Chocolate Dipped Death Page 22

  “A black BMW.”

  He rolled a look at me. “Great. I’ll bet there’s only one of those at the Summit Lodge. Hell, Abby, I’ll bet that description fits half the cars up there.”

  “Yeah, but there will only be one with a murderer frantically tossing his suitcases into it.”

  Wyatt grinned as we shot through the intersection with Doc Holliday Road. “You have a point.” He nodded toward the lodge, its honey-colored wood gleaming in the glow of a thousand clear lights against the backdrop of the mountains. “I don’t know how you feel, but this might be a good time to talk strategy.”

  “I just want to keep him from getting away until the police can get here.”

  “And how do you plan to do that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess that’s going to depend on what he does. If he tries to make a run for it in his car, we can head him off. If he takes off on foot,” I said with a grin, “you can run after him.”

  “And if he pulls a gun?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “We duck?”

  Wyatt chuckled and rolled through the stop sign at the corner of Grandview and Lucky Strike. “Great plan, sis. I feel a whole lot better now.”

  Maybe he didn’t, but I did. It had been years since the two of us had gone off on an adventure together. Of course, those adventures had been a far cry from trying to beard a killer in his den, but almost anything seemed safer with Wyatt at my side.

  I called both of Jawarski’s numbers again. Ran into his voice mail both times. In frustration, I suggested something I would never have considered under normal circumstances. “What about Nate? Is he on duty?”

  Wyatt shook his head. “I don’t think so. He’s watching the Nuggets, I think. Want to call him?”

  I’d sooner chew tree bark, but I didn’t want Wyatt talking on the phone and driving like a maniac at the same time. Wyatt gave me the number, I dialed, and a few seconds later I had Nate Svboda on the phone.

  “Nate? It’s Abby Shaw. I’m with Wyatt and we have a—”

  “Wyatt? What the hell’s he doin’? Tell him I thought he was comin’ over here to watch the game with me.”

  “Nate, listen, we have a prob—”

  “Tell him it’s his turn to bring the beer, too. Sumbitch left me holdin’ the tab last time.”

  “Nate, listen! I know who killed Savannah Horne. Wyatt and I are—”

  “You what? Listen, Abby, this habit you’re gettin’ into is a dangerous one. You’re gonna—”

  “Nate!” I shouted, “would you shut up for a minute and listen to me? Miles Horne killed his wife. He’s already checked out of his hotel, and if you don’t do something right now, he’s going to get away.”

  “Miles Horne? What makes you think that?”

  “He confessed!” Not entirely true, but you can’t be subtle with Nate. “You’ve got to get up to the Summit Lodge right now. Wyatt and I are on our way—”

  “He confessed? Are you sure? What exactly did he say?”

  “Nate! Listen to me! He’s going to get away if you don’t do something.”

  “Well, now, just who did he confess to?”

  “To me. To me while he was trying to kill me. Nate! Get off the couch, turn off the game, and do something!”

  I hadn’t even finished my sentence when Wyatt grabbed the phone from me. He snarled, “Do it, Nate,” into the phone, and passed it back to me. Nate was already gone before I could get the phone to my ear.

  While I was relieved to know that the police would be coming, it galled me for all the obvious reasons that Nate wouldn’t move until Wyatt told him to. But none of that mattered now.

  We reached the turnoff to Summit Lodge, and I clutched the dashboard with both hands while Wyatt cranked the wheel and sent us shooting onto the single paved lane. The drive wound through the trees and opened into the parking lot where row upon row of cars sat lifeless and ghostlike in the pale moonlight.

  Wyatt looked to me for direction. I started to shrug, but a flash of inspiration stopped me. “The back parking lot,” I said. “He’s going to sneak out using the service road.”

  Wyatt gunned the engine, and we careened around the side of the lodge, fishtailing as we hit patches of black ice neither of us could see. Now that we were this close, my heart drummed in my ears, and I could feel myself shrinking in apprehension. The memory of Miles’s cold, empty eyes left me feeling small and frightened.

