Moonlighting in Vermont (18 page)

“He’s breathing,” I said. “But we’ve got to figure out what to do with him before he wakes up. I’ll keep an eye on him. Why don’t you see if there is anything in the car we can use to tie him up.”
A minute later, Meg was back with a couple of sets of nylon handcuffs. “I thought we could do his feet, too,” she said, “so he can’t run away.”
We rolled Gunnar over on his side and got his hands cuffed behind his back. He started groaning just as we got his ankles bound. He struggled to get up for a couple of minutes, then gave it up, lying on the ground glaring at me. I could see the wheels turning in his head.
“There is no effing way you are going to get away with this,” he said. “I’m a mega-star. No one will take your word over mine. I suggest you bitches let me go before you find yourselves in over your heads.”
“You mean farther over our heads than when you were going to push us off the bridge?” I glared at him. “Because personally, I think being in trouble is better than being dead. I’m in trouble all the time. Doesn’t faze me.” I looked at Meg. “Let’s get him in the car.”
Meg and I each grabbed an arm and dragged Gunnar over to the car. He resisted the whole way, trying to wriggle out of our grasp and digging his heels into the dirt. We tried to lift him into the trunk, but we weren’t strong enough to get him up and over its lip. We set him back down on the ground, and I leaned against the tail of the car, panting.
“How are we getting this sucker into the car? We could probably get him in the back seat, but I don’t think he’d stay there.”
“Why didn’t we move the car closer to where he was lying? I’m dying here.” Meg wiped the sweat off her face with her sleeve “Maybe we could lean him up against the trunk and push him in.”
“We’d have to knock him out again. He’s never going to cooperate.”
“Would you stop talking like I’m a sack of potatoes?” Gunnar said. “It’s insulting.”
Meg and I looked at him. When I looked back up at Meg, her eyes were slits, and her face was red. She looked like she was going to blow a gasket.
“Calm down,” I said. “You’re going to give yourself an aneurism. Look at him, he has no idea what he said. He figures we should treat him like a human being, even though he was going to murder us fifteen minutes ago.”
Meg took a couple of deep breaths. “Okay, I’m better now. How about we put him in the back seat and use another handcuff to attach him to the car. Then he won’t be able to run away.”
“And what if I won’t let you put me in the car?”
“Then I’ll run you over with it. And I’ll be sure to run a tire over that pretty face of yours.” I was getting cranky. I hadn’t eaten anything in hours, my adrenaline levels were sky high, and frankly, I was sick and tired of the whole situation. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll tow you over to one of those trees, cuff you to it and leave you there. Then I’ll go find a phone, call the cops and tell them you’re two miles down the road. By the time they find you, you’ll be an icicle.”
Gunnar looked at me through narrowed eyes. He must have decided I was serious, because I could see him sink in on himself. “Okay,” he said. He puffed out a sigh. “I’ll let you put me in the car. You can secure me to something. But I’m telling you, if you take me to the police, I’ll deny everything.”
“Deny away,” I said. Meg and I pulled Gunnar to his feet and put him in the back seat of the car. The trouble was that with his hands cuffed behind his back, we couldn’t secure him to anything. I pulled the knife out of my pocket.
“We need to cuff his hands in front.”
“How the hell are we going to do that without him killing us?”
I shrugged. Eventually, we attached a new handcuff to his right arm and secured it to the handhold on the back of the driver’s seat. Then we cut the tie that was holding his hands behind his back. We ran another cuff around the handle on the back of the driver’s seat and slipped it through the link on his left wrist. Gunnar glared at us the whole time, but Meg was looking pretty pleased with herself.
There was a state police barracks in Hartland, but my hunch was that Gunnar was involved in Vera’s murder, and in any case, I wanted to be around cops who knew me. “See if you can find a cell phone in his pocket,” I said to Meg. “I want to call ahead and tell them we’re coming.”
Meg dug around and came up with a cell. She flipped it open, dialed the police barracks, and said a few words. She snapped it shut. “Steve Leftsky is going to meet us.” She said. “Drive around to the receiving door at the back of the building.”
Thirty minutes later, I turned into the Bethel barracks, the trunk lid bouncing up and down. Meg and I had just gotten out of the car when Steve came out the back door. Meg walked around the car and opened the passenger door, where Gunnar was sitting. Steve’s eyes flicked from me, to Meg, to Gunnar. He took in the cuffs hanging from my wrist and the webbing circling Gunnar’s wrists and ankles. I could see him struggling to keep his composure. There was a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he turned away. I saw his uniform expand as he took a deep breath, but he couldn’t beat it. His shoulders started to rock with mirth, and pretty soon he was laughing out loud, bending over and gasping. It took him a few minutes to compose himself. I crossed my arms, put my best offended expression on my face, and waited.
