Sammy didn't drive nearly so carefully leaving Weston's trailer as he had in arriving. Weston and I crouched below the level of cab's back window while Sammy wrestled the wheel between the lane's ruts at the highest practical speed. A few more gunshots followed us, but nothing struck the truck. Then the lane bent slightly and went over a rise, cutting us off from Joshua's line of sight, and all three of us exhaled together.
I pulled out my cell phone. "Weston, where's the nearest police station?"
"Um... The sheriff's office in Richlake. About fifteen miles."
"Great. Even on foot, Joshua'll be out of there and long gone before a cruiser can get here. But I might as well make the good-faith effort."
I dialed 911 and left an anonymous report of having driven by and heard several gunshots of different types that could have been a gun battle. Any more specific information would have brought me -- and worse, Weston -- into the limelight and probably taken the focus off Joshua Blakely. The dispatcher thanked me and assured me that a patrol would be sent soon.
As soon as I ended the call, Weston asked, "Can I borrow that? I gotta call Christine. She's getting off shift soon, and I don't want her coming home to that. Especially if he's still around by then."
I handed it to him, and Sammy and I listened in embarrassed silence as Weston, back to being "Joseph" for at least a little bit, made an awkward but impassioned call.
"No, I can't tell you why. Just don't go home, okay? No, it's not some sort of surprise. It's important. There's dangerous things going on... Me?" He looked to us. "I'll have to tell you where I am tomorrow. Christine, I'm dead serious! This is no joke, it's an emergency! Maybe you can stay with Becka tonight or something. With Tom? Oh yeah, that's funny. Real funny. Christine, someone just tried to kill me, tried to put a bullet in my goddamned head, so I'm not really feeling like joking right now, okay? Yes, I am absolutely serious, one hundred percent! So please, please don't go home tonight, and I promise I'll talk to you tomorrow and explain everything. I promise. All right. I love you too. Okay. 'Bye."
He handed back the phone, and for a moment the three of us drove in silence down the tree-lined mountain road.
Weston chewed on his knuckle. I glanced at him, but I could see that he was trying desperately to hold back tears, so I looked away. It's funny; the adrenaline and activity of being shot at somehow keeps you from realizing how close to death you are until the moment is passed. Now explaining it to Christine -- "someone just tried to kill me, tried to put a bullet in my goddamned head" -- had suddenly brought the reality of the danger home to him.
"So..." Weston said, "where are we going, anyway?"
The question he meant, but wasn't asking, was What are you going to do with me?
"We'll find some place to spend the night and figure out what to do," I said. "Don't worry, we're not going to drop you off on a street corner somewhere. Whenever I find out that I've been working for the wrong side, I kind of feel the obligation to help even things out for the good guys. It's one of those private eye code-of-honor things."
Sammy turned his head toward me just enough that I could see him cock one eyebrow.
"Don't worry, big guy," I said. "You're still working for me, so you'll get paid all the same."
** ** **
The little town ahead of us, Calder's Corner, had a single ground-level motel for those people who couldn't get in to the ones closer to the slopes during ski season, and since it was still the off-season, we were able to get two adjoining rooms for the night. I had Sammy get them on his credit card, since Joshua didn't know Sammy.
Which probably wouldn't make any difference, since I had no idea how Joshua Blakely had found us anyway. We sure as hell hadn't been followed clear out of St. Anselm and along those mountain roads by a silver Mazda without our noticing it. And I doubt that Joshua Blakely had the conspiratorial resources either to triangulate my position from my cell phone, or to slap a tracking transmitter onto the truck. Hell, it was Sammy's truck anyway, which Joshua had never been around in the first place.
"Sammy," I said when we had gotten the rooms unlocked, "go ahead and order a pizza in for us, if there's anywhere around here that can deliver. I've got another call to make."
I stayed outside the room and dialed the number of the Gordell sisters. Mrs. Atlee answered.
"Janice," I said, "I've got a case that's dragged me out of town overnight unexpectedly. Can Beth stay over with you?"
"Of course, dear," she said. "It's been years since we've had her sleep over. It won't be a problem at all. Is there anything wrong with you?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Oh my," she said. "Hold on, I'll go get her and you can talk to her."
I waited while Janice went to the other side of the duplex where Beth and I lived. A minute later, Beth picked up the phone.
"Hi, Mom."
"Hi, sport," I said. "I gotta be out of town tonight, so the Gordell sisters are going to have you sleep over. You know what I'm going to say: Be good, do what they tell you, go to sleep on time, and don't be late for school in the morning."
"Okay," she said. "Will you be home tomorrow?"
"I hope so," I said. "I didn't pack a toothbrush. Let me talk to Mrs. Atlee again. Love you."
"Love you too."
There was a shuffling as the phone changed hands.
"Janice." I said. "I don't know if you know this, but Beth... she has nightmares. Really bad ones. Every night. She wakes up screaming and thrashing."
"Oh. I think I've heard her once or twice through the walls, but... every night?"
"Every night. But she doesn't remember them in the morning, so all you have to do is hold her and calm her while she's having them. It takes her about ten or fifteen minutes."
"All right. We'll be ready."
"Okay. I've got to go. I'll call you in the morning and tell you my schedule."
** ** **
I ended the call and walked in. Sammy was just hanging up his own call.
"Pizza'll be here in twenty minutes," he said. "Hope you like Hawaiian."
"I'm fine," I said.
Weston Blakely came out of the bathroom wiping his hands on his pants.
"Weston," I said, "take a seat." I did the same, perching on the edge of one of the twin beds.
"We've ordered in some dinner, and we've got some time to calm down and take stock. What we need from you is some background. All we know is that your brother is trying to kill you. We need to know why."
Weston sat down on the edge of the mattress, hands braced to either side to buttress him upright.
"Joshua is..." After a moment, he smiled without humor. "God, there's no way to say this and not sound like a joke. Joshua think's he's the Messiah."
