It Ends Here Page 15

  "Are you on the run from the police or something? Rebekka, you're scaring me. What the heck is going on there?"

  "Listen, Sune, I'll have to explain later," I said and spotted the gate leading to the Addington estate, or what was left of it since the fire truck blasted through it the other day. I continued up the road leading to the house, driving between the tall trees that seemed to have grown more vicious-looking since I was there last. The horses were in the field, and the sound of me approaching in the truck startled them.

  "Don't hang up on me, Rebekka. I need you to…"

  I stopped the truck in the driveway, close to the house, or what was left of it, then killed the engine.

  "I have to go now, Sune. I'll call you later."

  "Reb…"

  I hung up, then shut off my phone. Sune would have to wait till later. I couldn't deal with him right now. Besides, it wasn't a good idea to have my phone turned on once the police started to look for me.

  The rain had slowed down a little but still fell hard from the dark sky above. I got out of the truck, and by the time I reached the remains of the burnt down house, I was already soaked. Water was dripping from my hair into my face, and my shirt felt clammy on my chest and arms. It didn't matter, though. The rain was warm, and to be honest, I didn't care much right now. All I cared about was finding Margot Addington in time.

  I rushed past the ruins of the burnt down house and ran into the stables where I could keep dry. I shook my head to get the water out of my hair.

  "Margot?" I called.

  All the stalls were empty, and the horses were still running around outside in the field. It didn't look like anyone had cleaned the stalls out for days, but the horses had been fed. There was food in the troughs.

  Margot had to have been back there since the fire.

  I walked through the stables and peeked outside on the other side of them, where I spotted a small wooden house in the back that hadn't been destroyed in the fire. It was raining hard again now, so I ran there, my poor shoes and jeans getting soaked in the puddles I stepped in on the way.

  As I reached the house, I knocked.

  "Margot? Are you in there? Margot?"

  When no answer came, I grabbed the handle and opened the door.

  "Margot?" I said and stepped inside.

  There was a bed pressed up against the end wall and a small restroom in the back. A table in the middle had the local newspaper spread out on top of it. I walked closer and spotted an article about the falling cucumber prices. From the photo, taken in the middle of their cucumber field, Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham stared back at me.

  60

  Mrs. Cunningham stood in the doorway to her son's room. Everything was still in the same place as it had been before he disappeared. The bed was unmade, and the covers with the airplanes on them were hanging over the edge, half of it lying on the carpet. His favorite teddy bear was the only one sleeping in the bed now, while his new truck was standing on the shelf, gathering dust. A couple of books were spread out on the floor, and Mrs. Cunningham thought to herself that she really ought to get them cleaned up, but she couldn't get herself to. She hadn't dared to go in there yet, and she still didn't. She wasn't ready for it; she wasn't ready to accept that her little boy was gone.

  A fond memory of him drawing on the walls with his crayons and her yelling at him for doing so swept her mind, and she chuckled sadly. There would be no new memories to make. There would be no annoying teenager in the house, yelling at them and slamming doors for no apparent reason. Nor would there be any graduation pictures or calls in the middle of the night telling them to come get him because he had too much to drink at some party. There would be no wedding or foolish daughter-in-law that she could disapprove of. There would be no grandchildren that she could spoil, and there would be no one to take over the family business.

  Now, her father was gone too, the old bastard. Less than a week after they had found Alexander's body in that abandoned house, he had been killed, murdered. That one was no accident; she knew that much. He had been found in the trunk of that strange woman’s car, the reporter who was living out at the motel, the sheriff had told her. She was dangerous, he had also said, and he hoped to be able to put her away for a very long time.

  Mrs. Cunningham was still shivering at the thought of her coming to the farm and talking all that nonsense about Alexander being murdered and not having an accident. She had been so convincing that Mrs. Cunningham had found herself doubting what she had been told, and she had asked her husband about it when they were about to go to bed that same night.

  "Could the sheriff be wrong?" she had asked. "Could he have lied to us?"

  That was when her husband got angry. He had taken up the book on his nightstand, the one about the life of Johnny Carson, then thrown it across the room. Mrs. Cunningham had thought it was very odd behavior on her husband's part. Very unlike him. Ever since Sheriff Travers had been at their door and had given them the terrible news about Alexander, Mr. Cunningham had remained very quiet. He had barely uttered a word ever since then, but now he did. Now he yelled at her and threw his book across the room.

  "Why would you say something like that, huh? Why?" he almost screamed. "Does it make a difference if he was murdered? He is gone. Gone. There is nothing that will ever bring him back. Nothing."

  After that, she hadn't brought it up again. She had decided that the journalist had been wrong. After all, it made more sense to trust their local sheriff than some journalist passing through town. And when it all came down to it, she knew it couldn't be the same killer as it had been back then, back when they were children. It couldn't be the same person that had killed Timothy Peterson and Benjamin Black. That much she was certain of.

