Page 54

I realized Raleigh and I had made a crucial error in assuming Malcolm was still behaving rationally.

I stared at him for a second, then turned and quickly flipped the deadbolt locked and then open again. If you’re not listening closely, it simply sounds like you’ve locked the door. I turned to face him. “What’s going on? What’s the rifle for?”

“Take your jacket off. Put your keys, phone, and wallet on the counter.”

I obeyed. “You’re not going to tell me what’s going on? Because I have no—”

“Where have you been, Casper?”

My gaze never wavered from the blue-black barrel pointed dead center at my chest. I swallowed, said calmly, “Raleigh picked me up and we went for a drink at Pete’s Roadhouse.”

He made a sound of disgust. “Please. When did I give you the impression that I’m stupid?”

“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know what this is about. Why do you feel you need to keep me at gunpoint?”

Malcolm said impatiently, “Do you really think I didn’t see all the telegraphing between you and Bente at dinner? What did she tell you?”

“Bente?She told me goodnight and Merry Christmas.”

His lips tightened. He nodded toward the kitchenette. “Make yourself a lemon drop and then come over and sit down.”

“Uh… Okay. Can I fixyoua drink.”

“Don’t be funny. I’m trying to make this as painless as possible for you.Whywouldn’t you let me get you the help you clearly need? Why did you have to force this?”

I pressed my lips shut on my reply, moved into the kitchenette and proceeded to make myself a lemon drop martini. I went automatically through the motions, but poured no more than a dash of citrus vodka, a dash of limoncello, and whole lot of Lori’s lemonade into a martini glass.

Drink made, I stepped toward the living room, and Malcolm said, “Drink it. Fast.”

I swallowed the “martini” in two gulps.

“Make another one.”

As I made the second martini, the clock struck two. Pretty unlikely at that hour to have a helpful distraction like a UPS delivery. My best course of action was to get out the front door and somehow make it through the garden to the fields beyond. But how did I do that without getting a bullet in my back? Malcolm was a very good shot.

Plan B would be to try to get to the bedroom and lock the door, but again, the odds were against my making it to the doorway alive. On the other hand, how the hell would Malcolm explain a bullet hole? Especially in my back? He would surely try his best to avoid shooting me. So maybe just play along and wait for an opening?

“Drink it,” Malcolm ordered, when I’d fixed the second martini.

I obeyed.

Although I’d made the drinks about as weak as I could without raising suspicion, I was out of the habit of drinking much, and I felt a little sick with a mix of alcohol and fear.

“Make another and bring it over here.”

I obeyed and carried the third martini over to the living area. It was crazy how normal everything looked, with the exception of Malcolm and his hunting rifle on my sofa.

He gestured with the rifle and I folded into the chair across from him.

“Are you really not going to explain to me what this about.”

He tipped his head sideways. “Pour those into your drink. All of them.”

Until that moment I hadn’t noticed the small brown bottle of prescription medication on the side table next to the chair.

I picked up the bottle, read the label. Zaleplon. Sleeping pills. Prescribed for Astrid Bredahl-Melber.

I said, “Nobody’s going to believe I accidentally poured an entire bottle of sleeping pills into my drink.”