The Baker's Wife (30 page)

“Juliet,” Audrey murmured.

Diane nodded.

“You didn't intend to kill your sister.”

“Obviously, I failed to prove my intentions.”

“Still, it's unmerciful.”

“The judge spared me the death penalty. That's legal here in California, you know.”

“Not for minors!”

“Poisoning someone is a capital offense.”

“Did your parents really testify against you?” Miralee asked.

“They told the truth that they knew, and that was indictment enough to fill in the gaps.”

Audrey protested. “It was an accident, though!”

“Was it?” said Diane. “Doesn't take much time behind bars before a girl starts to wonder.”

“No one should have to wonder alone,” Audrey said.

“Wonder, or wander?” Miralee asked, looking straight ahead.

The truck drove on into the silence of mist mixing with light snow.

The weather delayed them. It was nearly nine by the time they reached the snaking turnoff for the Old Gauntlet Road that led toward Miners Rest, and to the trailheads of King's Riches beyond.

Audrey navigated the narrow fork off the main highway and followed the powdery road around a bend as her cell-phone reception dwindled to nothing. The entryway came into view.

“No no no no no,” she whispered. A low-slung gate barricaded the route, and an orange
ROAD CLOSED
sign dangled lopsided from the top bar.

“They always close this road at first snow,” Miralee said. There was no smugness in her tone, though.

Instead she seemed as stunned as Audrey, who knew the same fact but had been hoping for the best.

“I guess that means there's no way Mom's up here, then. Right?” The question seemed genuine enough. “Any other ideas?”

“What better place to hide someone than a place no one else can reach?” Audrey asked as she opened her door and slid off the seat. But she was thinking,
That truck is the only lead I have
.

Audrey approached the gate. She kicked the padlock holding the latch closed on the south side of the road. Her foot turned the frame into a tuning fork that hummed for a few seconds. The women in the truck behind her were still.

Audrey waited and hoped God would strike her with some revelation. Or some physical sensation to confirm that she was closer to Julie than ever before.

Snowflakes teased her nose and melted on her lips. Fingers of damp air touched her cheeks and burned the skin. She smelled the exhaust of the idling truck.

How far are you willing to go?

The voice might have been straight from God's mouth, dropping from the sky into her ears, except the audible words came from a woman, and, well, Audrey just didn't buy into the idea that God was a woman.

She spun back to the cab. Diane and Miralee were talking to each other, and Audrey couldn't hear what they were saying.

How far are you willing to go? Would you take your own life?

“No!” Audrey said aloud, though this time the questions were not audible. They were emotional. A challenge, a dare. And Audrey was less sure that they belonged to another woman. Maybe the thoughts were hers after all.

She was despairing. She had never despaired. Always hoped, always believed, always pressed ahead. But here she was, facing off with a padlock. Was she about to lose faith in the power of God over a chunk of metal?

If Geoff and Ed died, she might.

“How far will I go to do what?” she asked God aloud. “And
no
, I will not take my own life. You'll have to take responsibility for that part.”

There is no one to stop me anymore. Please stop me
.

A warmth of a cozy fire passed over Audrey's face, taking the bite out of the air and sending warmth out to her fingertips and toes. Her eyelids closed.
Stop me from what?
The question was vague and unimportant. Her frozen skin relaxed, and she felt the tension between her shoulders ease a fraction. She leaned forward and rested her hands on the gate's top horizontal bar. Seconds later, the peaceful illusion gave way to pain.

The flames of this mystical fire were too hot. The tongues licked her, burning the palms of her hands. She smelled the stench of burning hair and felt the mascara on her eyelashes begin to melt. Audrey jumped backward before she had consciously registered these details.

And after she thought those frightening seconds through, she turned her palms up and made sense of the pain. Her left hand was still protected by a light bandage covering last week's injury. But her right hand, bonded to the metal rail by her sweat, lost some skin when she leaped away. Tiny pink patches of raw flesh appeared like fresh calluses across the pads at the base of her finger joints. One of the wounds was bleeding, and the winter air was salt.

Stop me. Please
.

Audrey didn't know what the voice meant. Maybe it was God connecting her to Julie. Maybe it was her own spiritual indecision. But what she really needed right now were strong, strong ties to Julie. A rope on a pulley that would draw her closer to the missing woman. Some emotional or physical sensation wasn't going to do it this time. It was no longer enough for Audrey to say kind words to Julie through a curtained window and then walk away because Julie wanted her to. Audrey needed a battering ram that would knock down a front door or a cage or a kidnapper.

How far was Audrey willing to go? She still had time to turn around and get back to the bakery before Jack killed anyone. Even if the road wasn't closed, it was at least another hour and a half to the site where she'd seen Harlan Hall's old gray mare. Even if she found Julie then, she wouldn't be able to get back in touch with Jack in time.

For the sake of her husband and son, Audrey decided to break a law. Two, in fact.
Somebody just try to stop me
, she thought wryly.

She called back to the truck as she walked. “Diane, what happened to Julie's meds that I gave you back at the house?”

