But while all this warm, comfortable family stuff was sloshing around in the back of my mind, my stomach was knotted up with a nervous anxiety. McQuaid had called the Pecan Springs police to check on the Sally situation, with no results. No news, which knotted me up even more. Where the hell was she? What had happened to her?
McQuaid could sense my apprehension and tried to soothe me. “You’ve done all you could, China. There’s nothing more we can do but wait.”
“I know,” I said miserably. “But if we don’t have news—good news—by the time Brian gets home from school, you’ll have to tell him. And Caitlin, too, unless you’d like to let that wait until I get home.” Caitie, sweet Caitie. She had already grown fond of Sally. Now, she’d have to cope with—
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” McQuaid said. “Just do what you have to do today. We’ll deal with the kids tonight.” He paused. “And when you see Ruby, tell her that she did a piece of good work, tracking down the woman who took Sally to the bus station. If the Lake City police suspect Sally of being involved, that should clear her.”
It should—if Sally was still alive, I thought. But I didn’t say so.
As I unlocked the shop door and went in, I was so preoccupied with my thoughts that I was barely conscious of where I was. It was a good hour before I had to open, so I stepped inside, turned on the overhead light, and locked the door behind me. I put my coffee and bag of jelly doughnuts on the counter and took off my jacket and cap and hung them in the broom closet. Khat was dozing in his usual spot: the rocking chair that sits next to the bookshelf. He leapt lightly down when he saw me and followed me into the kitchen, where I fed him some chopped liver from the fridge, warmed in the microwave. I put it down in front of him, watched him hunker down to address it with an eager passion, and felt somehow comforted. If you have a cat in your life, everything will be okay—right?
I went back to the fridge to get the quiche I’d been looking forward to and was startled to see that it was missing. What? It had been there yesterday, late, when Ruby and I closed up early and left for Lake City. I was sure of it. Had Cass come in for a late snack?
Well, no matter. I snagged a banana on my way through the tearoom into the shop, thinking that I would sit behind the counter and update my book orders while I drank my coffee and ate my jelly doughnuts. But when I went into the shop, what I saw made me drop the banana and give a stifled shriek.
A man was sitting on the stool behind the counter, finishing one of my doughnuts. He wore a bulky down-filled coat, maroon. He was dark-haired, with dark plastic-rimmed glasses. There was a mole under his right eye, and a long, fading scratch on his face.
Jess Myers.
He stood up. “Please,” he said. “It’s okay.” His voice was soft, pleasant. But its very softness was frightening. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want information, that’s all.”
I pressed my lips together, my heart pounding hard. “What—? Who—?”
I knew who he was. But maybe it was smart to play dumb.
“You’re China Bayles?”
“That’s right. I own this place. You’re trespassing.” I took a deep breath. I’ve been in ticklish situations before, and I know it pays to keep your head. Of course, keeping your head is a little easier when the man you’re talking to is the mailman or your next-door neighbor—not a killer. I took another breath. “And just who the bloody hell are you?” I demanded. “How’d you get in here?”
He grinned pleasantly. “Through the window in the shop next door.” He nodded toward the open door that connected Ruby’s shop and mine. “Piece of cake.” He gave his head a cautionary shake, as if he were doing me a favor. “You really ought to pay more attention to security, Ms. Bayles. Next time, somebody may get in and vandalize the place. You wouldn’t like that, I’m sure.”
Ruby’s window. We’d had a break-in before, a couple of years before. Same window. We were going to have to block it up or put bars over it.
“What do you want?” I asked, although I knew that, too. “Who are you?”
“I’m looking for Sally,” he said. “Sally Strahorn.” He got off the stool and stepped around the counter. “You’re my only connection to her,” he added, holding out his hands in an almost apologetic way. “I know she’s been staying at your place. Tell me where she is. That’s all I want. Just tell me, and I’ll leave. I promise.”
My first reaction was a kind of irrational glee. If he was still looking for Sally, he hadn’t found her. If he hadn’t found her, she must be still alive.
