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“How you wanna work this?” he asked.
“When I was a kid, a friend of mine threw a party, a kegger, at his place in White Bear Lake,” I said. “It was a fairly quiet affair, yet someone called the cops. The cops drove up, and we all moved to the front of the house to see what was going on. That’s when whoever called the cops stole the keg off the back porch.”
“Nice.”
“I’ll give you five minutes to work your way into position. When I go to the front of the house, you go to the back door. I’ll knock loudly. Give me a minute and then you go in.”
“’Kay. Now you git your piece outta your pocket. Put it in your belt; put it where you can git at it fast.”
“I thought you didn’t like my Walther PPK.”
“Better’n nothin’.”
Herzog opened the driver’s door while I opened the other side. I moved around the Cherokee and slid into the driver’s seat.
“Where’s your gun?” Herzog asked. I held it up for him to see. “You’ll be able to drive?”
“I’ll manage,” I said.
“’Kay. One more thing. McKenzie?”
“What?”
“I was never in White Bear Lake.”
“Five minutes,” I said.
I watched Herzog disappear behind a house. The skies had cleared, letting the moon and stars work their magic. I would have preferred overcast. In the winter it never gets entirely dark. The snow and ice always find a light source to magnify and reflect—like the moon and the stars—so it often seems like twilight no matter what the hour, and I was afraid that Herzog would be terribly exposed.
Five minutes later, I put the Cherokee into gear and headed down the street. There was no traffic, so I had an easy time of it. I pulled in behind the Toyota and sat for a minute. I wasn’t looking to give Herzog more time so much as I wanted the inhabitants of the Tarpleys’ house to get a good look at me; I even revved the engine a bit before shutting it down.
I slipped out of the vehicle and headed for the front door, carefully picking my way along the narrow, snow-covered sidewalk. The Walther PPK was wedged under my elbow where the shoulder immobilizer had more or less pinned it to my body; my jacket was draped over it. I ignored the doorbell. Instead, I opened the glass storm door and pounded hard on the wooden door beneath it. I waited five seconds, then pounded some more. The door was yanked open. I started counting down seconds inside my head.
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“What are you doing here, McKenzie?” Von Tarpley asked.
“I want my money,” I said.
I brushed Von aside and stepped past her into the living room. I looked for Dennis and did not find him. He could have been squatting behind the stacked boxes, I decided. He could have been upstairs. He could have been hiding in the kitchen or the darkened room beyond the arch to my left. I turned toward Von. She had moved away from the door without closing it. That should have told me something, but it didn’t.
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“Where’s my money?” I asked.
“I told you, I don’t have it,” Von said. “I know nothing about it.”
She moved deeper into the room. I turned with her until my back was to the front door.
“Then why did you try to pay Jenny Thomas a visit earlier this evening?” I said.
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“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Have it your own way,” I said. “I’ll just take the reward, then.”
“What reward?”
“The police have a photograph of your boyfriend Dennis paying for the rooms at the motel you guys blew up. They also have photos of his SUV at the motel and the museum the night the Jade Lily was stolen. They haven’t been able to identify him yet. I bet they’ll pay me a few bucks to help.”
I heard a noise beyond the arch that sounded like someone shifting his weight on loose floorboards.
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“Oh, no,” Von said.
“Once they have him in custody—the question is, did he shoot the cop in the back or was that you? What do you think he’ll say? Think he’ll take the blame?”
Von glanced at the open front door. I imagined her trying to make a run for it.
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“You know what you should be doing, Von? I mean besides coming up with my money? You should be thinking about what kind of deal you can make with the cops.”
Von hesitated for a moment.
“Dennis shot him,” she said.
I turned my attention toward the darkened room, turned my body to face it.
“Why?” I asked.
“Noehring was going for the ransom money. He was going to kill you to take it. Dennis shot him to protect you.”
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