Of the twins, Amy said, “They can be a bit outspoken, but I don’t want to squelch their honesty away. You handled them well.”
“I’m glad you didn’t shush them.”
“Sometimes I have to.”
“Not for me.”
“No, not for you.” She smiled, and Ned had to restrain himself from hugging her. Tacitly, he and she had just settled something between them. Without minding in the least, he had felt her watching him and judging him, assessing whether he could be trusted with the kids. He had also sensed that it was not in her nature to pass judgment and that she was now relieved to be done with it. She probably had no idea how greatly her acceptance warmed his heart.
• • •
Still holding the gun to my head, Stoat swore in a way that made cursing not just a vent for frustration but also a reinforcement of a threat, finishing off with, “You lard-ass uppity shit-tail damn stupid cow, how the hell did you call the cops on me?”
“I didn’t!” Instead of speaking as calmly and firmly as I wanted to, I squeaked, “How could I?”
“You think I’m stupid? Who else—”
I managed to interrupt with articulate sincerity. “Mr. Stoat, sir, if I had called the cops, they would be here instead of—where are they? Your place?”
“I’m fixing to see. Move.” His freak-show face as grim as his tone, he marched me the few steps to where he kept his duct tape. Ripping some off with his snaggleteeth, he stuck it none too gently over my mouth. “Sit.” He prodded me into one of my kitchen chairs and duct-taped my hands behind me. Setting down his shotgun so he could immobilize me more quickly, he swaddled tape around my ankles and the legs of the chair. “Don’t make a sound and don’t move,” he said harshly and, in my opinion, quite unnecessarily. I nodded meekly.
Satisfied that he had me under control, Stoat took his gun and strode into the living room. Nothing prevented me from turning my head to watch him. Crouching beside my picture window, he peeped behind the closed drapes at a sideward angle, hardly moving them at all. Then he started to curse again, rapid-fire, like an automatic weapon. I didn’t think he was speaking to me. I suspected he generally swore aloud when life didn’t suit him. “That fucking half-assed car is back down there,” he complained between bursts of stronger language. “What the fuck’s that all about?”
I wished I knew! Who in the world had driven into my front yard, and why? I wondered whether Stoat had seen anyone after conking me on the head. But even if my mouth had not been silenced by duct tape, I could not have asked him.
Peering out the window, Stoat swore some more. “Dickhead state trooper parked in front of my house. What the fuck the goddamn cops think they’re doing? Jesus shit, here comes another one. Looks to be from the sheriff.”
Deep in my aching guts I felt a sluggish stirring of the feathered thing with wings called hope. Dare I hope this sudden influx of law enforcement might have something to do with me?
“This is bizarre,” said Stoat. “What the fuck do they want?”
Bizarre was the word, all right. Everything seemed so surreal that my faint fluttering of hope went still almost immediately, and the only thing I could think was that someone had found Justin’s body.
Stoat craned his neck in an effort to see better—
And lost his balance, falling over and whacking his head on the corner of the windowsill. Just a few feet away from where Schweitzer had once lain, Stoat flopped to the carpeted floor and lay still. Knocked out.
I felt my mouth attempt to open beneath the duct tape, felt the skin stretch around my wide-open staring eyes; I was so astonished. Due to Stoat’s bluster or his bravado or both, I had not realized Stoat was still feeling pretty damn weak from the snakebite.
Could he be—dead?
No, dammit, the bastard was not dead. He lay faceup, and I could see his greasy gray nose hair moving as he breathed. But he seemed to be out cold.
For all the good that did me when I sat firmly adhered to a kitchen chair. And when, of all the frustrating things, I knew there were police right down the road!
Immediately I tried to get free. I struggled to slip my hands out of their sticky binding, but I soon found that the duct tape was way stronger than I was. I tried to kick my legs free. Same problem. I tried to stand and walk while still taped to the chair, only to put myself in great danger of falling. Panting with effort, I sat still again, trying to think.
As my breathing eased, I could hear Stoat snoring. Snoring! The loathsome man lay sleeping like a baby on my living room floor.
I wanted to scream. I thought I would lose my scant remaining mind to sheer outrage.