“You’re wasting your time,” I said, “and risking arrest for trespassing.” I narrowed my eyes and looked pointedly at the telephone. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pick up that phone and call the police.”
“If you did that,” he said in a deferential tone, “I’m afraid I would have to hurt you. I have a gun, you see.” He patted the side pocket of his jacket. “I really wouldn’t like to do that, and I’m sure you wouldn’t like it, either.” He took several steps toward me. “Well? Where is she? Where are you hiding her?”
A gun. The thought was chilling, and so was his insistence that I knew where she was.
“I have no idea,” I said. “She borrowed a car from me yesterday morning and split. I haven’t seen her or the car since.” True, although I knew where the car was. Since he didn’t have her, it was more than likely that she’d boarded a bus and was safely on her way. For all I knew, she could be in Florida or Southern California by this time.
I was thinking as fast as I could, as coolly as I could, weighing all the options, but I couldn’t think of anything that would give me even a fighting chance. Myers was five foot eight or nine, not tall, but stocky, sturdily built. I’m fit and fairly agile, but I’m no match for a man who outweighs me by fifty pounds. I don’t keep a gun under the counter or anywhere in the store.
There’d be no help from the outside, either. Ruby wouldn’t be in for a couple of hours. Cass would come in an hour after that. Laurel wouldn’t be in at all today, and it was much too early for customers. I was here alone with a man I suspected of killing two women in the past week or so. And two other people ten years ago, if McQuaid had it right. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable feeling. But there might be something, if only I could—
“I don’t think I’m wasting my time,” Myers said comfortably. He smiled. “I figure she’ll show up here. I’ll just wait.” He came closer, stepping around the shelf of bulk herbs in the middle of the store. His smile was strange, oddly strained and crooked, and there was a too-bright glint in his eyes. Looking at him, I realized that this man must not be quite sane. If he were, he wouldn’t come to a place of business where people might be expected to wander in and out.
When in doubt, talk and keep talking. “Aren’t you the same guy who called here a couple of days ago?” I asked. I took a couple of steps to the right, along the shelves that cover much of the shop’s back wall. “And didn’t you call my house, as well?”
Myers nodded shortly, watching me, his face darkening, his shoulders tensing. He put his hand into his pocket. “What’s your connection to Sally, anyway? You two friends or something?”
I could see what he was thinking. If I was a close friend, what were the chances that Sally had told me about him? Did I know what he had done, why she was afraid of him? I needed to deflect that, in a hurry.
“Friends?” I hooted. “Are you kidding? She’s my husband’s ex-wife.” I laughed sarcastically. “We’re not exactly on a huggy-face-kissy-poo basis. I put up with her when I have to, that’s all.”
He relaxed just slightly. I had reassured him.
“So what do you want with her?” I asked in a curious tone. I took another couple of steps. “When I told her what you said—that you had her car, I mean—she got all bent out of shape. Said you two used to date, a long time ago. What happened? Did you have a falling-out?”
Some of the tension left his shoulders. His hand came out of his
pocket. “Used to date? Yes, you might say that, I guess. It was a while back.”
I chuckled wryly. Just another step or two. “I’ll bet you didn’t put up with that woman for long. You look like you’re too smart. If you ask me, Sally is certifiable.”
“I would certainly agree to that. You can’t believe a thing she says. She makes up the wildest stories.” He looked around, looked up, and his face lightened. “Hey, mistletoe. You’re standing under the mistletoe. Now, isn’t that nice? Maybe I ought to claim a kiss, huh?”
There was that smile again, with a twist. Beyond creepy, Sally had said. She was right.
“But I’m married,” I protested. It was a stupid thing to say, but it was all I could think of. The last thing I wanted to do was kiss this guy, but I was backed up against the shelves, breathing hard, feeling panicked. I couldn’t get away.
