Chapter Twenty-one
Hannah knew she couldn’t stand there forever, waiting for something to happen. Why had she told P.K. that she’d be all right alone? She should have said she’d ride with him. They could have locked up the production truck for a couple of minutes and right now she’d be standing at the counter of the Quick Stop, paying for her own Diet Coke and chocolate candy bars. Instead, she was all alone, about to face the killer who’d bludgeoned Boyd Watson to death and shot Lucy in the back of the head.
Hannah’s mind whirled, going into overdrive. She had to call for help. But the phone was on the desk right in front of the window and the slats on the Venetian blinds were open slightly. If she used that phone, the killer could see her she’d be a perfect target for one quick shot through the window.
The moment she thought of it, Hannah ht the light switch next to the door and doused the lights. Being in the dark would be to her advantage. Then she crept to the desk and lifted the receiver, preparing to punch out 9-1-1. But there was no dial tone. The gusts of wind must have snapped the temporary telephone lines they’d run to the production truck.
Then another, even more frightening thought occurred to Hannah and her fingers shook as she replaced the receiver in the cradle. The phone lines ran on the outside of the truck. The killer could have cut them.
Heart beating in panic mode. Hannah moved to the window and peeked out through the slats of the blinds. Nothing was moving except gusts of snow that kicked up with each blast of wind. They rattled up against the metal walls of the truck like snare drums. They reminded Hannah of the muted snare drums in the The Private Life of Henry VIII, right before the blade had severed Anne Boleyn’s head.
That kind of thinking made Hannah shudder, and she pushed the visual image from her mind. It was snow, only icy snow that rattled against the walls, and the gusty winds gave her another advantage. It was windchill. The actual temperature was in the low teens, but wind robbed heat from a person’s body. If you added in the windchill factor, the loss of heat would be comparable to a reading of twenty below. The killer would be wearing fur-lined gloves to keep his fingers from freezing, and that meant he’d have to pull off his gloves before he fires his first shot. Perhaps it would only give her an extra second or two, but it was something.
Hannah gazed out at the parking lot, her eyes alert for any movement. The longer the killer stayed out there, the colder he’d get. She didn’t hear any car engines running in the silence between the gusts of wind. At least he wasn’t sitting inside his car with the heater going full-blast to thaw out his trigger finger.
There was a light in the parking lot, an overhead fixture that gave everything a strange pinkinsh orange glow. The banks of snow looked as if they were made from the mango slush machine at the Quick Stop. She could still see an indentation on the surface of the snow-covered asphalt where P.K.’s car had been parked only minutes ago, but the winds were filling it in fast. Her Suburban sat right next to it, looking more orange than candy-apple red.
Hannah thought of the crowbar in the back, right next to the spare tire. It would be a better weapon than the aluminum light stand, but she wasn’t about to venture out to get it. She was safer here by a long shot.
She winced at the phrase, “a long shot”. Would the killer just start shooting up the production truck, trying to kill her from a distance? Should she duck for cover under one of the metal desks, hoping the thin panels would protect her? But the killer wouldn’t dare fire too many shots. There were neighbors across from the school. One of them would hear and call the sheriff’s station to report the gunfire. He would have to make his first shot count and that meant he’d have to come inside.
As Hannah stared out between the slats her eyes aching from the strain of not blinking, she had a sudden thought. Where was the killer’s ca? It had to be parked on the other side of the truck. If she could see it, she could write down his license plate number. She could leave it for Mike and Bill just in case…
Hannah stopped herself in mid-thought. She wasn’t going to consider the worst-case scenario; it would only slow her down. She felt her way to the other side of the truck, gripping her light stand, for what it was worth. Then she wiggled behind the cabinet that held the fax machine and the copier, and crept up to the window.
There was nothing there. Absolutely nothing. The parking lot was completely deserted. But the killer had to have driven here, unless…
Hannah’s eyes moved to the street on the other side of the school, the block where Danielle lived. Several cars were parked there, but it was too far away to see their license plates. They were just snow-covered lumps under the streetlight. The killer could have parked there. There were no lights in any of the houses. All of Danielle’s neighbors had turned in for the night. With the gusty winds outside, none of them would have heard a car pulling up and parking.
He could also be parked in front of the auditorium, in the lot that was reserved for the audience. There was no night watchman at the school. The students at Jordan High were a pretty good bunch and loved their school. It had never been vandalized, and there was no need for nighttime security.
Hannah jumped as she heard another crash, coming from the side of the truck she’d just left. She ran back to that window and looked out in time to see a large shape disappearing around the far side of her Suburban. A dog? No, the shape had been too big for a dog. A man in a bulky coat, crouched and running, afraid that someone might spot him? That was much more likely.
The winds howled again, rocking the production truck, and in the interval between the gusts, Hannah heard a loud thump. Someone had hit the side of her Suburban with a lot of force. Was the killer trying to break into her cookie truck? Did he think she was hiding in there? And when he found out that she wasn’t, would he come to the production truck to kill her?
There was a second thump that was even louder than the first, what sounded like an enrage growl, and then Hannah saw headlights come up behind her Suburban. A spotlight flashed from the side of the car, illuminating the whole area, and Hannah watched in openmouthed astonishment as a huge black bear emerged from the far side of her truck. It froze for a second in the light, then tore across the parking lot at a faster pace than she’d known bears could run. She watched as it disappeared into the bushes that led to the woods at the far side of the athletic field, and then she sat down hard in the desk chair.
