Celeste came around the corner and met him. She said, “What’s up, Officer? Remember me?”
He aimed the shotgun at her. She could tell he was nervous. He looked left toward the woods, turned and looked behind him.
He said, “Mrs. McCall here?”
“She’s inside,” Celeste said. “Want me to get her?”
“You look familiar,” the deputy said.
Celeste said, “Would you mind pointing that scattergun somewhere else? It makes me nervous.”
He aimed the shotgun barrel at the ground.
“What’s the problem, Officer?” She had the Ruger tucked in the waistband of her jeans, could feel it pressing against one of her butt cheeks. “You expecting trouble?”
The deputy stared at her.
Celeste said, “Carrying a shotgun and wearing a vest?” She could see the impression of it puffing out his shirt.
“Don’t leave home without it,” the deputy said.
“That’s clever,” she said. “Ever considered a career in advertising?”
“Yeah,” he said, “that’s why I became a cop.”
He grinned, showing he was a fun guy.
She saw DeJuan appear, coming around the south side of the cabin, moving toward the deputy, leveling his twelve-gauge.
“You aren’t by chance an Aryan, are you?”
DeJuan was getting closer-thirty feet away now.
“My parents were committed, but I never bought it myself,” the deputy said. “Why do you ask?”
“I had a feeling,” she said. “I don’t know.” But she did. It was the muscles and the brush cut and the blue eyes. He looked like one of Richard Butler’s Ayran Warriors. “How do you feel about blacks?”
DeJuan was closing in-twenty feet now.
“I don’t dislike anyone ’less they give me a reason,” he said.
“How about city jigs with shotguns, who want to do you great bodily harm?”
“I’d take issue with that,” he said.
“ ’Cause there’s one behind you right now.”
The deputy turned like she knew he would and brought the shotgun up, but he was too late. DeJuan fired. Boom. The first blast hit him in the chest, blowing the shotgun out of his hands, sending him backpedaling.
DeJuan racked the twelve-gauge, moving toward him. The second blast hit him in the head and he went down, body twitching. Celeste pulled the Ruger from her waistband and shot him twice and he lay still.
Celeste said, “Think he told dispatch where he was going?”
DeJuan said, “Why you asking me?”
Teddy appeared now, walking up behind her, and looked at the deputy. “O death, O death, won’t you spare me over for another year,” he said in a singsong voice. “I guess not.” He glanced at her. “I’m death, I come to take the soul. Leave the body and leave it cold.”
Celeste said, “What the hell’s that?”
“Them’s words from a song my uncle used to sing when somebody passed away.”
“This motherfucker didn’t pass away,” DeJuan said. “He blown away.”
“Where they at?” Celeste said.
“Locked up tighter than a jaybird’s ass,” Teddy said.
“How about Jack?”
“Dumbass setting there in his bracelets,” Teddy said, “tryin’ to figure out what the hell happened.”
Teddy picked up the deputy’s shotgun, which was now pocked with buckshot, the pump lever hanging from the barrel. “That’s a damn shame-ruined a perfectly good Hi-Standard Flite King twelve-guage.”
“We through with the small talk now? Got to get the deputy out of here,” DeJuan said.
Celeste said, “What if he told the station where he was going?”
“What if he did?” Teddy said.
“They don’t hear from him,” Celeste said, “they send reinforcements out here to have a look.”
“I think we’ll be gone by then,” Teddy said.
“What if we’re not?”
TWENTY — SEVEN
Kate heard the first shotgun blast and then another one, followed by two pistol shots and she knew somebody was probably dead and hoped it wasn’t Bill Wink.
If she had any doubts about what Luke had said earlier, she didn’t now. If these lunatics had no qualms about killing a police officer, they weren’t going to debate too long about Luke and her.
They were locked in the storage room. It measured twelve feet by fifteen feet, with a high ceiling that had exposed log beams like the rest of the lodge. There was a window up in the peak behind the rafters, letting in afternoon sunlight.
One side of the room had shelves stocked with canned goods and kitchen supplies. The other side had hooks in the wall where coats and jackets hung. Under the hooks were shelves for shoes and boots.
She stared at Owen’s bloodstained camo jacket hanging there and his hunting boots that were covered with dry brittle mud. Some of it had come off and looked like gray dust on the wood shelf. She pictured Owen that last morning, Owen with his low-key manner, surprised by her fearful intuition. Yeah, she’d thought something was going to happen but had no idea what. She thought about how his death set into motion a whole series of events that led to their current situation. There was no way anyone could’ve predicted it-it was too bizarre.
Owen’s compound bow was in its case, hanging from a strap behind the camo jacket. Teddy’d either missed it or hadn’t considered it a threat when he checked the room and locked them in. He’d gone through Owen’s field pack and found his buck knife. He took it out of the sheath and held up the eight-inch blade.
He said, “Will you lookit this pigsticker? Bet you could gut a whitetail, huh?” He grinned at Kate. “Or anything else you please.”
He slid the knife back in the sheath and glanced at Luke. “Hey, what’d it feel like to kill your old man?”
Luke stared at him, gave him a hard look, but didn’t say anything.
Teddy said, “Do it on purpose, did you? Tired of him messing with you?”
She saw Luke’s body tense, knowing Teddy’s cheap shot had hit a nerve.
“You want to take a swing at me, don’t you?” Teddy said, still grinning. “Have at it, you got the guts.”
Luke took a step toward Teddy and Kate wrapped her arms around him, holding him back from doing anything stupid.
Teddy said, “Well, okay, I’ll check back with you later.”
He walked out of the room and closed the door and she heard the key rattle against metal as he locked it.
Kate let go of Luke and said, “Don’t listen to that lunatic. He wants you to give him a reason to hurt you.” She went over and lifted the bow case off the hook and put it on the floor and opened it, staring at Owen’s Browning Mirage with its built-in quiver of razor-tipped arrows.
Luke said, “What’re you doing?”
Kate said, “Giving us a chance. You were right, they’re not going to leave any witnesses.”
She closed the bow case and handed it to him, but he wouldn’t take it.
He said, “I can’t.”
Kate said, “Do you understand what’s going on here? This might be the only way.”
He seemed to consider what she was saying and reached out and took the case and slung it over his shoulder.
Kate glanced up at the window. “You’ve got to get out of here and go to Autry’s, tell Elvin to call the sheriff ’s department.” The Autrys were their closest neighbors-about a mile and a half away.
“I’m not going to leave you,” Luke said.
“You’re not going to have to-I’ll be right behind you. But you’ve got to go first and not worry about me.”
She watched him climb up the shelves to the top. He stood up and swung his leg over the center beam-a log that had to be two feet in diameter-and balanced himself on it, the log between his legs like he was riding it, the strap of the bow case slung over his shoulder across his chest. He shimmied to the other side of the narrow room and climbed up into the rafters and made his way to the window.
Kate said, “Be careful.”
He said, “I’m not leaving till you come up here.”
Jack looked out the window and watched DeJuan and Teddy lift the deputy, put him in the backseat of the patrol car. DeJuan drove off in it and Celeste followed him in the Camaro. He watched Teddy go around behind the lodge, standing on the lawn, smoking a cigarette, staring out at the lake.