In Other Words...Murder

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

  “There’s already no going back, Ray,” Felicity said.

  “Not for her. There is for you,” I said.

  Felicity swung on me. “Goddamn it. We need to tape his mouth shut. That’s the first thing.”

  Surprisingly, Ray said, “Tape residue. We can’t afford to leave any physical evidence that indicates he was held prisoner. No tape. No rope burns. Nothing like that. We don’t know what shape the body will be in when they find it.”

  I recognized a fellow fan of true-crime TV. What a shame he wasn’t using his powers of observation for good instead of evil.

  Felicity said indifferently, “No problem. We’ll burn the car after we crash it.”

  “No,” Ray said. “Cars don’t naturally burst into flame. Crime-scene investigators will detect accelerant. That would be a giveaway that the accident was staged.”

  Felicity huffed out an exasperated, “Fine. You’re suddenly the expert? You tell me how you want to handle this.”

  “We have to think it through. We can’t mess this up. We have one chance to get it right.”

  “We can’t take all night, Ray. We need to get this handled.”

  Ray said stubbornly, “We’re risking life sentences. I’m not doing anything until we’ve got every detail figured out.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ! Just stab him and we’ll bury his body in the woods.”

  She tried to hand the knife to Ray, but he put his hands up. “Hell no, I’m not stabbing him. There’s a good chance the blade will slip, and then my DNA is liable to show up.”

  “Are you being funny, Ray?”

  Ray glared at her. He did not look like a guy who had ever been funny. He said, “No, I’m not being funny.”

  Felicity looked from me to Ray. Her chest rose and fell, but then she seemed to calm. “Okay. You know what? You’re right. If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. Let’s go figure out the details.” She nodded at me. “Knock him out again.”

  Ray shook his head. “The bruising on the body has to be consistent with—”

  “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” she shouted. “Then we’re tying him up, and to hell with the goddamned rope burns.”

  Felicity charged out of the room, slamming the door behind her so hard, the mirror on the dressing table fell forward, knocking all the little glass bottles and knickknacks off the dresser top. Mirror and bottles smashed to bits, broken glass flying everywhere. The smell of old perfume and bath oil mingled with the general fug.

  “That was an antique, Fliss!” Ray shouted, going to the window.

  Her response was muffled but clearly profane.

  I watched in astonishment as Ray yanked back the heavy yellow drapes and pushed the sill up. He stared at me. “You’ve got two minutes, and then I’ll have to kill you.”

  He turned and left the room, closing the door. A moment later I heard the lock turn.

  For one split second I gaped at the closed door—and then I jumped for the window.

  It was pitch-black outside and as cold as the bottom of a well.

  For some reason, I had expected it to still be daylight, so night—and bitter autumn chill—came as a shock. I tumbled out the window with more speed than grace, landed awkwardly in deep dry grass, and took off running for the distant tree line.

  I knew the darkness worked in my favor, but that cover only stretched so far. It was a full moon, and the wide, empty field between the back of the farmhouse and the road back to the highway was as brightly lit as a film set.

  I’d never make it. I could already hear Felicity shrieking in alarm behind me. I didn’t dare look back. I veered and headed instead for a towering cornfield.

  As I dived through the ten-foot wall of green stalks, the strange, sweet, earthy smell of popcorn and diesel rose up from the damp ground. I put my hands out, pushing my way through the forest of rustling stalks and drooping leaves, feeling the sting of little cuts against my palms, a burning itch against my face.

  I plowed on for another yard or so, and then my legs gave out and I sank down on the still-warm earth. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go on. Adrenaline will only take you so far. I was battered, bruised, and probably concussed. I’d been punched in the face. Maybe more than once. I couldn’t remember.

  I was as terrified as I’d ever been in my life, and yet I couldn’t find the energy to keep moving. I knelt there, heart thundering, lungs on fire, listening to the faraway sound of Felicity and Ray calling to each other. I couldn’t quite hear the words, but the tone did not sound like, Forget about him, let’s go home.