“Hannah?” There was a knock at the door. “Open up, Hannah. It’s Mike.”
“Coming.” Hannah got to her feet on legs that still felt weak. She opened the door, saw Mike standing there, solid and reassuring in the pinkish orange light, and did the first thing that came into her mind. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him as hard as she could.
* * *
“Hey, there’s a shot of your mother,” Mike said, pointing to the monitor. “She looks really good. You’ve got a gorgeous other, Hannah.”
“I’m glad you think so. It’s very important.” Hannah started to grin. They were munching chocolate bars and watching the footage that Rudy had shot of the audience as they’d left after the show.
“Why is it important?” Mike gave her a puzzled look.
“They always say that if you want to know what daughter will look like, all you have to do is meet her mother.” Hannah sneaked a glance at Mike and noticed that he looked very uncomfortable. It was obvious he wasn’t sure whether he should agree with her or argue the point. Hannah’s grin grew wider, and she reached out to pat his arm. “Never mind. I’m just kidding around. Andrea and Michelle take after Mother. I don’t.”
“Yes, but you’re still beautiful. You’re just not like you mother, that’s all.”
Now Hannah was uncomfortable. She hadn’t been fishing for compliments, but Delores had taught all three of her daughters that when a man paid you a compliment, you were supposed to merely thank him and leave it at that.
“Thank you,” Hannah said, fighting her urge to say anything further. But the silence hung between them and she was too uncomfortable not to break it. “And thanks for running off that bear. He had me pretty scared.”
“That bear was a she, and you were right to be scared. She was big, and she was hungry. That’s a dangerous combination.”
“Hungry?” Hannah seized the new direction their conversation had taken and ran with it. “How do you know that?”
“Most bears are hibernating about now. Something rousted her out, and she came down here to search for food. She got some from the cafeteria. Dumpster. It was tipped over on its side, and garbage was scattered all over the place. I figure she’d had her dinner and she was going for dessert.”
“Dessert?”
“Your truck. It probably smells like cookies inside.”
“She would have been disappointed. Andrea ate everyone I had left.” Hannah caught something on the screen, and she reached out for the remote control. “Hold on, Mike. I saw something.”
Hannah backed up the tape and they stared at the screen as she started it again, freeze-framing at the critical moment. It was another false alarm, only a shiny button on a man’s coat sleeve that Hannah had glimpsed as he’d unlocked his car.
“Here comes Boyd Watson.” Mike sat forward on the edge of his chair.
Hannah watched Boyd as he walked toward his car, her domed cake carrier in his arms. He handed it to Maryann so that he could unlock and open the passenger door for her, took it back while she got in, and handed it to her again. Once he was sure that Maryann was settled, he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side of the car.
“Polite, isn’t he?” Mike commented, his brows knit in a frown.
“Of course he is. People might be watching.” Hannah couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. She’d also seen Boyd being very solicitous of Danielle when they’d attended public functions.
“Maryann doesn’t know, does she?” Mike asked.
“No.” Hannah knew exactly what he meant. “She wouldn’t believe that her brother was a wife beater unless you showed her proof. And if you did that, she’d tell everyone that Danielle had done something to bring it on.”
“It’s a sick world.”
“Not all of it.” Hannah shook her head. “There are some really good people out there. You’re at a disadvantage because you’re a cop. You don’t get to deal with the good ones very often.”
Mike turned to look at her, then started to smile. “You’re just what I need, Hannah. You’re an optimist.”
“Maybe.” Hannah smiled back. “Right now I’m optimistic that there’s one of those candy bars left.”
Mike glanced down at the sack on the table and crunched it down with his hand. “You were too optimistic. I just ate the last one.”
“Oh, well.” Hannah sighed, and then she had an idea. “Why don’t we finish this tape and drive out to the Corner Tavern? They’ve got great steak and eggs, and they’re open all night. I’ll even pay for your breakfast for saving me from that hungry bear.”
“Sounds good. I haven’t been treated to breakfast by a beautiful woman in years. If you keep this up, you might make an optimist out of me yet.”
* * *
“You’re right.” Mike cut off a slice of his steak and eyed it with satisfaction. “They do a great steak here. It’s cooked just the way I ordered it.”
Hannah glanced down at the hunk of meat on his fork and snapped her mouth shut. How anyone could eat well-done beef was beyond her. Her steak was blood rare, just the way she liked it. She’d given her order the standard way, Thirty seconds on one side, thirty seconds on the other side and slap it on the plate. If you can’t do that, bring it to me raw with a book of matches.
“We need to talk, Mike,” Hannah told him, dipping the corner of her toast into the egg yolk on her plate. “I know some things about your case.”
Mike swallowed and his eyebrows shot up. “More than you told me in the squad car?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to accuse me of meddling.”
Mike thought about it for a minute. “Okay. I won’t mention the word. What is it?”
“It’s not it. It’s a whole series of things. Let’s finish breakfasts before our eggs get cold, and I’ll tell you everything I think you should know.”
Mike dropped his fork and stared at her. “You’ll tell me everything you think I should know?”
“Right. Some of it’s confidential and doesn’t have anything to do with the murders. You’ll just have to trust me on that. Is it a deal?”
Mike picked up his fork and stabbed another piece of steak with more force than he needed. He thought about it for a moment as he chewed and swallowed, then sighed. “Okay, Hannah. I can’t say I like it, but it’s a deal.”