In Other Words...Murder

by In Other Words. . . Murder [MM] (retail) (epub)

  All the while I was talking, I was thinking. I’m no medical expert, but I did some reading up on cerebrovascular accidents when I had to bump off Sir Cecil Hogsbody in Take Your Medicine, Miss Butterwith. While it was conceivable that Zag had undergone brain surgery after his stroke, I couldn’t think of any reason he’d be swathed in bandages like this. Even his head bandage seemed a bit extreme. Did he really need that strip across the bridge of his nose? What good was that supposed to be doing?

  J.X. hadn’t been completely unjust in his suspicions. It had occurred to me that once I was here on my mission of mercy, I might be able to get information out of Zag or at least a hint as to his thoughts on the situation at the Hiawatha property. Blink once for yes, twice for no! But it was immediately obvious that this would not be possible.

  “This is a beautiful old house. Queen Anne, right? I’ve never been out this way before, though I’ve been living up north for the last four months. I miss LA, but I like it better than I thought I would.”

  Another grunt, another little squeeze.

  “I haven’t been writing. Wheaton & Woodhouse dropped my series. But Rachel managed to get me a new deal, so it looks like I’ll be starting a new Miss Butterwith book this week.”

  Another little squeeze, another grunt.

  “I’ve gotta say, I’m so impressed by the-the volume of work you’ve produced over the years. To have had such a serious setback and then manage to more than make up for it in creative output is outstanding. Amazing. I know you’ll do it again.”

  Even for someone as talkative as myself, a one-way conversation with someone you don’t know well is difficult. Also, the handholding was beginning to creep me out because with each passing minute I was more and more sure that Zag was not the man in the bed.

  Where the idea came from, I don’t know, but once it dawned, I couldn’t shake it.

  This was not Zag.

  Then who the hell was he? I had no idea. Presumably Mr. Boxleitner? If there really was a Mr. Boxleitner? He did look like Zag, at least superficially, but clearly, he wasn’t a double, or they wouldn’t have hit on the idea of wrapping him in bandages.

  I kept talking.

  “You’re really lucky to have such a caring family. Pandora seems like a lovely girl. A really good person.”

  “Zag” watched me with those oddly alert eyes.

  By that point, I was babbling.

  “My boyfriend’s got the same type of family,” I said with a silent apology to the Moriarity clan. “We’re going to be getting married soon, I think, and then we’re going to go to Italy on our honeymoon. I’ve never been, but it’s supposed to be a great place. I think we might go swimming with dolphins or take a gondola for a spin.”

  Zag mumbled something. Probably along the lines of, Will you please fuck off.

  “Anyway, it’s been so great to see you. I don’t want to tire you out on my first visit. I’d like to come back soon, if that’s okay with you?”

  He squeezed my hand.

  “Great! Well, and who knows. Maybe by the time we get the wedding figured out, you’ll be well enough to attend. You beat this thing once,” I was still gabbling as I freed my clammy hand and began to make my way through the grayout, trying not to trip over any stray footstools or end tables. “I’ll just say goodbye to Pandora. I’ve got to get back home before the trick-or-treaters show up tonight. Don’t want the boyfriend to send the search party after me.” My laugh sounded hollow to my own ears.

  He turned his head to watch my retreat to the doorway.

  I was hoping like hell that Pandora was busy in the cellar, digging a fresh grave or something, but nope. She was hovering right outside the doorway, listening to our—my—conversation. When she stepped out of the shadows, I jumped and made a sound more appropriate to a small rodent at the sight of a large cat.

  “Oh! Hey. There you are!” I said with manic cheerfulness. “I should get going, but thanks for arranging this.”

  She smiled. Her eyes did not turn red. She did not grow fangs. But somehow that smile still gave the same effect.

  Did she know that I knew? Had I given myself away at any point? I was very much afraid terrified recognition was written all over my face.

  “Did you have a nice visit?” she asked in her candy-coated voice.

  “Oh yes! Too short. But I kept it brief because I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

  She twinkled at me. “No fear of that!”

