"I didn't say I saw him. I said I thought I saw him. Woodie Keenan looks just like him from behind. And you know, in detective stories, they say that you can't disguise the way someone looks from behind. The way they stand and walk always gives them away."
Kristy said, "But I don't think Woodie is wearing a disguise. How could Karl Tate make himself look that young?"
Charlie said, "Kristy. You guys! Let's get going."
"I know what I saw," Claudia said stubbornly.
"What you thought you saw," said Kristy. She paused. "We need to tell Charlie and Sam what's going on. But let's concentrate on getting out of here first. We'll tell them at the lodge." She ran into the house where Charlie and Sam and Woodie were waiting.
I waited until the place had aired out some, then went inside and packed my knapsack. Fortunately, there was a break in the storm, enough to see the trail along the lake and the bright blue Shadow Lake trail markers.
"Stay together," Charlie said sternly. He handed around the flashlights "just in case," while Kristy packed the emergency flares in her backpack. She also put matches in watertight bags and zipped those into the pocket of her ski parka.
Charlie went on, "If you lose sight of the person ahead of you, yell immediately. And loudly. And don't go off the trail. Shadow Lake is frozen, but it is dangerous. There's lots of thin ice above the underground springs that feed it."
He didn't have to warn us twice. I personally planned on staying right on top of whoever was in front of me. Abby of the Yukon I am not.
I saw Sam pat Stacey reassuringly on the shoulder. Stacey didn't jump or act startled. Hmmm. Must have worked that one out, I thought.
It was slow, hard going. The snow was over the tops of my snow boots. I had laced them over my pants legs and put on my ski pants for extra warmth, but I could feel the snow seeping in and melting, and making my clothes cold and wet. We had to lift our feet high for each step. I tried to step into Claudia's footprints, since she was walking ahead of me. Poor Charlie, I thought. Being the trailbreaker couldn't be any fun.
Amazing that the snow had filled up Woodie Keenan's snowshoe tracks so fast. Charlie could have used those.
Something crashed through the woods behind me. Claudia looked over her shoulder. Her eyes widened. "Abby! Look out! It's him! It's Karl Tate!"
And from out of the swirling whiteness of the blizzard, a dark form hurtled toward us from behind. He shouted something I couldn't understand.
I stooped, grabbed a chunk of ice, and threw it at him. It docked him right in the head. He reeled back and fell. His face looked truly deranged.
That won't stop him long, I thought frantically. I wasn't going to be able to hold him off with snowballs. I needed a rock. A big rock. Or maybe a big stick. I looked around desperately.
"Run!" screamed Claudia.
And then someone else came running through the woods from one side.
"Freeze!" a voice ordered. "Don't move!"
Kris Renn skidded to a stop in a spray of snow, and half-crouched, her arms up and her hands gripping a gun.
I let go of the branch I had grabbed (unfortunately, it was still attached to the tree) and held up my hands.
Karl Tate didn't move. Slowly, Renn took one hand off the gun and reached in her pocket. She pulled out a badge. "Detective Kris Renn," she said to me. "Special Unit. Put your hands down. It's him I'm interested in."
"It was you I saw in the woods with a gun," Stacey said.
"I've been on his trail for some time," Detective Renn explained. "He's violated the terms of his parole by leaving Connecticut, among other things." She bent over, put handcuffs on him, and sat him upright. She looked at the red mark on his head. "Hmm," she said, glancing at me. "Good aim."
"I'm the assistant coach of a softball team," I said inanely.
Kristy snorted. And then we all started laughing. It was such a relief. It had been Karl Tate after all. Karl Tate had been stalking the BSC, paying back the members who'd helped catch him by terrorizing them.
Funny. He didn't look like a terrorist, sagging against Detective Renn. He looked old and tired.
"I hope I didn't hurt him," I said.
As if in answer, he groaned. His eyelids fluttered.
"Do you need help?" Stacey asked Renn.
The detective said, "I can handle it. My cabin's just down this trail. I'll take him there until this storm blows over. I can radio the situation in."
"Cool," said Claudia.
"Would someone mind telling me what's going on?" asked Charlie.
"Well," said Kristy.
Woodie asked, "Is this a joke?"
"Tell us at the lodge," said Charlie.
