A Basket of Trouble (32 page)

Claire hunched down and ran for the barn. Charley moved

Gunpowder to continue to screen her, then handed the reins to

Tom.

“Let her go,” Charley yelled at Hank while walking toward the

parking lot. “She’s got no part in this.”

“Fuck you,” Hank yelled back.

Tom pulled Gunpowder into the corral and latched the gate

then followed Charley.

“You don’t need her,” Tom yelled. “We’re not stopping you—”

Claire rounded the barn and couldn’t make out the rest. Her

heart lifted, though, as she spotted a wiry, dark-haired woman approaching on horseback with three unsaddled mares ahead of her.

Claire ran toward her. “Are you Kat? Do you have a gun?”

Looking confused, Kat said, “Who are you?”

“Charley’s sister, and we’ve got a situation. Get off that horse

and come with me.”

Kat slid off her mount and ran behind Claire to the back of the

office trailer. “What’s going on?”

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Between huffs, Claire said, “Hank’s the killer, and he’s got Brittany at knifepoint.”

Kat gasped.

“Jessica called the police,” Claire continued, “but they aren’t

here yet. We can’t let Hank get away with Brittany. So, where’s your gun?”

Kat pulled a small pistol out of concealed holster under her

shirt and tucked into the back waistband of her jeans. “I’m not a great shot. I don’t want to hurt Brittany.”

“We’ll hope for an opening. Maybe when they’re getting in

Hank’s car.” Claire signaled for Kat to follow her.

They ran along the back of the trailer until they reached the

other end. Claire peeked around the side and signaled Kat to do

the same. They could see most of the parking lot. Both the driver’s door and the rear passenger door of Hank’s car were open. Hank

pulled Brittany off the hood of his car, and Claire could see he had tied her hands behind her back with his belt.

Charley and Tom were still hollering at him. Their voices were

nearer, so they had gotten closer to the parking lot, probably hoping to rush Hank as soon as he was distracted and away from Brit-

tany.

“Get back or I cut her,” Hank yelled at them while pulling Brit-

tany back toward the open rear car door, the knife still at her neck.

“Okay, okay, we’re moving back,” Charley yelled, frustration

and fear in his voice. “Don’t hurt her.”

Hank told Brittany to get in and slide over. He pushed her head

down toward the seat, then whacked her head with the butt of his

buck knife. Brittany’s whole body slumped.

“Shit!” Kat said between clenched teeth.

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“Oh, God. I hope she’s just unconscious.” Claire clutched Kat’s

free arm. “As soon as he steps away from her, shoot him!”

Kat stared at her and licked her lips. “My aim’s not that good,

and I’ve never shot a person.”

Claire gave a grim nod. “Do your best.”

Footsteps clattered toward the parking lot.

“I can still kill her!” Hank hollered while holding his knife

against Brittany’s throat. “Get back.”

While Charley and Tom backtracked, Kat squinted at the park-

ing lot and raised the pistol in her right hand. Her hand shook.

She transferred the pistol to her left hand, wiped her right on her jeans then transferred the gun back. She sighted on Hank.

Seemingly satisfied that Charley and Tom were far enough

away, Hank slammed Brittany’s door shut and rushed toward the

open driver’s door.

“Now!” Claire yelled at Kat.

Nothing. Hank jumped into the driver’s seat and shut the door.

“Shoot him!”

Nothing. Kat was frozen in fear.

Hank started the car engine.

Impressions flooded Claire’s senses as time slowed. Heavy steps

thudded in sync with her rapid heartbeat. Those and a shout of

“Get him!” told her that Charley and Tom were running for the

car. But they were too far away.

A bead of sweat trickled down her hairline. A horsefly buzzed

her ear.

Claire’s whole body snapped to attention. She grabbed the gun

out of Kat’s hand and fired it toward where Hank sat, reversing the car out of the parking spot.

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Blam!

The bullet pinged off the hood.

Blam!

A low hiss signaled that that bullet had gone through a tire.

The car was still moving.

Blam!

That bullet slammed into the car door just below Hank’s arm.

