Death on Heels (39 page)

“Extra socks. My feet get cold.” Lacey didn’t mention she also had a pair of clean underwear in her backpack, sealed in a plastic baggie. She didn’t expect them to understand. It was a girl thing. They were guys.
Clean underwear, clean socks, a little lipstick and mascara, what do guys care?

“We’ll get you out of here,” Vic said to Emily. “Promise.”

Tony gave up on the trash in the cabin and went outside to look for a pry bar.

“We’ll bust the bed,” Vic said to Lacey. “Emily will still have that chain on her ankle. We don’t have anything to pick a lock with, or cut the chain. She’s in no shape to walk very far, and a ride down the mountain in the Jeep would be agony for her with a broken rib.”

“We’ll have to stay here, Emily. Just for a while.” Lacey didn’t like the thought of spending any more time there than necessary. Vic obviously didn’t either.

“You two sit tight for a minute. I’ll see what’s up with the phones.” Vic pulled the door shut behind him.

“We have to get out of here now!” Emily tried to get up, but the effort was too much. “He said he was coming back! For some more—more—”

Lacey drew a deep breath. “Who’s coming back?”

“The bastard! I hate him, I hate him, I hate him! Hope a rattlesnake bites him in the balls.”

Lacey appreciated Emily’s flash of spunk. She was going to need it.

“Does he have a name?” Lacey asked.

“Mitch. That’s all I know. His buddies call him Mitch. Bunch of creeps who hang at the Red Rose. But he wants me to call him Daddy. He says, ‘Call me Daddy, baby.’” Emily sneered, her eyes flaring with anger. “He calls me baby. And then he makes me—” She gagged.

“Mitch Stanford?” Lacey felt a little sick.

“All I ever heard was Mitch. I was getting out of my car after work and suddenly there was something over my head and around my throat and everything went dark.” Her panic was growing. “We’ve got to get out of here, Lacey. Now! He said he’s bringing his friends back with him so they can all
party.
They’re gonna kill me. And now they’ll kill you.”

“No, they won’t. You’re safe. With us. We’re all going to be safe,” Lacey said, and tried to believe it. “Can you stand up?”

Lacey helped her to her feet, but Emily was breathing hard and hugging her ribs. “It hurts.” Emily collapsed onto the cot. “He’s going to kill me. Just like Corazon. I saw her boots up there on that rack and I knew.” Emily hung her head and sobbed. Lacey had to wipe her eyes.
Keep it together, Smithsonian. Reporters don’t cry.
“I kept thinking, is this it? Really? This is my whole life? That’s all there is of it? I never got to do anything I really wanted. Oh, God.”

“But you didn’t die. You hung on. You’re alive. And we’re going to get out you of here.” Lacey pulled a comb from her purse in her backpack and tried to untangle Emily’s pale blond hair.

“I want him to die,” Emily said. “You don’t know the things he did to me, the things he said he was going to do.” She gagged again. “I want to see the life pour out of him like a flat beer in a filthy gutter. Him and his filthy cigar.”

“You could never punish him enough,” Lacey said. “But we’ll make sure someone does.”

Emily shook her head. “Why did you come here? You’re not the police. How did you find me?”

“The short version is—” Lacey sighed. There wasn’t a
short version. “Your friend Vonda. I met her at the Red Rose. She was really afraid for you. We told the CBI and the police. Then Cole Tucker sent me a map showing where there was an old cabin that had a new window, and he said we should check it out. And I just had a feeling—I had to try.”

“That’s crazy,” Emily said.

“I know. I’m a reporter. I have this problem with curiosity. Occupational hazard.”

“But how did you know that creep had me? Vonda didn’t know—nobody knew.”

“Cowboy boots.”

Emily peered into Lacey’s face. “You’re the one Cole Tucker took from the courthouse, aren’t you?”

“That’s me.”

“I heard it on the radio that day. Petrus’s truck and all. But Cole didn’t kill anybody. Mitch the pig did all that.”

“I know.” Lacey felt relieved to hear someone else confirm it.

There was a sound of stamping feet. Mac and Ben opened the door in triumph. Vic was right behind them, and Tony followed with a yard-long piece of rusty metal pipe.

“I got through!” Ben crowed. “We had to go all the way up on the bluff to get a signal.”

“Those wild horses just stood there and watched us,” Mac said. “Then they followed us around till we started back down!”

Lacey cleared her throat. “Excuse me. And?”

