But when was that going to be? It had be soon.

  I heard footsteps and turned to the road. Two familiar figures were walking up the driveway. One of them was carrying a gun.

  “Looks like we’re right on time, Les,” Fred Rawlins said. He positioned himself in front of Garrett Grimm’s car. “They saved us the trouble of hunting for the money. The loot’s been found.”

  “Yeah.” Leslie Thompson giggled nervously.

  “Drop the gun, Garrett,” Fred Rawlins ordered.

  Garrett Grimm’s mouth fell open as he stared at Fred Rawlins, but he held on to his weapon. “What are you doing here, trying to steal what’s mine?” he growled.

  “Drop the gun now,” Rawlins ordered.

  Garrett Grimm didn’t move.

  A gunshot rang out, deafening me. And I wasn’t the only one. Albi and Tino covered their ears. Dylan, I noticed, never took his eyes off Fred Rawlins.

  “The next shot might hit your knee. Or your heart,” Rawlins said.

  Grimm’s gun clattered to the ground.

  “Leslie,” Rawlins said.

  Leslie picked up the gun and held it at arm’s distance.

  “Okay. Time to collect what we came for. Leslie, give me the gun, then grab the bag of money and stash it on the back seat of my car.”

  Leslie tried to lift the duffel bag, without success. Rawlins scowled. He gestured to Dylan and Tino. “You two, pick it up and set it on his shoulder.”

  Dylan and Tino did as instructed. We watched Leslie stagger off. Dylan, I noticed, stayed on the driver’s side of Grimm’s car and managed to edge closer to Fred Rawlins. Rawlins must have sensed his move, because, though he didn’t say anything, he stepped back.

  “All right. You got what you came for—now leave,” Grimm said.

  Fred Rawlins nodded and grinned. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? But I ain’t leaving. I know there’s another bag of money. Where is it?”

  “There’s no more money. And if there was any, it wouldn’t be yours, now would it?” Grimm sneered.

  Tino let out a loud guffaw.

  “What’s so funny?” Rawlins demanded.

  “The two of you arguing over something that doesn’t belong to either of you.”

  “As if you should have it?” Rawlins demanded.

  “Why not? At least I earned it,” Tino said.

  “Yeah, so did I,” Grimm mumbled.

  While the others were talking, Dylan had once again inched closer to Rawlins. Would he get close enough to wrest the gun away this time? It took all of my effort not to watch. Watching would draw Rawlins’s attention to Dylan, so instead I looked at Albi to see how he was managing the awful situation we were in.

  Suddenly Grimm grabbed my upper arm. He slammed the rear passenger door shut and opened the door in front of it. He pushed me inside and over to the driver’s seat, got in beside me, and shoved the key into the ignition.

  “Carrie, you’re gonna drive us out of here,” he said as he started up the motor.

  “No, I’m not.” I reached for the door handle, but the door didn’t budge.

  “The lock’s jammed so it won’t open.”

  “Oh.”

  I glanced at Rawlins, wondering if he was going to stop us, but he was eyeing Albi and Tino, who must have edged toward the road soon as Grimm opened the car door. It was difficult keeping a gun focused on five people.

  “You’ll do as I say, Miss Librarian.” Grimm reached under the passenger seat where he was sitting and pulled out a wicked-looking knife. The blade was less than five inches long, but sharp and deadly. “Unless you want a taste of this.”

  I swallowed. “Where are we going?”

  “As far from here as possible.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Driving Garrett Grimm’s ancient car was an odd experience. I felt as though I were sitting in a large upright chair and driving a bus or a van while springs poked at me through the worn seat. Being a getaway driver for a thief-murderer was nerve-wracking enough, and I didn’t appreciate the commands he screamed at me.

  “Faster! Faster!” And “Turn left!” or “Turn right!” whenever we approached a new road.

  The car shimmied from side to side with each turn. Since it didn’t have power steering, I had to exert considerable effort to straighten out the wheels after every turn, then hug the right side of the road in case another car came along. How I wished one would, but so far we were alone on the road.

