by CeeCee James
It was clear.
There were aisles in front of me, set up like a book store. If I could get in there, I wouldn’t be as trapped. Right now, hiding behind this counter, I was like a bug caught under a cup.
Could the woman stalking me see in this dim light? I was having a hard time, so my guess was that she did as well. My muscles tensed, readying me to spring forward.
“I couldn’t find the receipt, so I destroyed the computers.” A man’s voice. It came from the back room.
I jerked down at the sound.
“Shh,” cautioned the woman. The stillness that followed pressed heavily on me as if it were a physical thing. The shallow gasps I was taking weren’t sufficient. I gasped faster, feeling like I couldn’t breathe.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Seems like we might have a mouse,” she said. There was a sharp, metallic click. I recognized the voice.
Celeste.
I recognized the click as well. Someone had pulled the hammer back on a pistol.
My heart thudded harder than it ever had before. If I didn’t get out from behind here, I would be boxed in. I searched in the gloom for something, anything, that might help.
“What do you want me to do?” asked the man, moving closer.
Under the counter was a shelf of bottles. At his voice, I grabbed one and threw it hard down the counter in the opposite direction from myself. Then I ran.
My target was the door in the back of the room. I raced for it, praying I’d get past the man. He was standing to the left and I felt the wind of his hands grabbing for me as I flew past him.
“Get out of the way!” Celeste screamed.
The gun went off. I nearly collapsed at the sound, sure that I’d been hit. My legs never stopped, propelling me forward and through the door.
I had two seconds on the other side to decide which direction I was going to go. There was no brightly lit exit sign like I had hoped. Instead, it was set up like a mini warehouse, complete with rows of metal shelving. And nearly pitch black, the only light coming from a single bulb in the office where the radio was. I darted to the left and raced down a few rows, looking for a place to hide. I just needed time to call 911.
Time was running away.
I ducked behind a box to listen. Did I hear the door open just now? I covered my mouth and nose, trying to stop my gasping. My lungs heaved for air.
I heard a sound to my right and spun to look. Celeste’s silhouette darted behind a shelf. How did she get over there?
It was then that I realized she must have removed her shoes. The thought of her tip-toeing on bare feet, unheard, brought a cold sweat. I couldn’t risk being heard either and carefully slipped off mine.
The laminate floor was cold under my feet. Ice cold. It seeped through my socks and into the pads of my heels and toes, where it met epinephrine-fueled blood.
I didn’t dare search my purse for my phone. I couldn’t risk making a sound. I peered through the shelving, searching for her. It was too dark to see much of anything.
Quietly, I moved to the end of the aisle. I peeked around. There it was! Finally! The exit sign.
A shadowy figure passed under it. I ducked. Were they both in here with me? I doubted it. I couldn’t hear anything, and I didn’t think the man would be so silent.
Which hardly helped me in the situation with a gun.
The aisles were set up as straight chutes toward the back of the building. Once I chose an aisle to run for the exit, there was nothing for it but to race to the end. And I couldn’t outrun a bullet.
What had happened to that poor woman? Was the man out there with her? Would he hurt her?
I forced myself to forget about her. My escaping was her only chance, and mine as well. I needed to focus. Gritting my teeth, I struggled to fight back the fear.
Where was Celeste, now? My thighs trembled from my crouched position. I could barely stand the pain. I moved to ease my weight when my shoulder brushed what must have been a trash can. The plastic bin scraped several inches across the cement floor.
Did she hear that over the music?
I had to do it now. Had to make the phone call whether she could hear me or not. There was no more time. Slowly, I eased my phone out of my purse. My heart pounded so hard I could hear rushing in my ears. Adrenaline had kicked in again and now was on overdrive. I typed in my password, flinching as my shaking fingers hit the wrong numbers.
I tried again and my phone locked once more. Frustration filled me. This was a living anxiety dream.
Calm down. Focus. I typed one more time.
“Stella…” Celeste said, nearly in my ear. I jerked. She was on the other side of the shelf. I hadn’t heard her approach. “Let’s talk. Come out. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I hid the phone against my chest, trying to shield the light. Did she see it? She had to have. Breathing out slowly, I eased down the other end of the aisle.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
Crap! I threw the phone but not before the gun went off. BANG. I screamed and punched my hands over my ears. Uncontrollable tremors overtook my legs.
Get up, Stella. Get up, now.
I rolled to my hands and knees and started to crawl. I could hear Celeste now. She was headed in the direction I threw the phone. I rounded the corner and past several more aisles.
“Jeffry!” Celeste screamed. “Jeffry get in here and help me!”
I saw the exit sign and ran as fast as I could. As if hell hounds were at my feet. I had to get down this aisle before they saw me.
I know they heard me.
“Over here, Jeffry!” Celeste called, her voice closer now.
My socks slipped on the laminate, and I nearly fell. I grabbed the shelf, knocking bottles and boxes to the floor with a horrific clatter.
The gun went off again. I was so close. Almost there.
“Stop her, Jeffry!” she screamed.
Heavy footfalls came behind me. Feet moving faster because the shoes had purchase against the floor.
Every bit of my track knowledge came to play. Muscle memory ignited, and I had another burst of speed.
