Authors: Allison Brennan
Thinking about Grace drugging her brother pushed Lucy through the pain. She was sore everywhere, but nothing was broken. The padding of her winter clothes had protected her from the fall. She reached to her lower back and found Patrick’s .45 still there.
There should be a light switch somewhere. She felt around the hard-packed dirt floor to make her way to the wall. Her finger touched plastic, and her stomach rolled as she realized she’d been sitting right next to Vanessa’s body. She crawled away until she reached a metal shelving unit. She stood up, knees cracking and muscles still weak. She held the shelf as she shuffled along the edge until she found the wall. It, too, was hard dirt, and she felt for a switch. There was none.
“Of course not,” she said out loud, her voice startling her in the dark silence. It would most likely be suspended from the ceiling; the root cellar was cut out of the earth to preserve food without refrigeration. The light would probably be tapped into the housing electricity.
She considered the layout of the house. What room was directly above the root cellar? She could find something to bang on the ceiling and maybe someone would hear her.
She realized she was directly beneath Beth’s room.
Lucy hesitated. Beth could be part of the scam to steal money from the Delarosa estate. She had no way of knowing whether or not the sisters were in this together.
She’d heard Grace lock the root cellar, but Lucy had to try to escape. She found the stairs and crept up, crawling at the end as the ceiling got lower. She pushed the thick wood doors. They didn’t budge.
But she heard something. Two men’s voices. They were getting closer. Steve and Kyle?
“Steve!” she cried out. She banged on the door. “Help! Steve! Kyle! I’m trapped!”
Silence, then Steve called through the doors, “Lucy?”
“Yes!” She relaxed with relief. “Thank God. Get me out. And don’t talk to Grace!”
“What did you say about Grace?”
“Get me out and I’ll explain everything.”
“Hold on, I know where the spare key is.”
Spare key? That was what Grace must have used.
“Get the key from Patrick!” Lucy called.
Kyle said, “Steve went inside. What happened?”
“Grace locked me in here. She tried to drug me, too, but I didn’t get the full dose. It’s a muscle relaxant, and I think that’s what she used on Vanessa before she killed her.” If Vanessa had been incapacitated with a muscle relaxant, Grace could easily have suffocated her. Lucy hadn’t thought to look in Vanessa’s nose and throat for cotton fibers from a blanket or pillow—but often those fibers were visible only under a microscope. An autopsy would provide a definitive answer.
“Grace killed Vanessa?” Kyle asked. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” Lucy admitted, “but Grace has at least five identities, including one in Phoenix where Vanessa is from. She took Patrick’s keys. Did you see or hear his truck leave?”
“No,” Kyle said. “Steve and I just came from the garage—no one was there. Patrick’s truck was still there.”
What was Grace up to?
“Kyle, how long has it been since you and Steve went to his house?”
“Fifteen minutes? Twenty at the most.”
That meant Lucy had been knocked unconscious for only a few minutes. And since Patrick’s truck was still here, Grace was still here and was probably planning something. What? Was she in her cottage packing, thinking she had more time?
“Lucy? Are you down there?”
It was Patrick. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I’m fine.” He unlocked the padlock and opened the doors. The light from outside poured into the cellar and Lucy instinctively shut her eyes. She crawled out and Patrick stood her up. “What happened?”
“Grace ambushed me and locked me in the root cellar. She took your keys.”
“Why would she take my keys and not use the lodge truck?”
“You have a better truck,” Lucy said. “Or maybe so we don’t follow too quickly. I don’t know.” She looked around. “Where’s Steve?”
“He went to find Grace,” Patrick said.
“No! She’s been drugging him for God knows how long. I found prescription thyroid and blood pressure medicines in her bathroom—dozens of bottles. The pills had been ground into a fine powder. Thyroid medicine increases your heart rate, and blood pressure meds lower it—” She frowned. “What was she doing with Leo Delarosa’s blood pressure meds? He should have been taking them, especially after his heart attack.”
“Unless she withheld them or swapped them out,” Patrick said.
“If she was giving Steve the blood pressure meds, that would explain his dizziness and fainting. And Kyle”—Lucy looked at him—“you drank the orange juice that Steve had been drinking earlier. That’s how she did it.”
“Why?”
