Jane licked her lips again. “We owned a cabin near the river, about an hour from here. As part of the divorce settlement, I agreed to let him buy me out at a bargain price. Even with that, he hasn’t paid me. Lord only knows where he’ll get the money. Among Parker’s other wonderful traits is a congenital inability to keep a job.”
“The deed’s still in your name?”
“It is until he comes up with the cash.”
“So the cabin is yours but he lives there?”
“He might,” said Jane. “For all I know he’s in Timbuktu. I always hated the place. Dirty, lousy plumbing- roughing it was his idea.” Her eyes softened. “When Davida and I were on the river, roughing it seemed fine- ”
Amanda broke in: “Do we have your permission to enter the property, including the interior of the cabin?”
“Sure, why not- ” She gasped. “You really think he- oh, God, oh, God.” Rising to her feet, hands fisted. “Go. If it was him, go and kill him. I’ll draw you a map.”
Barnes floored his Honda. The car balked, tried to tackle the grade, kicked back, finally slipped into gear and chugged along.
Blackness all around. Amanda rechecked her gun and wondered if the backup they’d called would get there. Rural sheriff, claiming to be understaffed. He hadn’t sounded too impressed to begin with and “ Berkeley ” had caused him to grow silent.
That’s unincorporated land, not really our jurisdiction.
Whose is it?
Good question. I’ll see what I can do.
The tiny car continued to labor up the mountain road. Why did a big man like Will drive such dinky wheels?
Up here in the boonies, small things like insufficient acceleration mattered. Jane’s scrawled map was helpful to a point, then everything started to look the same and landmarks vanished in the darkness. The GPS Amanda had attached to her handheld computer had been rendered useless ten miles back, reception blocked by massive oaks and giant redwoods.
“What’s wrong?” said Will.
“With what?”
“You’re fidgeting. Like you do when you have serious doubts.”
“If we really suspect this joker of blowing off Davida’s head, we could be making a big mistake by going in alone.”
“Davida was sleeping. We’re wide awake.”
“Mr. Macho.”
“Hey,” he said, “it’s a social call. We’ll ring the guy’s doorbell and act nice and polite.”
“It’s almost ten PM and we didn’t clear it with Torres.”
“We tried. Is it our fault he’s at a fund-raiser?” Shaking his head. “Community gardens, there’s a law-enforcement issue for you.”
Amanda went silent.
Five miles later, Barnes said, “You know, maybe it’s a good idea for you to wait in the car, especially if Parker doesn’t cotton to women.”
“I should just sit by and watch as Parker plugs you in the gut?”
“If you hear rat-a-tat put the pedal to the metal and get the hell out of here. You’ve got someone to go home to.”
“Not funny, Will.”
Barnes smiled. Wondering if he’d really been aiming for humor.
He slowed to five per, had Amanda shine a flashlight on Jane’s map, drove another ten miles and forked left. “Nothing is going to happen to me or to you. We’re just paying the guy a visit, that’s all.”
Amanda shook her head. “Just make sure your gun is drawn.”
They came to a dirt lane marked by a small wooden sign, nearly overtaken by vines and suckers.
RISING GLEN NO TRESPASSING.
A chain-link gate sagged on its hinges. Barnes got out. No lock, the clasp wasn’t even set in place. Swinging the gate inward, he got back in the car and coasted down on a rutted dirt lane.
Amanda said, “It’s so dark I can barely see my hands.”
Barnes stopped, had another look at the map, clicked off the flashlight. “When we come to a pond, it’s fifty yards to the right.”
Moments later, Amanda spotted a pinpoint of light.
A sliver of moon breaking on water. She pointed. “Over there.”
Off in the distance, another dot of illumination. Amber, like the lit end of a cigarette.
They watched for a while. The dot never moved.
Barnes said, “Probably a porch light.” He aimed the Honda at it, driving carefully along the curving surfaces of the pond bank.
A small structure came into view. More of a lean-to than a cabin, fashioned of rough planks and topped with tar paper. Low-wattage porchlight, no illumination through any of the windows.
Parked to the side was a Chevy Blazer, long unwashed, tires so underinflated they were perilously close to flat.
Barnes said, “Guy treats his wheels like that, he’s not taking care of himself.”
Amanda said, “I’m sure he’ll love getting woken up.”
Barnes killed the headlights, switched off the engine. The two of them got out of the car, just stood there. Something small and frightened scurried into the brush. An owl hooted. A burble sounded from the pond.
The air smelled pure, herbally sweet.
Amanda said, “Is that the theme from Deliverance I hear wafting through the piney woods?”
Both detectives checked their weapons and headed for the cabin.
Barnes whispered, “You hear anything, save yourself and the young’uns and take the wagon back to Laramie.”
Amanda said, “Let’s get this damn thing over with.”
“You bet,” said Barnes, figuring he sounded pretty mellow. The gun in his hand was so cold that he wondered about frostbite.
Halfway to the cabin’s front door, the detectives agreed that Barnes would do the talking and Amanda would be on the watch for any weird behavior on Parker Seldey’s part.
A second after they’d reached that accord, two booms exploded into the night and the sweet air turned sulfurous.
Barnes hit the ground and reached out to push Amanda out of the firing line. She did the same for him and their fingers touched momentarily.
Then both of them stretched on their bellies and two-handed their guns.
A hoarse voice screamed, “Get the hell off my property!”
Barnes screamed back: “Police. We just want to talk to you, Mr. Seldey.”
“I don’t want to talk to you!”
A flash from the doorway was followed by another concussive burst. Something whizzed by Barnes’s right ear. Sighting a stand of small oaks, he crept and slithered for cover, while motioning for Amanda to do the same.