The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [102]
Stumbling across the farmyard, Chloe expected the dog to fly at her again any second. She kept her head down, hoping that if she didn’t look for the German shepherd, he wouldn’t reappear. Chloe didn’t see the man until she almost ran into him. His shoes came into her circle of vision first—expensive-looking leather, well polished.
“Thank God!” She lurched to a halt. “I need help—my friend has been hurt—”
“Give me your car keys.”
“What?” Chloe stared at him. He was a small man with a receding hairline. A huge cobweb was mashed on one shoulder of his gray three-piece suit. She recognized him from Bonnie’s funeral. Edwin Guest.
The German shepherd trotted from behind the parked cars. Chloe froze, skin prickling. The man snapped his fingers, pointed at Chloe, and muttered, “Ajax, hold.” The dog crouched, growling with menace.
“Your keys!” Guest snapped. “Or I’ll have Ajax rip you apart.”
Chloe felt tears burn her eyes. Dellyn was going to bleed to death. And so, evidently, was she.
“Unten!” a woman’s voice bellowed from behind her. “Chloe, unten!”
Chloe dropped to the ground. She pulled her knees toward her chest and her arms up to protect her head. The air quivered with a thwanging sound. Guest screamed. He hit the earth with a thump. The dog howled. Chloe rolled away from man and dog and scrambled to her feet. She gaped at the shaft of an arrow extending from Guest’s thigh. Her mind didn’t want to process the unexpected image.
“You bitch!” Guest gasped. He tried to sit up, couldn’t manage it.
Martine stood by the old smokehouse with the stock of a wooden crossbow pressed against one shoulder. A second arrow was already in place. “Don’t make me shoot again!” she yelled. “I don’t want to hurt the dog, but I will if I have to. And I won’t think twice about killing you.”
“Ajax, stay,” Guest grunted. His face was white. One hand was clenched in pain. The other clutched at the place where the arrow had entered his thigh. Blood seeped between his fingers, scarlet on white. Ajax whined anxiously, nosing at his master’s shoulder.
Chloe felt every second ticking past. “Martine, Dellyn’s hurt! I’ve got to go call 9-1-1. Where’s Frieda?”
“He locked both of us in the springhouse,” Martine muttered, keeping her attention—and the arrow—focused on Guest. “I had to pull some stones from one wall and crawl out through the hole. Anyway, you can’t drive to get help. Your car has a flat—”
My car has a flat? Chloe thought stupidly. Since when?
“—so it would be quicker if you run for help,” Martine was saying. “Go straight up over the hill behind the barn and you’ll see my folks’ place down the valley.”
“But—are you—”
“This bastard isn’t going anywhere.”
Chloe didn’t doubt Martine’s assessment, but she did doubt her own ability to run anywhere just then. Her muscles felt like hot chocolate. “What about his car?”
“I slashed his tires,” Martine said impatiently. “Chloe, go!”
The German shepherd jerked his head up and stared down the drive. Then Chloe heard the sound of an approaching car. They all watched as a blue Ford Fairmont emerged from the tree-lined drive.
The driver parked, jumped from the car, and took in the tableau with wide eyes. “What the hell is going on here? Chloe, are you all right?”
Chloe ran to him. His arms went around her, and she put her head against his shoulder. “Oh, Markus. Thank God you’re here.”
Once Markus understood the situation, he drove back down the drive at frantic speed. By the time he returned Chloe had fetched towels and a blanket from the house, and had done her best to bandage Dellyn’s wounds.
Markus skidded into the Käsehütte. “Holy mother of God,” he whispered, crouching beside Dellyn.
“She’s still alive.”
“Cops and ambulance are on the way. Martine’s father and uncle came with me. Brought their shotguns. Are Frieda and Johann all right?”
“When I got the towels a few minutes ago, Johann was sleeping peacefully. Frieda’s …” Chloe’s voice trailed away