“Right before he died,” Christine said. “He told me he’d gotten pictures and a demand for fifty thousand dollars. I knew he didn’t have that kind of money.” Her chin trembled, but she held it high. “And you’re wrong about Martin being the blackmailer. Now that he’s dead, they’ve come after me. It’s sixty thousand dollars now. That wasn’t easy to get. I had to sell some family jewelry.”
Sunny blinked, the wheels in her head suddenly spinning into high gear. “And the drop-off is tonight?”
Christine nodded. “I was told to wait for instructions. That’s why I thought—”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Christine, but I don’t think you’re cut out to deal with this,” Sunny told the woman, her voice calm and confident. After weeks of stumbling around in the fog, she’d suddenly stepped out into blazing clarity. “I know who’s behind this little scheme.” She smiled. “And I know a person who can help stop it.”
*
“This is crazy,” Will said for about the tenth time as they drove to Portsmouth.
“Maybe.” Sunny sat with a canvas bag in her lap as she drove, wearing one of Christine’s coats—one with a hood. “But if this works out, it will take care of all our problems.”
She ran through the instructions from the blackmailer. She—or rather, Christine—was supposed to leave the moneybag in a kid’s activity structure in a playground. “It sounds familiar,” Sunny said.
“It should,” Will told her. “Did you watch the cop show this week where the kid was abducted? This is how they were supposed to pass on the ransom.” He looked at the street signs and then ducked down in his seat. “We’re getting close. I’m going to bail at the next red light.”
That was a block away. As Sunny made the obligatory stop, Will opened the door and slid out. They had already taken the precaution of turning off the Wrangler’s dome light. Sunny slowly drove on, as if she were unsure of the neighborhood.
At last she reached the playground. Pulling up the hood, she got out of the Jeep, moving hesitantly and looking around.
Her destination was pretty obvious—a structure painted in very primary reds, yellows, and blues. Sunny advanced and put her bag as directed on the corkscrew slide. Then, keeping her head down, she walked back to her Jeep and started the engine.
Sunny drove off, took the first right and then the first parking space she could find, running back to the park on foot. She arrived to find two figures struggling by the play structure. The smaller one had a distinct disadvantage because she was also carrying a large duffel bag.
“Give it up, Dawn!” Sunny called as she came forward.
That apparently took the fight out of Dawn Featherstone. She stopped struggling with Will and swore. “You’re always sticking your nose in where it’s not wanted,” she said. “Getting the cops to ask me a bunch of questions about how things were between Martin and me. Helping that witch who killed him.”
“You mean Jane?” Sunny was confused. Why was Dawn still claiming that Jane had killed Martin? She glanced over at Will, who stood with his cop face on, listening to Dawn’s confession.
“Yeah. She was always holding Martin back, until he finally had to get rid of her,” Dawn accused. “And then she kept trying to get back at him. She had money, but she wouldn’t help Martin out. Oh, no. And then, when he finally got hold of some money and we were gonna get outa town, she killed him.”
She tapped the duffel bag hanging from her shoulder. “But I was the one holding the money. It was in the trunk of my car when the cops came. It’s enough to get me started somewhere else, but I figured I’d get some more from that other old hag that Martin was stringing along. I just had to time it right.” Her voice wobbled. “I couldn’t be sure when the memorial would be. When we could have the cremation and the urn.”
Sunny was still digesting the first part of Dawn’s outburst. “Old hag?” she echoed. “Do you mean Christine Venables, the woman who was Martin’s age?”
“Martin was always young—always fun,” Dawn spat. “And he was smart, too. Look what he got hold of.”
She unzipped the bag and dropped it to the ground. Packets of bills spilled out. It was hard not to stare, and Dawn took advantage of the instant’s distraction, pulling a gun from her coat pocket.
“And I’m gonna hold on to it!”
23
Shadow carefully hooked his claws into one of the ceiling squares and pulled, peering down into the room below through the opening he’d made. Yes, this was the place where he’d been imprisoned. He pulled the square aside, disentangled his claws, and dropped to the shelf below. For a long moment, he crouched in silence, straining his senses to the fullest. The room was empty.
