“Maybe they were all in on it. Maybe they’ve all taken off somewhere. Does anyone know if Phyllis Poole is around?”
“You’re not going to let go of this, are you?”
“How can I? I don’t even know how Cleo’s doing. Her fiancé is supposed to go under Phyllis Poole’s knife in less than two hours, and we’re not sure the doctor’s innocent in all this—or if Poole will show up to perform Sig’s surgery. Do the police know about her relationship to Echo?”
“Cleo’s fine. Harry’s taking her to the ER later this morning for a checkup. She’s hoping to work the rest of the day if she gets cleared. I don’t know what the police know about Dr. Poole, but we can hash this out after you’ve had some sleep. Quinn isn’t expecting you to show up at work today.”
Nick insisted that I stay in the guest room in the main house. He said I wasn’t ready to climb the stairs to my apartment over the barn. It seemed like a good plan, and once we got inside, I felt another nap coming on.
As I drifted off, a kaleidoscope of characters whirled through my mind. Echo O’Brien with the enraged face of a killer. Phyllis Poole, a pale and serene vision who might have orchestrated the whole thing. Charming James O’Brien. Was he as innocent as he was charismatic? Keely O’Brien and Tucker Potkotter floated by. Were they in on the plot, or just two hapless bystanders? Even Tobias Fausset appeared for a moment, then vanished as he had in real life. Where had he gone? Next came Laurie Popejoy. The only witness. Had she gone far enough, hidden deep enough to survive? Or would she be silenced by a pregnant black widow and a fugitive thug with a mangled ear?
Chapter 36
A scratching sensation on my chin pulled me out of a restless doze. Fanny was licking me with her raspy little tongue. With one eye open, I peered at the wall clock in Amah’s guest room and discovered it was noon. No wonder the cat wanted me to get up. Breakfast.
I stood up, waiting a moment to check for vertigo. My balance seemed okay, so I walked to the bathroom down the hall. All systems seemed to be working. I wandered out to Amah’s kitchen, where I found a pot of hot coffee and Nick reading the paper.
He looked up. “Chores are done. How are you feeling?”
“Good as new.”
“I doubt that, but you look a whole lot better.” He poured a cup of coffee and put it on the table in front of me. “If I leave, will you stay put?”
“Where are you going to go without a car? Or were you thinking of borrowing mine?”
“No need. He nodded toward the window facing the driveway. “Here’s my ride.”
I looked out and spotted Rella stepping out of Nick’s car and walking to the front door. Nick explained that Rella needed to practice take-offs and landings in the newest plane in Buck Sawyer’s fleet. They had made the arrangements at the municipal airport before my run-in with Echo O’Brien in the hospital restroom.
“It’ll only take about an hour, but we can postpone if you’d rather not be alone.” Nick looked to Rella for agreement.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m perfectly fine. There’s no reason to change your plans. And Rella, I haven’t had a chance to thank you for stepping in to watch my friend Cleo the other night. Is your nephew with the chicken pox feeling better?”
“Yes. Apparently it was poison oak and not chicken pox. The nanny will watch him and his brother until I get home.” The brief, awkwardly polite exchange with Rella was the only conversation we’d had since Nick and I broke up, but it was a start.
Nick made me promise to call if I needed him. I watched their easy camaraderie with mixed feelings as they walked to Nick’s car and drove away together. They needed that bond to work together as co-pilots, but it still presented a hurdle for me to overcome. I heard an echo of my earlier self-admonition.
Get over it.
Food seemed like a good idea, so I made myself an omelet and washed it down with V-8 juice and another cup of coffee. While I ate, I thought about Cliff Weber of the missing earlobe. Echo must have worked some angle to get him a job in TMC’s Housekeeping Department. If I was right, he’d been a busy boy. Helping Tucker with taxidermy, playing security guard at the compound and spying via his job at TMC. Then a new twist occurred to me. What if the father of Echo’s baby wasn’t Tucker? What if Cliff, the jack-of-all-trades, had performed that duty as well?
