Sunshine Cottage: A Pajaro Bay Mystery

by Lee, Barbara Cool

  One was Mena's "uncle," looking every inch the gang killer he had appeared to be: gun drawn, face impassive, with deadly intent glittering in his eyes in the dim moonlight.

  The other man, only a step behind him, was armed as well. His gun was also drawn, and he also looked like a killer.

  But Teresa didn't need to see the gun to know that.

  Because he was Victor "Vic" Vicario, and she would never forget his face as long as she lived. Which wouldn't be long now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They went back in the office. Teresa switched on the lights, and she got a good look at Vicario.

  He glanced at her with cold contempt.

  Mena went back to the stuffed chair and sat down, put her head in her hands, and cried her heart out.

  Teresa tried to stand in front of Mena, to block her from Vic's bullets, but he waved her away with the gun.

  She moved over to the windows. Three floors up. Even if she could scramble through the open window before they shot, she couldn't exactly jump out and expect to have a soft landing on the pillowy fog.

  Both men stood there, watching Mena. Not her, but Mena. Like she was the key to all this.

  "Well?" Vic said to Mena, in a voice that was surprisingly gentle.

  The girl didn't look up. She shrunk down even more into the chair, trying to make herself tiny, invisible.

  "Don't hurt her," Teresa said. "She's just a kid."

  The "uncle" raised his gun to her and she fell silent.

  After that first assessing glance, Vic didn't even acknowledge Teresa was in the room. He just watched Mena. Waited. Patiently. "Mija," he finally said. "You have to look at me."

  She wouldn't look at him, though.

  But finally, she spoke, in a tiny, sobbing voice that broke Teresa's heart. "Please, mijo," she whispered. "Please don't make me."

  "It's necessary." Vic's tone was gentle and kind, as if he was trying to convince a child to eat her vegetables. As if whatever horrible thing he was doing was for the child's good.

  "I need to know, Ximena. I need to be sure about this."

  She froze, not even crying anymore. Just frozen like a doll. The whole room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her to move.

  Then she moved. A tiny nod that was excruciating in its finality.

  "Yes?" he asked.

  "Yes," she said. She put her face in her hands.

  Only then did Vic turn to Teresa.

  He faced her, the gun in his hand pointed directly at her chest.

  He looked her over, head to toe, and then chuckled. "I never would have guessed. So you're the cheap little whore who snitched on me."

  It was late when Logan headed back from his latest command performance for the village council.

  Mabel Rutherford had kept her word. She'd brought up a motion to restrict the number of children allowed in the community center at any one time. She was determined to get him fired for allowing "ruffians" to take over the center.

  But so far he'd convinced the board that keeping kids busy was better than having them bored out of their minds and spoiling for trouble.

  So he should be happy. He'd won another round.

  But he couldn't bring himself to feel happy about anything today. He walked past the closed storefront of Santos' Market in the fog, not looking up at the little apartment with its balcony for Juliet to stand on, calling to him to give her a chance.

  He zipped up his jacket and thrust his hands in his pockets.

  Only a few blocks to go and he'd be back in his quiet little tin-roof shack, where he could turn the TV up high and drown out the sound of his own thoughts. He hurried on, passing the community center without a glance.

  The hulking pale form of it loomed up in the darkness, its tower barely visible in the fog.

  Then the lights flicked on in the tower.

  What?

  He pulled out his phone and checked the time. Ten-thirty. no one should be there at this hour.

  He made his way up the cobblestone path, over the grassy section, and up the steps to the front door.

  Yup. Something was wrong.

  The door was standing wide open.

  He took a step inside, listening for the sounds of vandalism.

  It was all quiet and dark, with the thieves presumably upstairs where the light was on.

  He took another step, and pulled out his phone to dial 911.

  Then heard something behind him and swung around.

  A man had been standing behind the door, waiting for him, but Logan knocked him flat with one blow.

  "Ow!" Jack Payson said from his position lying on the teak sun inlay on the floor.

