8th Day Read online

  "Doc kept saying that this would be the last time. And then the next time would come along and he said that would be the last time. But it never was. Where was all that money, I wondered. Why, with the camp doing so well and the extra income from the guns, why weren't we rich by now?" She smacked her gum. "Wanna know why?" Her eyes, though unfocussed, seemed to demand an answer.

  "Why?" Clutch obliged.

  "Because Doc's been robbing us blind! He and Ben! There never was any inheritance. All those trips to Europe? That vacation home in the Bahamas? Every penny they've got was made right here. And Coach was in on it with them. Once he found out what they were doing, he made them cut him in, just to keep quiet. He had it coming, Clutch. He deserved what he got. He was going to ruin everything we've worked so hard for!"

  "Okay, Ida. Let's just go back and rest a bit. We'll sort this all out. I'll talk to Doc. We'll get the money back."

  "Don't you see?" she cried. "Doc's gone! He took the money and ran! He left us to clean up his mess!" Ida had started to shake and the gun jerked about dangerously as her arms convulsed. "It's all falling apart, Clutchie! That's why we have to kill them all! It's the only way we can still save the camp."

  "You don't mean that, Ida," he said, casting a worried glance at us. His eyes held less conviction than his words but his voice never wavered. "That's just your bad side talking. Let me just get you your pills and you'll feel better."

  She was shaking her head. "It's to protect you!" she wailed, her voice finally giving way to hysteria. "You and the horse ranch!" Her eyes darted about as if unable to focus and Clutch seemed to notice for the first time that the front of her denim shirt was blood-splattered. Either Coach or Jo hadn't made it out of the tunnel. Maybe neither one. Clutch stepped back involuntarily but he managed to keep his voice low and soothing.

  "And Belinda Pitt? Did you cut the cinch on her saddle to protect me, too?"

  Ida slid a wild-eyed glance his way, then swung the gun back in our direction, still rocking, her head bobbing as she spoke. "She deserved what she got, Clutch. I know it wasn't your fault. A man has his needs. I understand that. But she had no right to take what was mine."

  "You think I was screwing a sixteen-year-old? Oh God, Ida. I was trying to stop her from throwing herself at Coach, that's all."

  "You met her that night!" she said, a surge of new strength in her voice as she turned the gun on Clutch.

  "To make her go back to her cabin. She was bound and determined to go after Coach. I stopped her. That's all. Now give me that gun before you make things worse than they already are." He took three long strides toward her and held out his hand as if to take the gun but Ida had it trained on him, nearly pressing the barrel against his chest, her finger twitching on the trigger.

  "If you're not with me, Clutchie, you're against me."

  "That's not true, Ida. Please put down the gun."

  But Ida's eyes had gone completely mad. Though my pulse was racing, my feet seemed rooted to the ground. It was just like the dream, I realized. The feeling of helpless paralysis. I was trapped by my own fear. If I didn't move, she might kill us all. If I did move, I might force her into it. I felt my throat clamp shut as the indecision turned to panic. Then I saw the look in her eyes and knew Ida couldn't stop herself.

  "Watch behind you!" I shouted. Ida swung the gun in a violent arc toward the rear of the mine and I rushed forward, diving into her as the gun went off. The reverberating blast was deafening as Ida fell to her knees. I threw myself on top of her and grabbed for the gun but her grip was fierce and she struggled beneath me, trying to bring the gun around again. It took all my strength to wrestle it from her and as I did, she began pummeling me with her fists and feet. Finally, with Clutch's help, I was able to break free. Clutch grabbed her arms and held her. Then she began to jerk and convulse, every muscle and nerve twitching as he held her in his arms.

  "Soon as we get you back, we'll get you some medication," he said soothingly, though I doubted she could hear him through her tortured convulsions. Over her shoulder, I could see his eyes were tearing. "You all better go now," he whispered. "Check on them." He glanced back the way they'd come, and his eyes were tortured.

