by Linda Lovely
I scanned the shop for another exit. The cottage windows were small and Mollye’s built-in shelves and cabinets surrounded them. No way for me to climb through without hurdling over a hodgepodge of obstacles, exposing my butt to a bullet in the process.
I pulled out my cell phone. I turned off the sound, then dialed 911. I couldn’t afford to say anything. Doug was too close. He’d hear me and knew exactly where to aim. Surely Mollye or Sala had also called for help and actually told the operator it was an emergency.
Greasy gopher guts. We were trapped. Witches’ balls were no match for a loaded gun, and I figured Doug wouldn’t waste much time. He had to figure Sala or Mollye had called 911, whether they had or not.
He’d stuck the gun in his belt to use both hands to budge the heavy display. An opportunity.
I sprinted toward the studio door. Misjudged a turn. The sharp corner of a shelf stabbed me just below my ribs. I swallowed a scream and kept running. The shelf I’d collided with shuddered for a second. Then it toppled. A dozen glass jars filled with medicinal herbs crashed with it. A few extra hurdles for Doug to clear.
I dove for the studio door as if I were trying for a touchdown. A bullet whizzed overhead. Lucky I took the low road.
Gunfire wasn’t the only sound. Doug’s curses erupted like audible shock waves, followed by complete silence. The silence was scarier.
As I slid through the door, Sala grabbed my arm, and yanked me clear of the doorway.
“All right. You want to die with your friends. Fine. You’ll get your wish.” The cold, calm voice of the tactician had returned.
I quickly scrambled to my knees. Mollye gave a little wave from where she crouched on the opposite side of the studio door. Good. Doug had no one in his gun sight, and he’d need a howitzer to penetrate the cabin’s stone walls. A water pistol would have as much effect as his handgun.
If Doug wanted to shoot us, he’d be forced to come through that door.
Mollye motioned to a large circle of polished metal mounted near the ceiling. She’d installed it to see if anyone entered the shop while she sat molding wet clay at her potting wheel. I nodded that I understood. If I craned my neck, the mirrored surface would let me catch sight of Doug’s approach. Mollye couldn’t see, but Sala and I could.
A few seconds’ warning. Would it be enough?
Doug was a quarterback, used to running past two-hundred-fifty pound mounds of muscle hurling themselves at his legs. If any of us tried to tackle him, he’d swat us off like pesky mosquitoes.
I looked in the reflector. He hadn’t moved. Yet I sensed our wait was more likely to be seconds than minutes.
What was his strategy? He had to think it unlikely he could shoot all three of us bing, bang, boom without at least one of us having a chance to try something. But what?
“Weapons?” I mouthed.
I knew Mollye understood. On her side of the doorway, she pointed to a large, open bag filled with white clay powder. She picked up a giant hand scoop, and pantomimed flinging the powder at the doorway.
Yes, indeedy. Timed right the powder would blind him—for a few seconds. What then? He’d start shooting even while he was blind. Sala tapped my shoulder. She’d picked up a gnarly, carved walking stick Mollye used as a prop in her walk-in-the-woodland display. Good.
“What do you think you’ll accomplish killing us?” Sala yelled.
“Plenty,” Doug answered. “With you dead, Kate takes over. I’m back on the team, and she gives me an advance on a bonus. There’s not a shred of hard evidence I did anything wrong.”
“Are you kidding?” Mollye screeched. “The cops’ll be here any minute. You can’t get away. You know Gunter’ll rat you out as soon as he’s caught. Give it up.”
Doug actually chuckled. “Don’t think so. Gunter’s dead. Couldn’t seem to get past me shooting his pal. I played lookout at the Udderly gate when they came after Carol. Once Carol and Brie rode off on that stupid mule, Gunter phoned me. Wanted me to help him load Vince into the van. Gunter was an old grunt. Never leave behind a downed soldier. I preferred a clean getaway.”
As I listened to the shouted exchange, I frantically searched the workbench where Mollye pierced holes in those lacy vases. Could I do the same to Doug? Moll’s electric drill would do the most damage if the danged cord would reach. But I sort of figured Doug would quickly dodge out of range.
