Fear Familiar Bundle (53 page)

She tried not to think about the fake bomb, but she couldn't stop herself. It was such a personal attack. Even more frightening was the aplomb with which it was carried out. The person had stood on the opposite side of her door and held her prisoner.

For some reason, she felt the voice was familiar. Too familiar. She couldn't remember exactly where, but she was certain it was a voice she'd heard recently. Mayor Simpson's? He'd accosted her in public, and he also knew that she was suffering from nightmares.

Whatever it was with Simpson, it was personal. She'd never understood it— she'd only tried to stay out of his way. Did he despise her enough to play such a cruel and vicious joke? The answer was yes.

She walked to the decanter and poured a small shot of brandy as she went back to the telephone and tried to concentrate on places Adam might have gone. She called the Blue Ridge and to her surprise, her car had been returned to the parking lot.

It struck Cassandra like a blow to the head. When Ray had taken her car, he'd also had access to her purse. Her driver's license. Her real name and address. The bomb could have been his idea of a payback. Or a warning. And he'd had plenty of time while she was scurrying through the woods.

The sound of a crash against the front door made her slosh brandy all over her hand. It came again, a determined thumping on the wood.

"Familiar!" She rushed to open the door. The black cat, yellow eyes glaring, stood hissing toward the darkness.

"It's okay," Cassandra said as she scooped him into her arms and brought him in the house. "It's okay now." She buried her face in his warm black fur, glad to have something to hold on to. With a kick of her heel, she slammed the door and hastily threw the thumb bolt into place.

F
OR A MOMENT
, Adam thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Ray was lounging nonchalantly against the control stick of the Spider ride. He was watching two teenage girls laughing as they whirled around and around. It was as if he'd never left his job at the fair.

"That's him," Adam whispered to Running Stream.

"Cassandra?" Running Stream's gaze roved over the crowd, searching for her friend.

"I don't know," Adam answered tensely. "If he brought her back here, then we may have made a mistake about Ray."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, her voice troubled.

"Ask him, point-blank."

"Be careful." She placed a hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze.

Adam nodded as he went to the platform where Ray stood. Ignoring the chain that was used to keep those waiting to ride in line, Adam vaulted over it and went directly to Ray.

"Where's Cassandra McBeth?" he asked.

Ray's lazy smile held a hint of anger. "I don't know what you're talking about. Now get away from this ride, or you're going to have more trouble than you can handle."

"The woman with the long, curly blond hair. Where is she? I know you met her at the Blue Ridge. The two of you got in her car, and you drove away with her."

The smug expression hardened on Ray's face. "Since you know so much, maybe you know why she jumped out of the car and disappeared into the woods. Maybe you can tell me why she used a fake name, too."

"There are lots of things I might tell you," Adam said through clenched teeth, "but you're going to tell me where Cassandra is."

"Or what?" Ray flexed his arms, making the muscles stand out.

"Or I'll tear it out of you." There was no mistaking the deadly intent in Adam's voice.

"Gentlemen," Running Stream's soft voice intervened. She stepped onto the platform and stood between them. She shot a warning to Adam with her eyes as she turned to Ray. "We're very worried about our friend. It's a long story, but she hasn't been well. We're worried that something might have happened to her."

"She was fine when she got out of the car."

Adam's face was white with worry. "Got out! She got out, or did you drag her?"

"Listen, buddy." Ray leaned forward, his chin thrusting out. "I don't know what you're implying, but you'd better watch it. She got out of her car of her own free will. She took off through the woods like she had a ghost on her heels. I called and called, but she wouldn't come back."

"Where's her car?" Adam challenged.

"Back at the lounge, where I told her I'd leave it. Her purse is on the seat. I looked through her things and found her name and address."

"Where did she get out?" Running Stream asked quietly.

Ray gave the location. "She wasn't hurt when I saw her," he insisted.

"You'd better pray she isn't hurt now," Adam said, vaulting to the ground.