I glanced over at Meg, leaning on the car. She had the same highly offended look that I imagined was on my face. Gunnar looked outraged. If he hadn’t been cuffed to the car, I figured he would have tackled Steve and taken him out.
“Gee, Bree,” Steve said. “I didn’t know you were into bondage.”
Meg’s eyes narrowed. She pushed herself off the car and got right into Steve’s face.
“Listen,” she said. “I’ve had a very bad day. I’ve been kidnapped at gunpoint and had my shoes taken away from me. I was handcuffed to a bed, and the G.D. headboard fell on me. I got stuffed in a trunk, escaped from the trunk and was shot at. I was put back in a trunk. Then this nice man was going to toss me over Quechee Dam. I am not in a good mood. So if you say one thing about this to anyone, I’ll shoot you. Then I’ll tell my husband it was an accident. Better still, I’ll say Gunnar did it, because I am good and tired of being jerked around.” Meg burst into tears.
Steve looked uncomfortable and patted her shoulder. He grabbed his radio and called into the barracks for Tom and Lieutenant Brooks. Then he called for a camera and a set of cuff cutters. Then he called in for everyone to hurry it up.
“We’re going to have to take photos before we take those cuffs off you,” he said to Gunnar and me. “I promise you, they won’t get in the paper. But I can’t promise you that other officers won’t see them.” He was looking at me over Meg’s head. I could tell he was feeling bad about laughing at us.
Tom and Lieutenant Brooks ran out the door with a third officer behind them holding a lumpy bag and what looked like box cutters.
Steve approached me with the cutter, and I held out my hand. Lieutenant Brooks glanced at Steve and shook his head. He nodded to the metal cuffs hanging on Steve’s belt.
“Sorry,” Steve said as he clicked the cuffs on me and slid away to Gunnar.
“Are you kidding me? I’ve been kidnapped, cuffed, and shot at. I can’t believe you’re cutting the cuffs off Gunnar and putting them on me.”
“Don’t forget having that headboard come down on your head,” chimed in Meg. “That had to hurt like anything.”
“We’ve already investigated Gunnar for Vera’s murder,” Brooks said. “He has an alibi.”
I felt the world swimming around me. I tried to reach behind me to steady myself on the car, but the cuffs stopped me. I sat down hard on the ground. My ears were roaring, but I could vaguely hear Meg saying something about Gunnar’s briefcase. The world started to steady again. I took a couple of deep breaths. Steve squatted down beside me.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Have you cut Gunnar’s cuffs yet?”
He shook his head.
“Well, don’t do it until you’ve taken a look at his briefcase. There’s a folder in the bottom.”
Steve nodded. “Tom’s already gone to look for it.”
There was a scuffle at the car. I looked over. Gunnar was standing outside the car holding the manila folder over his head. His right arm was still attached to the back of the driver’s seat, and it was preventing him from moving from the car. Brooks and Tom were flanking Gunnar, trying to retrieve the folder from him. But Gunnar was taller and able to keep the folder out of their reach.
“What does he think he’s doing?” I asked. “He’s attached to the car. He can’t get away or anything.”
“It’s my private property.” Gunnar was shouting. “You have no right to go through my private property.”
“I’m holding you on charges of attempted kidnapping,” said Tom. “And as such, it won’t be long before we have a search warrant. It would serve you well to cooperate at this point.”
Gunnar was mincing around, his ankles still shackled together. He wasn’t giving up that easily. “Do you know who I am?” he screeched. “I’ll have your jobs for this.” Tom shook his head and grinned at Brooks.
“Whoa.” Steve grabbed my attention. “Your wrist is a mess.” He turned my arm over, examining the gashes. “I’m taking this off. We can re-cuff you later, if we need to, but for now, you need medical treatment.”
“Wait,” I said. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Don’t sweat the small stuff,” Steve said. “I can easily justify removing these. You could get infected.” He unlocked the metal cuffs.
I rubbed my wrist, but that hurt. It had bled and scabbed where the cuff had sliced into me. Other places, it was just raw. Steve helped me to my feet.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you and Meg in to get fixed up. Let the big boys deal with the movie star.”
I looked back at the car just in time to see Gunnar lose his balance and fall. He was tangled in the seatbelt and cuffs, but he still clutched the folder to his chest. Once they got a gander at that folder, he’d be done for. Add kidnapping and attempted murder to that. I wondered briefly how they’d explain his disappearance from his TV show.
