One Breath Away (28 page)

Chapter 112:
Will

“Y
ou should have seen P.J.’s eyes when he saw the calf drop,” Will told Holly while he sat in the back of the locked squad car, chuckling at the memory. “That kid could easily be a large-animal vet.”

“Or a farmer,” Holly said softly.

“Could be,” Will agreed, unable to conceal the pleasure in his voice at the idea of P.J. raising cattle one day. “And that Augie,” Will went on. “Hasn’t eaten one bite of meat since she came here. But smart as a whip. Her teacher told me last week he’s never seen a more talented writer than Augie.”

“Really?” Holly asked. “He said that?”

“He sure…” Will paused. “Wait a sec, Hol. Something’s happening.”

“Don’t hang up, please don’t hang up,” Holly begged. “Tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, I can’t tell. Hold on.” Will pounded on the window, hoping to knock snow from the glass so he could see.

“What’s going on?” He heard Holly crying through the phone. “Please, Dad, tell me what’s happening,” she whimpered.

The snow that clung to the window fell away at his pounding and he could see a flurry of activity at the front of the school. Police officers racing into the school with guns drawn. “Dear God,” Will whispered.

“Dad!” Holly shouted. “Dad, please!”

Will raised the phone back to his face. “It’s nothing, Holly. False alarm.” There was silence except for Holly’s soft sobs. “Yeah, and Mr. Ellery said Augie should be in advanced placement classes when she gets to high school,” Will went on calmly as a stretcher carrying Evelyn Oliver emerged from the building. “Plus, I was thinking, maybe if you’d like to spend some time here this summer, P.J. might like to show a calf at the county fair. He’s got a doozy picked out. A beaut of a Hereford.”

Holly sniffed. “Maybe. I think P.J. would really like that.”

“Yeah, I think so, too,” Will said as two children stepped out of the school into the gray dusk. Not P.J. He held his breath. “I think that Augie would have fun at the fair, too. Maybe she’d like to raise some rabbits.” The door opened again and three police officers appeared. A struggling figure squirmed in their grasps.

“P.J.,” Will breathed with relief. “It’s P.J.”

“Thank God.” Holly wept. Then, after a moment, “Where’s Augie?”

Chapter 113:
Augie

I
touch my face and when I look at my fingers they are covered with blood. A lot of blood, but I don’t feel any pain. I’ve heard of that happening, it’s the shock. I wonder if I’m going to die. I squeeze my eyes shut and think of my mom. She’s going to be so sad. She won’t have anyone left except my grandparents and suddenly I hope more than anything that she forgives my grandpa. Then someone is at my side and I decide I’m not going to die quietly. I start kicking and screaming. “It’s okay, it’s okay!” a man shouts. “I’m the police!” I stop moving and yelling and dare to open my eyes. A policeman with the biggest mustache I’ve ever seen is standing over the top of us. “It’s all over now. You’re safe. Stay down. We want to check you over, okay?”

I ignore him and jump to my feet. “P.J.?” I can hardly say his name, I’m so dizzy. I don’t see him anywhere. The officer holds on to my arm, trying to keep me from falling over.

“P.J.’s safe, he’s already out of the building. We’ll take you right to him once we check you over. Now lie back down.”

I look around the classroom. There is blood everywhere. “No need to look at that, now,” the policeman says, trying to block my view. I can’t help it; I sit right down again on my butt and start to cry. Hard.

Chapter 114:
Will

W
ill watched helplessly through the squad car window as P.J. continued to fight the officers as they led him out of the school. “Holly, let me call you back,” he told his daughter.

“Don’t you dare hang up, Dad,” Holly cried. “If you ever loved me, you will not hang up that phone.”

Will blinked in surprise. He never once believed that his daughter doubted his love for her. It was always the other way around. Will never could quite figure out what he needed to do to garner his daughter’s respect, her love. “I won’t hang up, Hol,” he promised. “Hang on, I’m going to set the phone down on the seat, see if I can get someone’s attention.” Will laid down the phone carefully and once again began to pound on the squad car window. “Hey,” he yelled at a sheriff’s deputy who was passing by. “That’s my grandson!” The deputy looked at him quizzically. “My grandson,” Will repeated, pointing at P.J., who was still trying to get back into the school.

The deputy consulted with Officer Jarrow, who came over and released Will from the locked car. “P.J.” Will rushed over to his grandson, who buried his face in his grandfather’s stomach. “P.J.’s okay,” Will told Holly. “He’s right here.”

