Five O’Clock Shadow (29 page)

She inched along, shuffling in the snow instead of taking steps; there was less noise that way, no giveaway crunch. The last layer of powder swirled around her ankles before settling back. The night was beautiful in its crystal whiteness. It was a shame that she couldn't enjoy it.

She could see the truck, now almost buried. Snow had drifted to the fenders and covered the windshield. She felt defeated. How could she sweep the snow off, get in, start it and not run the risk of detection? That would all take too much time. But what else was there? If her grandmother was still here, she'd need help to find her. She had to get out. Get the police to come back with her.

She quickly crossed the thirty feet of open space, then paused before she rounded the corner of the garage and stepped in front of the truck. All was quiet. Gripping the edge of the sleeve of her shearling jacket, she rapidly brushed the snow from the windshield in several stiff-armed movements that cleared a two-foot swath in front of the steering wheel. That would be enough to see, at least until she got to the highway. She knocked snow from the door, opened it, and slipped behind the wheel.

She pulled off her gloves, put the flashlight and gun on the seat beside her, locked both doors, dug in her pocket for her key ring and put the key in the ignition. One turn, a groan, a pump on the gas pedal, another turn and the engine caught. Thank God. She made sure it was in four-wheel drive, slipped the gearshift into reverse; then screamed as a face pressed against the driver's-side window. Hofer, in a rage—yelling obscenities, pulling on the door handle, kicking the door, slamming his fist against the glass.

Pauly gave the truck gas, let out the clutch, revved the engine, but she was only slipping sideways, wheels spinning, then a moment of traction…. She rocked the truck forward, then slammed into reverse, pushed on the gas, then forward again. Now she was moving backwards, tedious, slow-motion inches, but movement. When the butt of his pistol shattered the driver's-side window, she ducked, grabbed her gun, whirled and shot. Two shots, upper chest and forehead, at point-blank range. The truck shuddered silent as her feet slipped off the pedals.

But instead of falling backwards, Hofer reared upright, straightened, wavered towards her, leaned precariously in the window as a look of astonishment broke across his craggy features. Pauly twisted her body to the side, opened the door and pushed with her full weight against the metal. The door caught Hofer in the midsection and pushed him backward and over to fall heavily, his bulk folding in half, a splatter of blood looking black against the white snow.

Pauly gulped air. She'd killed someone. Self-defense. She had just reacted, hadn't really thought. She let the gun clatter to the floorboards as she slipped from behind the wheel to stand over the body. Hofer wasn't moving. She didn't have to feel for a pulse to know that he was dead, but she knelt anyway and pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, then rocked back on her heels, oblivious to the cold, and stared. How could she have done this? Did she really have to? Could there have been another way? But he had smashed the window. He was coming at her. He wasn't just standing there hoping for a friendly chat. Would the cops believe her?

“Looks like I missed the show.”

A scream escaped through her chapped lips. Pauly tried to scramble up, only to sit down hard in the snow, her legs refusing to hold her. She was staring at the barrel of a revolver.

Something large and menacing. She didn't have to look up to know the source of the voice, but she forced herself.

The bandage covered the top part of his head and wound into a hump that looked strangely like snow perched on his brow. His cashmere overcoat had a rip in the sleeve, but otherwise he didn't look the worse for having survived an accident some hour and a half earlier, which had given him enough time to get another car and drive all the way back.

“I should have suspected you before.” Pauly was amazed at how steady her voice was. Because she really wasn't surprised? Probably. It shouldn't have taken the stack of pictures in the glove compartment to point a finger at Sam. He had been in a perfect position to mastermind everything, set Randy up, falsify the wills, monitor her actions, manipulate her grandmother. Her grandmother…of course, Sam was Grams' sixth husband. Why hadn't she seen it before?

“Sam, where's Grams?” The shiver that skipped up her spine had nothing to do with the cold.

“Can't help you. I just got here.” He pushed at Hofer's thigh with the tip of an ostrich leather boot. “Wasn't very smart, was he? But then, we all underestimated you. A little Miss Nancy Drew when you put your mind to it. And the guts to shoot a man…now, who would have thought.… You'll excuse me if I don't take my hat off to you.” He nodded slightly.

