by Vicki Batman
No-no-no. My eyes rounded like saucers as I vigorously shook my head. Not my beloved Jeep. “Nononononono—”
“—I’ll get the keys from your handbag.”
Miss A. slipped out of view, then returned, jingling my car keys. “It’s regrettable your sister Tracey was implicated in Jonson’s murder. I went to Super Saver to purchase a new hammer—isn’t it great how that store has everything—and on my way back to my car, Jonson pulled into a parking spot a row ahead of me. I sat in my car, watching, and remembering what you said and how he acted. A young woman passed, and I wondered who was that girl?
“When she stepped closer to Jonson’s car, he reached out the window and grabbed her, pulling her body against the door frame. Her face turned all red like a boiled lobster. She looked scared. What words I heard Jonson say sounded…disgusting. Your sister tried to get away, but he held her tight. Jonson said something, and she socked him with a left jab. He grabbed his head and yelled as she ran away.
“Tracey’s anguish reached me, but what could I do?” Miss A. shook her head. “Jonson went into Super Saver, presumably to clean his wound, and while inside, something possessed me to try his car's back door. Luckily for me, it was unlocked.”
Did Allan check the security tape’s additional footage and see Miss A.?
“I crouched on the floorboard—which was hard for this old gal’s knees.”
She tucked and untucked her bottom lip. “I remembered the newly purchased hammer in my hand. Jonson returned. He reached to start the car. I sat up and hit him in the head. No muss and no fuss would be wrong—blood and brain matter everywhere. I was a mess, and his car was, too.”
Miss A. looked at the imaginary red stuff supposedly coating her palms. “Guess I went a little crazy.”
No shit. Good thing she wasn’t holding a hammer right now.
“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, Hattie. Simple as that. Toodles.” The storeroom door slammed shut.
Chapter Twenty-One
Toodles? Who said toodles nowadays?
I lay on the floor for a while. How to get out of the mess raced like the Indy 500 in my brain. Damn, damn, damn. I was stuck and I had the urge to pee and I hurt beyond hurt. I rolled around and contorted my body so I could finger the fabric tying my ankles. Miss A. used tulle to tie me up, and the tulle wouldn’t budge. The little “old lady” tied a tough knot.
As I stared at the industrial light fixture hanging from the joists, I felt the cold from the concrete floor seep into my shoulders. No one would think to look for me for a long while, especially with Miss A.’s phone call to Jenny confirming we were working late, the “closed” sign on the shop door, and my car missing from the parking lot.
I needed to get out of here. I couldn’t miss my sister's wedding. My friends and family knew I would be front and center.
Maybe Allan could read my mind. He’d done so before. If I focused on him and let the brainwaves do their magic… Something could happen. Better than nothing.
I closed my eyes and transmitted, “Please come get me, Allan. Please come. I’m in the storeroom. Please. Please. Please.”
I waited for what seemed like an eternity, but probably was only a minute. Nothing. Didn’t the hunky cop rescue the damsel in distress in the movies? The one time I asked for help through his telepathic capabilities, and I got a Big Fat Nothing.
The nothing knowledge caused tears to leak out the corners of my eyes. I blinked hard and fast. I will not cry. Will not cry. Will not.
Anger flared in my soul. Where is my hero?
Cut Allan some slack, Hattie. Who in the wide world can read minds? Maybe he doesn’t do telepathy. Or perhaps enough time hasn’t passed.
Damn, damn, damn.
I was stuck on the storeroom’s floor for more time than I knew. I rolled to my side, tucked my knees to my chest, and maneuvered my tied arms along the back of my bent legs, scraping my skin with the tulle rope. I paused to shove back the pain. Over my bottom, around my ankles, until my arms were in front of me. The ringing of the phone on the desk above my head caught my ear. Hope unfurled in my chest. I turned my head toward the sound. I wished I could answer. I butt-scooted to the desk, lifted my legs, and smacked my bound feet against the side. The desk wobbled, a high heel flew off and bonked me on the forehead, but the phone didn’t budge.
