Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle (87 page)

Suddenly his whole idea seemed doubtful; what he probably needed to do was to find Agnes and press her until she admitted the reason for her lie. But he had no way to apply leverage to the old woman—if she was determined to keep her little secret she could do it. Besides, there was no sense second-guessing himself now—he had come this far, and he might as well have a look while he was here.

Halfway to the card catalog he crossed the open doorway of a dimly lit room. He stopped and looked inside; the glow emanated from a half-dimmed light focused on a table in the center of the room. He stepped into the room and shined his flashlight along the walls, illuminating the hundreds of photos and magazine covers of Victoria Braden that covered the room like confetti. He looked at the table in the center of the room and saw a large old book with a leather cover. He stepped to the table and took a closer look; it wasn't a book at all—it was an album or scrapbook of some kind, and the table was covered with loose photographs, newspaper clippings, scissors, and glue. He picked up one of the clippings and read the headline: “Victoria Braden Comes Home.” He turned the scrapbook back to the very first page, then bent over the table and began to read.

Minutes passed.

“Unbelievable,” he whispered. “So that's what this is all about.”

He flipped the pages back and forth, studying every photograph and notation. He was so absorbed in the text that he never heard the footsteps slowly approaching from behind; he never heard the thick feet plant themselves solidly in a wide stance; he never heard the muscular hands tighten their grip on the baseball bat and slowly raise it overhead; and he never heard the flat, crunching
thud
of the wood as it crushed the back of his skull.

His lifeless body slumped forward on top of the scrapbook. A powerful pair of hands gripped his collar and pulled him off the table and onto the floor, then began to slowly drag his body across the smooth linoleum toward the loading dock.

“I'm getting too old for all this digging,” Agnes groaned.

Nick and Gunner crossed the street and approached the library from behind. They kept the flashlight off to avoid being spotted.

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” Gunner whispered.

“You didn't have to come—all you had to do was give me the key.”

“And when you got caught, how would you explain the key? I agreed to this, so I'm part of it—I might as well come along.”

“Kind of fun, isn't it?”

“Pastors aren't supposed to do this kind of thing.”

“What, support the law?”

“I thought we were breaking the law.”

“Ironic, isn't it?”

As they neared the loading dock they suddenly saw the outline of a figure moving in the shadows. Nick held out a hand and both men stopped. He put one finger to his lips; they moved closer to the building and crept forward. As they got closer they could make out two figures— one dragging the other across the loading dock toward a waiting pickup truck. Nick switched on the flashlight and pointed it at the face of the standing figure; a pair of startled eyes stared back.

Nick slowly lowered the beam of the flashlight, following the line of her stumplike arms to her blunt gnarled fingers clenching the jacket collar of a man's body. He saw the head slumped forward and the tangle of hair damp with blood; he saw the shoulders shrugged high and the arms hanging limp at the sides; he saw the legs dragging loose and lifeless; and he saw a smear of blood marking a trail back to the library door.

Gunner's mouth dropped open. “Agnes—what in heaven's name have you done?”

34

The dogs heard Nick's car approaching before Alena did. Those in the kennels lined up along the chain-link fences and began to bark viciously; inside the trailer, Ruckus bounded off the sofa and began to scratch at the door.

Alena opened the door and stepped out. She looked toward the opening in the woods and waited; a few seconds later she saw the flicker of headlights filtering through the trees, and then Nick's car emerged with its three-dog escort trotting alongside.

Nick's car pulled up in front of the trailer and stopped. Alena commanded the dogs to be silent and take sitting positions, and they immediately obeyed. When Nick's window began to roll down she leaned forward and said, “Where have you been? This is why I wouldn't go to Endor with you. You said it would only take a minute, but—” She drew a sharp breath and stumbled back from the car.

It wasn't Nick. It was his car, but someone else was driving it—a tall man with wavy black hair.

The three guard dogs instantly sensed her fear and threw themselves at the car. Acheron was closest to the driver's window; he turned his massive head sideways and lunged for the man's throat—but a split second later a gunshot exploded and the dog dropped silently to the ground.

Alena looked down at her dog in horror, then at the man still pointing the gun out the window.

“Call them off or I'll kill every one of them,” he said.

Alena blinked in disbelief.

The man turned and aimed the gun at the rib cage of Phlegethon, who was snarling and sprawling across the passenger-side window.

“No!” Alena hurriedly gave the command to “withdraw,” but she had to repeat it twice before the last of the dogs reluctantly obeyed.

Alena dropped to her knees and buried her face in Acheron's thick fur. She tried to wrap her arms around the dog's huge neck, but the lifeless form was so heavy that she could barely squeeze her arm underneath. She began to sob uncontrollably—a poisonous brew of sorrow, terror, and rage.

The man opened the car door; he had to shove the dog's body aside to step out. He looked down at her. “So you're the Witch of Endor. Funny, you don't look like a witch to me.”

Alena glared up at him. “This is Nick's car.”

“Yeah—I found it in front of his motel, so I borrowed it. I heard about these dogs of yours, and I figured I might get a warmer reception if I showed up in a familiar car. Sorry about the dog—I warned you.” He walked around the trunk of the car toward the kennels, giving a wide berth to Styx, who was staring at him and emitting a low growl. “Man, these mutts are big. What do you feed them, anyway?”

“Put the gun down and I'll show you.”

He looked back at her. “Put them in the kennel.”

“What?”

“Both of them—lock them up right now or I'll shoot them both.”

