Dead Giveaway

by Joanne Fluke

  It was strange being down here on the rug, and Betty smiled as she crawled through the bedroom doorway and out into the living room. Here the rug was brown, a beautiful rich chocolate brown.

  Betty giggled. Everything was very different from this vantage point. No wonder babies were always smiling! She crawled past the coffee table and past her swivel rocking chair. She’d never realized that the living room was so large before, and it seemed to take a long time to crawl the length of the room to the front door.

  The front doorknob was too high. What should she do? Stand up, of course. She needed something to hold. Using a table by the door, Betty pulled herself up. Her hands seemed to recall the motions and she slipped off the chain, turned the knob, and opened the door to the empty hallway stretching out before her.

  Betty took one step forward, then dropped back down to her knees. It would be faster, and she wouldn’t hurt herself if she fell. The stairwell seemed a very long way away.

  TWENTY

  Getting out of bed, Ellen pulled on an old pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, looked back at Walker, sleeping peacefully, and sighed. At least someone was getting some rest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Laureen and Alan, crushed almost beyond recognition at the bottom of the elevator shaft.

  She went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of hot chocolate and carried it into the workroom. She was so on edge, she doubted that anything could relax her except work and there was plenty of that. Walker had found the missing box of mannequin parts and there were still a half dozen to assemble.

  As she walked past the big metal bin in the corner, she caught sight of the damaged mannequin inside. It had been returned from a store in Los Angeles and she’d saved it to use for spare parts since only the head was smashed. She shuddered as she stared down at it. Just like Alan and Laureen.

  Chiding herself for being so morbid, Ellen lifted the mannequin up to her workbench. She’d take it apart, put all the pieces in the appropriate boxes, and throw the rest away.

  She was removing the head when she noticed a thin film of white powder coating the inside surface. She used no powder in her molding process, only liquid plastics. Touching the top of her finger to her tongue, she noticed a bitter taste followed by a strange sensation.

  Ellen gasped out loud as she realized that the powder could mean someone was using her mannequins to transport drugs. But no one touched those mannequins except her. And Walker . . . but it was disloyal to even think it. Still, there were all those new contracts he’d arranged, a whole distribution network that stretched across the country.

  With a sinking heart, she went to the spare bedroom where he had stored his things. The backpack was there and she looked inside. Pajamas, toothbrush, a disposable razor, and . . . a gun. She forced herself to stand there and think calmly. Many people carried guns. It could be perfectly legal. But why had he brought it up here unless he intended to use it? Something else caught her eye, something glittering at the bottom of the backpack. She reached down to retrieve it, her hands starting to tremble as she recognized Vanessa’s diamond earring.

  Calm. She had to stay calm. Walker had been with her the night Vanessa died, except when she sent him up to borrow a can of tomato sauce from Jayne. Had he been gone long enough to kill Vanessa and drag her down to the freezer?

  She didn’t like the path her thoughts were taking her, but she couldn’t seem to stop them. He’d been up at the spa all alone the night that Clayton and Rachael had left. And he’d been gone again the night that Hal had died. What if all these awful accidents weren’t accidents at all? Tonight, while she’d soaked in a nice, relaxing bath, he would have had plenty of time to sabotage the elevator.

  With her heart pounding so hard she was almost afraid it would wake him, Ellen tiptoed to her bedroom and peeked in. Still asleep. Then she turned and went out, blinking back tears of grief and fright. The man she’d been learning to love was a killer. She had to warn the others about him.

  By the time they reached the sixth floor landing, Moira’s legs were trembling so hard she could barely stand. “I’m too old for this, Grace. I’ve got to rest a minute.” She stopped and leaned against the railing, struggling to catch her breath. Then her left leg suddenly folded beneath her and she dropped heavily to the floor. “Da . . . drat! I knew this was going to happen!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Charley horse, in my left leg. I don’t think I can stand on it.”

  Grace climbed up the last step and joined Moira on the landing. “Give me your leg, Moira. I’ll rub it for you.”

