The Deadly Art of Love and Murder

by Linda Crowder

  I did my best to keep my voice calmer than I was. “You shouldn’t be here, Anne.” I grabbed a chair and pulled myself up slowly, fighting back the urge to throw up. “You need to leave.”

  “No one is driving me out of my house.” She lowered the volume of her voice and while the effect was menacing, the throbbing in my head appreciated the quiet.

  “Your father sold this house to Mrs. Nash years ago. I looked up the title. It belongs to her granddaughter now.”

  “This house belongs to my family. It always has and it always will.”

  I straightened and was happy to find the world remained roughly where I expected it to be. I held onto the back of the chair just in case. “Cut the crap, Anne. You were going to sell it.”

  She didn’t answer and I saw a flicker of something like uncertainty in her eyes. I wanted to bolt but she had positioned herself between me and the door. I picked up a chair, ready to use it as a weapon if needed, and went back into the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me. I crossed to the window, but it had been nailed shut. Dad and I had done that because Mrs. Nash had been paranoid about bears. I’d tried to tell her a bear wasn’t going to open a window to get in, but she’d pestered me until I gave up and nailed all the windows except the one in her bedroom shut.

  Anne was pounding on the door and I didn’t want to be standing there with nothing but a chair to defend myself with if she managed to get in. My head ached and I would have given anything to be able to lay down on the bed until the room stopped spinning. The pounding got worse. Anne must have found something to use as a battering ram. Panicked, I dragged the chair into the closet and climbed up, shoving the access panel out of the way. Light from the bad roof filtered into the attic and for the first time, I was happy the Tilamus hadn’t let me repair it. I looked around at the empty space, hoping all the spiders had died with the cold weather, wondering if I could punch a hole through the roof and get out that way before Anne realized I was gone.

  A pile of cloth caught my eye and I reached for it, but it was just out of my grasp. I adjusted myself on the chair, lifting up on my toes, putting one foot on the back of the chair to give me a few extra inches. As my fingers connected with the cloth, my feet lost contact with the chair. Before I could catch myself, I fell, hitting the solid frame around the access panel.

  I WOKE TO PITCH DARK. I hadn’t thought I’d been out long enough for morning to become night, but there wasn’t a hint of light around me. I was laying on my side, my face flat on what felt like a wooden floor. The closet. I remembered climbing on the chair and feeling it slip from under me. I started to sit up but a blinding pain in my shoulder stopped me. I’d broken my collar bone during a football game once and I was pretty sure I’d broken it again. Add that to the increasingly large lump on my head and I was wishing I’d gone to help Mel instead of heading for the Tilamu house. The sound of voices cut through my self-pity.

  “What are you doing here? I told you I’d take care of this.” It was Anne. She was in the bedroom, but who was she talking to? I couldn’t hear the reply, but whatever the person said, it must have made her angry. “I had to! That coat has my blood on it and that freak woman was in the closet when I got here. Ten more seconds and she would have found it.”

  Alex’s coat! Of course, that’s what the cloth must have been. Alex said he dropped the coat and ran after finding Mrs. Nash’s body but why would Anne’s blood be on it and how had it gotten into the attic? I could hear a voice answering her, but again, I couldn’t make out what was said. Had Alex broken out of jail? Had he hurt Dan doing it? I had to get to him. I pulled my injured arm against my side and rolled over, leveraging myself up with my good arm. I sat for a moment, eyes closed since I couldn’t see anyway, breathing deeply until the pain ebbed. I heard them talking, though both voices were too quiet to distinguish who was saying what.

  I was desperately afraid they’d stop arguing long enough to remember I was here and I was relieved when I heard a door slam. Before I could move, I heard footsteps and another noise, something like water splashing out of a bucket. The smell of gasoline hit me and I scrambled to my feet, as quickly as I could with only one good arm. Playing possum in a pitch dark closet wasn’t going to be a good strategy if they set the house on fire with me in it. If I had to fight my way out, I couldn’t have worse odds than if I stayed put. I put my hand on the doorknob and turned.