“So she could control and sell the land. This place has no mortgage on it, it’s worth a small fortune, and I’ll bet she embezzled the money Leo left to run the lodge.”
“You know what you’re saying?” Patrick said.
Lucy nodded, shivering more from her deduction than from the cold. “She killed Leo.”
“Let’s get inside and contact the sheriff,” Patrick said, “and get everyone in one room.”
They started toward the stairs to the porch, and that’s when Lucy saw Steve standing at the top. His face turned from shock to rage.
“What did you say?”
“Steve, we need to get everyone in the house. Everyone. We need to talk.”
“Tell me what you meant—who killed my father?”
Lucy stepped forward, her boots sinking into the snow. Fast was not an option, but she moved as quickly as she could, worried that Steve would do something stupid. “We’ll talk about this inside.”
“Tell me!” he shouted.
“Steve, I don’t have definitive proof, but I found your father’s heart medication ground into powder in Grace’s bathroom.”
Steve looked perplexed.
Lucy realized why the thyroid meds were also ground up. “I think she was giving him her own thyroid medicine instead of his blood pressure meds.”
“I don’t understand. Why would she do that?”
“Thyroid medicine can increase the heart rate. Since your father already had high blood pressure, if he wasn’t taking his meds and then was given something to make his heart work harder, the combination could bring on a heart attack or stroke. It’s not predictable—Grace couldn’t have known when it would happen, just that it would eventually. Then when she found out she couldn’t sell the land, she took all the money she could from your accounts. Maybe she took the money before he died, I don’t know.”
“But
why
?” Steve wailed, his pain and anguish evident in his voice. “My father loved her!”
Lucy had some ideas about what had motivated Grace, but didn’t want to share them now, not with Steve so volatile. She glanced at Patrick and nodded toward Steve. Patrick stepped next to him and said, “Let’s go inside. The sheriff will take over.”
As they stepped through the door, they all heard an engine start. A half minute later, the barn doors were nudged open by Patrick’s truck. Grace was at the wheel.
Beth walked into the foyer. “Close the door! You’re letting the heat out!”
Steve turned on her, pushed her back. Her eyes were wide in fear, and Steve shouted, “Did you know? Did you know your sister killed my father?”
The shock on Beth’s face was palpable. Without waiting for an answer, Steve pushed Patrick and stomped out the door, grabbing cross-country skis from the rack.
“Steve, wait for the sheriff—”
“No! She killed my dad. It all makes sense. Everything makes sense now.”
Lucy tried to stop him, but she couldn’t move fast through the snow, and Steve was on the skis before she could reach him.
“Patrick!” she called out. “The snowmobiles.”
Patrick said to Kyle, “Call the sheriff now. Give him my truck description, license plate 5K55567. Tell them Grace may be armed and dangerous. There’s only one road out of this mountain—they need to meet up with her before she hits the highway.”
“That doesn’t give them much time—twenty, maybe thirty minutes.”
“Then tell them to haul ass.”
Beth looked shell-shocked. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“We can’t explain now,” Lucy said, “but your sister is a killer. I’m sorry.”
“I thought—” she hesitated. “I thought we’d finally become close. I guess I was wrong.”
Patrick said to Lucy, “Get everyone in the library and stay there. I’ll get Steve.”
“You’re not going out there alone,” she countered.
“Dammit, you’re not a cop!”
“Are you going to argue with me or cooperate? You were drugged last night, Patrick. Grace is a killer and Steve’s emotions are running high. You need backup. Let’s go.”
She gave Patrick no opportunity to argue. She walked toward the garage where the snowmobiles were stored. Without snowshoes, it took longer. Patrick waved her over to the tracks his truck had made; walking on the pressed snow was definitely easier.
By the time they reached the garage, Grace and Steve had a six-minute lead and the steadily falling snow was covering up their tracks. Patrick uncovered the snowmobiles. “Why don’t we take Steve’s truck?” Lucy asked.
“We need to make up time, and we’ll never catch up to her before Steve. Trust me, snowmobiles are faster.”
He started one up, then motioned for Lucy to take it before he started the next. This was only the second time Lucy had ridden one of these vehicles—the first time being two days ago when they arrived at the lodge.
