For a moment, the room swam before Liss’s eyes. Her stomach lurched. There were times when she wished she didn’t have such a vivid imagination. It was all too easy for her to envision Ned’s last moments.
Jason Graye, still bound and gagged and tied to the chair, moaned in pain.
Danby’s grip on Liss’s arm tightened. “That guy’s going the same way!” he hissed.
“What did he do?” Liss whispered.
“Nothing. That’s just it. I thought he’d found it. Blackie’s loot. Figured I’d persuade him to confess, but he didn’t know anything to begin with. He never even got inside the house.” Danby seemed to think this was a serious character flaw. “Tried to break in and couldn’t do it. The only thing he accomplished was to get the cops checking the place out the next day. Damned nuisance!”
Danby eyed Liss up and down. “It’ll go easier on you if you just tell me what I want to know.”
She didn’t buy that for a second. She knew with painful certainty that he meant to use her as a punching bag and kill her afterward, no matter what she said.
“I can’t tell you what you want to hear.” Liss hated it that her voice was so unsteady. “I can only tell you the truth. I don’t know what happened to Blackie O’Hare’s money. Did you ever consider that it could have been found years ago?”
“I don’t believe it. He told me he hid his loot here.”
“But the house has been searched countless times, starting back when Blackie was arrested. Maybe those police officers from Massachusetts found the mother lode and kept it for themselves.”
Danby gave her another shake, this one so violent that it rattled her bones. “It was here. It was right there.” He gestured toward the open panel. “You found it. Now you’re going to tell me what you did with it.”
Liss’s voice rose to a shriek. “I—don’t know where the—money is.” She was sure Danby had already left bruises on her upper arms, but that would be nothing compared to what he might do to her next.
“M-Maybe we can figure out where it is!” She was so scared she was stammering. “Are y-you sure B-Blackie had only one hidey-hole?”
Danby kept shaking her, until she was certain she had whiplash.
“Have you checked the hidden room?” she blurted out.
The shaking abruptly stopped. “What hidden room?”
“Upstairs. Where Ned was hiding out while he lived here.”
“He was living here?” Dumbstruck, Danby went very still. After a moment, he asked, “How did he find out about this hidden room?”
“He spent a lot of time here when he was a kid. Abandoned house. Rumors of buried treasure. He . . . broke in and explored.”
She almost told him about the secret entrance, too, but caught herself in the nick of time. She might need to use the tunnel to escape, assuming she could get away from Danby in the first place. She hoped it hadn’t been boarded up again.
“Hidden room,” Danby repeated.
“I can show you where it is.” If she could lure Danby upstairs, give him a shove, close the closet door on him . . .
“If you know where Ned Boyd was hiding, that proves you were in cahoots with him. Who else would that little shit trust but a relative?” Danby chuckled, another oh-so-ordinary sound that was scarier in its own way than the cry of a banshee. “It was a real rush to stab that son of a bitch. It’d been a long time since I had the pleasure of watching someone’s life blood drain away.”
The dim lighting in the parlor cast a demonic glow over Danby’s face. Another involuntary shudder wracked Liss’s body. Seeing her fear, his smile grew wider. He wanted her to be terrified and he was doing a good job of getting her there.
There is something seriously wrong with this man.
Gordon had told her Danby liked to spill his opponents’ blood. Julie had described the disturbing photographs he’d received in the mail. Liss knew with a cold certainty that if she didn’t think of something fast, he was going to derive a great deal of sick pleasure adding two more murder victims to his tally.
“Did you kill Blackie O’Hare?” She hadn’t meant to ask that question. It just burst out of her. Like Ned, Blackie had been stabbed.
Danby’s smile broadened into a full-fledged grin that showed off a great many yellowed teeth. “I wish I had. But I did enjoy watching him die in the prison exercise yard. Funny thing,” he added, sounding almost nostalgic. “I’d forgotten all about old Blackie until I ran into Ned Boyd. It was hearing where he was from that made me remember. It’s a name that sticks with you—Moosetookalook. Just rolls off the tongue!”