  I was torn between praying that we hadn’t missed him and hoping that we had. Let the police find him. Let them take him into custody. They had all kinds of equipment I didn’t have—like guns. That thought got me reaching under the seat for one of Wyatt’s rifles.

  He caught my movement and asked, “What are you looking for?”

  “You’ve got a rifle under here, don’t you? I thought I’d pull it out—just in case.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” he asked as we pulled into the back parking lot. “You haven’t touched a rifle in twenty years.”

  “Yeah, but all things considered, I think I can remember what to do.” I stared at the three long rows of cars stretching the length of the lodge, but I couldn’t see any signs of life. Had we missed him? I couldn’t find the rifle, so I scooted as far as my knee would let me and tried again to get my hand under the seat. “Where is it?”

  Wyatt slid a glance at me. “Not here.”

  I sat bolt upright and gaped at him. “What do you mean, not here?”

  “I mean, it’s not here. I took it out when Dana was with me the other day.” His mustache tilted to one side as he shrugged with his mouth. “What can I say? She hates it.”

  “And you never put it back? Why didn’t you grab it before you came to the store?”

  “I wasn’t home, and I didn’t go home because I got the impression from you that we were in a bit of a hurry.”

  Groaning in frustration, I leaned back against the seat. “Now what?”

  “Now we try to find the bastard.” Wyatt downshifted, and we moved slowly along the first row. I was not only looking for a black BMW but carefully checking each car we passed to make sure Miles wasn’t about to steal another one.

  We’d just started moving along the second row when a door in the middle of the lodge opened, and Miles stepped out into the night, suitcases in hand.

  My breath caught, and I froze solid.

  Wyatt was a little more clearheaded. He drove on as if we were two ordinary people doing ordinary things, backed into the first empty parking spot we came to, killed his headlights, and turned off the ignition.

  Miles waited, head tilted, watching to see what we’d do next.

  Muttering instructions for me to sit tight, Wyatt jumped out of the truck and began talking in a normal tone of voice. I don’t know how he managed to sound so natural. My voice was locked up tight.

  “Where’d you leave it?” Wyatt asked. He paused, pretended to get an answer from me, and then threw his arms in the air just like Dad does when he’s irritated with Mom. “Honest to Pete, Meg. That means I’ve gotta go all the way back inside and all the way upstairs, all because you can’t be bothered to pay attention.”

  He was good, I’ll grant him that. Playing an insensitive jerk came quite naturally to him.

  He slammed the door of the truck and plunged across the parking lot toward Miles. I could see him pretending to talk to himself, grumbling the whole way.

  Miles must have decided Wyatt posed no threat because he picked up his bags and started away from the door. I don’t know what Wyatt said to him. I was much too far away to hear. But Miles’s head snapped up, and he stopped walking abruptly.

  He turned to face Wyatt, and for the first time all evening I wondered how smart I’d been to bring my brother along.

  I watched Miles walk slowly back toward my brother, and that empty, hard feeling took hold of my stomach again. Images flashed through my mind—those eyes, that sneer, the mocking smile—and the fear that had held me captive while I was with Miles
earlier came back full force.

  I spent about two minutes hoping the police would arrive before things got out of hand, but when I saw Miles lunge at Wyatt, I knew we didn’t have time to wait. I hesitated half a heartbeat over whether to call Jawarski again or do something myself. But Jawarski could be anywhere, and I was here. That cut the debate short. I’d dragged Wyatt into this, I couldn’t leave him alone over there.

  Trying to ignore the searing pain in my knee and the tendrils of fire that were shooting up and down my leg, I hauled myself inch by inch across the truck’s seat until I was behind the wheel. Thankfully, Wyatt had left the keys in the ignition. The only problem now was working the clutch with a leg that couldn’t stand even the slightest pressure.

  Gritting my teeth, I pressed the clutch as hard as I could. A cold sweat broke out on my face, and the muscles in my leg trembled as I cranked the engine to life. Just get it into first gear, I told myself. That’s all I had to do.

