“Your prayers were answered, Mama,” I murmured as I rocked. “I’m certainly not lonely.”
She and my father would have been thrilled at my marriage to Gil. They had always liked him, even back in his scruffy hippie days. And the thought of another grandchild would have pleased them even more.
“I think she looks like you,” I told my mother’s memory. “She’s smart, too, Mama.” My mother had always said you could tell a baby was intelligent by looking in his eyes. “She has smart eyes.”
I looked out into the dusk. The heat of the day was gradually diminishing and a welcome cool breeze signaled that fall wouldn’t be late this year.
“You’d really like what Etienne and Marie have done with the house,” I added for good measure.
I missed my parents, but my faith made it all so much easier to bear. I knew where they were and knew that I’d see them someday.
I wondered if Dierdre had that comfort. Terence had spoken of repentance, but how seriously did he or his sister take their faith? Maybe I could talk to her about it. In addition, there was that idea about Terence that I needed to run past both Dierdre Jamison and Dennis O’Brien.
I’ll call her as soon as I get home, I promised myself.
I was spared the trouble.
“You said you wanted to tell me something?” Dierdre said, trudging up the front steps. While I was reminiscing, she had returned, pulling her car into the driveway along the side of Chez Prentice.
“Oh, yes, Dierdre, I’m glad to see you again. Please have a seat. Thank you for the lovely—” I searched my memory, “—stuffed animal.” It was a guess.
She nodded. “Every kid should have a Winnie the Pooh doll. I loved those books. After my father died and my mother was so depressed, Terence would read them to me. My big brother took care of me.” She took a place at the other end of the porch swing, set her large, heavy purse on the floor beneath us and fingered the arm rest. “He always did.”
“I know Janet will love it.”
She turned her face my way. “What did you want to tell me?”
I reached over and squeezed her hand. “Diedre, I think I know something that can help prove that Terence is innocent of Danny’s murder.”
She withdrew her hand and looked out across the lawn. “Really? What is it?” She didn’t seem as pleased at the prospect as I’d expected.
“I hadn’t made the connection until now. The other day, I was thinking about sad milestones.”
“What?”
“I mean, they happen in everyone’s life at one time or another, don’t they? And you never forget the circumstances. My parents’ dying was my sad milestone. Lily Burns recently suffered one with the death of Sam the cat. When Terence died, that was your own sad milestone, something that you’ll never forget.
She nodded, staring at me blankly. “Okay. Yeah, so?”
“What I forgot was that Terence also suffered a sad milestone: the death of his wife. He told me about it that day at the cabin.”
Her gaze darted from my face to the yard to her purse and back to me. “I don’t see what this—”
“Dierdre, if there’s anything I remember about Terence, it was that he adored Pat. When he talked about losing her, I could see that it had crushed him. It was especially sad, because he had spent so much money taking her to one of those cancer centers in the Midwest, though it was too late. And it was especially sad because she died in his arms on Christmas Eve. He told me so.”
Diedre frowned at me, apparently not comprehending.
“Christmas Eve? What’s your point?”
“Don’t you see? Terence was with Pat at a cancer hospital in the Midwest when she died—on Christmas Eve. Danny was killed on December 24, Christmas Eve, in an office in Manhattan, a thousand miles away.”
She sat silently.
I hastened to enlighten her about the positive possibilities. “I know he could have taken a plane to New York or something, but how likely is that? And wouldn’t there be records of it? Couldn’t they check?”
Dierdre took a long breath. “I don’t know, Amelia. I’d just started to get used to the idea that he killed Danny. Besides, I don’t know why everybody is so upset about Danny’s dying. It’s nowhere near the loss that my brother’s death is. Terence was a good man.” She looked at me. “You of all people should know that. He pretty much saved your life. And your baby’s.”
“But justice is important—”
“Justice?” she barked. Even in the dim light, I could see that her pale face had reddened. “Danny DiNicco got justice. Maybe you didn’t realize it, Amelia. You were pretty clueless back then, but Danny was evil. He was a predator.”