  But he said it in a whisper.

  "You saw the break-in?" Logan whispered back, helping the old man to his feet.

  Jack rubbed his jaw. "Yeah. Saw the lights flick on and then off in the tower room. Was coming to check it out."

  "Did you call the police yet?"

  "Not yet." Jack shook his head, then thought better of it, holding onto the wall for support.

  "Sorry I hit you so hard. Thought you were the burglar."

  "It's not a burglar," said Pamela in a whisper. She came down the hall from the back of the building. "And if you two don't be quiet, I'll deck you both."

  "What do you mean, it's not a burglar?" Logan asked.

  "Shhh!" she said. "Don't let them hear you." She looked at him calmly. "Teri is up in her office and she is in danger. I can't explain now, but you need to just stand still and be quiet. If they hear you, they might panic."

  "She's in danger?" he said, and headed for the stairs.

  Pamela put an arm to block his way. "Stay here and be quiet."

  She pulled out her phone and punched a number. "Ryan? Get down to the community center. Call in all the backup. Yeah. The door is locked and I heard them yelling inside. Get here fast." She took a deep breath, then added, "I heard a shot with a silencer."

  She hung up the phone and looked at the two men. "Relax. If Teresa was shot they would be coming out."

  "Relax? You've gotta be kidding."

  "She's the target. If they shot her they would have already left by now. They aren't leaving, so just be quiet and stay out of the way."

  "I've got to do something," Logan said.

  "You might try praying."

  Captain Ryan and Deputy Joe were standing at the base of the stairs. Pamela was there, too, talking to them. From their whispered voices it was clear they were waiting for backup.

  Upstairs Teri was alone with, who? Not burglars. Gunmen. Gangsters. Some people who were targeting her. And everybody stood around down here. Helpless. Waiting for what?

  "Come on," Jack whispered to Logan.

  "I can't leave. I have to find a way to help Teri."

  "I know. Come on."

  The old man took him by the arm and led him away. Jack opened the door to Logan's office and pushed him inside, then shut the door after them.

  "What are we doing in here?" Logan asked.

  "Teri's directly over our heads," he said. "On the third floor." He pointed to the ceiling.

  "I know that. If we had a ladder from here to there that would be great. But we don't."

  "We've got one."

  "What do you mean?"

  "There's a hidden passage next to the fireplace."

  "Show me!"

  "I'm not sure, Logan. It was a hard climb even when I had two good legs. I don't think you could do it."

  "Show me. I'll do it." Then he realized what Jack had said. "You've climbed it before?"

  "Come on. Help me move the boxes blocking the wall."

  Logan stood there staring at Jack.

  "You're not going to stand around and wait for your girl to die, are you?"

  They moved the boxes, exposing the paneled wall. Next to the fireplace, the beautiful wood paneling appeared solid, an unbroken wall of smooth-grained, dark-stained redwood.

  Jack Payson took a deep breath, then slowly knelt do
wn on the floor to the left of the fireplace, holding his bad leg out stiff while he did it. He pressed at the baseboard: left, then right, then left again. There was a popping sound, like a seal breaking.

  "Help me up, son," he said.

  Logan did. "Your leg is as bad as mine," he muttered.

  Once standing, Jack just gently tapped his knuckles on the board closest to the fireplace, and a doorway opened into the wall.

  "A secret passageway? For real? How did you find this?"

  "Hurry," he said shortly, and ushered Logan in.

  Once they were both in the pitch black space, he pushed the door shut.

  But a hand came around the edge of the door before it closed all the way.

  Pamela pushed the door open again and then shut it behind her. Logan heard some fumbling sounds, and then Pamela turned on a small flashlight. "Always keep one in my knitting bag," she said. She shone the light on the two men. "What do you two fools think you're doing in here?" she whispered.

  "I think we're going to rescue Teri," Logan said. "And you need to go away."

