Page 133 of Not a Word

I’d rarely heard my brother say three words with more gravity. I glanced around at the assembled group. “Okay, let’s go.”

“No,” someone said.

We all turned toward the house. I was right. Standing on the other side of the sliding screen door was the man I’d seen my mother talking to at the hotel.

But this time he had a gun in his hand.

Fifty

Reece

“Mr. Crane,” said my mother, greeting the new arrival with feigned cordiality.

She took three steps away from the boat, leaving Holden behind her, and was noticeably wobbly on her feet. It could have been the uneven grass, or whatever had been in that glass before it broke.

Or maybe she was crippled with fear.

“Where to begin,” said Crane as he slid back the screen and stepped out onto the deck. His hand was raised, and the gun slowly waved from side to side, as though the weapon itself was trying to decide which of us to pick off first.

“Oh, put that away,” Mom said offhandedly, like he was proffering a credit card to pay for a dinner that was on her. “Everyone, this is my friend, Mr. Crane, who handled your father’s and my security concerns.” To Crane, she said, “These are just some friends who came by to offer condolences. They were just leaving.”

Hoping, clearly, that he hadn’t been standing there very long, hadn’t heard what we’d been talking about.

She slapped on a smile and looked at me and Diana, then our son and my brother. “Thanks for coming. I really appreciate you making the time.”

Diana was quick to play along. “If there’s anything you need, let us know, and again, so sorry for your loss.”

“No one’s going anywhere,” Crane said, shaking his head sadly, as though this charade was wasting his time. He went through the group, nodding at each of us in turn. “You’re Holden, you’re his brother, Reece. You are Mrs. Reece, I gather, although I don’t know your name.”

“Diana,” she said softly.

“Diana,” he said, with a slight bow of the head. “And finally, this must be your boy, Gage. Only just heard about him today.” Addressing him directly, he said, “I gather, from Alicia, that you know as much as anyone here. Perhaps more.”

“No,” my mother protested. “They don’t know anything. Nothing. Nothing at all.” Her denial sounded weak. I had little hope Crane would find it persuasive.

His eyes went from her to Holden. “Well, for sure he knows.” He shook his head regretfully. “Of all the mistakes in my life, and there have been a few, you’re the biggest. You couldn’t keep it to yourself forever.”

“Things have a way of bubbling up to the surface eventually,” Holden said.

Crane looked at my mother. “It’s too bad she got it wrong,” he said. “Holden’s rehab friend. If it had been you in that bed, we wouldn’t be having all these problems now.”

Holden and Gage exchanged glances. They knew something I didn’t. Whatever it was didn’t matter much to me in that moment. I was trying to guess Crane’s intentions. Was he really going to kill us? Even if we didn’t have a clue what was going on? I mean, come on. We were on the verge of a mass murder here, and that kind of thing just didn’t happen in this town, not in Yorkton Hill.

And if that was his plan, would he really be able to get all five of us? He couldn’t shoot us all at once. Not that there was a lot to be thankful for in this moment, but at least that wasn’t an assault rifle in his hand.

If we all just ran off in different directions, where would we go? Crane was in the path of our only way back into the house. Fences erected at the sides of the property would slow any attempts to reach the street, but the woods beyond the pond could be a way out of this. If we ran quickly enough, we could get swallowed up by those trees.

But could any of us outrun a bullet?

We could do nothing, and all die. Or one of us could make a sacrifice in a bid to save the others.

Go down fighting.

Rush Crane, bring him down. He’d get off a shot or two, but if one of us could get even a half-second jump on him, maybe the others would seize the opportunity to overpower him.

I caught Holden’s eye, as if I could somehow telegraph my thoughts to him. I felt that between the two of us, we might be able to do something. I’d charge Crane, and while he was fending off—maybe even shooting—me, Holden could tackle him.

Evidently, Holden read my message wrong.