"It was him,” she cried. “He's the one that killed her."
Bertrand turned his attention briefly away from Harriet to the girl. In that split second, Harriet grabbed Avanell's quilt and threw it over his head.
The gun went off.
"Run,” she yelled as she dashed to the door and pushed Misty through it. She ran around the side of the house, passing her, then pulled her through the fence and down the trail. She heard the front door bang but didn't look back to see how close Bertrand was.
Misty started for the potting shed, but Harriet signaled her past and through the woods beyond the yard to the trail she and Aiden had taken to his mother's house. She felt a burning pain in her shoulder before she heard the second gunshot. She knew she couldn't think about it. She kept running, Misty close on her heels.
She imagined she heard Bertrand wheezing then realized it was Misty. She couldn't take much more. Harriet tried to remember how the trail went.
The gun sounded again, but not as loud this time. She left the trail and went into the woods, again pulling Misty after her. The underbrush pulled at their clothes and blackberry bushes scratched their hands and faces, but she kept them moving. She couldn't hear Bertrand anymore.
Ahead, she saw a tunnel some animal had made into a large brushy mound. She dropped to her knees and pushed into the bush. Misty followed her, gasping for breath. She had to be careful; the forest didn't go on forever. It was dense, but she wasn't sure how wide the greenspace was, and whether Bertrand would be able to take the road and get ahead of them.
The tunnel widened into a low den-like area. They squatted in the narrow space. Harriet listened but didn't hear anything. Her shoulder hurt.
"He killed her,” Misty repeated. “I saw him kill her. She was yelling at him. He said give me the bottle.” Tears ran down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. “She pulled a bottle out of her pocket, and he killed her."
"I'm sorry you had to see that, but right now we need to worry about ourselves. He's out there somewhere with a gun."
"The police will come,” Misty said. She was calmer than Harriet had ever seen her, but she wasn't sure if this was the real Misty, or if the drugs were giving her serenity she shouldn't feel in this situation.
"We have to be as quiet as we can. Harold should be arriving to pick me up soon. Hopefully, he'll see something's wrong and either come looking or call the police."
"Harold and Bertrand are friends,” Misty said. “They eat lunch together every day."
"That doesn't mean Harold won't get us some help.” Harriet wasn't sure, but she didn't want to upset Misty any more than she already was.
She couldn't tell how much time had passed before Misty pulled a watch with a broken strap from her pocket.
"What time is it?"
"Ten-fifteen,” Misty said. “Carla should be to town by now."
"What are you talking about?” She prayed there was a rational answer.
"Carla and I were coming to talk to you. We saw Mister Bertrand go into the cottage, and I told Carla she should go call the police. I had already told her he killed Miz Jalbert. She doesn't have a car, so she had to walk to town."
Harriet thought she heard a siren in the distance but couldn't tell if it was coming their way or not.
"Let's go back to the potting shed. You can stay there, and I'll get closer to the cottage and see if I can tell what's going on.
She crept back out of the tunnel of brush and retraced her steps to the path.
"If we meet Bertrand before we get to the house, I'll keep him busy, and you run,” she told Misty when they were both on the trail again.
Misty nodded and followed her closely as she crept back toward the house. They reached the potting shed, and Harriet had to argue to get Misty to stay there.
"Think of your baby,” she said, and Misty finally agreed.
Harriet paused to survey the cottage before she went through the hole in the fence. Nothing seemed out of order. She crept around the side of the house, staying close to the camellia bushes that crowded the windows.
When she could finally see the driveway, a dark Mercedes was parked there. She rounded the corner and could see the front door was shut. She was considering her next move when a voice spoke from behind her.
"Looking for someone?” Bertrand asked. He pointed the gun at her again. “Now, I believe you have something of mine. And don't bother waiting for Harold. I sent him on his way. He believes I came by as we had prearranged so I could pick up the quilt, and that I arrived and found you already gone."
Harriet knew that going in the house would be a death sentence.
"I think we both know you're going to kill me no matter what, so can I at least know why you killed Avanell?"
"If you're thinking you can keep me talking long enough for someone to come rescue you, you can think again. We are going inside-now."
She was trying to decide which direction would give her the greatest chance if she made a break for it when Aiden came out of the woods.
"What's going on here? I was walking Randy in the woods, and I heard gunshots.” He kept walking toward Bertrand.
"Stop. Don't come any closer. I've got a gun,” Bertrand said, as if Aiden couldn't see the weapon in his hands.
"What? Are you going to shoot me? You can't kill us both. If you shoot me, she'll run, and if you shoot her, I'll kill you."
Bertrand spluttered but couldn't come up with a response. His gun hand started to shake.
"It's over, Uncle Bertie. Whatever it is that's going on here. You can't kill everybody."
Aiden moved surely toward his uncle and grabbed the gun. The two men struggled for a moment, but three years of hard living in Africa had toughened Aiden in ways his uncle couldn't compete with. He pulled the gun away and quickly dumped the bullets out onto the ground.
Bertie started to cry. “You don't understand. They will kill me. They said if I didn't get the diamonds back they would kill me. I'm a dead man."
"Don't worry, Uncle Bertie. You're going to be in protective custody,” Aiden said.
"If you don't get the death penalty,” Harriet added. “I'm going to call the police."
After the police arrived and collected Bertrand, Harriet took an ambulance ride to the Jefferson County Hospital for the third time that week. This time Misty was her roommate for the drive. It turned out the bullet had streaked across the flat of her shoulder blade without penetrating anything important. She had a painful groove, but was eventually able to leave after promising to return to the clinic the next day to have her bandage changed.
The doctors decided that, all things considered, Misty needed to stay until she was properly hydrated, fed and stabilized on her medication. After a week and a half on the lam, she was ready to sleep on clean sheets and eat three squares a day, even if it was in a hospital.
Mavis had arrived while the doctor was dressing Harriet's wound and refused to stay in the waiting room.
"Oh, honey, does it hurt?” she asked. “Are you okay? I mean, obviously, you're not okay, but can I do anything?"
"You can get me out of here before they decide to try and keep me."
"This is my fault. I never should have left you alone."
"As soon as you sign the paperwork, and I write your prescriptions, you can get out of here,” the doctor said as he came back into the emergency cubicle. He was holding an x-ray up to the ceiling light. “Looks like no bones were broken. We didn't think there were, but we have to check. Don't forget to come in to the clinic tomorrow so they can clean your wound. One of your prescriptions is for a fairly strong antibiotic, but you still need to keep it clean."
"I will do whatever you say as long as I can go home."
Mavis tried to talk Harriet into staying at the cottage one more night.
"I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but I need to be in my own bed in my own bedroom."