“Oh, right. We finally got through to nine-one-one,” Ben said. “Firestone’s on his way here with the CBI team. Got the GPS coordinates off my phone. So we’re supposed to just sit tight, stay warm, and keep Emily still. That’s my best legal advice.”

“Oh, my God,” Emily cried out. “Is it really almost over?”

“I think so.” Lacey finally smiled and reached out both hands. Emily hugged her tight.

With their improvised crowbar, Vic and Tony attacked
the cot Emily was chained to. Tony held it down while Vic levered the pipe. The rivets popped right out of the flimsy aluminum frame like buttons popping off a vest. Vic handed Emily the now-free end of her ankle chain. She took it from him and stared at it, dazed.

There was a sound in the distance, a sound like an engine. More than one engine. They froze.

“It’s too soon for the law to arrive, isn’t it?” Lacey asked.

Vic took a quick look outside. When he came back in, he shut the door behind him and drew his revolver.

“Everybody get away from the windows. We’ve got company.”

“Who is it?” Lacey asked.

“It’s him! He’s coming back to kill me.” Emily was on the verge of hysteria.

“Our friendly neighborhood real estate agent, Virgil Avery. He’s got friends,” Vic said. “The others were too far away to make out. They’re on ATVs. They came up a different way than we did.”

“Mitch Stanford too?” Lacey asked.

“Something tells me you haven’t shared everything you know, Smithsonian,” Mac said. Lacey ignored him.

“How many are there, Vic?”

“Four men. Three ATVs.”

“What are they doing here?” Ben said.

“Quiet,” Vic commanded. “Somebody blow out that lamp.” Mac snuffed the light. Vic latched the door and Tony upended the wooden table across it.

There was an uneasy silence in the cabin while the group inside listened to the men approach. The engines whined to a halt and stopped outside the cabin. They heard boots scuffling in the mud, then raised voices. There was an argument that became clearer the closer they came.

“You dumb son of a bitch.” It sounded like Virgil Avery. “How’re we supposed to clean up another one of your messes?”

“Just like the other ones,” came the smooth response from Mitch Stanford, with that hint of New York sneer. “T-Rex will blame Cole Tucker, and a jury will send him
to prison. Or death row. What are you worrying for? He’s on the run, they’ll find him, he takes the fall. Any luck, they’ll shoot him first.”

“Your luck’s going to run out.” Virgil Avery sounded angry.

“Hasn’t so far. And Grady here told the sheriff how Cole turned into a vicious madman when he knocked him out. I still want to know how he did that little trick. What’d he do, Grady, tickle you behind your ear? A little coochie-coo and you just drop like a sack of—”

“Shut up!” The new voice belonged to Deputy Grady Rush.

“You’re forgetting Tucker let that snotty reporter go, and she’s been asking questions,” Virgil complained. “She found that silver heel. That was sloppy, Mitch.”

“Oh, hell, who cares! We’ll get around to Smithsonian too. Meantime you’re gonna like this little bitch I got up here now, Virgil,” Stanford said. “She’s special. She’s young and blond, and she’s a fighter. I know you like it when they put up a little fuss. And I’ll bet Homer here just can’t wait to hang up a new pair of pretty boots on his work of art. Ain’t that right, Homer?”

“I like the boots.” Homer Avery’s was the fourth voice. “But I don’t like it when they. When they scream. You always make them scream and I don’t. Don’t like it. It’s not right.”

Lacey felt the urge to vomit and sucked in her breath. Emily was frozen like a frightened deer, her fist in her mouth to keep from making a sound. Drops of sweat flecked her forehead. Lacey put an arm around Emily’s shoulders.

Vic motioned for everyone to get down on the floor against the windowless front wall of the cabin, next to the door. There was no place to hide inside the cabin, but the walls were made of thick logs, tightly chinked. Vic stood with his back to the wall by the door, his gun ready.

“This one’s all screamed out, Homer,” Stanford said. “She won’t be doing any more screaming, so don’t you be worrying your tender ears, little boy.”

“Shut up, Mitch.” Virgil Avery again. The footsteps stopped again. “It was never supposed to go this far.”

“I didn’t know you were gonna kill them,” Grady said. “I thought it was all just gonna be, you know,
partying
.”

“Things happen.” Stanford chuckled. “I may have snapped their pretty necks, but you all partied with these girls. That’s the thing, boys. You’re in this just as deep as I am. And you’re all having a good time, right? So what’s the problem?”

“I didn’t do any. Partying,” Homer said. “It’s wrong.”

