by Lois Winston
Before she could respond, Ralph flew back into the foyer. Settling on the floor inches from Virginia’s face, he flapped his wings and stared at her.
“Get that vile thing away from me!” she shrieked.
“I don’t think so.” I turned to Zack. “She tried to kill Ralph. Looks like he’s taking a bit of revenge.”
Ralph squawked in agreement. “Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. Titus Andronicus. Act Five, Scene Ten.” Then he planted his beak into her fur collar.
“You go, Ralph,” I said.
Virginia cringed, her entire body shuddering as she tried without success to inch herself away from him.
“You okay?” Zack asked me as Ralph continued to peck at Virginia’s coat and she continued to scream.
I dragged myself across the foyer and propped my back against the wall, cradling my injured arm in my lap. Blood dripped from the puncture wounds. Good thing vampires only exist in fiction. “I’ll live, but I’d better get a tetanus shot.”
~*~
Zack and I watched as Officers Harley and Fogarty hauled Virginia Owens from my house toward their police cruiser.
“I don’t think we need to call an ambulance for your wound,” said Detective Spader, pointing to my arm, “but I want you checked out at the hospital. I’ll have one of the other officers drive you.”
“No need,” said Zack. “I’ll take her.”
Spader nodded. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Really, Detective,” I said. “There’s no point in spending taxpayer dollars.”
Spader turned back to me. “Don’t think I won’t check up on you.”
“Scout’s honor.” I held up my uninjured arm and formed my fingers into the Girl Scout pledge sign. “We’ll lock up the house and drive directly to the hospital.”
He nodded before heading to his car.
“That’s one seriously evil woman,” I said as Zack and I watched the patrol car carrying Virginia Owens pull away from the curb. “I wonder if her mother suspected Virginia killed her brother.”
As we stepped back into the house, and Zack closed the door behind us, he asked, “Why do you say that?”
I quickly caught Zack up on everything Virginia had divulged to me. “I suppose spilling her murderous secrets didn’t matter since she planned to kill me. Dead craft editors tell no tales.”
“You think her mother may have known what happened the night of the party? Weren’t the parents out of town that night?”
“Yes, but what if the mother overheard Virginia and Kirk arguing over Kirk wanting to confess to what they’d done? Then Kirk supposedly dies of an accidental drug overdose? I don’t think someone all of sudden turns into a psychopath. I’ll bet Virginia was the kind of kid who stomped canaries and strangled kittens.”
“Like Matt Ronson?”
“Exactly.”
“Wouldn’t her mother have said something if she suspected her daughter killed her son?”
“Not necessarily. Mothers are often in denial when it comes to their children’s antisocial behavior.”
Zack nodded. “You did say Matt Ronson’s mother made excuses and covered up his actions for as long as possible.”
“Think about it: Virginia’s mother had already lost her son. Then her husband died suddenly. Her crazy daughter was all she had left. Perhaps she joined the convent as penance because she blamed herself for Virginia’s actions.”
“Because she wasn’t a good enough mother?”
“Right. And if so, how could she turn Virginia in to the police if she blamed herself for what Virginia had done? In her mind her only recourse was to absolve herself and her daughter by dedicating the rest of her life to God and prayer.”
Zack scowled. “Nun or no nun, if she knows what happened to Carmen and Elena, she’s also indirectly responsible for the three victims of the hit-and-run.”
“Not only that. For all we know, Virginia may have had something to do with her father’s death. What if he also suspected Virginia killed Kirk and confronted her? She could have silenced him in such a way that it looked like a coronary. If the man had a heart condition, no one would have suspected foul play.”
“Except her mother.”
Another theory crossed my mind. “Maybe her mother joined the convent to keep Virginia from killing her.”
“Except they’ve maintained a relationship. You mentioned they spent Thanksgiving together.”
“It could be an extremely strained relationship for the sake of appearances. Or perhaps her mother now suffers from dementia and has forgotten what happened half a century ago.”
The possibilities were endless, and it would take a team of detectives to get to the bottom of it. Detective Spader had taken preliminary statements from Zack and me at the house, but he’d requested we come into headquarters to give signed statements. I’d certainly present my theories to him at that time.
Virginia Owens had the kind of money to buy herself the best defense attorneys in the country. She had known enough to remain silent and stone-faced throughout her arrest, refusing to answer any questions or defend herself against my accusations, even before Detective Spader Mirandized her. Instead, she offered nothing more than a tight-lipped glare—at Detective Spader, at the other cops, and especially at me.
I knew she’d lawyer up immediately, refusing to admit anything during her interrogation. Everything she’d confessed to me boiled down to her word against mine at this point, but I’d do whatever I could to make sure she spent the rest of her life behind bars.
“Let’s get you over to the hospital,” said Zack.
I’d put on a brave face for Zack and Detective Spader, but my arm throbbed from the excruciating pain. Blood continued to trickle from the holes left by Virginia’s teeth. Originally, I planned to clean and bandage the wound myself, but Spader was right. I needed to go to the hospital.