  It was locked. Who puts a lock on a closet door? I went through a litany of things I planned to say to Alex Tilamu when I saw him again, but first I had to get out of that closet. I could smell smoke now, making my heart race. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t stick around once the fire was set and even if they did, I’d rather take my chances with a crazy old woman and her mystery man than die locked in a closet.

  I thought about the day Coach had taught me how to tackle, and threw my good shoulder against the closet door. If you’ve never slammed into a locked door with a broken collar bone, no matter which shoulder you’re using, I don’t recommend it. The pain took my breath away and I would have cried if I weren’t so desperate to get out. I pushed my back against the wall and pulled my leg up to my chin, kicking out at the door as hard as I could. My foot broke through the panel and my body slammed against the door again, but the lock held. I started to pull my leg back but shards of wood grabbed my thigh, trapping me. It seemed like a good time to panic and that’s exactly what I did, pounding on the door and screaming for help.

  I heard my father’s voice somewhere outside the house. It was so distant I wasn’t sure if my mind was playing tricks on me but I didn’t care. If his voice was a hallucination, I was going with it. “Daddy! Daddy, help me!” I shouted, but no one answered. The smoke was thick, flowing into the closet from the jagged opening around my leg. I pulled my shirt up over my nose and mouth and struggled with the broken panel, pounding the area around my thigh, trying to widen the opening enough so I could free my leg. I cried out in frustration, unable to budge it.

  “She’s here!” a voice boomed on the other side of the closet door.

  He sounded like an angel and I wondered again if I were imagining it, but again, I didn’t care. “Frank? Frank, my leg’s stuck in the door and I can’t get it out. The door’s locked. I tried to kick it open.”

  “Hang on.” I felt his fingers slip into the hole around my thigh. He broke enough of the shards for me to retrieve my leg. I was still stuck in a smoke-filled closet but at least I wasn’t going to die with my leg dangling through a closet door. I don’t know why that thought comforted me, but I’m ashamed to say it did. “Move out of the way, Cara.”

  I tripped over the chair in the darkness, falling backwards at least what I imagined was far enough from the door to avoid Frank when he crashed through. I reached out with my good arm and he pulled me up. I tried to thank him, but the noise of the fire was deafening. He half-carried, half-dragged me to the window which someone had managed to smash and I almost fell out of it into my father’s arms. Smoke billowed through the opening as Frank climbed out and the two of them carried me away from the house.

  Townsfolk were watching members of the volunteer fire department pump water from a thousand gallon tank mounted on the back of a flatbed truck. I stood between my father and Frank, both still having to hold me up in order to keep me from falling, and stared open-mouthed at the house. Judging by the flames shooting through the roof, I suspected Olivia wouldn’t have to decide whether tear the house down or try to restore it. I watched in stunned silence, shivering until Frank put his coat over my shoulders. I looked up at him, blinking back tears. “You saved my life.”

  He winced, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Anybody would’ve done the same.”

  “You went into a burning building to save me.”

  “How did you know Cara was in there?” Dad asked. “I heard the bell, but by the time I got here, you were already in the house.”

  “I was standing in my apartment, looking out at the bay and saw Cara hea
d over here. When that nutball woman took off after her, I thought I’d better get dressed and see what was going on.”

  “Are you talking about Anne Buchanan?” asked my mother, who’d joined us and was trying to find a way to hug me without it hurting.

  “Anne hit me over the head with a vase, then she locked me in the closet and set fire to the house.”

  “She did what?” My mother looked as stunned as I’d felt.

  Frank nodded, relinquishing his place beside me. “That’s where she was when I found her.”

  “Oh, my stars.” Mom was crying as she kissed my cheek, then her voice hardened. “I am going to kill that woman.”

  “Now, Marcie. Let the law deal with her.” Dad shook as the surge of adrenalin began to wear off. “I didn’t know you were in there, Kit, until Frank handed you to me out the window.” He kissed the top of my head. I winced, but I didn’t mind. At least pain meant I was still alive. “I’ve never been so scared in all my life.”