Eventually, the rings ceased, and the answering machine turned on. I heard Jenny say, “Hattie, what's going on? Miss A. left an odd message, saying you’re working late. I don’t get it. I vaguely remember you said something about coming home early—right? Isn’t tonight the last tango lesson? I’m positive you wouldn’t miss the fun. He-he-he. Anyway, I tried your cell and left a message, too. Call me. Now.”
Being tied up meant making phone calls impossible. At least, Jenny figured out something strange brewed. Maybe her brainwaves could connect with Allan.
In the meantime, I thought. I needed an escape plan because staying in this shithole of an office and waiting endless hours until someone could ride to the rescue—not happening.
God, I’m exhausted. I lifted my shoulders off the floor, then flopped back. My heart raced. Maybe I had low blood sugar. Maybe weak from the blow on the beaner. All I knew, the world whirled. And then, I blanked out.
****
I woke with massive spasmodic coughing. An oddly different, sharp acrid odor permeated the room. My nose scrunched. Definitely not the lovely lavender scent I usually sprayed in the store, the one the girl at the Sommerville Soap Company said imbued an “atmosphere of relaxation and harmony.”
When the smell passed through a second time, I coughed, and concern filtered in my head. The smell continued to roll in, longer and more defined like-like a wood fire, which would be possible because the temp outside could turn a little nippy as the days drew closer to Christmastime.
And then, the most horrible thought of all creation burst through my brain. Is Wedding Wonderland on fire?
Panic seized my chest. Surely not. I’d be in big trouble. If so, where’s the fire department? Where are the sirens? Where’s Allan?
Moisture clouded my eyes. I would’ve been missed by now. Jenny, did you connect with Allan?
Bam, bam, bam. My pity-party disappeared as I stared at the office door. Someone outside hammered the shop’s front entry. Could this person be my rescue?
“Hey. Hey. Help. Help. I need help.” The louder I shouted, the more I coughed. The smoke grew thicker. My throat scratched like scrubbing brush bristles. Unable to utter a word, I choked. My gaze shifted over the storage room. Everything appeared blurry like pale gray shadows shaded the shapes. The smoke alarm blared a loud alert siren with the warning for “everyone to exit the premises.” The sound stung my ears.
“Help!”—Cough, cough. I believed no one heard me. No one knew what happened.
The shop’s door crashed open. “Sommerville Fire Department. Hattie Cooks. Hattie Cooks. Are you here?”
“You circle that way,” another someone said. “I’ll go to the back. Be careful. This place could collapse soon.”
Faintly, I cried a gravelly “Help,” which bordered on useless. At the back of the store in a room with a closed door—who would hear me? Cough, cough.
“Hurry. The fire’s spreading.”
“Ceiling is about to fall. Let’s go.”
When I recognized the sound of retreating footsteps, fright gripped my chest. My heart squeezed so hard, it hurt. Will I make it out of here alive?
“Did you check the whole store?”
That voice. That’s Allan’s voice. Allan. It sounded clear and strong. He did hear me after all. Like a germinating seed, possibility curled throughout my body. He’s here. He’s here. Come to me.
“A preliminary check.”
“My girlfriend, Hattie Cooks, works at Wonderland,” Allan said. “I have a funny feeling she’s inside the store.”
“We’ll go in again, detective, but it's gonna be tricky.”
A gr
eat cloud of smoke seeped in the gap at the bottom of the storage room door—cough, cough. I shifted my body, so my feet rested against the wood. If only I could stand up. I rolled to a nearby chair, lifted my legs, and banged them on the seat.
“Hattie Cooks. Sommerville Fire Department. Are you here?”
I sure felt pathetic. I screamed one last time. “Allan.”
Nothing.
“We can’t find her.”
Allan, I’m right here. Please, please, please, don’t leave me.
I kicked the chair again. My legs collapsed. Rolling to the door, I punched it with my feet once, twice. My energy was zapped. I could barely lift my lead-filled legs. Live? Or die? I had to try.
As I struck the door a third, then a fourth time, I sent help me to Allan. Could he read my mind?
“Hattie’s in the store. I know it,” Allan said.