Spader must have called in some favors or pulled a few strings because as soon as we arrived at the hospital, I was ushered into an examination room even though dozens of people filled the emergency waiting room. The attending physician confirmed the seriousness of my injury when after cleaning the puncture wound, he gave me a local and set about stitching me back together. “You’re lucky there’s no nerve damage,” he said.
After bandaging my arm, he capped off my visit with a tetanus shot and a prescription for painkillers. Pain or no pain, though, we were at the hospital, and I wanted to stop by to see Lupe.
“You sure you’re up to this?” asked Zack, draping his arm around my shoulders as we stepped into an elevator. “You seem a bit woozy.”
I pressed the button for the Intensive Care Unit and smiled at Zack. “I’ve got you to catch me if I faint.”
A moment later the elevator arrived at the designated floor, and the doors opened. Zack swept his free arm in front of us. “As Ralph would say, ‘Lead on, Macduff.’”
“You need to brush up your Shakespeare. Ralph would never misquote The Bard.”
His brows knit together in puzzlement. “Isn’t that a line from Macbeth?”
I shook my head. “The correct wording is ‘Lay on, Macduff.’”
“Hmm…I may be smarter than a fifth grader, but I’m obviously not smarter than a parrot.”
I laughed through my pain. “Few people are when it comes to Ralph and Shakespeare.”
By then we had arrived at Lupe’s room. When I turned to peer through the glass, my jaw dropped.
TWENTY
We found Lupe sitting up in bed, her husband holding her hand. I ran to the door and pushed it open. “You’re awake!”
She smiled. She was still hooked up to a myriad of blinking and beeping machines, but her bruises had begun to fade from deep purple to a yellowish green, and although an incredibly sickly color, it indicated her flesh was in the process of healing. “That I am,” she said. “A bit the worse for wear but alive and awake.”
“With no permanent brain damage,” added Andrew.
Lupe frowned. “I was lucky, unlike the other two women who were struck.”
“The second woman died late last night,” said Andrew. “And the police still haven’t caught the bastard responsible.”
Zack and I exchanged a knowing glance that didn’t go unnoticed by Lupe. “What is it?” she asked. “Don’t just stand there in the doorway. Come into the room.”
“I thought we weren’t allowed,” I said. “Immediate family only.”
“You need to sit down,” Zack said to me. “Forget the rules.” He ushered me into the room toward the empty chair on the opposite side of the bed from where Andrew sat, then took up a position behind me.
That’s when Lupe noticed my bandage. “What happened to your arm?”
“I was bitten.”
“By your mother-in-law’s dog?”
I shook my head. “Devil Dog is all bark, no bite. I was attacked by the person who hired the van driver who tried to kill you.”
Andrew’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying the hit-and-run was deliberate?”
“Was it my mother’s rapist?” asked Lupe.
“Not exactly.” I leaned forward and placed my hand on her shoulder. “How much do you remember from before the accident?”
“I remember sitting in the coffee shop and Elena telling us about the rape, but everything after that is a total blank.”
“The doctors said her memory might return with time,” said Andrew, “but there’s no guarantee.”
I nodded. “You don’t remember going to Our Lady of Peace to view a copy of the yearbook?”
She shook her head.
“Someone else was in that coffee shop and overhead Elena, someone who had a vested interest in making sure you didn’t find out who had raped your mother that night. She followed you home.”
Andrew and Lupe gripped each other’s hand so tightly their knuckles turned white. Andrew’s entire body stiffened with rage. “Who?”
I took a deep breath and filled them in on everything that had transpired over the last few days, culminating with Virginia showing up at my house this morning. When I finished, they both sat in stunned disbelief. Finally, Lupe said, “All because she didn’t make the cheerleading squad?”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” I said.
“Was she born evil?” asked Lupe. “Or did something happen to her to turn her into a psychopath?”
“We may never know,” said Zack.
“Unless she confesses,” I said, “but I don’t see that happening.”
Andrew’s face grew purple with rage. “You mean there’s a chance she’ll get off?”
“I don’t think so,” said Zack. “My guess is that after the police get a search warrant, they’ll find evidence that leads them to the van driver she hired. They’ll offer him a deal to rat her out. In addition, if her brother and father weren’t cremated, they’ll exhume the bodies and look for evidence of murder. And don’t forget, she tried to kill Anastasia today. The prosecutor might not be able to convict her on all counts, but he should be able to get her on enough to lock her up for the rest of her life.”
“I certainly hope so,” said Andrew.
Lupe had grown very quiet. Her features took on a distant quality, as if she’d withdrawn from this world into some remote place no one else could enter. “Lupe?” I squeezed her shoulder and whispered, “Are you all right?”
“I’m trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. The woman responsible for this…Virginia?”
“Owens,” I said. “She’s married to Albert Owens, the real estate developer. He was one of the football players at the party.”
“And she and her brother cooked up that vile scheme together? To punish my mother and aunt?”
“She only wanted to get even with your aunt. She referred to your mother as collateral damage.”
