Val just looked at him.
“C’mon, I’m interested. Why’d you break up?”
She managed what she hoped was a casual and dismissive shrug. “Just didn’t work out.”
“Uh-huh.” Ruger’s dark eyes glittered like the glass eyes of a stuffed shark. “So nobody new, huh?”
“No.”
Val tensed, almost as afraid of more questions as she was of Connie blurting out the truth and screwing them all. She wasn’t entirely sure why she denied Crow’s existence, but some instinct had triggered her words when she had spoken. No boyfriend, no husband, no attachments that could somehow be used against her, or who could be hurt if she were to be used against them. Keep the man’s thoughts away from that kind of thinking. It was bad enough that Connie had mentioned Mark, Val’s brother, who was due home sometime soon.
“Okay, you get two points for answering all your questions.” He winked at her. “Okay, Pop. Your turn. What kind of car do you have?”
“A Bronco.”
“Oh yeah? What year?”
“Ninety-six.”
“Any good?”
For some reason, Guthrie felt a brief flash of cockiness. He said, “It gets lousy gas mileage in the city, the clutch sticks, and it has a shimmy when you get it above sixty.”
Ruger blinked, and then he laughed. “Well, well.” He raised his glass to toast Guthrie and took a heavy knock of the whiskey. “Where are the keys?”
“On a hook by the back door.”
“Where is it parked?”
“Right out back. Just outside the door.”
“What color?”
“Dark green.”
“Any vanity plates?”
Guthrie looked at him for a moment, uncomprehending.
“I mean do you have one of those stupid plates that say 2-FAST or BIG BUX or any of that shit?”
“No…no, just regular tags.”
“Registration and inspection up to date?”
“Of course.”
“‘Of course,’” Ruger repeated, shaking his head. “I break into your house, kick your ass, and am planning to steal your car, and you sound offended when I ask if your inspection is up to date.”
“The car’s fine. Why don’t you take it and go?”
“I will, I will, but not yet. There’s just a few things I got to do yet.”
The phone rang, but Ruger made no move to answer it. He merely let it ring itself out. He finished the drink and set the glass down primly on the side table. Val was amazed: he must have poured five fingers’ worth into the tall milk glass and he’d downed it all in six or eight gulps. How much whiskey was that? A quarter pint? What would he be like when the whiskey hit his system?
“Okay, next question, Mr. Guthrie,” Ruger said with no trace of a slur in his voice. “Do you have a stretcher?”
“A stretcher?”
“Yeah.”
“No. A stretcher? Why would I have a stretcher?”
“You got anything I could use as one?”
Guthrie frowned. “I guess you could take a door off its hinges and use that. Who’s hurt?”
“Hey, hey, now, I didn’t say you could ask any questions.”
“Okay,” Guthrie said in a soft, placating voice. “Sorry.”
“Okay then. How ’bout a wheelbarrow?”
“Sure. We have a couple of those.”
“Where?”
“In the shed. Small yellow building next to the barn.”
“Is it locked?”
“No.”
“No?” Ruger chuckled. “Aren’t you afraid of thieves?”
Guthrie looked at him coldly. “Not usually much of an issue way out here.”
Ruger just shook his head. “Okay, and how about rope? Or that gray tape, whaddya call it?”
“Duct tape?”
“Yeah, duck tape. You got any duck tape?”
Guthrie nodded. “Couple rolls.”
“Where?”
“In the cellar.”
“Rope?”
“Some in the barn. Washing line, bailing twine in the cellar.”
“Good, good.”
Ruger rocked in his rocker for a little while, again pursing his lips, the smile coming and going, and his reptile eyes staring blackly at them. “Okay, then,” he said at length, “here’s the plan. Val, you are going to go fetch me some rope and some of that duck tape. You go fetch it and come right back.”
Val’s heart hammered in her chest as she thought about all the things in the cellar. She stood up quickly and turned to go, but immediately Ruger was on his feet, too. He grabbed her shoulder, spun her around, and looked into her eyes. She didn’t know what he was seeing there, but his face seemed angry at first, and then his smile crawled back. He slowly shook his head. “Uh-uh, honey. You sit your pretty ass back down. I was born at night, darlin’, but it wasn’t last night. Sit down.”
She let her gaze fall away and slowly crept back to the couch and sat down. Her father handed her the ice pack she had dropped and she pressed it back it place. Connie was staring at her with a total lack of understanding.
“I think,” said Ruger, reaching out with the toe of his shoe and nudging Connie’s knee, “that I’ll let the Stepford Wife go.”
“M…me?”
“Y…yes,” Ruger mocked, “y…you.”
“Down the cellar?”
“No, I want you to run down to the drugstore and fetch me a bottle of baby aspirin. Yes, the fucking cellar. Don’t you pay any attention?”
“For rope?” Connie said in a five-year-old’s voice.
“And tape. You get them and then hustle your white bread ass right back up here. No tricks, no stalling. Just get the stuff and come right back.”
“By myself?” Connie seemed to be having a hard time grasping the specifics of her mission.
Ruger rolled his eyes. “Jeez, can you really be this fucking dumb?” He looked at Val and Guthrie, who were studying the pattern of the rug on the floor. He sighed. “Okay, so you probably are this fucking dumb. Whatever. Just go and get the stuff and come right back.”
Connie backed away from him, nodding numbly. She reached the entrance to the hallway, bumped against the door frame, half spun, and then fled down the corridor. Ruger saw her open the door at the far end and listened to her feet clattering on the wooden steps. He leaned against the door frame and called out, “Remember, darlin’, no games. Just find the stuff and hustle back.” Turning to Guthrie, he said, “She isn’t too bright, is she?”
“She’s just scared.”
“What about you?” he said to Val. “Are you scared?”
“Of course I am,” she said bitterly.
“Maybe, but you aren’t scared stupid like your sister.”
“I’m scared enough, mister.” The image of the EPT test kit upstairs in the medicine cabinet flashed into her