Detective Renn hauled Mr. Tate to his feet. He reeled like a drunken man on a subway train.
"Be careful," she told us.
"We will," I said. I flexed my arm. "How about that pitch?" I boasted.
Claudia said, "You are such a show-off." But she was grinning. We were all relieved that1 Karl Tate had been caught. Now we could continue our weekend without fear.
"I'm planning on entering the Olympic Ice Hurling Event," I said.
"Oh, brother," said Kristy, and we set off down the trail for the lodge.
Chapter 22.
Mary Anne.
"Hide!" hissed Shannon.
We all dove for hiding places. I jumped behind the door. Logan crouched down behind a chair, and Shannon and Astrid crawled under the desk.
The kitchen door opened.
Had Mr. Tate come back? What would he do to us if he caught us?
Footsteps clicked down the hall.
Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
And then Astrid barked.
"Shhhush!" Shannon commanded frantically. But it was too late.
The footsteps stopped. The doorknob rattled. The door creaked. Then it opened with a jerk.
The woman in the picture, with a different hairdo and several years older, was standing in the doorway, mail in one hand, a letter opener in the other. (I could see her through the crack of the door.) "Who's there?" she said sharply.
Slowly, Shannon came out from under the desk, holding Astrid's leash. Logan crawled out from behind the chair: I peered around the door.
Mrs. Tate gasped and jumped back. The let- ter opener and the mail fell from her hands. Logan swooped down and grabbed the letter opener, but Mrs. Tate didn't seem to notice. Her attention was fastened on me.
"It's you," she said. "You're one of the girls! From that dub."
I nodded. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
Mrs. Tate seemed dazed. She walked across the room and sat in the chair. She put her head in her hands.
"Mrs. Tate?" I said. "We're - we're sorry. We didn't mean to . . ."
With a sound like a moan, Mrs. Tate looked up. Her eyes filled with tears and I felt tears well up in my own eyes.
But what she said stopped my tears. "You have to stop him," she said hoarsely. "You have to stop him!"
"Mr. Tate?" I asked.
"No! No, not Karl. Woodrow. My son."
I remembered the boy in the picture. He must be grown by now, I realized.
Shannon started edging toward the door. Logan put the letter opener down on the desk and caught my hand. We began to follow Shannon and Astrid.
"We're sorry about coming into your house,"
Shannon said. "I mean, uninvited. It was an accident. My dog, Astrid? She chased your cat in through the pet door."
"Miss Kitty," murmured Mrs. Tate. "That's our cat's name."
"Um, yeah. Anyway, we, uh - The back door was open and we came in, just to catch Astrid, but we got locked in the study."
"I have to have that lock fixed," Mrs. Tate said. "But since Karl . . . went away . . ."
She focused on me again. "Stop him," she said. "Stop Woodrow. I should've. I should have called the police. But I couldn't. I just couldn't." She buried her face in her hands again.
"I'm sorry," I said again, awkwardly.
Mrs. Tate didn't seem to hear. Logan tugged at my hand.
We turned and walked as quickly as we could out of the house.
It had gotten so late.
"We have to call Kristy," I said urgently. "We have to warn her."
"We have to call the police," said Shannon.
We ran for the nearest pay phone. Someone paged Sergeant Johnson. When he came to the phone at last, we told him what we'd found out.
As calmly as ever, the sergeant said, "Very good. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything."
I hung up, feeling drained.
"Call Kristy," Shannon urged me.
We pooled all our change and I called the Shadow Lake number.
But still there was no answer.
I hung up slowly.
We'd done all we could do. But what if it wasn't enough? What if Sergeant Johnson didn't warn Kristy and the others in time?
What was Woodrow Tate planning to do?
Chapter 23.
Kristy.
It was growing dark sooo fast. I trudged along behind Charlie, glad the mystery was solved, glad the terror was over, and wishing more than anything for a warm, dry, quiet place. I was thinking hot chocolate. I was thinking nachos. These were thoughts of which I was sure the others would approve, especially Claud.
I was not thinking danger.
We flicked on our flashlights. They barely pricked the growing darkness and the swirling snow. "I'm going to light a flare or two," I said.
We stopped. Sam said, "Why don't a couple of us go on ahead?"
"Sounds like a good idea," said Woodie.