Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake #3)(88)

“Well, they already tried anyway,” Sam says. He sounds calm and strong, and it’s just what she needs, I can tell. She nods slowly. Lifts her chin. This kid has problems, there’s no doubt about that; she needs help. But she’s got something inside, I can see that too. Trauma leaves a mark. So does character.

“My momma saw the wreck,” Vee says.

Connor turns and stares at her. He gets it first, I think. “The ghost car wreck?”

“Wasn’t a ghost car,” she tells him quite seriously. “Ghost car’s an old Tin Lizzie as drives out on the road by the river. This was two cars that hit head-on. One was an old man who drinks and lived up in the hills.” She swallows hard. “He died. Momma told me she saw him with his head all crushed in.”

The supposed ghost car wreck, I remember, was just about a week ago. “Vee,” I say, “your mom worked for the garage dispatching wreckers. How did she see it?”

“They was shorthanded a driver, so she drove one of the two trucks. She helped haul them off to where they got buried.”

“You said the old man from the hills died. What about the other driver?”

“He died too,” she said. “But he weren’t the only one in the car. Mom said she heard somebody crying in the back. She thought it was his ghost at first. But then they opened the back and . . .”

“And what?” Lanny asks, and takes her hand. Vee seems to steady again.

“And they found the little girl,” she says. “She’s still here, I guess.”

“What little girl?” Sam asks, but I already know.

“Ellie White,” I tell him.

It all fits. Marlene, seeing the wreck. The involvement of Carr, who owns the garage, plus the police chief and cops, plus the banker to demand another ransom payment to their own offshore bank. No wonder they want us all dead, if they’re this close to getting paid. They’ve already assumed that she told us in prison during that interview.

And they’re all implicated. Most of the cops, if not all. Everyone at the garage. Maybe it stretches further than that.

“Vee? Did your mom say what happened to the little girl?” I ask.

“Mr. Carr took her away,” she says. “He told Momma she’d get ten thousand dollars if she kept her mouth shut.”

But Marlene hadn’t kept her mouth shut. She’d called me instead, worried that she was in over her head. Worried that a little girl’s life was on the line. She must have heard something to make her doubt the child would be returned safely.

What we need to do now is call the FBI. Let them descend on this town like locusts until they get to the truth. The problem is, if we do that, there’s no guarantee that Ellie White won’t be dead and dumped at the first sign of a federal badge. They didn’t seem afraid of the TBI, which is obviously looking in the wrong place.

I follow that trail to the end, and I realize I’ve forgotten something.

They have seen a federal badge. Mike Lustig’s. He flashed it last night in the process of protecting Sam from whatever was coming for him. Oh Jesus. They have to believe it’s all coming down on them.

We might have killed this little girl already.

“Mom?” Lanny says. I realize I’ve been silent too long. “Are we going inside? We shouldn’t be out here too long, right?”

This has suddenly gotten very, very complicated. There’s only one road through Wolfhunter that I know of. All these people have to do is wait for us to try to leave town, and they can close their trap and get us all at once. I suddenly wonder what’s happened to Mike Lustig. And Miranda Tidewell, if she was with him.

If these people want to get away with collecting a fortune in ransom, they have a lot of people they need to eliminate. Fast.

And we’re high on the list.

“Out of the car,” I tell them. “Let’s go.”





15

GWEN

I bang hard on the door, and Mrs. Pall greets me with a grim look. “He’s not here,” she says. “You should have called. You’ll have to come back later.”

She’s already shutting the well-polished door. I ruin the shine by putting a hand flat against the wood and pushing back. “Where is he?”

“He’s not available.”

“I don’t care. He called us,” I tell her. My tone tells her not to screw with me. I’m not about to be left outside, exposed, with Vee and my kids at risk.

Mrs. Pall gives us a sour look, but stands back. She’s wearing what I would swear is the same dress as before, but in a different color, and another nineteenth-century–style apron. She stares out at my rental car while I move past her, and finally says, “Do I have to watch over your children now as well?” There’s a strong implication that Social Services should have taken them away long ago.

“No, thank you,” I say. “What a kind offer.” I head straight for the hallway that leads to his office. I can see Sparks behind the desk. He’s rising from his seat when Mrs. Pall suddenly cuts in front of me, and I have to stop or run right into her. “You’ll have to wait in the parlor,” she says. “It’s behind you to the left.”

Hector Sparks is swinging his door shut. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll need just a few minutes to finish a phone call.”