  “He—Zag—seems in good spirits. Considering.”

  Considering that he was dead and had been buried in my backyard for fourteen years.

  “He’s always believed in the power of positive thought.” She smiled again, and I knew then for sure why “Pandora” had seemed peculiarly familiar despite my having never met her.

  Pandora was Felicity Dann. Zag’s longtime off-and-on girlfriend.

  Gone was the tousled blonde hair and sexy makeup and stylish, vaguely provocative clothing, but it was her all right.

  How had I not instantly guessed? Hadn’t I seen this exact same scenario played out in episodes of shows like Your Worst Nightmare and Dateline and 48 Hours? No wonder Zag’s books read like they were written by someone else. They had been. Not only was this woman a monster, she was a terrible writer.

  There was a muffled thump from the parlor. Felicity didn’t bat an eye. I pretended I hadn’t heard it either, but my mouth went dry.

  I pried loose a few more desperate words. “I’d like to come again, if that’s all right?”

  “Of course,” she said. “So long as Uncle Zag is up for it.”

  All the while we were making our way down the lightless hall to the front door, I was on edge, expecting something to happen. Did she have a pistol hidden in that oversize smock? I wouldn’t have been surprised. Had I been lured to the house for some nefarious purpose? It seemed unlikely, but this was a woman who was not short on imagination or daring.

  I could feel perspiration soaking my underarms and back by the time we reached the screen door.

  Pandora unlatched it. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Holmes?” she asked casually.

  “Sure!” I gazed longingly past the porch to the silver gleam of my Lexus half hidden beneath the shade trees.

  “What made you look Uncle Zag up after all this time?”

  I saw the chasm open before me. Should I lie or tell the truth? Which was more dangerous? Surely if Felicity knew Zag’s body had been discovered, she wouldn’t have risked a visit from me. Or would she? What was that comment she’d made about my being one of the few people who could connect Zag to Sophie Snow? Was I loose end she could not afford?

  I said, trying to match her offhand tone, “My agent got a new deal for my series, and I was feeling kind of nostalgic. I wondered how Zag was doing these days. We started out together, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.” Behind the huge lenses, her eyes were gray. I remembered that now. They held mine in an unblinking stare.

  “I looked him up online, and you know the rest.”

  She said lightly, “I think I do. Well, have a safe trip.” She gave the screen door a small push, and I barreled through with a gasped, “Bye now!”

  The whole way across the seemingly endless expanse of dead lawn, I expected to hear a shot, but the silence was unbroken except for the distant sound of farm machinery. The air was hot and stagnant. Dead.

  One of these days I would learn to listen to J.X. Assuming I lived long enough.

  My knees were wobbling as I finally reached my car. I jumped in, managed to get the key in the ignition after a couple of tries, and started the engine. To my almost tearful relief, the Lexus roared into life. I reversed in a wide, drunken arc, and headed back down the dirt road through the woods.

  It was all I could do to not floor it. But they’d let me leave the house, so they must not realize I knew? Right?

  I watched my rear view for any sign of pursuit. The woods seemed to swallow the house behind me. I fumbled for my pho
ne. “Hey, Siri!”

  Nothing.

  “Hello? Siri? Hi, Siri!”

  Siri was not speaking to me again. Why did she hate me? What had I ever done to her?

  “Siri? Hello, Siri? Siri, hey!”

  Stony silence. Had I forgotten our anniversary? What did she want from me?

  “Siri, get me J.X.! Siri, for the love of God, call J.X.!

  My phone suddenly spoke. “What can I help you with?”

  “Siri, get me J.X. Hurry.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t get that.”

  “CALL. J.X.”

  “I’ve never really thought about it,” Siri said calmly.

  “Huh? Siri—”

  “Checking messages.”

  “What? NO. Siri. No. Bad girl! CALL J.X.”

  A male voice said, “Hey, this is Joey. I think you have the wrong number. I don’t know anyone named Dicky. Sorry.”

  Click.

  “Siri, please. Please—”

  “Calling J.X.,” Siri said as though all I’d ever had to do was ask.