“Thank God,” Holly cried. “Can I talk to him?” Will passed the phone to P.J. and grabbed the arm of an officer who was hurrying by.

“I’m looking for my granddaughter, can you help me?”

“Sorry, sir.” The officer shook his head. “We’ve got hundreds of kids to reunite with their folks. Just be patient.”

Over the officer’s shoulder Will saw the front door of the school open once again and Augie’s crimson head and tearstained face appeared. A small, equally frightened-looking girl was at her side. Will’s heart clenched when he saw the bloody cloth pressed to her head, the smears of blood on her face, hands and clothes. Augie’s frantic eyes settled on her grandfather and then on P.J.

Will reached for the phone in P.J.’s hand and in a trembling voice spoke to his daughter. “Augie’s okay, Hol. She’s right here with us.”

Will reached out for his granddaughter. “It’s okay, Augie,” he said gently, pulling her into his arms. “It’s time to get you home.”

Chapter 115:
Meg

T
hank God Stuart was never much of a hunter. He missed Augie, but the shot hit the floor, sending sharp fragments into her face. She needed a few stitches but was just fine. Though I wouldn’t recommend it, the fact that Augie finagled her way out of the closet distracted Stuart just enough that I could take him down. My shots were better, though not by much. My first shot took his left ear off and my second hit him in the ribs. Not enough to kill him, but the way he was crying and writhing around I knew it hurt like hell. Served him right.

In my mind there were many heroes that day and I wasn’t one of them. The students in Mrs. Oliver’s classroom showed more bravery than any child should ever have to. Augie Baker was determined to get to her brother despite placing herself in great danger. She also had the presence of mind to get the little girl who was locked in the closet with her up and into the vent in order to keep her safe. Except for the fact that she was terrible at following orders, Augie would make a great police officer one day. But who am I to give lectures about following orders.

It took three officers to get P. J. Thwaite out of the classroom, down the steps and out of the school. He kept hollering for his sister, but we had to assess her injuries before we moved her. No matter that the officers promised him that someone would bring her out soon, he still carried on. It was a great relief to see both Augie and P.J. reunited with their grandfather. I even passed Twinkie, the Craggs’ dog, who had been camping out in the backseat of my cruiser, off to Mr. Thwaite. He would get her to the Cragg girls. A small consolation after the suicide of their father, but a comfort.

Mrs. Oliver’s injuries were much more severe and by the time the EMTs got to her, she had lost a lot of blood and her breathing was shallow. I could tell just by looking at her pale face that it would be a miracle if she survived.

The eighth-grade teacher, Jason Ellery, was found in a janitor’s closet with a large gash in his head, and the maintenance man, Harlan Jones, was found tied up in the boiler room. There were a lot of traumatized kids, but except for Evelyn Oliver, no one else was seriously injured.

Tim, hearing about the lockdown on the news, told his mother and Maria that he was called into work so as not to worry them. Instead, ignoring the abysmal road conditions, made his way to Broken Branch to see what was going on at the school and to see if he could be of help to the other emergency workers when his car slid on the ice and flipped into a ditch. Thankfully, Will Thwaite and Daniel Tucker came upon the accident, finding Tim. He spent a few days at the hospital over in Conway, has a few broken bones and a concussion, but he’s going to be okay. He’s going to stay with me and Maria until he’s back on his feet again.

Even though we were confident that Stuart was working alone, it took hours to sweep the building to make sure no other gunmen were present and that all the kids and staff were accounted for. By the time Stuart’s gunshot wounds were treated and he was transferred to the county jail, we had learned a lot more about his very rapid downward spiral. Stuart, in the end, turned out to be a cheater, a liar and a murderer. Boy, can I pick ’em. I’ll never know if Stuart purposely targeted me in order to get inside information on the Merritt rape case and to get access to Jamie Crosby, but it wouldn’t surprise me. After reading the article he wrote chronicling the rape and talking to Jamie, it was clear that the story was wrought with inaccuracies and downright lies. I made a few phone calls and it came to light that many of Stuart’s stories, after very close scrutiny, were nothing more than the products of his imagination and ambition. Case in point was the article he wrote as a result of the time he was supposedly embedded with the Iowa Army National Guard Unit. When asked, no one could actually verify that he was where he said he was and no one could recall the supposed forbidden love affair between Specialist Rory Denison and the young Afghani girl. In fact, there was no evidence, anywhere, that proved there was a young woman.

