What You Wish For (26 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: What You Wish For
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“Something that counts. Something Izzie would approve of. You know, meaningful,” Gerry said. “I'm hoping Helen will let us help her with what she's going to be going through with Izzie's estate. In the end I think she'll accept because she's good at heart, and she'll want to make things better for other people if she has the chance. It's just a guess, but I'm hoping. I do know one thing, though, Artie, she will never let this inheritance come between her and Sam Tolliver.”
“I wish I knew what the hell she was up to and how she thinks she's going to outsmart that bastard. Lookeee here, Gerry, we have an e-mail from Sam Tolliver.”
Artie pushed his glasses upward as he read the e-mail addressed to Gerry and himself.
“Okay, this is it. Call him and tell him what's going on. I don't care if you give him the address of the shelter or not. Call Julia and warn her that he's going to be coming by.”
“It's late, Gerry.”
“It's not that late. Do it, Artie. Do you have his phone number?”
“Yeah, he gave it to me in that first e-mail.”
“Call him.” Gerry handed Artie the portable phone.
“Arthur King, Mr. Tolliver. I'm sorry if I woke you. Oh, you weren't asleep. That's good. I have something to tell you. Listen carefully.”
At the end of the conversation, Artie held the phone away from his ear so Gerry could hear Tolliver cursing a blue streak.
“It wouldn't have done you any good to go there. We all have to respect Helen's wishes. I'm sorry about your house. If that's the worst thing the son of a bitch does, we can all live with it. She knows how to shoot the gun. She is very good at self-defense. The Pathfinder is new so she won't have car trouble. She has the dogs. I think, and this is just a guess or maybe it's wishful thinking on my part, but I think she's headed here to California. Get a map and try to figure out the route she would take. I'm going to give you the address of the shelter, but you won't find out anything we don't already know. I'll call Julia now to tell her you'll be coming by. This is the first time in the history of the foundation that we're okaying a visit like this. We're doing it against our better judgment, Mr. Tolliver. It is my personal opinion that you'll be wasting your time going there. Our advice is to try and figure out the route Helen would take and head out. Her car is a hunter green Pathfinder. The license plate is LMB-465. Daniel Ward is driving a silvery-looking car and no, we don't know the make of it nor do we know the license-plate number. I understand it's snowing there, so Helen will be driving carefully. Daniel Ward, on the other hand, is a Californian and isn't familiar with snow. Tell us what you're going to do, Mr. Tolliver.”
“I'm going to strangle the two of you when we finally meet up. I don't care how damn old you are. You got that? I'm going after her. You should have called me sooner. I thought she was okay and would stay put when I saw those belly chains with the gizmos hanging off them. Even the dogs were wearing them. That's what I'm going to strangle you with
after
I engrave your names on those
doohickeys
that hang below the belly button. We're wasting time here, King. I'm outta here. You damn well better hope she's okay because I am holding you personally responsible. You got that?”
“Yes, Mr. Tolliver, we have it. Godspeed.”
“Godspeed?” Gerry hissed.
Artie shrugged. “They always say things like that in the movies. It seemed appropriate. He's going to strangle us with belly chains that have our names on them. What the hell do you suppose that's all about? He said he knew she was all right when he saw the belly chains. We are old. If we weren't old, we'd be able to figure that out, Gerry,” Artie said fretfully.
“Maybe we should have told him sooner.”
“The rules say no. We never broke them before. As it is, we're going to have to account for this.”
“To whom? We're it, Artie.”
“That's true. I'm tired. What is a belly chain anyway?”
“Maybe it's something Helen sells on the Internet. Check it out, Artie.”
“Uh-huh,” Artie said later, his gaze glued to the screen in front of him.
“Oh, my goodness,” Gerry said. “The dogs are wearing them. What do those little round circles say?”
“One says Helen and one says Sam.”
“That's what Tolliver meant by Helen being all right. She must have added this . . . item recently as her way of letting him know she was okay. It makes sense,” Gerry said. “We might be old, but we aren't stupid. Don't forget to mention this the next time we have a communiqué from Mr. Tolliver. Maybe he'll think twice about strangling us.”
“We need to stop being so damn flip. This whole thing is serious beyond anything we imagined. The worst part of it is we have no control. All we can do is sit and wait and pray Helen knows what she's doing. What do you think Izz would be doing if she were here?” Artie asked.
“The same thing we're doing. Waiting. Her money would be on Helen.”
“We wait then,” Artie said.
23
Toasty warm inside the Pathfinder but definitely uncomfortable with her heavy, winter jacket, Helen turned around to look at the dogs. “Look, it's just for a little while. We're going to get this thing settled once and for all, and I'm the one who is going to be doing the settling. It's the best explanation I can offer.” The Lab growled his displeasure. Helen shrugged. “It is what it is,” she murmured.