“That’s a war term,” said Lupe. “If she was at war with my aunt, why would she invite her to a party?”
“It was a one-sided war. Elena had no idea Virginia hated her.”
“Then why did her brother also rape Mami?”
“Opportunity.”
“That makes Virginia Owens my sister’s aunt.”
Andrew’s eyes widened in alarm. “Where are you going with this, Lupe?”
Lupe ignored his question, instead keeping her attention focused on me. “You said she’s a psychopath.”
“I’m no psychiatrist, but I think it’s a good assumption, given everything she did.”
“A psychopath and a possible serial killer,” said Zack.
“And her brother?” asked Lupe.
“If he wasn’t also a psychopath, the creep was probably at least a sociopath,” I said.
“Or possibly just a very weak individual easily manipulated by his sister,” said Zack.
Lupe bit down on her lower lip and grew silent again. Finally she asked, “Are psychotic tendencies something people can inherit?”
Were they? I had no idea. I looked to Zack for help. His brain contained a vast amount of knowledge on all sorts of topics.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Could be nurture, could be nature.”
“Sex offenders were often sexually abused as children,” I said. “So maybe the same is true with psychotic behavior.”
“If it’s nature,” said Lupe, “that would mean my sister might carry those crazy genes.”
I nodded. “Possibly. But if not, she might be a wonderful, stable person. You have no way of knowing.”
“And chances are I’ll never know.” Lupe closed her eyes and took a deep breath before letting loose a forlorn sigh. “Either way, I think I should forget about trying to find her. The best gift I could possibly give my sister is to spare her the knowledge of her conception.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” said Andrew.
~*~
“That was a difficult decision for Lupe to make,” I said as Zack and I headed home. Lupe would have liked to make her mother’s rapist pay for what he’d done, but she knew that would never happen. From the beginning I believed what drove her was the possibility of a miraculous reunion with the half-sister she never knew.
My cell phone rang as Zack crossed over from Mountainside into Westfield. I glanced at the display. When I saw that it was Cloris calling, I answered. “Hi.”
“You’re an absolute genius,” she said.
“I am?”
“You solved The Sentinel mystery.”
“I did?”
“You were right. The private investigator discovered the new owners’ fourteen-year-old son wrote those letters. They’re mortified. They can’t stop apologizing.”
“Probably because they don’t want you suing them.”
“I’m sure. They’ve withdrawn the lawsuit and offered to pay all the legal expenses we incurred. Plus, they’ve offered additional money for our pain and suffering. We owe you big time.”
“Hey, what are friends for? You did save my life once, remember?”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“How could you forget? Anyway, to quote Ralph, all’s well that ends well.”
Except as Zack turned onto our street, I realized all wasn’t well. Harriet Kleinhample’s VW minibus sat parked in front of my house. I groaned. This could mean only one thing: our Lucille reprieve had come to an end. “Well, it was nice while it lasted,” I said.
Anastasia’s Scrapbooking Tips
Because of the fragile quality of the photographs Lupe discovered in her mother’s attic, Anastasia decided to create a digital scrapbook that could be uploaded to a commercial photo site and printed into a bound album. Printed albums are also great when you want to produce multiple copies of an album for family members.
However, with the wide variety of tools and embellishments available in craft stores, you might want to opt for creating one-of-a-kind scrapbooks. If so, make sure you only use archival quality products that won’t discolor your photos over time.
Whether you decide to design a digit
al album to print or a one-of-a-kind album, keep these tips in mind for the best results:
1. Decide on the theme for your album. You can create an album to commemorate a specific event, such as a birthday or vacation, or a series of chronological albums that span your family’s history.
2. Choose a focal-point photograph for each page. Create a layout for the page by adding other photos that are part of that page’s “story.”
3. Always keep in mind that “less is more.” Too many snapshots on one page will look cluttered. Choose no more than three or four of the most representational photos to highlight.
4. Whether you’re choosing backgrounds from a digital site or actual scrapbook pages, make sure the printed patterns and colors don’t overpower your photos. The photographs are the stars of your album. Backgrounds are meant to enhance, not steal the show.
5. Use page accents, whether digital artwork or purchased embellishments, sparingly. As with backgrounds, you don’t want the embellishments to take over the page. You want your photos to stand out. One embellishment per page every few pages is sufficient.
6. Create a title for pages that represent special events.
7. Note the names of each person in a photo, the year or date, and where the photo was taken. Even though you recognize the people in the photos, years from now you may not, and your descendents certainly won’t know their names.
8. If you choose to combine photographs with journaling, make certain your spelling is correct.
9. Don’t go overboard adding lots of catchy quotes or song lyrics.
10. Remember that you’re creating a family heirloom that will be viewed by future generations. Don’t editorialize by adding disparaging comments about Aunt Irma or Cousin Tiffany.
~*~
Keep reading for an excerpt from Drop Dead Ornaments, Lois Winston’s next Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery.
Drop Dead Ornaments
An Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery
