“Uh, I, yes.”
She studied my face for a long moment I felt frozen to the chair, unable to move.
“You’re acting awfully strange, Molly. As if you’re hiding something.” She reached back and grabbed the original document out of the tray on my printer. “Is there something you don’t want me to look at?”
“That’s nothing.”
She glanced at it and narrowed her eyes. After a momentary pause, she said evenly, “Cindy the Locked-Nest Monster. It’s not all that good a likeness of me. The legs are right, but the hair is all wrong.”
She rotated it to read my note to Tommy. I had written that Carolee was the only person who could have seen when the Wilkinses weren’t home and gotten into their house without tripping the alarm. That someone had to have let himself into the house Saturday morning, for if Steve had known anyone else was in the house, he wouldn’t have been in his office chair with an embarrassing letter about leaving Lauren on his computer screen. As the “Locked Nest” had reminded me, Carolee had a key.
She looked at me. “You’re right. I was the only person other than the Wilkinses who had a key to their house and knew their security code. But so what?”
“You used their fax machine to send a threat to me. And probably their email to send two others. Every time I got one, nobody was home. Your front windows face their driveway. You could easily see when they were home and when they weren’t.”
“So fry my butt in a chair. What does that prove, Molly? That I might have sent you some threats? You’ve got diddly-squat on me.”
“We’ll see.”
“Right.” She stood up, and before I could fully come to my feet, she had me in that old schoolyard wrestling grip, twisting my right arm behind my back. Almost instantly I was in agony, and as I struggled to pull free, she twisted harder and slammed me face first into the wall.
“What evidence do you have?”
A smashed face and a wrenched arm, for one thing. Please God! Make Tommy hurry! She tugged again on my arm. I had to tell her something. Anything. “A note written by Mrs. Kravett claiming you’d swapped her medications and were trying to kill her. She stored it on the school’s computer.” I was lying through my teeth, of course, but she loosened her grip.
“You’re lying. You didn’t have the password. That’s why I had to act fast. Steve wasn’t going to be able to get the password till Sunday.”
“He did, though. Just before you sneaked into his house and stabbed him. And then I figured out the code too.”
“When?”
“A few minutes ago.”
“Damn you to hell! That money was mine! I earned it! I sucked up to that old bitty and her goat of a husband for four years! They said I was the daughter they never had. When her husband finally kicked the bucket, it was my shoulder she cried on. Then the word spreads that Molly’s coming back to town. Everything changes. Suddenly, she starts talking about how this was the answer to her prayers. That you would have the energy and determination to head up a scholarship program in Bob’s name. ‘All our savings don’t need to go to waste now.’ Like I was a waste? Jesus. She cut me out entirely! I couldn’t meet my mortgage on my salary, let alone have a life!”
“But why—” I paused, answering my own question before it was asked. Rather than risk yet another murder, she’d hoped to scare me into leaving and giving my control of the money to Tommy. And someone, either Lauren or Mrs. Kravett, had told Carolee about my poem, so that was the Achilles’ heel she attempted to use against me. Then, intending to become the next Mrs. Newton, she could swindle that money into her own pocket.
“So how have you managed till now? Stealing?”
“Penny-ante stuff. A few dollars here and there when someone at the hospital was too careless with his wallet. The Kravetts were my ticket. I’d waited for someone like them, nurtured them, played them perfectly. When Mr. Kravett died, I became Mrs. Kravett’s dearest companion, ran errands for her, went shopping for her, took her to movies and out to dinner. She promised me she was leaving me her money. She would have, too, until you came along. The day Mrs. Kravett died, I went to visit her. She said she was on to me, that she finally realized I’d swapped her prescriptions and was going to her doctor. I denied it, of course, but she knew. I told her I had one last pill I wanted her to swallow, one which would kill her instantly.”
Carolee chuckled. “I didn’t, really. Just grabbed an ibuprofen tablet from my purse and made like I wanted to jam it down her throat. Scared the old bitty so bad, she went into cardiac arrest. She told me, as she was dying, that she’d already written about what I’d done. She said that her note would be read in the event of her death. It wasn’t in her house. When Steve said she had a secret password for the school’s computer, I knew that must be where she stored it. I had no choice.”
Dear God. Steve died for nothing. There was nothing incriminating on the disk.
She let go of my arm. “Sign on to the school computer using Mrs. Kravett’s ID and call up that file. Now! If I delete it, it’s just your word against mine, and I have the sergeant in my pocket.”