We really need to consider renaming this town, Liss thought, and vowed to bring up the subject with the selectmen the first chance she got . . . if she lived that long.
Focus! Keep him talking!
“It was a mistake to kill Ned,” she said. “You lost access to the mansion, what with the police likely to pop up at any moment. And you lost the one person who might have found Blackie’s treasure, assuming it ever existed.”
Danby glowered at her.
Keep him talking!
Liss didn’t expect anyone to come riding to her rescue. No one knew where she was. But if she had enough time, surely she’d think of a way out of this mess. Her get-him-upstairs-and-shut-him-in-the-hidden-room plan didn’t seem to be working. He showed no inclination to leave the parlor.
“The delay must have been very frustrating.” She tried to sound sympathetic.
He responded by twisting her arm until she cried out in pain. He let her go then, leaving her to clutch the injured appendage to her chest and whimper. He liked seeing her cowed and rewarded her by answering her question.
“I had time. Or so I thought.” He glared at Jason Graye, who appeared to have lapsed into unconsciousness. “Then this bozo came tromping in. I heard him talking on his cell phone about tearing the place down and putting up condos.”
Without warning, he crossed to Graye’s chair and gave the realtor’s bound legs a vicious kick. Man and chair toppled to the floor. Liss flattened herself against the wall by the fireplace.
For just a few seconds, while their tormentor was distracted, she had an opportunity to scan the rest of the room. Her frantic gaze searched, found, and she quickly figured the odds.
Then Danby’s lethal attention returned to her. He retrieved his gun from where he’d tucked it into his belt at the small of his back. His eyes narrowed as he paced toward her.
Liss swallowed convulsively. Her hands automatically shot up above her head, visibly shaking.
“I had to stay away from the mansion for a while,” Danby said, “but you didn’t. And when I started searching again after the police were done, there’d been holes dug down in the cellar.”
Liss pressed her lips tightly together. Let him go ahead and think she’d been the one to dig in the basement. Danby had never caught a glimpse of Boxer. She prayed it wouldn’t cross his mind that the twelve-year-old had been paying regular visits to the mansion.
“What possessed you to report finding that skeleton?” he demanded. “That was stupid. Real stupid . . . unless you’d already found the cash and were trying to throw up a smoke screen.” He took a threatening step closer. “I’m only going to ask you nicely one more time. What did you do with the money?”
The truth hadn’t done her any good so far. There was no point in outright denial. Liss glanced at the still open panel by the fireplace. She couldn’t prove a negative, but maybe she could still stall.
“I . . . I didn’t find money,” she lied, going with the first idea that popped into her panic-stricken brain. “I mean, I did, but only the one stack of bills.” There, that accounted for the paper strip in the hidey-hole! “What Blackie O’Hare hid in there was a fortune in uncut gems.”
A look of disbelief crossed Danby’s face. Liss lowered her arms, squared her shoulders, and shot defiance back at him. It took every ounce of her theatrical training not to let him see the sheer panic she was really feel
ing.
“Where are they?”
“I gave them to the police.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Call the local PD and ask Officer Campbell. I’ve got her on speed dial if you want to use my cell.” She reached for the side pocket of her jeans, where he’d felt the tiny phone during his pat down, but had not relieved her of it.
“Keep both hands where I can see them and turn around.”
Again? Didn’t we just do this? Warily, she obeyed, resting her palms against the wall. A moment later, she felt his hand insinuate itself into her pocket and close over the phone.
“Just press two. When she answers, hold the phone so I can speak into it. If I ask her about the gems, she’ll give me an update on who has them now.”
And Sherri would also catch on to the fact that Liss was in trouble. How much trouble was going to depend on how fast Sherri could figure out where her friend was calling from.
“Stay where you are,” Danby ordered.
