by Bill Alive
Now Her face crumpled for real. She pulled her long bell-bottomed legs up onto the couch and rested her forehead on her knees. “Wow,” she said dully from behind her shield. “I really am the shittiest mother ever.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Mark said.
She laughed a short, hollow blast. “God, we tried everything,” she said. “Homeopathy. Electric shocks. Helga’s horse therapy.”
I snapped up. “Helga? Helga Lubitsch?”
She raised her head and gave me a quizzical look. “Sure. She does horse therapy out on her farm. It’s mainly for kids with autism, but she thought it might help Olivia.”
“She works with autistic kids?” I spiked with anxiety for those poor kids. How was that even legal?
“Oh my gosh, she’s amazing,” Samantha said. For the first time, her face had some small light. “So gentle and patient. When she’s out with those kids, it’s like she’s a different person. She was always so kind to Olivia … cried more at the funeral than I did.”
“But didn’t she try to cut a lock of Olivia’s hair?” I said. “At the wake?”
Samantha startled, as if the very idea were grotesque. “What? No! Of course not! My God, you think they’d have left that casket open?”
My stomach twisted … oh yeah, I’d seen that body, hadn’t I? What was left of it. I felt very, very stupid.
Mark caught my eye, and I could see he felt the same. But also, pissed.
“Why on earth would you think a thing like that?” Samantha said.
Mark eyed me. “Something we heard.” He turned back to Samantha and rose. “Thanks so much for your time.”
“That’s it?” she said.
Mark nodded. “I wish we could do more. The least we can do is leave you in peace.” He squinted. “And Samantha, whatever you do next … it’s okay.”
He walked out.
I fled the stunned Samantha, and tried to keep up with Mark as he fast-walked back to the car in the fading light. “Um, Mark?” I said.
“Shut up and let me think,” he said. He pulled up something on his phone. “Damn it!”
I knew better than to ask.
As we fought our way home through the evening traffic, I waited for Mark to calm down. Curiosity was eating me alive, but Mark was stewing, like even asking what time it was might set him off. But by the time we were crossing the bridge back into town, I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“So,” I shouted casually, as if we’d been talking this whole time, “did you get any vibes from Samantha about Brett?”
“WHAT?” he barked. “Are you serious?”
“Sorry! Geez!”
He was driving fast now, or as fast as he could in the stop-and-go rush hour. As he darted from gap to gap in the traffic, Thunder’s brakes were screeching louder than usual. He cut off a tractor trailer to hang a left I didn’t expect.
“By the way,” I added, “where are we going?”
“Of course she’d be right!” Mark fumed. “Of course.”
“Who’s right?”
“Gwen! It all went down exactly like the Official Police said! We got played!”
“You mean Theodore was lying about Olivia?”
Mark roared in frustration. “What is wrong with you?” he yelled. “Who cares whether Olivia liked Theodore or Brett? For all we know, she could have been obsessed with a random ukulele boy band! It doesn’t matter! Did you not hear what Samantha said? Olivia was clinically depressed and suicidal. She committed suicide.”
“Okay, fine! But we can still check on it—”
“Why start now? We never check on anything! Because I’m a fricking amateur, and checking up is boring. If we’d checked, we would have seen this—”
He practically threw his phone at me. The screen showed Helga’s terrible website, the same that Vanessa had showed us at the start. Except this was a different page … all about her horse therapy.
Mark said, “What kind of a witch does horse therapy for autistic kids?”
“Could be a cover—”
“Stop!” Mark yelled. “Just stop. That woman’s trying to break enchantments, not make them.”
“But why would Vanessa have made up a story like that? It’s too crazy.”
“That’s exactly why it worked,” Mark said. “We were both delusional, Pete. We wanted to be the tough detectives protecting the hot femme fatale in danger. Forgetting that the whole point of the femme fatale is that she totally screws you. And we walked right into it. When the cops would come to inquire after her poisoned husband, we’d be the local ‘expert’ witnesses to vouch that she’d ‘feared for her life’.”
