Private Justice

by Terri Blackstock

  “Somebody tried to break in here,” Dan said. He sounded excited, out of breath. “I was down the street at the station, and I came out for some fresh air. I could have sworn I saw someone moving around the door, but when I ran down here, I guess I scared him off.”

  R.J. examined the door. The lock was scratched, as if it had been tampered with. The dead bolt inside kept the door from opening, but someone had tried to pry it open. He turned back to Dan and regarded the crowbar.

  “I found this in the back,” Dan explained. “I was looking around, and I saw it lying a few yards from the shop. He probably dropped it as he ran away.”

  R.J. was mildly suspicious, despite his years of friendship with Dan. “So you’re sayin’ you saw someone? What did they look like?”

  Dan hedged. “It’s not that I saw anybody, just movement. I thought I saw something.”

  “Why didn’t you call us right then?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Didn’t want to take the time to run back in, I guess. I saw Allie’s light on and thought maybe she was inside, so I wanted to get over here quick.”

  “And when you got here, you didn’t see nothin’?”

  “No. Like I said, I think I scared him off.”

  R.J. stared at him for several seconds.

  “Well, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to call in some other patrol units to search the woods back there?” Dan asked, irritated.

  “Why ain’t you sweatin’?” R.J. knew the question seemed to come from left field, but he had to ask it.

  Dan frowned. “What?”

  “I asked, why ain’t you sweatin’? You said you ran down here. If you did, why ain’t you sweatin’?”

  “It’s less than a block, R.J., and it’s cold out here. Are you suggesting I’m lying?”

  “Just askin’.”

  “Terrific. Remind me not to get involved the next time I see someone’s business getting broken into.” He flung down the crowbar and headed back up the street toward the station. “Glad you boys have so much time on your hands that you’d suspect fellow public servants instead of looking for the real killer.”

  But R.J. wasn’t listening. Deep in thought, he went to his car and grabbed the radio mike.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jill Clark had just sat down with her first cup of coffee of the morning when the telephone rang. “Hello?”

  “Jill, this is Dan Nichols. I’m sorry to call so early, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  A sick feeling washed over her, and setting her coffee cup down, she braced herself. “Not another murder.”

  “No, not that,” Dan said quickly. “But last night there was almost a break-in at Allie’s shop. I thought I saw someone over there and I apparently scared them away. But to me it indicates that Allie’s definitely in danger. She might even be next on this guy’s list.”

  Jill’s skin turned cold, and she got to her feet and began to pace. “Are you sure, Dan? I mean, did they go in?”

  “No, but they used a crowbar to try to pry open the door, since it was dead-bolted.”

  “But maybe it was just a simple robbery. I mean, it was apparent that she wasn’t there, wasn’t it?”

  “Not really. Her van was parked there, and there was a light on in the back. He may have thought she was inside.”

  Jill closed her eyes and sat back down. “Have you heard anything? Are they any closer to finding this guy?”

  “Haven’t heard, and they’re not really telling me anything. I think R.J. even suspects me, since I was at the shop when he got there last night. But we had a real quiet night at the station. Only a couple of calls, and those were for minor things. So I was out in the garage lifting weights, and I walked out into the fresh air. That’s when I saw.”

  “Quiet night? At least there were no more murders.”

  “All the wives are out of town. Makes you wonder how bad he wants them dead, and if he’s going to start going after them where they are.”

  She shivered.

  “Look, do you know where I can reach her and Mark to let them know?” Dan asked.

  “No, I don’t. They didn’t tell me where they were going.”

  “Well, if you hear from them, tell them what I said. They need to really be on guard. And hey, if they need a place to stay, tell them they can use my house. It’s out in the country, and no one will look for them there.”

  “All right, Dan. I’ll tell them.”

  After she hung up, Jill sat praying that Allie could somehow escape this madness. Someone insane enough to try to kill three women—two in broad daylight—might not stop until he had finished the job, regardless of what obstacles they threw in his way. Did he even care about getting caught? Was he rational enough to lie low?

  Quickly, she started to get dressed. She would go to the police station and find out what they knew. Maybe something would give her—and Allie—a little hope.

  While Mark was in the shower, Allie called her best friend in Newpointe.

  “Hello?”

  “Jill, it’s me. Did I wake you up?”

  “No. Allie, I’m so glad you called. I wanted to get in touch with you, but I didn’t know how.”

  Allie stood up. “What’s wrong? Is it Susan? Did something happen?”

  “I don’t know,” Jill said. “I haven’t heard a word about Susan. But I just talked to Dan Nichols, and he told me that someone tried to break into your shop last night.”

  “What?”

  “Dan scared him off, so he didn’t get all the way in, whoever it was—but Allie, he probably thought you were in there. The light in the back was on.”

  Allie’s heart began racing. “I’ve gotta go, Jill. I’ve gotta call Stan Shepherd and see what he can tell me.”

  “Allie, don’t come back here. Wherever you are, stay there. I’m scared to death for you. This guy’s getting bold, and he isn’t going to give up.”