  As she kneaded the trembling muscle in Moira’s leg, Grace gave a defeated sigh. There was no way Moira’s rebelling muscles would make it any farther.

  “I think it’s a little better, Grace.” The pain in Moira’s eyes belied her words. “Maybe I can lean on the railing and pull myself up.”

  Grace shook her head. “You’ve got to rest or you’ll injure the muscle.”

  Moira frowned and pulled herself to her feet in spite of Grace’s protests. She hobbled one step and turned to Grace with a stubborn expression. “There’s no time to rest. Come on, Grace. I think I can . . .” Moira stopped in midsentence as the door to the hallway began to open. “Oh, my God! It’s Betty!”

  “Okay.” Jayne turned to a blank page in her music notebook. “Turn it on, Paul. I’m ready.”

  Paul flicked the switch on the piano Johnny had given her, and the strange atonal music began to play. The melody had been bothering him ever since he’d heard it, and tonight he’d remembered the game his violin teacher had taught him, creating a melody from the letters in a name.

  Jayne frowned as she transcribed the melody into musical notation. “The lower octave is normal and the upper ones follow the rest of the alphabet. Is that right, Paul?”

  Paul nodded. “A through G are obvious. The letter H is high A, and the letter I is high B and so on.”

  “This’ll take a minute.” Jayne turned back to her notebook. “I hope you’re right, Paul. Johnny’s song has been driving me crazy, too.”

  Just then there was a knock on the door. Paul went to answer it and came back with Ellen.

  “Ellie, honey. You look worse than a whipped puppy.” Jayne dropped her notebook and hurried to help Ellen into a chair. “What’s wrong?”

  “I . . . I looked in the backpack and I found this!” Ellen drew the gun out of her pocket.

  Jayne grabbed for the barrel and lowered it. “Careful with that thing! It might be loaded!”

  “Of course it’s loaded.” Ellen started to laugh, but it came out as a sob. “He couldn’t kill us without the bullets, could he?”

  “Whoa!” Jayne took the gun and handed it to Paul, then patted Ellen the way she’d calm a nervous filly. “Easy there, honey. Who couldn’t kill us?”

  “Walker. He was using my mannequins to ship drugs. And then I found his gun and I . . . I took it.”

  Paul frowned. It was difficult to believe that Walker had been dealing in drugs, but Ellen was clearly terrified. “You are safe now, Ellen. Where is Walker?”

  “Still sleeping. But when he wakes up . . .”

  The intercom buzzed, startling all three of them. Jayne hurried to answer it and when she came back, she looked dazed. “We’ve got to get down to Betty’s right away. Grace and Moira just found her crawling out in the hall.”

  “You’re all right now, Betty.” Jayne held her hand. “Do you know where your nurse is?”

  Betty frowned and tried to force out the word, but she was too exhausted to talk. She just knew she didn’t want to go back to sleep, not when the awful movies might start to play again. She had to find some way to tell them. But what was the word for what had happened to Nurse?

  “Cold!” Betty frowned. That wasn’t right.

  “Of course you are.” Moira reached for a blanket and covered Betty’s shoulders. “Your nurse is here, isn’t she?”

  “Hot!” Betty nodded. That wasn’t the right word either
, but it would have to do. Nurse was here. Right there in the bathroom with the door shut. And her secret friend had killed her.

  “Jayne?” Paul came into the bedroom looking puzzled. “The nurse is not here in Betty’s apartment.”

  “It’s three in the morning, for Pete’s sakes! Where could she be?”

  “Hot!” Betty managed to get the word out again.

  “Would you like a drink of water, Betty?” Grace did her best to understand.

  Betty could feel her face light up in a smile as the dancer took a glass and opened the bathroom door. She flicked on the light and then she screamed, a much better scream than the ones Betty usually heard in the movies.

  Jayne rushed to the bathroom to look and then she pulled Grace out by the arm. “Betty’s nurse is dead and that’s why she was out in the hall. She was trying to tell someone!”

  “Do you know what happened to the nurse, Betty?” Paul leaned over to ask.