  "Do you want to get her killed?" Pamela said, still in that angry whisper. "You idiots. Come out of here." She turned to the door and ran the beam of the flashlight across the seam. "Where's the door knob?"

  "There isn't one," Jack said. "There's a pressure latch."

  "So open it."

  "Can't. When the fool who built the house smashed up the office twenty-five years ago, he damaged the mechanism and now it won't open from this side."

  "How do you know that?" Logan asked.

  "Because I'm the fool who broke it, kid."

  "What?"

  "He's Langston King," Pamela said impatiently. "Didn't you figure that out?"

  The two men stared at each other in the dim light: Logan wary, Jack/Langston sheepish.

  But Pamela stepped between them. "We don't have time for your family drama at the moment. If you can't get out of here, why did you come in?"

  "Because the pressure latch on the third floor still works," Jack explained. "We can get into that locked library tower from here."

  "And what? Overpower the gunmen?"

  "Surprise 'em at least. Throw them off their guard."

  "Surprise men holding guns on your friend?" She sighed. "Civilians. What am I going to do with you two?"

  But Logan had moved on from the shock of Jack being Langston King to the worry at hand. "Is this the way?" he asked, noticing a ladder attached to the wall.

  "Yup."

  Pamela shone the light up the shaft. "I can't see the top."

  "It's three stories up," Langston said.

  "All right," Pamela said, shining the beam from one face to the next. "Here's how this is going to go. You're going to wait here until this is over. The police need to handle it, and if you try some foolish ambush you might get that girl killed. Got it?"

  "Wait here until she's dead?" Logan said. "I don't think so. You heard Captain Ryan. They don't have a plan. The room is impossible to get into. They're waiting for backup, and it could take too long to get here."

  He started up the ladder.

  Pamela made a grab for his ankle, but Langston stepped in the way. "Stop it, lady. We're trying to help."

  Logan was already about five rungs up the ladder when he heard her whisper, "All right. It's too late to stop you from climbing, but for heaven's sake, be quiet about it."

  They climbed as quietly as they could. Logan ignored the shooting pains radiating from his knee every time he pulled his injured leg up to the next rung.

  Behind him the old man was climbing, and from his painful, labored breathing, he must be hurting just as much as Logan was.

  His grandfather? How was that even possible? But there was no time to process the news because Teri was alone up there with gunmen.

  Whatever this was about, he had to get to her. He had to protect her. If he lost her without ever talking to her, without ever having a chance to tell her how he felt—

  He climbed faster, ignoring the pain.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Vicario's gun had fired once, putting a neat hole in Soleil King's sand bucket.

  Teresa stared at the fireplace tile, broken forever by that warning shot.

  She wasn't going to try to move again.

  "Good," Vicario said. "We understand each other."

  "No," Teresa said. "I don't understand. Why do you want to hurt this innocent kid?"

  He looked genuinely offended by that. "Hurt Ximena? I'm not hurting her. I'm saving her."

  The girl still sobbed her heart out, sagging on the chair like a broken doll.

  "Mena?" Teresa said.

  Mena looked up at her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please, hermano!" she said to Vic. "Por favor, don't make me."

  He was so gentle with her. "You don't have to do anything else." He turned to the other man. "Unlock the door and let her out. She doesn't need to be here anymore."

  "Hermano," Teresa breathed. "You're Mena's brother?"

  Mena's "uncle" moved to the door to unlock it, then stopped. He motioned back toward the fireplace.

  Everyone in the room froze. There was the tiniest click, then the bookcase next to the fireplace receded into the wall, and two people burst through.

  "Logan! Get down!" Teresa shouted.

  Logan grabbed her and turned around, smothering her against his chest and protecting her from the gunmen with his body.

  She heard another snap of the silenced gun, and a cry.

  She pushed Logan aside and there was Jack Payson on the floor, clutching his leg.

  "You!" Vic said, motioning to the gap in the bookcases. "Get out here."

  Pamela came out, her knitting bag over her arm and her hands raised.