  I realized I was trembling. In a voice almost inaudible, I asked what I was most afraid to find out.

  "Jo, too?"

  Clutch just closed his eyes.

  I raced forward around the bend into the darkness. The light from Coach's helmet illuminated the tunnel before me and I saw his body sprawled across the track. Jo's bloody body was beneath his. Heart pounding, I crept closer. Jo was on her stomach, pressed against the track. I couldn't see her face, but there was blood everywhere.

  "Jo?" I whispered.

  Slowly, she turned her head and faced me.

  "Cass? Thank God. I thought she was coming back to finish me off. Get him off me!"

  I was so relieved, tears blurred my vision as I pulled Coach's body off Jo and helped her to her feet.

  "You sure you're not hit?" I asked, amazed at the blood.

  I barely heard the others come up behind us. Clutch looked almost as relieved as I did that Jo was okay.

  "Jo, I didn't know," he said.

  Their eyes locked and hers looked almost as sad as his.

  "I never doubted you for a minute, Clutch."

  Gracie dug in her pocket and pulled out the electronic door opener she'd taken from Ben. "This open the outside gate?" she asked Clutch.

  "Opens them all," he said. "My truck's parked right outside. You can take that if you want."

  We did. We'd be back for our own cars in the morning, after the police had a chance to do their part. Right now, all any of us wanted was to get the hell out of Dodge. Maddie led the way, a miner's helmet that looked three sizes too big for her little head, lighting the tunnel in front of her. When at last we reached the entrance, the starlit sky seemed almost bright compared to the blackness of the mine. I gulped at the air gratefully and was surprised at how light I felt, as if a huge weight had been lifted. It took me a minute to realize what was missing. It was the fear. The relief that washed over me could have knocked me over.

  I heard Maddie tell Gracie as they climbed into the back of the pickup that she had no intention of going back to her grandfather's house as long as she lived.

  "It sounds like we both have some stories to tell," Gracie said. "You want to see a picture of your mom?" She dug in her back pocket for her billfold and Maddie stared long and hard at the picture, though it was probably too dark to see much.

  "Is she really a murderer?" she asked, her voice small.

  "Your mom? She's one of the sweetest, bravest women who ever lived. She made a bad mistake, Mad. She drove a car when she shouldn't have and got in a car accident. But the people who prosecuted her made a mistake, too. And now the judge has over-ruled them. Your mom has paid for her wrongdoing, Maddie. And she wants to see you."

  As I climbed into the driver's seat, I heard the soft sound of a little girl crying with relief.

  "You want to ride up here?" I asked Annie Sisson.

  "Are you kidding? After a week in that mine, the only thing I need worse than a hot bath is fresh air. I'll ride in back with them."

  "Guess you want to ride in back, too?" I asked Jo.

  "No way," she said, sliding in beside me. She'd retrieved a horse blanket from the back and wrapped it around her to cover the blood on her clothing. As I drove up the driveway that led out of Camp Turnaround, Jo put her hand in mine.

  As tired as I was, a sense of contentment washed over me. Maddie was safe. Annie Sisson was alive. And Jo Bell was sitting beside me.

  For a moment, it almost seemed that all was well with the world. But I knew that Doc was out there on the road somewhere, Clutch was still back in the tunnel with Ida, Coach was dead, Ben was tied up in the mine, and that come morning, eighty-some-odd kids would be wondering why their camp was crawling with police. I sighed. As much as I longed to check into the Portsmith Grove Inn and make t
hings right with Jo, I knew we had a long night ahead of us.

  Epilogue

  Sheriff Tom Booker was backing the horse trailer down his steep drive, one hand on the wheel, the other across the back of the front seat as he craned his neck to see behind him.

  "Watch the left side," I called through the open window.