  I let my arms give and lowered myself the rest of the way to the ground, resting my face in the cool, moldering whatever the hell that was.

  Woody Allen had it right: “Life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering—and it’s all over much too soon.”

  I thought of J.X. He was going to be very sorry for thinking I’d blown off Gage and the Halloween festivities when he learned I was dead. I enjoyed that morose reflection for a time, and then Felicity said clearly—and from only a few feet away, “Get the tractor. He’s got to be in here somewhere.”

  I froze.

  Somewhere ahead of me, Ray replied, “He’s trying to make his way back to the highway.”

  I lay absolutely motionless, not daring to breathe, and watched her tennis shoes pass a few inches in front of my face.

  “Ray, I’m telling you, I saw him run into this field. I saw it with my own two eyes.”

  “You think I’m going to mow down this entire field on your say-so?”

  “You will if you don’t want to spend the next thirty years in jail.”

  Ray swore and came tromping toward me. As his boots came into view, I rolled aside. His footsteps faltered and then kept going. He pushed through the wall of stalks and vanished into the crinkling, whispering darkness.

  Felicity muttered, “I know you’re in here somewhere, you bastard.”

  I waited, breathing into my hand to muffle the sound. The pollen was making my sinuses itch, and I began to fear I would sneeze. Why the hell was she just standing there? What was she waiting for?

  Oh, right.

  She was waiting for me to move.

  To make a sound.

  I wrinkled my nose, squinched my eyes shut. Terrible, fraught seconds passed.

  The urge to sneeze faded. I opened my eyes and found myself staring into the beady eyes of a big, fat rat.

  My lips parted. The rat looked as horrified as I felt. It turned tail and ran right over Felicity’s feet. Felicity let out a blood-curdling scream and crashed past me, running back toward the house.

  At least, I thought it was toward the house. By now my sense of direction was completely befuddled.

  I got to my knees and then, wearily, to my feet. I could still hear Felicity smashing through the stalks, screaming and swearing at the top of her lungs.

  I could hear something else too. The sound of a tractor heading my way.

  “Oh, come on,” I protested. “Really?”

  But yes, really. The roar of the tractor grew louder. Much louder. I could see its headlights filtering eerily through the stalks, beams of light shooting crookedly through a maze of peeling stalks, rough leaves, and silken tassels. Dust and pollen shot up like upside-down rain.

  I began to run perpendicular to the tractor’s line of travel, and at last came out on the far side—in time to see a station wagon heading slowly down the dirt road leading from the house to the main road.

  What the hell now?

  Ray was mowing down my hiding place, and Felicity was cutting me off from the main highway. How long could I play hide-and-seek out here?

  And that’s when the idea came to me. This was my chance. Maybe my only remaining chance. With the house empty, I could find a phone—maybe even my phone—and call for help.

  In fact, I could hide in the house. I could hide in the very bedroom they’d held me prisoner. They would never think to look there.

  Now, there were a lo
t of problems with this plan, but I didn’t see them at the time. I was exhausted, sick, and desperate.

  I stuck to the edge of the remaining cornfield and started back toward the house. Eventually the cornfield came to an end. I stumbled my way through a pumpkin patch—nearly going into cardiac arrest as a tall scarecrow loomed up before me—and dropped to my knees, gulping for breath.

  From under the shaded brim of his floppy straw hat, the scarecrow gazed at me with implacable black-stitched eyes.

  I wiped the tears from my eyes and vowed that if I managed to get out of this alive, I would marry J.X. and give up amateur sleuthing forever.

  By this point, there was only a small square of cornfield left. I watched the remaining stalks fold under the giant tires of the tractor, and then pushed off my knees and sprinted toward the low-hanging porch.

  I dragged myself up the stairs, pulled open the screen, reached for the front-door handle, and—found it locked.

  For a moment I could only stare stupidly.

  Now what?

  Plan B? I didn’t have a Plan B.

