Snakes and Ladders Read online

“The spoils from the more legit part of my shopping trip. Some dark clothes for you—because I don’t want to case Mortensen’s house with you dressed in that neon jacket.” He handed her a black jacket. “Plus, this one has a lot of pockets, which is handy—better than carrying a knapsack.”

  “What am I going to be carrying?”

  He handed her two other items from the pile. “Duct tape and zip ties.”

  “We’re going to be tying people up?” she asked, alarmed.

  “Best to be prepared for any eventuality.” He picked up a small cardboard box. “Plus, a knife for me.”

  Lizzy blanched. “Are you going to … you know, like you did before?”

  Philip opened the box and tipped out a small pocket knife. “It’s not really that kind of knife.”

  Lizzy looked over the items on the bed. “Seems like you’ve done this before.”

  “I led a dissolute youth.”

  “Where’s the gun?”

  He sat at the desk and from another bag pulled a cloth-wrapped item and a small black, red, and white box labeled American Eagle. He removed the cloth and set the gun on the desk.

  “What is it?” asked Lizzy.

  “Glock 19. The Honda Civic of handguns.”

  He popped the magazine out of the grip and began loading bullets. “Let’s review where we stand. There are three threats out there. There’s this George Millard guy, who sounds like he’s the one who killed your dad, tried to kill you with the rattlesnakes, and maybe gave Owen something that caused the heart attack. There’s Louise Mortensen, who sounds like she started the whole business with her husband. And there’s the guy in the video who likely killed the attorney general. And,” he added, “who I think showed up at my office for a session.”

  Lizzy’s voice spiked again. “The guy from the video came to your office?”

  “I think so. He said his name was Mitch Foot.”

  “What did he talk about?”

  “I think he talked about you.”

  Lizzy gave a start. “Me?”

  “I think so. He said he was looking for his girlfriend. He started describing someone who sounded like you. I was suspicious at first, but then the story changed to describe someone obviously not like you, and I thought I was just overreacting. Now I think he could have been seeing if he could get a reaction out of me, and then changed his story to throw me off once he had assessed my reaction.” He snapped the magazine in and out of the grip, then set it aside and sighted down the gun’s barrel. “It’s like a game of cat and mouse. Actually,” he amended, “it’s like a game of chess: the queen, the knight, and the pawn.”

  “Who’s the knight and who’s the pawn?” asked Lizzy.

  “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Lizzy gazed out the window for a full minute, then turned back to Philip. “I think Millard is the knight. Maybe once we take care of him, Louise and Mitch will go away.”

  “That’s not how the game works. The queen doesn’t retire from the board because one lesser piece has been captured.”

  Lizzy waved her hand impatiently. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t work out exactly like a chess game. But I think Mitch is a pawn of both of them. Louise might even be forcing him to do her dirty work.”

  “Didn’t look like it on the video.”

  “You can’t tell what’s going on in that video,” she said angrily. “The camera was bumping around, you could only see the guy with her for a second. Maybe if we take care of George Millard and Louise, he’ll run away.”

  “But he’s still out there with the same power you have and, unlike you, not much compunction about using it as far as I can see. He walked up to a man he had probably never met, and squeezed his brain until he died.”

  “Isn’t that what I’m planning on doing to George Millard?” she shot back. “Walking up to a man I never met and squeezing his brain until he dies?”

  “But you’ve got right on your side. Looks to me like he’s just got might on his.”

  Lizzy sat down on the bed and rested her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. Finally she raised her head.

  “I think I can kill George Millard because of what he’s done to my dad and to Uncle Owen. I might even be able to kill Louise Mortensen, although for some reason that would be harder, even though I believe she’s behind all this. I guess because it seemed like she was being nice to me when I was in Pocopson. But I can’t kill the guy in the video. I just can’t. He may be working for the bad guys now, but if he really is like me, he didn’t ask to be the way he is. He really is a pawn.”

  “Okay. Let’s start with Millard, and then reconsider our options.”

  She nodded, not meeting his gaze.

  “You’re still not sure, are you?” he asked.

  “I’m sure,” she said, sounding not entirely sure.

  He set the gun aside. “Lizzy, look at me.”

  She looked up.

  “Do you know why I’m here?”

  “Because Uncle Owen asked you to come.”

  “Sure, but I could have said no.”

  “I know you could have—I don’t want you to think I don’t realize how much you’re helping us—”

  He waved his hand. “I’m not fishing for compliments about my selflessness. But I think it’s important for you to understand why I’m here.”

  She hesitated. “Okay.”

  “I have two reasons for wanting to help you. One is that I don’t like the idea of you turning yourself in to the authorities. I don’t want to see you in prison any more than I wanted to be there myself.”

  “But it wouldn’t be prison.” She hesitated. “Would it?”