"If she's sick, you shouldn't let her go running around by herself," Ray called after him.

"Thank you," Running Stream said as she caught up with Adam. "We should go to her home. I know Cassandra, and she would go there. It's closer."

"If he isn't lying. What if he's killed her and dragged the body off somewhere?" The worry he felt was more painful than anything he'd ever experienced.

"He didn't have the attitude of a man who'd just committed a heinous crime," Running Stream reassured him.

"Then why would Cassandra bolt and leave her own car?"

"We'll ask her that, when we find her." Running Stream hurried around the car and got into the passenger seat. When Adam had the motor going and was pulling out of the parking lot, she spoke again. "My son is missing, too. I know how you feel, Adam, but we can't allow ourselves to think the worst. Cassandra is fine. She's at home, trying to locate both of us, I'm sure."

"And Bounder? Where do you think he is?" Adam knew she was worried about her son. He felt a twinge of guilt. In his concern for Cassandra, he'd hardly given Bounder's disappearance a moment's thought.

"He's fine, too. When I do get my hands on him, he's going to be in a terrible amount of pain." A pair of oncoming headlights illuminated her smile.

Adam reached across the seat and patted her hand. She was a brave woman. A good ally. "Fasten your seat belt," he directed as he pushed the car as hard as he could on the winding mountain roads.

The trees were a dark blur against the headlights as they raced up the mountain. Adam refused to consider what he might do if Cassandra weren't at home.

He was tormented by the thought that he should have held Ray and called the sheriff. But Beaker wouldn't have done anything. Adam had seen the carnie leave with Cassandra, but there was no evidence yet that she was missing. He could only push the car as hard as possible and drive like a madman to her home.

The rough terrain of her driveway forced him to slow down. Running Stream did not comment, but she relaxed her grip on the door handle.

"Sorry about that," he said.

"No need to be sorry. I'm in as big a hurry as you are, Adam."

"It's rougher on the passenger, though."

When they passed the tree with the scarred trunk, Adam told Running Stream about the incident with the scarecrow.

"Any evidence who might have done such a thing?" she asked.

"Nothing solid. Whoever it is, he knows Cassandra's property."

"That's not a very comforting thought."

"Since I came to Tennessee, I haven't had many comforting thoughts." He patted Running Stream's hand. "Not to complain, because I've had some other very enlightening thoughts, especially about our mutual friend."

"You care for her deeply, don't you?"

"I do."

"Living with Cassandra would require great skill at compromise."

"That's an understatement." Adam chuckled. "We're two people very set in our own life-styles."

"Two strong people," Running Stream said. "There are bound to be conflicts in such a situation. But to find a mate with your strength, your drive, a partner in the truest sense of the word, that is something worth compromise."

Adam waited.

"My husband was such a man. We came from very different worlds." She looked straight ahead as Adam piloted the car up the winding mountain road. "He was the stronger. He gave up his life and adopted mine."

"Did he make a good decision?" Adam could tell that she wanted him to ask questions.

"For many years we were very happy. I don't think he regretted giving up his city life. For his family, it was difficult to accept, and that caused him pain. But for days and days we were happy without question. Bounder came to us, and Kevin could not have been happier. A son was the ultimate gift I could have given him."

"What happened to your husband?"

"He was an advertising executive when we met, and then he became a ranger in the park." She folded her hands in her lap. "He loved the mountains and the people. He studied the Cherokee history and made it his own, even though he was a white man. He was killed in the park one day while on patrol. The person who shot him was never found."

"I'm sorry."

"To this day, I grieve for him. But you asked me about his decision to give up the city life and live with me. For us, it was the best decision. I don't know if I could have overcome my fears and learned to live in the city, certainly not as the wife of an advertising executive. But the ultimate answer is Bounder. I have begun to wonder if we made the right decision for him."

Adam understood the fears and worries that tore at Running Stream. In preserving her life, she'd made her son a partial outcast in the world she loved.

"Bounder has to learn, just as you and your husband did, to make his way. White or red, there are always problems."

