Six Geese A-Slaying(78)

I looked from the cleaners’ cart to the Subaru. No way I could roll Rob there through a foot of snow, so I carefully picked him up and staggered over to the car.

“In the luggage compartment.”

I settled Rob in the back of the Subaru. It already contained several cardboard boxes filled, as far as I could tell, with paper. To fit Rob in, I had to move one box out completely and put it in the back seat. Werzel stood about fifteen feet away, probably to make sure he had time to shoot me if I emerged from his trunk waving some kind of weapon.

Alas, I could see no sign of anything that would make a good weapon—no wrenches or tire irons. There was a tarp, which I tucked in around Rob to keep him warm. I checked his pulse, which was still steady. As I did, I noticed that there was also a metal can of kerosene at the very back of the trunk.

“My head hurts,” Rob said suddenly. Relief flooded my mind—surely it was a good sign if he was well enough to speak. I glanced over my shoulder and found that Werzel didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Shh,” I whispered. “Don’t talk.”

“But my head hurts.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m going to get help as soon as I can. For now, the less you talk, the less your head will hurt.”

“Okay,” Rob said.

He closed his eyes again. I breathed a sigh of relief. The less Rob talked, the less likely it was that Werzel would decide to whack him again. And if Rob stayed conscious, there was a slim chance he could help me engineer our escape.

Not a chance I could count on, though.

“Hurry up,” Werzel said. “Get in and drive.”

I got in, hoping it wasn’t a mistake. The keys were in the ignition. Werzel slid into the back seat. I started the car and felt immediately and irrationally better. Werzel still had that nasty little gun pointed at me, but I had over a ton of lethal metal under my control. Surely I could find a way to turn the tables on Werzel. Newscasters were always proclaiming that cars were more deadly than guns.

“Where are we going?” I asked aloud.

“Shut up and drive.”





Chapter 31

Easier said than done. The Shiffleys had more than enough to do keeping the streets clear. They had no reason to plow the alley behind a building that, except for tonight’s performance, would be closed for the rest of the holiday season.

But unfortunately there wasn’t quite enough snow to stop the Subaru. Just enough to slow us down. I took as much advantage of the delay as I could, all the while keeping my eyes open for someone—anyone—on the streets.

The Christmas decorations that had seemed so festive when I’d walked past them earlier now seemed to mock me with their cheerfulness. And where had all the hardy pedestrians gone? Clearly the shopping rush was over, and if anyone was planning to brave the snow for Michael’s show, they hadn’t ventured out yet. We didn’t even see any of the snowplows.

“Take the next left.”

The next left would be the country road that led out to our house, and eventually to the Spare Attic and Whispering Pines. Not where I wanted us to be going at all. I wanted us to stay in town, where there was at least a fighting chance of encountering someone. And where we were closer to the hospital I’d be rushing Rob to if—no, make that when, dammit!—I turned the tables on Werzel.

“Left?” I said. I tried to sound surprised and maybe even cheerful. “Onto our road? But it’s a d . . .”

I let my voice trail off.

“Yeah, it’s a dead end,” he said. Then he laughed. “A real dead end.”

“If I were you,” I said, “I’d be heading away from Caerphilly. I mean really away, not just out into the countryside.”

“I will be soon,” he said. “Need to do a few things first.”

I didn’t like the sound of it. Not “We will be soon” but “I.” I wanted my stint as his unwilling chauffeur to end on my terms, not his.

Relief washed over me when we got to the turnoff. Clearly the Shiffleys were rethinking their attempts to keep every road in the county plowed. Where the turnoff should have been was only a solid bank of snow they’d ploughed off the highway.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” I said, as I slowed to a halt. “But I don’t think we can take that turnoff.”

“Don’t argue with me! Keep driving!”

“I’m not arguing,” I said. “I’m perfectly happy to keep driving, but I doubt if even your Subaru can get through that. Want me to go ahead and bury us in the snow?”

Werzel studied the snow bank for a while.

“Damn,” he said, finally. “This really screws up my plans.”