  I leaned my head gently against his chin. “Me too, Daddy.”

  “You look positively frightful.” Mom was poking at the rips in my jeans, which were soaked with blood from where the door had dug into my skin.

  “Ouch, Mom. Cut that out.”

  Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.” She put her hand on the back of my head and showed me the blood on her fingers. “We’ve got to get you to a doctor. Robert?”

  “Heads bleed, Mom. Coupla stitches and I’ll be fine.” I looked at Frank. “Where’s Anne?”

  “I hope she burned to death in her own fire.”

  “Marcie, please.”

  “She tried to kill our daughter.”

  “I’m well aware of that, but you’re not helping.”

  My parents continued to argue, but I wasn’t listening. Something was nagging at me. I felt like there was something I needed to tell them, but I couldn’t remember what it was. Frank’s sooty forehead creased with worry. I reached out to him, straining with the effort to lift my arm. Then it came to me. “Alex.” My voice sounded raspy from the effects of the smoke.

  “What is it, Cara?”

  I swallowed to moisten my throat and tried again. “She was with Alex. She said her blood was on his coat.”

  “Alex is in jail, Cara.” Frank put his hands on my shoulders, pulling away when I yelped.

  “No, he was here with her. I heard them talking.”

  “Alex couldn’t have been here, Kit,” said Dad. “Dan wouldn’t be here if Alex had broken out of jail.” He gestured to where the volunteer firemen were emptying the last of the contents of the tank onto the fire and I saw Dan among them.

  I felt a weight go off my chest. “Then who was she talking to?”

  GABBY LIGHTHORSE FINISHED taping my arm and I sat back in my chair, glad she was done. I hoped for Mel’s sake she was gentler with new moms than she was with old quarterbacks. I thanked her anyway, but she shook her head. “That’s not going to heal right without a doctor.”

  “Don’t start, Gabby.” Clem Solokov had pushed his way through the crowd that had drifted from the fire to Mel’s once the water in the tank ran out. Gabby had pronounced my collar bone broken and told my mother not to let me sleep in case I had a concussion, but otherwise I was peachy.

  “Don’t you tell me what to think, Clem,” said Gabby, wagging her finger at him. “I’m tired of patchin’ people up around here. You better be talkin’ to that lady doctor and I mean today, mister!” She pushed the mayor aside and flounced out, if a sixty-three year old, two hundred and thirty pound woman can be said to flounce. Donny, who’d been dispatched to fetch her, shrugged and hurried out after his grandmother.

  “Robert, you’re going to have to take Caribou to Juneau as soon as she’s strong enough to go.”

  “Mom by then my bone will have already set. I’m not letting them re-break it just so it’ll heal prettier.”

  “Marcie, leave her alone. She’s a grown woman.”

  Mel and I stared at Dad. Neither of us had ever heard him snap at her before. It was refreshing and a bit scary, all at the same time. My mother opened her mouth, then closed it again, then she turned on Solokov. “This wouldn’t be happening if you’d have listened to me.”

  “I tried, Marcie.”

  “You obviously didn’t try hard enough.” They went around the dining area, Clem falling back and my mother advancing, in some kind of bizarre political dance.

  “You think she’ll win?” Mel whispered to me.

  “It wasn’t Clem’s fault Olivia backed out. What do you suppose is taking Dan so long? How hard can it be to track Anne down?”

  “I’m sure he’s doing his best, Cara.”

  “I’ll feel a whole lot better when she’s in that cell with Alex. Not to mention whoever it is she was talking to. I still want to know how her blood got on Alex’s coat and how his coat ended up in the attic.”

  Dan walked in as I said that, his clothes stained with smoke and ash, his face blackened from fighting the fire. Mel got up and went to get him a cup of coffee. He dropped into the chair across from me. “Fire’s out.”

  “I thought you went after Anne.”

  “What? Why?” Mel put his coffee on the table in front of him. “What’s she done now?”

  “She only tried to kill my sister.”