"He is neither one nor the other, though. And he wants so much to belong." Her voice caught and nearly broke.

"When we find him, perhaps I could talk with him. If he gave himself half a chance, he would find college a place where there are so many different types of people, he would see that he isn't the only one who feels alone."

"Cassandra says the same thing. If only Bounder would try."

"He has to find his own path, Running Stream, but we can help him look for the beginning of it. I promise you, I will."

"If we find him." Her worst fears were captured in that statement.

"We will. Don't worry about that."

"Adam!" Running Stream pointed through the woods on the left side of the road. "There are lights. See them?"

"I do." Adam swung around a curve and slowed so he could get a better look. "They're moving."

"Relatively fast," Running Stream said. "The woods are so dense. How is that possible?"

"Another path?" Adam had slowed almost to a stop. The lights had disappeared and the blackness of the woods settled around their motionless car.

"There's the track up to the apple orchard that the farmers use to harvest the apples. It's little more than…Bounder! He knew about it and there's on old cave he told me about. He might be hiding up there!" Hope and excitement made Running Stream lean forward in her seat.

"It could be Bounder," Adam said tersely, "or it could be someone who means to harm Cassandra."

"Familiar!" Cassandra saw the cat's black paw sweep along the shelf. She raced for the flashlight, but she wasn't fast enough. It crashed onto the floor and bounced on the rug. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you did that deliberately." She looked at the cat. When she checked it, the flashlight still worked, and she gave Familiar a warning glance. "You'd better behave."

Her nerves were jangling from the incident with the fake bomb. The meanness of the attack was clear to her, frighteningly so. Someone had entered her home— an assault in the truest sense of the word. He'd pointed out how easily she could be made a victim, and he'd forced her to cringe on the floor, expecting her own destruction. The final, infuriating blow was the taunts he'd hurled at her.

A muffled crash from the foyer again made her jump, and she almost dropped the flashlight she'd just rescued.

"Damn!" She hurried into the tiny room and found the coatrack lying on the floor. Familiar had dragged her black Windbreaker over to the door.

"Meow!" he insisted.

"Familiar, have you set out to torment me to death?" She picked up the jacket and righted the wooden stand. "What is it with you?"

"Meow!" His tone was strident.

"You can't go out now. Get a grip on yourself," she said, then sighed. It wasn't bad enough she was talking to her cat, she was ordering him around as if he'd deign to obey. She wasn't an expert on cats, but one thing she'd learned from Familiar was that he did only what he pleased.

"You must have been a king in a past life," she chided him. "At least, that's what Sylvia would say." The thought of her mother made her smile. Sylvia wouldn't cower down on the floor of her home, she'd take matters into her own hands.

Clutching the flashlight and her jacket, she went to the phone and dialed the number to the sheriff's office. When Beaker wasn't in, she hesitated.

"What is the nature of your call?" the dispatcher asked.

Cassandra was almost ready to leave Beaker a message, but something held her back. There had been too many coincidences with information she'd given Beaker. Something wasn't right with the lawman. He was possibly covering up for someone. That thought made her decide.

"Tell the sheriff that Cassandra McBeth has new evidence in the murders."

"The sheriff won't be in until the morning." At last the dispatcher's interest was aroused. "I'll send another unit up to talk with you."

"No! Beaker is the only one I'll talk with. The implications of this are very serious. Only Beaker. Tell him, if he wants to know who the murderer is, to watch
The Martin West Show
tomorrow." She smiled to herself as she replaced the receiver. If she were going to set herself up by appearing on television as a psychic, then she might as well go whole hog and pull Beaker in, too.

The whump of the door rattling made her whirl angrily around and return to the foyer. Familiar was hurling himself against the door.

"You aren't going out," she said. "Enough!" She clapped her hands for emphasis.

Familiar walked directly to her feet and dug his claws into the tops of her shoes. She'd changed into comfortable jeans and sneakers. "Meow." He went to the door and threw himself against it.