Page 158 of Trouble Comes in Threes

I knew I was in danger of getting shot, but he’d already beaten his daughter to death and possibly killed Jeremiah, so I wasn’t going to take my chances meeting him face to face.

I glanced toward the front door and saw that he’d shot out the glass and was now climbing inside.

Getting out the back door wasn’t as smooth as I’d hoped. The dead bolt was stiff, and I had to put my weight into it to get it unlocked, wasting precious time. It felt like it took half a minute, but it was likely only a few seconds.

Still, it was long enough for Clive to reach me.

He grabbed my arm and gave me a vicious tug backward, throwing me into the closed bathroom door. My head hit the wood, and I saw stars, but I managed to keep the pepper spray gripped in my left hand.

“Where is it?” he asked from several feet away. Terror washed through me when I stared into his cold eyes. It was clear I was dealing with a hardcore killer.

While I suspected he was here for the floppy disks, I wasn’t going to just hand them over. Maybe it was because I’d sworn to myself that I’d never grovel again, or maybe it was plain stupidity, but I found myself asking, “Where is what?”

He held up the gun and pointed it at my chest. “I want that goddamned box.”

It would feel wrong to reward his murderous path of destruction by giving him what he wanted, not to mention, I was sure he’d kill me once he had them. I motioned to the door leading to the stairwell. “It’s in there. In the Walmart bag.”

Still training the gun on me, he backed up toward the stairwell door. “Who did you call?”

“My husband, the sheriff,” I said with my back still pressed to the bathroom door. “He’s across the street. He’ll be here any second, so take the bag, and go before he shows up.”

He reached behind him, still keeping his gaze on me. “I don’t think so. Otherwise he’d be here already. Not to mention you made several other calls.”

“That’s right,” I said. “I called 911, so the Henryetta police will be here any second.”

He barked out a laugh. “So why aren’t they here yet? The police department’s only a block or two away.”

“You know the Henryetta police,” I said, trying to sound breezy to hide my panic. “You just never know when they’re gonna show up.”

His hand finally connected with the doorknob. He pulled the door open and snuck a glance down at the base of the stairs. Squatting, he reached down to grab the bag while still keeping an eye on me. Once he had the bag, he held it out toward me.

“What the hell is this?”

“The box,” I said. “It fell and broke into pieces.”

His mouth dropped open.

“Okay,” I said. “You’ve got the box. Feel free to go.” I motioned toward the back door. “I’ve already got it unlocked for you.”

He reached for the bottom of the bag with the hand that held the gun, then dipped it over, dumping the wood pieces onto the floor. After a quick scan of the contents, his rage-filled eyes lifted to mine. “Where is it?”

“Your daughter’s engagement ring? In my underwear drawer at home. I was holding onto it until I found her. At least until I realized she was closer than I realized, buried in the Henryetta Cemetery.” That last part was a guess, but I figured I couldn’t be far off.

“What engagement ring?” he demanded.

“You didn’t know Jason proposed to her?” I asked. “That’s what she buried in the box. That, a heart locket, and a few notes from her fiancé.”

He looked momentarily shocked.

“You didn’t know?” I asked. “She and Jason knew you and his mother would never approve, and for some reason, she refused to leave with him when he went to Montana.”

“Who the hell is Jason?” he shouted.

I stared at him in shock, then started to laugh, my nervous energy needing to be expelled. “You didn’t know?”

“I don’t give a shit about some engagement ring and notes. I want the disks.”

“What disks?” I asked, but even as I said it, I asked myself what I was doing. He’d killed two people when they hadn’t given him what he wanted. There was every likelihood he’d kill me too.

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