  But then they had started talking about Anna Mae being back and living outside of town under another name, and that had shaken her even deeper. If Anna Mae was back, there was no telling what she might do. Mr. Cunningham knew nothing about this because he wasn't here back then. He moved to town when he married Mrs. Cunningham, and when her dad retired, that was when he became the new Cucumber King of Webster, a title that came with the job. He took her name since it came with such deep traditions, and the old Cucumber King wanted the name to live on and stay with the farm.

  Now that Alexander wasn't anymore, there would be no more cucumber kings in town. Mrs. Cunningham had Alexander late in life, and he was their miracle baby after plenty of fertility treatments and almost giving up. Now, she was too old to have any more children, so it was all going to end with them.

  Mrs. Cunningham closed the door to her son's room and wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye. Mr. Cunningham was out tonight, and she realized he had been out a lot lately, and that she didn't know anything about what he was doing. She also realized that she didn't really care.

  As she heard a car in the driveway, she thought it was him, so she walked down to the bathroom downstairs and washed her face, so he wouldn't see that she had been crying. As the car door slammed shut outside, she sat down in a chair in the living room and grabbed her book, then pretended to be reading as the steps approached the front door. When the door opened, she prepared a smile to show him as he entered, trying to make him feel welcome, but as the door swung open and she saw who stood in the doorway, her smile froze in place, and her hands began to shake.

  "You?"

  "Yes, me. Have you missed me?"

  61

  I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it coming. I should have; I kept scolding myself. I should have realized that Margot was up to something. As I rushed down the trail of the Addington estate toward the big road, I just hoped I wasn't going to be too late.

  It all made sense now; well, not all of it, but a lot of it, I thought to myself as I took the turn onto 471 toward Webster. I was just annoyed with myself that I hadn't seen the connection before now.

  It was still pouring like crazy, and I could hardly see the road ahead of me. The headlights of a car driving in the other
direction blinded me as it passed me. I tried to drive faster but didn't feel safe, so I slowed down once again. In my rearview mirror, I spotted the car that had just passed me as it stopped, turned around, and came back my way.

  "What the…?"

  The car came up closer behind me and turned on its blinkers and a siren.

  "Oh, no," I mumbled. "Just my luck."

  My hands grew sweaty holding onto the wheel so intensely. The cruiser behind me came closer and closer, siren blaring, while I tried to figure out what to do. It could just be a patrol seeing me speeding and wanting me to stop. It could be nothing but a speeding ticket. That was definitely a possibility, but what would happen if I did stop? They would run my license and plate, of course, they would, and then they'd know that there was a search out for the truck I was driving and me in connection with the murder of their sheriff.

  Oh, my God. I'm gonna be on the news. They're all gonna think I murdered their beloved sheriff. They're gonna want to see me hang.

  I stared at the road ahead of me, feeling my heart rate go up rapidly. The police cruiser was getting close now, too close for my comfort. I stared at it in the rearview mirror while biting my cheek, contemplating what to do.

  You can't let them catch you, Rebekka. Then there'll be no one to stop Margot Addington. They'll never believe you. You have to deal with her first, then explain later.

  "Oh, dear Lord," I mumbled. "Forgive me for what I am about to do."

  I took one last glance in the rearview mirror, then made my decision. There was no time to hesitate now. I had to act, and so I did. I took in a deep breath, then pressed down on the accelerator, putting all my weight onto it. The truck jolted forward, and soon I was running at full speed, my heart pounding like a wild beast in my chest.

  At full speed ahead, I rushed down the road, my eyes fully focused on the road ahead, but finding it hard to follow it properly at this speed. The truck skidded to the side in a turn, but I managed to get it back on the asphalt. Meanwhile, I looked desperately for an escape route, somehow to lose the cruiser behind me, who had also accelerated and was now following me with blasting sirens. I was surrounded by the swamps on both sides as the road went straight through them. I didn't dare to leave the asphalt, even though I was driving a four-wheel-drive truck. I had no idea how to drive in terrain like that and would only get stuck somewhere.

  A hill met me up ahead, and I rushed up it, then as we reached the top, the cruiser came up on my side. Heart in my throat, I made a rash decision, probably too rash, most people might say. I grabbed the wheel and turned it, causing the truck to run off the road and bumble into the swampy grass next to the road.

  As I bounced downward, nothing but darkness ahead of me, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw that the cruiser had followed me. It wasn't giving up.

  62

  "Anna Mae…I…please…"

  "It's Margot now," she said, holding the gun clutched between her fingers so tight they hurt. "Margot Addington is my name."

  "Okay, Margot, I… Listen to me…"

  Margot shook her head. She glanced at the picture of Mrs. Cunningham and her husband together on the dresser next to her and thought about Theodore for a brief second. They had been happy like that; they had been in love like those two were in that picture, maybe even more. And they'd had a beautiful daughter together, a daughter who could have grown up to become whatever she wanted, who could have gone to the best college because they could afford it. Against all odds, Margot had managed to create a good life for herself, one where her past didn't matter, where no one knew of it. Theodore had pulled her out of the poverty she had been born into, and their marriage had meant that she would be able to give her daughter the childhood she never had, that she had only been able to dream of.