  The phone rang and rang. He would be on the road by now. Even so, he would have his cell handy. He always had his phone handy.

  God. God. God. Please pick up.

  I saw a flash of blue in the trees, then movement out of the corner of my eye. My head jerked up in time to see a 4WD tractor driven by a mummy—a mummy—crash through the wall of trees and lurch to a stop in front of me, completely blocking the road. I dropped the phone, swinging the steering wheel and braking hard, but there wasn’t enough room or time to maneuver.

  The passenger side of the Lexus plowed into the chassis of the tractor, the airbag exploded from the dashboard, and the day went black.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I didn’t agree to kill anyone!”

  “Then what the hell did you crash into him for?”

  “To stop him! You said to stop him if he seemed to figure it out.”

  “Exactly. Stop him in order to do what?”

  “In order to…stop him.”

  “Seriously, Ray?”

  My head was thumping painfully. I unstuck my eyelids, feeling for my sleep mask, but I wasn’t wearing it. The room itself was dark. I cautiously lifted my head.

  It smelled…weird. Musty. Dusty. Fusty. In the gloom I could just make out the shadowy shape of bedposts, a tall chest of drawers, and a dresser with a framed oblong mirror that offered the blurry image of myself peering around in bewilderment.

  Where the hell was I?

  A male voice, unfamiliar to me, seemed to be speaking from the corner of the room. “Look, Fliss, I agreed to help you with a scam. I never agreed to murder.”

  Murder?

  I tried to sit up. It took a couple of attempts. I felt sick and dizzy and weak. I put a hand to my forehead and felt a lump the size of a small planet. Apparently, the sky really was falling.

  I got my legs over the side of the lumpy mattress and stood up. I immediately felt nauseous and had to sit down again. My head pounded in sickening time to my heartbeats. I thought about lying down again and knew I could not give in to that desire.

  “Then what’s your suggestion?” That voice I knew. That voice belonged to Pandora Pearce. No, Pandora Boxleitner. No again. Felicity…something. I couldn’t remember her last name. Zag’s psycho girlfriend. Although, in fairness, I’d never pegged her for psycho. Just manipulative and completely self-centered.

  “I don’t know, but I’m not getting involved in something like that.”

  My heart plummeted. I recognized that particular note of protest. My voice took on the same note when I was arguing with J.X. about something I knew I would ultimately have to give in to.

  J.X.

  I felt around for my phone. It was not on me.

  Neither was my wallet or keys or a handy-dandy pocketknife like the one Miss Butterwith always carried.

  Felicity’s distant, echoey voice was saying, “Do you think I like it? Of course I don’t want to have to do that. But what’s our option? He knows.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know.”

  “He pretended not to know a body was discovered at my old house. Why would he do that? And even if he didn’t know, how do we explain Uncle Zag running him off the road?”

  “Maybe he didn’t see,” Ray said sulkily. “Maybe he won’t remember.”

  “Ray, do you really want to take that chance? Do you really want to risk everything we’ve built?”

  I had another try at standing up. Not fun. I swallowed down the sickness, managed to get to my feet and reel my way across the room to where the voices seemed to be coming from. There was an old-fashioned heating register at the bottom of the wall. It was acting as a conduit for the conversation taking place in another part of the house. I slid down the wall, kneeling next to the register so I could hear better.

  “But is it that big a deal?” Ray protested. “You pretended your boyfriend was still alive. You wrote a bunch of books using his name. That’s like a misdemeanor. You probably wouldn’t even spend a year in jail. If we get charged with murder—”

  Felicity shrieked, “I’m not going to jail!”

  “I’m just sayin—”

  “And we won’t get caught.”

  Ray’s answer was too quiet to make out. I closed my eyes. I was so tired. More than anything on earth, I wanted to go to sleep.

  I might even have dozed off for a second or two. My eyelids jerked open as Ray yelled, “Really? With his goddamned boyfriend calling his cell every ten minutes?”

  Felicity muttered something I couldn’t hear. I knelt closer to the grate, then realized footsteps were coming down the hall toward my room. I pushed up and staggered back to the bed, lying down—collapsing, really—and pretending to still be out.