I picked up the largest of Mollye’s needle-sharp punches. It would let me continue the attack, no plug to pull free or get tangled. The punches made small holes but they’d sink deep. I could aim for his gun hand.
Lame. I’d taken a self-defense course for women. Knew my smart play. Go for vulnerable spots, bigger targets.
I spotted another weapon. The razor-sharp wire Mollye used to cleanly slice through stacks of wet clay. It looked remarkably like a garrote. Even had a nice wooden handle at each end.
Could I use it? I shuddered. No. I’d hesitate soon as it dug into flesh. Doug would wrestle it away and slice my head clean off.
I glanced in the polished sphere. Holy ham hocks!
“Mollye, now!” I shouted as Doug launched himself on a too-short dash.
In seconds, the air filled with white dust. A blinding blizzard. Just as I feared, the dust storm didn’t stop him from squeezing the trigger again and again. In the studio’s confined space, it sounded like rolling thunder. I flailed away with the punch.
A hot burning sensation. Felt like Doug had stabbed my left arm with a red-hot poker. I felt woozy. I still couldn’t see.
I’d tried to close my eyes when Mollye let the dust fly, but I must have opened them too soon. My eyes watered when I tried to peer through the haze. I felt a warm, wet sensation. Blood ran down my arm. The tangy iron smell was the clincher. I’d been shot.
My fear disappeared. Replaced with white-hot anger.
I heard an “ooph.” My murky vision cleared enough for me to see Doug falling to his knees.
“Take that you freakin’ sleazebag,” Sala yelled as she raised her stout hickory weapon to whack Doug again. I scuttled sideways to vacate the general vicinity.
What had been a dust blizzard was now a gentle snowfall as clay particles drifted down on the dark lump I presumed was Doug’s body.
Was he getting up? I wasn’t sure. Couldn’t risk it. I plunged my needle punch into the muddled form. Had no idea what part of his anatomy I hit.
I heard a scream, then a huge hand tightened around my injured arm.
This time I knew who was screaming. Me.
Just before everything went black.
FORTY-TWO
When I came to, concerned blue eyes were searching my face.
Huh? Steve, the paramedic? Why was the guy who’d helped me stave off hypothermia last spring shaking his head? Where was I?
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Steve joked. “You’ll be fine. But how about staying out of trouble? If you really want to see me, just bring cookies to the hospital.”
An adrenaline rush hurtled me back to the present. The horrifying present. I struggled to sit up. “Mollye, Sala—where are they? Are they all right?”
“Fine,” Steve answered. “Your friends are fine. Maybe a little worse for wear. Shock’ll do that. But you’re the only one with a genuine bullet hole. Through and through. The docs will fix you right up.”
I looked around. We were outside Mollye’s stone cottage. I was belted onto one of those stretcher contraptions that snap into stand-up service like ironing boards with wheels. There were enough swirling red and blue lights for it to look like a club rave. Only thing missing was the blaring music. I caught a glimpse of Sala huddled with Sheriff Mason.
“Ready to go for a ride?” Steve asked. “Time to get you to the hospital.”
“No. Wait. Not yet. I need to know. What happened? Where’s Doug? Did he escape?”
“Where is he?”
Steve patted my hand, the one that wasn’t connected to my gunshot arm. Then he moved to the foot of the stretcher, ready to roll. “Don’t worry. He’s gone. Left in the first ambulance that arrived. A deputy rode along just in case he came to. One of you ladies beaned him pretty good. Out cold. Probable concussion. Plus something that looked like an ice pick was sticking out of his butt. Bleeding like the dickens.”
“I beaned him,” Sala said proudly. She’d run over when she saw I was awake. “First swing with that walking stick caught him square in the back. Nailed his head with the second, while you were putting a neat little hole in his tush. Think you may have defaced his joker tattoo.
“Mollye sat on Doug, holding a vase over his head to conk him again if he came around, but he was still out cold when the Sheriff’s deputies rammed through the front door. ’Course you were out cold too.”