Patrick led the way. As they passed the lodge, Kyle came out and gave them a thumbs-up. She hoped that meant he had spoken to the sheriff. With that, Patrick rode off and Lucy followed.
They stayed on the path left by the truck. Lucy noticed that Steve’s skis had diverged from the road, leaving a clear trail through the trees.
She sped up and motioned for Patrick to stop.
“What?” he shouted.
“Steve went that way,” she pointed down the mountainside. “We should split up.”
“Hell no.”
“He’s going to cut her off. He knows these woods better than anyone.”
“I don’t care, we’re not splitting up.”
“We may not catch up with her in time, and I’m worried for Steve. Please—I’ll follow him.”
“And what if you get lost?”
“I’ll stick to his trail. I can catch up to him and stop him from doing anything stupid. You focus on Grace. We’re wasting time.”
It was clear Patrick didn’t want to agree, but Lucy took his silence as assent. She rode back to where she’d seen Steve’s ski trail, worried that the heavy snowfall would cover his tracks faster than she could follow them. But he’d been traveling fast, leaving deep gouges in the snow, and Lucy easily found the path he’d left.
Lucy started slowly because she was at a dangerous downhill angle. But it leveled off a bit and she picked up speed. The trees started far apart, but the more she went down, the denser they became. She paid close attention to the tracks, because if she lost them she would have to backtrack, and she might not be able to find his path again. Worse, the snow was making it difficult to see more than twenty or so feet ahead of her, and she had to slow when Steve’s tracks started swerving between trees.
Several minutes later, she saw a green figure in the distance. It had to be Steve, in his bright green jacket, and he was moving at a rapid pace. She sped up a bit, but stayed tense and focused on his trail. She didn’t know this area, and didn’t know if there was a deep gulley or drop-off.
She made good time. But just as she was getting closer to Steve, he suddenly turned sharply to the right and disappeared from view.
Lucy sped up, and spotted him. Steve lay unmoving in the snow.
She stopped the snowmobile and jumped off. Steve was trying to get up. One ski had come off.
“What happened?” she called.
“A rock. I wasn’t paying attention.”
She didn’t know if she believed him. She thought he might have gotten dizzy and collapsed, or lost his balance. “Steve, Grace has been drugging you, too. You can’t do this—”
“Why are you trying to stop me?” he said as he got to his feet.
“The police are on their way to Kit Carson. They have a description of Patrick’s truck and Grace. She’s not going to get away.”
“This is between me and that woman.”
“Steve—please, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“She killed my father!”
He pushed Lucy down and stomped toward the snowmobile.
“Steve!”
He jumped on. Lucy scrambled up. “Don’t leave!” She suddenly grew terrified that he’d go and she’d never find her way out. She was in the middle of the forest with no visible paths, and the snow was masking her trail down the mountain.
Steve said, “Get on the back. You have ten seconds or I’m leaving without you.”
Lucy had no choice—Steve was distraught and determined. She jumped on the seat behind him. He started off so fast she nearly fell off, so she grabbed him around the waist, holding tight. He drove the snowmobile much faster than she did, but he had more experience and knew where he was going.
He swerved, then sped up, driving far faster than could possibly be safe. Lucy closed her eyes and held on tight, fearing that this was it. Steve would crash into a tree and she’d be dead.
When he slowed about five minutes later, Lucy opened her eyes and saw they were approaching a road. To her left she saw Patrick’s truck coming down the mountain. Patrick was right behind it on the snowmobile.
At their trajectory, they’d hit the truck when they reached the road.
“Jump!” Steve shouted.
Lucy feared she knew exactly what Steve was planning.
“No, Steve!”
“Jump, dammit, I’m going to stop her.”
“Don’t—”
“Do it!” He slowed a fraction, grabbed her wrist that was still tight around him, and twisted it until she cried out and let go. She fell off the back and hit the snow, stunned. But nothing felt broken.
She watched in stark terror as Steve sped up and made a beeline for the road. This was suicide! She couldn’t stop him. She scrambled up, but the snow was so deep she sunk in past her knees.
Steve timed the collision perfectly, jumping off the snowmobile at the last minute. Grace swerved to avoid crashing but fishtailed and slid on the icy road, losing control. The truck slid past the snowmobile and into the embankment.