I gave one last bam and dropped to my side. I wiggled my body like a caterpillar to put my mouth at the opening between the door and the threshold. “Help.”
All of a sudden, someone shoved the storeroom door. I found myself smashed between the door and the wall. The hard push against my body knocked the breath from me. Heaviness settled on my chest. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. Not even mumble.
“Nobody’s in here. I don’t know what the cop’s talking about. I don’t see anyone. We gotta get out of here before the ceiling caves.”
As I lay on my side, trapped behind the door, I determined the only choice I had—save myself. The wiggling like a caterpillar worked a while ago; however, it didn’t get me far fast.
I am out of options.
I wormed my shoulder forward and pressed my knees against the floor. Bit by bit, I somehow crept from behind the door. Then I bunched my arms and legs to my chest in a ball, rolled sideways to the doorway, and over the threshold.
Pain shot through my shoulder. God. Tears flooded my eyes. I batted them away. I had to continue.
A flickering glow from the opposite side of the store where the wedding gowns hung captured my eye. The flames licked along a dress's hem and fast-crawled to the waist in a huge swoosh.
Shit. I looked to the blue sky visible beyond the front door and back toward the dresses. That would not be me.
As the flames licked higher and the heat intensified, I slowly rolled and rolled past the side of the platform, past the blue velour banquette and the reception area. Behind me, the storeroom ceiling dropped in a horrendous crash. Flicks of ash flew around me. Cinders stung my arms and legs. I smelled burnt hair and prayed my whole head wasn’t on fire as I continued.
Rolling while bound took plenty of stamina, but if I stopped, I wouldn't survive. And this gal would cheat death with every ounce she possessed. I spooled past the desk—only twelve more feet—and finally reached the shop’s front door. Grateful the firemen busted it open, I gulped and gasped. Behind me, I heard another crash.
I edged over the threshold. The concrete sidewalk tore my blouse. My scraped shoulder felt like raw meat. Coughs consumed me.
I made it.
I closed my eyes, not thinking, not feeling, only surviving. Waterworks of relief splattered my cheeks. My bound arms fell to my chest as my gaze turned to the dark sky. I needed to move a little farther along. Inhaling, I continued to creep my way to the curb bordering the sidewalk.
Ultimately exhaustion ruled, and I could move no more. I collapsed in a fetal pose, totally spent. I barely took in the grackles winging their way to the phone lines.
While I waited, I closed my eyes. I didn’t dare open them to look for my Jeep because if Miss A. had taken my baby like she said she would, my heart would shatter in a bazillion pieces. I didn’t dare open them to watch Wedding Wonderland go up in flames, knowing I could have been stuck inside. I didn’t dare open them to see Allan’s concerned face because if I did, I would cry again and I didn’t want to hear him repeat the words, “another job,” because he was right.
I heard the shouts of the firemen as they worked to save the men's store next to Wonderland. The hum of the fire engines. The sizzle as water extinguished the flames.
Footsteps stopped by my head. “Hey. Over here.”
A stampede rushed to my side. Someone cut the tulle away. “Are you Hattie Cooks, the woman the detective asked us to look for?”
I fluttered my eyes open. I wanted to say yes, but only a sound, like from a goose with tonsillitis, burst forth. A paramedic swooped me into his arms and carried me to an ambulance. Someone slipped an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose.
“Ma’am? Ma’am?” someone else said.
I stared upwards, only seeing the outline of face shapes and eyeballs. All became…light.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Ma’am?”
I must look like an eighty-year-old because “ma’am” sounded ancient. All I could manage was a blink.
“Ma’am.”
At some point, the paramedics drove me to the hospital. When I raised my head a fraction, I discovered I wore a hospital gown with teal squiggles instead of my clothing. I lifted my left arm and winced, relieved to find the tulle binding gone. I stared at my right arm, stuck with an I.V. Machines beeped away. Gauze and tape covered the scrapes on my shoulder.
“Hello, Hattie.” A young lady with her dark hair twisted and clipped on her head and wearing blue scrubs patted my fingers. “I’m Nurse Courtney. Nice rest?”
I pulled at the oxygen tube.