“So? Your husband wouldn’t begrudge me a little kiss, now, would he? Hell, he wouldn’t even miss it.” His face hardened. “I’m in the habit of taking what I want, China. And after that kiss, you’re going to tell me where Sally is. If you don’t—”
“Hey, Jess,” Sally said from the doorway to Ruby’s shop. “Leave China alone. I’m the one you’re looking for.”
Jerking his gun out of his pocket, Myers whirled toward the sound of Sally’s voice. And that was my chance, my one chance. I reached out quickly and grabbed something off the shelf, holding it in my hand, feeling with my forefinger for the teensy catch on the side.
“Wait, Jess,” I said in my most seductive voice. I took a step toward him. “I thought you wanted a kiss.”
He turned back to me just as my finger found the catch. I lifted the tiny canister, held it up within a foot of his face, and squirted him with pepper spray, catching him with his mouth wide open and his eyes staring, fixed on me.
I was the last thing he was going to see for quite some time. Those peppers are hot stuff.
THE police arrived at the shop within moments of Sally’s 911 call. I handed over his gun and watched as they scooped Myers up off the floor, cuffed him, and placed him under arrest for—at least temporarily—attempted armed robbery. When they were pushing him out the door, I turned to Sally.
“Thanks,” I said gratefully. “Did you know he had a gun?”
She nodded. “I think it’s my . . . my father’s gun,” she said in a strangled voice. “Joyce Dillard told me he still had it. He’s the man who killed my parents, China. That’s why I wanted Mike to talk to her. I wanted her to tell him, because I knew he’d make her go to the police.”
“But why didn’t you and Joyce go to the police yourselves? If you’d done that, she might still be alive.”
Her eyes swam with tears. “Because Jamison—the chief of police in Sanders—was convinced that I was involved in my parents’ murders! He would never have believed me! He would’ve thought—” Her voice broke. “And now Joyce is dead. And it’s my fault.”
I put my arm around her and held her for a moment, then let her go. “You arrived at just the right moment,” I said. “You distracted him long enough for me to get that spray to work. Where were you? Where have you been hiding?”
She dropped her head. “In your loft.”
“The loft?” I stared at her. Of course. She had helped me hang herbs up there, so she knew where it was. She also knew that we wouldn’t be going up there often during the holidays. It was a perfectly safe place.
Sally nodded. “I was really worried that if I went out on the street, Jess would find me. So I parked Brian’s car where I thought it wouldn’t be noticed for a while. Then I sneaked into Ruby’s shop and went up the stairs, just before Ruby’s mother came into the store yesterday afternoon.” She smiled slightly. “She’s not really all that crazy, you know. It was me she saw going up the stairs, not her daughter.”
“I see,” I said. “And I suppose it was you who raided the refrigerator and stole the quiche. I missed it when I went looking for breakfast.”
“That was me, too,” she confessed. “The loft was a great place to hide. It’s warm and cozy, and it smells really good, with all those herbs hanging to dry. It just didn’t have any room service. I’m sorry. I was so hungry, and the fridge was full of food. I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”
“No, of course not,” I said. “Sally, why didn’t you tell me that you came here from Lake City, where you were staying with Leslie?”
She hung her head. “I should have,” she said. “But I concocted that sob story about the flood on the spur of the moment, and then I was stuck with it. I’m sorry, China. I—”
The shop door opened, and Sheila came in. “Ms. Strahorn,” she said, “I need to ask you to come with me. The Lake City police want to speak to you about—”
I put my hand on Sheila’s arm, stopping her. “Let me tell her,” I said quietly.
I had suddenly remembered that Sally didn’t know that her sister was dead.
Chapter Sixteen
Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale green, fairy mistletoe)
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on.
Someone came and kissed me there.
Walter De la Mare
McQuaid and I weren’t in a mood to party. Brian wasn’t, either, after his father had told him about Leslie’s death. He took it hard, and the fact that it had come at Christmas only made things worse. But kids are resilient, and although it would be a while before he got over the loss, he would. He’d remember the loving moments, the warmth of their companionship, the fun they had together. Wherever he went in his life, whatever he did, he would never lose the important things she gave him.
