and talking to Esteban, trying to pry cooperation from him with reason and social connection. I watched Esteban’s ironclad serenity and knew it was wasted effort. The sapphire dog had taken away the parts of him that Steve could appeal to.
The men and women working at the fairgrounds swore up and down that Pastor Dolan hadn’t returned and that none of their cars were missing. They had to shout at us while we talked; a snow-making machine on top of the field house was running, and it was
We walked out into the yard. Steve offered me a ride back into town, but I declined. He drove away.
The Neon was parked in the same spot. Catherine opened the door for me.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, to my tremendous relief. “Thank you. I’m sorry I tried to shoot you.”
She still had that look. I didn’t like it and I had no idea how long it was going to last. She gave me the keys and slid into the passenger seat. She clicked her seat belt in place and folded her hands in her lap.
I started the engine. “Keep an eye out for hitchhikers. And for the predator.”
“All right.” Her voice sounded dull and thin. All the fire and sharp intelligence were missing. The ghost knife had done just what the sapphire dog did—it took away every part of a person’s personality but one. In that way, we were alike.
But who gave a damn about that? The predator was feeding on people, and it was my job to stop it.
I drove toward the campgrounds, the school, and the possibly mythical highway feeder road. My high beams lit the greenery around me, but I didn’t see any movement. I saw blackberry vines, ferns, and moss-covered trees, but no people hiding in the greenery. Certainly no pastor.
I rolled down the window. The air was bracing but Catherine didn’t complain. I drove quietly, radio off, listening and watching.
Nothing.
After a couple of miles we came to the campground entrance, a wide dirt path leading off the main road. I decided to pull in.
“What’s that?” Catherine asked.
The headlights had flashed on something bright red in the bushes. I put the car in park and stepped out. Immediately, I could see that it was a dead man.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I leaned close to him. It was Stork Neck. He’d been shot once through the chest and then fallen into the hedge. Had the sapphire dog gotten loose among the Fellows, turning them against one another? Or was something else going on?
I touched his hand. It was cold, but so was mine. I lifted the bottom of his ski jacket to feel his belly. It was still warm.
That was a bad sign. I glanced around quickly but didn’t see any other bodies. I had no idea how close the shooter was or whether he was coming back. I should probably have gotten out of there, but I didn’t. Instead, I got back into the car.
My headlights shone down the dirt path into the campground. Down the slope, I could see the tops of three motor homes, each with a dark SUV beside it. I’d found the Fellows’ camp.
“Stay low,” I said. Catherine ducked below the dash. I pulled all the way into the grounds, which seemed like a better option than parking on the shoulder of the road.
There was a second body beside the entrance to the nearest trailer. It was Fat Guy. He was sitting against the trailer wheel, his head slumped down over a bloody red hole in his breastbone. He didn’t look so dangerous anymore, but no one did once a bullet or two had run through him. There was a third body, one I didn’t recognize, beside the next trailer. Blood spatters from the exit wound had sprayed onto the white siding.
The shooter had fired from somewhere behind me, on the hill across the road. Someone was using a long gun and using it well.
I parked as far from the trailers as I could. Maybe the shooter, if he was still around, would assume I was alone in the car. Of course, the sniper had had plenty of time to take a shot while I’d stood over Stork Neck’s body. Maybe he wasn’t in position anymore. Maybe he was creeping closer in to inspect his handiwork.
“Stay as low as you can and keep out of sight. You’re safest if no one knows you’re here.”
Catherine nodded and I climbed from the car, walking quickly away from it. I took the ghost knife from my pocket.
The closest trailer was dark and all the curtains were drawn. I didn’t get any closer than ten yards as I trotted past. The second trailer was not lined up with the others—someone had hooked it up to a Yukon and tried to pull away. There was a bullet hole in the driver’s window and blood on the windshield, but I couldn’t see a body. I didn’t look for it, either.
I did see the red-and-white card on the dashboard. It was a parking permit for the campgrounds. Damn. I’d told Regina exactly where to find them.
The last of the trailers was parked beneath the trees. It was also dark, but the curtains were open. Everyone still alive must have fled. Then I heard a woman shout a warning, saw movement in a darkened window, and heard the shot.
Strangely, I felt something tear at the front of my shirt before I saw the window burst open. It took a moment to realize I’d been shot in the chest and should play dead. I toppled sideways, letting my right hand fall across my chest to hide the spot where the bullet hole should have been.
I tried to stay completely still, although my heart was racing—in fact, my heart was speeding up as I lay there. Some asshole had just taken a shot at me, and if he’d gone for my head, I’d be as dead as Stork Neck.