  “It might not be a jail, but it would be a prison. And your wardens wouldn’t be some anonymous guys who don’t know you from Adam. They would be people who would want something from you, and could make your life pretty unpleasant if you didn’t give it to them.” He paused, then continued. “You’re a different person from the person I was when I went to prison, even though you’re not much younger than I was. You’re optimistic where I was pessimistic. You’re big-hearted where I was cold-hearted. But I think you would suffer in that kind of world just as much as I did. When Owen told me you were thinking of turning yourself in to the authorities … well, I didn’t want to see that happen, especially because for you it would be a life sentence. And you might not be lucky enough to find someone to save you from despair like I did.”

  She gripped her fingers together in her lap.

  “Another reason I’m helping you is that I don’t like seeing bullies take advantage of good people—and you’re good people. Owen’s good people, too. Neither of you deserves this, and your parents didn’t deserve what happened to them either.”

  She looked down at her hands.

  He leaned forward. “Lizzy, I would have done anything to have your ability when I ran into that rancher’s son doing what he was doing. You remember what I said about Snakes and Ladders?”

  She nodded.

  “I killed him, and as far as I’m concerned, that was a ladder and not a snake—a virtue and not a vice. I have never for a minute regretted what I did to him. I regretted going to jail—and although that ended up having a silver lining, I would have much preferred to have found my mentor somewhere other than in prison. If I could have squeezed that bastard and walked away with no one knowing that I had done it—well, I would have done it and never looked back.”

  Lizzy looked at Philip, her eyes wide.

  Philip sat back. “Unfortunately, I don’t have your ability.” He smiled tightly. “Or maybe I should say ‘fortunately,’ because who knows what trouble I might get into if I did.” His smile faded. “But I have a weapon that’s just as effective”—he raised the Glock—“and I don’t have any compunction about using it on a bastard like George Millard.”

  58

  It was the evening of the day Millard had injected Owen McNally, and against all odds the man had survived. Louise was at her computer, eviden
tly trying to get information on McNally’s condition, and probably assessing how the dose of potassium chloride hadn’t killed him. To say that Louise Mortensen was displeased was to put it mildly. At least she had the grace not to try to pin that screw up on Millard.

  The unexpected complication of McNally’s survival and the uncertainty about what Ballard and her other allies might be up to had put everyone in the Pocopson house on edge, and Louise was insistent that Millard complete the scanning of her research documentation and the destruction of the paper copies quickly.

  His work at the scanner had been complicated over the last few days by the arrival of workmen installing new window coverings throughout the first floor of the house. They had removed the blinds and valances and light silk curtains that had hung at the windows and replaced them with heavy floor-to-ceiling drapes. Even the small window in the alcove off Louise’s study, where he was doing the scanning, had been covered.

  “I’m not interested in having people be able to wander by the house and look in,” Louise snapped when he asked her about it.

  At first it had seemed like overkill to Millard, but he had to admit that the new curtains would disappoint any prying eyes. He circled the house the night after the installation started and, in the rooms with the new drapes, it was impossible to tell even whether or not a light was on, much less what activity that light might be illuminating. The material was unusually heavy, with a strange, almost oily feel. Maybe some new form of blackout material.

  Millard straightened from the scanner, twisted to ease the kink in his back, and looked to his right at his output for the day: two copier paper boxes worth. At the end of the day he’d give Mortensen a thumb drive with that day’s scans on it, then in the morning would shred the scanned papers and take the remains out to an old oil drum at the back of the property and burn them. He had already processed at least a dozen boxes. He looked to his left at the papers still to be scanned: five boxes remained. He should have gotten a higher end machine, and then maybe he wouldn’t have had to spend quite so much time playing secretary.

  He heard the faint sound of a knock coming from Louise’s study, and then Pieda’s voice.

  “Louise, I need to go out for a little while.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be going out,” she replied. “It’s best that we all stay in the house until we’re sure everything is under control.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to a party,” said Mitchell irritably. “I got a call from my aunt. I need to run out to her house in Jenkintown and help her with something. I’ll be back by midnight.”

  Millard stepped out of the alcove and leaned against the wall, enjoying the look of annoyed surprise from Pieda.

  “George,” said Louise, “Mitchell was just saying he needs to go out, but I think it’s best if we all stay here, especially since we don’t know where Ballard is.”

  “Seems wise,” he said.

  Mitchell’s color rose. “My aunt needs me.”

  “What does she need you for?” asked Louise.

  Mitchell stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Her ex-boyfriend showed up. He moved a bunch of his stuff into her house when they were dating, then left most of it there when they broke up, but he comes back every now and then to get something. She’s making him wait outside until I get there.”

  “To protect her? Seems like something better suited to George, although I can’t really spare George at the moment.”

  Mitchell bristled. “I can take care of this myself.”

  Louise looked speculatively at him. “Why does your aunt need you at the house while her former boyfriend is there?” she asked again.

  “Because,” said Mitchell, “I can tell her whether he’s really there for the reason he’s claiming.”

  “Ah,” said Louise. “I understand.” She gazed at Pieda a moment longer, then stood from the desk, crossed to the small table where the liquor was kept, and poured herself a glass of sherry. She turned back to the room.

  So, your aunt knows about your ability to read minds?”