Now I really did want to puke. And it wasn’t just Mark’s frantic driving.
He whipped around a corner into a neighborhood I didn’t recognize.
Then I did.
“Mark, no!” I shouted. “Gwen said to stay away!”
“That was before,” he said, grim.
“What are you going to do?”
“What I won’t get a chance to do once her ass is in jail.”
He slammed Thunder to the curb in front of Vanessa’s house.
He was out and storming up to the front door before I’d even slipped off my seat belt. I tripped after him, racking my brain for some trick to calm him down before he broke things even worse.
The night had chilled, which wasn’t helping my mental prowess. In the open garage, I noticed a showy red SUV that I thought I recognized from somewhere, but it was hard to tell in the dark.
“Mark, wait up—” I called.
He froze. I hadn’t dreamed that calling him would actually work, so I plowed right past him before I could slow down. He gripped my arm and yanked me back.
His face was deathly pale. Drained.
“Oh my gosh, what?” I said. His terror washed into me, knotted my stomach.
He nodded at the garage.
On the concrete, Vanessa’s huge dog lay sprawled like roadkill. It looked dead.
Then I remembered where I’d seen that SUV. Parked in the vet lot at Roxanne’s.
Mark crept to the garage, quick and silent. The garage had a side door into the house that was mostly glass. When he reached this, he took a quick peek, then ducked against the wall.
I took my own peek.
Roxanne was standing in the front hall, facing toward the kitchen and looking crazy with rage.
Also, she was pointing a gun.
Chapter 26
I froze.
But Mark yanked me out of sight, into the shadows.
We crouched against the garage wall, getting as wide an angle view through the door as we dared. If Roxanne turned, she might see us through the glass. I couldn’t think about that, about that gun aimed at me. All I could think was that I had to see, I had to see it all and not be seen.
We couldn’t see who she was facing, but we didn’t have to. The inner glass door hung ajar, and through the outside screen poured Vanessa’s crying and pleas.
Roxanne shrieked back. “Shut up, shut up, you bitch. You are so done. I should have done this a long time ago.”
“Oh my God, Mark,” I whispered. “Oh my God.”
Mark was wincing and rocking. “Get it together,” he grunted. “It’s bad enough with them.”
“What do we do?” I whispered. “Call Gwen?”
“No time. That woman’s about to blow.”
“Oh my God. She’s got a gun. Oh my God.”
Mark’s grip on my arm squeezed like a vice. It hurt so bad I forgot my panic.
He rasped in my ear. “You’ve got to tackle her.”
“What?” I yipped. “It’s at least ten feet! She’ll have a straight shot to mow me down!”
“I’ll blast her first.”
“Mark! No!” I wasn’t just panicked for me. If he was ever going to blow a brain vessel doing a mind blast, it would be trying to take down crazy Roxanne.
“I’ll be fine. Get ready. You’ll only get one shot.”
“Mark, please—”
“Shut up!”
Inside, Roxanne’s abuse was escalating to a screech. She’d raised the gun, she was holding it high with both hands, and her face was splotching red.
“This is it!” she yelled. “Now! I’m doing it!”
She gulped her breath and straightened her gun.
And my phone blared an incoming call.
“Crap,” I breathed.
I clawed at my pocket to shut the thing up, but Roxanne had already swung the gun toward the door. “Who’s there? Who’s out there?” she barked. She was squinting out toward us.
I kept fumbling, tranced with the idiotic idea that stopping the noise would keep me safe.
Then Roxanne screamed.
With a free hand, she clutched her head.
Mark’s face had contorted. Blood was slicking his scalp.
“Oh shit,” I said.
“Go,” Mark gasped. “Go go go!”
I stumbled up.
I yanked the screen door.
The latch caught.
I tugged and fumbled with the damn thing for what felt like ten minutes. By the time I got through, Roxanne was panting, but raising her gun.
I had no plan.
I just plowed right into her.
