Whistle Pass (19 page)

A field entrance appeared to the right, and Charlie turned the wheel. The Buick coasted to a stop at the gate. He stretched his leg to the emergency brake and kicked the pedal. It ratcheted to the floor.

Charlie tugged the unconscious woman upright. He pulled off her sunglasses. Her blue eyes glistened. She casually blinked her elongated eyelashes.

“You can go back to your side of the car now, Mr. Harris.” Dora snatched the sunglasses out of his hand and returned them to her eyes. “Unless you’re not a homosexual, in which case, maybe we should move this party to the backseat.”

Stunned but relieved, Charlie leaned back. “You were faking?”

On the one hand, possibly the left, he was so damn glad to see her alive, he wanted to kiss her. On the other hand, definitely the right, as it had balled to a fist, he wanted to knock the bitch out.

“Mr. Harris.”

A boot up her ass would probably render nothing more than a bored yawn.

“
Mr. Harris
. Return to your seat or remove your jeans. I’m not kidding. I admit to more than a lurid and morbid curiosity as to whether
you could satisfy me the way you apparently once satisfied my husband.”
The glacier eyes moved with a glacier’s speed. “Do you happen to know where my cigarette holder went to?”

The lifeless gaze bored into every bone in Charlie’s spine. His mind quivered at the awareness she’d found a crack to ooze inside him.

“You’re nuts.” He scooted to the passenger side of the car. “You’re out of your mind.”

Charlie settled in his seat and stared out the window at a solitary black and white cow idly watching the show from beyond the closed gate. He dug in a coat pocket for his Luckies. The shaking in his hand knocked one out of the pack far enough he could grab the tobacco stick between his teeth.

He ripped a paper match out of the book. The sulfur head crumbled on the striker.

Click. Phssh
. A smell of lighter fluid filled the car. The flame appeared above a silver lighter in Dora’s hand.

“Allow me.”

Charlie managed to spear the flame with the cigarette and pulled in a drag. He exhaled around the cigarette clamped in his mouth. The tip bounced up and down.

“I’m not sorry, Mr. Harris. Not in the least. When you said my husband wanted you to kill me, I needed to know if that was in fact your intention here today.” A chuckle fell on his ear. “Obviously, it wasn’t.” A knuckle scraped his cheek. “It really is a pity, you know. We could have had such a marvelous time together.” She adjusted herself in the driver’s seat and lit her cigarette on the end of the holder.

Charlie rolled down the window. Smoke flowed in a wave out the gap. The chill of damp air calmed his nerves. It wasn’t the forest, but he didn’t have anything else.

A bolt of heat burned through his core. He hadn’t slipped into shellshock. Not so much as a rifle shot had risen in his brain. Not a scream, not a single toothpick of need to charge into hell and fight the devil.

Gabe’s face floated across his mind’s eye. Charlie rubbed the hair on his chin.
Gabe
. He smiled. The man had affected, or, maybe, infected
him. A mild laugh thumped his chest. Either way, Gabe Kasper had changed him.

“Care to share what has amused you?”

“No.” He turned his back to the door. “Want to talk?”

Dora pulled the Philip Morris out of the holder and snubbed the embers out in the ashtray. She leaned against the driver’s door. “Tit for tat. You’re my guest.” She held out her palm. “Please.”

Charlie genuinely grinned at Dora. Psycho didn’t begin to describe her, but the woman definitely had her own unique style.

“Why’d you send Perkins to beat up Gabe?”

She ran a finger under her nose. “I didn’t. Where’s the photograph?”

She didn’t send Perkins
? The possibility existed she’d decided to lie in this exchange. He wouldn’t lie, but he didn’t have to tell the whole truth. “Don’t have it anymore. Why do you want the picture?”

“So you have nothing to blackmail my husband with. Why are you blackmailing Roger?”

“
Me
? I’m blackmailing Roger?” A lightning jolt straightened his spine. Where’d this nonsense come from?

Dora crossed her arms and drummed the left bicep of her coat. Her gaze cut through Charlie as if he were a frog in a high school lab class.

