Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [66]
The yellow farmhouse was off to his right. Archer slunk back into the shelter of the woods and, staying behind the trees, walked until he was directly behind the house, which was about three hundred feet beyond the woods. Archer stood and watched the house for a few minutes, but saw no one. He began to look for a tree to climb. There were lots of trees, but none were good for climbing, so he sat down on the stump of a tree and took the lens caps off the binoculars Burt had given him.
Holding the lenses up to his eyes, he adjusted the focus and scanned the property belonging to Joshua Landry.
The yellow farmhouse looked neat, like something from a magazine, with the pond and the pool and the tennis court. The barn was painted red, and it reminded Archer of the old toy barn he’d had when he was a kid. It had little plastic animals—a pig, a couple of sheep, a cow, some chickens—and a silo. The roof came off and you could see inside the barn, which had a loft on one side. He and his sister used to fill up the loft with dried grass and pretend it was hay. Archer studied Landry’s barn and wondered if it had a loft. Lofts were good places to hide.
The back door opened, and a woman came out. Archer readjusted the lenses again, trying to see her face. She looked like she’d be pretty, with lots of blonde hair that sort of floated around her face. She was wearing jeans and a bulky sweater and got into a small white car. She drove the car in a circle, and, just as she passed the back door, it opened; a man walked out and waved to the woman in the car. She stopped and he leaned into the window.
Archer held his breath and studied the man as best he could. White hair. A little over six feet tall. Blue cardigan sweater. Khaki pants. Under one arm was a folded newspaper. He looked just like the picture Burt had ripped from the magazine he’d found in the library on Monday.
Archer stared through the binoculars.
The man laughed at something the young woman said, then stood up and tapped the hood with the newspaper as the car pulled away.
This was him, then. Joshua Landry.
His intended victim.
A shiver ran up Archer’s spine at the thought of this man being a victim. God, but he hated that word. Victim.
He shook his head. I’m not going to think about that right now.
Landry walked in the direction of the pond. A small flock of Canada geese scattered at his approach, giving him a wide berth as he drew closer to the water. He stopped at the edge, then stood, hands on his hips, and stared out at the pond. Suddenly he turned and looked toward the woods. Archer’s heart leapt into his throat, and he hunkered down behind a fallen tree where he slipped out of the red-and-black jacket. Landry turned again and took a few steps before stooping to pick up some object from the ground. He turned it over in his hand several times, then slipped it into his pocket. He glanced back at the woods for a moment, then headed back toward the house. Movement near the back door caught Archer’s eye, and he trained the binoculars on the small porch. A second, younger man came down the steps and set out hurriedly toward Landry. When he caught up with him, he gestured in the direction of the house. Landry shook his head and went into the barn while the second man scanned the field behind the house. After a minute or so, Landry emerged with a rake in his hands. He walked toward the area behind the house and began raking leaves.
Archer watched through the binoculars as the young man studied the field from one end to the other before turning back to the house. Once on the back porch, he sat, all the while staring across the field right up to the woods, and beyond. Archer flattened himself as much as he could into the cold, damp grass, and prayed that the man didn’t see him. All of a sudden he was afraid. He