“Whoa.” He held up his palms and shook his head again. “That’s crazy. Why wouldn’t she pay you? I already told her I’d be happy to fork over the money if it made her happier with Boris.”
I shrugged, embarrassed. “She said she couldn’t afford it.”
He averted his gaze, the muscles in his jaw working. “Damn that woman,” he muttered under his breath.
He slammed his fist into his palm so hard that I was startled and instantly began to worry what her husband’s anger might mean to Susan. What if I’d just set off an abusive spouse? She might have been hoarding the money so that she could escape from him.
“I’m sorry to have been the one who—”
“Hell, it ain’t your fault.” He gave me a lopsided smile. Though his cheeks were red, he met my eyes, and I had to say that his eyes portrayed only kindness. “She does stuff like this all the time. ‘Fraid my wife has an expensive drug habit.”
“I...had no idea. I’m sorry.” I found myself making a quick appraisal of which scenario I believed—this man whom I’d only just met as a spouse abuser or Susan as a drug user. Susan hadn’t struck me as the sort to be an addict, but then, I suppose I had a preconceived, naive notion of skinny, greasy-haired teens with dark circles around their sunken eyes. She did, however, have a fiery temper and rapid mood swings. Her husband was the more likable of the pair and, I decided, more credible.
“You’re tellin’ me. She’d been off the stuff for a while now, but she must be hooked again. It’s all her damn... dieting that did it to her. She was obsessed with getting back to her old weight, and got into taking uppers to lose weight.”
“If there’s anything I can do...” I let my voice drift off, feeling stupid for starting to mutter the automatic response that nobody really expects to be sincere. Besides, I knew nothing about drug addiction or anything helpful to do toward easing his predicament.
“I’ll bet Cassie’s death pushed her right over the edge,” he muttered to himself.
“Cassandra Randon?” I asked, surprised at the familiarity he’d shown. Susan had implied that she barely knew the woman. “Did you know her?”
“No. Only met her a couple times. I meant for Susan’s sake, though.” He studied my face. “Didn’t Suzy tell you? She and Cassandra were running a business together—back before she and I met, that is.”
“No, she didn’t mention it. What kind of business was this?”
“Oh, they started up some mail-order thing—customized monograms or something like that. People could send in clothing and stuff, and they’d monogram it.”
“Cassandra and Susan must have met when the Randons bought the house next to Susan’s parents’ place, then, right?”
“Yeah, and they found out about their mutual sewing talents. Then I guess Susan told Cassie about her idea for this custom monogramming business, and they gave it a go for a while. But Susan doesn’t really do too well with other women, and they couldn’t work together. So Cassandra was supposedly goin’ to buy out Susan’s half of the business.”
He winced and ran his beefy hand across his curly brown hair. “Suzy told me that she never did get her money out of Cassandra. Hell. Now that I think about it, she probably lied. Same way she lied to me about paying you. She probably bilked Cassandra for all she was worth. Maybe that’s where she’d been getting her drug money, till now.”
“Again, Fred, I’m really sorry that Susan’s got such serious problems. I’d better go now.”
“Hey. Don’t be thinking that...” He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Whatever drug problems Susan might have doesn’t mean she had anything to do with Cassandra’s death, you know. I promise you that. She’d never kill anyone. Not in a million years. She’s had this drug addiction problem for years, off ‘n’ on, but she’s never stolen or hurt anyone.”
“I’m...glad. Have you talked to the police about your wife’s troubles?”
“Oh, man. I shouldn’t’ve got into all this. You’re going to go straight to the police, aren’t you?”
I hesitated and thought for a moment, then scanned the man’s face. If he was lying about any of his convictions, including his insistence that his wife was innocent of Cassandra’s murder, he was a skilled actor. I couldn’t see the sense in my rushing to call Sergeant Millay. If Susan had a history of drug problems and was in the area when Cassandra was being murdered, he would know to check her alibi. He seemed to barely tolerate my dragging him over to Luellen’s house to search for Shogun. Sergeant Millay was going to think I had nothing better to do than to tell him how to do his job.
“No, I’m not. But you and Susan might want to talk to them.” Though I felt a bit Pollyanna-ish, I couldn’t help but add, “If nothing else, the police might be able to help you get Susan into a good treatment program.”
He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “I’ll take care of my wife. Don’t worry.”
My heart sank into my stomach at the words, but his face stayed guileless. He surely didn’t mean he’d “take care” of her in an evil sense.
I kept turning the phrase over and over in my head as I drove home. As much as I believed my instincts that said Fred Nelson was a loving husband married to a difficult woman who perhaps had a drug problem, all I really knew was that Cassandra Randon had been murdered. Someone was playing for keeps.
Though I felt like a heel for having lied to the man, the moment I walked in my door, I went straight to my phone, ignoring my dogs and my mother, and called Sergeant Millay. I told him precisely what Fred had told me, including how his wife had claimed I was charging cash for services never rendered.
My mother listened to my end of the phone conversation in complete silence, her arms crossed as if she were cold. She was wearing my favorite blouse of hers, a black velvet collar and cuff on blue denim, which matched her jeans. After I’d hung up, she said immediately, “My God, Allida. How horrible.”