“That’s two questions, and you didn’t answer mine. But it appears your questions may be the answer I sought.” She stopped the drumming and stroked the bicep. “Interesting situation, is it not, Mr. Harris? It seems we are either dire enemies or reluctant allies.”

This was way too strange. He had to get a grip on whatever was happening here. Might as well put it all out on the table.

“I’m not sure whose turn it is.”

She flopped open a hand.

“You own a lot of land south of Whistle Pass. Am I right?”

“Yes. Why is that your concern?” She reached up, grabbed the sunglasses, and tossed them onto the dashboard. Her left eye twitched. He’d struck a chord.

“You planning on selling it?”

“No. Why do you want to know?” Both her hands gripped her coat and tugged at it. A scent of salty, damp wool rose from her. Old Dora had broken a sweat under her coat.

The ice queen’s façade and concentration were cracking. She hadn’t so much as commented on how he didn’t answer her question before asking another. Charlie gnashed the awareness and the fact he didn’t know why Dora’s mask had slipped, between his teeth. “Because I saw the plans for the power plant.”

“Get out.”

Huh
? “We were getting along so well.”

“Get. Out. Of the car.”

Clearly the land and power plant had hit a nerve. But what kind? And why?

“I’m not blackmailing Roger. Think about it. If I coughed up the picture, I’d have as much to lose as he would.”

Dora reached in her pocket and set the pistol, a small revolver, in her lap. Charlie tensed.

“Then why are you here?”

Okay. Dora hadn’t sent the telegram either. So, who had? Or were Roger and Dora both lying? “Somebody sent me a telegram to come. I thought it was from Roger.”

She pointed to the floor at Charlie’s feet. “Would you hand me my cigarette case, please?”

He bent and retrieved the metal case. When he straightened, the gun was in her hand. Pointed at Charlie’s head, the barrel had grown to the size of a bazooka. The part of him that kept him alive woke and purred. Charlie flicked his cigarette out the window.

He kept his voice low and serious, but not threatening, so Dora would hopefully understand how close to death she really was. “If Roger’s told you anything about me, then you know there isn’t a thing that can stop me from killing you once you pull the trigger. It’ll happen that fast.”

Dora’s gaze locked with Charlie’s. The woman’s resolve didn’t budge. Something beyond Charlie’s comprehension had hold of the pistol. Whatever it was, to Dora, it was worth dying for. It made her more dangerous than Charlie. He didn’t want to kill her, but there might not be another option. He kept his words soft.

“This doesn’t have to happen. Maybe we can still help each other.”

“Are you telling me the truth about seeing plans for the power plant?”

The damn power plant again. “Yeah. They’re in a closet in his office at city hall. Go see for yourself.” He didn’t share the chuckle rolling around in his chest. Apparently, Roger had a big surprise coming if Dora decided to follow Charlie’s suggestion.

Ratch. Click
. She’d pulled back the hammer.

The hair on the back of Charlie’s neck stood and drilled into his skin. His muscles tightened. His lungs froze. They’d reached the brittle edge of life and death. Dora had the pull of a trigger left to live.

She eased the hammer down with her thumb and lowered the gun.

Charlie pushed the stale air out of his chest in a relieved sigh.

“The land’s in my name, but it belongs to my father. If something happens to me before he dies, my will returns the deed to his name.” She laid the pistol in her lap. Her fingers rubbed her eyes. “For the plant to be built on our property, I’m not the only one who would have to die, Mr. Harris. My father would never allow his land to be used that way. His great-grandfather first farmed that land.” She lowered her hands to her lap and rested them over the revolver. “My husband is the beneficiary in the event of my and my father’s deaths, Mr. Harris.” A tear rolled down the ice queen’s cheek. She visibly ignored it. “Help me, Mr. Harris. Help me keep my father alive.”

Shit
! Charlie’s thoughts twisted to a tornado, destroying any semblance of sanity in its path. He’d tossed out the murder scenario as bait, and a whale had pulled him under.
Shit
!