  “Slow down,” Grimm said after I’d made the third turn as per his instructions. “Do you want to get us killed?”

  “You told me to drive fast,” I complained.

  “Yeah, okay. But now we’re miles from that thieving felon. No way is he getting that second bag of money.”

  My mind was awhirl with all that had happened today, the day of my wedding. And now I was stuck in a car with a murderer going God knows where while the man I loved was either taking down a criminal or getting shot in the attempt.

  Grimm looked ridiculous as, knife in hand, he kept sticking his scrawny neck out the window to see if anyone was following us. How was it he never seemed to notice that the door to the trunk fluttered up and down with every bump and turn because it had never been closed? I felt every bump as well. The shock absorbers were gone, and the suspension was really awful. It was amazing that the duffel bag of money never fell out, given the jarring ride that had my teeth chattering.

  A left turn was coming up, and Grimm told me to take it. We drove past a few cabins and small houses amid the woods and shrubs. A car passed us, then another. On the right side, I spotted a small beach and water through the woods. A lake, most likely.

  “Do you know where we are?” I asked.

  “As a matter of fact I do,” he sneered.

  No, he didn’t. The man was a loser. He screwed up everything he did. Isn’t that what Trish had said about him? He was erratic and he’d murdered Luke. What was he going to do to me?

  I heard the familiar jingle of my cell phone. The sound was coming from one of the pockets in Grimm’s suede vest, where he’d jammed our three phones. A surge of hope brightened my spirits. Dylan’s safe! He’s calling from Rawlins’s or Leslie’s phone. He’s sending the police after Grimm.

  Reality set in and my hopes crashed to the ground. It was my wedding day. Anyone could be calling, most likely my father or Angela. Or Aunt Harriet.

  “Don’t slow down,” Grimm said. He reached for my phone and glanced at it before tossing it to the floor of the car.

  “Who called me?” I asked.

  “Your mother.”

  “Oh.”

  Grimm shot me a spiteful grin. “Were you hoping it was your boyfriend? Do you think he grabbed Rawlins’s gun, or did Rawlins catch his play and shoot him?”

  So Grimm had noticed what Dylan was planning. Of course he had. That was the moment he’d decided to take me hostage and drive away with at least one bag of the money.

  When we came to a county route, Grimm instructed me to take it going north. There was a GPS affixed to the top of his dashboard, but he never glanced at it once.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Where no one can find me till it’s time to leave. This time tomorrow I’ll be far, far away.”

  So he has a plan, I thought. I should talk to him. Find out what I can. But what would Garrett Grimm be willing to talk about? What would set him off?

  I cleared my throat. “Did you have any idea that Fred Rawlins followed you to the cabin?”

  Grimm pursed his lips. He looked angry. Maybe this was a bad way to start. “No, and I should have been on my guard. I knew who he was. Luke pointed him out to me, told me he was Billy’s cellmate. Then suddenly everywhere I went I saw him around town.” He let out a guffaw. “It took me a day or two to realize the guy was tailing me.”

  “So Luke must have told Billy that you’d planned the bank robbery,” I said.

  When Grimm didn’t answer, I took that as a yes, a yes that didn’t make Grimm happy.

  “Do you think Fred Rawlins killed Billy?” I asked, though I knew Rawlins hadn’t.

  “Nah. Luke did that.” Grimm shook his head. “Luke was a good worker, except he had no patience.” Another hoot of laughter. “I told him to wait for Billy to get hold of the loot from wherever he’d stashed it while he was in the slammer, and then grab it, but Luke was impatient—not that I blame him after all those years of waiting around. And he was seriously pissed at Billy for hiding it from all of us.”

  I had the sense not to point out that Grimm hadn’t shown any patience when he’d killed his pal Luke. Anyway, Grimm was as eager to change the subject as I was.

  “I heard someone broke into the library and snatched the witch’s diary.” He clucked his tongue in mock concern. He turned to me, his eyes glittering with malice. “Any idea who stole it?”

  At this point, I had no reason to hide the truth. “We’re pretty sure Leslie Thompson stole it with Fred Rawlins’s instructions. But proving it is another story.”

