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Augusta was a friend of the Mackays. She knew the other woman was ill. Hoyt had said she was sick; everyone knew she had been battling cancer. How had she found the strength to do this?
“Almost there, you little tramp. ” Augusta pushed her through a dark, tree-sheltered yard. “Your lover had no idea how close I was, did he? A
nd I outsmarted him. Sometimes it’s just too easy to outsmart a man. ”
Janey couldn’t quite make her senses work. She stumbled at the sound of a heavy door lifting, then she
was tumbling, falling. She hit the stairs and rolled down them, feeling the painful bite of each strike of wood against her body.
The door was closing then. A cellar door. Many of the houses on this side of town were older, the cellar doors built on an angle outside the house and leading to the basement or storm shelters.
Beneath her cheek was cool cement. The dank, musty smell of the air clogged her nostrils and had her choking, fighting to breathe.
“Come on. ” She was picked up and tossed onto a couch. “You need to put some weight on, girl. You’re too skinny. ” Then she cackled. “Oh well, too late to put some weight on. Tonight is the last night of the rest of your life. ”
The electronic edge of the voice was gone now.
“Augusta, why?” She moaned painfully. “Where’s Hoyt?”
“Hoyt!” Augusta yelled out his name as Janey lifted her head, turning her body enough to allow the link to work, if it was working, for Alex to know where she was.
Another door opened.
“Mother, what you doing in the basement? It’s time for your medication. ”
A light snapped on, nearly blinding as Janey jerked in reflex and pulled the edge of her jacket over the communications device.
God, she wanted Alex. She was terrified.
Squinting, fighting the mind-numbing drug that had obviously been in that dart in her shoulder, Janey tracked the other woman in the basement as Hoyt moved slowly down the stairs.
Augusta wasn’t very old. Forty-five or forty-seven, Janey forgot which. A tall, raw-boned woman with sharp cheekbones and dull hazel brown eyes. She had been pretty once, before the death of her husband several years ago in Iraq. Janey had heard Augusta had gone a little crazy at the news of his death.
Evidently, it wasn’t just a little crazy.
“Oh, Mother, what have you done?” There was weary resignation in Hoyt’s voice now as he stepped into the basement.
Janey noticed he didn’t get there in a hurry. Not at work, and not here. He moved slowly to the couch and bent beside her, brushing her hair from her face and checking her pupils.
“You drugged her?” he accused.
“Your father’s dart rifle. ” Augusta shrugged her shoulders beneath the man’s heavy jacket she wore. “He always said I would never know when I needed to use it. I guess he was right. ” Her laughter was evil, slightly crazed.
“Hoyt. Help me,” Janey whispered desperately. “You’re Alex’s friend. Natches’s. ”
“Stop trying to use your wiles on him, bitch,” Augusta barked. “Trust me, Hoyt’s not going to listen to you, are you, Hoyt?”
He lifted his head and breathed in roughly, sorrow and weary pain mixed in his expression as he rose to his feet.
He was still wearing the slacks and shirt he’d worn at work. His black leather shoes were dusty and scuffed.
“How long have you not been taking your medication, Mother?” he asked her.
“You sound like your father. ” Affection and amusement filled Augusta’s voice. “I don’t need the medication, Hoyt. I just need her dead. That’s all. Kill her and everything will be right again. ”
“Do you really want to hurt Alex like that, Mother? I told you; he cares for her. ”
Augusta paused, her gaze flicking over Janey. “I helped Alex raise Crista. ” She smiled fondly. “Those stupid parents of his were never there to help him or to help him with Crista. I’d watch her if he had to do something of the evenings. Alex is a good boy. ” She frowned. “Too good for the likes of you. ”
