The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (51 page)

Maybe she wasn't in such a hurry for this meeting after all.

Finally the car stopped.

No cabin. Nothing around them except trees.

Amanda braked to a halt several feet back from the
Cadillac
. When she turned off her bike and the headlight went out, the darkness was complete. She could barely see the outline of the black car. Her
bur
gundy red bike was black, the chrome dull
with no light to reflect
. Silence reigned around them. No creature of the night rustled through the leaves or called from the trees. She was alone with a killer.

"Wonder why he brought us out here?" Charley said, his voice loud in the silence. "This is kind of creepy."

"I'm sure he brought us here so we can have a nice, quiet, uninterrupted talk," she said sarcastically. "Or
a nice, quiet, uninterrupted
murder." That last part wasn't sarcasm.

The driver's side door of the
Cadillac
opened, spilling bright light into the darkness, illuminating the interior of the car, silhouetting the man inside. Kimball, wearing black slacks and a black knit shirt, slid out, stood and closed the door behind him, returning the world to darkness.

He smiled, his thin lips pressed together tightly as he came toward her. His dark eyes were empty holes in his sha
dowed face
. Amanda pressed her hand against her jacket, feeling the
reassuring
outlines of the hammer and gun.

"We walk from here," Kimball said, turned away from her and started through the trees.

Amanda put down her bike's quick stand. When she removed her helmet and gloves, the night air on her skin reminded her of how vulnerable and exposed she was.

"Charley?" she whispered.

"Right here, Babe. I got your back."

"You'll pass right through my back," she muttered. Nevertheless, having him there was irrationally reassuring.

Forcing her feet to move, one in front of the other, she followed a few yards behind Kimball. Only when she had taken several steps through the underbrush did she realize they were on a path, albeit an overgrown path that had not seen much use in a lot of years.

"I don't think this is the way to a rich man's hunting cabin," Charley said, echoing Amanda's fears. "Surely he'd have had a better road to get there."

"Where are we going?" Amanda asked, speaking loud enough for Kimball to hear her.

"Some place private."

"Really? I thought maybe you were taking me to a five-star restaurant where I'd get to meet all your friends."

Charley laughed.

Kimball didn't.

For several minutes they walked in silence, the only sound the crunching of leaves under their feet and the rapid pounding of Amanda's heart. At one
point when Kimball went round a twist
in the path and disappeared, Amanda pulled her cell phone from her pocket. No signal. That explained why Kimball hadn't
checked to be sure she'd turned off
her phone. He'd known they were going somewhere it would be useless.

But he hadn't counted on all those apps Dawson had downloaded to her new smart phone, those apps she'd insisted she'd never have occasion to use. She set the phone to record and put it back in her pocket. She could only hope they got wherever they were going and had a meaningful conversation before her battery died or her memory card filled up.

Finally they reached a clearing with the remains of what had once been a small, badly-constructed cabin. Even in its heyday, Amanda couldn't imagine Catherine Montgomery Kimball's grandfather hanging out here. Certainly he wouldn't have brought his friends to this place for a weekend of drinking and shooting.

Large cracks separated the rough-hewn boards that looked as if they'd never seen paint. One small window gaped wide with its wooden cover hanging askew beneath the opening. Glass had n
ever
been
a part of this structure
. What remained of the roof was flat.
It
looked like an attempt by someone with
limited funds and
no experience in construction to create a rudimentary shelter.

Kimball continued to the front door, grasped the short rope attached
to one side, and pulled on it
. A hinge was broken, and the door sagged when opened.

"Who does this place belong to?" Amanda asked.

"I have no idea, but I don't think the owner is going to complain," Kimball said. "I'd say he doesn't use it often."

So her meticulous recitation of the legal description of the Montgomery family property to Detective Daggett had been to no avail. If Kimball killed her here, Daggett would never find her body.

Only one solution to that. She wasn't going to let Kimball kill her.

She followed him inside, stepping across the
rotting boards, around the holes
in the floor. A spider darted across a web hanging directly in front of Amanda's face. She gasped and turned her head away in time to see a mouse skitter through a hole in the wall.

"Nice place," she said, compelled to speak
in order
to release some of the stress. "Come here often?"

Kimball crossed the room, picked up an ancient kerosene lantern and lit it. That told her he'd been there recently enough to keep the lantern fueled.