“A predator?”
Dierdre was trembling. “You were dense, but you had to have seen what he was doing to me and to Eileen, playing us against each other. It was horrible. They—the guys in the company—were betting on who could, well you know, who would be the first one to have their way with us!”
“Dierdre, did you really—”
“Of course I did,” she snapped. Tears filled her eyes. “I was in love. At least, I thought I was. But as soon as he got what he wanted, he told me we were through and wouldn’t go near me. I know I’m not the first girl to fall for a line, but Danny DiNicco ruined my life.”
“What?”
“But I fixed his wagon, all right. Remember that fish? And the broken ladder?” She chuckled.
It was becoming more difficult to feel sympathy for her. “Was that you? But I can’t believe your life was really ruined, I mean—”
“It’s true. It was! I was going to be an actress. I had talent, still do. Terence said he was going to help me, but after that summer, I couldn’t get a job anywhere in the City. The same thing happened to Neil. It was that uncle of Danny’s. He made sure that anybody in the Terence Jamison Company was blacklisted. Even Terence and Pat had to struggle for work after that.”
“Oh, surely not.”
She bent over and pulled her cavernous purse onto her lap. “Believe what you want. I know what I know.”
I took a deep breath. All this bitterness was hard to digest.
I tried to look on the bright side. “But, look, the good news is that we can prove Terence’s innocence. We can ask Dennis to check with the airlines for—”
Unsnapping the fastening on her purse, Dierdre said, “No, I don’t think that I want them to do that.”
“But of course you do! It would be a great relief to know that your brother—”
She glanced over her shoulder and whispered fiercely, “Shut up! You’re going to ruin everything! He did it for me, don’t you understand? Terence gave me a dying gift. He took the blame for me.”
“For you?” The light was dawning, but I decided that playing dumb was a good idea.
“You really are an idiot, you know that?” She opened her purse wide and held it out to me. “If they look up who went where, they’ll find out that it was me who flew to New York that day.”
The grammar imp in the back of my brain murmured, It was I.
“Look. Look in there!”
“Wh—what?” I directed my gaze into the dark depths of the huge purse. It contained the expected items: a wallet, a comb, several lipsticks, a compact.
And, nestled among them on the bottom, the Teddy Roosevelt gun.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“See it? You know what that is, don’t you?”
I nodded. Now I knew where the gun had gone.
“Okay, here’s how things are going to work: If you make a fuss, I’ll take it out of my purse and walk in there,” she gestured at the front door to Chez Prentice, “and shoot anybody I find. I don’t have a lot to lose, Amelia, and I might just get away with it.”
Oh please, don’t let anybody come through that door! I prayed, picturing Lily drying dishes in the kitchen with Hester, Marie stacking the baby gifts on the hall table, and Courtney descending the stairs with Janet in her arms.
“I
won’t . . . won’t make a fuss.”
“That’s good. Now, come with me.”
She stood, her hand still plunged deep into her purse. She pushed me ahead of her down the steps of the B&B and across the yard to her car.
Something like this had happened to me before. Keep her talking, I reminded myself, until you can find a way to escape.
“But why would you kill Danny after all these years?” I asked as she escorted me to the front passenger seat.
“Buckle up.”
I obliged with shaking hands. It took several tries.
“Why kill Danny?” I repeated as she climbed into the driver’s seat and placed the purse on her lap, her left hand still in it.
She heaved a heavy, impatient sigh. “Don’t you read Variety?” She turned the key. “No, of course you don’t. Entertainment Weekly?”
I shook my head.
“Figures.” She started the ignition. The car sprang to life with a dull growl.
“Danny, that creep, that rat, was about to make it! Variety said he was the one to watch, and New York Magazine put him on the city’s most eligible bachelor list! He was going to be famous, successful.” She backed out of the driveway rapidly, emerging on the street headed away from the town center. “It wasn’t right.”