The food worked its magic. I found my purse and keys in the guest room and drove down the lane to the barn. Climbing the stairs outside my apartment was a good test, and I passed. No dizziness or weakness, and once inside, I checked my pulse rate. It was steady and normal, which was all I needed to know. I had things to do, and it was almost one o’clock. I remembered that I hadn’t answered when Nick asked if I would stay put, so my conscience was clear.
I showered, pulled on a pair of black jeans and laced up my light hiking boots. The day was cool and overcast, so I chose a dark gray pullover sweatshirt.
Nick was right. It was up to the police to capture Echo and whoever else was involved in the murders of DeeDee and Cody and with the attempted murder of Seamus. So why was I so invested in this mystery? Because the O’Brien family was part of my past. James and Keely had both been important to me as a young girl. If they were being victimized by Echo O’Brien and some thug, I wanted to help. But first I had to know if my childhood friends were part of the scheme.
Then a new thought took hold. Dr. Poole had been scheduled to operate on Cleo’s darling Siggy this morning. I needed to know how that turned out—whether patients at TMC were safe under Phyllis Poole’s care, including Seamus O’Brien.
I called Cleo. She picked up on the second ring, sounding stressed.
“Hi, it’s me,” I said. “Are you okay? You sound terrible.”
“I’m tired and I have a monster headache, but I couldn’t stay home. I thought Sig would want me here while he was in surgery.” I heard a weary sigh. “What about you? I heard you were attacked by Seamus’s wife. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but I wanted to know about Sig. Did Poole do his surgery this morning?”
“No. The poor guy got bumped by an emergency. Another surgeon needed the OR. He was rescheduled for half an hour ago, but Poole didn’t show up, so he was sent home again.”
“Why didn’t Poole show?” I braced myself for news I didn’t wanted to hear.
“No one knows. Her service called to say she couldn’t make it and that she wouldn’t be available for the rest of the day. Fausset’s still out of touch, so the third associate in their group is fielding everything.”
That spun me in another direction. Poole’s niece had a broken wrist, and Cliff Weber had a torn earlobe. Neither could risk going to an emergency room. Phyllis Poole was a doctor. Maybe they went to her for medical help. If she was involved in their plot, that would be an obvious move.
“Cleo, do you have a home address for Poole?”
“Hold on while I pull her file.” She came back with an address in Silver Hills, an exclusive neighborhood of luxurious homes. “If anyone asks, I didn’t give this to you.”
“Give what to me?”
“Exactly. But promise me, if you’re going to her house, don’t do anything dangerous.”
“I’ll drive by, that’s all.” I stuffed my ponytail inside a black baseball cap, put my .38 in my fanny pack along with my Leatherman, and headed west to Timbergate.
As soon as I spotted Echo’s black Hummer parked in the driveway at Poole’s address, I called 911 to say I had sighted a vehicle used by two fugitives the police were trying to locate. I gave the address and the license plate information. It was the same plate I’d seen at the market in Coyote Creek when Keely and Tucker were there with Echo: TAXDMY2.
The dispatcher asked me to stay on the line, but I didn’t want to tie up my phone. I said I’d call back right away. Next I called Harry for backup. He didn’t answer, so I left a message, and then called Nick. I was relieved when he answered, until he reminded me tha
t he and Rella were at the municipal airport ten miles away. I told him I’d spotted Echo’s car and that I’d called 911.
“Dammit, Aimee, I knew you’d pull something like this. Get away from there, then call me back.” Nick ended the call before I could respond.
I parked down the street two houses away from Poole’s. The afternoon sun skidded in and out behind clouds as I approached the house on foot. I crept along a fence bordering the property, ducking behind shrubbery until I made my way to a window with half-closed blinds. I peeked inside and saw Weber, with a bandaged ear, holding a gun on a grim-faced Phyllis Poole while she attempted to splint Echo’s injured wrist. There was no sign of Keely, James, or Tucker. Where were they? Holed up somewhere waiting for Weber and Echo to join them in a getaway? Or were they tied up in Poole’s house? Or, worst case, were they collateral damage in Echo’s contemptible scheme?
I called 911 again, asking why no one had shown up. I was told all units were on high-priority calls. I said the situation had escalated. A gunman was holding someone hostage. The dispatcher ordered me to stay on the line, then put me on hold. She came back on to say a unit would arrive as soon as possible.