“Where’s Mollye? Is she okay?” I asked.
“Fine,” Sala answered. “Just needed an eye wash. She got the worst of the blowback when she flung that powered clay. Hey, they won’t let me travel with you. I’ll meet you at the hospital. Already let Eva know you’re fine. She’ll call your parents.”
Steve and his paramedic buddy rolled my stretcher into the ambulance. “Is this really necessary?” I complained. “Can’t I just ride with Sala?”
“Yes, it’s necessary,” Steve answered. “If you don’t like my company, quit playing cops and robbers.”
I felt a prick. When I woke the next time, I was inside the hospital. Steve knew something about sharp objects, too. I was just happy he’d nailed my arm and not my butt. Derriere shots hurt the worst.
I tried to sit up in the hospital bed and bumped my arm against the metal bar designed to keep me from rolling onto the floor. Cursed Colby that hurt. Okey, dokey. I’d lie still until a doctor or nurse ratcheted my bed up to sitting position or lowered the side rails.
I figured I was near the bottom of the triage list since Steve had patched me up in the field and stopped the bleeding. I chuckled, wondering if I could call and ask Mollye to don a nurse’s costume and wig to break me out.
I needn’t have worried about an extended stay. I only required stitches, a sling, powerful pain pills, and a few cautions about self-medicating. None of it argued for an overnight stay.
However, the doc’s get-out-of-hospital card simply released me into Sheriff Mason’s custody. Apparently he’d been pacing circles in the ER waiting room. Mason shooed away the nurse who’d insisted I climb into a wheelchair for the journey to some mysterious outdoor perimeter where hospital liability ended. “I’ll take her from here,” Mason said.
“Need to get your statement,” he added as he wheeled me toward the parking lot. “Sala let your family know I’d be bringing you home.”
The wheelchair bounced over a speed bump as he hustled me to his cruiser. “I took a bullet when I was in the Army. Got shot in the leg,” he added. “I know it’s not fun. But the doc says you won’t have any permanent damage.”
He opened the passenger side door. “Want me to help you in?”
“No I can manage.” The front passenger seat was a big step-up from my previous rides in cop cars. A lot comfier and much better scenery when you didn’t have to peer through a metal screen.
Mason asked questions, and I answered as best I could, though the finale after I got shot was a bit murky. Mason didn’t run out of questions until we pulled into Udderly’s drive. Most of the vehicles parked in front of the cabin came as no surprise: my Dad’s Toyota Highlander, Sala’s Mercedes, Mollye’s van, and three trucks belonging to Eva, Andy and Paint. However, I hadn’t expected to see the two Hummers. I was beginning to think the Ardon Chronicle had broadcast news of my return.
I chuckled. “Might as well come inside, Sheriff. Answer questions from everyone at once instead of fielding a dozen calls.”
He shrugged. “I’ll tell y’all what I can. ’Course there’s a lot I can’t say.”
The hugs weren’t as robust as usual. No one wanted to give me a squeeze after seeing the left sleeve of my top had been cut off and my arm rested in a sling. The sling didn’t quite hide the impressive bandage on my upper arm.
Andy went easy on the hug, but not on the kiss. An on-the-lips, I-mean-it kiss. And I returned the favor. When we finally parted, I felt his hot breath on my neck. “Remember,” he whispered. “I’m allowed to kiss you as much as I want. I’m your designated boyfriend for the next seven days.”
Paint, who was next in line, rolled his eyes and ceremoniously shook my hand.
Zack joked that since our opposite arms were in slings we could work together in the kitchen to make one whole chef.
Once the greetings ended, Eva insisted I take her recliner. An honor she’d never bestowed on me before.
As soon as everyone seemed satisfied I wasn’t going to faint, the sheriff became the center of attention.
“We do have one new piece of evidence,” the sheriff said. “Mick Hardy hand wrote a note and left it in his apartment. His sister found it tucked inside a container of leftovers in his freezer. Guess Mick figured she’d be the one stuck cleaning out his fridge if anything happened to him. Mick said he was sorry—for everything. He admitted attacking Zack. Said Doug promised to pay off his gambling debts if he could snag Zack’s phone. Apparently he did some meth before he snuck in the barn to give him a little false courage. Didn’t think he could go through with it sober.