“In the glove box here.” Diane reached for it.

“Let me have one of the painkillers.” Audrey rounded the driver's side door, which she'd left open.

“You sure that's okay?” Diane asked.

“Not legally, if that's what you mean.”

“Maybe you'd better not take it, with you driving and all.”

“What happened to your hands?” Miralee said.

“I don't need it for my hands,” Audrey said, “and either one of you can drive if I get loopy. Let me have that ginger ale.”

Audrey took one of the pills and asked God to forgive her. She swallowed and felt silly. Why did she think that taking Julie's medicine might lead her onward?

She gingerly pulled herself up and behind the wheel, then slammed the door shut. “What time is it?”

“Five after nine,” Diane said.

Audrey squared her shoulders and focused on the line of fir trees bordering the road on the other side of the gate. A shadow flitted through the trees, low and crouching, floating down into King's Riches. She blinked, and the vision vanished. She'd seen this form one other time, but only now identified the shape, fluid like the billowing hair of a woman on the run.

“Where to now?” Miralee asked, craning her neck to help Audrey back out of the narrow bend.

“Straight ahead,” Audrey said. She put the truck in gear and floored the accelerator.

CHAPTER 29

Ed found murder in his heart. Jack stood over his father, pointing a gun down between Geoff's upturned eyes, but what Ed saw was himself standing in Jack's place, and Jack dead on the ground with a bullet through his head. If Jack killed his dad, that's exactly how this scene would end up. One way or the other.

“Jack, you are a good man,” his father said. “You're not a killer.”

The senseless words stripped Ed's revenge fantasy off the surface of the scene.
What?

“I do what God asks me to do,” Jack said.

“I know,” said Geoff. He lifted his hand slowly toward Jack's gun, and Jack's arm went rigid. He waved the barrel back and forth over Geoff's eyes.

“I'm a blameless man!” Jack shouted. “I've never done anything to deserve what's happened to me!”

Ed's dad gently pushed the gun away from his face and rolled onto his stomach. Jack snatched the weapon out of his reach and lifted it toward Ed, still directing his words at Geoff.

“I am devout! I provide for my family! I'm a leader in my community! Things shouldn't have turned out this way! There's only one explanation: my family is a victim of other people's sins! Do you understand me?”

Geoff rose to his good knee and pushed himself up. “Yes, I do. I've made the same claims for myself.”

“Your sins are responsible,” Jack said to Ed. “And yours,” he aimed his gun at Leslie, who scrambled away. “And yours, and yours, and yours.” Jack walked around the room, pointing at Estrella, and Geoff, and Coach. He stopped over Coach's reclined body, cocked the silent gun over the sleeping man.

“Christ already died for their sins,” Geoff said. “And yours. No more death required, okay?”

“You don't know squat about the things of God.”

Ed's father held up his hands, palms out, a calm request for reason. “I know about his love and his mercy.”

“All I ever tried to do was protect my wife and daughter from people like you,” Jack said. “And look at what happened to them. Is that my fault? No. I am Job. I am blameless!”

“Jack, you're going to lose your job, your freedom, your respect. And you won't be able to blame anyone else for that.”

The truth of Geoff's words seemed to penetrate Jack's mind. Slowly, his breathing evened out, and the bright blood under the skin of his neck receded. He lowered the gun to his side and took a deep breath.

“My actions will be justified,” Jack said. “God will restore everything to me, twice as much as I had before. And your wife will get what's coming to her.”

Ed's murderous heart pounded loudly in his own ears. He sat back down beside Leslie. The cat had curled up in the nest of her crossed legs while Coach slept, and she stroked the top of its head, more calm than he'd seen her since the ordeal started. He sat slightly in front of her, placing his body between hers and Jack's. If Jack shot them all to pieces, he might at least die trying to protect someone. It was better than being responsible for getting them killed.

His dad was watching him. Ed's attention flickered to his father, who gingerly put weight on the knee Ed had kicked, then put his fingertips on the wall for balance.

“Dad, I . . .”

Geoff shook his head. “I'm fine.”

Jack started tapping his gun against his thigh. The small room wasn't big enough to contain the detective's restlessness. He circled once and drifted into the kitchen, gun smacking his leg in a driving rhythm, footsteps pacing in sync.

Estrella followed him out and asked for permission to get milk for the cat.

“I'm sorry,” Ed said to Geoff.

His father responded in an equally low tone. “It'll heal.”

“Not that. I mean, I can't believe I kicked you. But I'm sorry I ever thought . . . that I ever wondered . . . that money for the abortion . . .”

Geoff's pained face relaxed slightly into a soft smile. “Ah. That. Any smart man would have wondered.”

“I didn't have any reason to. You've always done the right thing.”

“No. Not always.”

“Well,” Ed conceded, “maybe it would have helped if you'd put up more of a fight when Jack started pointing fingers this summer.”

A metallic gong sounded as Jack walked by the oven and struck it with the butt of his pistol.

“A fight, huh?”

“You kind of rolled over.”

Geoff nodded. “When I was your age I was more of a fighter.”