  I heard a key in the lock, the door flew open, the overhead light went on.

  “Wake up,” Felicity snapped. She crossed to the bed and smacked me.

  As bedside manners went, hers left something to be desired.

  I winced, fluttered my eyelids, moaned, “Where am I?”

  “See?” Ray’s voice said from the doorway. “He doesn’t remember.”

  “Oh, bullshit,” Felicity returned, unimpressed. “He remembers all right. You’re right where you deserve to be, Mr. Holmes. This is what you get for sticking your pointy nose in other people’s business.”

  Pointy nose?

  I opened my eyes, pushed up on my elbows, and said, “Hey, Ray? For the record, she didn’t just steal her boyfriend’s identity. She murdered him. You might want to take that into account before you agree to become her murder accomplice.”

  “Shut up!” She tried to slap me again, and I grabbed for her wrist. We tussled, and then Ray came to her defense.

  When I came back to my senses, Felicity was saying, “He’s lying. I told you exactly what happened. Zag was cleaning his pistol, and it went off.”

  “Zag never owned a pistol in his life,” I said.

  “How would you know?”

  “And how would he accidentally shoot himself in the back of the head?” That was just a guess. I’d remembered the pillow in Zag’s grave.

  She turned to glare at me. “You just won’t stop, will you?” And to Ray, “Do you see now what we’re dealing with? We have to shut him up. He’ll destroy us otherwise.”

  Ray peered over her head at me. He had removed the bandages. He did look a bit like Zag—brown hair, square and rather blunt features, green eyes—but not so much that I would have mistaken him for the real thing.

  He said, “What about the boyfriend? The boyfriend knows he came here today.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” Felicity said.

  “She thinks of everything,” I said. “That’s not always a good thing.”

  Ray said, “Shut up, or I’ll punch you again.”

  I didn’t think it would be useful to be punched again, so I shut up.

  Felicity thrust my phone in my face. “Call your boyfriend. Tell him you had
a great visit with Zag, but you’re tired and you’ve decided to stay in Sunol tonight. If you say anything else, even one word more, you’re dead, and we’ll figure out how to explain it later.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  She drew out a large butcher’s knife—where the hell had she stowed that on her person?—and held it up. The overhead light glinted off the razor-sharp tip.

  Ray recoiled. “Fliss!”

  She ignored him. To me, she said, “You want to find out?”

  No. I really didn’t. I took the phone from her. I could see the long list of J.X.’s messages—he was never one to give up easily—and pressed to return the last call.

  Like everybody else, I’ve always wanted to believe that should I ever end up in a situation like the current one, I’d come up with some clever last-minute plan for saving my life. But honestly? As the phone began to ring, nothing occurred to me. I couldn’t think of a special secret code only he would understand to communicate my peril, so I decided to simply shout, They’re holding me prisoner, they killed Zag, and they’re going to kill me. I love you. Or as much of that as I could get out before they did, indeed, kill me.

  That was my entire plan. I did not have a backup. So when J.X.’s message came on, I stumbled. It sounds sappy, but my last wish was to hear his voice, his live voice, one final time—even if he was most likely going to be yelling at me.

  But that was not to be. I cleared my throat. Felicity raised the knife, and Ray drew his fist back as though to punch me. I said, “Hi, Julian, it’s Christopher. I had a great visit with Zag, but I’m tired and I’m going to spend the night in Sunol.” I hesitated.

  “Hang up,” Felicity whispered fiercely. “Hang up, or you’re dead.”

  “I love you,” I said huskily, and disconnected.

  She snatched the phone out of my hand. “Good. Done.” She said to Ray, “See how easy that was?”

  Ray looked doubtful. “He said it like he was a robot. Like he was under duress.”

  She shrugged. “He’s tired. That fits.” She gazed at me thoughtfully. “It has to look like an accident. A car accident. Yeah, his car’s already damaged, so that will work.”

  Ray’s eyes met mine. He looked away. He muttered, “You know, once we do this, there’s no going back.”