  Comforted by the solid purr of the engine, I worked the gearshift into place, pressed the accelerator, and slowly lifted my foot from the clutch. At least, I tried for slowly. My knee had reached its limit. The truck bucked and snorted, bolting out of the parking space with all the grace of a rodeo bull.

  The engine nearly died, so I forced my foot onto the clutch again and, nearly crying now, finally got the truck running smoothly. In the sweep of headlights, I saw Miles land a solid right hook and Wyatt stagger backward, nearly losing his balance.

  Wyatt probably had two inches on Miles and maybe twenty pounds, but Miles was crazy. That made up for a lot. I’d hurt my knee too badly to shift into second, so I got as much speed as I could out of first and finally pulled onto the row where Wyatt and Miles were fighting.

  Miles must have realized that I was coming to help, because he bolted, weaving through the rows of cars until he came to a black BMW hidden in the shadow of the trees. He was inside and behind the wheel in a second, and his headlights flared to life.

  I pulled up next to Wyatt and shouted, “Get in.”

  He mopped blood from his temple with the back of his hand. “Move over, I’ll drive.”

  “Are you crazy? There’s no time for that; he’s getting away. Just get in.”

  He didn’t argue, but it didn’t take long for either of us to figure out that he should have. I didn’t know which was worse—the engine revving higher and higher or Wyatt shouting at me to shift, shift, shift!

  “I can’t,” I shouted back as I watched Miles’s taillights disappear on the service road. “My leg.”

  Wyatt gaped at me—one whole second of blessed silence—before he started in again. “Then why in the hell didn’t you let me drive?” he demanded, and even in the dim light of the truck, I could tell that his face was mottled with anger.

  “Quit yelling at me and help!”

  “How?”

  “Get on the floor. Push the clutch for me.” I could feel another argument coming, so I headed him off. “Come on, Wyatt, he’s already too far ahead of us. Just do it.”

  I couldn’t hear what he said as he slid to the floor and reached around my feet, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to. I focused instead on keeping the truck from sliding into the trees as we jounced along the rutted, ice-covered road. “Shift!” he shouted, and I did. A few seconds later, we repeated the process, and before long we were humming along in fourth gear. Another complicated maneuver later, we were in four-wheel drive, and Wyatt hoisted himself onto the seat again.

  Only it wasn’t as smooth as it sounds. I gripped the wheel so hard, my knuckles were probably white, and my fingers were losing feeling. Every now and then, I caught the reflection of Miles’s taillights through the trees, but he had a big head start, and even with four-wheel drive I wasn’t sure we could catch him.

  “Call Nate,” I snapped. “Tell him what’s happened and find out where he is.”

  “Watch the—”

  “I can drive,” I shouted, cutting him off. “Make the phone call.”

  Glowering, Wyatt punched buttons while I steered past the spot where Savannah had died. I averted my eyes. Looking at it would have made the danger we were facing all too real, I guess. With my heart still in my throat, I steered through a series of S-shaped curves, and when we came out on the other end, I saw the BMW nosed into a snowbank, driver’s door open. I couldn’t see Miles anywhere.

  I slammed on the brakes, and the truck went into a skid. I wrenched the wheel into the direction of the skid while Wyatt, by some miracle, managed not to scream at me. At the last second, the truck pulled out of its death slide, and I missed the BMW with inches to spare. Without the clutch depressed, the engine coughed and died.

  Wyatt was out of the truck like a shot. He checked out the BMW to be sure Miles wasn’t inside, shouted at me to stay where I was—as if I had a choice—and set off into the trees. In the sudden eerie silence, I felt alone and way too vulnerable. I reached across the seat to shut Wyatt’s door. It closed with a satisfying click, but the effort wrenched my knee, and bright colors flashed in front of my eyes as the pain flamed again.

  I dropped to the seat and lay there, breathing hard and trying to regain control. From outside, the muffled sound of footsteps reached me a split second before the driver’s door opened.

  “Why Abby,” Miles said, his voice deceptively mild, “What a surprise. I guess this means you want to have dinner together after all.”

  Chapter 22

  Miles didn’t give me a chance to answer, he just leaned into the truck and shoved me aside like a rag doll. I scrambled for the door handle, but he had the truck moving before I could reach it. The movement threw me off balance, and the pain in my leg brought tears to my eyes.