  But now it was all gone. Theodore was gone, Minna was gone, and so was her future. She would never write another book; she simply couldn't. There was nothing left for her on this Earth.

  "Why did you come back here?" Mrs. Cunningham asked, shaking her head. "If only you had stayed away, no one would have found out. You could have kept living your life. You'd still have your family and your career. Why on Earth did you move here?"

  Margot swallowed hard. The knuckles on the hand holding the gun were turning white. The safe from their bedroom was one of the things that had survived the fire, and in it, she had found the gun. It was funny because she had always been on Theodore's case, telling him she didn't want a weapon in her house, and that she was scared that her daughter might one day find it and accidentally shoot herself or a friend, like in all those stories you read online or heard about in the news. But Theodore had told her it was locked away safely, and he had been right. Ironically, it was the only thing that survived when even he didn't. Even the combination had worked when Margot plotted it in. There was also some cash in there that had made it, a couple of thousand dollars. She had used some of it to buy some new clothes and some food to eat since it had turned out that Theodore's credit card was cut off after he died. But there really wasn't much more she needed right now.

  Except settling the score.

  "I had no choice," Margot said. "Theodore got the offer to fill this position at Leesburg. It was a great opportunity for him. Until then, we were doing just fine. Living in New York was the dream. I wrote my books, Theodore had a great position at Morgan Stanley Children's Hospital, and Minna thrived in school. And then BAM came this offer, and he just accepted it without even asking me. He said he couldn't say no. It was too much money. Naturally, I was terrified since I didn't want to go back anywhere near Florida, but this was a huge break for him, and he said it would only be for a few years, then we could move back again. I accepted it because I had no choice. I could hardly tell him why I didn't want to go since then I'd have to tell him the truth, and he would have known I had been lying to him about my past. We found a place that was closer to Bushnell, and I truly believed I could stay under the radar. But then that foolish journalist called, and my stupid publishing house told me I had to do that interview. That it would be oh-so-good for my career. After that, everything went south."

  Mrs. Cunningham stared at the gun, then up at Margot's face. Margot wondered if she could see how terribly her hands were shaking.

  "I see," she said and leaned forward in her recliner. "And now you've come for me; I take it? First, you take out my father, and now me?"

  63

  The truck was making strange sounds as I rushed through the landscape, steering between trees and bushes, bumping along. Behind me, the cruiser was following a little too closely for my taste. I drove through an area of grass, at least that's what I thought it was, but I soon found out it was mostly wetland, and almost got stuck. Luckily the truck managed to pull itself out, mud spraying up behind me. It was terrifying to be rushing through the darkness, not knowing anything about where I was going, the cruiser blaring behind me. The grill of my truck hit some bushes that got stuck, and the engine roared to press through as I kept jamming on the accelerator. Mud skidded up behind me, hitting the cruiser.

  "Come on," I yelled as the truck wasn't moving forward anymore. "Come on!"

  The truck suddenly jolted forward again as it plowed through the thick vegetation. I screamed when it happened, startled at the sudden movement, and the truck bounced ahead, rushing through more wetlands, me losing complete control of it.

  I looked in the rearview mirror and saw that the cruiser had stopped behind me, unable to force its way through the bushes that my truck had. Laughing victoriously, I grasped the steering wheel, clutching it hard, trying to regain control. A row of trees appeared suddenly in the headlights, and I screamed again, then turned the wheel, fast. The side view mirror hit the tree and was knocked off, and the side of the truck scraped across it, making an awful noise while I screamed my heart out.

  Please, don't let me die here, God. Please!

  The truck continued through the wetlands, bumping and splashing along, and I hit something t
hat made the truck bounce off and shoot through the air, then land, splashing into deep water before it came to a complete and sudden stop.

  I was thrown forward in the landing, then gasped for breath while I looked around me. I was surrounded by water, and it was coming inside the truck, making my feet wet.

  "This is not good," I mumbled to myself. "This is definitely bad."

  The engine had gone out, and I tried to restart it, but nothing happened. It didn't even cough.

  "Come on; come on. Don't fail me now," I pleaded. Part of me was now regretting having left the police cruiser back there. I most certainly would be better off being hauled off to a cell somewhere than sitting here.

  I slammed my hand into the wheel, then grabbed the key in the ignition and turned it again. The truck coughed a couple of times before it suddenly roared to life.

  "That's my girl," I said, relieved. I pressed cautiously on the accelerator, making sure it didn't dig itself deeper into the mud instead of moving forward. The truck pushed itself slowly through the high water, and soon it came to more solid ground, and I could press a little more on the accelerator, while the water disappeared from inside the car and soon from around it as well.

  I looked around me into the wilderness, then wondered where I was and how the heck I was supposed to find my way back. If I took a wrong turn, I might end up getting myself deeper into the swamps, and then I wouldn't be able to find my way back till daylight came.

  If the gators didn't find me first.

  64

  I turned on my phone. I really didn't want to, but I had to in order to use the GPS. I could see nothing but darkness around me and knew that I could too easily get lost out here. Right now, I needed to be found or at least find out where I was.