she slowed. She reached the white gate the Audi had entered, then continued to drive forward. She parked thirty yards up the road and walked back to the white-fenced property, ducked through the wooden bars, and continued quickly up the graveled drive to a lovely old white colonial house. There were four cars parked in the large driveway. Bexholt had left her house late to come to a meeting of some kind in the boondocks? Whose house was this? She saw a light in a front window, probably the living room. She walked quietly to the side of the house and crouched down, rising only when she reached the edge of the window. There were drapes covering the windows, but thankfully, a bit of open space. She looked in to see a long, narrow low-ceilinged room, like in many colonial houses she’d visited, with wide dark oak planks on the floors. What was happening in this living room now wasn’t colonial. It was a workspace, with rows of computer equipment, monitors and cables, and large opened cardboard boxes labeled BEXHOLT GROUP. In the middle stood five people in a conversation Lucy couldn’t hear. Other than Nikki Bexholt, Lucy recognized Jasmine Palumbo, the woman who’d struck Sherlock’s Volvo on Tuesday, but the other three she didn’t know. The young man was slight, brown hair and eyes, and he sported a Fu Manchu mustache. To make him look less nerdy? The young woman couldn’t be more than five feet tall with short spiked red hair and large black-framed glasses that dominated her small face. Bingo. She’d bet these two were the ones who’d chased Justice Cummings on Tuesday. And an older woman, in charge, powerful, that’s what Lucy thought when she looked at her. She didn’t know who she was. What was going on here?
She watched Bexholt motion for them to sit down at a circular table and conversation continued. Lucy still couldn’t hear them, but she did feel the tension coming from the group.
Should she call Ollie? And tell him what? She was thinking it through when the meeting broke up. She quickly snapped some photos of all of them standing up, ran down the long drive back to her car, climbed in, turned the car around, and waited. Soon, three cars turned left out of the driveway. Finally, she saw Bexholt’s Audi.
Lucy waited until she’d turned, gained some distance. Then she followed.
They traveled fifteen miles on 7, then Bexholt suddenly pulled off onto a frontage road. Lucy slowed down, saw her turn into a four-bay gas station with a well-lighted Quick Mart. The lights were bright, gave her an excellent view. One older guy was pumping gas into a Chevy long bed. She saw three people in the Quick Mart. She exited slowly, drove a half block past the gas station, and eased off the road, cozied up to a copse of oaks and maples. She got out of the car, walked around the slight curve, so she could see what Bexholt was doing. Duh, she was pumping gas, nothing more. But Lucy frowned. She hadn’t pumped very much. Why? Lucy watched Bexholt reset the pump and walk quickly into the store to pay. When she came out, she walked briskly to her car.
Lucy hurried back to her Toyota but didn’t get in. She waited for Bexholt to pass her on the way back to 7. And waited. Where was she? Finally, Lucy walked back until she could see the gas station. She saw Bexholt’s Audi parked at the side of the station. Was Bexholt in the women’s room? Lucy moved closer. Maybe she’d slipped into the Quick Mart. The long-bed truck passed her, heading back to 7. Where was Bexholt?
She heard a noise. She pulled her Glock from her waistband, stilled and listened. Had she heard an animal? Okay, probably. There were lots of trees pressing against the frontage road, which meant there had to be wildlife roaming around. It was odd. The night was warm but she felt a sudden chill on her bare arms. She began to walk slowly, quietly, toward Bexholt’s Audi.
She heard another noise close. It was faint, but she knew it wasn’t an animal. It sounded like feet moving, trying to be quiet.
She whirled around, but she wasn’t fast enough. Something struck her on the back of her head and she was down.
64
* * *
GAFFER'S RIDGE
EAGLE'S NEST
FRIDAY, MIDNIGHT
There was a full moon overhead, so bright Griffin could see the road and the mountain clear