“I know. And my last words to Susan’s husband were that I wouldn ‘t go straight to the police.”
She shrugged. “That wasn’t something you could stick with, though. You did the right thing.”
“Did I? I have no idea if any of what Fred told me is true. I might have just made a load of trouble for Susan that she didn’t deserve.” I sighed. “Rest assured that Harvey and Betsy won’t be nominating me for any Most-Beloved-Neighbor awards.”
“Darn,” she said, snapping her fingers. “And I know how much their opinion has always meant to you.”
Despite my mood, Mom’s comment made me smile, which soon faded as I considered more implications of Susan’s situation. “Do you think it’s possible that she and her father are both addicts? That Harvey was high on something when he came over here and tried to break in the other night?”
Mom ran her hand over her hair and down the length of her braid. Finally she said, “I don’t know. I guess it’s possible that she and her parents are up to their ears in debt because of drug problems. Maybe Harvey was trying to steal some pettycash out of my kitchen.”
“Do you keep any petty cash in your kitchen?”
“No, not that I’d ever consider cash ‘petty.’ Which doesn’t mean Harvey knows that.”
The next morning was a Saturday, always my busiest day. Mom was up before me, but still wearing her robe. She was mixing milk replacement with water and puppy chow in the kitchen when I came in to grab a quick breakfast.
“How are the puppies doing with their new diet?”
“Pretty well. But they’re making an incredible mess of things. Fluffernutter seems to think the food dish is the best seat in the house.”
I tried to get the little puppy reoriented so that his correct end was in the bowl. Otherwise, they truly were taking to the food nicely, if messily. The phone rang. Mom was soon laughing and chatting with the caller, so I tuned out, assuming this was one of her friends. To my surprise, after five minutes or so she came over to me and said, “Allida, it’s Russell.”
She accompanied me t
o the phone, then realized when I gave her a significant look that she was intruding on my personal space.
“I’m going to take a shower.”
“Hi, Allie,” Russell said to my hello. “I was thinking of you and wanted to see how you were doing before I headed to the hills.”
“Fine,” I answered. My heart had started beating faster, though, and I felt a little out of breath. This was so annoying! I really, really didn’t want to be finding myself getting so attracted to someone with whom I doubted I had enough in common to have a lasting relationship. “How are you?”
“Okay, but I wish you were coming with me.”
“Ah, yes. My dream date. Scrambling up the face of a cliff till I get vertigo and pass out.”
Almost as soon as the words were out, I regretted them, thinking Russell would assume I was making fun of him, but he chuckled. “Actually, I think we’re just going to go for a few hours now, instead of...”
Someone started ringing the doorbell so relentlessly that Russell’s words were drowned out. The shower water was already running, so I knew it was up to me to answer it. I apologized to Russell, but even in the short period of time that that took, the person outside was now also banging on the door. I quickly explained that whatever this was sounded too serious for me to get back to the phone right away, and hung up.
It was probably one of the Haywoods, who’d heard about my “squealing” to the police and wanted to get even by bringing a lawsuit against me for those glued sneakers. I reminded myself to get that check into their mailbox before I left for work. The visitor was pounding hard enough to rattle the door on its hinges. My temper rose with every step as I crossed the living room.
I glanced through the peephole and recognized John White through the distorted lens. I threw open the door and stared at his appearance in surprise. Despite his tan, his face had a waxy look to it. His forehead was dotted with perspiration. Something terrible had obviously happened to him.
Before I could say anything, he cried, “Thank God you’re here. Allida. There’s an emergency, and I need you to come with me.”
“What?”
“There’s no time. I need you to come with me. There’s...I found a couple of dogs running loose just a short distance from here and I need you to help. It’ll just take a couple of minutes.”
“I don’t understand. Why do—”
“It’s over at the water tower on the edge of town. I’ll explain the whole thing when we get in the car. Come on. We need to hurry, or else it’ll be real bad.”
“John, you’re acting—”
“Come with me! Please! We’ve got to get over to the water tower before someone gets killed!”
“Someone? But I thought—”
“There’s a child that’s caught up on the water tower and an Akita that’s acting rabid and won’t let him climb down!”
“My God. We need to call the—”
“I already called the police, but they need help with the dog.” He started down the steps back toward his car. “If you won’t help me, maybe I can find someone else who will!”
My heart was racing. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if some child was in danger and I did nothing. I trotted down the walkway toward him.
How on earth could a dog have trapped a child on a water tower? And how had they come to contact John about that? He must be working Animal Control and gotten the call. But if so, where was the van and its equipment? We needed one of those poles with the loop on the end so we could safely catch the dog.
I got into the passenger seat. The car had the familiar scent of dogs, but reeked of tobacco now, too. “John, tell me again. What’s happening at the water tower? Why do you need me to—”
There was a sudden motion from the backseat, and I gasped and automatically lurched forward while twisting around to look. It was Carver, and he had a long-bladed knife in his hand.
“Howdy, Miss Babcock. The three of us are goin’ for a little ride.”
I looked at John, whose face in profile was beet red and damp with perspiration.
