Plan Bee (32 page)

Root beer honey sticks!

Noel Peck’s favorites.

“We’re all out,” I managed to stammer. Which was true. Noel had wiped me out of every single one. Then the blurty, blabby part of me took over, taking control of my impulsive side, so I said, “Could I interest you in… oh, I don’t know… a little fertilizer? Hydrogen peroxide, matches?” What else went into explosives? I tried to think of more ingredients.

While I was considering my next sassy response, Eugene headed for the door. He acted as if he hadn’t heard me. He didn’t say one single word more, which was creepier than if he had. At the door, he turned back. Judging by the expression on his face, I was doomed.

Me and my big mouth.

Why did I always have to have the last word? Thanks to my wayward impulses, I’d just let him know I knew what he was up to.

Jeez. Now what?

Part of me argued that lots of people like root beer. Why shouldn’t Eugene be one of them? It could be purely coincidental. After all, who didn’t like root beer? And the way he’d acted? That could be explained away, too. He’d been living with a professional sneerer his whole life.

The other part of me, the side that wasn’t rooting for root beer, ran to the front door, threw the bolt into the locked position, tore through the store gathering my things, slipped out the back door, and blew out of the parking lot in my truck. The sky had darkened with black clouds, but I didn’t turn on my headlights. The air was scary still.

This might be my only chance to find out if Noel was actually in trouble or just looking for trouble. I really couldn’t see a twelve-year-old intentionally committing a crime of this magnitude, even if he was a fanatic about explosives. Which made me think he’d been fooled somehow, or threatened, or… something.

I didn’t see Eugene Petrie nearby, so I took a chance and guessed that he would head north toward his house in Colgate. I headed that way, and picking up speed, pretty soon I spotted him ahead of me, driving the white van. I’d guessed right about the direction he’d take, thank God. If I stayed back a little, he wouldn’t get suspicious. And while I did that, I’d call for backup. I’d call Hunter, tell him to get his gun and Ben and join me, and I’d explain all of it while he was on his way.

Only my cell phone wasn’t in my pocket.

Then I remembered what Patti had done to it, and I was ticked off all over again. After this, we were through as so-called friends. Because of her, we might be attending a funeral soon—mine, or some innocent bystander caught in a blast, or, if I got my hands on her before my own demise, a funeral for P.P. Patti.

Ahead, Eugene rounded a bend in the road, vanishing from sight. My heart almost stopped working. I really
didn’t care about Tom’s money or what happened to it anymore, but these people were ruthless. They’d killed once; they would kill again. And if Noel was involved, no way would they let Stanley’s grandson live to tell the truth.

Even though I’d been using the
they
word, I hoped that Bob and the other Petries really were still out of town, because I really, really hoped to deal with only one of them. One was more than enough.

Several times, I thought I saw movement in my rearview mirror, but each time on closer inspection, nobody was following me. My nerves were almost shot. Now I was seeing things.

Eugene’s white van came back into view again. My hands were sweaty on the steering wheel and my mind refused to operate at full bore, which was a really bad time for it to shut down. But it had never been asked to handle a situation quite like this before.

Right when I was convinced that Eugene was going to his house, he abruptly slowed down and turned left. I slipped back a little to give him more space. Then I turned in, too.

He made another right into a driveway, one with a for-sale sign at the end of it. I stopped along the side of the road on the far side of the driveway and studied my options.

If I could find a phone, I could call Hunter. He would come. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d show up. My boyfriend would give me as many chances as I needed to get it right. Wouldn’t he?

The what-ifs started going through my half-numb mind.

I should have brought Stanley Peck along. He had knowledge of weapons, knew how to use them, and had a personal stake in the outcome. Sometimes I’m totally dense. I wanted to chastise myself more, but right now I needed to figure out exactly what was going on inside that house. Without something concrete, I had nothing.

Which meant sneaking up and scoping it out, while
staying furtive and in the shadows. I certainly wasn’t going to announce myself.

I couldn’t see the house from the road because of all the trees and bushes, maples and honeysuckles dominating the landscape. They would conceal me from view. Besides, Eugene didn’t have any reason to be suspicious that I’d followed him. This should be easy. Sneak along the house, peek in a few windows, get my evidence,
then
go and find a phone and call Stanley and Hunter.

With a bit of luck, I’d even get a glimpse of Noel, alive and well.

A car passed by and the driver waved at me, something we tend to do in this area. If you’re on my road, you must be my neighbor. Neighborly is one of our most striking traits. And if you aren’t my neighbor, I’ll still consider you a potential neighbor who might buy that house you’re sitting in front of.

That’s how we think, so I waved back. So much for being sneaky.

Once the car was gone, I got out of the truck, and stole along the edge of the driveway until the house came into view. Then I darted among the trees, feeling more than slightly silly. This was a job for Patti Dwyre, not me. Something about peeking around tree trunks didn’t fit into the image I had of myself.

The sky was growing darker by the minute and thunder rumbled in the distance. The only positive thing about that was the extra cover the fading light gave me.

I could see the van. The back door was wide open, but I couldn’t see inside. I didn’t hear any rummaging around nearby, so Eugene had to be in the house, either getting ready to put something in the back of his van, or he’d just taken something out.

Either way, he’d come back out and shut the van door any minute.

I ran over to the vehicle in a hunched-down position and crawled into the back.

Right into the middle of enough proof to take down the head of any terrorist group. I recognized all kinds of chemical containers. I didn’t know how to make explosives, but I was pretty sure you’d use some of this stuff. Especially that thingamajig that looked like the panel from the inside of a computer.

I had my proof. How easy was that? Piece-of-blueberry-pie easy.

