by Amy Vansant
He has no idea who he’s messing with.
She passed Jason’s car and glanced inside. No one hiding in the back. If he’d brought backup they were inside with him.
Stephanie pushed open the door and walked inside. The only light filtered through rusted holes in the ceiling, shining to the floor like lasers, dust swirling in their centers.
She squinted, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light.
“Hello?”
As her vision improved, she spotted several large rolls of carpet piled in the far corner of the room. Beside them sat a man in a chair.
“Jason?”
Something was wrong with his position. He looked awkward. Slumpy.
Why is he just sitting there?
Something moved in the murky darkness behind the man in the chair. A hand appeared, almost ghostly, glowing as it entered a thin beam of light to Jason’s left.
The hand wasn’t empty.
Stephanie saw the flash of a gun. Bolting to the right, she scrambled to find the weapon in her bag, pulling it as a shot echoed through the tin can of a building. She lunged sideways and fired into the dark corner, landing hard on her shoulder.
Her head hit something hard and the world went black.
~~~
Stephanie reached up, her fingers touching something rough and crunchy. She opened her eyes.
Carpet.
Her fingers recoiled from the rug. She coughed and sat up, hand rising to touch the tender spot on the side of her head. She looked at her fingers and found them red with blood.
Ow.
She remembered rolling behind the stacks of carpet. Dove there.
Why did I dive—?
There was a gunshot.
Looking to her left she spotted her gun lying in the ground.
I’m alive. That’s a step in the right direction.
She peeked from behind her hiding place, careful not to touch the dusty carpet again.
A man sitting in a chair.
She remembered it now.
Jason.
She’d had trouble seeing him before. She remembered being unsure it was him. Now a beam of light that hadn’t been there before illuminated his features.
Where did that come from?
She glanced up at the source. A new hole in the roof.
Bullet-sized.
“Jason?”
No answer.
Stephanie pulled herself to her feet and retrieved her weapon.
Had she imagined the other person? Was it Jason who’d shot at her?
Holding her gun in front of her, she moved towards him.
“Don’t do this,” she warned, creeping towards him. “I don’t know if you think you’re being funny or threatening, but I can’t tell you how close you are to being dead.”
Something about Jason’s expression had bothered her since the moment she peeked from behind the rolled carpet. As she grew closer, she realized what it was.
Jason’s eyes were wide open.
Unblinking.
“Jason?”
She pointed the gun to the ceiling and reached out to feel his neck for a pulse.
His skin felt cold to the touch.
Someone called her name behind her and she whirled, ready to fire.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The four gingerbreads, sans costumes, walked to Frank’s holding cell without complaint. He made the necessary calls to have them transferred for processing while Charlotte waited anxiously for him to finish his official business.
“What do you think is going to happen to them?” she asked when he returned to his office, looking grim.
“It’s a tough call. There are some extenuating circumstances. The other three might get away with almost no time. The one who put the elf in the man’s mouth could get as little as a year for manslaughter. It depends if his lawyer can get some sympathy.”
“It doesn’t sound like it will be hard to convince people Kris had it coming.”
Frank sighed. “Murder’s still murder.”
Charlotte’s phone buzzed and she glanced at it, expecting it to be Declan.
Stephanie.
Charlotte groaned.
Please don’t tell me she’s decided I didn’t do enough.
Gathering evidence on Jason had felt too easy.
She read the text.
Come quick. Empty carpet warehouse. NOW.
She scowled. “That’s weird.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a text from Stephanie.”
“You guys really are buddies now. Having a sleepover tonight?”
“Very funny.”
“I liked it when you had friends sleepover as a kid, because Bob would always ask me to go bowling with him to get the hell out of the house.”
Charlotte chuckled at the memory. “Mariska always insisted she chaperone my sleepovers, when I had a whole house to myself across the street. It didn’t seem fair.”
Frank nodded. “Didn’t seem fair to Bob either.”
Charlotte returned her attention to her phone. “She wants me to come to the empty rug warehouse.”
“That big rusty metal building?”
Charlotte nodded. “Says it’s urgent.”
“No idea what it’s about?”
“None.”
“Well, I think we’ve got Kris’s murder all wrapped up and the cookies in the oven. There’s nothing left for you to do here if you want to go.”
Charlotte sighed. “I don’t know that I want to go.”
Frank shrugged. “Maybe she needs your help. You were just helping her with something, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Charlotte typed see you there into her phone. “Fine. I’ll go. Like you said, maybe she needs my help again. At least it would be a paycheck. I guess you know where I’m going if something happens.”
“What does that mean?”
Charlotte frowned, unsure she wanted to underline for Frank just how dangerous Stephanie could be. “Nothing. I’ll see you later.”
Frank held out a hand. “Case is over. I need that badge back.”
“Gotta go, bye!”
Charlotte scooted out the door before he could ask for the badge a second time.
That was close.
She headed outside and started the air conditioning in the Volvo before calling Declan.
“You don’t know anything going on with Stephanie right now, do you?” she asked.