We rammed into a wall. I got a grip on her gun wrist, and that was all I could think, Don’t let go, don’t let go. The woman engulfed me, a nightmare of sweat and bone and screams. She must have tried to knee and hit and scrape me, but I didn’t notice, I was shoved against her and that was worse, she was writhing all over my body like a wild wolf.
I got a shoulder against her chest and tried to pry the gun out of her hand. But her thin bony surgeon fingers were too damn strong.
She pulled the trigger.
The explosion and recoil shocked us both. We tripped and tumbled down together on the hard tile. She crashed on top of me, her elbow slammed my skull.
Then she bolted up before I could.
I wrenched back to face her, but she was shaking over me, frantic and crazy, the gun aimed right at my gut.
“God, lady, please,” I gasped.
Mark tackled her.
They crashed onto the living room carpet. Mark was on top, and her face was smashed into the rug. He ripped away the gun and threw it back toward me. It clattered across the tile and jammed under the lip of the steel fridge. She struggled and screamed, but he twisted her arms behind her and got a knee into her back.
She wailed curses. She tried to jab her high heels in ineffectual kicks.
But Mark had her totally pinned. He was way bigger. And he wasn’t going anywhere.
It was over.
Vanessa gasped a sob.
For the first time, I looked over at her. Her eyes were staring and huge and she was rocking in the fetal position. Right on the same spot on the kitchen floor where she’d found Ed’s body.
I scrambled up. “Are you okay? Did you get shot?”
“Oh, Pete,” she whimpered. She stretched up her arms like a toddler.
I plunged down beside her, and she gripped me hard. She was all around me, pressed against me, her soft face sobbing against my neck.
I held her. Overwhelmed.
In some tiny, rational corner of my brain that wasn’t flooding with ecstasy, I realized that I’d been fantasizing since fourth grade or so about rescuing a crush. Now I’d done it. And it was way sweeter than I’d even imagined.
After a long, delicious time, she pulled away and touched my face. She scrutinized me, like she was finally seeing me for the first time.
“You risked your life,” she said, with tender disbelief. “For me.”
“It was a team effort,” I said, embarrassed.
“Speaking of which…” Mark grunted. He may have had Roxanne pinned, but she clearly had plenty of fight left. “I could use a rope, maybe? At your convenience. When you’re done snuggling with the suspect.”
Vanessa flinched. “Suspect?”
Roxanne twisted back and tried to bite Mark’s hand. She missed, but he glared at me to hurry. Then he eyed Vanessa. “Just because this ex went psycho doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for your husband.”
My arm around Vanessa’s back went cold. Was I about to make out with a murderess?
From the side door, a familiar voice startled us all.
“I hate to say it, Mr. Falcon, but that husband’s murder has unfortunately been traced elsewhere.”
In the doorway stood Gwen. She walked in, radiating copness all down the hallway. Then she folded her arms and frowned down at Vanessa and me.
“New ladyfriend, Pete?” she said. “Wouldn’t have thought you were the widow type. But in case it matters, she is innocent.”
Her eyes narrowed at Vanessa. “Of murder, at least.”
PART 4
Chapter 27
Behind Gwen, more police officers rushed in. Officer Ramiro, the big Mr. Confidence dude who’s dating Ceci’s housemate, marched right to the prone Roxanne and cuffed her, grinning over her threats.
He smirked at Mark with condescension, like it was no great feat to subdue a Roxanne. Then his eye caught the gun wedged under the fridge, and the smirk mellowed with a smidgen of respect.
Officer Osprey also trudge in; he had slower moves but quicker eyes. He gripped Mark’s arm and helped him to his feet. Last time I’d seen him, Osprey had had this OCD fear that he might have a secret crush on Mark (or guys in general), but he seemed to be over that now.
On the other hand, Osprey was visibly freaked at the blood on Mark’s face and head. He yanked out a pair of disposable gloves.
I guess that was OCD too, but honestly, if I were a cop, I might wear gloves all the time myself.
Gwen said sharply, “Mr. Falcon, is that your blood? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Roxanne had a gun, but no one got hit.”
Gwen arched an eyebrow. She’s seen Mark’s mind blast in action. “Nosebleed?” she said dryly.