“Poor Homer! You’re still in this thing. You all are. Might as well have a good time.”

“Why don’t you just shut up for a damn minute,” Virgil said.

Stanford apparently liked to hear himself talk. “You covered up for me, ’cause you’re greedy bastards—we all are.” Emily was shaking, crying silently. The footsteps came closer, but Stanford carried on. “There are certain things you can count on in this life. Death and taxes and greed. You two want a piece of the mineral lease money, don’t you, Grady? Virgil? You stick with me and you’ll be rolling in mineral money. You too, Homer. By the way, that was a brilliant idea, Virg, Tucker taking the fall.”

“Listen, Mitch, we got to get out of this,” Virgil said. “You’ve got to leave Sagebrush.”

“I don’t think so. Relax. You’ll get what you want. The land and all those beautiful oil and gas leases. Just hang in there and do it my way and—”

“Someone’s been. Been here,” Homer said.

Inside the cabin, everyone held their breath. The footsteps stopped.

“Yeah,
me
, you idiots. I’ve been here.” Stanford sounded irritated at the very suggestion. He was right outside the door.

“You’re wrong. Mitch,” Homer said haltingly, in his simple declarative way. “Someone’s been. Up here. Footprints. Big ones and little ones. Lots of them. See?”

“Those are
my
prints! The little ones are hers. You
dumb-ass, Homer—” The doorknob turned and stopped. Vic had locked the door. Lacey could almost see the surprise on the men’s faces. A boot kicked the door, hard, and it shook in its frame. Stanford was still laughing, but his tone darkened. “She locked the door on me, can you believe that? Must’ve pulled the cot across the floor. Open up, Emily baby! Time to party! Daddy’s home!”

Just inside the door, Vic held up his hand for silence.

Lacey heard a
click-click.
A gun fired and a bullet slammed through the door of the cabin, the table too, and struck the back wall. So loud it made her jump. Emily whimpered and quaked like a leaf.

“Stay down,” Vic warned in a whisper.

Another bullet came flying through the door. The six people inside the cabin sat on the floor very still.

“What are you waiting for?” Lacey whispered.

“For him to empty his weapon,” Vic whispered back. “And see if anybody else starts shooting. So far, so good.”

From outside, Stanford laughed, a harsh and horrible sound. “Playing games with Daddy, are you? I’ll show you
games
, baby.”

Vic moved close to Lacey. She held his free hand. There was another
click-click,
another gunshot. “Three shots,” she said.

“That’s good.” Vic took a breath. “Lacey, sweetheart, I know this isn’t the best time. But I’m not sure there will ever be a right time for— Well, this is a good time. I have to ask you something.”

“What? Why is three shots good?” She gazed at him. If these were going to be her last moments, she wanted to be looking at him.

Vic seemed to be intent on saying something. But it was difficult. Lacey didn’t know whether it was because of the gunfire or if he was nervous about something else. His eyes seemed to be an especially deep shade of green, and that dark pesky curl fell over his forehead. He was listening to the silence.

“Hear that? That pause?” Vic said. “Three rounds and a pause. I figure a bolt-action rifle, three in the well, big scope, a little slow to reload. Probably a magnum,
otherwise he’d have four rounds on tap, or more. But he only has three.”

“Stop babbling about guns, Vic. What do you want to ask me?”

“From the sound, it’s something like a seven mag, the hot elk round out here,” he said. “Now Stanford’s reloading. But he probably only has three more rounds on him.”

“‘Probably’?” Trujillo whispered. “A maniac with a seven magnum, and you’re betting the farm on
probably
?”

Vic shrugged. “Elk don’t shoot back, Tony. Most hunters don’t fire three rounds all season.”

“Butt out, Trujillo. Vic, you were saying something?” Lacey said. “Something
not
about guns?”

“Lacey. Yeah, I was.” Vic gazed at her and drew her closer. “This is not how I wanted to say this. I wanted to have flowers and music and take you to a five-star restaurant in Paris or maybe somewhere on a beach at sunset, someplace beautiful, someplace worthy of you.”

There was another gunshot. Outside the cabin they heard jumbled voices and Mitch’s laughter. Emily jumped and clutched her side, tears running down her face. Lacey turned toward her. “I’m okay,” Emily choked.

Vic cocked his head. “One. I was right, three rounds and a reload.”

“What are we doing?” Mac asked. “We got a plan, right, Donovan?”

“Vic?” Lacey opened her eyes wide. Another bullet hit the back wall of the cabin.
That makes two
. “Was it something important?”