Part 16 (1/2)
”Maybe.” Caroline nodded as she ran to her cabin to show off her new possessions. ”Maybe . . .” she called over her shoulder.
Daniel had said little, but Genna knew he'd been watching her like a hawk. She and Caroline had barely been in the diner for ten minutes when Daniel had arrived. While he hadn't rushed them, he'd sat at the counter, ignoring the attempts of the friendly waitress to make conversation, and had watched through the mirror as Genna and Caroline ate. As soon as they finished their meal, Daniel rose and came to the table, silently indicating that it was time for them to go. Genna was certain that the reverend had grilled Daniel last week and would grill him again today. Well, she'd expected as much from Prescott, and she'd been careful not to do anything that might cause him to suspect her motives.
Genna stopped in at the infirmary to see how Joan was doing, and she found her no better than when she'd left earlier that day.
”Keep the boots.” Joan waved her away. ”I won't be out of this bed for another few days.”
The storm had kicked in with a vengeance shortly after they'd returned from Linden, so Genna gratefully accepted the offer. The biting cold sent everyone s.h.i.+vering to their cabins for the rest of the afternoon. It was then that Genna noticed that Bethany, one of the older girls from her group, had not returned.
”Has anyone seen Beth?” she asked.
”No.”
”Not since before lunch.”
”She wasn't in cla.s.s. . . .”
”Maybe she's in the infirmary,” someone suggested.
Genna, having just come from there, knew that only one bed in the infirmary had been occupied.
”Maybe she's been cleansed,” someone else said softly. ”Maybe the reverend chose her for a mission. . . .”
The room grew silent, as everyone wondered just what kind of mission young Bethany had been sent on.
Do they suspect? Genna studied the solemn faces of the girls who gathered around Bethany's bed. Genna studied the solemn faces of the girls who gathered around Bethany's bed. Do some of them know what fate awaited Beth? What fate awaits them all? Do some of them know what fate awaited Beth? What fate awaits them all?
A sense of urgency spread through her. How could she possibly wait another week before riding through the front gates with Julianne Douglas?
How long would it take her to file the reports that would bring the Reverend Prescott to his knees? To put his shameful network out of business forever? How would they locate the girls who had already been ”cleansed” and sent on their way? And once rescued, how badly damaged would those tortured girls be?
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
Burton Connolly tucked the brown bag stuffed with snacks under his arm and pushed open the double doors that led from the food court of the turnpike rest stop to the parking lot, vowing that when this was over, he'd never eat fast food again. The selections here had been limited to burgers or chicken, and today he'd fancied neither. What he really wanted was a big steak, but that would require him to get off the turnpike and search for a restaurant in the Harrisburg area, and he just didn't have that kind of time today. He figured it would be at least another hour before he arrived at the motel where Archer Lowell was holed up, waiting for him.
Burt climbed into the cab of his new Ford pickup and dropped the bag onto the seat next to him. Before leaving the parking lot, he reached into the bag and pulled out a Snickers bar, unwrapping it as he drove onto the roadway. Traffic was light at this time on a Sunday morning, so he expected to make pretty good time. He took a bite of the candy and turned on the radio.
He sighed deeply, wondering just what to do about Archer Lowell.
Burt had been on his way out of High Meadow to his first taste of freedom in sixteen years when he'd run into his old buddy, Vince Giordano, who was on his way back in for a lifetime stay. They'd had a casual reunion of sorts, and Burt had been ready to leave when Vince called him back and asked him for a favor.
Since the favor would, in the end, benefit Burt far more than it would benefit Vince, Burt had said sure. Of course, at first, Burt had no intention of making good on his promise. After all, Vince, facing several murder charges, would never see the outside of the prison walls in this lifetime, and he would have no way of knowing whether Burt had kept his word or not. Now Burt was driving this fine new pickup, and living in a cla.s.sy condo, and he had Vince to thank for it all.
All Burt had to do, Vince had explained, was to make sure that Lowell carried out a promise of his own.
”There's someone who has a job to do for me out there,” Vince had whispered. ”I just want you to make sure he does it.”
”That's all I have to do? Make sure someone does a job for you?” Burt, too, had lowered his voice.