Just seconds to the door.
My hand grazed the doorknob. Relief flooded me, quickly dashed as a hand grabbed me by the back of my shirt.
“Got you,” his hoarse voice whispered in my ear.
Not so fast. I spun around and struck out with the heel of my hand, connecting with his nose. He shouted, cursing. I didn’t look to see what damage I had done. As his hand loosened on my shirt I was already turning back and twisting the knob.
Bright light blinded me. I stumbled through, already searching for which way to go.
A voice froze me in my tracks. “Get to the ground, Hollywood!”
24
Officer Carlson stood in a crouched sideways stance, gun drawn. I dropped to my knees, hands up.
The skin on my back crawled. I was dead center in front of the open doorway. What was happening? Was he going to force me to surrender while Celeste shot me from her hiding place inside?
His gaze was intense, and I realized then, that he wasn’t staring at me. He was staring right into the storehouse. He skirted around me until he was at the side of the entrance.
“Stella, move from the doorway,” he commanded quietly.
I eagerly did, half crawling, half rolling until I was out of the way.
When I looked back, Carlson had disappeared inside.
So he knew the bad guy was still inside? How had he found me? Did they trace the 911 call? I climbed to my feet, ready to run. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Did he need help?
I hesitated, wondering if I should run for a phone.
“Police! Get down!” Carlson screamed. There was a sound of boxes falling and metal clattering.
“Jeffry!” Celeste shrieked.
And then…silence.
My heart pounded. What if they came running through that door? They’re going to run smack into me! Tha
t thought ignited my feet to move. I found a dumpster and crouched behind it.
The cold air had a greasy scent of old French fries, and I shivered. The silence was nearly intolerable. What was going on in there?
A second later, gunshots split the air. I screamed. Who had shot the gun? Celeste? Carlson? My worst fears played in my mind of Officer Carlson in there, bleeding, while the two of them came out to hunt for me. Hot tears burned my eyes at my complete helplessness to do anything about it.
That’s it, I’m running for help. It took every last ounce of courage I had to get up and be once again in line of sight of the door. I stared at the opening, like a wild animal, and edged along the building wall until I was at the corner. Then I ran like my life depended on it.
Or Officer Carlson’s.
The first door I tried was locked. “Closed on Sundays,” it said in cheery letters.
“Please! No!” I cried, beating the door. I darted away to the next one, which had also closed early for the day.
I couldn’t believe this. My breath was coming in hot pumps as I ran as fast as I could. I’d tried to flag down a car, but they raced away, honking at me. Was there no one to help?
Finally, I spied the giant doughnut slowly spinning. Darcy’s Doughnuts. I raced over there and ripped the door open. It bounced back against its hinges and everyone inside stared at me, some in mid-bite.
“Please!” I gasped, out of breath. “Please! Someone call 911. There’s been a shooting at the Heritage Dispensary. The gunman is still inside!”
No one moved.
“Please! He could be dying!” I begged.
That spurred some action. A mother sitting at the table with her two young children quickly dialed. In nervous stuttering, she relayed what I said, eventually, handing the phone over to me.
“They want to talk with you,” she whispered, staring at me as though she were afraid it was me that was the wild gunman.
I took her phone. “Please. Everything she said is true. And Officer Carlson is inside. He went in after them, and a gun went off. He might have been shot.”
Most of the doughnut shops patrons were at the window, straining to see if they could spot something. The mother called her children away.
“Stay on the line please,” said the operator.
I nodded, before realizing she couldn’t see me. “I’ll try. This isn’t my phone. I’m at Darcy’s Doughnuts right now.”
“Stay on the line,” she warned.
The mother overheard and reached over to pull out a chair. I sank down, gratefully. Someone else came over with a cup of coffee. I even had a glazed doughnut passed my way.
But I couldn’t think of anything but help coming. “Are they on their way?” I begged the operator.
“They’re en-route. Stay put.”
I didn’t know how much more ‘put’ I could stay. I was antsy like I’d just finished a carafe of espresso.
“There it is!” someone called.
I listened. Tears sprung into my eyes at the sweet sound of sirens. “They’re here. I can hear them. Thank God!”
“That’s good. Stay with me,” the operator said calmly.
We watched the cars flash by. One. Two. They kept coming. Five. Six. Then an ambulance raced after them, making my heart leap into my throat. I turned away from the window, feeling queasy. Please let that cop be okay.
25
Officer Carlson gave me a little wave as I hurried over to the Heritage Dispensary. I was jumbled in among a crowd of onlookers, and the police had their hands full trying to keep us away. It’s amazing he even saw me. Of course, it’s possible that when I saw him, the relief was so strong that I screamed his name.
One second later, I was embarrassed, but not by much. I was deeply grateful the guy didn’t die running in after some bad guys that had shot at me.
He did get shot though. Two paramedics helped him up on the stretcher while he tried to shoo them away. His legs were too long for the thing and his feet hung over like boat anchors.
Once he was settled, he waved me over. “Daniels! Let her through. She’s a witness.”
His partner cleared a path for me to get past the barricades. When I finally reached the stretcher, a paramedic was trying to put a blanket around Carlson’s shoulders. He pushed it away with a scowl.
