“Yes, yes. It’s fine!”
Kleefisch had not run like this since his Oxford days. Nevertheless, the thought of the drunken groundskeeper and his weapon brought vigor to his limbs, and he continued to follow Pendergast, past Springett’s Wood to the Vale of Health, and from there—Deo Gratias! — to East Heath Road, a taxi, and freedom.
45
It was still snowing when Corrie awoke in her room at the Hotel Sebastian, after a night full of restless, fragmentary nightmares. She got up and looked out the window. The town lay under a blanket of white and the snowplows were working overtime, rumbling and scraping along the downtown streets, along with front-end loaders and dump trucks removing the piles of snow and trucking them out of town.
She glanced at her watch: eight o’clock.
Last night had been awful. The police had come up immediately, to their credit, with the chief himself leading the way. They took away Jack’s corpse and the note, asked questions, collected evidence, and promised to investigate. The problem was, they were clearly overwhelmed by the serial arsonist. The chief looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and his men were so sleep-deprived they could have been extras in a zombie flick. There was no way they were going to be able to conduct a thorough investigation on this, any more than they were on the shooting at her car — the target of which she was no longer in any doubt.
And so Corrie had driven back into town and booked a room at the Hotel Sebastian. Including the stint in the jail, she’d been in Roaring Fork for three weeks now, and she’d been burning through her four thousand dollars with depressing speed. Lodgings at the Sebastian would take up a good portion of the money she had left, but she was so frightened by the murder of her dog that there was no way she could spend the night in that mansion — or any night, ever again.
She had called Stacy, telling her what had happened and warning her it was too dangerous to return to the Fine house. Stacy said she would make arrangements to spend the night in town — Corrie had a horrible feeling it might have been at Ted’s place — and they’d agreed to meet that morning at nine in the hotel’s breakfast room. In one hour. It was a conversation she was not looking forward to.
Adding to her woes, the police had contacted the owner of the mansion, and he had then called Corrie on her cell, waking her up at six, screeching and hollering, saying it was all her fault, that she had broken every house rule, turning up the heat and letting in squatters. As he got more and more worked up, he called her a criminal, speculated that she might be a drug addict, and threatened to sue her and her dyke friend if they went back into the house.
Corrie had let the man vent, and then given the bastard a royal licking of her own, telling him what a despicable human being he was, that she hoped his wife took every penny he had, and concluding with a speculation on the relationship between the failure of his marriage and the inadequate size of his dick. The man had become inarticulate with rage, which gave Corrie a certain satisfaction as she hung up at the start of yet another foulmouthed rant. The satisfaction was short-lived once she considered the problem of where she was going to stay. She couldn’t even go back to Basalt, because of the closed road, and one more night in the Hotel Sebastian — or any hotel in town, for that matter — would bankrupt her. What was she going to do?
The one thing she did know was that she was not leaving Roaring Fork. Was she afraid of the bastards who’d shot at her, who’d killed her dog? Of course she was. But nobody was going to drive her out of town. How could she live with herself if she allowed that to happen? And what kind of law enforcement officer would she be if she backed down in the face of these threats? No: one way or another, she was going to stay right here and help catch the people responsible.
Stacy Bowdree was already seated with a big mug of coffee in front of her when Corrie entered the breakfast room. Stacy looked awful, with dark circles under her eyes, her auburn hair unkempt. Corrie took a seat and picked up the menu. Three dollars for an orange juice, ten for bacon and eggs, eighteen for eggs Benedict. She put the menu down: she couldn’t even afford a cup of coffee. When the waitress came over she ordered a glass of tap water. Stacy, on the other hand, ordered the Belgian waffles with a double side of bacon and a fried egg. And then pushed her coffee mug forward. “Go ahead,” she said.
With a grunt of thanks, Corrie took a sip, then a big drink. God, she needed caffeine. She drained the mug, pushed it back. She didn’t quite know where to start.
Luckily, Stacy started it for her. “We need to talk, Corrie. About this scumbag threatening your life.”
Okay. If you want to start there, fine. “It makes me sick what they did to Jack.”
Stacy laid a hand on hers. “Which is why this is no joke. The people who did this are bad, bad people, and they aren’t fooling around. They see you as a huge threat. Do you have any idea why?”
“I can only assume I dug up a hornet’s nest somewhere in my research. Came close to something somebody wants to keep hushed up. I wish I knew what.”
“Maybe it’s the Heights Association and that bitch Kermode,” said Stacy. “She looks like she’s capable of anything.”
“I don’t think so. All that’s been resolved, the new location of the cemetery has been approved, they’re busy tracking down various descendants and getting permission — and most important, you’re not insisting any more on having your ancestor reburied in the original Boot Hill.”
“Well then, do you think it might be the arsonist?”
“Not the same M.O. at all. The key is for me to figure out what information I have, or almost got, that spooked them so badly. Once I know that, maybe I’ll be able to identify them. But I don’t really think they’re going to kill me — or they would’ve done it already.”
“Corrie, don’t be naive. Anyone who would decapitate a dog is totally capable of killing a person. Which is why, from now on, I’m not leaving your side. Not me or…” Stacy patted the place where she carried her .45.
Corrie looked away.
“What’s wrong?” Stacy said, looking at her anxiously.
Now Corrie saw no reason to hold back. “I saw you with Ted last night. The least you could do was tell me you were going to date him. Friends don’t do that to friends.” She sat back.
Stacy sat back herself. An unreadable expression crossed her face. “Date him?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Date him? Jesus Christ, how the hell could you even think such a thing?” Stacy had raised her voice.
“Well, what was I supposed to think, seeing you two go into that restaurant—”
“You know why we went into that restaurant? Because Ted asked me to dinner to talk about you.”
Corrie looked at her, astonished. “Me?”
“Yes, you! He’s totally smitten with you, says he might be in love with you, and he’s worried he’s doing something wrong, thinking that he rubbed you the wrong way. He wanted to ask me about it — we spent the whole damn evening talking about you and nothing else. Do you think I enjoyed getting out of bed and driving into town, with a pounding head, to listen to some man spend the night talking about another woman?”
“I’m sorry, Stacy. I guess I was jumping to conclusions.”
“You’re goddamn right!” Suddenly, Stacy was on her feet, her face a mixture of reproach and betrayal. “It’s the same old bullshit! Here, I befriend you, protect you, look after your best interests at the expense of my own — and what’s my reward? Fucking accusations of two-timing with your boyfriend!”