She asked if I was in a safe place where I could observe. I said I was, but I was afraid the fugitives would leave any minute.
“They might take the hostage with them,” I said. “What should I do?”
“Stay on the line with me. Don’t put yourself in danger. Stay out of sight until help arrives. If necessary, leave the scene.”
There had to be something I could do. Disabling the Hummer came to mind, but I didn’t tell her that, because she would tell me not to interfere. A glance in the window told me it would take several more minutes for Poole to finish with Echo’s wrist. I left the phone on, but dropped it in my fanny pack, where my pistol beckoned.
The gun was tempting, but I couldn’t shoot out a tire without drawing attention. Instead, I pulled out my multi-tool Leatherman, hoping I could puncture one of the tires with its heavy duty blade. I made my way back along the fence until I reached the street where the Hummer was parked. I crept around the driver’s side to the front of the car.
When I braced myself against the fender, the car alarm exploded in a blast that nearly knocked me over. I dropped flat and slid underneath the Hummer on my belly while deafening blasts assaulted my eardrums. I barely heard the muted voice of the 911 dispatcher from inside my fanny pack, “What’s going on?”
I tried to jab at the sidewall of the closest tire with the Leatherman’s blade, but my leverage was all wrong. The blade didn’t sink in. If Weber came out to check on the car, I needed both hands for my gun. I blessed the Hummer’s design for the maximum ground clearance that let me roll over. I slid the pack around and switched the Leatherman for my gun.
Someone inside must have found the remote, because the alarm suddenly went silent. I froze when I heard the front door of Poole’s house open. Weber poked his head out, looking toward the Hummer.
“Some damn kid must have hit it with a bike. Let’s get the hell out of here. We’ll take the doc with us.” He pulled his head back inside and closed the door.
I rolled out and made a break for the shrubs along the fence. Weber had said, We’ll take the doc. If they were taking only Phyllis Poole, that didn’t bode well for James and Keely—or for Tucker. Still, there was a chance they were alive.
I listened for the sound of sirens, but heard nothing to suggest help was on the way. I hung up on 911 and dialed Nick’s number again.
“Where are you?” He sounded furious.
“At Poole’s house.” I gave him the address but didn’t give him a chance to yell at me. “I’m leaving my phone on. Don’t hang up.” I stuffed the phone back in my pack.
The door opened and Phyllis Poole stood there, rigid, hands tied in front of her with some kind of twine. Weber stepped to her side and quickly covered her hands with a jacket. I spotted the gun he held close against her back. She winced as he gripped her elbow and forced her outside.
Echo followed with her right arm in a sling and her left hand holding a set of keys. She pulled the front door closed, and the threesome started toward the street where the Hummer was parked. The affluent neighborhood was deserted, which would be a good thing if the police arrived and shots were fired. That was unlikely, because the trio was already halfway to the street. I was still Dr. Poole’s only hope.
Should I shoot Weber or wait until they were in the car and try to shoot out the tires? I came up with a third option. As Weber tried to force Poole into the backseat, I fired at the Hummer’s front fender and set the alarm blasting again. Weber spun away from Poole to see where the shot had come from. Echo froze in confusion, long enough for Poole to lunge at her, knocking her to the ground. Just then a TPD cruiser pulled up with lights flashing and siren blaring.
I stepped out from behind the shrubs, pointing at Weber, yelling, “He has a gun.”
The first officer out of the car aimed his weapon at Weber and yelled, “Drop the gun, sir. On your knees. Hands on your head.” Weber obeyed, tossing his gun across the lawn. The second officer cut the cruiser’s lights and sirens, but by that time, the street began to fill with people.
The first officer yelled, “Drop the gun, lady. Down on your knees, hands on your head.”
It took a moment to realize he was yelling at me, but the gun he pointed my way made it clear. I tossed my .38 out of reach.
“I’m innocent. I called this in.” I nodded toward Weber and Echo. They’re killers. They were taking a hostage—”
“Sit down on the ground and wait, lady.”
