He barely spared a glance for Sylvia before saying, “He’s still alive. The other one she took. But not for much longer.”
The latest suicide-note victim was still alive? “Where is he?” I asked him.
“Safe enough for now. He’s in the small outbuilding behind the cabin. But she must’ve given him something. He’s foaming at the mouth.”
“She poisoned him,” I said. Deciding to try to heal Uncle Bob, I squirmed out of Reyes’s arms and reached down to him. I had no idea if I could do it or not, but that didn’t matter.
Ubie put a hand on mine. He seemed to know my intentions. “No, pumpkin,” he said, regarding Reyes as though uncertain whether he should arrest him or give him a medal. Not that he could do much of either with his arms tied behind his back. He cringed as he tried to stand. “This has to look very, very good.”
I helped him to his feet as he examined the unstable staircase before giving us a once-over. “I’ll ask later where all the blood came from. For now, we need to get rid of any evidence that you were ever here.” He nodded toward the back of the basement. “She was going to set it on fire. The whole thing. She knew she was out of time and was going to kill me, then run off into the sunset with you, Farrow.”
Reyes blanched inwardly at that.
“So the way I see it,” Uncle Bob continued, “as she held that lantern up there —” He raised his chin, indicating a lantern at the top of the stairs. “— she doused the place in gasoline and tripped on her way up the stairs, breaking her neck in the fall.”
“Uncle Bob,” I said, worried. It was a good plan, but if it didn’t work, he could go to prison as well. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I do,” he said sternly. “She was also dowsing me to make sure I died down here.”
“No,” I said, changing my mind. This was a bad plan. “You aren’t going to put gasoline on yourself.”
“You’re right. I can’t with my hands tied behind my back. You’ll have to do it.”
“Absolutely not,” I said, almost falling over again. “No way in hell.”
“Pumpkin, you have to do this.” He looked so vulnerable. So pale and fragile. I’d never seen him be anything other than the ox I’d grown up with.
“Pick it up and pour some on me, then douse the place. I’ll break the lantern and hightail it out of here.”
“No. What if you aren’t fast enough? You’ve lost so much blood.”
“Farrow,” he said, handing the reins over to him. “Do it now and get out before I bleed out.”
He nodded. Osh took me as Reyes grabbed the gas can and proceeded to douse my uncle in gasoline. Its scent made me gag, and tears rushed down my face. It wasn’t very long ago that I’d had a similar experience. The memory caused an upwelling of emotion. Such tragedy happening to me was one thing. The same thing happening to those I loved was quite another.
“That’s enough,” I said, clawing at Reyes’s shoulder. My hand slipped in the slick blood there, and my nausea jumped into warp drive.
Reyes lifted me into his arms again and rushed up the stairs two at a time as Osh took over, sprinkling the foul-smelling liquid over the contents of the room – careful not to spill any on Sylvia, lest it look suspicious – and up the stairs. He helped Uncle Bob up them as he ascended.
Uncle Bob offered me one last smile, then nodded as he pushed the lantern to the floor. The gas caught fire immediately and spread like a beautiful dancer across the floor.
“I’m right behind you,” Ubie said. “But I need to inhale a little smoke first.”
“Reyes, make him come,” I said, pleading with him.
“Pumpkin, it has to look very, very good.” He gave Reyes another warning scowl, and this time Reyes obeyed.
He whisked me out to a frantic Cookie. Without another word, he indicated for her to follow us and carried me to our cars. Osh followed us out and climbed into Misery to drive her back for me as we piled into Reyes’s ’Cuda.
Cookie had gotten ahold of the captain, so the cops were already on the way by the time we pulled onto the highway. We stared straight ahead as they passed us with lights flashing and sirens blaring. The glow of a fire lit the sky in the rearview, thick gray clouds billowing into the air, and my uncle had been drowned in gasoline. The fumes alone could catch a wayward spark and burst him into flames. If he made it outside, he’d be okay. The downpour would keep the heat at bay and it would also keep the flames from spreading into the brush. Purposely setting a fire was never a good idea in New Mexico. The rain had been a godsend.
We rushed home to change out of our bloody clothes so we could meet the ambulance at the hospital. I had to leave Reyes and Osh to see to their own duct tape. Even though the Twelve had disappeared, we had no way of knowing if they would stay that way. Reyes called Garrett to escort us to the hospital.
A group of officers lined the front of the building. One of their own had been injured. They were there to pay their respects as the ambulance pulled up. We pulled in right behind it, and Cookie was out of Misery, running after the ambulance before I could stop her. I pulled around to park, staying close to the emergency entrance, trying to decide if it was too soon to call her an ambulance chaser.
“Robert!” Cookie screamed, dodging a cop and sliding under the arm of an EMT. The girl could move when she wanted to. “Robert,” she said, and I jogged up to the melee. Despite a polite officer trying to gently urge her back, Cookie had a death grip on the gurney as they unloaded Ubie from the ambulance.