Borderland (19 page)

"Wonderful,"
Myra said, but Christa didn't think she meant it. Her voice sounded funny.

"Nolan,
did you hear all that?" her father asked, and Christa looked to see Uncle
Nolan nod. He was still frowning at Myra.

"Well,
what do you think? Your old bud's going to be a cop again. In Mayberry, no
less."

"That's
great," Nolan said. "You should fit right in with Floyd and
Goober."

Christa
looked back to her daddy. He wasn't smiling anymore. He looked mad.

"What
the hell is wrong with you? The first good thing that's happened to me in God
knows how long and you can't even be glad for me."

"I'm
glad for you," Uncle Nolan said in the same voice Myra had used.

"Daddy?"
Christa said. "Does that mean we're going to stay here now?"

He
looked at her and smiled again. "Yes, honey. We're going to stay. Oh, and
by the way. . ." He turned to Myra. "The boys in the diner were all
talking about a gray Buick. It's been seen around town and they're curious. I
didn't say anything but once I have that badge I'll feel obligated to contact
the sheriff. I know you'd rather keep this thing with your mother-in-law a
private war—"

"Then
let us," Cal interrupted. "If you involve the police we'll wind up in
court. And if we go to court my grandmother will win. Believe me."

"I
don't see how, Cal. You'll have all the evidence against her."

"She'll
deny everything. She'll say she hired the men but didn't approve the methods.
She'll say she was only acting in my best interests. You don't know her."

"Maybe
not, but I still think—"

"Please,"
Cal said.

Christa
felt a shudder pass through her. Cal looked scared. Whatever they were talking
about, her daddy was scaring him. She went to take her father's hand.
"Daddy, please don't be mean to Cal."

At that
moment Andy spotted the candy bars in Christa's clutches. She darted forward.
"Is one for me?"

Christa
shoved a Baby Ruth at her and looked up at her father again. He lifted his free
hand and wiped his face.

"This
is against my better judgment, but okay. For now. If things get hairy I'm
reserving the right to change my mind."

Christa
and Myra let out their breath at the same time. This was important, Christa
knew. She felt as if Cal had been saved from something terrible. She dropped
her father's hand and went to the boy. "It's okay now. He's not going to
let the sheriff get you."

Cal
smiled at her. "Thanks," he said in a low voice, so low that no one
else but Uncle Nolan heard. Christa held out her candy bar. "I'll let you
have some if you want."

Cal
opened his mouth again, but a sudden crash of thunder drowned out his words.
Andy screamed and jumped and Uncle Nolan began to laugh as the soft, scattered
drops turned into hard, driving rain. Myra picked up the laundry basket and ran
for the house. Her daddy scooped up Andy and did the same. Christa hesitated,
liking the sound of Uncle Nolan's laughter and the big smile on Cal's face. She
wanted to stay with them.

And she
wanted to leave with them when they decided to go.

Drusilla
told her they should. Their secret lady didn't use words, exactly, but Christa
understood. Something bad would happen if they stayed. Something to do with the
people from the town.

She told
Drusie they weren't going to live there, that her daddy had said they'd be leaving
again soon, but now he changed his mind and Christa was going to have to tell
him about the something bad. She might even have to tell him about Drusie,
though she knew he would think she was fibbing again. Maybe if she asked
Drusilla to show him her blue fingers.

"Your
candy bar's getting wet," Cal said. "You'd better get in the
house."

"I
want to stay out—"

"Go,"
Nolan said. He was still smiling, but he had peeled off his T-shirt and was
reaching for the snap on his shorts. "All we need is a bar of soap,
Cal."

"I'll
get one. C'mon, Christa." Cal took her arm and turned her away from the
garage. "We're going to clean up for supper."

In the
rain, Christa thought. They were going to take a shower in the rain. It wasn't
fair. Boys got to do everything. Quickly she tried to think of something to say
that would make her sound grownup and interesting to him.

"I've
seen the lady in your room, Cal. does she talk to you?"

He
frowned down at her. "Who?"

"Drusie.
The lady with bare feet and wet hair."

Cal's
brows met above his nose. "Christa, I don't know what you're talking
about. Who's Drusie?"

It was
Christa's turn to frown. "You mean you don't see her? Not ever?"

Her hero
laughed suddenly. "Yeah, sure I do. I was just teasing you. Go on in now
and toss out that bar of soap in the pantry, okay?"

Christa
nodded and opened the screen door.

Lying.
He was lying to her. Cal didn't see Drusie at all. Maybe smart people couldn't.

CHAPTER 16

Diane
Fluscher awakened to darkness and the smell of rain. She had lost track of all
time, but she remembered seeing daylight once when the old man opened the lid
to give her another shot, so it must be Saturday night. That meant she had been
in the trunk an entire day. Her throat felt thick and dry; her limbs were dead
weight. Nothing wanted to move. What the hell had he given her?

Tranquilizer,
she thought suddenly. That's what had been done to her. One shot and she was
out in seconds. Where had the old man gotten hold of such a powerful tranquilizer?
Did he work at the zoo? Was he a veterinarian? And just where the hell was he
taking her?

Kidnapped.
She knew that much. She was being taken somewhere until the old man's demands
were met. Had her husband been contacted yet?

What an
idiot she had been, suckered in by the harmless appearance of a slight,
graying, withered old fool with a ridiculously obsequious manner. She was from
Chicago, dammit; she should have known better. Living among the fat and
pampered lambs had blinded her to the presence of wolves. Kind, indulgent
Joseph would be worried sick by now. Their argument had been a fierce one, but
he would know she'd never make good on her threat to leave. Diane had made the
threat dozens of times; it was just what she did when she was angry over his
being gone so much. Then, as yesterday, she would go shopping. A new necklace
or pair of earrings always made things better.

