Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake #3)(89)

I heard nothing on a speakerphone, and he hadn’t been holding a phone either. But before I can tell him that we have his missing client, he’s slammed the door on me.

If this is a trap . . . Paranoia surges back. But the fact is, we have few options left. Yes, I’ve got a gun; I’m guessing that Sam doesn’t because it would have been held as evidence by the police. My extra weapon is locked up in my SUV, held at the county sheriff’s substation. I’m no longer sure that Mike can help us. I remember those black SUVs in town. If Carr and his coconspirators hired outsiders to come in and blockade the road, take anybody who wasn’t part of the plot . . . then help is very far away right now.

“What the hell was that?” Lanny asks. She’s still holding on to Vee, or Vee’s holding on to her; it’s hard to be certain. “I thought he wanted us to come here!” She sounds both outraged and nervous. I don’t blame her. I’m still facing Mrs. Pall. The dislike radiates off her like a dark cloud.

“Behind you,” she says again. “To the left.” Each word is overly enunciated. I’m not really tempted to comply, but I can hear the others turn and head in that direction. I’m the last to move, but I finally follow.

“Seriously, a parlor,” Lanny says, as Mrs. Pall slides doors shut on us. “Didn’t those go out, like, ages ago?”

She’s right. It’s severely dated: a formal receiving room with stiff Victorian horsehair sofa, a leather chair by an empty fireplace, antique wallpaper, glossy curio cases filled with teacups. There’s a poker by the fire. I take note of it, just in case. Sparks had sworn we’d be safe here, but how is he planning to defend this house? If he is.

“You’re sure about this guy?” Sam asks me. He’s looking around as if he finds this as strange, as alien, as Lanny does. Vera is huddling close to my daughter, and Lanny, after turning up her nose, leads the other girl to the sofa. They sit. There’s a knitted blanket sitting on a chair, and Lanny retrieves it to drape it over Vee, who’s still shivering.

“I’m not sure about anyone right now,” I tell him. “We need to find something for Vee to put on. That jail jumpsuit has to go.”

“But . . . I thought you had to take me back to jail?” Vee seems dazed. I don’t blame her. “Why should I change?”

“I’m not here for Sparks to turn you back over; I’m going to convince him we need to get you out of town. So we’ll need a different car, one that can’t be traced back to us, and we need a disguise for you.”

“Mom, that’s . . . What do they call it? Aiding and abetting a fugitive? Can’t we go to jail for that?” Trust my son to know the proper statutes we’re about to violate.

“We can,” I say. “But the thing is, if we can call in the TBI and FBI, and get Vee safely out of here and into their custody, we can make the case that we weren’t aiding and abetting; we were all working on the side of a kidnapped child. All of us. Including Vee, who has direct knowledge even if she didn’t know it.”

“And you think this guy’s going to help?” Sam says. “We should call Mike.”

“I thought you didn’t trust him,” Lanny says. I can tell by the way she frowns at him that she’s not completely Team Sam anymore either.

“I don’t,” he tells her. “But that’s personal. This is a kid’s life. I can trust him with that.”

I don’t want to admit my suspicion that Mike—and Miranda—might never have even made it out of Wolfhunter. “Then text him what we know,” I tell Sam. “The faster they’re on this, the better. But don’t tell him where we are.”

Sam, I’m relieved to see, has his phone; I suppose they had to give it back when he was released. He quickly texts. While he does, I slide the parlor door open. Mrs. Pall is standing in the entryway as if she’s been listening, or waiting. It’s creepy. “Do you have anything we can give Vera Crockett to wear?”

She thinks for a moment, and then smiles. I don’t think I like that expression any better than her usual sour one. “Why, yes, I think I do,” she says. “I’ll be right back. Please wait there.”

She marches off down the hall on the other side of the stairs. I look toward Sparks’s closed door. I can’t hear any conversation, but I suppose he could be on the phone, after all.

“Mom?” It’s Connor. I close the sliding doors and look at him. “Won’t the police search here too?”

“Sure. He can refuse them entry, though, unless they have a search warrant specifically for this house . . . which they won’t,” I tell him. “It all depends on how much the chief of police wants to push things. But we better find a place to hide that car. It’s not registered to me, but they’ll trace it eventually. Once they do, we’d better be out of this town.”

Sam finishes his text. Without looking up, he says, “You’ve got Fairweather’s number, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“We should probably cover all the bases.”

He’s right. In case my suspicions are right, we should have a local backup plan. Fairweather isn’t local, but at least he’s relatively close. And so far, everything about him tells me he’s not in bed with the good ol’ boys of Wolfhunter.