“Shit!” Hank braked and threw the buck knife out the open car

window onto the pavement. He raised his hands. “I give up! Don’t

shoot!”

Claire stopped. In the silence that followed, she heard Kat gasp-

ing beside her. Or was that herself?

“You done shooting, Annie Oakley?” Charley yelled at Claire.

He and Tom had both stopped running and were staring at her.

She stood shakily and walked toward Hank’s car, holding the

gun as steadily as she could on the panic-faced man. “I hope so.”

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nineteen:

the wrap-up

Charley and Tom held Hank down on the parking lot pave-

ment while Claire quickly wound the rope Tom had brought down

from the corral around Hank’s wrists. Digging up old memories of

Girl Scout knots, she tied it securely while Hank kept up a steady stream of curses aimed to send her straight to hell.

She ignored his invectives and calmly pulled the remaining

length down to his ankles and began wrapping it around them.

After she finished cinching the knot on Hank’s ankles, she walked to the back of Hank’s car.

“How’s Brittany?”

Brittany lay on the back seat, her hand holding a compress

against her head, while Jessica wrapped tape around it. A bandaid covered the knife nick on Brittany’s neck. Kat had untied Brittany’s hands and was kneeling next to her legs, anxiously watching

Jessica administer to the girl. Jessica had run out of the trailer after hearing shots. When she found out what had happened, she

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rushed back inside and came running down to the parking lot

with the first aid kit.

“This bump’s pretty nasty,” Jessica said. “And she’s got a cut

on it, much worse than the one on her neck. But the bleeding’s

slowed down. It will be okay until the ambulance gets her to the

hospital and they stitch it up.” Jessica stood and looked over her handiwork. “I’m more worried about concussion. Do you hurt

anywhere else, Brittany?”

“I’m just banged up some, from when he threw me in the car.”

Brittany flung her arm over her face, shielding her eyes from the sun. “I thought he was going to kill me for sure. Thank God you

guys rescued me!”

When she made a move to sit up, Jessica pressed down on her

shoulder. “Stay there until the paramedics come. We don’t want

you to get dizzy and black out again.”

Kat looked up at Claire, a sheepish expression on her face.

“Sorry I froze back there. I’ve just had the gun a few weeks, and I’m still not comfortable with it.”

“I’ve been there,” Claire said. “I don’t think you can ever get

truly comfortable with using one, especially against a person.”

Kat pursed her lips and nodded. “But if I’m going to conceal-

carry, I should try. I’ll work on it.”

Claire knelt next to Brittany’s head and put a hand on her

shoulder. “You’re going to be okay.”

Brittany nodded then winced. “I hope so. My head hurts. A lot.

And I feel shaky, like I’m going to puke.”

“That’s adrenaline shock, most likely,” Claire replied. “Take

some slow, deep breaths.”

“Why did Hank do this?”

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“Hank’s the one who dragged Kyle into Gunpowder’s stall and

poked the horse,” Claire said. “That’s why Gunpowder’s afraid of

him—and vice versa.”

“How the hell did you know that?” Charley asked while still

keeping watch over the finally quiet and defeated-looking Hank.

She turned to Tom. “Your trademark stable shirt. You gave one

to Hank last year when he worked for you, didn’t you?”

Tom’s brow furrowed in a puzzled frown. “I gave him two.

What’s that got to do with this?”

“It’s got everything to do with this.” Claire looked at Charley.

“Remember that scrap of cloth we found on Gunpowder’s hoof?”

Charley nodded, then his eyes widened. “I didn’t get a good

look at it. Does it match the pattern on Tom’s official stable work shirts from last year?”

“Yes, and I think Hank was wearing one when he tortured

Gunpowder. And it got torn, maybe when he slipped in the stall.”

Hank pivoted his head to glare at her. “You’ve got no proof for

any of this.”

Claire turned toward the sound of a siren. Two cars pulled up

in the parking lot. One was a patrol car, and the other was Detective Wilson’s. He and the patrolman got out and slammed their

doors shut.

“Maybe not yet,” she said to Hank. “But we will soon.”

