“You see,” Horace said.
“Where is the car?” the chief asked.
“Over in the woods, other side of the Midway,” Plunkett said. “There’s an old access road hunters sometimes use. It’s parked on that.”
“Take Deputy Shiffley and Officer Hollingsworth there, if you please,” the chief said.
“Sure thing.” Plunkett levered himself off the wall, popped out the trailer door, and set off at a fast pace.
“Wait!” Horace called. Luckily his kit was nearby, but Plunkett already had a good lead on him. Horace was half running to catch up.
The chief and I followed them out.
“Vern!” The chief waved his arms and, when Vern saw him, pointed at Plunkett and Horace. Vern nodded, but he didn’t immediately give chase.
The chief pulled out his cell phone.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” I said. “I’m going with them. If Plunkett tries to pull anything before Vern gets there, I can always threaten him again with moving the Midway.”
The chief hesitated for a few moments, and then probably came to the same conclusion I had reached about Horace’s ability to control Plunkett.
“I’d appreciate it,” he said. “I’d go myself, but some importunate attorney is demanding to see me. He won’t say why. Did you recommend a lawyer named Twickenham to Ms. Riordan?”
“No, I gave her one of the usual locals. Never heard of a Twickenham.”
“I’d better see what he wants, then. Thanks for helping us placate Horace.”
He strode over toward Vern, looking cranky. Dealing with lawyers, importunate or otherwise, often had that effect on him. I scrambled to catch up with Horace and Plunkett.
Chapter 23
Both Horace and Plunkett were out of sight by the time I left the fair office, so I was on my own. Randall and I had spent a good deal of time tramping through the nearby woods while debating how much of the fairgrounds to fence in. I remembered the dirt access road Plunkett had mentioned—Randall and I had crossed it a number of times and had debated whether to use it for direct access to the Midway—an idea we’d abandoned, not just because of the expense of upgrading it. We were also afraid that if we used it, Clay County would want to set up a second entrance gate, and we didn’t trust them to give us an accurate account of the take.
I headed through the woods and eventually struck the dirt road—not much more than a trail, really. I turned right, since that was more or less the direction in which Plunkett had gestured. I guessed correctly. After a few minutes’ walk, I spotted a flash of metallic red through the trees.
The Mazda. It was parked in a place where the woods drew back from the road far enough that you could park. Though if the gleaming little convertible had been mine I would never have parked it there, where it was almost sure to be scratched if another car tried to squeeze by on the left. In fact, I would never have driven it down the road in the first place, and I was a great deal less obsessed with pretty cars than most men I knew.
Deputy Plunkett was sitting on the trunk of the car, smoking a cigarette. Horace was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Horace?” I asked.
“On his way, I guess.” Plunkett sounded annoyingly nonchalant. “He fell behind once we hit the woods. Not enough hustle.”
Fell behind! More likely Plunkett had deliberately lost him. I was opening my mouth to tell him what I thought of his actions, when I realized, from the look on his face that he already knew what I thought. And he was enjoying himself. Why give him the satisfaction?
He flicked his cigarette butt onto some leaves and leaned back, crossing his arms and making himself comfortable, watching me.
I strode over and ground his cigarette butt out with a little more force than necessary, all the while imagining his head under my heel. Then I looked at the dense woods around us. Clay County was mostly woods and swamp, and if Horace took the wrong direction, he could wander for hours. Days.
I wanted to yell at Plunkett. In fact, I wanted to hit him, and I don’t just mean a girly little slap. I fantasized, just for a few moments, how satisfying it would feel to land a good, solid punch on his nose. I’m taller than most women, strong for my size due to my blacksmithing, and thanks to a few years of martial arts training and a childhood of sparring with hordes of rowdy cousins, I was no slouch at self-defense. Plunkett might be surprised how good a punch I could land. And I was sorely tempted to surprise him.
Just then I heard a faint shout in the distance. It sounded like someone yelling for help.
“Guard the car,” I said. “Don’t touch it, don’t drive it, and don’t leave.”