Contents ( 64)
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- INTERLUDE
- THREE
- FOUR
- INTERLUDE
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- INTERLUDE
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- INTERLUDE
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- INTERLUDE
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- INTERLUDE
- TWENTY
- INTERLUDE
- TWENTY-ONE
- INTERLUDE
- TWENTY-TWO
- INTERLUDE
- TWENTY-THREE
- PART THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- INTERLUDE
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- INTERLUDE
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- INTERLUDE
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- INTERLUDE
- THIRTY-ONE
- INTERLUDE
- THIRTY-TWO
- INTERLUDE
- THIRTY-THREE
- INTERLUDE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- INTERLUDE
- FORTY-ONE
- About the Author
- Acknowledgments
- CHUCK WENDIG in conversation with Adam Christopher
She stands up.
"Ashley Gaynes is now a murderer."
"C'mon," Frankie says, stopping her as they walked down the stairs. "I want to know."
"No."
"We're up here doing all the work, Ingersoll's downstairs… I dunno what. Receiving important instructions from the devil, probably."
"Ingersoll doesn't take orders," she says.
"Whatever. I'm just saying, you can tell me. You don't have to tell me in front of him. That's what he wants. He wants to see it unfold. He likes putting things in motion, seeing how they play out. So tell me what's up. Right here. Right now. He doesn't have to have the satisfaction."
Harriet stares.
"You ever notice that Ingersoll looks like a praying mantis?" Frankie asks.
Harriet pushes past him and heads down the stairs.
"Ashley Gaynes has gone off the reservation," Harriet explains to Ingersoll as Frankie catches up, frowning.
"Oh?" Ingersoll asks, idly drumming his fingers on an issue of Field and Stream.
"He's consuming the product, as Hawkins suggested. And he's no longer conning people out of their homes. He's simply murdering them and taking their places."
"That is a dark turn for our amateur con artist."
"Yes."
"I like it. Good for him. Any news of the girl?"
Harriet hesitates. "No."
"Any idea where they're going?"
"No."
"So you've found very little of value, then."
Frankie shrugs. Harriet says nothing.
A thin smile spreads across Ingersoll's face. With his lack of eyebrows, it's difficult to tell whether the smile shows genuine amusement of some sort or is sour and sarcastic.
He takes a napkin from the napkin holder and unfolds it.
Then he pulls a pen from his pocket.
Ingersoll lays the thin napkin over the issue of Field and Stream, then gently runs the pen in a diagonal arc over the napkin.
Like a child holding up a school-made snowflake, he pinches the napkin at each end and holds it up. On it is revealed a company name and a phone number.
Harriet reads it aloud: 321 Trucking, then the number.
"I don't get it," Frankie says.
Ingersoll stands. "I found the only piece of actionable information in this house, and I never left this table."
"That's why you're the boss," Frankie says. Harriet hears the exasperation in his voice.
Ingersoll hands the napkin to Harriet. "Call this trucking company. This will lead us to him, to our case, and to the very special girl. Time is wasting, my friends."
INTERLUDE
The Dream
She's peeing.
That's not unusual, since it seems like she has to go every thirty seconds, what with the baby doing his little Irish step dance on her bladder. The doctor told her that the pressure would relieve during the second trimester, but her mother said it was a lie, and her mother was right. Big lie.
Miriam looks up. Someone has carved a message into the stall's wall – odd, because around these parts, girls are pretty girly and don't go carving messages into bathroom stalls on habit. Maybe a swirly ink message, "I Love Mike," but always with marker, never with a knife.