”That's all,” Vince had said with a nod.
In return, Vince had told Burt where he'd find a metal box filled with cash.
”It's all for you, Burt-man. No one else knows it's out there. You just gotta keep this guy honest. Make sure he does what he's supposed to do . . .”
And Vince had proceeded to fill Burt in on the pact he'd made with Channing and Lowell.
Before Burt had left the intake room, Vince had whispered, ”And if you come back with proof that the job's been done, I'll tell you where to find the other half of the money.”
Of course, Burt had agreed. And of course, the first thing Burt had done when he left High Meadow was to track down that secret stash of Vince's, and d.a.m.n if it wasn't there, just like he'd said it would be. It was more money than he'd ever seen in his life, and it was all for him. He'd bought himself the pickup right off, then some new clothes. Then he found himself a nice place to live. Found, too, that the ladies liked a man who dressed well, who had nice wheels and a ready wad of cash to spend. Life had never been sweeter for Burt Connolly, and he had Vince Giordano to thank for his good fortune. It hadn't occurred to him to keep his part of the bargain, of course, until he realized that if he was living well on half the money, how much better life would be if he had it all.
And all he had to do in return was to keep this kid Lowell focused on doing what he was supposed to do.
Nothing old Burt-man couldn't handle, though Lowell was turning out to be a real pain in the a.s.s. Stupid, too.
Old Vince had sure read him right. It was obvious to Burt that Lowell was in no hurry to follow through with his part of the bargain. Burt figured Lowell planned on being a no-show as far as his promise was concerned.
Think again, little man, Burt muttered under his breath as he wrestled the Ho Hos out of the bag and bit the plastic wrapper to open it. No way was Burt going to let Lowell weasel out of his obligation to Giordano. More important, no way was Lowell going to cheat him, Burt Connolly, out of the rest of the money. Burt muttered under his breath as he wrestled the Ho Hos out of the bag and bit the plastic wrapper to open it. No way was Burt going to let Lowell weasel out of his obligation to Giordano. More important, no way was Lowell going to cheat him, Burt Connolly, out of the rest of the money.
He gunned the big engine of the pickup and pa.s.sed an SUV that was going just over the speed limit.
Lowell was such a wimp; he could be scared into doing just about anything. Look at what he'd already done, shot that old man in Ohio. Burt shook his head in disgust, recalling how Lowell's voice had shaken, how terrified he'd been once the deed was done. Burt's plan had been perfect; there was no one who could have connected Lowell to the killing.
Except that the FBI already knew that the old man would be a target.
How stupid of Lowell not to have told Burt about their visit to the trailer. Would have served him right if the cops picked him up. It was almost enough to make Burt call off the hit on that writer guy, but there was no way anyone could know about that, right? He figured Unger wasn't such a stretch that the FBI agents couldn't have figured that out on their own, but who the h.e.l.l would connect the writer to a hard-a.s.sed serial killer like Curtis Channing?
And if Lowell got caught, so what? He had no way of identifying Burt. He'd just have to make sure that he didn't leave his fingerprints on anything that Lowell could give up later.
Of course, if Lowell got caught, that would end the game prematurely. There'd still be that one last hit. After that, well, he'd have to wait and see.
Burt had gotten a glimpse of target number three, and he'd sure liked what he'd seen. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Lowell was taken out of the game. Burt might have to jump in and pinch-hit, so to speak.
Wouldn't that be a shame? Burt grinned as he recalled watching Miranda Cahill fold those long legs of hers into that little car one night outside the Well. The sudden image of those long legs wrapped around his waist caused his heart to flip over in his chest. Wouldn't that be a pretty sight?
Well, first things first. Lowell had a job to do, and Burt was going to make certain the job got done and got done right. There was plenty of time to think about what was to be done about Agent Cahill.
”Hey.” Will stuck his head into Miranda's cubicle.
”Hey, yourself.” She smiled at him from her place behind the desk. ”I was just going to call you.”
”What's up?” He stepped through the doorway and leaned over the back of the visitor's chair that stood before her desk.
”I just got off the phone with Veronica Carson up in Fleming. No sign of our boy in town since Friday.”
”I'm a.s.suming the police have interviewed his friends. His bar buddies.”