Stake & Eggs (33 page)

“Oh my gosh!” said Suzanne. “Colby!”

“That’s right,” said Reverend Yoder, breaking into a slow grin. “How on earth did
you know his name?”

Suzanne gripped his arm again, her fingers pressing so hard that Reverend Yoder practically
winced. “Is he there now?” she asked. Her words were terse and filled with urgency.

“Yes, of course,” said Reverend Yoder.

Suzanne looked around frantically for Sheriff Doogie, but didn’t see him. Never mind,
she told herself. I’ll go over and get Colby myself. Maybe it’s better that way; then
he won’t feel like he’s under arrest or something. I’ll just sort of invite him to
the party and let things play out.

“This is important,” Suzanne said to Reverend Yoder, fighting to control her emotions.
“I need to talk to Colby right now!”

B
UT
it was easier said than done. Because Colby certainly wasn’t happy to see Suzanne,
and he sure didn’t want any part of leaving the church.

“Why?” Colby whined at Suzanne, staring directly into her eyes. She looked him over,
saw that physically, anyway, he seemed fine. Then the boy’s eyes slid over to Reverend
Yoder. “You told me I could stay here. Now you went and sold me out!” Colby was bitter,
accusing, lying on his cot with some manga comics spread out around him.

“I did no such thing,” said Reverend Yoder. “But it appears you haven’t exactly been
honest with me, young man. I had no idea people were looking for you, let alone law
enforcement.”

“But I didn’t
do
anything!” Colby protested.

“We know that,” said Suzanne calmly, hoping to settle the boy. “But I need to talk
to you and so does Sheriff Doogie.”

“So bring him over,” said Colby.

“I’d rather you come next door and join the party,” said Suzanne.

Colby was still reluctant. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Trust me,” said Suzanne kindly but firmly. “You want to.”

E
VEN
though he mumbled and grumbled the entire time, Colby slipped into his puffer jacket
and walked across the frozen ground with Suzanne and Reverend Yoder.

“This is what you wanted me to see?” Colby asked, when he saw the Winter Blaze party.
“Big friggin’ deal. A small-town hoedown.”

They stood on the outer fringe of the event, Suzanne hopeful, Colby mistrustful. Reverend
Yoder was still a little befuddled by the whole thing.

“I want you to do something for me,” said Suzanne.

“What?” said Colby.

“Listen to me very carefully,” said Suzanne. “I know you witnessed something that
night. The night the man on the snowmobile was killed.”

“No way,” said Colby. His voice was firm, but his eyes skittered away from her.

“So I want you to help us.”

Colby stood there, practically dancing on the balls of his feet, throwing off wave
after wave of nervous energy.

“I know you saw
someone
that night,” said Suzanne, “so all I want you to do is look around right now and
see if you recognize anyone.”

Colby turned pleading eyes on Reverend Yoder. “Do I have to?”

Reverend Yoder nodded. “Help us out,” he said in a quiet voice. “You can do that;
I
know
you can do that. I have great faith in you, Colby.”

Colby let loose a deep sigh, and said, “You mean, do I recognize the guy who strung
the wire that night?”

Suzanne’s heart lurched wildly. “Do you?”

Colby gazed around, his brow furrowed, his eyes moving from one person to another.
“I dunno,” he said.

“Take your time,” said Suzanne. “Just kind of think about it.”

“I am,” said Colby. He continued to search the crowd, studying face after face. “No,
I don’t think so.” He was seemingly ready to give up and call it quits when something
flickered in his eyes. A tiny spark of recognition.

“Do you see someone you recognize?” Suzanne asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Colby nodded slowly.

“Who is it?” asked Suzanne.

Colby stood still for a long thirty seconds. Then, slowly but surely, he lifted a
hand and pointed. To none other than Hamilton Wick.

A
T
that exact moment, Ham Wick was perched on a hay bale, taking a sip of hot cider.
He was sitting next to Gene Gandle, who was jotting something down in his ever-present
reporter’s notebook. When Wick realized he’d been spotted, when he saw Colby pointing
at him and figured he was quite probably a marked man, he dumped his drink on the
ground and sprang from his hay bale. Sprinting through the throng of guests, he headed
for the nearest car. Carmen’s Mercedes. Only it was locked tight.

“We can’t let Wick get away!” Suzanne cried, launching herself into the crowd. “We
have to get Doogie!” She elbowed her way through the press of guests, searching frantically
for Doogie, trying to keep one eye on Wick!