“Where are we going?”
“Never you mind.” She returned to the topic at hand. “I couldn’t stand it, Danny DiNicco making it big while I was—while we all were—washed up, going nowhere, and it was all his fault, him and his uncle. I read about him—Danny, not the uncle. I saw the pictures in the magazines. He now has—I mean, he had—a silver streak in his hair, did you know that?” She mumbled, “Just like a skunk.”
I fumbled about in my mind for something to say. “But you have a home here, a family, children.” I thought of my own little family. “Why would you jeopardize that?”
“Yeah, right, children. They’re not mine. Lester’s a widower. He needed somebody to look after his two kids and keep house. Those brats have never liked me, and the feeling’s mutual.”
“But your husband—”
“He hardly knows I’m there. He doesn’t love anything or anybody but his precious vintage cars.” She slapped the dashboard. “This here’s his real mistress. He’s spent a fortune on this crate, but when I asked him would he spring for one little cruise? Oh no!”
She swerved a little, and my heart rate, which had slowed slightly, picked up speed.
“Where are we going?” I asked again.
“You don’t want to know,” she snarled.
I stopped talking and began praying. Help me, Lord, please. Show me what to do, how to be. Please keep me safe for Janet and for Gil.
“In everything, give thanks.”
The phrase from Thessalonians—First or Second, I couldn’t remember—came floating into my mind as the beautiful Adirondack scenery flashed past. We were speeding into the country now, getting farther and farther away from potential help. Give thanks? Now? For this?
“In everything, give thanks.”
There it was again. Um, I thank You, Lord, for things as they are.
There, I said it, or rather, thought it.
I went on praying, Thank You for my life to this point, for the parents you gave me, for my sister and for the young people I’ve been blessed to teach.
I felt a tear running down my cheeks. I wiped it away impatiently.
Thank You for Gil and for Janet. For Lily and for Alec, dear, angry Vern and his sweet Melody. For Marie and Etienne and Hester and . . .
“You’re being quiet. Plotting how to get away?”
I said nothing, only prayed some more. Thank You for the love You’ve always shown me; the way You’ve always protected me . . .
“Here we are.” Dierdre turned onto a gravel road.
Thank You that You have prepared a place for me. Thank you that I can put all my trust in You and the blood of Your Son . . .
Dierdre stopped the car and turned off the ignition. She pulled the gun from her purse and pointed it at me.
“Unbuckle. Get out of the car.”
With my hands shaking, I obeyed, looking around to determine our location. Maybe I could make a break for it, find something to hide behind. It was getting dark now, and I’d lost track of landmarks some time ago.
“Where are we?”
I could see her outline silhouetted indirectly by light from the car’s headlights. “Oh, just a place I know.”
My eyes were becoming accustomed to the dimness and perceived a large sign: Hobson’s Point Scenic Overlook.
I recognized it. It was the spot where, not so long ago, Vern and I had helped avert a tragedy. There was a high cliff, inadequately blocked off by a chain, overlooking a particularly scenic and deep part of Lake Champlain. Nearby was a parking lot where I knew that many of my high school students, well, parked.
We were standing in a broad clearing just off the road. The Overlook was beyond a row of trees, about a hundred feet away.
I saw fireflies dancing in the distance. It was such a beautiful place this time of year. Would there be anybody there? Could I get help from them?
“I know what you’re thinking. There’s nobody here tonight. Maybe you heard about that big concert at the armory, you know, the FilthyDirtyBlokes? What a name! Kids today don’t have any taste! My stepkids have been talking about it for months. Every teenager in the county’ll be there. So it’s just you and me and Luther’s precious Deville out here.” She walked around to the back of the car and unfastened the trunk. “Get in,” she ordered abruptly.
I backed away. “No.”
“Doesn’t make any difference to me,” Dierdre said, waving the gun.
Her voice was harsh in the soft night air. I could hear crickets singing in the distance.