  “So the kid stole the diary for his mother,” Grimm mused. “Who would have thought he’d have the guts to do something so bold?”

  Kid? “Leslie didn’t steal it for Winifred,” I said. “He hates her.”

  “Interesting. He finally wised up to the kind of person she was. Then I suppose he and Rawlins plan to sell it for big bucks—if Rawlins knows how to find a buyer.”

  “Actually, we have no idea what the diary is worth. A forensic expert was scheduled to come in next week to tell us its value for insurance purposes.”

  Grimm had me make a few more turns. From the signs we passed, I realized we were heading back toward Clover Ridge. His cell phone rang. I listened carefully to the conversation, but I couldn’t hear what the caller was saying.

  “Got it. Not as much as we expected, but enough for now.” Grimm said.

  Then, after a pause, “I know, I know. I’ll be there.” He made a face while his caller spoke, probably reminding him of their arrangements. Then he smiled at me as he said, “I took someone else instead of Tino.” His burst of laughter sent shivers down my spine. Whomever Grimm was talking to was helping him escape.

  The call put Grimm in a real chatty mood. Despite finding Dylan, Albi, and me at the cabin, then losing half the bank haul to Fred Rawlins and Leslie Thompson, he seemed to consider that things were working out just fine.

  “What I can’t figure out is why Leslie’s hanging out with the likes of Fred Rawlins,” he said. “Rawlins’s a felon, and Leslie’s the meekest geek in Clover Ridge. I mean, how did they even meet?”

  “I think Leslie’s starved for any kind of adventure. He sees Rawlins as some kind of hero.”

  Grimm shot me a look of disbelief. “You gotta be kidding.”

  “Somehow Leslie found out that his mother hired Rawlins to steal the diary, only Rawlins got caught in the act. He was furious when she didn’t pay him his fee.”

  “How do you know?”

  I shrugged, though my heart was racing. “Things have a way of coming to the surface.”

  Grimm nodded. “Good! People are finally finding out that Winifred Thompson was a nasty, deceitful bitch. The woman stopped at nothing to get what she wanted. Only this time she picked a bumbler.”

  He chuckled. “So Rawlins and Leslie grabbed the diary, and Winnie couldn’t get her paws on it. I love it.” He saw my expression of horror and apologized. “Sorry, Carrie. I know that diary means a lot to you.”

  “It’s part of our town’s history and belongs in the library,” I said.

  Just then my phone’s jingle sounded again. Grimm sighed with exasperation as he picked it up.

  “Your father,” he told me as he tossed it back on the floor of the car.

  Maybe Jim will realize something’s wrong when I don’t answer, I thought.

  “What’s with all the phone calls?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. Then he remembered. My heart began to pound as a large grin covered his face. “Oh, right. How could I have forgotten? Today is your wedding day.”

  I blinked back tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. I would not let him see me cry.

  “Don’t worry.” I cringed as Grimm patted my arm. “Maybe you’ll get there. And maybe you won’t.”

  To distract myself from worrying, I returned to our conversation. “You really hated Winnie, didn’t you?”

  “It irked me how she kept trying to make out that her ancestor was a saint. She wasn’t, you know. I read a few articles about that period. There were complaints about Verity Babcock. How she refused to help people who couldn’t afford to pay for her herbs.”

  I stared at him. “Was John Whitcomb really your ancestor?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, he was. Not that I cared, except it’s kinda prestigious to have an ancestor going back all the way to colonial days. But when I read in your article that he’d died after taking some of Verity Babcock’s herbs—Verity, who was Winnie Thompson’s ancestor—that took on a whole other meaning.”

  “So that battle of the letters the two of you played out in the Gazette was a cover for something else.”

  No answer.

  “Come on, Garrett. What’s the real reason you didn’t like Winifred?” I asked.

  After a pause, he exhaled loudly and said, “The woman was a snob who looked down on people like me. Despite her fancy house and showy ways, Winnie was desperate for money. She’d heard I’d managed a few deals that weren’t quite kosher, and asked if she could get in on one of them. When I told her the risks, she swore she was okay with them.” Grimm’s face contorted into a mask of hate. “Until she claimed her conscience was bothering her and she pulled out of the deal. Only then it was too late.”