  Betty nodded. She knew. But how could she tell them?

  “Did your nurse have an accident?”

  Betty shook her head. No, it wasn’t an accident, but she’d forgotten the word. She had to make them understand about the scary movies. It was terribly important, although she couldn’t remember why. Suddenly she had an idea and she reached for the remote control. If she couldn’t tell them, she could show them. She turned on the set and pressed the button for forbidden channel nine.

  “That’s our living room.” Jayne blinked as she stared at the screen.

  Paul nodded. “It a closed-circuit surveillance system. The monitors in the security office broke in the avalanche, but it still works here. Jack must have run a second cable up here and hooked it to Betty’s television set so he could keep an eye on things when he was visiting her.”

  Betty switched to forbidden channel zero and used the outside camera that was focused on the hill. Would they recognize what it was?

  “I see it, Betty.” Moira peered at the screen. “There’s something hidden behind that tree on the ridge. What is it?”

  Betty frowned. She’d forgotten the word, but she knew the sound it made. “Brmmmmm!”

  “The snowmobile!” Ellen gasped. “You’ve got to tell us, Betty! Do you know what happened to Clayton and Rachael?”

  Betty nodded. She switched to forbidden channel five and pressed the control for the camera in the rose garden.

  “That’s Darby’s rose garden.” Jayne identified the image on the screen. “And somebody’s been digging out there. See that loose dirt in the back?”

  Grace began to shiver as she stared at the screen. “It looks like a . . . a grave.”

  Betty frowned in concentration. They almost had the connection. And then she remembered the word that would explain everything.

  “Murder!” she said, as she zoomed in on the grave.

  Jayne helped to push the snowmobile up to the top of the ridge. There were tears on her cheeks and the bitter wind turned them into streaks of icy cold.

  Paul gave her arm a squeeze. “Just a little farther, Jayne. We can make it.”

  “I still don’t think we should have left them.” Jayne wiped her cheeks with her mitten and bent down to push again. The nurse’s boots were a size too small, but they hadn’t dared run upstairs for their own. Paul was wearing the nurse’s parka, which had a hood. And she had Betty’s mink coat and a woolen scarf.

  “They told us to go,” Paul reassured her. “I have knowledge of this snowmobile.”

  “But what if Walker finds them? They’ll be trapped up there!”

  “We will be back with the police in less than an hour.” Paul swore in Norwegian as the snowmobile hung up on the drift. “Push, Jayne.”

  Jayne dug her heels in and they heaved at the heavy snowmobile until it had cleared the drift. It was tough going, and they had to reach the crest of the ravine to muffle the noise of starting it.

  “We should have left the gun with them,” Jayne gasped, leaning against the back of the snowmobile.

  “Grace went down to get her father’s gun and Moira is watching Walker on the surveillance camera. They will be fine provided we do our part. Push, Jayne; we are almost at the top.”

  Jayne bent over to push again, but she knew Paul was just trying to make her feel better. They’d tried to look in Marc’s unit to make sure he was all right, but the rooms had all been deserted. And the blackout drapes at his bedroom windows were so effective, they hadn’t been able to see if he was in bed or not. Paul had risked running up one flight to ring his doorbell. They had to alert him and send him down to safety with the others, but no one had answered.

  “Do you think Marc’s all right?”

  “I do not know, honey.” Paul stopped to catch his breath. “There is no time to worry now. Are you ready to push once more?”

  “I’m ready.” Jayne shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. Then she bent down again, trying to muster more muscle.

  Paul smiled at her and Jayne did her best to smile back. Sneaking down the stairs had been harrowing, searching every shadow to make sure they weren’t being followed.

  “This is enough.” Paul laid his hand on her arm. “Get on, honey.”

  Jayne climbed on the snowmobile and held her breath as the engine roared into life. Thank God! She didn’t begin to breathe again until they were over the next ridge. Then she huddled close to Paul’s back and prayed they’d reach the police in time.

