“If I were you, I’d just leave town,” I said. “While the police are still busy with Norris Pruitt.”
“What do you mean, busy with him? They didn’t find him, did they?”
“A few hours ago.”
“Lucky for me you mentioned that,” he said. “That changes my plans completely.”
“Just what are—were your plans?” I asked. “I realize you might not want to tell me, but I’d kick myself if I didn’t ask.”
After I said it, I worried that my sarcasm would anger him. But he didn’t even answer for a few moments. I could see in the rear view mirror that he was frowning at the box on the seat beside him.
“Well,” he said finally. “I was going to make it look as if Norris Pruitt had killed you and your brother while trying to retrieve whatever Doleson was using to blackmail him.”
“Which building were you going to torch, the Spare Attic or the Whispering Pines?”
He gave me a startled look, then relaxed.
“You saw the kerosene, right? I hadn’t really decided. Maybe both. But if Pruitt’s already been arrested . . . of course, I could rig something to look like a delayed fuse. You say he was only arrested a few hours ago?”
I nodded. I didn’t like the way this was going.
“Do you know where?”
I was trying to think of a suitable lie—one that wouldn’t result in him dragging Rob and me off to some deserted corner of town where he could carry out his revised plan without interference. But bright ideas weren’t happening.
“I said where!” he said, waving the gun. I suddenly realized the truth was better than any lie I could think of.
“The stables,” I said.
“What stables?”
“The college stables. That’s where we’re keeping the animals from the parade until the storm’s past and we can get them home. Norris was looking after them.”
“Probably filled with nice, flammable hay,” he said. “That’ll do. Let’s go.”
I tried not to let him see how relieved I was. Short of convincing him to pull up in front of the police station and drop me off, the stables were the best possible destination. Deputy Sammy would be dropping by to see to the animals. Dropping by more frequently than needed, thanks to my hint that Rose Noire might be checking on them. For that matter, Rose Noire might well drop by to soothe the ruffled fur and feathers of the barn’s inhabitants. And I was positive Clarence would look in if he was out of jail. And if Dad and Dr. Blake were in town, surely they’d check on the animals’ welfare before heading over to the drama department for Michael’s show. I could think of any number of people who might drop by and could help, or at least provide a distraction.
“It’s close to the edge of town,” I said. He’d be suspicious if I didn’t put up some kind of argument. “They may not be plowing over there, either. Could be rough going.”
“We’ll just have to go and see. Move it.”
I eased the Subaru into motion and began lumbering slowly toward the stables. Keeping my eye out for passing vehicles, of course. No need for a showdown at the stables if I could pretend to lose control of the car and spin us into the path of a patrol car or one of the Shiffleys’ snowplows.
I glanced in the rear view mirror again. Werzel was staring out the window, apparently lost in thought. I didn’t want him thinking. I wanted him off balance.
“So did you kill Emerson Drood?” I asked.
“Kill him? No! Absolutely not!”
“Yeah, right,” I said. “That’s what Doleson had on you, isn’t it—that you killed Drood?”
“I didn’t kill him,” Werzel said. “He was already dead when I got there, so if someone killed him, it wasn’t me.”
“If he was already dead when you got there—then the big interview was a fake. That’s what Doleson was blackmailing you about.”
Silence in the back seat for a while.
“Yeah,” Werzel said at last. “Far as I know, it was a suicide, but if they’ve decided it wasn’t, they should look at Doleson. He took pictures of the body—hoping to sell them to the tabloids. And then I came along and gave him a better idea. There’s a limit to how much the tabloids would pay for a shot of a small-town politico who’d hanged himself in a cheap motel room, but he knew he could milk me forever.”
“He had Polaroids, right?”
“Yeah. Pictures of me going into the room, and running out, and then more pictures of the body after I’d left. And then he just sat on them.”
“Until after you wrote your bogus interview.”