The morning of the standoff there was a full article, along with a file photo of Stuart receiving his Pritchard-Say Prize, in the
Des Moines Observer
describing Stuart’s fake stories and subsequent firing, and that must have completely sent him over the edge. His wife’s body was discovered soon after Stuart was apprehended. She wasn’t the perfect little wife who would stand by her man, so he killed her, before moving on to the school. I disrupted his almost perfectly executed scheme of making up news stories to further his career, pad his wallet and stroke his ego. Once that all collapsed, he went after me in the way that he knew would hurt me the most. He went to Maria’s school and lured me there in hopes of holding her life over my head. He would kill Maria, then himself and leave me shattered and alone. If all worked the way he had planned, he would be the biggest news story that Iowa has seen in a long time, even in death. Instead, he is sitting in jail, sans one ear, awaiting trial. Somewhere along the way Stuart had lost his soul. I’m hoping that I’ll get a chance to talk to him, try and find out exactly why he did what he did. How he changed from this likable, even lovable man, to a liar and cheater, to a murderer.

As for me, I’m hopeful that I’ll still have my job after disobeying Chief McKinney by going into the school on my own. Once the kids were safely out of the building and the ambulances had left, one carrying Mrs. Oliver, the other Stuart, the chief told me that was the most stupid-assed thing one of his officers had ever done. Then he gave me a big hug. There were hours of questions to be answered and mountains of paperwork to be completed. A small price to pay. But I think I’ll be okay. After all, I did take the bad guy down.

Chapter 116:
Mrs. Oliver

M
rs. Oliver was confused, which she thought was entirely unfair since her church-going mother and father had promised that when she reached the gates of heaven everything would be illuminated, all of life’s mysteries solved. First of all, she thought it would be warmer, that her surroundings would be bathed in a golden light. However, she was shivering, and when she opened her eyes, instead of seeing her deceased mother or father, George or even P.J., who she thought was most certainly dead, Mrs. Oliver found Cal standing over her. “Oh, he killed you, too,” she tried to say but found that she had no voice.

“Your jaw is wired shut,” Cal told her as he gently touched her cheek. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve been asleep for nearly two days. He shot you in the shoulder, too, but you’re going to be okay.” At the troubled look in her eyes, Cal squeezed her uninjured arm. “The kids are okay. The officer shot him before he could hurt anyone else. Georgiana is here and the boys are on their way.”

Georgiana leaned into her line of vision. “Hey, Mrs. Oliver,” she said, smiling down at her mother with George’s eyes. “You couldn’t retire like everyone else, could you? You had to literally go out with a bang.” Mrs. Oliver gave her daughter a hint of a smile and shrugged painfully.

“You took good care of those kids, Evie,” Cal said as he pulled a chair up beside her bed. “All the parents are sending flowers and balloons, look.” Cal gestured to a corner of the room where bouquets of sunny daffodils, spiky blue hyacinths and pink roses filled a small table, while silver Mylar balloons, emblazoned with get-well wishes, lazily bobbed overhead.

“Looks like Dad is going to have to give up his den so there’s room to frame all the pictures and letters your students are sending you,” Georgiana said, holding up a pile of papers. Mrs. Oliver shook her head sharply and a small grunt of pain escaped through the wires. She had so much she wanted to tell Georgiana, but couldn’t. “I know, Mom,” Georgiana said with a little laugh. “I know.”

She was so very tired that all she could do was blink up at her daughter.

“You rest now, Evie,” Cal whispered into her ear, and brushed his lips lightly against hers. “Go to sleep. We’ll be waiting right here for you to wake up.”

Mrs. Oliver felt her eyelids grow heavier and heavier and she wanted nothing more than to sink into a deep, dreamless sleep, but before she did, using her good hand, she lifted the sheet, peeked beneath and frowned at the hospital gown she was wearing.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t let them throw it away,” Cal reassured her. “The nurses had to cut it off you. Georgiana washed it up the best she could, but you won’t ever be able to wear it again.” Mrs. Oliver nodded once to show her approval.

“Go to sleep now, Mom,” Georgiana whispered, resting her lips briefly on her mother’s forehead.

From outside the hospital window, Mrs. Oliver thought she could hear the soft plop of water from the dagger-sharp icicles that had clung to every eave in Broken Branch for the past four months. She could see that the snow had finally stopped and watery streams of sunshine struggled to breach the iron-fisted snow clouds that had softened to a dove gray. Mrs. Oliver smiled as the sweet scent of hyacinth filled her nose and she could almost feel the mild caress of a Chinook dance across her skin before she closed her eyes and slept.

* * * * *