Blunt Darts

courthouse, combined with the hardware clerk’s identification, would tie me in to his death. If Stephen had sent the letter or made a call, I doubted that I’d be allowed out on bail to try to find him to explain things. Especially if he had made his letter sound as if I might kill him, too. I decided that I’d better agree to drive him before he figured out how to drive himself. “If I do drive you back to Meade, can I go to the hospital?”
    He brightened. “After we talk with the judge. I want you there.” Then the brightness drained from him. “Without a gun, and without you there, I’m afraid he’d kill me.”
     
     
     

     
     
    Stephen told me that he’d found Blakey’s rental car at the base of the trail up the front of the mountain. Stephen advised me, however, that the hood was up. I told him that it was an old trick and that I was sure the car would work. Besides, I knew I couldn’t go back down to my car the way I’d come up, or even by walking along the perimeter road.
    My face was pretty much numb, but my rib was killing me. Stephen cut my ankle bonds, and I found after a while that I could still walk, at least around the room.
    I had some canned fruit cocktail and some dry chocolate candy with almonds. Stephen wanted to leave so we could arrive in Meade at approximately 9:30 P.M. I told him that in my condition I wanted to complete the downhill part of the trip while it was still bright outside. He agreed.
    We started down. The ladder was the worst part of the ordeal. On the trail, I asked Stephen to help support me a few times, which gave me the opportunity to frisk him unobtrusively. He wasn’t carrying any weapons.
    We got to Blakey’s car just at sunset. I lowered the hood. It started on the second try, and Stephen rewarded me with a smile.
    I had to take the dirt road very slowly. Once on the paved road back to the Pike, we stopped at a supermarket. A sign in the window read “Closed all day tomorrow, July Fourth.” Stephen went in to buy me some more bread. While he was gone, I did another quick search of his knapsack. Clean.
    Stephen got back in, and we continued on to the Pike. I asked him if he thought the judge would be at home, since the next day was a holiday.
    “Sure,” he said. “He always gives a big speech after the parade. He’ll be home tonight, practicing it like every year.”
    Then we talked about Valerie, camping, and the army. He knew a lot about the service, obviously from reading up on his Uncle Telford and what he had done. I judiciously avoided my visit to Kim Sturdevant’s house.
    I’ve never been much for kids. Even when Beth was alive, I was perfectly happy to borrow somebody else’s kids when Beth and I acted as free babysitters for the afternoon. Then, having had my fill, I could return them at night, like short-term library books.
    Stephen, though, was different. He truly appeared to be a gifted, sensitive boy. I tried to square that with how he had handled Blakey. I decided that his maturity and intelligence might have permitted him to shoot Blakey to save me, but I couldn’t account for his disposing of Blakey’s body in such a way as to gain leverage over me. He was, I suppose, one of the few individuals, child or adult, who interested me more the more I came to know him.
    On the well-maintained roads, I began to forget about my rib. Over two hours later, as we turned in to the Kinnington driveway, however, the lurch onto gravel brought tears to my eyes.
    I braked the car to a halt, but not because of my rib cage. There was a heavy double chain stretched across the driveway. The chain was anchored at both ends by short, stout metal poles.
    “I don’t remember this from my earlier visits,” I said.
    Stephen was staring at the chain. “That’s all right. There’s another way. In fact, it’s a better way.”
    I sighed and gingerly shifted to face him. “Stephen, what kind of way is it?”
    “It’s a path, on the other side of the hill. It leads up to the back of the house.”
    “Can we drive the car up it?”
    Stephen turned to me. “No, but it’s shorter than climbing up this driveway.” I frowned, but Stephen continued quickly, “No, really! It’ll be a lot easier on you, I promise.”
    I nodded. He said, “Back the car up and keep going down the road like we were.”
    I followed his instructions. As we drove, I asked Stephen why rich people’s driveways weren’t paved. He said the judge felt that paved driveways