In the mood or not, we went ahead with the party, and afterward, I was glad. As a family, trying to behave as we normally would forced a certain normality upon us. We managed to rise to the occasion, as most people do when they have to.
Sally didn’t make it to the party. The police had impounded her yellow convertible, so she drove Brian’s Ford to Lake City to tell the police what she knew, to be interviewed by Officer Jamison from the Sanders Police Department, and to begin making arrangements for Leslie’s memorial service, which wouldn’t be held until after the holidays. She said she hoped she could come back and spend Christmas day with us, and Caitie had to be content with that.
After Saturday night’s party, there were a couple of family get-togethers, one with my mother and her husband, Sam, at their ranch near Kerrville, the other in Seguin, with McQuaid’s family. One evening, we sang carols outside the library. Another, Caitlin and I went to Castle Oaks and helped the members of Pecan Springs’ herb club, the Myra Merryweathers, distribute gifts—handmade herbal soap, cupcakes, pomanders, and some holiday candy—to the seniors.
On Christmas Eve day, McQuaid and I and the kids joined the PSPD Blue Santas to deliver presents to the homes of needy children, and that evening, we had our own private Christmas Eve family party. Santa came in the middle of the night, and when Caitie and Brian got up on Christmas morning, their gifts were under the tree. Sally didn’t make it, but there was such a noisy crowd around the table for Christmas dinner—turkey, dressing, and all the holiday trimmings—that Brian and Caitlin didn’t seem to miss her. For Brian, at least, his mother had been absent so often that he hadn’t really believed she would be there. It was a wonderful day, and by nine o’clock that evening, the kids were ready to crash.
McQuaid and I had just settled down in front of the fire to share mugs of warm spiced tea and enjoy the sight of the Christmas tree, splendid in its lights and glittering tinsel, when Sheila stopped by on her way to Blackie’s, to say Merry Christmas and update us on the situation in Lake City. She had given several of her officers the chance to spend the holiday with their families and had been on duty herself for most of the day, and as usual, things had been busy. A three-car pileup on I-35, a bicycle accident near the campus, a break-in at the pharmacy on the square—drug-re
lated, of course. She hadn’t taken time to change and was still wearing her uniform.
I poured a mug of tea for Sheila. She sat down wearily in McQuaid’s recliner, and put her feet up. McQuaid and I sat close together on the sofa, my head on his shoulder, his arm around me, listening to what Sheila had to tell us.
Myers was in the Lake City jail, awaiting a bail hearing. He had been charged with vehicular homicide in Leslie’s death, although before the hearing, it was likely that the charge would be upgraded to murder. Sally’s convertible had been picked up a couple of blocks from Thyme and Seasons, with damage that clearly linked it to Leslie’s death. The charge of vehicular manslaughter was pending in the case of Joyce Dillard. Myers’ 1998 Dodge truck had been located in the Lake City hospital parking lot where he had left it. The final report wasn’t in yet, but preliminary forensic evidence—damage to a fender, missing paint, a strand of hair—indicated that it was the vehicle that had struck Joyce. Myers’ prints were all over both vehicles.
And then there was the gun Myers had dropped when I zapped him with the pepper spray. It was indeed Mr. Strahorn’s Luger, the gun that had killed Sally’s parents. It seemed likely that the Strahorn case would be reopened and charges filed against Myers.
“And what about Sally?” I asked. “What’s her status?”
“The police seem to have satisfied themselves that she’s innocent,” Sheila said. “She has an alibi for the time of her sister’s death, and Myers’ cell phone records demonstrate that he phoned that tip to the Lake City police, implicating her. What’s more, there’s no evidence tying her to Myers. It’s true that Jamison saw them together in Sanders before Dillard’s death, but Sally claims that it was an accidental meeting. And even Jamison agrees that it isn’t enough.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any reason to hope that Myers will confess and clear all three cases?” McQuaid asked wryly.
Holly Blues Page 26