“Whoa!” said Toni, reaching out to grab her arm. “What’s wrong, girlfriend?”

“Wick!” Suzanne sputtered. “Colby says he strung the wire! He’s the killer!”

Toni whirled around, caught a flash of movement on the edge of the crowd, and, with
dismay coloring her voice, cried out, “Oh no!”

“What?” cried Suzanne.

They watched as Ham Wick pulled open the driver’s side door of Junior’s idling car
and hurled himself inside. There was a sickening grind of gears, a spew of oily smoke,
and then Wick was rolling, picking up speed.

“He’s using Junior’s car cooker as his getaway car!” Toni cried.

“We gotta follow him!” Suzanne yelped. “Come on, we’ll take my snowmobile!”

They made a mad dash for her rented snowmobile, jumped on, jammed helmets onto their
heads. As Suzanne revved the machine and lurched forward, Toni clinging on back for
dear life, Sheriff Doogie ran out to wave them down.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” he cried. “What’s going on?”

“We gotta go after Ham Wick!” Suzanne screamed. “Colby just fingered him for the murder!”

“For sure?” said Doogie.

“He’s the one!” Suzanne cried. “Wick killed Busacker!”

Doogie rushed to his cruiser, had his hand on the door, before he realized it was
sandwiched between two other cars. Hopelessly blocked.

Suzanne glanced over her shoulder at him. “Take one of the other snowmobiles!” she
cried, waving toward a cluster of them. “And follow us!” She cranked the throttle
and took off.

Doogie leapt onto one of the snowmobiles and instantly punched it to life. His modified
Smoky Bear hat sailed neatly off his head as he lurched forward and joined the chase!

Two minutes later, zooming down the middle of Highway 65, cutting through the darkness,
Doogie caught up to Suzanne and Toni.

Waving an arm at them, he motioned for them to pull over, to drop out of the chase.
“Go back!” he yelled at them, fighting to be heard above the wind that buffeted both
machines. “Let me take handle this!”

“No way!” cried Suzanne as she leaned forward and poured on even more speed. She could
see Wick’s taillights up ahead. Maybe a half mile in front of them. Could they catch
him? They had to try!

The two snowmobiles, yellow headlights piercing the darkness, raced full throttle
down the highway. In some
spots the pavement had been scraped bare, so Suzanne and Doogie had to dodge and weave
onto the shoulder to find navigable snow and ice.

Toni bent forward and screamed in Suzanne’s ear, “I bet he’s heading into town!”

Suzanne nodded as tears streamed from her eyes. Traveling at almost forty miles an
hour meant the wind-chill temperature they were sustaining was something like minus
five degrees. Plus she wasn’t dressed for a wild chase at all. Her jacket and boots
were more fashion items than survival gear. Still, Suzanne wasn’t about to give up!

Where Highway 65 intersected with Bigsby Road, Suzanne finally throttled back. Somehow,
they’d lost sight of him. Had Wick turned east or west? If he’d turned east, he was
heading into downtown Kindred. If he’d turned west, he could be bumping across frozen
farm fields and cruising down gulleys and deep ravines where they’d never find him.

“Which way, which way?” Doogie shouted, as he pulled up alongside them. His thin gray
hair was blown back, as if he’d been spun through a wind tunnel. He was shivering,
but determined.

“Not sure,” said Suzanne, over the loud
tatatata
of the engines. She ground her teeth together and grimaced. Should she venture a
guess? But what if she guessed wrong?

Doogie was gazing west, about to head out into the countryside and carry on his search,
when Suzanne goosed her machine and coasted a few feet in the direction of town. It
felt
right to her, but she could be…

“Holy hiccups!” cried Toni, pointing a finger. “Is that blood?”

Suzanne glanced down, saw a splotch of red in the snow. Had there been an accident?
Had Wick hit someone with his stolen car? Oh, dear lord, a hit-and-run. Could this
get any worse?

Hopping off her snowmobile, Suzanne bent down on one knee. For some reason it didn’t
look like blood. On the other hand, it was bright red and…

She leaned closer and gave a suspicious sniff. “It’s barbecue sauce!”

Which caused Toni to tilt her head back, inhale deeply, and suddenly thrust out an
arm. “He went thataway! I smell the lingering aroma of baby back ribs!”