Who cares?
I thought as I followed Steve into the building.
America needs a better heartthrob.
Steve took us to the staff room and pulled out the first aid kit. The antiseptic stung like hell, but I felt a lot better when he rolled on the gauze and taped it in place. Tom came in to take Meg home. He dropped a hand on my shoulder.
“Sorry, Bella. You’ll have to stay. We found those Christmas balls in the trees at Whispering Birches while we were looking for you. You need to stay until they’re dusted for fingerprints.”
“You were looking for us?”
“Janine got worried when she left work and your car was still at the spa. She told Brian, and he called us.”
Meg started to protest leaving me behind, but Tom gave the slightest shake of his head, and she shut her mouth. He gestured for me to sit in the waiting area. I sat in an orange plastic chair against the far wall. I didn’t think they could keep me overnight again, but maybe I was wrong. I was out on bail. Well, not on bail, on my own recognizance. Tom’s recognizance? The question was, if they found more evidence, could they put me back in jail before my court date?
I didn’t know the answer to that question. I thought about calling Val, but she had made such a scene last time, I decided I’d wait until I knew whether or not I actually needed her lawyerly skills. I rested my head against the wall behind me and closed my eyes. My mind was drifting back over the day. Very bizarre. I’d been kidnapped and had gotten free. Twice. Very surreal.
Several hookers were waiting with me. They were all wearing short red dresses.
Where did they come from?
I couldn’t think of a town anywhere near that hosted a population of street girls. A blond in spiky heels nodded to me. “MacGowan,” she said, “wake up.”
“Wake up?” I said. “I’m not asleep.”
“Bree, you’re talking in your sleep. Wake up.”
There was a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see Steve standing over me. I looked around. “Where did the hookers go?” I asked.
“I don’t think we’ve had a hooker in here in the last ten years,” said Steve. “You must have been dreaming. Come on, I’m taking you to get something to eat.”
Why am I dreaming about hookers?
I wondered. Surely that was odd. Then I remembered my day and thought maybe it wasn’t so strange after all.
Steve took me over to the deli, and we grabbed a couple of sandwiches and some chips. We sat at a little round table in the window. The room was warm, and Steve was good company, but I felt depressed.
“What are they waiting for?” I asked Steve. “Am I going to be arrested again? I’d really like to go home.”
“They are checking potential murder weapons for fingerprints,” said Steve. “It will take a little time to do all eleven of them. If your prints aren’t on them, I think you’ll be able to go home.”
“And if they are on them?” I asked.
“You’ll probably have to go before the judge again.”
“Oh, joy,” I said. The last time I appeared before that judge, I’d felt about ten-years-old.
Steve brought me back to the barracks and left me in the waiting room. I closed my eyes, but no more hookers appeared. I was still sitting in the chair the next morning when Steve came to tell me I could go home.
“No fingerprints?” I stood up. My body hurt all over, and I nearly sat back down.
Steve steadied me. “Oh, there were fingerprints, all right. Yours, Vera’s, Dotty’s, and probably everybody else who works in that place. Lots of yours. But no blood. Kind of hard to convince the judge that we’ve got the murder weapon, when there’s no blood. Brooks has to release you, but he’s not happy about it, so watch yourself.”
My car was in the lot. I looked at Steve. “Did you bring that here?”
“No. That was Brooks. He had Tom take him to get it last night.”
Brooks? I shook my head and slid into the car. Steve handed me the keys, and I raised a hand as I pulled out of the lot. Brooks? That guy was a bundle of contradictions.

Fourteen

I was in the barn grooming Max’s Haflinger. Haflingers are classified as ponies, because they don’t grow to be tall enough to be horses. But when most people see a Haflinger, they don’t think pony. What they think is “Holy cow, that’s a big horse.” Rosie is average size for her breed. The highest point on her back is about five feet off the ground. Her hooves are the size of lunch plates, she’s bigger around than my propane tank, and she weighs more than eight hundred pounds.

Besides being big, Rosie is sweet tempered, well trained, and beautiful. She’s the color of golden straw with a white blaze down her face, two white socks, and mane and tail the color of snow shot through with gold. Rosie’s gentle and affectionate, and she likes to rest her muzzle in the space between my neck and shoulder and blow softly. She’s warm and comforting to be around. Her huge presence is like a windbreak between me and the outside world. She makes me feel safe. She’s my favorite pony in the world, next to Lucky.