Page 62 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
“Okay, head out now.”
“Are you sure you’ll be okay? What about the horrible husband?”
“Gone, which is where I plan to be before he gets back. I’ll see you at the rectory.” She grinned. “I left the door unlocked.”
Back at the cabin, Clare swung the door wide. “Tiny? Ready to go?”
She had stuffed Rose into a snowsuit and put on her own coat. She reached into her pocket and handed the keys to Clare.
“He really didn’t think you’d make a run for it, did he?” Clare marveled.
“I’ve always done what he said. I thought that was what being a good wife was all about. That’s how my mom was before she and Dad got divorced.” She paused. “I guess that wasn’t the smartest role model, huh?”
Outside in the crisp air, Clare gave the trucks a once-over while Tiny was strapping Rose into the baby seat. She could think of several ways to sabotage the rides—heck, pulling the plugs wouldn’t even require getting under the chassis—but she could feel the clock ticking. She had no doubt Cal would hightail it after his wife and child the moment he saw the cabin was empty. She wanted to be far away from here by then.
Her car’s all-wheel drive got her down the long drive easily. When she reached the narrow mountain road, Clare sped up as fast as she safely could, praying they didn’t encounter another snowmobile-hauling truck or SUV full of winter hiking fans. She didn’t have time to pull to the side to politely let anyone past her.
She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when they reached the broader, two-lane stretch to the state highway. “Okay, it’ll take us a little over an hour to get to Millers Kill from here. How about we pick up a few things for you and Rose at the Walmart in Fort—Oh, shit!”
She and the driver of the pickup heading past her recognized each other at the same moment. Tiny twisted around in her seat. “It’s Cal! Oh my God, what are we gonna do? Oh God, oh God…”
Clare had already hit the gas. Her Subaru was no sports car, but it was a goer, and Cal March had to make a three-point turn before he could follow her. She swung onto the state highway without slowing and immediately accelerated to seventy-five. She split her attention between the road and her rearview mirror. Sure enough, in the distance, she could see the pickup turning onto the highway after her.
Tiny leaned forward, looking from side to side. “Is there someplace we can hide? Take another route?”
Clare focused on the road ahead, inching her speed up to eighty. “This is it. It’s about fifteen miles to the first town, and that’s not much more than a cluster of buildings along the highway. It’s twice as far to the Northway.” She wrestled the Adirondack atlas out of her side pocket without taking her eyes off the road and handed it to Tiny. “See if there’s any place likely.”
“What about a police station?”
“I know the Essex County Sheriff is up in Lewis, but that’s got to be an hour from here.” Up ahead, an oil delivery truck lumbered along at a sedate five miles below the speed limit. Clare shifted lanes and blew past him. “State Police Troop G is south of here. Somewhere around Brant Lake.”
Tiny bent her head over the map. “That’s, like, thirty miles.”
The oil truck dwindled in her rearview mirror. Maybe…? Then the truck popped out from behind it and continued after them. That was the problem with Route 28N—it was a thirty-mile-long gentle curve, with stretched-out sight lines that made it very safe for tourists traveling into the mountains and very inconvenient when you wanted to disappear. She slowed slightly to scan the area ahead of the SUV in front of her, then revved up to pass it. The good news was, it was Sunday, and there wasn’t much traffic on the road. The bad news was, it was Sunday, and where in this corner of the Adirondacks could they find enough people and vehicles to get lost in?
“North Creek,” she realized.
“What?”
“It’s a ski town. Near Gore Mountain. A beautiful weekend afternoon after a snowstorm? It’ll be jammed with cars and people.”
Tiny bent her head over the atlas. “I see it.” She leaned over to look into the side mirror. “But he’s going to be able to follow us.”
“Yeah. We’re not going to be able to shake him unless he runs out of gas. But if we can get to the village just a little ahead of him, we can hide in the traffic and the crowds.” She passed another pickup and watched it dwindle fast in the rearview. She was up to eighty-five now, a guaranteed ticket on the Northway and liftoff airspeed in oneof her dad’s small planes. She made herself relax her shoulders and release her death-clutch on the wheel.
“Clare?”
“I see it.” Ahead of them, traffic both coming and going. She took her foot off the gas. “This is Minerva, right?”
Tiny consulted the map. “Yeah. Maybe we should pull off here?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a couple roads and no stoplight. We’d be in the same situation, but on an even smaller road.” She braked hard to avoid rear-ending the ancient station wagon putt-putting along in front of her. More traffic coming toward them. No room to make an illegal pass on the right—the trees crowded close against the narrow shoulder. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Cal’s truck was catching up.
She was playing scenarios in her head—lock the car and refuse to get out? Try their luck with a kind stranger in Minerva?—when the northbound traffic cleared and the car holding them up was able to turn left. Clare didn’t give Grandpa’s station wagon time to start forward; she shifted and stomped on the accelerator, shooting around him and swerving violently back into her lane before she ran into the Toyota coming toward her. She got one glimpse of its driver’s wide-eyed shock before hurtling past, leaving Minerva, and wisdom, behind her.
“Oh my God,” Tiny whimpered.
Fly or die. Clare didn’t share that with her passenger. A few more vehicles were headed north; between them and Grandpa, Cal would be held up for a few crucial seconds.