Liss heard him move closer to the window, probably trying for more bars. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Concentrating on the unfamiliar phone with its tiny keypad—he’d been in prison for the last ten years and missed a lot of developments in technology—Danby was no longer paying any attention to her.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Liss tensed the muscles in her legs, turned, and leaped, reaching for the pulley mechanism overhead. Her arm was on fire, but she caught the wheel in one hand, wrenching it the rest of the way free. Her follow through sent the heavy chunk of metal spinning toward the spot by the window where Danby stood.
The blow landed with considerable force against the back of his unprotected, nearly bald head. The gun flew from his right hand, the phone from his left. Both landed on the floor and skittered away. Danby dropped to his knees with a bellow of pain.
The words Moosetookalook Police Department floated through the air. They were barely audible, the phone having ended up under a chair, but they were loud enough for Liss to recognize Sherri’s voice.
“Help!” she screamed. “Sherri! Come to the mansion!”
Danby flung himself at her. Strong, work-roughened hands closed around her throat. She hadn’t managed to knock him unconscious. She’d only stunned him. And she’d made him mad.
They fell together to the floor, but he was stronger. One roll and he was on top, still trying to throttle her. Liss managed to get one arm between them and shove at his chest, momentarily pushing him far enough away to allow her to take in a precious gulp of air, but she didn’t have the strength to repeat the maneuver.
Dark spots appeared before her eyes. The only sound she could manage was a gurgle. Blackness closed in fast when he began to bang her head against the hardwood floor.
The last thing she heard was a crash.
Chapter Eighteen
“Is she alive?”
“I think so.”
Through the throbbing in her head, Liss struggled to think clearly. She began to cough, which made the pain worse. She had the terrible feeling she was about to throw up, but forced herself to open her eyes, anyway.
“What happened?” she asked.
Or, rather, that’s what she tried to ask. Only a raspy croak emerged from her very sore throat. She brought one hand up to her neck and winced when she touched bruised and abraded skin.
She winced a second time at a loud noise, only belatedly identifying it as the sound of a rapidly approaching police car with its siren blaring.
“Liss? Are you okay?” The anxious voice belonged to Boxer Snipes.
She managed to nod. Mercifully, her stomach had settled enough to risk moving her head that much. She was afraid to risk doing more, but by shifting her gaze a little to the right, she recognized the other person bending over her as Jason Graye. He was a horrific sight. One look at his swollen lip and eye and broken and bloody nose shocked her into full consciousness.
Everything that had happened since her arrival at the Chadwick mansion to meet Graye came back to her in a rush. Hey, she thought, still in a dazed state that resembled the moments between waking up and her first cup of coffee, that’s good. If I didn’t lose the last few minutes before I passed out, then I probably don’t have a concussion. She felt ridiculously grateful for small favors.
But what, exactly, had happened while she was unconscious?
Had Lowell Danby left her for dead?
How had Graye gotten loose?
And where had Boxer come from?
She couldn’t voice a single one of those questions. Her throat was too raw. She sat on the floor, listening as the front door slammed open and someone shouted her name.
“We’re in here!” Boxer yelled.
Sherri came through the door with her gun drawn. She lowered it as soon as she took in the scene, but didn’t holster it. She glanced toward the three people huddled by the window, then headed to the opposite corner of the room.
For the first time, Liss realized there was another person in the parlor, someone who was gagged and hogtied in Jason Graye’s place. Above the handkerchief stuffed in his mouth, Lowell Danby’s beady blue eyes promised retribution if he ever had the power to deliver it.
After satisfying herself that the prisoner was securely bound, Sherri engaged in a low-voiced exchange over the police radio. Once she’d made sure reinforcements were en route, she returned to the survivors. She gave Graye’s injuries a quick once over and then squatted down to study the rapidly rising bruises on Liss’s face and throat.
“She might have a concussion,” Boxer said. “He was banging her head on the floor.”
“The EMTs are on their way,” Sherri promised. “They’ll take care of her. Someone want to tell me what the hell just happened here?”