  “Too late for what?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Belatedly, I realized it would be dangerous to find out why Winnie had gotten under his skin. After all, Winnie had been murdered, and her killer could very well have been Garrett Grimm.

  “Winnie and I go way back,” Grimm began, his manner casual. “My father was a gardener. His specialty was exotic plants, and the Thompsons—Winnie’s parents—were into exotic plants. They had a large greenhouse filled with them. Anyway, I was eight or nine when I started going to the Thompsons with my father. I loved looking at the koi swimming around in a pond. I could stare at them for hours. The second or third time I was there, Winnie called to me from her window. I went up to her bedroom, which was about the size of our entire downstairs. She asked me if I wanted to help her play a joke on someone.

  “I said, ‘Sure, why not?’ I liked playing jokes, and I was flattered that someone in high school was talking to me. She told me where she wanted me to go—only a few blocks away—and what she wanted me to do. She handed me the bottle of glue and repeated her instructions. Then she called out to my father and told him I’d be running an errand for her close by. Since we were in the posh part of town, my father said okay, and off I went.”

  “What did she tell you to do?” I asked.

  “Pour glue on the car seat of her former best friend’s brand new car. I found out later that the girl had gone out on a date with a boy Winnie liked.” Grimm laughed. “The following week she had me do something to the guy’s favorite tennis racket. Winnie told me that suspicions flew around the high school, but no one could prove anything.”

  “Lovely,” I said. I glanced at my watch. It was two o’clock. My anxiety, which I’d been keeping at bay, was rising. “I need to get home.”

  Grimm turned to me, his expression dark. “I need you here with me.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because that’s the plan.”

  “Your plan … or someone else’s?” I asked.

  He hesitated, then said, “It was Buddy’s idea.”

  “Who’s Buddy?”

  “The best pal I’ve ever had. Get off at the next exit.”

  I began to panic. Was Dylan safe and able to send the police out to rescue me? Surely Albi would tell the police that Garrett Grimm had abducted me. That is, if they both weren’t injured or …

  “I heard from Winnie occasionally over the years,” Grimm went on, as though we were having a friendly chat. “She asked me to do a few more little jobs, as she called them, and I always obliged. Sometimes she gave me money. Other times she gave me gifts, expensive items I could never afford.”

  He turned to look at me. “Are you listening?”

  “When did you meet Buddy?” I asked.

  “About a year ago.”

  And he became your best friend? “Uh-huh.”

  “We met in a bar in Merrivale and started talking. The more we talked, the more we discovered we have in common. Only Buddy’s way cooler than I’ll ever be. He’s the smoothest guy I know.” Grimm chuckled. “He’s the older brother I never had.”

  A chill chased down my spine. This Buddy sounded like a Svengali who had wormed his way into Grimm’s confidence and was now calling the shots. Clearly, Grimm had filled his pal in on the bank job, and this Buddy was clever enough to convince Grimm to take drastic steps he’d never come up with on his own to collect the missing money. Like instructing him to get tough with Luke. And when that failed, to give Tino an ultimatum. For some reason, Buddy had told Grimm to take a hostage—probably as insurance if he ran into trouble.

  Hostages were dispensable, which meant my life was in danger.

  “So your friend Buddy totally gets you,” I said. “And he has your back.”

  “Completely.”

  “Getting back to Winnie, what kind of plan did she agree to and then pull out of?” I asked.

  Grimm chuckled. “That was one of Buddy’s brainstorms. When I mentioned to him that a formerly rich woman I knew needed money, he told me about this con he ran a few times over the years. In order for it to work, it requires an inside man—or woman—with wealthy friends.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Turn here,” Grimm instructed.

  The new route led to Merrivale, where I imagined Buddy lived. Not a good move, as far as I was concerned, especially since Grimm now seemed more relaxed. He was getting closer to his accomplice, and each mile brought me closer to my demise. I pretended to listen to his story as I plotted an escape route.