“He knocked Zack out. When Mick couldn’t find the phone, a blind rage overtook him. He saw the pitchfork and stabbed Zack. Once he started coming off the drug high and heard how badly Zack was injured, he was overcome with remorse. But he still didn’t have the phone he had to produce for Doug to pay off his debts. That’s why he showed up at Udderly the next morning.”
Paint shook his head. “What a waste.”
Mom focused on Sheriff Mason. “Does Mick’s note give you enough evidence to arrest Doug for murder and keep him behind bars?”
“Attempted murder’s a lock,” he answered. “No way he can lie his way out of the attempt to kill Brie, Sala and Mollye. But will we ever be able to prove he killed Gunter and Vince or that he solicited Mick’s murder? Not sure. While he confessed as much to his last batch of intended victims, he’ll claim he was merely trying to frighten them and that he only fired his gun after Brie lobbed pottery at him. He’s a cagey guy.”
Mason nodded at Sala. “Doug just didn’t figure he’d have any difficulty eliminating a bunch of women who’d messed up his plans.”
Sala spoke up. “How did he think he’d get away with killing us?”
“Imagine he counted on surprise,” I said. “Thought he’d walk in and shoot you and Mollye before you knew what was happening. Finish you off before you could call for help.”
“Right,” the sheriff answered. “When we found your bodies—maybe hours or days later, Gunter would be the presumed killer.”
Mollye shook her head. “But Doug boasted Gunter was already dead, that he’d killed him.”
Mason gnawed at his lip as he considered Moll’s comment. “True. Doug must have felt confident we’d never find Gunter’s body wherever he disposed of it. Or, if we found the body, we’d assume Gunter killed you before he was dispatched by some other thug.”
“Speaking of fleeing, I thought Doug flew off to Las Vegas,” I said. “What happened?”
“He landed his plane in Charlotte, supposedly to refuel,” the sheriff explained. “He got off, and his co-pilot flew on to Vegas. Doug rented a car with a fake driver’s license and credit card.”
“What will happen now to Chester, Fred and Allie?” I asked.
Mason shrugged. �
�It’s my job to catch ’em, not prosecute them. They’ll be tried. Not sure what charges the DA will file against Chester. May go easy on him in exchange for his testimony about Fred and Allie’s roles in Carol’s kidnapping. But I have no doubt juries will send them all to prison for a nice long stretch.”
Mason, who’d been seated in a straight-backed chair for his inquisition, stood. “I need to get back. The Ardon County jail is pretty near filled to capacity with Chester, Fred, and Allie in custody pending arraignment. Doug will be joining them soon as the hospital releases him.”
“No other villains lurking out there?” Eva asked. “Can life finally get back to normal?”
Mason didn’t quite smile, though the corners of his mouth briefly lifted. “Never run out of villains. Always a new batch. But at the moment I know of no bad guys who have you in their sights.”
He turned to Carol. “Sure you still want to be governor? Columbia has a lot bigger population than Ardon County. More people translate into more crime. Just statistics. The bigger the barrel, the more chance for bad apples.”
Carol shook her head. “If I win, maybe I’ll deputize Mollye, Sala and Brie to help out Columbia’s law enforcement. Of course, judging by the look on your face, Sheriff, you’d warn your colleagues that such help comes with its own set of problems.”
“Don’t worry, Sheriff,” I said. “I’m not looking for trouble—here or anywhere.”
“You never are,” Mom muttered. “You still manage to find it.”
Andy walked over to my recliner and offered a hand. “Right now, why don’t we help Brie fill her plate? Maybe even offer her a shot of Paint’s moonshine. We all have something to celebrate tonight.”
His green eyes twinkled.
Yes, indeed. I had a boyfriend. Andy this week. Paint the next.
Not sure I wanted this new arrangement to end.
About the Author