The small flame cast flickering, ominous shadows over his face as he turned to her. Not that he needed the lantern to look ominous.

"I believe you have something you want to give me."

Amanda unzipped her jacket halfway, reached into her pocket and pulled out the gun, holding it tightly in both hands lest he try to take it from her by force. "If you mean the gun you used to kill Dianne
Carter
, yes, I have it right here."

He said nothing, merely extended his hand.

"Why'd you kill her?"

"Who?"

"Dianne. The woman you shot with this gun Charley rescued from the garbage bin where you dumped it. You and she dated. You cared about her at one time. Why kill her?"

Kimball took a step closer, and Amanda took a step backward. "I didn't come here to talk." His voice was rough, the smooth oil gone. "Give me the gun."

Amanda held the weapon behind her back.

"You killed my husband, you've put me through hell, I may even be arrested for murder. I think I at least deserve to know what started all this."

"Deserve? You deserve nothing. Give me the gun.
Now
."

She was doing this all wrong. Suddenly she remembered her reply when Irene had asked how she intended to get Kimball to confess. Amanda had replied that she'd appeal to his arrogance.

"You wanted her back, didn't you? She dumped you in college, and with all your money and power and country club membership, you couldn't get her back. She loved her husband, a man who couldn't even get into the country club. That made you really mad, didn't it?"

Fires flamed in Kimball's dark eyes. It was probably just a reflection of the lantern flames. Or maybe not. Whatever the cause, it was pretty freaky. Amanda had to force herself to remain in place, not back away. She was getting to him. Soon he'd be pouring out his guts to her cell phone.

"Take off your jacket," he ordered.

"Don't do it!" Charley said. "Don't let him get hold of your phone!"

"You sick pervert," Amanda replied. "I'm not taking off anything for you. Dianne didn't either, did she?"

Kimball's thin lips stretched into a semblance of a smile. "You don't know anything about Dianne. She wasn't the saint everybody in town thought she was."

"Ask him if Dianne enjoyed killing the homeless man," Charley directed.

That was taking a chance. They had no
positive
proof that had happened. But she had to bow to Charley's superior knowledge of this sort of situation.

"Are you saying Dianne enjoyed herself the night you two killed that homeless man?"

Kimball's eyes darkened, becoming bottomless pits where not even the lantern light reflected.

"She didn't enjoy it, did she?" Amanda pursued, terrified and encouraged by Kimball's reaction. Dawson had been right. "
She refused to take part.
She thought you were a sick, evil man. That's when she broke up with you. Never wanted to see a disgusting man like you ever again."

Kimball moved toward her. "Give me the gun." His words seemed to have a faint echo, as if they'd been dredged up from the depths of hell.

Amanda stepped away from him, backing into the wall. She couldn't get any farther away. He stood inches from her. His garlicky breath blew hot on her face.

"Get back," she ordered. "Did nobody ever tell you not to eat garlic or onions before a close encounter?"

"Give me the gun."

The situation was getting out of control. She brought the gun from behind her back and pointed it at him, inches from his stomach. "I said, get back. This gun is loaded, and I'm not
soft
like Dianne. I wouldn't have any problem at all killing you. In fact, I'd enjoy it."

Her father had impressed on her that she should never point a gun at anyone unless she was ready to kill that person. Tonight was the first time she'd known she could do that, kill a human being. Well, she wasn't sure Kimbal
l qualified as a human being
. 

"After all you've done to me," she continued when he said nothing, "I'd take great pleasure in emptying this gun into your gut and then, if you're still breathing, I'll happily pistol whip that smirk off your face and through the back of your skull."

"Give. Me. The. Gun."

"I will, if you go stand across the room and get out of my face."

With surprising speed and dexterity, Kimball grabbed her wrist
of the hand
that held the gun.

"Watch out, Amanda!" Charley shouted, a little late.

Panicked, Amanda squeezed the trigger, but Kimball pushed her hand sideways, and the bullet went harmlessly through the opposite wall.

"Bitch!" He twisted her wrist with one hand while trying to wrest the gun from her with the other.

Amanda struggled to keep the gun, clawing at his fingers with her free hand.

"Leave her alone!" Charley dove between the two of them, pummeling Kimball. At least, Amanda assumed that's what he was trying to do. Instead his hands passed through the man.

Charley must have made some impact, though, because Kimball looked startled and momentarily loosed his grip on her wrist.