Wilson walked up and surveyed the scene. “Sorry it took us so

long. We were on a call on the other side of town. Does someone

want to explain all this?”

“I will.” Claire told him everything that had happened and

pointed out where the three bullets she’d fired had hit. One had

pinged off the hood leaving a divot, one was in the flat tire, and 275

the third had plowed through the driver’s door and the cushion

of the driver’s seat. That was the one that had shocked Hank into surrendering.

When the ambulance drove in, Wilson interrupted Claire to

get a short statement from Brittany before she was taken to the

hospital. Jessica called Nancy and relayed a message to Brittany

that her mother would meet her at the hospital. Kat excused her-

self to return Gunpowder, her horse and the mares she had been

herding in from the pasture to the barn.

After the ambulance drove off, Wilson nodded approvingly at

the patrolman, who had secured Hank in cuffs but left the rope on the man’s wrists and ankles.

“Told him we were taking him in for kidnapping and bodily

harm,” the patrolman said, “and I read him his rights.”

“I heard,” Wilson replied. “Good work. We’ll let him stew a bit

on the concrete. Start taking photos of the crime scene.” Wilson

returned his attention to Claire.

She explained why she suspected Hank now rather than Tom

of killing Kyle.

Tom shook his head while staring at Hank. “I’m no killer. Can’t

believe he is either.”

Claire studied him. “I still don’t know if you told Hank to do it, or if he did it on his own.”

“There’s no way in hell I’d do that,” Tom said vehemently. “A

business rivalry is no reason to kill someone.”

With a sullen expression, Hank muttered against the concrete,

“It’s that damn crazy horse who’s a killer.”

Wilson studied Hank. He pulled a piece of paper out of his in-

side sport coat pocket, opened it, and bent down to show it to him.

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“This is a search warrant authorizing me to search the homes

and vehicles of the listed people and to confiscate any Peak View Stables shirts that I find.”

Tom peered over Wilson’s shoulder at the warrant. “How come

my name’s on there?”

Wilson returned the warrant to his coat pocket. “Because you

own shirts that match the scrap we found, as do all of your em-

ployees. I’ll start with both of your vehicles.” He held out his hand.

“Car keys?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide.” Tom dug his keys out of his jeans

pocket and gave them to Wilson. “It’s the blue truck.”

One side of Hank’s mouth twitched. “You’ll have to get my keys

from these damn vigilantes who shot up my car and tied me up.

Even better, how ‘bout charging them all with assault, especially that crazy bitch who tried to kill me?”

“Sounds to me like it was the other way around.” Wilson took

Hank’s car keys from Charley and tossed them casually in the air.

“Is someone tied up here? Sorry, can’t see it.”

Hank cursed under his breath and squirmed against his bonds

while Charley looked amused.

Wilson opened Hank’s trunk and bent over the back bumper

to look inside.

Curious, Claire sidled up next to him.

Wilson peeked out from under the lid. “Hold it right there. I

don’t want anyone but me touching these vehicles.”

Claire stepped back. “I’ll stay out of your way.”

He waved the patrolman over to take photos while he snapped

on a pair of latex gloves. Then he removed some tools and a plas-

tic crate full of crumpled beer cans from the back of Hank’s car

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trunk. He straightened and retrieved a large paper bag out of the trunk of his police car. After returning with the bag, he reached far back into Hank’s trunk and carefully pulled forward a balled-up

yellow, red, and black checked shirt. He held it up to the camera.

Jessica came up next to Claire and whispered, “Is that it?”

“Probably.”

Wilson spread the shirt out and whistled. The hem on the left

side of the shirt front was torn at least six inches and a small piece of cloth was missing. He pulled a baggie out of his pocket and held it up to show Claire.

“Picked this up from the evidence room this morning.”

The baggie held the scrap of cloth taken off of Gunpowder’s

hoof. Wilson held it against the tear. It seemed to match the hole perfectly. He raised an eyebrow at Claire.

She nodded. “Will this be enough to prove Hank did it?”

“The lab will have to confirm the match with a microscope.”

Wilson leaned over the shirt and studied it. “I can’t believe he