“You mean in general? Do you have a few hours?”
“No. I mean right now. She just texted me and asked me to come to the abandoned rug warehouse.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I thought I’d check with you.”
Declan clucked his tongue. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Me neither. So I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have you know where I’m going, just in case.”
“Maybe I should come too.”
“Nah. Just be sure they check her bathtub for my blood after she chops me into bits and feeds me to the alligators. Have the cops use Luminal. I’ll try and bleed a lot so you can catch her. Place will light up like a Christmas tree—”
“That’s not even funny.”
Charlotte laughed. “Sorry. I’m kidding. She isn’t going to kill me. I’m pretty sure if she planned to she would have done it by now.”
Declan grunted. “Give me a call as soon as you know what’s going on.”
“I will.”
“And Charlotte...don’t trust her.”
“Duh.”
“I mean it. Don’t put anything past her.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Charlotte disconnected and tossed her phone on the passenger seat to drive to the abandoned warehouse.
Two cars and several metric gallons of weeds and crumbling blacktop graced the large parking lot of the carpet warehouse. Stephanie’s candy apple-red viper she recognized. The other car looked like the blue Audi she’d followed earlier. Jason Walsh’s.
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She’s not going to let him confront me, is she? Pretend she didn’t know anything about me following him and interviewing his bribery victim?
Charlotte shook her head. It didn’t make sense. Even if Stephanie was going to play dumb and let her private eye take the heat, why would she hold the meeting in an abandoned warehouse?
Charlotte closed the door and let her gaze sweep across the neglected landscape. A lizard scooting across the pavement as she neared the front door proved the only sign of life.
The only set of windows on the front of the building had been boarded over.
The door hung on crooked hinges.
Ajar.
It looked as though the chain that had once held it shut had been snipped by bolt cutters.
She’s really going to the ends of the earth to pick a weird meeting spot.
Charlotte pushed open the door with her fingertips and stepped inside.
The light played tricks on her eyes, the room dim but for beams of light shooting through the roof to the ground. One of the beams stabbed at the back of a woman, who looked like Stephanie from behind. Her back was bent, as if she was crouched over something in the corner.
“Stephanie?”
The woman whirled, a gun in her hand.
Charlotte’s hands shot into the air, lowering slightly once she confirmed the woman was Stephanie. “Whoa, it’s me.”
Stephanie’s eyes squinted. “What are you doing here?”
“You texted me.”
“I what?”
“I just got a message from you, telling me to come here.” She looked past Stephanie to what looked like a man sitting in a chair. Something about him seemed off.
“Is that Jason?”
Stephanie stepped in front of the man as if to block her view and remained still, staring at Charlotte, the gun pointed in her direction.
Charlotte huffed. “Could you put down the gun now?”
Stephanie lowered the weapon to her side. Her shoulders slumped. The air of confidence that seemed to follow Declan’s ex like a halo had dissipated. The blonde bent down to grab a purse next to her and rifled through it.
“My phone’s gone.”
Charlotte lowered her hands.
“You didn’t text me?”
“No.”
Charlotte took a step forward. “Is that Jason Walsh?”
Stephanie nodded. “He asked me to come here.”
“Is he okay? He seems kind of...still.”
Stephanie took a step to the side and motioned to him with the gun. “He’s dead.”
Charlotte felt her nerves vibrate, scared to ask the question filling the space between them like a living thing.
“Should I ask?” was the best she could muster, her toe dragging toward the door behind her in case she needed to bolt.
Stephanie shook her head. “I didn’t kill him. I told you—he asked me to come here.”
“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“He was like this when I got here.”
“Did he text you?”
“Yes.” Stephanie squinted one eye at her. “Why?”
“You texted me, remember?”
“But I didn’t.”
“Exactly.”
Stephanie nodded slowly, as if in thought. To Charlotte she seemed a step slower than usual.
Stephanie shrugged. “Right. Anyway, I walked inside and he was sitting in this chair. There was a gun and then—” She shook her head. “I can’t remember. I returned fire and dove. Hit my head.”
“You fired?”
“Yes. He...someone fired at me.”
“He shot? I thought you said he was dead when you got here.”
Stephanie grimaced and gingerly touched her head as if she was in pain. “I said he was like this. I think he was dead.”
“But you shot at him?”
“I wasn’t aiming at him.”
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t hit him.”
Stephanie snorted a laugh. “Yes it does.”
“Are you sure he’s dead now? We need to call an ambulance.”
Again, Stephanie touched her free hand to the side of her head. Even in the dim light, Charlotte could see the blood on her fingertips.
“You’re hurt. Are you shot?”
“I told you. I hit my head on the floor.”
Stephanie stepped forward, as if trying to catch her balance. She raised the gun again, her hand shaking. “I’m going. Back off.”
“You’re not going anywhere. You’re hurt and you may have just killed a man.”
“I didn’t. I’m good. I can be good.” She trailed off into a mumble.
Charlotte scowled. “What does that mean?”