  Grace held her breath as she unlocked the door, listening for the buzzing of the intercom. All was silent and she breathed a sigh of relief. They’d worked out a signal, Moira and Ellen would buzz her on the intercom if Walker moved.

  Even though she’d always hated the sport in the past, Grace was finding herself grateful for her father’s hobby. He’d been quite a sportsman, going on safari in Africa, moose hunting in Canada, and fox hunting on a private estate in England. When she packed up his taxidermy shop, she’d sold most of the guns, but several were on the wall. Moira had insisted they lent a touch of authenticity to the room.

  As she approached the door to the storage room, Grace couldn’t stifle an involuntary shudder. Moira had wanted to come down with her, but her leg was still sore and she might need her strength later. Grace held her breath as she pushed open the door. Moira had warned her not to turn on any lights that might cast a reflection on the snow outside the window. She clicked on her flashlight and forced herself to step inside, training the beam of light on the huge Kodiak bear. She knew she was being foolish, but she still wanted to make sure it didn’t move as she walked past it.

  There was a gun on the wall next to the bear, but Grace knew it was an antique muzzle-loader. Her father had shown her a picture of a man measuring out black powder from a horn to load it.

  Grace stopped and shined the beam around the room. The eyes of the black panther glittered and she stepped back a pace, nearly impaling herself on the horns of a gazelle. She had to stop being so childish and find a gun they could use.

  A rifle hanging on the wall caught her eye, a hefty weapon dating back to the Civil War called a Springfield Trapdoor. Grace grabbed it, then hurried to the cabinet where her father had kept his supplies. It was a mammoth piece of furniture, made of solid mahogany, and Moira had insisted she keep it. Since her father had been an organized man, the hundreds of drawers were labeled neatly in his Spencerian script. Grace started at the top row and worked her way down. Screws. Nuts. Bolts. Wads. Grace pulled out that drawer. She thought she remembered her father saying something about wad-cutters once.

  The moment she pulled out the drawer, she knew these wads weren’t for a gun. She wasn’t sure what her father had used them for, but they looked disgusting. Her father’s handwriting was difficult to read and Grace decided it would be quicker to pull the drawers out one by one. She found a lot of interesting things that way, but none of them looked helpful. There was even a drawer of glass eyes that she promptly slammed shut again, but she finally found some shells in a drawer labeled “sna
p caps.” As she stuffed them into her tote bag, she noticed a long, narrow drawer under the others. There was something that looked like a giant ice pick inside with a funny piece of metal sticking out where the handle should be. She picked it up, wrapped it in a piece of fur so it wouldn’t stick her, and put it into her bag. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it certainly looked nasty.

  Grace flicked off the flashlight and headed for the door. Done! She was about to turn the knob when she heard footsteps outside.

  The Caretaker had decided to start with Grace and Moira and work his way up to the top floor while everyone was sleeping. If someone got wise, he’d be able to trap them on the stairwell. Naturally, he’d fixed the elevator. It had been a simple matter to replace the cable he’d loosened and there was no way he wanted to tire himself out by climbing up and down all those stairs.

  When morning came, he’d blow up the building. That part would be simple. The plate glass windows on the north and east sides of the building were double-sealed, designed to make the huge furnace in the garage run more efficiently and to reduce drafts. The only windows that could be opened were the bedroom and bathroom windows on the west side and the patio doors on the south, and it wouldn’t take long to secure them. Then he’d turn up the gas and wait. Once the highly combustible mixture had built up to a concentrated level, he’d fire a shot from the outside to create a spark. Even though the Old Man had been grief-stricken about his daughter’s death, he’d pulled himself together enough to agree that it was a solid plan.

  He walked silently through Grace and Moira’s living room and opened their bedroom door. Grace was smaller and it would be easier to snuff out her life without waking Moira. Then he’d finish off Moira.

  The bed had been slept in, but it was empty now. He should have gone up to Betty’s first and used the camera to track everyone. He was making mistakes already, and he hadn’t even started. He’d check out the rest of the rooms, and if he couldn’t find them, he’d run up to Betty’s and let the closed-circuit system do his hunting for him.