“The boy saved our lives,” Graye said, lisping a little through his split and swollen lip. “I couldn’t see much, but I could hear everything. Go on. Tell her what you did.”
“It wasn’t all that much.” Boxer’s face turned a mottled shade of pink.
Liss fumbled for his hand and squeezed it. Poor Boxer—he’d inherited the MacCrimmon blush.
“I’d like to hear details,” Sherri said. “And while you’re at it, you can tell me what you were doing out here in the first place.”
Pink flashed to red as Boxer automatically went on the defensive. “I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
“Yeah. Yeah. It was some other kid who looked just like you.”
Liss swallowed painfully and jumped into the fray. “Danby was choking me. I blacked out.”
“Liss—don’t talk,” Sherri ordered. “Boxer—spill it.”
“I thought he’d killed her. I came in and saw him choking her and hitting her head on the floor and then she just went limp. I was scared she was dead.” The words came out in a rush, the threat of tears beneath the words. Boxer had to clear his throat before he could continue and even then there was a hitch in his voice. “Then I spotted the gun. It was just lying there, next to the parlor organ.”
Danby had dropped it, Liss remembered, when she hit him with the pulley.
“And?” Sherri prompted.
“And he fired a warning shot,” Jason Graye cut in, unable to keep quiet any longer even though speaking made him wince in pain. “Scared the hell out of me,” he added in a mumble.
“Me, too,” Sherri muttered, reminding Liss that Sherri had been on the other end of an open phone connection at the time. “Boxer? I want to hear this from you.”
In the distance, Liss heard more sirens. The ambulance. More police. She squeezed Boxer’s hand a second time, silently encouraging him to finish the story before they arrived.
“The gun went off. He let go of Liss. The bullet went through the window.” Boxer pointed.
Belatedly, Liss noticed a neat round hole in the glass and the plywood beyond. Had that been the crash she’d heard? She supposed it must have been.
“He was really mad,” Boxer continued, “but I held the gun just like
I’ve seen cops on TV do, with both hands real steady. I told him to go untie Mr. Graye, and he did.”
He’d probably figured he could jump Boxer and take the gun away, Liss thought.
The kid had street smarts. He knew not to let Danby get close enough to make a move.
“Then I used the same ropes to tie him up,” Jason Graye said with enough relish to temporarily overcome his injuries. “And I did a very good job of it, too. We were just checking on your condition, Liss, when Sherri showed up.”
There was no time for more discussion after that. The cavalry had arrived to take Lowell Danby into custody and tend to the wounded.
Although she objected strenuously, Liss was kept overnight at the hospital in Fallstown for observation. The next morning, she was given a clean bill of health and released.
It took a little longer than that before she could speak normally again, and without pain, so she gave herself a few days of quiet contemplation before she asked her young cousin to stop in at Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium after school. By then it was Tuesday. Almost a week had passed since her ordeal at the mansion.
“I’ll drive you home after I close up,” she told him when he arrived, “but I wanted a chance to thank you for saving my life. And to talk.”
Naturally, since it was not a busy time of day or, for that matter, a busy time of year, a customer came in. Boxer retreated to the cozy corner with his homework until Liss was free. If he was nervous about answering the questions she had for him, he didn’t show it.
Once she’d rung up the sale, she joined him there. He ignored her until she spoke to him.
“I was lucky you were there that day,” Liss said.
He shrugged.
“Don’t misunderstand. I’m grateful. But—”
“I followed you. Okay?”
“Want to tell me why?”
“I was hanging around town, waiting for Mom to get off work and I thought I’d see if Grandma Margaret was home. She wasn’t, but I could see your driveway from her place and you were loading that stepladder into your car. When you drove off, I was pretty sure you were going out to the mansion and I had time to kill, so I thought I’d go see if I was right. It took me a while to get there, seeing as how I had to hoof it.”
Vampires, Bones and Treacle Scones Page 24