  “I know,” she said. “Look, I’m thinking about going to Georgia, to stay with my parents until this blows over.”

  “Do it. Get as far from here as you can.”

  “You be careful, too, Jill. Don’t stay alone.”

  Jill hesitated. “I’ll do what I can. But I’m not married to a fireman.”

  “If he can’t get to us, he might start on others,” she said. “Don’t take the chance, Jill.”

  She hung up as Mark came out of the bathroom, his hair wet and a towel flung around his neck. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt and smelled like soap. She felt rumpled and frumpy and wished she had gotten up earlier to put herself together. She’d be willing to bet that Issie Mattreaux never looked like this in the morning.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  “Jill. Mark, the shop was broken into last night.”

  He stared at her in amazement, then grabbed the phone from her hand. “I’m calling Stan.”

  As he dialed, she said, “Mark, I want to go to Georgia. I think it would be a good time for me to visit my parents.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” He was quiet for a moment. “Stan Shepherd, please. This is Mark Branning.” Turning toward Allie, he said, “Pick up the phone in the bathroom so you can hear.”

  Allie had often chuckled at the oddness of bathroom phones in hotels. Now she was grateful for it as she sat on the toilet lid and waited for Stan to pick up.

  “I heard about the break-in,” Mark said when Stan was on the line.

  “Which one?”

  Mark was stunned into silence.

  “What do you mean, which one?” Allie asked.

  “Well, there was the attempt at the shop. If Dan Nichols had called the police instead of trying to be a hero, we might have caught the guy. And then there was the one at your house when we were there, but it turned out to be Craig Barnes, checking on Allie. If your friends would stay out of our way, we could do our job.”

  Mark was getting impatient. “Stan, was the shop broken into or not?”
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br />   “It was an attempted break-in, and yes, there’s plenty of evidence. A broken door, for starters, scratches on the knob, a crowbar that just happens to have Dan Nichols’s fingerprints all over it, since he found it and didn’t take precautions to protect it—”

  “What about the house?” Allie cut in. “You said it was broken into?”

  “Like I said, Craig Barnes was just checking on you. He heard the fight you two faked and worried that you were alone. When you didn’t answer the door, he decided to come in and see if you were all right.”

  “But whoever broke into the shop was probably the killer,” Mark said. “Does this mean Allie is supposed to be his next victim?”

  “Might have been if she’d been here last night. Then again, it could have been just a routine burglary.”

  “No, too coincidental.”

  “Not really. Any fool kid looking for drug money would assume that the fire wives are all out of town.”

  “Were any other homes or businesses broken into that you know of?”

  “No. We did a check of all of their homes this morning, and didn’t find anything.”

  Allie heard Mark swallow. “Look, Stan, Allie and I have decided to get her out of the state. The farther the better.”

  “Good idea,” Stan said.

  “I’ll call you later and see if you’ve come up with anything.”

  He hung up, and Allie came out of the bathroom and stood looking at him, fear and frustration illuminating her eyes. “I’m coming with you,” he said.

  “To Georgia? No, Mark, that wouldn’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” She hesitated to tell him the real reason, then had to admit to herself that lying would be futile. “My parents are so angry at you right now.”

  His face changed instantly. “Why? What exactly have you told them?”

  “I told them the truth, Mark.”

  “And just what is your version of the truth? That I was sleeping around?”

  “No…”

  “Then what? I haven’t done anything wrong, Allie. There is nothing you could have told them about me to turn them against me—not anything true. What did you tell them?”

  “I told them about my walking in on you and Issie at the fire station. I told them you moved out, that you were interested in someone else, that you’d started drinking and quit going to church, and didn’t care about our vows anymore. I told them the truth, Mark!”

  She turned away and started packing her suitcase. She could feel him standing there behind her, watching her, angry and so hurt—but denying nothing. Finally, he said, “You’re wrong about what you saw at the fire station, Allie. But we’ve been through all that. I’m here right now. I’m sticking by you. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” she said. “Other people are watching over me, too. Dan Nichols, apparently, and Craig Barnes, and who knows who else. I can do without you, Mark.”

  She knew that stung him, and she was glad. But the satisfaction only lasted a moment. She knew Mark well enough to know that he might just leave her out of pride now, and then she would have to face all of this alone. She turned back to her bag and zipped it up.

  Behind her, she heard him packing, too, and then he picked up the phone and dialed again.

  “Econojet Airlines,” he said. He wrote the number down, dialed it, then waited again. “Yes, I’d like to make reservations for two on the next flight from New Orleans to Atlanta this afternoon.”

  She swung toward him. “Mark, I told you! We only need one ticket.”

  He put his hand over the phone, and through his teeth said, “And I told you. I’m not leaving you.”

  “You already left me! You’re only with me now because you’re afraid I’m going to be killed. I don’t want you staying with me out of duty!”

  “Reservations for two,” he repeated into the phone again. “Mr. and Mrs. Mark Branning.”

  She threw up her hands and went back into the bathroom and began brushing her teeth with a vengeance. In the other room, she heard him say, “No, it has to be today. Don’t you have any seats? Yes, they have to be together.”