N
OW
they were a tag team of snowmobiles racing down Kindred’s residential streets. Wick
was ahead of them, all right, leading them on a crazy, high-speed chase from neighborhood
to neighborhood. Sometimes he’d be a block or two ahead of them. Other times they’d
catch sight of Junior’s car sputtering along on a parallel street, so they’d have
to roar down an alley, praying nobody would back their car out of the garage at that
exact moment!

“Where’s he going?” Toni wondered out loud into Suzanne’s right ear.

“To the bank to grab some money?” said Suzanne. “Or to his house to pick up his car?”
She took her hands off the handlebars for a second, making a helpless gesture. Somehow,
Wick had made a tricky turn and eluded them.

“We lost him,” said Doogie, pulling alongside. They were coasting quietly now, running
past the old train station and feed mill.

“Maybe he’s following the train tracks out of town,” Suzanne called to Doogie.

“Maybe,” said Doogie.

“Nope,” said Toni. “I can still smell those ribs.”

“So which way?” said Suzanne.

Toni gestured off to her left. “Maybe…that way?”

Suzanne kicked her sled into gear again and cut across a playground. They drifted
past deserted swing sets and teeter-totters, then skimmed across a snow-covered baseball
diamond.

“This is hopeless,” said Doogie, running alongside them. “We’re never going to find
him.”

“Yes, we are,” said Suzanne. She turned the nose of her
sled into a small copse of trees, bumped through what she knew was Mrs. Cooperfield’s
vegetable garden, and came out on Meadow Lane. And there, gliding by, not five hundred
yards ahead of them, was Junior’s car!

“There he is!” yelled Toni. “Doogie, Doogie, over there!”

Then they were after Wick again, nipping at his heels and chasing him over another
couple of blocks, plowing through backyards when they had to, clattering down alleys
and up onto a frozen sidewalk.

“He’s gonna run out of town pretty soon,” yelled Doogie.

“Then we have to get him now,” Suzanne yelled back. If Wick made a break for open
country, they’d never catch him. Simply because they’d never find him.

“He’s headed for Main Street!” Toni whooped.

“Gonna run him down!” cried Suzanne.

They flew after Wick, crossing Turnbull Street, swerving around a gas station, and
coming up on Main Street.

“There he is!” Toni yelled.

They were all flying down Main Street now, heading for the downtown business section
of Kindred. They whipped past Kuyper’s Hardware, Rexall Drugs, Schmitt’s Bar, Marcus
Brothers State Farm Insurance, and Root 66.

“You can do it!” Toni cried, egging Suzanne on. “You can catch him!” She bent forward,
burying her face in the back of Suzanne’s jacket as Suzanne redlined the snowmobile,
taking it up to dangerous speeds.

Wick, seeing the bobbing headlights behind him, slalomed left, then right, hitting
a parked car, nicking a light pole. All the while, Junior’s rattletrap of a car was
shaking and roaring like it was about to explode!

“He’s pushing the engine too hard!” Toni yelled. “That clunker won’t take it!”

Suddenly, Wick swerved the car off the street and drove directly into the park!

“He’s heading for the ice sculptures!” Suzanne cried. She glanced back to see if Doogie
was keeping up, saw that
he was grim-faced and barely ten feet behind her. Then she swerved up and over a snowbank,
catching some air and landing hard as she fought to stay on Wick’s tail.

Wick was directly ahead of her now, weaving back and forth between the ice sculptures.
He seemed to be trying to dip and dodge his way through the icy obstacles, but he
was clipping them left and right as he flew past. Suzanne saw a head tumble from a
Greek statue, an arm fly off a winged figure, and a giant fish wobble, then topple.
It was as if Wick was shaving ice for a fancy drink!

George Draper’s ice sarcophagus loomed into view, but when Wick tried to maneuver
around the solid, seven-foot-long piece, he clipped his right front bumper. That was
all it took. Junior’s car spun out wildly, making a hair-raising three-hundred-and-sixty-degree
turn, then crashed headfirst into the winning polar bear sculpture! The polar bear,
hit low in its stomach, groaned loudly in protest. Then it toppled a few feet to the
left and seemed to balance there precariously, like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Suzanne, fearing she wouldn’t be able to stop in time, braked hard, hard, hard. She
swerved left, skidding like mad, trying to avoid a huge collision. Then, when she
knew it wasn’t going to happen, when she knew she was going to hit
something,
she rammed the nose of her snowmobile directly into the front of Junior’s car.