How long
till Joseph finds the car? He would know she hadn't really left him. Until he
received the kidnapper's demand, he might believe she was just playing a game
with him. Like the time she rented a room at the Marriott for a few days.
Joseph would know. And he would be devastated when the kidnapper called. He
would throw down his contracts and perhaps even weep on the shoulder of his
ever-present accountant. Then he would call the police. And when the police
didn't move fast enough—no one ever moved fast enough for Joseph—he would
collect the ransom money and arrange a meeting with the kidnapper to pay for
her safe return.

But
there was one part that bothered Diane, the part that didn't make sense: An old
man. He had to be working for someone, she decided, or with someone. Someone
who was waiting at the hideout, wherever the hell it was. She had been
unconscious a good deal of the time, so there was no clue how long they had
been on the road. It didn't make sense for him to take her too far from the
city…did it? And he hadn't given her a shot for some time now, so he must want
her lucid. Probably so she could speak to Joseph on the phone and let him know
she hadn't been harmed.

Diane
closed her eyes and tried to swallow. It hurt. She didn't think she could
speak. The old man would have to give her some water if he expected her to talk
to Joseph. And food wouldn't be turned down at this point. Yesterday's spinach
salad was only a fond memory.

When the
car jolted to a stop she actually managed to conjure up some saliva. Thinking
about her mama's pasta did it. Every Sunday in Chicago her Italian mother would
fill the table with heaping plates of steaming pasta covered with thick, spicy
sauce and accompanied by a basket of hot, buttered garlic bread. Diane promised
herself she would return to Chicago as soon as she got out of this. She would
go see her mama and gain ten pounds on her pasta. Joseph could come along with
her and—

A car
door slammed. A second later Diane heard the sound of keys being jingled. There
was a clicking sound then the lid of the trunk opened. Her nostrils flared as
she took in the clean wet smell of rain. She wanted to rise, but the lethargy
in her limbs prevented movement.

"You
awake?" a voice asked.

She made
a noise. It was all she could manage.

"Good.
Before I go in, I just want to tell you I'm sorry. I know this ain't like
apologizin' to no deer for needing to eat it, but in my mind it runs along the
same lines and I'm real sorry about everything. I been thinking about this on
the way back and them Indians knew a helluva lot more than folks do today. They
were always askin' forgiveness, and the more I think about it, the righter it
seems to me. Wish I'd thought of it years ago. But more than anything else, I
wish I'd listened to my grandma. She told me to keep my own counsel rather than
run with the pack. I never did."

Diane
tried to speak again. What came out sounded like the mewing of a frightened
kitten.

"Right,"
the old man said. "Well, I just wanted to say that. I'll fetch Jinx now.
Don't go away."

That
wasn't likely, Diane thought to herself. Even her lungs were tired and
sluggish. The rain smelled lovely, but she couldn't seem to suck enough of the
moist air to clear her head. She wished she had her compact with her. Joseph
hated her use of cocaine, but she had to find some way to entertain herself
while he was gone, didn't she?

After
this she would stop. She'd quit the coke and go back to Joseph's health club.
She was tall and thin enough by current standards, but she was getting flabby.
The tops of her thighs, especially. She'd have to work on them in particular.

The beam
of a flashlight blinded her.

"My
goodness. She is a long one, ain't she?"

"That
she is, Jinx."

"Well,
let's get a move on here, Ed. Fred's callin' the boys, I'll get her legs."

The man
called Ed lifted her head and shoulders and Diane let her head loll back as
they removed her from the trunk. The motion made her dizzy and dangerously
nauseous.

"Sick,"
she moaned.

"Gonna
puke?" the man holding her legs asked. "If you are, do it now. I
don't want you stinkin' up my back room."

Diane
twisted her head and opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

"That's
what I thought," the man said. "Come on, Ed. My back ain't what it
used to be."

Two old
men, Diane realized as she was carried through a back door and into a glaringly
bright room. She'd been abducted by someone’s grandpa and his witless kin.

They placed
her face down on a narrow trundle bed and tied her hands together underneath.
Diane turned her face away from the bare, soiled mattress and asked for water.

"Give
her a sip," Ed said.

The bald
man shook his head and shoved a wadded rag into her mouth. "Forget it. Now
get them clothes and that jewelry off her before the others get here."

Diane
gagged as her clothes were cut away. Cut? They didn't have to do that. Why did
she have to be naked? And who were the others? She craned her head in each direction
and frowned. The back room of what? There were shelves on each wall and each
shelf was filled with items that gave her no clue to her location. On one wall
were gallon cans of various vegetables, on another wall were large glass jugs
of chemicals with labels her blurred gaze couldn't read. Piled beneath the
shelves on this wall were bags of... what? She couldn't read those labels
either. Other shelves held hand tools and electrical equipment, and beneath the
shelves on the far wall was a counter of sorts that supported what looked like
a large metal meat grinder. Diane knew what it was because her Uncle Sal owned
a butcher shop back in Chicago. Before he died of prostate cancer. Was that
where she was? The back room of a butcher shop?

A hand
on the inside of one bare thigh caused Diane to jump. She looked to see the
skinny bald man with the purple nose smiling at her. Until that moment the idea
that she might be raped hadn't occurred to Diane. These were old men. But once
again she realized she had been deceived by appearances and stereotypes. Old or
not, this skinny fucker had a hard-on. And he was unzipping his pants to use
it.

His
smile widened as he saw the realization in her eyes. "I'm always
first," he said. "And sometimes I can't wait for everyone to get
here." He looked away from her then. "Ed, be sure to get out the
canvas head bag. We can't use plastic again. Gil got so carried away with that
damn sledge last time he had brains flying everywhere."