“Something like that.” Mark grabbed a lacy dishtowel from the oven handle and started swabbing.
Osprey said, “I don’t see how that blood could have come out of your nose—”
Mark interrupted. “Gwen, did you say you know who killed Ed?”
Before Gwen could answer, there was a explosion of tuna.
Okay, maybe that’s not super clear.
But I did smell the woman before I saw her. Like the breeze before a storm, a cloud of tuna smell billowed in, followed by the woman herself, Mrs. Snarski, in all her gingham glory. Her ancient nose quivered like a hound on the hunt, and when she saw Roxanne, her naturally bulgy eyes nearly popped from their sockets.
“I knew it!” she crooned, and she jabbed a bony finger at the scowling Roxanne. “I knew that woman was a killer! Jealousy! The green-eyed monster!”
Gwen stepped between the old woman and her prey. “Mrs. Snarski, we appreciate you calling us in, but this is still a crime scene.”
Mark said, “You called the cops, Mrs. Snarski? Why?”
“I live right across the street,” Mrs. Snarski crowed, as if she’d known back when she bought the place that this day would come. “I recognized that flashy red gas guzzler the second I saw it. I saw that very car in that very driveway on the day this poor widow’s husband was killed.”
At that word ‘widow’ again, I thought maybe I should discreetly put some air between Vanessa’s back and my chest. Or at least we could get off the floor. But Vanessa clung tighter, and my brain was happily overruled.
Mark squinted at Roxanne, who shrank back as far as she could with Ramiro gripping her cuffed arm. “You came to this house the day Ed died?”
“He’d emailed me to come see him!” Roxanne snarled, avoiding Mark’s eye. “Then the bastard wasn’t even here!”
Beside me, Vanessa snapped a question with such fierce scorn that I jolted. “Why would he want to meet you at our house? While I was on a trip?”
“Don’t you remember
when I went on my business trip?” Roxanne spat.
Vanessa flushed.
Mark turned back to scrutinize the eager Snarski. “You really saw Roxanne here that day?”
She nodded with glee. “I absolutely did. Hours before either Ed or his poor widow came home. That woman walked right into that garage where the milk was in the cooler.”
“I didn’t—” Roxanne began.
But the Snarski fingered her with the full ramrod arm of justice. “You were the only one to go near that milk!” she bellowed.
“I didn’t touch the damn milk!” Roxanne said.
“No one else came all day!” boomed the Snarski. “And when that poor widow walked in, I could hear her scream.”
Vanessa shuddered, and hid her face on my shoulder.
“But if you saw all that—” Mark said.
Gwen cut him off. “Mr. Falcon, this is an arrest for assault, it’s not an impromptu interrogation.”
“Gwen! Come on!” Mark said. “If Vanessa’s really innocent, Pete and I deserve to know why. Because if she’s guilty, then we just nearly got shot for a murderer. And I would really hate that.”
Gwen hesitated. Osprey and Ramiro exchanged an uncomfortable glance.
“Vanessa did kill him!” Roxanne shrieked. “I would never have hurt Ed! That damn hippie milk was contaminated!”
For Ramiro, this was too much. “Yeah, contaminated with the same crap you used to kill that dog out there.”
Roxanne gaped, shocked. She flapped her jaw in dry silence three times before she managed to say, “I would never, ever harm an innocent animal. I gave Fabio a sleeping drug, it’s completely harmless—”
“We had the milk analyzed,” Gwen said. Her voice was cold as a morgue slab. “It had a lethal concentration of sodium pentobarbital.”
Roxanne froze. Her lips, their excess makeup a smeared wreck, parted in a small circle of numb disbelief.
“Pentobarbital, which, as you know,” Gwen said, “will kill even a large man with a small dose. It’s commonly used to put down animals. Common, that is, among veterinarians.”
I think I said at some earlier point that Roxanne did some cursing. Yeah, now she did the cursing thing for real. I wouldn’t have thought a veterinarian would even know all those words. I didn’t even know all those words.
