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"Rory's dead," I said baldly.
"So you left the baby there?"
Just then Hayden began crying, and I looked down to the floorboard to make sure he was okay.
When I looked back to the window, Margaret had a gun in her hand.
"Oh shit," I breathed. "Don't shoot, Margaret."
"I won't if you'll come without any trouble."
"Sure," I said instantly.
"Then you bend over and pick up my baby."
I did, though it was difficult to maneuver both our bundled bodies in the cab of the pickup.
Margaret stepped back from the door. "Now, get out holding the baby. And don't try anything like throwing him at me to get me to drop the gun." "I wouldn't dream of that," I said indignantly, and then told myself it would be a good thing to keep my mouth shut.
Margaret's head was uncovered, and her red hair had caught a lot of snowflakes. She turned her head uneasily from side to side, like she was tracking movements invisible to me.
I slid down off the high seat, holding Hayden.
Margaret seemed to be thinking hard.
"Go get in my pickup," she ordered. "You're going to have to drive." So I struggled uphill to the road, praying for more traffic to come along. This wasn't the day for my prayers to be answered the way I wanted them to be. The road was empty as far as I could see, north to south. Following Margaret's directions, I got in the driver's seat, having slid Hayden over to the passenger side. The truck, still ru
I drove slowly, still hoping someone else would come along and read something strange into the situation, call the police. I turned in when she told me to, only to reverse and back out into the road again, this time pointed south. "We've already turned into your driveway twice, so that ought to account for our tracks," Margaret said. "With more snow falling, it'll be hard to read the tracks anyway."
I wondered what Martin had thought when he'd heard the truck, near the house. He'd probably thought help had come quicker than he'd expected. He'd have felt proud of me...
Instead, I'd been tricked, and I hadn't gotten help.
Shame broke over me in a wave of blackness.
It was followed by a rage so overwhelming that I had trouble seeing the road ahead of me. I seldom lose my temper, and this was far beyond that, light years beyond. I knew I had blocked from my complete awareness, until this moment, just how bad Martin had looked, just how much he too needed a doctor. Now this woman was keeping me from getting help for him, and Karl, too. I remembered Rory's empty eyes and the pool of blood around his head; but Rory was beyond human assistance, and I had no more grief for him. My sense of urgency vied with my terrible rage for supremacy in the limited emotional room I had to spare.
I tugged at my ear on my left side, away from Margaret. My earring slid out, the back rolling down my collar and into my shirt. The small earring, just a little gold knot design, went down in the deep crack of the seat. Some policeman would find it and nail Margaret Granberry, I hoped most devoutly. Aurora Was Here.
I pressed my fingers to the wheel, the steering column, the seat adjustor, the window, as unobtrusively as possible, hoping she'd overlook a print when she wiped down the truck. Maybe I'd seen too many movies and too many episodes of America's Most Wanted, but I was doing the best I could for myself. Margaret told me to turn into her driveway. It was the first time I'd seen the Granberry's house. It was a farmhouse with extras added, in keeping with what Cindy had told me about their lifestyle. Gleaming white, with spanking green shutters and a hot tub in a sunroom to the south, it was farming deluxe. Luke came ru
"What happened?" he cried.
"Look, honey!" Margaret called, holding up the baby so he could see it.
Luke's face went slack with horror.
"What have you done, sweetheart?" he asked.
"Don't worry, she was heading to town in Karl's truck. He was parked down at the copse," Margaret explained. "But she was taking the baby with her, and I figured this might be our last chance."
"But..."
"And sweetie, she says you hit Karl too," Margaret interrupted.
"I only fired once," he said, protesting.
"The bullet went through Rory," I told them, hardly able to choke out the words through the rage.
"He's dead," Margaret said, relief clear in her voice. "So we don't have to worry about that anymore."
Luke's shoulders slumped with the same relief. "Let's get you all inside the house," he said briskly.
"I can show Lucas his nursery," Margaret said, delight coursing through her voice.
"Hayden," I said.
"No, that's the nasty name she gave him," Margaret told Hayden's scrunched little face. "His real name is Lucas." , While her attention was riveted on the baby, I risked a glance at Luke. He, too, was looking at Hayden. If he hadn't been armed, I would have had him, and at the moment I felt equal to a pro boxer. Nothing would have stopped me, if I hadn't known I had to ask him for something. "You have to call an ambulance and send it to the farm," I said, sounding as reasonable as I could, considering I was in a frenzy. "Why? Rory's dead!"
"I realize he's beyond consideration," I said, hardly knowing what words were issuing from my mouth. "But Karl is very badly hurt and Martin is not well. I'm afraid he's... I'm afraid he's... really sick." I was making a superhuman effort to sound calm and matter-of-fact.
The couple looked at each other, communing silently.
"Don't think we can risk it," Luke said.
Margaret started into the house. "No," she threw over her shoulder, "I don't see how we can."
"You have to," I said. I stood in the snow, looking up at Luke, whose brown eyes were clear and blank. "You can't let my husband die. You can't." "Margaret? Maybe we could send an ambulance?" he called to her, though he kept his guard on me.
"I'll bet they can trace a nine-one-one call," she said doubtfully. "Let's get inside and think about it. I bet our baby is hungry." They weren't going to help.
That was the final straw.
I jumped him, rifle and all.
I woke up on a floor, a cold concrete floor. It was in a windowless room lit by a bulb hanging from a cord in the middle of the ceiling. My mouth was dry as cotton and my head hurt like hell. I tried to lift it, and the effort left me shaken and nauseated. I satisfied myself with just shifting my eyes around. I thought of all the books I'd read, all the mysteries. Spenser wouldn't have ended up this way. Neither would Kinsey Milhone. Or Henry O. Or Stephanie Plum. Well, yeah, maybe Stephanie Plum. "Hey."
I found the source of the voice. A young woman, dark haired, was sitting on a straight-backed chair against the wall.
"Aunt Roe, are you all right?"
I hadn't realized I'd been sure Regina was dead until I saw her sitting there alive and well. But it wasn't possible for me to feel more shocked than I already did; I just accepted our niece's presence with no more than dull surprise. "Regina," I whispered.
"Yeah, it's me!" she said cheerfully. "Hey, how are you feeling? And how's the baby? I've been going nuts down here."
"Where is here?"
Regina thought that one over for a second. "Oh, you mean, where are we right now?"
"Yes," I said, without the energy to be exasperated.
"We're in the Granberrys' basement."