  There was a rumble behind us and Frank came in. He had a tight hold on a very angry Anne Buchanan. “Take your hands off me!” She saw Dan. “Officer, I want this man arrested.”

  Dan sighed and got up. “What’s the problem?” He pulled out a chair for Anne, who tugged her arm free from Frank and sat like a queen on a throne.

  “This man,” she pointed at Frank, “kidnapped me at the marina and dragged me in here.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “How should I know what goes on in the mind of a criminal?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Anne,” I said. “I think you’d have a pretty good idea.”

  Her body had stiffened at the sound of my voice and she twisted in her chair to look at me. The color drained from her face. “You were trespassing. I have a right to defend my own property.”

  “By locking me in a closet and setting the house on fire?”

  Her face twitched. “I didn’t set any fire. The house is a tinderbox. You told me yourself the whole place needed re-wiring. I’m sure that’s what caused the fire.”

  “Along with a can of gasoline.”

  Her mouth started working before her answer came. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s a lie!”

  “I’ll show her what we do with murderers around here!” My mom threw herself at Anne, who shrieked and tried to get away from her. Frank shoved Anne back in her chair while my father grabbed onto my mother’s waist, slowing her progress.

  “Simmer down, both of you!” shouted Dan. Mom glared at him and came to stand beside me, my father trailing after her. Dan threw his hands up, addressing the crowd in the dining area. “Haven’t you people got something better to do?”

  “Not really,” came a familiar voice.

  Dan rubbed his forehead. “For God’s sake, Earl, go home.”

  “Anne, who were you talking to at the house today?” I asked, drawing a scowl from Dan.

  “Are you insane? I was talking to you, of course.”

  “After you locked me in the closet.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Right after you slammed a vase over my head and kicked a chair out from under me.”

  “You had no right poking your nose into my attic.”

  “It isn’t your house, you lunatic.”

  “Mom, I’ve got this.”

  “No,” said Dan staring pointedly first at Mom, then at me. “I’ve got this. Anne, what were you doing at the house?”

  “What was I doing there? What was she doing there?” She pointed at me.

  “You’re not making it easier for yourself by refusing to
answer my questions.”

  “Wait a minute, Dan.” Mayor Solokov stepped out of the crowd, being careful to keep a table between himself and my mother. “Shouldn’t you read her rights to her before you ask questions?”

  “I haven’t arrested her, Clem.”

  “You should arrest her,” I said. “She tried to kill me.”

  “I did not!”

  “Who were you were talking to before you started the fire?”

  “Cara, I can handle this.”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I want my lawyer.” She clamped her mouth shut and crossed her arms in front of her.

  “Are you happy now, Clemson?” asked my mother. “You and your stupid Miranda warning.”

  “You want any charges to stick, don’t you, Marcie?” countered the mayor. “Take her up to Juneau with Alex, Dan. Let the state sort it out.”

  “I can’t take her to Lemon Creek for a misdemeanor battery charge.”

  “Misdemeanor? She hits me with a vase and sets fire to the house with me locked in a closet and you call that a misdemeanor?”

  “I never set any fire!”

  “I can’t charge her with the fire, Cara. I don’t have any proof.”

  “But I heard her, Dan. She was talking to somebody, telling whoever it was she had to act before I found Alex’s coat because her blood was on it and the next thing I know, she’s pouring gasoline all over the place. If it weren’t for Frank, I wouldn’t have gotten out alive.”

  “I don’t care what you say,” said Anne, but a little of the fervor had gone out of her. “I didn’t start that fire.”

  “Then who did?” asked Dan. She dropped her eyes to the floor and didn’t answer. “Come on, Anne. You’re going to prison for arson and attempted murder. Is he worth it?”

  I pulled a chair over and sat down in front of the older woman. “Anne, you’re only hurting yourself. With what I heard, knowing your brother was in jail at the time, they’ll drop the charges against Alex.” She looked up at me, but still didn’t speak. “Whoever you were talking to is probably laughing behind your back right now. You’ll be in prison and both of them will be running around free.”