  “Yes. My mother—her sister—told her.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “No one.”

  “No one?”

  “No one knows for sure. I used it to do tricks when I was little, until my mother told me to stop.”

  Louise sighed. “I suppose you can’t very well ignore a request for help from a family member.”

  Pieda was silent.

  She nodded as if he had said something. “All right. But please keep an eye out for Ballard. Or Owen McNally’s brother.” She sighed again. “I wish George could go with you.”

  “I don’t need George to babysit me,” he blurted.

  “No, of course not,” Louise said irritably. She put her glass down on the table. “I’ll give you a dose of the steroid compound to take with you just in case you run into someone. Do you think you could inject yourself if the need arose?”

  “Sure. If I had to,” said Mitchell sulkily.

  “You might as well have it with you,” she said. “It can’t hurt.”

  Millard could tell from Pieda’s expression that he knew that it would, in fact, hurt, but Pieda kept his mouth shut.

  59

  Lizzy and Philip left for Pocopson after dark, wanting the cover of night in case they passed Louise Mortensen, George Millard, or even the mysterious Mitch Foot on the roads of southern Chester County.

  The previous year, Lizzy had spent nine days as the involuntary guest of Louise and Gerard Bonnay, until Owen devised a ploy to land her in the emergency room, from which he, Andy, and Ruby DiMano had spirited her away. Lizzy’s trips to and from Pocopson had been made under less than ideal circumstances, but she felt sure that she would recognize the lamp-topped stone pillars and decorative metal gate that guarded the entrance, and Pocopson wasn’t such a big area.

  As they drove, Lizzy called Andy for an update on Owen. She put him on speaker.

  “He’s not much better,” said Andy, “but also not worse, which is probably the best we can hope for at this point.”

  “Does your mom know what happened?” asked Lizzy.

  They heard Andy’s sigh across the connection. “We tried to explain to her. At first she was confused, then she totally went off the deep end—screaming and crying. We—” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “We had to give her a sedative.”

  Lizzy dropped her head, then said, “I’m so sorry, Andy.”

  “Not your fault, kiddo.”

  “Was there any security footage to look at?” Philip asked.

  “Yes, they pulled some from a camera covering the hallway of the floor Owen was on. There are two guys who are dressed like orderlies, but the hospital can’t identify them as employees. One looks like your description of George Millard, and the other one could be the guy from the Russell Brashear news conference video.”

  Lizzy felt Philip glance over at her. “Good information to have,” he said.

  Andy continued. “The cart with the breakfast trays had just showed up, and the video shows the one we can assume is Millard doing something to one of them. With the angle of the camera, you can’t see what he’s doing, but the tray would have included a foil-covered cup of orange juice and there wasn’t one on Owen’s tray when we got there. Our guess is that Millard injected something through the foil—the hole would have been tiny, and easy to miss—and then took it with him when he left.”

  “Jesus,” said Philip.

  “So where are you guys?” asked Andy. “Or aren’t you allowed to say?”

  “Just taking a drive,” said Lizzy. “I’ll check back again with you soon.”

  They found the drive to the house a few minutes later, then located a seemingly little-used road that ran along what appeared to be the back of the property. Philip parked the car on the shoulder.

  “So are we just scouting tonight?” asked Lizzy.

  “Probably. I’m usually not one to rush into things, but o
n the other hand, we have them off-balance now—I’ve got to believe they didn’t expect Owen to survive, they don’t know where you are, and unless they had someone in Sedona trailing me ever since you left, which seems unlikely, they probably don’t know I’m here.”

  “What happened to the tracker on your pickup?”

  He laughed. “Safely affixed to Eddie’s truck.”

  She smiled.

  “For tonight, let’s just try to find out if they’re all staying in the house. It will be convenient if we end up locating them all together, although it would be more challenging to deal with them all at once. Also, if Millard and Foot are holed up with Mortensen, it suggests that they’re hunkering down, that they expect something to happen. We’ll get the lay of the land and then decide on next steps.”

  They got out of the car, checked their bulging jacket pockets for their supplies, and started up the small hill in the direction of the house. The moon was almost full, and with the branches still bare of leaves, it was easy to make their way across the wooded hill. The March evening was cool but not frigid. They topped the rise and the house came into view. Lights bordered the driveway, and a sconce burned cheerfully near the back door, but except for a dim glow coming from what looked like a mud room beyond the back door, the house itself was completely dark.

  “Is that it?” asked Philip.

  “I only ever saw it from the front, but I think so.” She scanned the grounds around the house. “Yes, this is it. I recognize things I could see from the window of the bedroom I stayed in.”

  “Okay, let’s see if we can get a little closer.”

  Lizzy nodded.

  Philip ran, bent low, from the cover of one tree or bush to another, headed for an outbuilding near the house.

  Lizzy ran after him.

  60

  If Millard never saw another piece of paper, it would be too soon. He dropped one more box on the “done” pile, then stepped out of the alcove. Louise was still at her desk.

  “I’m making coffee—want any?” he asked.