Krista almost tripped over the Glock.
She knelt, grabbed it up into her left-handed grasp. That arm was slashed, not bad maybe, gashed at the bicep, and her other hand was a useless thing.
But when she turned, through the spaces between barren oaks, she could see Stock with the blade raised, moving toward Pop, who was on the ground, trying to get up.
“Stay down!” she yelled.
She fired, fired again, again, the shots irregular, her unsteady arm doing her no favors, carving chunks of bark from trees and missing her favorite teacher, who turned and with a ghastly grin charged toward her, circling a tree to do so, and the moon through the witchy branches let that high-held blade wink at her one last time.
She fired again and took off a chunk of his ear.
That froze him.
He stood wide-eyed, hand going to the mangled flesh hanging from the left side of his head, getting blood all over his fingers, his expression telling her that Ken Stock experiencing pain had never been part of the plan.
She had a millisecond before he could compose himself enough to complete his murderous onslaught and she fired one more time.
The bullet entered his forehead — not in the dead center, but close enough — the metal projectile emerging from the back of his skull in a stew of blood, bone, and brains. He tottered, not feeling anything, already as dead as the leaves under his stockinged feet, and then he fell flat on his back, between a pair of trees that didn’t notice him at all.
She went over to Pop and helped him up.
He grimaced and groaned and said, “This pro bono work is hard.”
She laughed. He did, too. She hugged him. Gently. She hadn’t forgotten his broken rib. They looked at each other. Smiling. Tears streaming.
“Not exactly ambidextrous, huh?” she asked.
“You got the job done, honey. Right, Mr. Stock?”
But Stock — on his back, eyes and a dime-size hole in his forehead staring sightlessly up through a skeletal filigree of forest, under a ghostly galleon of a moon — had not a thing to say.
Acknowledgments
My thanks to Police Chief Lori Huntington of the Galena Police Department, who welcomed my wife Barb and me into her office, answering many questions and giving us a tour of the station. Throughout the writing of Girl Most Likely, Chief Huntington responded to my ongoing questions about procedure and other Galena matters. Her help and her patience went above and beyond the call of duty. But liberties have been taken and any inaccuracies are my own.
I should also note that Chief Huntington is not the basis of Krista Larson — the plot and characters for Girl Most Likely were already developed when research revealed the happy coincidence of Galena’s actual chief being a young woman who had risen through the ranks.
Other references included various issues of The Galenian magazine; Galena, Illinois: A Timeless Treasure (2015) by Philip A. Aleo; and Galena Illinois: A Brief History (2010) and Galena (Images of America, 2005), both by Diann Marsh.
Barb, who writes the Antiques mysteries with me (bylined Barbara Allan), provided vital editing and suggestions throughout. Also, my frequent collaborator, Matthew V. Clemens, answered a number of police procedure questions.
I’d like also to thank my editor at Thomas & Mercer, Liz Pearsons, and editorial director Grace Doyle for their support, belief, and patience. As usual, thanks go as well to my friend and agent, Dominick Abel.