  Miles grabbed the back of my coat and hauled me onto the seat beside him. He kept one steel arm around my shoulders, pulling me in close so I couldn’t move. I could hear sirens in the distance, but they weren’t close enough to do me any good. I wondered where Wyatt was. Had Miles hurt him, or had he just beat him back to the truck? I couldn’t let myself ask. It would only add to the power Miles was enjoying. So I consoled myself with the belief that if Miles had hurt Wyatt, he’d be bragging about it.

  “I should have known better than to come back to this place,” Miles said, jerking the wheel hard to bring us around a sharp curve in the road. “Nothing but bad things ever happened here.”

  The pain sliced through my leg with such fury it sucked my breath away, but it seemed like a good idea to keep him talking. “When were you ever here?”

  “Doesn’t matter, does it? I’m never coming back.”

  I hoped not, but not for the reasons he had in mind. My mind raced as I tried to figure out a way to save myself. I had no doubt he’d kill me if he got the chance, so I had to keep him from getting that chance.

  But how?

  My knee throbbed and burned, and he had me pinned against him so tightly, I couldn’t move my arms. The only thing I could possibly use as a weapon was the window scraper on the seat behind my neck, and I couldn’t even get to that. I cursed Wyatt a thousand different ways for leaving his rifle at home.

  When I realized that I couldn’t hear the sirens anymore, the tiny thread of hope I’d been holding onto snapped. I was on my own. “You’ll never get away,” I heard myself say.

  He laughed. “Sure I will. You’re going to help me.”

  Over my dead body!

  That I would even think something like that under the circumstances told me I was in big trouble. “At least tell me why. What did Savannah do?”

  He took his eyes from the road for a split second. “I thought you knew everything.”

  “I do. Most of it, anyway.”

  But I hadn’t fooled him. His face puckered for a second, then he laughed as if I’d just told him a great joke. “You were bluffing. I knew it.”

  “Not completely.” Everything had happened so quickly in front of the store, I was having trouble remembering what he’d said. “I know that Savan
nah was going to leave you,” I told him. “And I know that she was planning to bring you down. She was going to tell Jason, remember? I know about that.”

  “She would never have told Jason. She wanted that job in New York as much as I did.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. “I don’t know,” I said, trying to sound relaxed and unafraid. “I think she would have. She was talking about staying here in Paradise, you know.”

  “Stupid bitch!” His face contorted, and his grip tightened around me. “She’d have gone crazy after two days.”

  Better than ending up dead. “So she was going to tell Jason, and that would have destroyed your chances in New York.”

  “In New York?” He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “If she’d told Jason about that file she put together, she’d have destroyed my life. And hers with it. That’s the part she didn’t understand. And for what? Huh? Everybody embellishes, don’t they?”

  Everybody embellishes? Maybe I was crazy, but I couldn’t imagine Savannah getting worked up over a little embellishing. Not worked up enough to document everything in a file. I thought about the folder I’d knocked over in the hotel room. Was that it? Is that why Miles had started watching me so carefully? I’d seen the file and I’d taken the chocolates, and he’d seen both of those actions as a threat to his safety.

  “Savannah obviously thought that what you did was a little more serious than stretching the truth,” I said. It was a guess, but judging from the direction we seemed to be going, not really a long shot.

  “I did what I had to do.”

  Yeah. We all think that.

  “So where did you get the Elavil? Was it hers?”

  He actually seemed pleased that I’d asked. “Naw, it’s my sister’s.” His speech was changing, becoming less polished. “She’s so damn dumb, she never did figure out what happened to it. Thought she’d thrown it away in the trash. Damn things cost her a fortune every month, and she’s that careless.”

  We reached the end of the service road and pulled out onto Hillside Avenue. Unfortunately, there’s not much along Hillside in that area of town. Lamps on the golf course, deserted at night, created spills of light at regular intervals, but nobody was going to help me, and we both knew it. I had to do something quickly. Miles would get rid of me before we got near people again.