“Are you okay?” I asked, trying to see his injury. His left arm was bound and held in a sling.
“Just a flesh wound.” He shrugged nonchalantly.
“They say that in real life? I thought that was only in cheesy adventure flicks.”
“You would know, Hollywood.”
“Where are…?” I glanced around for Celeste and Jeffry.
“Those two are over there.” He jerked his head in the direction of two more ambulances. “They’ll be slowed down for a while. At least for their trial. Fired on me, so they got what they deserved.”
“Well, they fired on me too,” I said, and then cringed, realizing I sounded like I was one-upping him.
“Yeah. And you got away. That’s impressive.” His dark eyes studied me. Did I detect a sparkle of respect in them?
“Why were you there?” I asked. “Did you guys track down my phone call?”
“Track down your… girl, you really do watch a lot of movies, don’t you? No, I did this thing called deducing. It’s kind of part of my job.”
“How did you know I was going to be at the Heritage Dispensary?” I was impressed with those deduction skills of his. He was smarter than I’d given him credit for.
He rolled his eyes. “You told me. Remember. ‘Hey, I’m going to go to the dispensary and check out the jewelry stuff.’ I was on my way to see what you dug up. I heard gunshots, and then you burst out the door like you’d been blown out of a cannon. Now you know what I know.”
“Are they going to be okay?” I dipped a shoulder toward the other ambulances.
“Yeah, but you should be more worried about the owner.”
“I am! Is she okay? Where is she?” I stood on tiptoes, searching.
“She’s talking to Detective Simpson over there. She has quite a story.”
My head swiveled back to him. “What happened? What did she say?”
“That there is Mrs. Lavender.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
He held up his hand. “That’s her name. Scout’s honor. She’s the manager here at the dispensary. Jeffry came in all masked up and tied her up. Then he let Celeste in.”
“What was she looking for?”
“She was looking for a credit card transaction. Specifically for one roller ball necklace with a top like you found. They destroyed the computer in the back room, which wasn’t smart. The bank has all the transaction information. And Mrs. Lavender is prepared to testify.”
“That Celeste bought the necklace? And killed Ian Stuber with a topical oil.”
Now it was his turn to narrow his eyes. “Yeah. How did you know?”
“I didn’t know, not really. I suspected, but I wasn’t sure. But seeing her tonight obviously was the hammer to make the last piece fit in the puzzle.”
“You use a hammer when you’re putting together puzzles? Geez, that’s harsh.”
Obviously, he was hurting too much to be nice. I remembered something else. “Did you get their phones?”
“Officer Daniels has them. So you think those two were a couple?”
I shook my head. “No. Celeste wasn’t in love with Jeffry. Jasmine was.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really? And how did you come up with that?”
“You see, it started with the fact that Ian was never home. Celeste felt the need to inform me of that when I first met her. She didn’t like him much.”
“Later, I found out that Jeffry was their gardener, and everyone in the neighborhood liked him. He spent a lot of time at Jasmine’s place. They were lovers.”
“Keep it coming, Hollywood. I like this movie you’re spinning.”
I ignored him. He was pro
bably delirious from pain. “His truck showed up outside my house right after I’d asked Jasmine about the necklace. I knew he was a local because my neighbor recognized him as well. She just couldn’t remember his name. And later when I saw Marla Springfield, she said people had been talking in the restaurant about how I needed to butt my nose out of other’s businesses. We need to ask her but I’m willing to bet one of those people was Jeffry.”
“So, all that has to do with Jasmine. Why is Celeste involved?”
“Jasmine was weak. Celeste said it herself. Jasmine never stood up for herself. She didn’t want to go to New York with Ian. She wanted to stay at her house and with Jeffry. But she wouldn’t get a divorce. In fact, she told Ian that she was pregnant. Ian insisted it couldn’t possibly be his. That proved to me that she really was weak like Celeste said, resigned to stay in a marriage that she herself termed “a prison sentence,” even going so far as to pass a baby off on Ian that wasn’t his.”
“Ian knew about Jeffry. I bet he was probably planning his own revenge himself. Marla Springfield, from the diner, told me that she overheard a horrid conversation between Marvin and Ian. Marvin was explicit that he could send the gardener back in a box if he gave Ian any more trouble. From what I hear, Marvin’s got connections.”
“Yes, he does. Go on.” Officer Carlson gruffly pressed.
“So, Celeste saw herself as Jasmine’s protector. It wasn’t hard. She already hated Ian, and it probably seemed like a simple solution that, in killing him, Jasmine would be free to live in her house and be free to be with Jeffry. After all, Celeste told me herself that she always helped Jasmine with bullies.
The plan was simple. Celeste knew Ian had indigestion. She took classes on essential oils and knew how to use the right carrier oil. She had Jasmine giving him supplements and oils to help.”
“Those are made to help.”
“Right, so to make it toxic, Celeste had to get a hold of a poison. Something so vile, it would kill nearly instantly. But that it would look like a heart attack. She must have talked it over with Jeffry. That’s when he told her that he had smuggled back mushroom’s from China. Specifically, Little White’s.”