  I turned, looking back toward the road, and spotted Felicity’s returning headlights.

  Belatedly, I noticed something else. The tractor had stopped. No one was sitting atop it. That was because Ray was walking toward the house. In fact, he was only a few yards away.

  I turned and staggered down the porch, climbed over the railing, and dropped into a flower bed. Pansies and alyssum. They felt cool against my sweaty face, and the sweet honey smell of the alyssum was oddly comforting.

  I heard the crunch of tires, the squeak of brakes, the slam of a car door.

  “Anything?” Felicity demanded.

  Ray answered, “No.”

  “He’s here somewhere.”

  “If he made it to the highway—”

  “He didn’t make it to the highway. He might have made it into the woods. I don’t think he even made it that far.”

  Maybe it would be okay. Maybe she wouldn’t notice me. Maybe she wouldn’t think to look this close to the house. Maybe…

  “You don’t think maybe this has gone far enough?” Ray said.

  “Are you kidding me? Ray. If it was necessary to kill him before, it’s imperative now.”

  I lifted my head. Listened closely.

  Was that—?

  Sirens.

  Police sirens.

  Were they—?

  Yes. Headed this way. Yes. I could have cried with relief. And they say you can never find a cop when you need one.

  “What the hell is that?” Ray said in a very different tone of voice.

  “Ray, we don’t have t—”

  “Shut up,” he snapped. “You hear that?”

  The three of us listened to the fast-approaching wail.

  “Shit,” Felicity exclaimed. “How the hell—?”

  “Get in the car,” Ray told her.

  Somehow I managed to stand. I came around the side of the porch in time to watch Ray and Felicity race to the station wagon.

  Ray had just slid behind the wheel as a caravan of cop cars came pouring down the dirt road, red and blue strobe lights slicing through the night.

  I wobbled my way to the bottom of the porch steps and sat down on the first step, watching dreamily as patrol cars filled the front yard. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t sure I wasn’t dreaming. The events of the night were all starting to feel very far away and removed.

  The police got out of their cars and surrounded the station wagon with their weapons drawn. There was a lot of shouting and yelling, and then Felicity and Ray exited their vehicle with their hands up. They got down on the ground as directed.

  After a time, I realized I recognized one of the voices. It was the loudest and angriest voice, and it kept saying, “Where the hell is he? He better be okay. If you did something to him, if you harmed a single fucking hair on his head—”

  I pushed up from the step and called, “Hey, is this what you’re looking for?”

  I was vaguely aware that an army of guns swung in my direction, but I only saw the tall man in jeans and a leather jacket. He turned my way and said, “Kit?” in a funny, cracked voice.

  I started toward him, and the next thing I knew, I was locked in J.X.’s arms and he was kissing me over and over.

  “Jesus Christ, Kit,” he said. His voice was shaking. “I thought— I was afraid— I thought—”

  “Trick or treat!” I said, and closed my eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Admit it,” I said. “You thought I bailed on an evening spent frolicking with Gage and the Great Pumpkin.”

  “No,” J.X. said. He was sitting on the side of the bed next to me, watching me eat a late but very delicious breakfast. “You gave your word. You gave your word as a former boy scout.”

  I cocked a skeptical eyebrow, and he said, “Well, yes, it did go through my mind. Of course.”

  I grinned and reached for a second English muffin from my lavish breakfast tray. I slathered it with butter, spread a thick layer of raspberry jam, and crunched into it. I sighed my pleasure. It’s a well-known fact that nearly being murdered entitles you to forty-eight hours of bad carbs, guilt-free.

  J.X. watched me, smiling. “You’re clearly feeling better.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  It was the morning after Pandora, a.k.a. Felicity, and her reluctant co-conspirator, Ray, had tried to do me in. The first day of November and the rest of my life.

  In the end, I did spend the night locally, but in Fremont, not Sunol. Sunol doesn’t have either a hotel or a motel, which Felicity would have done well to remember because that fact, combined with my desperate effort to tip J.X. off by using the names we never used with each other, had sent my betrothed jetting straight to the Alameda County Sheriff’s Office.