He didn't seem upset by Hofer's death. But there was no missing the snideness in his voice. He was playing with her. Mocking, deciding what to do? Which was a good question. What was he going to do? There was every indication that this was not how the scenario was supposed to have played out.

“Keep your hands where I can see them. Now get up.” He had moved to look inside the truck and, seeing the automatic on the floorboards, scooped it up and put it in his pocket. Then he put his large revolver on the seat. “Turn around.” She thought of running but realized that fright or cold, or both, had turned her legs to boards. When she didn't move fast enough, he jerked her arm, twisting it and not letting go. She had no energy left to resist. Zombie-like, she let herself be jerked towards him.

“I think I need to keep you from becoming brave again. My poor Pauly, just too smart for her own good.” He grabbed her other arm and quickly laced a length of clothesline around her wrists, taut enough to cut off circulation if she pulled against the knot. Pauly tried to protest, but he only pulled the line tighter. Then picked up the gun.

“Now we'll go see if we can find your grandmother.”

“I thought you said—”

“Maybe I lied.”

He was pushing her in front of him along the side of the truck, around the corner of the garage. He kicked open a side door and dragged her over the threshold. She stumbled and almost fell, but he didn't turn on any lights. The yard lights filtered through the row of snow-covered windows in the garage doors. When her eyes adjusted, Pauly could make out Grams' Lincoln. A jeep was at the far end, four stalls over. And it was running. Grams. Had they set up something to look like suicide? Carbon monoxide poisoning?

“Sam, what have you done to her?” Her voice was a wail.

He glanced at the jeep and chortled, guessing her fears. “Too easy. Your grandmother would want her death to be a little more adventuresome, don't you think?” He kept the revolver pointed her direction and walked over to press a button on the wall that instantly sent one of the metal garage doors clattering upwards on runners, finally sliding to a rest above the jeep. The cold blast cleared the air of fumes. Pauly took a deep breath.

“Did you kill Randy?” She had to know. Couldn't he tell her now? She wasn't going anywhere, at least, not alive.

“Still the good little wife, eh, Pauly? Trying to solve all the puzzles.” He was close to her again and reached out to caress her cheek. There was a twisted tenderness to his touch. Pauly shrank back.

“I want to know.”

“I just bet you do. You were right, you know, about one thing. I bought you a husband.” He reached out to touch her again. “How does it feel to be an old-fashioned bride in a prearranged marriage? That's what you were. Randy needed the money. I needed a little leverage over your grandmother. You came in handy with a fat dowry. I just had to get rid of the old girlfriend and tell Randy to promise you the vine-covered cottage.” Sam stopped to laugh. “What a fool. You remind me of Lulu when it comes to men.”

Pauly winced. She was a far cry from her grandmother when it came to men…or, was she? Her recent track record was dismal.

“At least my interests are normal.” She spit it out. His hand tightened on her arm. “Is that why my grandmother is having her marriage annulled? Did she find out that you like to molest children? That you married her to have access to the carnival and a steady stream of new victims?”

Sam seemed to think this last was uproariously funny. “Don't confuse sexual preference with my interest in making money. My old pal Hofer introduced me to a lucrative business
and
your grandmother. Marrying her seemed to be the best way to safeguard that investment. It could have worked out. I did care for her.”

“I don't believe that,” Pauly said.

He jerked her around so that his face was inches from hers. His breath smelled of liquor. “You're as big a fool as she is. There's more to life than having someone in your bed. We could have all been rich. There are thousands of people out there who thrive on what we provide…showing children the wonders of sex…introducing them to the pleasures of their bodies.”

“Like Congressman Garcia?”

“Yes. He's a client. Quite a good one, I might add.”

“Is that why you had Randy killed? Hired a sniper.… Because he found out about the congressman's interests? Might have used the information as leverage, which might have pointed a finger at you?”

“He wasn't very smart, your husband. Refusing to play ball on that water project to tip his findings in favor of the South Valley. It didn't win him any favors. But, no, my dear Pauly, Randy's death was meant to have been a family affair.” Sam slowly smiled, then reached out to squeeze her shoulder.