But it was Roger who’d planted the idea in his head. Maybe Roger had sent the telegram after all. Maybe Roger had manipulated this whole mess in an attempt to convince Charlie to kill Dora.

His emotions jumped aboard the whirlwind. Fear, worry, dread, anger… they all welded together to form a jumbled up ball of lead that rolled to rest in his stomach.

Something hard nestled in his open palm. He closed his hand around it.
Shit
! He looked down at the pistol.

“Kill him, Mr. Harris. Kill my husband before he kills my father.”

Charlie’s neck muscles melted. His head slapped onto the seat. The beige ceiling cloth slowly came into focus.

Shit
.

He jammed index fingers against his throbbing temples and tried to grind the tips through his skull. One semi-sane spark of logic did manage to jump the gap from fingertip to fingertip: Old Dora just might be a lying bitch.

D
ORA
dropped him off in front of Captain Tom’s. A beer or twelve sounded damn good. Charlie opened the door and walked into a refrigerator of silence.

Tom stood in front of the bar with Terry and Ted on either side of him. All of the seats at the tables were filled with men in denim, flannel, and a few in camouflage. Every eye trained on Charlie like hounds on a fox.

Charlie’s nerves went to stone. His breaths came steady and calm. Through the haze of smoke from smoldering cigars and cigarettes, he scanned the beer-bottle-covered tables. A man in a red cap put a hand in his canvas jacket pocket. So did a bearded guy. A muscle twitched in red cap’s cheek. Red cap was nervous. Beard’s eyes narrowed, and a corner of his mouth tightened. Beard had killed before. Might be a combat veteran. Beard would have to be taken out first if it came to that. Charlie wrapped his fingers around the pistol in the pocket of his pea coat.

“We’re closed,” Tom growled and crossed his arms. “Get out.”

“Or you need some help finding the door?” Ted slurred the question.

This bunch had been drinking for a while, building up beer muscles for whatever they had planned.

Charlie backed his way to the exit. Reaching behind him, he found the latch and opened the door. He eased out to the sidewalk and walked sideways, just in case a couple of the boys decided to take care of business on the street.

He jogged around the corner, then into the alley where he broke into a full run to put distance between him and the vigilantes. At the next intersection he slowed and looked over his shoulder. Nobody had followed.

He leaned his back against a building and pulled out a cigarette. With his thumb, he scratched a match across the striker. The match flashed in his hand. Something flashed in his mind. He crouched and scanned the area.

“Run, men. Run. Take cover.”

“No, LT. Stay low until we know where—” Charlie squinted, clenched his teeth, and yanked Gabe’s face to the forefront.

He whirled and waited. But the gunshots, the explosions, the screams, didn’t come. Gabe smiled. Charlie smiled back at him and stood.

Charlie watched Gabe wander back to the recesses of Charlie the man inhabited now. He picked his cigarette off the sidewalk and puffed the ember to life.

“Thanks, Gabe.”

Charlie looked around to get his bearings. Captain Tom and his little cadre of bigots had something in the works. Based on the less-than-welcome reception in the bar, whatever it was no doubt included Charlie. Which raised the question of why they hadn’t taken advantage of him stumbling into the middle of their war council.

The tobacco crackled as he took a long drag. The answer swirled in the smoke he blew out: because it wasn’t the right time or place. Charlie took another hit off the cigarette. Time. Place. Where would he be that they might know about so they could ambush him? “Oh, no,” he groaned.

The park. Eight o’clock. With Gabe.

He filled his lungs with smoke, then emptied them in an uneasy burst. “Aww, Gabe. What did you do?”

Part of Charlie wanted to slap the shit out of the man. Another part wanted to get on a bus and never look back. But his heart still wanted, still needed, to believe in Gabe.

Charlie stuck the cigarette between his third and fourth fingers so he couldn’t drop it while he walked. This town had to be filled with hunters and fishermen. The hardware store should have a wide variety of ammunition for sale that would fit the pistol.

But first he needed to make a call. Surely there was a newspaper in Chicago in need of a good story. He looked down the street for the phone booth.

Chapter 19