“Sorry, Allida. He said he had a gun that would be pointed at me the whole time we were talking. He didn’t give me any choice.”
Chapter 14
“Just drive,” Carver instructed in a gravelly voice to John. “Get us out of here before her ol’ lady sees us.” He ducked down slightly, and John slowly pulled away from the curb.
“What do you want?” I asked Carver as calmly as I could, only the slightest tremble in my voice giving me away.
“Same thing everyone wants. A million bucks. A mansion with a batch of servants. But I’d settle for an even break. I lost my job, thanks to you shitheads. And now I lost my dog. I need you two to get her back.”
Carver was talking nonsense. There was no way either John or I had anything to do with his failing to get some job that he wanted. Or with the loss of his dog.
His eyes looked wild, and I wondered if he was high on something. The thought of his being less than lucid while holding a knife to my neck was not a pleasant one.
I gave a little glance in John’s direction, afraid to fully look at him for fear that Carver would see any communication between us as a threat.
John gave me the slightest of winks—some feeble attempt at reassurance—the perspiration on his forehead showing that he was far from relaxed. “He hasn’t explained this to me, either, yet. He ambushed me at work and basically insisted I do what he says without explanation.”
“I told you as much as you need to know. You’re driving to the dog pound in Boulder.”
“Fine, Craig. I’ll take you to the Humane Society. I can get your dog back, no questions asked. We don’t need Allida for that.”
“Hey! Get this straight right now, John boy! I decide what I need. And right now, I need her to do the front work for me.”
“Front work?”
“You’re going to go into the Boulder Humane Society with me and fetch me my dog. Meantime, John here is going to keep the car engine running, and we’ll bring the dog out around back.”
This was nuts! He was taking two people against their will just to get his dog out of the animal shelter? “Why don’t you just go in and identify your dog and take her yourself?”
He grabbed a handful of my hair, pulled my head back, and held the knife against the skin of my neck. “That’s none of your business, dog girly.” His hot breath on my face reeked of alcohol.
My eyes filled with tears from the pain in my scalp. I automatically reached up and tried to pry his fingers loose, but he only pulled harder.
John’s steering went wild. We were veering all over the road. “Calm down, Craig.”
Carver chuckled. “Don’t like me touching your girlfriend, hey?”
“You’re hurting her. You’re just getting yourself in deeper and deeper.”
Not trusting my voice and unwilling to give Carver the satisfaction of seeing me cry, I tried to swat John to signal for him to pay more attention to his driving. He was barely staying in the lane. That blade was all too close for John to be making an unexpected swerve.
“Deeper and deeper, hey?” Carver snorted and released his grasp on me. “You got a way with words, John boy.”
“Are you okay?” John asked me quietly.
I turned my face to the window, not unleashing the four-letter words on the tip of my tongue. My head hurt horribly, and rage had me far too tempted toward taking a stupid risk than was in my best interest.
“Are you okay?” Carver mimicked, then laughed. “Shit. You are such an idiot. I’ll let you in on a secret, John boy. I don’t have no gun. All you had to do back there was tell your little girlfriend here to call the police, and I’d’ve been up shit’s creek.”
I looked over at John, who grimaced and reddened. So Carver had fooled him into thinking he had a gun trained on him when he was at my door. Carver also must have gotten violent in his drunken state and had Suds forcibly taken from him on an animal cruelty charge,
or he would be able to get her back himself simply and legally.
Most likely he was on the lam and had escaped getting arrested for whatever he’d done to Suds. He also might not want to take the chance of going in there after his dog, knowing that he might be recognized. There was often an inmate or two working in the exercise areas or outbuildings.
I desperately needed a plan, but had none. I couldn’t do a damned thing to escape, with a knife against my throat. One thing was clear, though. Fair or not, I never wanted to see John White again as long as I lived. Which I hoped meant a long time.
It was a long drive into Boulder, and Carver settled back in his seat in silence. I considered my options: jumping out of the car, which wasn’t going to work; crying hysterically, which might force Carver to think again about taking me with him into the Humane Society. Even at that, Carver could simply claim I was distraught over concerns for the dog. Most of the volunteers and staff at the Humane Society knew me. Could I get out of harm’s way long enough to tell them to call the police?
The drive seemed both eternally long and far too short as we turned on 55th Street and neared the building. This was a Saturday. The place would be packed with families, children, looking at prospective new pets.
We pulled into the parking lot and found the last available space in front of the building. The long ride had only solidified my fear. I honestly wasn’t sure my legs would work. If I got out and ran inside to get someone to alert the police, Carver might kill John in his desperation to escape.
John rotated in his seat to look at Carver. “Listen, Craig. It’s just not necessary for you to use Allida like this.” John was making a second attempt at some measure of chivalry that could never compensate for his having tricked me into getting into his car in the first place. “I’ll just go into the shelter and tell them that I’m taking Suds back up to Loveland with me. They won’t stop me. I have all the necessary credentials in my wallet.”
“Yeah. That’d work. Except for the slight problem that I don’t trust you out of my sight. And that I’d feel a lot better walking in arm-in-arm with your little girlfriend than with you.”
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