Pauly sharply inhaled. She had been meant to die. Die with her husband on their honeymoon. Did she feel a tiny bit of pleasure for screwing up everyone's plans?

“My little investment in your marriage came with a money-back guarantee. With Randy out of the way—and you—your will left everything to your grandmother. I couldn't lose. I'd keep the million I had to come up with to get him to marry you, and I'd have both your interests in MDB, Inc. It was my money that started the company. Surely you know that. Randy didn't have the proverbial pot when he came to me with Archer's idea.” He paused. “This would have been a lot easier if you'd been in the balloon with him, my dear. Or if you'd just died in the fire. It would have spared both of us this unpleasantness now. But no, our little Pauly is so resourceful. How many more lives does my kitten have?” She stepped back as he caressed her cheek.

“But why smear Randy's name? Set him up to look like a pedophile?”

“Ah, that. You were right. Randy had threatened to expose Sosimo. He said he had evidence of Sosimo's ‘hobby,' I think he called it. Said he'd send a copy to Sosimo, show him what he was talking about. Sosimo knew it wasn't an idle threat. Randy obviously had what he said he had.”

“But I found the pictures in Randy's office. They were never sent.”

“I know. When Sosimo didn't receive the pictures in the mail before the wedding, he was scared shitless that they had been left lying around. It worked out in his favor to have you find the envelope. It certainly raised a few suspicions and kept you from running to the police.” Sam paused to smile. “Just to keep you guessing, I slipped a picture and adoption papers into Randy's safe deposit box. And the clipping of hair. That was a nice touch, don't you think?” Sam chuckled softly. “All the children had adoption papers. Made the little operation seem aboveboard in case we were questioned. I should have been more careful to match the correct papers with the photo. Ah well, I guess I can't be perfect. I didn't think it would make any difference. I knew you wouldn't want to point a finger at your poor deceased husband. And then there was the bracelet—that was my idea. Made your dearly departed seem so very much in love with you, didn't it? A little trinket that Randy's dear friend Sosimo picked out just for you.” Sam's expression was smug.

Pauly shivered. She was revolted by this man standing beside her. How could she have misread him? She wondered how long it had taken her grandmother to figure out his duplicity. And Randy, had he had second thoughts about blackmailing Sosimo? Or had he really forgotten to drop the pictures in the mail two days before the wedding? Pauly guessed she'd never know.

“How did Randy get the pictures?”

“By accident. Hofer let him use his darkroom. Randy was a little too curious for his own good. Stumbled across some unprocessed film, probably thought he would be doing Hofer a favor by developing it.”

Pauly could just see Randy using someone else's equipment, snooping without even realizing that he was doing it—violating someone else's space but trying to be helpful at the same time. Randy would have thought he'd found a gold mine in the pictures. He would have seen them as the one thing that would keep Sosimo off his back. Poor naive Randy. And she meant it. She felt a tear roll down her cheek. He truly had been an innocent.

“So you hired a sharpshooter? How did you just happen to find one of those?” Would he name Steve? Had he hired Steve to slip on a ski mask and wait for them in the cottonwood?

“They're a dime a dozen if you know where to look. Now, my dear, chatting has been lovely, but I've run out of time. You'll excuse me but we need to get on with this.”

He suddenly thrust her forward, then held onto her arm as he reached around to open a door that led to a large workroom. But this was where the snakes were kept. Hadn't Grams said that there were snakes? And Steve had even invited her to look at them.

“Oh, my God. No.” She tried to resist, wedge her knee against the doorjamb. She wasn't going in there. Not snakes. She screamed and got cuffed sharply on the ear.

“You'll do as you're told. Don't you want to see your grandmother?”

Pauly went limp. Grams? Dread coursed along her veins in waves. Was Grams already inside? Sam flipped on an overhead bank of weak fluorescent lights. It was worse than what she'd imagined. A cage, chest-high with five-foot sides, rested on a metal frame and stretched the full length of the wall, some twenty-five feet. Another one the same size ran along the back wall. Their three sides were metal, the fronts glass and their tops a solid piece with attached lights. But the tops were at an angle, askew, tilted to entice the occupants to escape. Oh, my God. Her stomach churned. Then she saw her grandmother and almost fainted.