She batted my hands. “Not yet.” She adjusted the tubing going into my nose. “You need oxygen. You inhaled a lot of smoke—”
“Sir. Sir. You can’t go in,” an authoritative voice coming from the hallway said.
“The hell I can’t.”
Allan? He cursed? I frowned. He’s here. I stared toward the doorway sensing relief soar through my body. Tears came to my eyes. Surviving a life-or-death situation turned me into the proverbial basket case. The door to my room squeaked when he eased it open. I wiped my fingers over my cheeks. Dollars to ducks I looked atrocious.
“Hi.” Allan moved to sit by my side and smoothed my hair from my forehead. He pressed a tissue in my hand.
I clasped it tighter than humanly possible.
“You’re okay, sweetheart.”
“Don't c-call”—cough, cough—“me sweetheart.” My answer might have been automatic, but in truth, I wanted to be his sweetheart.
Allan handed me a glass of water with a straw.
I took strong, long draws, then coughed into the tissue and balled it in my fist. I removed the oxygen tubing from my nose. “Sorry.”
I looked at Allan, then past his shoulder when a shimmery item caught my eye. A familiar brown paper sack with “Hattie” scribed on it sat at the foot of the bed. He had tied the neck of the bag with a Mylar balloon shaped like a pot of flowers. A Get Well banner swept across the pot. The man stocked an endless supply of balloons and bags. I knew for I’d found his stash on the top shelf of his closet. For once, “Get Well” actually meant something.
Unexpectedly, an unfamiliar and acrid waft pestered my nose. I poked Allan’s arm. “Leave. Now.”
“Why?” His brow creased. He squeezed my hand again. “Why? I want to help.”
“I smmeeellll,” I blurted a whiney wail.
Smiling, he snorted a tiny bit and let his hand rest against the side of my face. His thumb stroked along my jaw. “It’s okay. You're just a little pungent. You can have a bath soon.”
Pungent? I didn't like the sound of the word. Frowning, the last thing I wanted—anyone wanted—was to smell pungent.
Allan’s eyes shaped into thin slits. He ran his index finger over the top of my hand. “I heard you.”
I studied his face, swathed with concern. My love for him melted and fired like liquid gold in my heart. I could smell and look like shit, and he still cared for me.
The beginnings of love are like this.
I launched myself into his arms and held on tight. I shoved my face into his shoulder. He
wrapped his arms around me. The heat from his body penetrated and blended with mine. Oh, how he filled my entire being and scared me at the same time. Moving a little away, I sniffed and picked at his sleeve. “Y-you did?”
“Loud and clear. Like you sent a message only I could hear. Eerie.” He propped pillows behind my back and guided me to a recline. He patted the blankets. “Can you answer some questions?”
With a nod, I sipped water. “Okay.” I motioned for a tissue. When I nearly hacked up a lung, he passed the whole box.
“Sir, you have to leave.”
The Authoritative Nurse sounded mighty persistent, and she looked big, like the Abominable Snowman big. With her finger, she settled her red glasses into place, then rammed her hands on her hips.
I wouldn't mess with her.
The Great Detective, however, would always be a different story.
Allan glared at her and flashed his badge.
Doing so must have been convincing because she made a “humpf,” then backed out the door. It closed firmly behind her.
I covered my smile with my hand.
Hearing my barely suppressed laugh, he swiveled his attention back and grinned.
My heart bloomed. Everything. Every little thing about him I adored. I smiled.
Allan tossed a paper grocery bag on the bed. “The firefighters found your handbag stored in the credenza behind your fancy desk. It’s slightly singed but won’t be the same. Sorry.” He lifted out my scorched handbag—a particular favorite from my Rebecca Maine collection, one scored at a resale shop for pennies because a few faux jewels were missing.
I fingered one corner. Disappointment twisted my mouth. I wasn’t happy about my treasure, but then, it was only a handbag. Not my life. I should remember being alive was more important. The stench brought back the nightmare. My shoulders shook. Never again.
I stuck the handbag inside the paper bag and put it on the bedside table. “Th-thanks.”
Allan tilted his head. A twist of concern flitted through his eyes.