  It was not the first mistake Felicity had made. That had probably happened when she forced Zag at gunpoint to sign over his power of attorney to “Pandora Pearce,” and then she’d witnessed that same transaction as Felicity Dann. Murdering Zag and burying him in his own backyard had not been smart either, but in her defense, she’d gotten away with it for nearly fifteen years.

  Why had she taken such a ruthless and potentially self-destructive step? It turned out that Zag had finally gotten tired of Felicity’s lying, cheating, and manipulating. He decided not to move in with her and not to sell his house to me after all. Felicity had not taken kindly to losing the money from that sale or access to Zag’s very comfortable checking account and credit cards, and there was also the matter of a hefty insurance policy he had taken out in her favor several years previous.

  Poor Zag. His big mistake had been to fall in love with the wrong person—and who hasn’t made that one?

  Anyway, it had taken J.X. a while to convince the sheriffs he was not trying to pull an elaborate Halloween prank, but as I’ve learned over the past year, he can be very persuasive when he chooses.

  By the time I had finished receiving medical attention and giving my statement to law enforcement, it was long after midnight. Felicity and Ray were behind bars, and all the good little ghosts and goblins had retired for the night. J.X. had booked a room at the first hotel he could find with a vacancy—and room service—and we had promptly crashed.

  “I’m disturbed to learn you too have a duplicitous streak,” I commented, polishing off the last of my muffin.

  “Me?” J.X. sounded amazed.

  “Pretending you had left town when in fact you were heading to Nina’s to spend the evening bobbing for apples and playing snap-dragon with Gage and the other little monsters.”

  “I’m not sure what snap-dragon is, but I didn’t plan on spending the evening with only Gage,” J.X. pointed out.

  “True.” I poured myself more coffee.

  “The thing is, I had news regarding Jerry, and I wanted to tell you myself.”

  “What news?” I braced myself, ready to hear that Jerry had once more outfoxed the system. “Bad news?”

&
nbsp; “No.”

  No? Then why did he look like that? So…guarded.

  “Clearly not good.”

  “Mixed.”

  Just tell me.”

  “Jerry’s bail has been revoked. He’s back in jail.”

  “That’s great! What happened?”

  “A couple of things. He was identified as the man who rented an Intrepid van matching the description of the one Emmaline saw.”

  “That’s terrific.” Why did he think this was mixed news? It was fantastic news.

  “And Happy Harold contacted me to let me know that Jerry has been working as a clown. He performs at kiddie birthday parties and visits sick children in the hospital.”

  Jerry wasn’t completely evil? That did not give me the pleasure it should have.

  “But he’s back in jail now?” I asked.

  J.X. nodded. He still looked grim around the edges.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  He hesitated.

  “Obviously there is a problem.” I put down my coffee cup.

  “Jerry was parked on our street when he was picked up.”

  “He was…” Even knowing the likelihood of the police keeping an eye on our place, he had come back. Frankly, that was unnerving.

  “It gets worse.”

  I said faintly, “Does it?”

  “When the van was searched, they found duct tape, rope, plastic cable ties, and…a couple of other items.”

  I made myself ask. “What other items?”

  J.X. said without expression, “A Taser.”

  “A…Taser.” I swallowed the unpleasant taste in my mouth. “He was planning to abduct me? Kill me?”

  J.X. said with obvious reluctance, “We don’t know for sure. It’s possible.”

  “It seems more than possible! It’s straight out of the Misery playbook!”

  J.X. covered my hand on the bedspread. “Don’t freak out about this, Kit. Jerry is not getting out on bail again, and when he comes up for trial, he’s going to be convicted.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “You’ve got to trust the system to do its job.”

  Right. The same system that let Jerry out on bail so he could stalk me dressed as a creepy clown and put in motion his plan to abduct and maybe kill me?