  "He gets mad when you tell him," Rosie said. "Doesn't matter if he's about to drive off the cliff. He'd rather wreck the trailer than have someone tell him." Booker's wife was shaking her head. "I don't think I can watch this. Come on, Maddie. Maybe you should help me with the tamales."

  "No way!" Maddie said. She seemed to realize that this sounded impolite and corrected herself quickly. "I mean. I will, but I want to see this first. Sheriff Booker says it's not every day he gets a new horse."

  Rosie smiled as if she knew the kid would answer that way.

  "How about you?" she asked Connie, winking over Maddie's head.

  "Sorry, Rosie. Like Maddie said, it's not every day the sheriff gets a new horse." Connie winked back, looking almost as excited as Maddie. I couldn't get over how much alike they looked, standing side by side. And Connie looked so much healthier than she had that morning in my living room. Working on Booker's ranch obviously agreed with her. So did having Maddie back.

  "Ay caramba. Can't get any help these days!" Rosie walked back toward the house, but I noticed she stopped to watch from a distance, a satisfied smile on her face.

  "That oughta do it, Tom," Jo called. She and Grade were walking backwards down the steep drive, guiding Booker with hand signals. When he brought the truck to a halt and climbed out, Jo was already lifting the bar on the horse trailer, talking soothingly to the beast inside.

  "Good boy. What a fine, young colt you are. Here we go, boy. Nice and easy. Let's just back out one step at a time, nice and easy. Good boy."

  I glanced up at Maddie whose eyes glistened as she watched the black colt back out of the trailer. First came the shiny black tail, followed by the quivering haunches, the muscular legs, the silky black mane and finally, the familiar black face with the crooked blaze on its nose.

  "Shadow Dancer!" Maddie whispered, her eyes huge.

  Jo grinned and Connie clapped her hands, unable to contain her excitement.

  "Is it really him?" Maddie asked, though she knew it was. She'd already rushed forward, and though the colt was nervous, he let her run her fingers down the blaze of his nose.

  "I... I..." she stammered. "I can't believe it."

  "He's yours, if you want him," Booker said. "That is, provided you take good care of him. Your mother's already got her hands full around here. You'll have to look after this one yourself."

  Maddie's eyes filled with tears. She looked from Booker to her mother, to her Aunt Gracie, to Jo, unable to decide who to thank. Finally, she threw her arms around the colt's neck and buried her face in his mane.

  "I think we did it," Jo said, grinning.

  "By George, I'd say we did," Booker agreed. "Connie, why don't you and Maddie show this colt his new digs. I'm half-dying for a cold cerveza. Anyone care to join me?"

  I watched as Connie and Maddie led the frisky colt toward Booker's stables. Jo slipped her hand in mine and we followed Booker and Gracie to the veranda where Rosie was setting out cold drinks.

  "I appreciate everything you're doing for them," Gracie said, tilting her bottle toward Booker.

  "Hell, I can use the help. Besides, it'll be nice to have a kid around. And that old cottage out there was just going to waste. Connie's already turned it into a right homey place."

  "Still, you ever need a free hand with something, you know who to call."

  "I appreciate that, Gracie. How about you Jo. You given any more thought to my offer?"

  Once Booker had seen how Jo handled horses, he'd gotten it in his head that they should partner up. He was looking to expand his stable of horses but didn't have the time yet to train them. He'd be retiring in a few years and hoped to raise horses full-time.

  "I guess I can paint in Oregon as well as Washington," Jo said. "It rains about as often."

  Booker laughed. "That it does."

  "What do you think?" Jo asked me. If she took the job with Booker, it wouldn't be just for a chance to raise horses.

  "Isn't anyone going to help me with these tamales?" Rosie yelled from the kitchen.

  The four of us got up and marched obediently toward the house.

  "Well?" Jo asked again.

  I waited, listening for the little voice that would no doubt warn me to play it safe, go slow, be smart, keep my distance. But the only voice I heard was my own, whispering into Jo's ear.

  "Let's drive north tomorrow and pack your bags."