  "What is this?" Vic said. "Amateur hour? All of you, over by the windows."

  Logan, Teresa, and Pamela all stood in front of the arc of windows, their hands up.

  Teresa could feel the cold air through the open window at her back. But that wasn't what was making her shiver.

  The sight of Vic bending over Jack, manhandling him, checking him for weapons, ignoring his groans of pain, brought back all her nightmares.

  Pamela noticed her trembling. "Hold on, kid," Pamela whispered to her.

  Vic nodded to the other gunman, and he checked out the gap in the wall. "Nobody else there," he said.

  "Then watch them," he said, motioning to the three standing against the windows.

  "What are you doing here?" Teresa asked Logan.

  "Trying to rescue you," he said sheepishly.

  Vic frowned. "Now this is a big mess," he said, as if someone had spilled coffee on his suit.

  "I'm sorry," Mena said.

  "Don't worry, Ximena," he said, and Teresa was again struck by how gentle his voice became the moment he spoke to her.

  "You love her," she blurted out in astonishment.

  "Of course I love her," he said, insulted. "She's my baby sister."

  "Then why would you involve her in your business like this?"

  "Involve her? I protected her. I sent her to that special school in another city to keep her away from all this."

  "How is this protecting her? Involving her in your murder?"

  "My murder!" Mena cried out. She turned to Teresa, her face red, her eyes swollen from all the crying. "My murder."

  "You still don't get it?" Vic said. "Too bad. I don't have time to explain it to you."

  He took Mena by the arm and helped her up out of the chair. He led her toward the door. Then nodded to the gunman. "When I get her out of here, do it."

  The man nodded. He stepped in front of the three by the window, and raised his gun.

  Then the window behind Teresa slammed shut with a bang.

  A blur moved in front of Teresa, and she heard a cry of pain.

  Then the gunman was lying on the floor, clutching his shattered wrist and moaning. Pamela was standing over him, the broken broomstick that had propped up the window making a perf
ect weapon in her hand.

  And Logan had used that athletic ability of his to slide into home, grabbing the gun that had skittered out of the gunman's hand and across the floor.

  Now Logan was sitting up, back against the fireplace, and bringing the gun to bear dead-center on the nearest target: Mena.

  "Not Mena!" Teresa shouted, and Logan seamlessly shifted his target to Vic.

  "Careful," Vic said. He let go of Mena's arm, and raised the gun in his own hand to point it at Teresa.

  Everyone in the room held their breath.

  Then, "not bad for amateur hour," Pamela said calmly, breaking the tension.

  "Yup," Teresa said. "You small-town amateurs took it from two guns against us, all the way to even odds. By the way, you know what to do with that thing?" she asked Logan.

  "Boy Scout Marksmanship badge," he said.

  "Why am I not surprised you're a Boy Scout?" she said. Then she asked Mr. Payson, "you holding on?"

  He was pale, and clutched at his bleeding leg, but he nodded. "I been hurt worse," he said with a grimace.

  She turned to Vicario. "So we're at a standoff. Now what are you going to do, Vic?"

  He shrugged. "There's still only one way to save Mena. You have to die." He looked at the others. "And now they do, too."

  "All of them?" Mena said. "But that's not right."

  "Not right? It's not right for you to be threatened. You need to be safe. I know it's hard, little one. But you have to trust me. It's my job to protect you."

  "You're doing a lousy job of it, Vic," Teresa said.

  Logan started to say something, but she shook her head at him. "Don't shoot unless he does," she said softly to Logan. "And you don't want to do that, do you, Vic?" She paused. "There's only one way out for Mena, you said."

  She kept her hands still, not making any motion that could invite him to shoot the gun aimed at her. But she looked at him with a new understanding, and that made all the terror of her past nightmares wash away. She was able to look him right in the eye without fear, and even smile.

  He recognized it, too. "You finally figured it out."

  "You didn't kill the guy. You cleaned it up. You cleaned up the murder scene to protect Ximena. You were trying to save her, like you said."