A staggering realization suddenly came too clear to me. Under imminent fear for our lives, Mrs. Kravett and I had pulled the exact same bluff about ail incriminating letter that never existed. Mrs. Kravett had been dead for almost three weeks. If she’d actually written such a letter, it would’ve surfaced by now.
How would Carolee react if I pointed that out to her?
“Think about this, Carolee. It won’t do you any good to—”
She picked up my heavy desk chair as if it were doll furniture and flung it at the door. The crash shook the entire house. “Do it! Now! Or I’ll kill you!”
So much for rational conversation. “Okay.” I desperately needed to stall. There was nothing on the disk that I could pull up to appease her. “We’ll have to call the school to get the phone number for their computer. Plus, you’ve made this harder. I’ll have to type standing up now.”
Shit! Where was Tommy Newton?
“Mommy?”
I gasped and whirled in the direction of Nathan’s voice. He had heard the noise coming from my office. He stood in the doorway, his little Wiffle bat in his hands.
“Go back upstairs!” I screamed.
Carolee swooped him into her arms and wrenched the plastic bat away from him. He kicked and screamed with all his might, but she lifted the razor-sharp arm on my paper trimmer. “Better get signed on to the computer quick, Moll.”
In one fluent motion born of desperation, I disconnected my keyboard and swung it at her head with all my strength. The impact of the blow reverberated through my upper body. She released Nathan and slumped to the floor. Blood oozed from a deep gash on her forehead, but I ignored it. I grabbed the phone, looped the wall cord once around her neck, and knelt with one knee on her back, gripping the phone cord.
“Go upstairs, Nathan. Lock yourself into my bedroom and don’t unlock it for anyone except me or the police. And call nine-one-one. Just leave the phone off the hook if you’re scared to talk.”
He just stood there, staring at Carolee.
“Go on, sweetie. It’s okay. Carolee is a very bad woman, and I had to hit her to get her to let go of you.”
“Is she dead?”
“No.”
“She needs to go on time-out.”
His innocence brought tears to my eyes.
“That’s right. Now go on upstairs.”
Carolee soon regained consciousness. She groaned.
“Move one muscle, and I’ll strangle you.” I’m sure the pain in her head let her know I meant it.
Within minutes, the police arrived. They banged on the door, and I yelled as loud as I could, “Come in. We’re downstairs.”
Only when three uniformed officers were in the room did I loosen my grip on the cord and let her rise.
“Jesus,” Carolee said as she got to her feet. “I’d never have believed you were that strong.”
“You made a stupid mistake when you grabbed Nathan. You don’t mess with my children. Nobody hurts them. Not now. Not ever.”
If it weren’t for the fact that an armed policeman was staring at my face, I would have told her honestly how lucky she was that I hadn’t killed her.
We picked up Karen from school. Tommy drove us from the station after I’d given my statement. I asked him if he could try to find out from Carolee where my parents’ DVR and brass candlesticks were, and he assured me he’d do his best to get them back. He took us all out to lunch at McDonald’s. When we arrived back home, Karen took Nathan’s hand, and he finally left my side as we opened the door.
Tommy declined my offer to come inside. He kicked at a dead leaf on my porch. Sensing he had something he wanted to say to me in private, I lingered on the front porch with him and closed the door.
“Molly, I feel so bad about what happened. Your son getting threatened like that. Is there anything I can do?”
“It was my fault. I should’ve just given you the information and let you take it from there. Can you recommend a child psychologist? Someone who can help Nathan and Karen talk about what they experienced?”
“I know the perfect person,” he said, taking a pen and pad from his pocket. “She was wonderful with my boys when my wife died. They were older, you know, but she’s great with younger ones, too.”
“I’m sorry about Carolee.”
“Me too.” He reddened. “She just wanted to get at Mrs. Kravett’s money through me. Guess I shoulda realized that right away.”
“Tommy, any woman would be lucky to have a man like you. I’ll bet Carolee realized that, too, despite all her problems.”
He sighed. “Least I’d rather have it be her than Lauren. For Lauren’s little girl’s sake.
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“What does your husband really do?”
“He’s an electrical engineer.”
He nodded. “Sometimes…you remind me of my late wife. Your husband is a lucky man.”
I took a halting breath, feeling such a rush of gratitude and sorrow for Tommy that I nearly cried. “Thanks. Your sons are lucky to have you as a father.”
He shrugged. “Take care of yourself.” He handed me the note with the psychologist’s name.
“You too, Tommy.”
“Sometimes I wish—” He stopped and smiled sheepishly. “I won’t forget to return your letter from Mrs. Kravett, after the trial.” He touched the brim of his hat, then left.