“If you don’t get in, I’ll shoot you where you stand, or you can make a break for it and I’ll shoot you in the back, your choice.”
My knees were so wobbly, I could scarcely walk. I held onto one of the car’s fins, made my way around to the trunk, and looked inside. It was fairly roomy and relatively clean, with just the spare tire nestled in a depression at one end and some kind of tool off to one side. I’d have to kind of fold myself into it.
“I’ll be taking this.” Dierdre reached inside and removed the tire iron. “Get in!”
All at once, my skirt pocket started to vibrate. I knew right away what it was: my cell phone, which I’d muted during the baby shower.
Please don’t let her hear it! I coughed and cleared my throat each time it buzzed.
“Get in!” she repeated.
I tried to figure out how without losing my phone. I was wearing a fitted a-line skirt, and hesitated to hike it up in order to lift my foot. Of course, I could turn around, sit on the edge and sort of swivel—
Dierdre solved my dilemma. “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” She shoved me hard from behind and I fell face forward into the trunk with my fanny in the air. I slid painfully the rest of the way inside, scrambled around and assumed a cross-legged position, sitting up. I cupped my hand protectively over my pocket, thankful to still feel the vibration.
“Get down!” She swung the gun at my head, and when I ducked, slammed the trunk shut.
Now it was just me and the cell phone in the pocket underneath me. I squirmed and reached until I managed to open it. It was Gil.
“Gil!” I said breathlessly.
“Amelia!” he interrupted. “I’m sorry. I’m going to be late picking you up. I got to reading this journal, and you’ll never believe it!”
“Gil!”
“Just a second, honey. Listen, I know where those bodies are buried, at least Nimrod did. He saw it all and made a map to show—”
“Gil, listen,” I said in a hoarse whisper, trying not to talk loudly enough to summon Dierdre, “I’m in the trunk of a car! Gil?” I realized all at once that I was talking to nobody. The connection had gone dead.
By the lighting from the pho
ne’s minute screen, I tried to call him back, but to no avail. I then tried calling 911, but it wouldn’t connect. I tilted the phone every which way, but the tiny smidgen of reception bar kept disappearing.
“In everything, give thanks.”
There it was again. Thank you, Lord, that I’m not dead—yet.
That was what I prayed, but I had a fair idea of what Dierdre intended to do.
There was a slight incline from the road to the cliff. It would be easy to put the car in gear and roll it down the gravel driveway, allowing it to pick up enough speed to roll easily off the cliff and into the water which, I had been told, was at least a hundred and fifty feet deep at that location.
If all went according to Dierdre’s plan, neither Luther’s vintage car, nor I, would ever be found.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“In everything, give thanks.”
Thank You, Lord, that the car isn’t moving right now.
In fact, everything was pretty quiet. I couldn’t hear anything moving around.
Where could she be? I thought about the probable scenario: So as to not leave evidence of where the Cadillac had plunged into the abyss, she’d need to move that chain that stretched along the ledge. I tried to remember how it was fastened. Not with a snap hook like a dog’s leash. It was more permanent than that. It would probably be necessary for Dierdre to pull up the thick metal stakes holding the chain in place, then replace them . . . afterward. It would definitely require some digging. That had to be what was taking so much time.
I can’t just lie here, I need to be pro-active, I thought. What does one do to escape the trunk of a car?
New cars, I’d read, were equipped with latches that could be opened from the inside, but apparently no one had considered that an issue in 1958. Using the cell phone as a flashlight, I explored the trunk. It seemed to be lined with a kind of rough, felt-like carpeting. I tried pulling it up at the seams, but my short fingernails proved inadequate for the task.
I needed a lever of some kind, and now knew why Dierdre had removed the tire iron. I’d heard that a trapped person had once smashed through a car’s tail lights and waved to nearby traffic, but getting through the wiring on the taillights would prove to be an equally daunting task because Luther had apparently fastened the lining of this space with a strong glue.
Murder in the Past Tense (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) Page 22