I’d just tell Hunter this van was loaded with explosive material and he and his C.I.T. team would be on it like American tanks rolling through the Middle East.

Before I could retreat, a door slammed from the direction of the house. I slithered into the front seat, lying flat between the bucket seats, looking for something to cover my really exposed body. Footsteps on the driveway. I made like an ostrich and buried my head. It was the most I could do with a moment’s notice.

While my head was buried in the sand, somebody grabbed my ankles. I felt myself sliding backward. There’s not a lot a woman can do when a strong man has her in that position. I couldn’t kick or karate chop or do anything other than dig my fingers into the van’s smooth metal floor. That didn’t work at all.

I felt ropes winding around my lower legs. I tried to wrench away and that’s when I got a glance at Eugene. He was busy trussing.

And he was really good at it.

Now I knew why Patti hadn’t been able to get away either time. Or why she hadn’t seen her attacker. He had the element of surprise with her. I’d heard him coming and I still hadn’t stood a chance.

I remembered that Eugene Petrie had been in the military. He must have been the sadistic GI who tied up the enemies. And waterboarded them. When he’d threatened Patti and me with that when he caught us in his garden, he hadn’t been kidding.

Now Eugene grabbed one of my hands and wrenched it behind my back. I fought as hard as I could, considering my already compromised position, desperately looking for something to use as a weapon. Neither of us said anything while we struggled, but we were both breathing hard, focused on winning.

I lost.

He slapped a piece of duct tape over my mouth and left me there. I rolled around and managed to fall out of the back of the van. Which really hurt.

Eugene came out of the front door and held it open. Right behind him was Noel Peck. Not tied up or anything.

“What are you doing to Story?” he asked Eugene.

“I caught her snooping in the back of the van. She’ll have to come along. Help me put her back in.”

I tried to warn Noel, tell him to run, but all I managed was gibberish.

“Are you okay?” Noel ask me, which of course I couldn’t answer, then to Eugene, “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

“It’s her fault. What could I do?”

“Let her go.”

“I will just as soon as you take care of your end of the bargain. And remember, one false move and I turn in your grandfather for murdering Ford Stocke.”

“After I do what you want, you’ll go away? Right?” Now Noel sounded like a twelve-year-old. Young, inexperienced, and wanting to trust.

Stanley had killed Ford Stocke? No way—but it was apparent that Noel believed it. This was worse than I thought. Eugene wasn’t wearing a mask to conceal his identity, which wasn’t a good sign. How did that saying go? Dead men tell no tales? Or in this case, add in boys and women.

They hefted me back into the van. Eugene anchored the ropes somehow so I couldn’t do a repeat, and they got in the front seat.

“Shouldn’t we wait until dark?” Noel said.

“Nobody will suspect a thing in broad daylight. We’ll drive in the back alley. Everybody will think we’re a service truck. And I verified that the owner is gone for a few hours. This is perfect.”

Then I remembered what Mom said, about going into Milwaukee with Tom. The coast was clear for a robbery.

I hadn’t seen or heard any other Petrie family members. That implied that Eugene was working alone today. I wondered where Bob, the telescope thief, was at the moment and how he fit into all this.

I also struggled with the ropes binding me without any success and thought about broad-daylight burglaries. When I lived in Milwaukee, they happened more than nighttime robberies. People were at work during the day. And neighbors didn’t know each other that well. So even if a moving truck pulled up and hauled away every last piece of furniture, the neighbors probably wouldn’t even get suspicious.

I couldn’t see that working as well out here. Although going in through the back alley was a smart move. He might actually pull it off. Especially with a storm coming. The residents of Moraine would be hunkered down, preparing for bad weather.

After what seemed like forever, the van turned sharply, the road beneath it roughened, and the vehicle came to a stop.

The sound of thunder was much nearer now. The town’s tornado siren went off, extra loud and extra long, announcing a tornado warning, meaning a funnel had been spotted. Eugene couldn’t have planned it any better. The streets would be deserted.

The back door of the van swung out and Eugene’s ugly mug peered in at me.

“Get what you need, kid,” he ordered Noel, pulling on a pair of gloves.

Noel looked like he wanted to cut and run. Eugene noticed and brought him back with a reality check. “Your grandfather? Remember him? You want to start visiting him in prison?”

Noel crawled in next to me and gathered up the thing with all the wires and a few containers I couldn’t identify. I tried to talk to him with my eyes.
Run for it
, they said. Forget the threats. They don’t mean a thing. Plus, I was 99.9 percent sure Eugene was bluffing. He didn’t have anything on Stanley Peck.

But Noel, just like any twelve-year-old, wasn’t listening to my eye-talk. He believed he had no choice, that his grandfather’s freedom depended on his performance.

“I should wear gloves, too,” Noel pointed out.

“Not necessary,” Eugene said, confirming my suspicion about witnesses and their future health.

Then Eugene closed up the back of the van, quietly this time, no slamming, and I was left alone with my thoughts. Which weren’t pleasant. Nightmarish really. Sweat ran down my face, my heart was murmuring, and hope was vanishing.

While I was considering death and dying, the front driver’s door opened. I strained to see what Eugene was up to now but couldn’t get myself positioned right. Was he going to kill me even before the explosion? I struggled hard to get loose, expecting a bullet in the brain at any second.

Heard him coming through from the front.

Saw his feet.

Wait a minute.

Those shoes looked strangely familiar.

I glanced up to see Patti Dwyre standing over me with the sharpest knife I’ve ever seen. It gleamed right along with her crazy black eyes.

For a few frozen seconds I thought she was in on it with Eugene. That’s how far my ability to reason had slipped. But instead of plunging the knife into my chest, she bent down and ripped off the duct tape across my mouth. I stifled a shriek of pain.