I went inside and read a pair of picture books to Karen and Nathan, my mind only half focused on the words.
There were so many things I didn’t understand about people, about the choices each of us makes. I knew now that part of the reason I’d been so intent on coming back to Carlton was to achieve some level of peace with my past. Only time would tell if that goal had been accomplished.
With Carolee under arrest, I didn’t have to fear notifying my customers about a change of address. It was possible to think about going home, back to Boulder. If we left soon, the children would have missed only the first couple of weeks of school. I’d give Jim a call, and we’d decide together what was best for everyone.
Promising I’d be right back. I slipped downstairs intending to call Jim, then realized it was four-thirty on Saturday morning there. With little else to do on weekends, Jim told me he always went to the office on Saturdays, but he’d probably be asleep for at least three more hours.
My email had a message. It was from the woman I’d spoken to at the office-equipment store. She wasn’t the manager of just that particular store, but of the entire national chain. She wanted permission to use my “breeze whispering Swiss cheese” to coincide with their introduction of a high-end laser printer. She suggested I call her on Monday to discuss the matter further.
I jotted Jim a note that “Carolee Richards, the nurse who lives across the street from Lauren, was Steve’s and Mrs. Kravett’s murderer.”
My friends always find it a little odd that I rarely send cards myself. That was probably due to some easily explained neurosis. This time, though, to accompany my note, I made an absurd little drawing of a man and a woman, who looked roughly like Jim and me, being dragged by a cow. The woman says to the man, “Well, at least we’ve got each udder.” I emailed it to Jim’s office, knowing he’d see it at some point that day.
Then I went upstairs where my children were currently riveted to the couch, staring at the TV screen. I turned off the set and announced, over their groans, that I was going to read aloud to them. Karen and Nathan uttered another token complaint or two, then helped me build a fire, and we tossed some pillows in front of the hearth. I located my childhood copy of A.A. Milne’s Now We Are Six and read in the flickering yellow firelight, Karen resting against one of my shoulders, Nathan against the other.
An hour or so later, I asked the children to excuse me for just a moment, then dashed downstairs to check my email, hoping Jim had sent a response. There was a note from him. I literally hopped up and down and wept with joy as I read:
JUST GOT THE GREATEST NEWS!
My boss finally came through with a replacement for me here. He’s reassigned me to Albany, after all. Have to get packed. Flight’s leaving in two hours. See you soon!
I love you. Jim
P.S. Your drawing of a cow needs a little work. It looks like an ugly horse.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Leslie O’Kane also writes under the pseudonym of Leslie Caine. She considers the incident in which she was taken hostage to be the start of her “life in crime.” When the robber clobbered her with a shotgun to make her stop laughing, she learned that a sense of humor can be dangerous. Leslie lives in Boulder, Colorado.
Dear Readers,
I hope you have enjoyed my book. If so, I hope you will want to read my other books in the Molly Masters series. Especially for dog lovers, you might also enjoy my Allie Babcock series. I am currently in the process of writing a radically different style of book—a trilogy of thrillers for young adults, which I anticipate having available as eBooks in July of 2013.
If, however, my writing style doesn’t appeal to you, I hope you are at least having a nice day. Thank you for reaching the end of my book even so.
As I am writing this, my website is being redone by my wonderful Web Designer, Maddee James. Please visit my site at LeslieOKane.com.
Thank you so very much for reading my book and supporting my career. You have my deepest appreciation, and my warmest wishes always.
Yours sincerely,
Leslie O’Kane
Books By Leslie O’Kane
DEATH COMES eCALLING
DEATH COMES TO SUBURBIA
DEATH COMES TO THE PTA
DEATH OF A GARDENER
DEATH COMES TO A RETREAT
DEATH ON A SCHOOL BOARD
DEATH AT A TALENT SHOW
PLAY DEAD
RUFF WAY TO GO
GIVE THE DOG A BONE
WOOF AT THE DOOR
THE SOUL SHIFTERS BEGINS: Jake Greyland, A Short Story
THE SOUL SHIFTERS: A Novel
Coming Soon:
ECHOES OF SOULS
SHADOWS OF SOULS
Writing as Leslie Caine:
DEATH BY INFERIOR DESIGN
FALSE PREMISES
MANOR OF DEATH
KILLED BY CLUTTER
FATAL FENG SHUI
POISONED BY GILT
HOLLY AND HOMICIDE
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Unnamed
Death Comes eCalling Page 21