  She closed her eyes in frustration.

  “All right, tomorrow then. Yes, that’ll be fine. What time?”

  When he hung up, she came out of the bathroom. “They were booked up today?”

  “Yes,” he said, staring down at his shoes.

  “What about Delta or American or—”

  “We can’t afford them, Allie. Our credit cards are almost maxed out. We can only afford Econojet.”

  “My parents will pay for me.”

  “But not me.”

  “What about your dad? Maybe he could give you a loan.”

  Mark’s laughter was bitterly sarcastic. “You’ve got to be kidding. My father hasn’t got two dimes to rub together. Allie, we’re just going to wait until tomorrow and take Econojet and pay for it ourselves. Meanwhile, we’ll check out of here and go to Slidell, and see about Susan. We’ll stay someplace else tonight. It isn’t wise to stay in the same place two nights, anyway.”

  She sighed. She knew he was right, and the truth was, she didn’t want to travel alone. “All right,” she said finally. “I guess we have no choice.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jill got little information from the police department regarding the attempted break-in at the florist, so she walked over to the fire department to see Dan Nichols. Aunt Aggie stood in front of the stove making Monte Cristo sandwiches for the firemen. Jill watched her drop the batter-covered turkey sandwiches into the hot oil to fry them, then scoop them out and smother them with powdered sugar. A side dish of marmalade went on every plate for dipping. She wondered how any of them managed to keep from looking like Pillsbury Dough Boys. Actually, most did show a little pudginess from the rich food Aunt Aggie made them each day, but Dan remained thin. Why had no one in town snatched him up yet?

  “Can I talk to you privately?” she asked him quietly, and he looked at the other firemen sitting around the kitchen.

  “Sure,” he said. “Let’s walk out back.”

  She followed him outside, walked to a bench halfway across the lawn, and sat down. “I talked to Allie this morning,” she said.

  “Did you tell her what I saw?”

  “Yeah. She was pretty upset.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Headed to Georgia to stay with her parents until this blows over.”

  “Georgia? I didn’t know she was from there. What part?”

  “Atlanta.”

  “When’s she leaving?”

  “Today sometime, I think.”

  “Is Mark going with her?”

  “She didn’t say.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pensive. “I called the hospital in Slidell this morning, and they’re saying that Susan’s still comatose. They don’t know if she’s going to come out of it or not.”

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  “Dan, last night when you saw the guy at the florist—why didn’t you chase him down? Why didn’t you call the police right away?”

  “I was trying to get a look at the guy when R.J. pulled up. In his patrol car, he probably still could have caught the guy on the other side of the woods, but he was so busy trying to make me out to be the culprit that he let him get away.”

  Jill frowned. “They suspected you?”

  “Yeah, you believe that? They stopped because they saw me. I might need a lawyer before this thing’s over.”

  “Well, you know how to reach me. But I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m just glad you ran the guy off.”

  “I would rather have caught him.”

  “Yeah, well. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “You know, with all these media people around, some people in this town might not want the killer caught. Apparently murder is good for business.”

  “Yeah, every motel in town is full, and the restaurants are bur
sting at the seams. Give me our sleepy little town any day of the week,” Jill said. “This kind of attention we don’t need.”

  Aunt Aggie came to the door and called out, “Eats is ready, mon ami. Jill, stay. There’s plenty.”

  She stood up. “Are you sure?”

  Aunt Aggie laughed with delight. “Where else can you enjoy the company of six bachelors at one time?”

  “Six?”

  “Sure. The chief is one, too.”

  Jill grinned and glanced at Dan. “How can any self-respecting woman pass up an invitation like that?”

  Before they left New Orleans, Mark and Allie went to Pat O’Brien’s for lunch. Though it was quiet now, this was one of the hot spots at night, when tourists and local party animals packed in to guzzle Hurricanes and dance to the band whose equipment was set up in a corner of the open brick courtyard. Now, only a guitarist, a bass player, and a saxophone player droned out a New Orleans flavored jazz medley that made them almost forget their troubles for a while.

  When the waitress came to take their order, Allie saw Mark hesitate over the wine list. He looked up, apparently sensed her disapproval, and closed it again. “I’ll just have a Sprite,” he said, then told the waitress his lunch order.

  When the waitress had gone, he met Allie’s eyes again. “I don’t drink that much, Allie. I just thought a glass of wine might relax me a little.”

  She let her eyes drift to the ensemble in the corner. But she could feel him watching her, could sense his frustration and his desire to launch into a conversation that she knew would prove both unproductive and unpleasant.

  “Allie, I don’t like you thinking I’m a drunk.”

  “I never said you were a drunk,” she said, keeping her eyes on the musicians.

  “You might as well say it. You act like I’m an alcoholic or something, and that’s not true.”

  She looked at him again. He was asking for it. “Mark, remember when we started seeing each other, and I lived in Georgia and you lived here, and you had been to visit my parents, but you never wanted me to come home and meet your father?”

  He lowered his eyes to the wrought iron table and traced the pattern with his finger. “Yeah, so?”