Tricia turned her gaze back to the empty rain-soaked street. All the other shops had closed; the only beacon of light was the Bookshelf Diner. Even if she blasted the horn, no one was likely to hear or even pay attention to the car as it passed. Their one ace in the hole was Bob Kelly. Had Angelica reached him or his voice mail, or had she simply been bluffing?
Come on, Bob.
Then again, Mr. Everett knew of their suspicions. If they turned up missing, he could point the law in Mike's and Doris's direction. That is, if Sheriff Adams would even listen to him. And if he spoke, would he become the next murder victim?
Stalling, Tricia fumbled with the buttons and switches on the dash until she found and turned on the headlights. Next, she checked the mirrors before pulling out of the parking space and driving slowly down Main Street, heading out of the village. Within a minute the glow of friendly street lamps was behind them, the inky darkness broken only by the car's headlights.
"Turn here and go straight until you reach Route 101," Doris directed.
"Then where?"
"You'll head for Interstate 93."
"Where are we going?" Angelica asked, uncomprehending.
Tricia could guess. The interstate cut through the White Mountain National Forest, the perfect place to dump a couple of bodies where they wouldn't be found for months-if ever.
No one spoke for a long minute.
Angelica cleared her throat. "Does anyone have a handkerchief or something? All this blood is ruining my sweater. Not that I could ever find anyone in this town who can repair cashmere, even if they could get the stains out."
Tricia exhaled a shaky breath. Was Angelica's claustrophobia acting up, or was she simply in shock? Either she didn't realize what was going to happen to them, or she was in deep denial.
Time was running out. If they got as far as the interstate, they were as good as dead.
"My foot's still bleeding, you know," Angelica went on. "I think there might be a piece of glass in it."
Mike smashed his fist against the dashboard. "Will you shut up!"
Tricia clenched the steering wheel. Route 101 was only a couple of miles ahead. If she was going to save them, it had to be in the next few minutes-and she could only think of one option: crashing the car.
She'd read too many mysteries to think of disobeying Mike's or Doris's direct orders-Angelica's bleeding shoulder was proof of that. Still, she couldn't remember any fictional scenario from a book that would keep herself and Angelica alive.
The most famous car crash she could recall was that of Princess Diana in a tunnel in Paris. The one passenger wearing a seat belt had lived-the others didn't. Only Tricia wore a seat belt. If she crashed the car, would Angelica survive? How fast did she need to go to incapacitate her captors without permanently maiming her sister?
The headlights flashed on a mile marker.
The dashboard clock's green numerals changed.
Not much time left.
"What happened, Doris? Did Mike witness Deirdre's murder and hit you up for money?"
"None of your business," she snapped.
"He didn't have to see the murder," Angelica said. "I'll bet he planned it."
Collusion! Suddenly, it all made sense. "You sold Doris the million-dollar insurance policy, and when she told you her sister was dying and she'd have to change the beneficiary-"
"All very neat, really," Doris said. "It solved all our problems."
"Not Mike's. His mother has regained her memory."
"I'm having her moved from St. Godelive's in the morning. She'll go right back to loving her nightly mug of cocoa tomorrow night."
Not with Roger Livingston looking after her affairs, but Tricia wasn't going to voice that fact.
"Why did you throw the rock through my window?" Tricia asked Mike.
He laughed. "Just to keep things interesting."
"Did you really think I was going out with Russ Smith?"
"It crossed my mind."
"Oh please," Angelica groused.
Keep them talking, something inside Trish implored. "There's still something I don't get."
"And what's that?" Doris asked.
"Why did you set the Cookery on fire and disable the smoke alarms when you had every intension of keeping it open with 'Deirdre' as the owner? You could've destroyed everything. Or did you have the contents heavily insured as well?"
"The place wouldn't have burned. That carpet is flame-retardant. I know, I paid a small fortune for it."
"Stop all this yapping and turn on the defroster. Can't you see the windshield's steaming up?" Mike carped, and rubbed at the glass with his free hand.
Tricia glanced down, couldn't find the control. Instead, she fumbled for the window button on the door's arm, pressing it. The window started to open.
"I said turn on the defroster!"
"I don't know where it is!" She held the button until the window was completely open. The rain poured in and she eased her foot from the accelerator.
Mike leaned closer, searching the dashboard. "Doris, where the hell is it?"
"I don't know. This is Deirdre's car. Keep pushing buttons until you find it."
With Mike preoccupied, Tricia knew her window of opportunity was short. Headlights cut through the gloom on the road up ahead. If she could sideswipe the vehicle, or merely scare them into thinking she would, they were sure to call the sheriff. If she didn't kill them all first.
"Now or never," she breathed and jammed her foot down on the accelerator.
Mike fell back against his seat, the knife flying from his grasp, disappearing onto the darkened floor.
Tricia aimed straight for the oncoming car.
"What are you, crazy?" Angelica screamed from behind.
Tricia risked a glance in the rearview mirror, but Angelica wasn't talking to her; she wrestled with Doris in the backseat-trying to disarm her.
Mike's hands fumbled around Tricia's legs, yanking her foot from the accelerator, grappling for the missing knife.
The wail of the approaching car's horn cut through the rain pounding on the roof and Angelica's screams. Tricia steered to the right, barely missing the oncoming car.
Mike grabbed the steering wheel, jerking it left, and Tricia jammed her foot on the brake, sending Mike flying. The car hydroplaned on the slick, wet road, sliding sideways.
Tricia wrestled with the wheel, but the car had a mind of its own, hit the guardrail, and went airborne, sailing into the black, rainy night, flipping before it landed in the swollen waters of Stoneham Creek.
Twenty-Three
Stunned, for a moment Tricia didn't realize the car had come to a halt. It was only what was left of the deflated air bag hanging out of the steering wheel and in her face, and the rising chilly water swirling around the crown of her head that brought her back to full consciousness. Blinking did no good, she couldn't see a thing, but finally it sank in that she hung suspended by the seat belt, about to drown from the water that gushed through the car's open window. The sound of rushing water filled her ears as she fumbled for the catch.
The belt released and Tricia plunged into the freezing water. Arms flailing, she pawed for the aperture, found it, and pulled herself through into open air, then fell into the raging torrent. The current immediately slammed her against the car. Winded, she groped for and clung to the undercarriage above the water. Shoes gone, her stocking feet slipped on mossy rocks, and she struggled to find a foothold on the driver's window frame.
Upside down, the car was hung up on the rocks in the creek bed, listing at a forty-five-degree angle. Raking aside the hair flattened around her face, Tricia realized light shone down from above and behind her-the glow of a mercury vapor lamp on the bridge over Stoneham Creek.
"Help! Please help me!" Tricia looked around, realized the weak voice came from inside the car.