Helen glanced down at the road map on the front seat next to her. Arthur King had been as good as his word. Before she left the shelter, she had marked the exact same route she'd taken when she left the shelter in California to drive to New Jersey. As long as she could read the road signs, she would be all right. At some point, her memory would kick in for the highways she'd used on her trip east that first time so long ago.
Helen strained to see the road ahead through the windshield. It didn't look like the white swirling snowflakes would do anything serious. There was no accumulation on the ground, and the farther south she drove the warmer the ground would be. The only problem was, she was only going as far south as Washington, DC, at which point she would head west. From that point on, the weather would be anyone's guess.
As far as a plan went, this one out-and-out sucked, big-time. She smiled when she realized it was Sam's favorite expression. She couldn't think about Sam. Sam was the prize at the end of the road.
If
she ever got to the end of the road. What was her game plan? To drive away from the shelter and hope Daniel would follow her. Then what? Stop so she could accost him? If necessary, pump a few rounds into him and then call the police. She'd do some jail time, get out, and get on with her life. Stupid, naive thinking at best. Incredibly stupid and incredibly naive at the worst. She wasn't capable of shooting anyone, and she knew it. She wouldn't do well in prison without Lucie, and Sam would never want a jailbird for a wife. The gun was a scare tactic, nothing more, and she knew it in her heart. Daniel, on the other hand, would shoot to kill. Daniel loved guns and was an expert marksman. Back in San Jose he'd had an impressive gun collection he liked to brag about. She'd hated it, and she hated polishing the cabinet and cleaning the glass panels. How often he'd threatened her with one of the guns. Once he'd held one of them to her temple and removed the safety. She'd fainted right on the spot the moment she heard the ominous click. He'd kicked her clear across the room that day when she came to. Impressive and terrifying. Daniel had impressive, terrifying collections of a lot of things. She wondered where all those collections were now. Probably in some pawnshop somewhere.
She was glad now that she had slept the better part of the afternoon in preparation for driving all night long. She felt alert, and the two thermoses full of coffee would ensure that she stayed alert. If Daniel was following her, and she was certain he was, he'd wait till she stopped to use the bathroom or to get gas before he pounced. Daniel liked surprises as long as he wasn't on the receiving end of the surprise. When you were in control, a surprise could throw you out of control, and that was something Daniel would never allow to happen.
She thought about the silver car her husband was driving and what kind of capabilities it had. She was almost certain it would be no match for the Pathfinder. Daniel knew
diddly
about snow. She didn't know much herself, but Sam had taught her tricks about driving in snow, tricks she hoped she wouldn't have to put into use.
I should have asked Arthur King to send Boots's plane.
She could still do that if she wanted to, but it would have to be readied and that could take as much as a day or two. A flight plan and all kinds of things to throw kinks into a plan. Either she was going to accept the inheritance or she wasn't. There would be no half measures. The Pathfinder didn't come under the heading of accepting the inheritance. The Pathfinder was an instrument to right the foundation's screwup by having her declared dead. Her backbone stiffened. “Either I do it on my own, or I don't do it at all,” she mumbled. “Daniel Ward is my problem. No one else's problem.”
Helen slowed the Pathfinder as she approached the toll booth that would lead her onto the New Jersey Turnpike. She reached for the ticket. “Ma'am, can you see a silvery-looking car behind me?”
The attendant craned her neck. “No, miss. I can't really see in all this swirling snow. Is something wrong? Do you want me to call one of the troopers?”
Helen looked at the lapel pin the woman was wearing. Tyree Pullen. She wondered what kind of name Tyree was. So different from plain old Helen. “No, that isn't necessary. I thought I saw someone I knew a while back. It's possible he passed me earlier, and, like you said, it's hard to see in this swirling snow.”
“Drive safely. The weather forecast isn't exactly rosy.”
“I will. Have a nice night and stay warm.”
The attendant nodded and raised the barrier. Helen barreled through, trying to see the cars in the rearview mirror as they approached the ticket booth. All she could see were headlights and swirling snow. She steered the Pathfinder to the right lane and settled down for the long drive to the last exit, where she would pick up Interstate 95. Both dogs were sound asleep. There was just enough traffic to give her a sense of security. She sighed, her shoulders relaxing.
It was going to be a very long night.
Julia Martin knew what she was doing was foolish, even dangerous. Following Helen Ward was going to get her bounced right out of the program. Calling in one of the volunteers, saying only that she had somewhere to go, was never going to work. As if she really cared at this point. Meeting Helen Ward, breaking all the rules, and helping her was something she was never going to regret. “It's time for me to make my own way. I've lived behind bars, locked doors, and walled gardens long enough. I want to breathe again. I want my life back, too,” she murmured as she turned on the radio and cracked the window.
As near as she could tell, she was four car lengths behind Helen and in the same lane of traffic.
 
