“He’s your brother.”
“It’s a possibility we at least have to consider,” Amy said. “But I don’t think he killed her.”
Sam smiled. “Neither do I.”
He gave the police car a little more gas as they drove down the long row of houseboats.
It’d be so nice to be on one of those boats today, Amy thought. Do a little fishing off the top, sit up there in a lawn chair and read a paperback while you’re waiting for a tug on your fishing line.
It’d be so nice.
The Kelly farm consisted of four hundred acres put variously into corn, alfalfa, and soybeans. There were three hundred head of cattle. There were also six outbuildings, including a new blue silo, and a two-story white frame house that had been painted the year before. Generations of her people had prospered here because as far back as the thirties they’d known about contour plowing, crop rotation, and other methods of soil conservation.
Susan pulled the truck up the driveway. She wanted to get as close to the back door as possible. Cut the distance he had to run.
As they’d driven out the county road, Susan had heard the sirens from town. The manhunt was already on.
Susan cut the engine and said to Jimmy, “Go unlock the back door.”
“OK.”
“Thanks.”
When she handed Jimmy her keys, she could see how proud he was to be given an important task like this one. You gave Jimmy just a few basic things to do, and he had a little self-respect.
She walked to the back of the truck and swung open the door.
Richie knelt behind a stack of empty cardboard boxes.
“Hurry,” she said.
He hurried.
Jimmy worked the keys just fine and proudly held the door open for them.
They got inside and closed the door.
Susan had redecorated her kitchen a few years back. It was a country-style kitchen with exposed brick walls and open shelving. There was a stained-glass window she’d picked up from an auction. The quarry-style floor completed the feel of rustic living — which was in striking contrast to all the new appliances she had.
The first thing Richie said was, “I could use a drink right now.”
Susan looked at him in disbelief.
Booze had gotten him into this trouble — she had discussed the murder with him on the way out here — and yet now all he could think of... when he needed to be especially sharp and sober... was having a drink.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said.
Richie was instantly angry. “I didn’t ask for your approval, Susan. I asked for a drink.”
“Oh, don’t fight, you guys,” Jimmy said, sounding like a frightened child. “Please don’t fight.” His two favorite places were Amy’s and Susan’s — he spent a lot of time in both places and wanted them to be peaceful.
Susan put a hand out and touched Jimmy’s shoulders. “It’s all right, Jimmy.”
“All he wants is a drink, Susan.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I suppose one won’t hurt him, will it?”
“He’s a real nice guy, Susan. He really is.”
Susan smiled. “Yeah, I guess he is, isn’t he? At least sometimes.”
“Sorry I got mad,” Richie said.
“We’re all a little stressed,” she said. And then went over to one of the cupboards and took down a bottle of Old GrandDad. “This all right?”
“Fine.”
“You want ice?”
“No, thanks.”
She took down a glass, poured him about two inches.
He took it. She tried not to notice how hard his hand was twitching.
She said, “They’re going to come here, you know.”
He nodded. “The big thing was, you got me out of town. Which I really appreciate.”
She looked at him. Her eyes were hard. “You thought I was going to turn you over, didn’t you, Richie?”
“No, I wasn’t saying—”
“Oh, hell,” she said. “Never mind.” She felt that bitter mix of love and betrayal she always felt when she was around Richie. How could she love him any more... and have him appreciate her feelings any less?
She walked out of the room, went into the living room, and turned on the thirty-five-inch Zenith TV console.
She channel-surfed, looking for any mention of Richie and his escape.
“Anything on the tube?” he asked from the kitchen.
“Nothing I can find,” she said, snapping the set off.
She went back to the kitchen. “Where’ll you go?”
“The old line shack,” he said. “It has that root cellar in it.”
“That’s a neat place,” Jimmy said. “I used to play in there till Dink Farnsworth told me there was monsters down there.”
“That sounds like something Dink would say,” Susan said. People were always trying to get poor Jimmy riled up. It was a nasty little game they played to make themselves feel superior. Jimmy was the one who should feel superior. He had a good heart and a pure mind.
“Not many people know about the root cellar,” Richie said, sounding as if he was trying to convince not only Susan but himself as well.
“Then what do you do?”
“Wait till night. Then sneak out.”
“To where?”
“Chicago, probably, or maybe head down the Mississippi.”
“They’ll catch you, Richie.”
He flared again. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Go to prison for a murder I didn’t commit?”
“You could always turn yourself in.”
“Oh, yeah, I’d get a real fair shake in this town, wouldn’t I?”
He sat at the table, head down. He looked confused and weary and scared. She felt desperate for him. But she needed to keep a cool head. One of them had to, anyway.
“How about if I talk to Sam?” she said.
“About what?”
“About you giving yourself up and him keeping the investigation open.”
“Fuller thinks he’s got his killer. If Fuller’s happy, the rest of the town’ll be happy, too.”
“I could always talk to Helen Cummings,” Susan said. “She’s got a lot of clout. If she said there was going to be a thorough investigation, there’d be one.”
She could see that he was at least thinking this over.
“This posse and all, Richie, there’ll be some people who’ll use any excuse to shoot you. Not to mention that reward Fuller put up.”
Again, she sensed him weakening.
“You’d be safe, Richie. I don’t like to think of you all alone and running.”
She more than sensed it — she saw it in his eyes as he raised his head and looked at her.
He wanted her to call the law and say come get him.
When you had men with guns and hunting dogs after you, running was a scary proposition.
Then she saw him pull back, give in to his paranoia about how everybody meant him harm.
“They wouldn’t do jack shit about the investigation,” he said, “and you know it.”
“You going to run?”
“You shouldn’t run, Richie,” Jimmy said. “You could get hurt bad if you do.”
“You going to run?” Susan said again.
He sighed. “I don’t have a hell of a lot of choice, do I?” Then, “And I’m going to need that old .45 of yours, Susan.”
“Oh, no,” she said, picturing Richie firing blindly in a moment of panic. “Oh, no. No way.”
Richie got up so angrily that his chair flew into the wall behind him. “You gonna send me out there without a gun, Susan? You really gonna pull that shit on me?”
Susan put her head down and sighed deeply. This was all so crazy — so crazy.
4
Helen was thinking that all the money her brother paid L.L. Bean every month was finally being put to some good use.