“No,” he said. “I just thought I’d drive down this deer trail here, see where it goes.”
“There’s no reason for anybody to get hurt, Whitley. So don’t do anything stupid when you get there, okay? Don’t try to tip him off or anything. All I want to do is talk to the man and then leave.”
“How do you plan on leaving?”
“You’re gonna drive me back,” I said. “It’s not far.”
“Now I’m a chauffeur. My life is improving by the minute.”
He drove down through the trees for a good mile. There was nothing but the shaggy bark of pine trees on either side of us, and the sound of the weeds whipping at the bottom of his car. Finally, he came to a clearing and swung his car hard to the right. The headlights passed over something large and white.
They used to call them campers. My father had one for a couple years, back when he was heading up to the Upper Peninsula every weekend to work on his first cabin. Now they call them RVs, and they’ve got kitchens, bathrooms, color televisions, you name it. The better ones run well over $100,000. The only difference between a small house and an RV is that the RV gets about three miles to the gallon.
As we got out, I told Whitley to leave his keys in the ignition. “I’ll drive back,” I said. “It’s only fair.”
“Not sure you want to do that. There’s still piss all over the seat.”
“Leave the keys in anyway.”
“Suit yourself,” he said. As he got out, he reached down and pulled out a wooden cane.
“What’s that for?”
“I need it,” he said. “For my back.” He winced with every step, making slow progress over the rough ground. There were lights on inside the vehicle, and one good exterior spotlight that lighted up the entire clearing. I walked behind Whitley, told him to knock on the door. He did.
No answer.
“Where is he?” I said.
“It takes him a while,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s coming. Just give him a minute.”
I started imagining the worst. Harwood had spotted me through the window, or else they had some kind of secret code. Two knocks means everything is okay, three means trouble. I pictured him inside, loading his gun. Probably another shotgun, the way my life had been going.
“Whitley, what the hell is going on?”
Finally, the door opened. The sudden light from the interior blinded me. Then I saw a metal grate. There was a sound like the bolt of a rifle. It made my heart race for a moment, until I realized what was happening. The sound was a gear being engaged. Then a platform slowly extended itself from the doorway.
The man who must have been Harwood rolled his wheelchair out onto the platform. This was the demon Maria had been running from for so long.
There was a console mounted on one of the arms of the wheelchair. He pressed a button and the platform lowered itself with an electric hum. When it hit the ground, he rolled off. Then he turned the wheelchair to face me. He appeared to be about sixty years old, with eyes the color of ashes. His body had the top-heavy look of man who had spent many years rolling himself around. His forearms could have belonged to a lumberjack.
“Who’s your friend?” he said. He was looking at me, but he could only be talking to Whitley.
“This would be Mr. McKnight,” Whitley said. “He’s another private investigator. Sort of, anyway. He works for Ms. Zambelli.”
“Is that right,” Harwood said. “And this gun in his hand?”
“Would be mine,” Whitley said. “Fully loaded, I’m afraid.”
“Very unfortunate,” Harwood said.
“I just want to ask you a couple questions,” I said. “I have no desire to shoot anybody.”
“That’s very reassuring.”
“First of all, do you know a man named Randy Wilkins?”
He thought about it, or at least made a show of thinking about it. “Randy Wilkins. Not offhand. Randy Wilkins. It might be ringing a very faint bell, but I can’t remember where I’ve heard the name.”
“Any chance that bell can get a little louder? He was running some real estate scams out in California. All of a sudden, he decided to come back to Michigan to look for Maria. The fact that you’re in real estate, more or less, and also looking for Maria, it seems like too much of a coincidence.”
“I’m sorry. I still can’t place him.”
“All right,” I said. “Now do you feel like telling me why you’re doing all this?”
“Doing what, exactly?”
“Don’t play games with me, Harwood. You killed her husband, and you tried to kill her. You’ve been hounding her for what, eighteen years?”
Harwood just sat there. Whitley stood behind him, looking useless. The wind kicked up and rocked the trees above us, but it was just background noise. We couldn’t even feel it in the shelter of the clearing. It was April, so there weren’t any mosquitoes out yet. In July, it would be hell.
“Are you going to say anything?” I said.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think I will. Go ahead and shoot me if you want. Shoot Whitley, too. He deserves it.”
“That’s not funny,” Whitley said.
“What would it take to get you to stop?” I said. “To leave her alone. And her whole family.”
“That’s an interesting question,” he said. “You have no idea how interesting.”
“What if she signed an agreement to give you complete control of the property, and the eighty percent cut you seem to want so badly?”
“Did she tell you to say that?”
“We talked about it,” I said.
“You came all the way out here to try to cut a deal?”
“She wants this to be over. This is a way to end it. What’s wrong with that?”
“Mr. McKnight,” he said, “can I ask you something? Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look right now?”
I didn’t say anything. None of this was going as planned, because Harwood held the ultimate trump card. There was no way I could intimidate him physically. What was I going to do? Hit him in the face? Tip his wheelchair over? Let the air out of his tires?
“Men are amazing,” Harwood said. “Don’t you agree, Whitley?”
“Sure,” Whitley said. “Whatever you say. Men are amazing.”
“A man will commit crimes. He’ll kidnap somebody, which is what you did. Mr. McKnight. And then threaten somebody else with a gun, which is called menacing, I believe. Also a felony. For what? Just to impress a woman. Maybe get her to go to bed with him. Absolutely amazing. Am I right, Whitley?”
“Incredible,” Whitley said. “Although I gotta admit, after seeing this woman…”
I should have shot them both right then just to shut them up. “All right,” I said. “Can we cut to the chase here? I’m not leaving here until I know you’re gonna stop harassing her.”
Harwood looked up at the sky for a moment, then back at me. “What do you think of this property, Mr. McKnight?”
I let out a breath. “It’s dark, Harwood. All I see are trees.”
“You must have seen the resort,” he said. “On the other side of the hill.”
“I saw it.”
“Do you have any idea how much seven hundred acres of forestland are worth right now? Up here on the Gold Coast?”
“She mentioned something about twenty million.”
“I bought this land in 1976,” he said. “Arthur and I bought it together, I mean. Even then, I knew it would be a jewel someday.”
“This would be the partner you killed,” I said.
He stared at me. The light was coming from behind him, so I couldn’t see his face very well.
“Whitley, can you get me a piece of paper?”
