Stacy didn't bother giving Rick another glance, just went upstairs, and a little while later heard his guitar music coming from the enclosed porch. Too keyed up to wait any longer, as quietly as possible she went downstairs, pocketed the door key, grabbed her coat and went out the front door. It was a long walk to the Slocum's, but she couldn't chance Rick hearing the car and following her again. Not until she knew for certain he either was, or wasn't, connected to Lloyd. She had little doubt Cobb was unaware Rick was here.

Walking also eliminated the need to hide the car somewhere along the way. The moon had risen over the eastern peak, and lent plenty of illumination to guide her down the short cut, or, should it become necessary, through the woods. Moonlight, in conjunction with the brilliance of crusted snow, created an easy path on the road, and glittered from thick groves of evergreens at the same time it reflected off leafless branches of hardwoods. Her nervous hurry had taken her a fast quarter mile from the house when the ever-present cold made her realize she'd forgotten her hat and gloves. She hesitated, then a quick shrug sealed her decision to keep going without them.

But she had miscalculated how long it would take to walk to Cobb's, and badly underestimated how far the temperature dropped at night in the mountains. Long before she neared the Slocum house she acknowledged that continuing without hat and gloves had been a mistake. Stubbornly, she walked on, ignoring increasing warning signals from her body.

The Christmas lights decorating the house were on, with different color bulbs alternating in a pattern that rotated from slow, to fast, to slow. In the driveway, standing beside the open doors of the Bronco and the black Chevy, were Lloyd and Cobb, engaged in a violent argument.

Now as annoyed with the moonlight as she'd been previously appreciative, Stacy moved along the tree line, but stayed near the evergreen's fat boughs. Preoccupied with their chest-pushing, Lloyd and Cobb seemed unaware she was there, but their argument ended abruptly when headlights preceded an aging brown pickup down the driveway. The truck was left idling, lights on, but short, fat Dougie Ray Stocker stepped out and walked to where the Slocums waited for him.

Unable to distinguish words, Stacy moved closer, until she stood in the dark shadow of an ancient spruce. Here she could see the features of all three men, hear every spoken word.

Visibly nervous, Dougie Ray kept his hands in the pockets of his long, raggedy tweed coat, and spent most of the time looking at the ground. "I tried to tell Lloyd I couldn't afford that rocker. He talked me into buyin' it anyways."

Cobb smiled at the nearly bald thirty-year-old man. "You don't got to apologize, Dougie Ray. Me and Lloyd was just discussin' it. You bring it back and we'll forget the whole thing."

Dougie Ray shook his head. "No. I'm keepin' the--*my* chair."

Cobb cocked his head. "How's that again?"

Dougie Ray's eyes grew rounder and wider, and he stared at Lloyd, then blurted, "I seen what you did."

Lloyd glanced at Cobb, then leveled his gaze at Dougie Ray. "What are you talkin' about?"

Dougie Ray's hands stayed in the tweed pockets, and his gaze dropped to the ground. Though he looked increasingly nervous, his tone was defiant. "Last night, outside Dixie's Cup. I was there. I seen you give that green bag to that man. And I heard what you told him."

Stacy's heart hammered in her chest as she remembered the noises preceding the calico cat running from the parking lot.

Lloyd spat to the side. "You didn't hear nothin'."

Dougie Ray's gaze lifted from the ground for only a second, but his head bobbed up and down. "I did, Lloyd," he insisted. "I heard it. And I seen who that man was."

With a hard, intent stare at Dougie Ray, Cobb jerked his head toward the Bronco. Lloyd nodded and walked away.

One huge arm firmly around Dougie Ray, Cobb steered him toward the woods, his voice soft and comforting. "We been friends too many years to be makin' threats against each other, Dougie Ray."

As they came in her direction, Stacy quickly knelt, moving deeper into the blue-green boughs until she made contact with the fat, sticky trunk. Her hands, ears and face now felt close to freezing.

The heavy man hung his head. "I ain't gonna tell nobody, Cobb. I just want the chair. I should'na took it in the first place. I'll forget what I seen if you give me that rocker. Free and clear."

Cobb laughed, a laugh that seemed to comfort Dougie Ray. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you was tryin' to blackmail Lloyd."

Dougie Ray looked horrified by the insinuation, and vigorously shook his head. "Oh, no, Cobb. It ain't nothin' like that. But Lloyd ought not to be takin' my money when he knows I can't feed my young 'uns, neither."

Stacy, so intent on the conversation, and praying Dougie Ray volunteered more of what he'd seen and heard, didn't see Lloyd until his sudden appearance behind Dougie Ray.

Lloyd's arms came up so fast the heavy man didn't have time to turn. "Like I said, Dougie Ray, you didn't hear nothin'." Cobb stepped to the side just before the muffled shot echoed through the trees.

When the blast from the rag-covered shotgun barrel found its mark, the back of Dougie Ray's head exploded.

Speechless with terror, Stacy's sight riveted on the gore-covered face of the man who dropped to the ground not three feet from where she was hiding. One shock-filled eye stared at her. The other was missing, now nothing more than a gaping socket. One slow, final hiss of air escaped from the open mouth. Sprays of bright red blood, chunks of bone and gray matter littered everything in front of her.

Stacy crammed her fist against her mouth to stop the scream.

Cobb nudged the body with his toe. When he turned to Lloyd his voice was hard. "Don't go makin' any more side deals, no matter how dumb you think somebody is. Everything goes through me first."

Lloyd shrugged and bent to examine the results of his shot.

Stacy held her breath, and somewhere in the back of her stunned mind she realized the thirty-eight, instead of in her pocket as planned, was still in the green satchel beneath her bed.

Much worse, if Lloyd turned even an inch he'd see her.

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