker. She went limp, and the taut chain fell to the floor, making a sound against the floorboards. She froze and listened.

Cliff's snoring stopped a second, then continued. She sat up, looking around the darkened room. The embers still glowed, and moonlight came in through the south windows. She needed something to extend her reach, but there was nothing near her. Then she saw it. Lying on the hearth, illuminated by the embers, was a big, twisted beer pretzel that had fallen to the floor when Cliff yanked the blanket off her. Cliff's little treat. Thank you, Cliff. She picked up the pretzel and again stretched her body and hand toward the poker.

Every muscle was pulling, and she felt pains shooting up her legs and through her battered body. But she remained steady and calm, the pretzel held tight in her fingertips until she looped it around the hilt of the poker and pulled. The poker fell toward her and she caught it, then lay still, breathing hard.

Finally, sure he hadn't heard anything, she inched back toward the rocker and sat on the floor. She bent over and examined the chain, padlock, and eyebolt between her feet. She didn't think she could lever the bolt out of the floorboards or snap the shackle open. But she could unscrew the threaded bolt from the floor. She put the tip of the poker through the shackle and moved the poker counterclockwise, using it as a lever to twist the padlock so that it also turned the eyebolt to which it was co

She heard the bed squeak, then heard the floorboards squeak as his heavy body came down the hall.

She quickly slid the poker under the hearth rug and got into the rocker, putting her bare foot over the padlock and eyebolt. She slumped to the side and feigned sleep, looking at him through a narrow slit in her left eye.

The table lamp came on, but he didn't say anything, just stood there in his boxer shorts and undershirt. His eyes darted around the room like an animal, she thought, trying to see what, if anything, was not as it should be. His eyes glanced down at her feet, but then they darted somewhere else. In many ways, she thought, he'd become like his dogs, and there were even times when she thought he had the super-sharp sense of smell and hearing of a dog, or the cu

"Hey! Wake up!"

She opened her eyes and sat up.

"You comfortable, darlin'?"

"No."

"You piss yourself yet?"

"No... but I have to go..."

"Good. Go right ahead."

"No."

"You will. Cold?"

"Yes."

"I was thinkin' about letting you come to bed." He jiggled the keys that were on a chain around his neck. "You want to come to bed?"

No, no, no. She tried to look relieved and grateful. She said, "Yes, thank you. I have to go to the bathroom. I'm cold, Cliff, and hungry. And I think I'm starting my period. I need a sanitary napkin." She added, "Please?"

He thought about that awhile, and so did she. If he had an ounce of compassion left in him, she thought, he'd take pity on her and let her do what she asked of him. But she was betting that he had no pity whatsoever, and the word "please" was all he wanted to hear, and "nothing" was all he wanted to do for her.

Baxter said, "Well, I'll think about it. I'll check on you later and see how cold, wet, and hungry you are."

"Please, Cliff..."

He said, "Remember, ten strokes in the morning, and no breakfast. But maybe we can work something out. Think about that thing you never let me do to you." He winked and reached for the light switch. Before he turned it off, she glanced at the mantel clock.

A

She let some time go by, about twenty minutes she figured, then thought she heard him snoring. She dropped down to the floor, took the poker from under the hearth rug, then began again.

One of the dogs barked, but just once, then a wind rattled a windowpane, and a backdraft blew soot through the fire screen and the embers crackled. Every sound, every groan of the house, made her jump, and her heart was beating too fast.

As she continued to unscrew the bolt, she allowed herself to picture herself free. She'd still have the chained leg manacles on, but she could walk. She knew where the keys to the Bronco were in the kitchen; all she had to do was take them, wrap the blanket around her, slide the glass door open onto the deck, and go down the stairs. She recalled what he'd said about a bear trap, so she knew she had to climb over the stair rail near the end, go under the house where the Bronco was parked, get inside and start it. She'd be on the dirt road within seconds. She wondered if he'd shoot at the car if he had a chance. She thought about what he'd said about him camouflaging the end of the dirt road and wondered if the Bronco, with four-wheel drive, could make it through. Neither of those two questions would matter if she just went into the bedroom with the poker and smashed him over the head with it, then she could get dressed and call the police.

She felt the heft of the cast-iron poker in her hand. The act itself would be simple, simpler than ru