I didn’t argue, but I did keep track of everyone. Weber was still on his knees, but by now Poole and Echo were standing. Poole had her hands on her head, still tied with the twine. Echo managed to comply with her good arm, but the other stayed secured at her side in the sling.
“She’s telling the truth.” Poole nodded toward me and shouted over the blasts, “She was trying to help me.”
“You too, keep quiet. On your knees.” He pointed toward the ground and both women dropped. He kept Poole, Echo, and me covered while his partner struggled to cuff a violently thrashing Weber.
“Just get him locked in the unit,” the older officer said.
“I don’t have him cuffed yet.”
“We don’t have time right now. Just lock him in the unit. We’ll get to the cuffs as soon as we can.”
When he saw that Weber was secured in the cruiser, he shouted, “Now take care of that damn car alarm.” Then he nodded at the gathering crowd. “All of you, go home. Get off the street.” The curiosity seekers scattered toward their homes.
The second cop shouted, “Who owns this vehicle?”
“I do,” Echo cried out, pointing at me. “That crazy woman was going to shoot me. I was trying to get away from her. My husband is in the hospital. I have to go to him.” The conniving felon even managed to work up a tear.
“She’s lying,” I shouted over the blasting alarm. “She tried to kill me. You have to arrest her.”
The second cop nodded at Echo. “Turn off that friggin’ alarm.”
Echo got up, took a step toward the Hummer. The cop blocked her. “Stop right there. Use your remote.”
“I can’t, officer,” Echo said. “I’m sorry, the remote doesn’t work. I have to get in and start the car to turn off the alarm.”
“She’s lying,” I called out. “She used her remote from inside her house.”
“Lady.” Cop two glared at me, “You were told to keep quiet.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. I glanced at Weber in time to see him smirk, but I didn’t care as long as he was still locked in the cruiser.
The second cop looked at the sling on Echo’s disabled right arm and made his decision. He motioned her toward the Hummer with his gun and followed her to the driver’s side door. Hope sank when I saw cunning in Echo’s expression. Once she got behind the wheel, she would make a run for it, disappear,
and become someone else.
Chapter 37
Echo climbed behind the wheel, started the Hummer, and slammed the open driver’s door against the officer’s arm, knocking his gun to the ground. She peeled out, laying a strip of rubber and leaving behind a cloud of smoke. The red-faced officer grabbed up his gun while his partner blistered the air with a string of curses, ending with, “Get on the damn radio and call it in. And get some backup out here.”
The second officer spoke into the radio clipped to his shoulder. He waited for a response, and his face fell. “They’ll get a BOLO out for the Hummer, but it looks like we’re on our own.”
“Then let’s get this done.” The older cop turned to Poole. “You stay right where you are. Officer Blake is going to question your friend while I get the injured man’s story. Understand?”
Poole nodded.
Officer Blake motioned to me to join him where he was standing near the back of the cruiser. The older officer opened the back door of the unit with his gun trained on Weber.
“Step out of the unit, sir.”
Cliff Weber was already big and mean, but seeing Echo take off without him had thrown him into a rage. As soon as the door opened, he lunged out, bellowing like a mad bull, and tackled the older officer, knocking his gun out of reach on the lawn. Then both men fell against Officer Blake, and all three fell on the hard cement sidewalk like dominoes. Blake’s weapon landed in the gutter. The older cop groaned, then went limp. Officer Blake was conscious, but still on all fours. Weber was struggling to his feet.
Poole and I read each other’s minds. She leapt up and scrambled across the lawn for my gun and Weber’s while I raced to retrieve both of the policemen’s guns.
“Get down or I’ll shoot,” Poole screamed at Weber. With her hands still tied at the wrists, she managed to hold a gun in each hand, both pointed at Weber’s chest. I did the same.
As we stood there like two-fisted gunslingers, an intoxicating rush of power surged through my body. Was this what Poole felt in the operating room when she used her fine mind and her surgeon’s hands? Or what Rella had felt in the pilot’s seat of a fighter jet? For just a moment, I understood both of these women and even felt kinship with them. My musing quickly faded when I saw the malicious glint in Weber’s eyes. Poole saw it, too, but it was too late. Weber grabbed the still dazed Officer Blake in a choke hold, using him as a shield.
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