Stephanie’s expression hardened. She trained the wavering gun on Charlotte.
Charlotte heard the gun click.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Charlotte jumped back, hands shooting into the air once more. “Did you just try to shoot me?”
Stephanie glanced at the gun. “No. I don’t think so.” She walked toward Charlotte, gun still raised.
Stephanie’s gun clicked a second time.
Charlotte covered her face with her forearms, as if she were Wonder Woman, capable of deflecting bullets with magic bracelets. “Are you insane?”
Stephanie opened her gun and, seemingly disgusted, threw her weapon behind her. It clattered across the cement floor.
Stephanie kicked off her heels and marched towards Charlotte. The action stunned Charlotte into inaction. She’d never seen Stephanie remove her heels before. She thought the woman slept in them.
That has to be a bad sign.
It was now or never.
Now.
Charlotte bolted forward. She had a muddled plan to tackle Stephanie and subdue her. She wasn’t sure what she’d do after that, but it was better than standing like a dope while her arch-nemesis shot an empty gun at her.
Stephanie’s body twisted and her foot appeared where her hands had been a moment earlier, arcing through the air. Before Charlotte could put together what happened, she felt the side of Stephanie’s bare foot glance her shoulder as she dodged to keep it from catching her in the jaw.
What was that?
Again Charlotte tried to grab the blonde, only to find herself blocking punches with sweeps of her arms. As quickly as it had all begun, Stephanie disengaged and bolted for the door. Charlotte lunged to grab the back of her jacket, hooking it with a finger. The fabric ripped as Stephanie’s momentum jerked her forward. Charlotte used the resulting forward stumble to launch into a tackle, clipping the back of Stephanie’s heels and felling her.
Charlotte crawled up Stephanie’s body, scaling her like a mountain climber. Stephanie flipped, roaring, and the women rolled across the cement, wrestling for control. With each revolution, Charlotte felt the skin scraping from her elbows and knees. The more they fought, the more lucid Stephanie seemed to become. Her previous dazed, almost childlike expression had contorted into the furious snarl of a caged animal. Charlotte tried not to worry, but she could tell her size and Stephanie’s head injury were the only advantages she possessed against the trained soldier. If Stephanie managed to clear her head and fight with the true skills she obviously possessed…
“Why are you so big?” Stephanie spat as they exchanged glancing blows.
“Why are you so awful?” Charlotte grunted back at her.
Charlotte thought she had her foe pinned, when Stephanie contorted her back at what seemed like an unnatural angle and wrapped her legs around Charlotte’s waist. Stephanie twisted, leverage seeming to come from nowhere, wrenching Charlotte off of her.
Is she made out of rubber?
The back of Charlotte’s head hit the floor and the world popped with light, as if someone had set off a flashbulb.
No wonder Stephanie seemed dazed. This hurts.
Stephanie’s fist connected with her eye. The blonde tornado had mounted her middle with the apparent intenti
on of pummeling her face into a pulp.
Reeling, Charlotte made a rigid line with her right hand and poked out. She felt her fingers sink into Stephanie’s gut and heard a breathy groan. Another fist crashed into her cheekbone. Charlotte pulled her feet towards her, preparing to pelvic-thrust Stephanie off of her like a bucking bronco when a voice echoed through the warehouse.
“Stop!”
Charlotte heard footsteps approaching but couldn’t see who it was, thanks to both her angle on the floor and the fact her left eye was busy swelling shut.
“Get off of her.”
“You’re not going to shoot me,” said Stephanie, still sounding winded from the fight.
“Don’t make me.”
Declan.
Charlotte recognized the voice now.
Why had it taken so long to recognize him?
She suspected the clunk on her head had muddled her more than she knew.
She half-rolled and half-crawled out from under Stephanie’s straddled legs with no resistance. Skull throbbing, she remained on her hands and knees, head hanging down as she waited for the little hunchback in her brain to stop bouncing up and down on her bells.
“Are you okay?” asked Declan. It sounded as if he was underwater.
“Yes. No. I’m not sure. Probably.”
Through her good eye she saw Declan’s feet appear and felt his hand on her arm as he helped her to her feet. He still trained his gun on Stephanie.
Declan steadied her. “Call Frank if you can.”
Charlotte felt for her phone and came up empty. Declan handed her his, and she called Frank as instructed, happy to have someone else do the thinking for a moment. Fumbling with the buttons, it took three tries to get the numbers right. Her hands shook with adrenaline.
Finally, she heard Frank’s voice.
“Frank here.”
Her brain wasn’t sure what to say but her mouth seemed to have no problem. “Come to the warehouse. Now. Bring a gun.”
She heard him hit his car sirens and she hung up.
Stephanie remained sitting on the floor, staring up at them. Her lovely cream suit jacket and skirt were covered in dirt and jagged tears. Even in that state of disarray, Charlotte could tell it cost more than anything she owned.
She glanced at Declan’s gun, and it reminded her of Stephanie’s clicking weapon.
She grunted.