A quarter of a mile behind Helen Ward and Julia Martin, a silver Nissan crossed driving lanes, the driver's eyes on his gas gauge. He cursed ripely and violently when he tore his gaze away long enough to check the cars in the right lane.
 
“This is a dumb-ass move if ever there was one,” Sam muttered as he tore down the New Jersey Turnpike. “I'm driving blind with no destination in mind,” he continued to mutter. “Furthermore, it's the height of stupidity. On the other hand, it could be a brilliant move.” He continued with his monologue as he smoked one cigarette after the other.
He'd tried calling the shelter, but there had been no answer. Maybe he should have gone there, but instead he'd opted for trying to think like Helen. The old man was probably right: Helen would be driving cross-country. If he had to guess the why of it, the only thing he could come up with was Helen wouldn't subject the dogs to the cargo hold in a plane. They'd discussed it once, and she'd been adamant about not ever shipping a dog on a short or a long flight. He could still see the expression on her face if he closed his eyes. No, Helen would drive so the animals would be safe. Helen would put their safety first just the way she'd put his safety ahead of her own.
Sam cringed at the thought. He wished he knew what was in Helen's mind. What did she hope to accomplish? Was she just going blindly and hoping for the best, or did she have plans to blow away her abusive husband at the first opportunity that presented itself?
Sam shivered at the thought, perspiration dotting his brow. If anyone was going to blow away the son of a bitch, it was going to be him.
He drove steadily, his eyes on the lookout for a hunter green Pathfinder and a silvery-looking car that could possibly be a Nissan, a Honda, or even a Ford of some sort. Thank God, the snow was abating. Visibility would be better.
Sam hunkered down for what he thought was going to be the trip of his life.
 
A light rain was falling when Helen turned off her headlights and hit the exit ramp at full throttle so her backup lights wouldn't go on. The dogs needed to be walked, and she had to use the bathroom.
It was three-thirty in the morning when Helen's car exited the turnpike and Julia Martin's dark blue Honda continued down 1-95, as did the silver-colored Nissan.
The service area was almost deserted, with the exception of two truckers just getting into the cabs of their eighteen-wheelers. Helen walked both dogs, gave them water and biscuits before she settled them back into the Pathfinder. The gun in her jacket pocket, she looked around before she headed up the walkway to the brick building and the bathroom facilities. She was back in the car in less than seven minutes. She was breathing so hard she had to take great gasping breaths until she felt calm enough to start up the 4 x 4.
Sam Tolliver was five car lengths behind her when she inched her way onto the interstate.
Helen drove steadily for the next forty minutes. She slowed when she saw flashing blue-and-red lights ahead in the distance. A knot started to form in the pit of her stomach as she crawled forward, noticing that the flashing lights were northbound as well as southbound. Both dogs reared up on the backseat. Max growled ominously as Lucie cowered against him, whimpering. Was it an accident or a roadblock? More than likely an accident since the snow had turned to rain and the roads were starting to ice over. She heard an ear-piercing siren and then deafening noise directly overhead. A medivac helicopter? That alone had to mean the accident was serious and would tie up traffic for hours.
Helen eyed the median strip between the south and northbound lanes. She swerved without thinking, following a huge Dodge van, riding alongside it. Other cars followed suit. Within minutes she was driving north, her eyes peeled for an exit sign. It would be light in a few hours, and she could read the map and get her bearings then. The worst-case scenario would be to drive fifty or so miles out of her way until she could pick up the southbound interstate farther down the road.
Helen rummaged in her carry-bag for two rawhide chews that she tossed onto the backseat. “It's just a temporary setback. Sit back and enjoy the ride. Be a good girl, Lucie,” she said lightly so the little dog wouldn't pick up on her anxiety.
Helen settled herself more comfortably, her eyes alert for a silver car.
 
Julia Martin heard the crash behind her. She slowed and pulled over to the shoulder of the road and waited. She wasn't sure why. Other cars ahead of her did the same thing. She was about to open the car door when a silver car streaked past her. She leaned her head back, her breathing ragged with fear. Her hand on the car door was frozen in place.
Somehow she'd lost Helen. She was almost certain the Pathfinder was no longer ahead of her. Helen wouldn't risk driving fast in this weather with the dogs and the kind of credentials she was carrying. She must have stopped at the last rest stop. With visibility so bad, she hadn't seen the Pathfinder turn off. Should she forge ahead or cross the median strip and hope for the best? She answered her own question in disgust. There was no point crossing into the northbound lane since the accident had shut down both lanes. The best she could do was to keep going, get off at the next exit, and wait by the entrance to 1-95, hoping she was right and Helen would get back on the highway. She wondered at what point the occupant of the silver car would come to the same conclusion she'd just come to.
 
Daniel Ward knew he was driving on little more than fumes when he slowed to get off at the first exit he saw. It was raining harder, and the temperature gauge inside the Nissan said it was thirty-six degrees outside. While he stared at the gauge it dropped to thirty-five.
Up ahead of him he saw the bright lights of a Texaco station at the same moment he saw a dark Pathfinder winding its way down the road. He cursed so loud he startled himself. He had no alternative but to head for the station and gas up. He wanted to put his fist through the pump when he saw that it was self-service.
Even though there was a roof of sorts over the row of six pumps, the rain drenched him in less than five minutes. He shivered violently. All he wanted to do was get in the car and
go
. He looked across the concrete apron and could see the cashier watching him. Did he dare drive away without paying? Should he get soaked to the skin by running to the cashier? The decision was made for him when a State Police cruiser rolled into the parking area.

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