“Not exactly,” Eric said darkly.
“What do you mean, not exactly?”
“That wasn’t our intention. We had long-term plans for Mark.”
“I don’t understand, what did you?…” Mitch’s voice caught in his throat. “My God, you weren’t done, were you? You were going to kill her. That’s it, isn’t it? Claudia was next.”
CHAPTER 26
Beyond the freezers there was a doorway.
As she passed through it, Des left behind those last rays of daylight streaming down through the cellar doors and encountered utter darkness. She had no idea where any light switches were. And she wasn’t about to grope around for one. Those wide-planked floorboards over her head had shrunk and swelled across so many generations of seasons that she could see cracks of daylight between them. If she turned on a light Eric and Danielle might see it between the floorboards. She couldn’t take that chance.
She waved her flashlight beam ahead of her, pointing it downward at the concrete floor. She was in the furnace room. It was a mammoth furnace compared to the one in her own cellar, as was the oil tank next to it. Across the furnace room was another, narrower doorway. And one, two, three concrete steps up to the low, vast expanse of the cellar. She scoped it out with her flashlight. Could not see to the other side of it, where the cloakroom stairs were. Only clutter. A narrow path wove through all of the junk that was crowded in down there beneath a honeycomb of electrical conduits and copper water pipes.
Des gathered herself, the damp cellar floor ice cold against her stocking feet, her ears ringing in the heavy silence. It was so quiet she could hear mice skitter along next to the foundation. And it reeked of mold. This was not good. Des happened to be super-allergic to mold. The merest whiff could set her off. But she couldn’t, mustn’t sneeze. Sneezing was out of the question. Don’t even think about it.
She proceeded, moving slowly and carefully. She had to stay in a crouch. If she straightened to her full height her head would smack into one of those pipes. Which would make a serious thud. She could not afford that.
As she crept her way along, Des suddenly heard the floorboards creak directly over her head. She froze, her stomach muscles fluttering involuntarily. Eric and Danielle were right there, inches away from her. Mitch was right there. She could even hear their muffled voices. Couldn’t make out what they were saying.
She moved forward, her head down, silent as a cat now. Even the slightest noise might alert them to the fact that she was down there. And there was no telling what Eric might do. She couldn’t, mustn’t make a sound. And yet already she was starting to sniffle. And now, God, she could feel it coming on. She was going to sneeze. And couldn’t stop it. But she absolutely had to. She squeezed her nose between her thumb and forefinger, squeezed it so hard her eyes watered. A strangled, volcanic sob erupted deep down in her throat. Briefly, she felt as if she might choke. But then the sneeze passed. Wiping her eyes, she kept on going, using her flashlight sparingly.
She encountered stacks of aluminum folding tables. These were used for special events like the big white elephant sale that the church held every July, when its front lawn became a veritable bazaar of used toasters and television sets. Now the path snaked among piles of cardboard boxes that were marked XMAS. These held those electric candles that were positioned so charmingly in every one of the church’s windows during the holiday season-those exceedingly delicate electric candles with their fragile little glass bulbs. Des edged her way even more carefully now. Because she did not want to nudge one of these boxes. If she broke a bulb it would sound like a grenade going off. She inched her way slowly between them, flashing her light from pile to pile, careful, careful…
So careful she let out a gasp when she ran smack dab into Mary and Joseph. And the infant Jesus. All of them life-sized. All of them right there before her.
She was so startled her elbow jostled one of those very boxes of electric candles. A box that was perched on top of a pile. And was now teetering from that pile and about to fall four feet to the concrete floor. She lunged for it and caught it just before it fell, its contents rattling faintly. But it did not crash.
Sighing hugely, she returned the box securely to the top of the pile and had herself another look at what she was looking at: It was the wooden figures from the beautiful creche that the church erected on its front lawn every Christmas. Sure, there were the three kings ahead of her in the flashlight’s beam. And the shepherds. And the three-sided manger. She took it all in as she crouched there, listening to the hammering of her heart.
Now she heard something else. Rustling behind her. And footsteps approaching softly. She whirled, her SIG drawn. Two sets of eyes gleamed at her in the flashlight’s beam. Soave and Yolie were coming up behind her, crouched low.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered, holstering her weapon.
“We couldn’t let you go in alone,” Soave whispered in response.
“If we go for the shot,” Yolie explained, her mouth to Des’s ear, “we can bring it from three different angles.”
“Plus Yolie’s way better than you,” Soave added, mouth to her other ear.
This much was true. Des was no slouch, but Yolie was one of the top three gunners in the whole state. If it did come to throwing shots from up in the balcony, she’d be mighty valuable. Firing downward was just about the most difficult shot you could attempt. No matter how much you compensated, you still had a natural tendency to come in high.
“Both of you should go back right now,” Des whispered insistently.
“And you should shut up,” Yolie whispered back.
“But what about proper procedure?”
“Girl, we could care less about procedure.”
“We care about you,” Soave agreed.
Des mouthed the words, “Thank you.” And warned them to watch out for Jesus, Mary and Joseph.
They didn’t have the slightest idea what she was talking about but they both nodded their heads. Then the three of them pressed on.
CHAPTER 27
“My sweet bitch of a sister was planning to hang herself tonight,” Eric revealed, his lip curling at Mitch unpleasantly. “Who wouldn’t buy that? Just think of the mess she’s made of her life. Mark inherits what’s hers, and Danielle has him comfortably under her thumb. With proper handling, Mark would have kept us afloat for several years.”
“By which time Poochie would die of natural causes and all of your money worries would be over,” Mitch said, glancing up at Danielle. She looked pale and frightened in the front pew.
“Exactly.” Eric merely looked determined as he knelt over Mitch, that knife held to his throat. It trembled slightly in his hand.
“And Bement? How did he figure into this?”
“He doesn’t,” Eric replied. “The kid could care less about money. All he thinks about is the Kershaw girl.”
“Eric, you sure were right about one thing,” Mitch concluded, pinned there on the floor with his hands lashed beneath him, his shoulders throbbing. “Madness runs in the family. You’re insane. You both are. And now you’re totally screwed. You should give yourselves up. Because they’ll never agree to your demands. You have no chance of getting away. None.”
“You’re wrong, Mitch. Everything’s going to be okay. But what’s taking them so long?”
“The snipers have to get in position,” Mitch explained, fighting off the overwhelming impulse to panic. He had to keep talking. As long as he was talking he could hang on. But how much longer? “Those guys, they’re amazing. They can zone-in on a freckle from a half-mile away. I imagine they’ll set up on the neighboring rooftops.”
Eric glanced around at the windows, his eyes bulging with alarm. There were so many windows. So many different vantage points. He scrambled back behind Mitch, hugging him to his chest as a human shield. “They wouldn’t shoot up a church,” he argued.