Alena hurried to an empty kennel and opened the gate; she snapped her fingers and pointed inside, and Phlegethon and Styx obediently trotted in.

Alena shut the gate and looked at him. “Are you the man who killed my father?”

“Me? I haven't been around that long—but I know who did.”

“Who?”

“Let's try not to get sidetracked here, okay?” He approached the kennels and looked at the line of dogs seated obediently in a row behind the fences. “Which one is the cadaver dog?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Alena didn't answer.

The man raised the gun and took aim at the first dog in line. “Is it that one?”

She still didn't answer.

He pulled the trigger and fired—the dog slumped over onto its side. The other dogs in the kennel scattered at the sound of the gunshot but quickly returned to their sitting positions.

“Stop it!” Alena screamed.

“Which one is the cadaver dog?” he demanded again. “Better tell me now—you might have a few dogs left.”

Alena bolted into the trailer with Ruckus at her heels.

Riddick lowered the gun when he heard the flimsy door bang shut. He turned and looked at the trailer. “C'mon, that's not going to get you anywhere.”

Inside the trailer, Alena ran to her bedroom and threw open a closet door. The shelves were filled with stacks of sealed plastic bags containing shirts, socks, trousers—everything her father had ever touched, carefully sealed to preserve his scent.

Outside, Riddick crossed to the trailer and shouted, “Don't make me come in there after you!”

Alena rummaged frantically through the bags, searching for one in particular. She found it on the top shelf—a bag containing a small white hand towel. She pulled it from the shelf and looked at the bag; in handwritten letters on the front was a single word: NICK.

“I don't have time to play games!” Riddick shouted. He raised his gun and aimed at the trailer. He fired three shots into the trailer wall, aiming high so that the bullets would strike above Alena's head. The bullets punched through the thin wall like an ice pick through tinfoil.

In her bedroom, Alena heard the shots and felt splinters of wood and chunks of drywall rain down on her; one shot caught the corner of a mirror and sent shards of glass flying across the room. She covered her head and dropped to the floor; Ruckus stood beside her and barked indignantly at the trailer wall.

“Stop wasting my time!” Riddick shouted. “You've got ten seconds to come out of there!”

Alena ripped open the bag and pulled out the towel. She held it out to Ruckus and let him take in the scent; the dog ran its nose back and forth over the rough fabric, then looked up at Alena. She snapped her fingers and pointed toward the door.

Riddick swung the gun around toward the kennels and pointed it at Phlegethon's head. “I'm about to shoot another one of your dogs, and it's a big one this time. I'd get out here if I were you.”

“Stop it!”

Riddick turned and looked. Alena was standing in the trailer doorway; a small dog squeezed past her ankles and raced off toward the woods. Alena let the door swing shut behind her and charged toward the man. “Who dares to set foot on my land?” she said, slashing an
X
across her chest with one finger and making a menacing mystic sign.

Riddick frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It's the curse of Charon. I have summoned him to ferry you across the river to Hades—soon.”

He let out a snort. “You expect me to buy this ‘witch' stuff ?”

“Wait and see.”

“Sorry, I don't have time to ‘wait and see.' Now—which one is the cadaver dog?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I'm going to kill it, that's why. I can't have it finding any more bodies.” He turned to the kennels again and aimed the gun at the next dog in line. “Is it that one?” He began to squeeze the trigger.

“No!” Alena shouted. “Not that one.” Her eyes passed down the row of dogs and rested momentarily on Trygg. The dog stared intently back at her, and Alena thought she could read the meaning in her eyes. “Open the kennel door,” Trygg seemed to say. “Don't let us die this way. He can't shoot all of us. One of us will get to him first. Open the door, Alena—give us a chance.”

Alena looked at the kennel doors—there were six of them. Phlegethon and Styx were both in the last kennel. They were by far the strongest dogs, but they were large and slow moving and there were only two of them—the man would shoot them both before they ever cleared the kennel door. She was a fool to allow them to be locked up in the first place, but she didn't know any better. If she had known then what she knew now, she would have given the “attack” command and one of them might have reached him; at least they would have had a fighting chance.

The fiercest dogs were all in the third kennel; if she could only open that door—if she could give them the first shot at the man, maybe they would occupy him long enough for her to open the remaining doors. All the dogs together might overwhelm him—but how many of them would he kill first? How many could she bear to lose? She glanced at the first kennel and saw the lifeless form lying on the concrete; her eyes began to fill with tears. Then she glanced at Trygg again, and this time the dog seemed to say, “Do it, Alena. Have courage—we do.”

“Well?” Riddick said. “Which one?”

“They're all cadaver dogs,” Alena said. “All of them—every last one.”

Riddick looked at her. “You're lying.”

“Am I?”

Alena suddenly charged toward the third kennel. She prayed she might somehow make it to the door and fling it open before the man realized what she was doing—but before she was even halfway there the man shouted, “Stop right now or I'll kill you where you stand!”

Ten feet from the kennel she stumbled to a stop and turned to face him; she extended both arms as if to make a shield. “You've got a problem,” she said.

“Oh? What's that?”

“You didn't come here just to kill my dogs—you have to kill me too.”

Riddick didn't reply.

“But to kill me you'll have to shoot me, and then my blood will be on the ground. There are thirty cadaver dogs here that all know my scent, and any one of them will be able to find my body wherever you try to hide it in these woods. You'll have to kill all the dogs—every one of them. How many bullets will that take? How many have you fired already? Five? Six? How much ammunition did you bring?”