easy.”
Sam started to reply but Fargo hushed her with a gesture. He thought he’d heard something. He probed the shadows dappling the green but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “You’ll do as I say?”
“We have an accord,” Sam said, and grinned.
Over the next several hours they spent every minute searching. They paralleled the creek until they came to a tree with a red patch of paint, marking the boundary of the search area. They crisscrossed the woods. They poked into thickets and under leaves and moved logs.
By the position of the sun it was about two in the afternoon when Fargo came to the base of a low bluff. It offered shade and concealment, and he sat and put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “We’re not getting anywhere.”
“Don’t give up. We have until six tomorrow morning.” Sam placed a hand at the small of her back and wearily sank beside him. “By then I’ll be so sore and tired, I’ll hardly be able to move.”
“You’ll need to sleep eventually.”
“Not if I can help it. I intend to stay up all night searching, if it comes to that.”
“In the dark we’d need torches.” Fargo didn’t add that it would make them easy targets.
“I wish Father had given us clues. He’s asking the impossible. There’s too much ground to cover and most of it wooded.”
Fargo had a thought. “Maybe he made it so hard because he didn’t want any of you to find the damn chest.”
Sam pursed her lips. “You know, that would be just like him. He hated us enough. A cruel jest on his part. Yes, he would like that very much.” She sighed. “What really rankles is that if none of us find the thing, the entire estate goes to charity.” Sam caught herself. “Not that I have anything against giving money to the poor. To the contrary. I’ve done it myself. But Father never did. He used to say that the poor deserved their fate, that if they had any drive and any grit, they wouldn’t be poor to begin with.”
“Like I said before, nice gent, your father.”
“No, Skye. He was anything but. He was mean and hurtful and despicable at times. A fluke of fate turned him from a loving father into a monster.”
They both stiffened at the sudden snap and crackle of brush. Out of it came two figures, their dresses showing wear and tear, their shoes sprinkled with dust and dirt.
“Sam!” Charlotte exclaimed, and smiled. She nudged Amanda and the pair came over. “I take it you’re not having any better luck than we are?”
Samantha shook her head.
“I swear, we’ve covered every square foot,” Charlotte said, and her cousin nodded. “I thought that all we had to do was find a spot where someone had dug but it’s not that simple.”
“Charlotte, brace yourself,” Sam said softly.
“Why?”
“Charles is dead.”
Charlotte took a step back and paled. “No. Not him.” Tears welled at the corners of her eyes. “How did it happen?”
“He was stabbed to death.”
“God no.”
To Fargo her shock seemed genuine. But some people were good actors and she might be one.
“That’s not all.” Sam told her about Cletus Brun. Both Charlotte and Amanda glanced at Fargo but neither said anything until Sam was done.
“Then Tom is on his own?” Charlotte smiled. “Good. It serves him right. Of all of us, I want Tom to win the least.”
Amanda asked, “What about Roland? Have you seen any sign of him?”
“No.”
“Neither have we,” Charlotte said. “I hope he’s all right.” She looked at her sister and at Fargo and bit her lower lip.
“What?” Sam prompted.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think and I was wondering—” Charlotte stopped. “No, you probably wouldn’t agree.”
“Agree to what? Speak up.”
Charlotte swept an arm at the ring of forest. “I don’t like these woods. They’re spooky. I’ll like them even less once the sun goes down. If we haven’t found the chest by then, I was wondering if you would want to join forces?”
“You always were afraid of the dark.”
“Fine. Poke fun at me. I just thought it would be safer for all of us if we were together.” Charlotte started to turn.
“Hold on. I wasn’t poking fun. It makes sense. But why wait until nightfall? Why not stick together from here on out and if we find the chest we agree to split the inheritance between us?”
“You mean that?” Charlotte asked hopefully.
“As you say, there’s safety in numbers. I’m sure Fargo agrees. Don’t you, Skye?”
Fargo was about to answer when a rifle barrel poked out of the trees.
18
Fargo had been watching the woods the whole time. He saw the barrel the instant it appeared and he acted in the same heartbeat. “Get down!” he bellowed, and flung himself flat even as he pulled Samantha with him. The rifle thundered. He heard a thwack and twisted toward Sam, thinking she had been shot. But she hadn’t.
Amanda had been hit in the back of the head. The slug ruptured her face, taking part of her nose and cheek with it. She was still on her feet but her eyes were empty of life and her legs starting to give way.
“Amanda!” Charlotte cried. She was riveted in horror and dismay.
“Down, damn it!” Fargo lunged, wrapped an arm around her ankles, and yanked at the very moment that the rifle belched lead and smoke a second time.
The killer missed.
Fargo had Sam on one side and Charlotte on the other. They couldn’t stay there; they were too exposed. “Run!” he commanded, and since he couldn’t count on them to obey, he grabbed both and raced around the bluff, pulling them. Sam matched him but Charlotte dug in her heels.
“Amanda! I can’t leave her!”
“She’s dead!” Fargo pulled harder. They would be dead, too, if they didn’t find cover, and quickly. He rounded the bluff as another shot struck a tree and flew another twenty feet, veering back and forth to make it harder for the shooter to hit them. The next instant they plunged into heavy cover.
The vegetation was so dense that Fargo doubted the killer could see them but he wasn’t taking chances. A spruce flanked by high weeds offered haven. He flattened and tugged the women down beside him.
“Amanda,” Charlotte said, and sobbed.
“Quiet.” Fargo let go and raised his head high enough to see over the weeds. There was no sign of pursuit but it could be the shooter was too smart to show him or her self.
“What do we do?” Sam whispered. “We can’t fight a rifle with our bare hands.”
Fargo was all too aware of that. He looked around for a downed tree limb or a fist-sized rock.
“Why did they shoot Amanda?” Sam wondered. “Why not Charlotte or me? Amanda can’t inherent anything.”
“Maybe they’re toying with us,” Fargo speculated. “Or maybe they were aiming at Charlotte or you and Amanda stepped into their sights.” He hadn’t been paying attention to what Amanda was doing.
“We must report this,” Charlotte said, tears moistening her cheeks. “We must get to the hunting lodge and send word to the sheriff.”
“I agree,” Sam said.
