"And go where?"
"You'll see. Let's go."
"And if I don't?"
He yanked my arm. It felt like my shoulder was going to twist out of the socket.
"Ow. I mean it: knock that offl" I yelled.
He yanked again. "Get in the truck."
Fear stabbed through me. Something horrible would happen if I got in the truck with this nut bag. I began to fight, twisting and trying to pull away while kicking at his knee. He instinctively turned his hips away, or else I'd have had a chance at his gonads. I jammed the heel of my palm toward his face, hoping to connect with his nose, but he jerked his head out of range.
This was a guy who couldn't pound a nail in a wall? I pulled my arm back again.
His hand came out of nowhere. When it connected with the side of my head, my vision filled with little dancing sparks of light.
"Get in the truck, or I'll have to hurt you." So much for shy and awkward.
"Like you did Ruth?" The thought of what Jude had done to her made me so mad my vision cleared.
"I didn't mean to hit her that hard," he muttered.
"Right. And George? What about George? Is he lying in some closet inside, all beat up because you're such a tough guy?"
It was such an incredibly stupid thing to say, but if he hit me some more, so be it; all I knew was that whatever Jude had in mind with this little trip to Heaven House was going to be very, very bad.
But he didn't hit me again. He looked ... upset. "I would never do anything to hurt George. He's my best friend in Cadyville."
"So where is he?"
"Over at his friend Marvin's house. He goes over there to watch All My Children. And I think he's kind of upset about me leaving. Didn't want to watch. You know?"
I stared at him. He sounded like the same old Jude, a little odd, seeking approval.
Nice as pie to his landlord.
"George is fine," he said. "Now let's go."
He started pulling me toward the street. I continued to resist. He stopped and looked at me, considering.
"If you don't stop being a pain in the ass, I'm going to have to hit you again."
I shoved my chin into the air. "Go ahead. I'll fight you with everything I've got. And somebody in this neighborhood is bound to notice. Lots of nice retired folks who stay home all day, I bet."
What was I waiting for? I opened my mouth to scream.
"I'll hurt the little girl. Meghan's kid."
My mouth snapped shut. I hadn't thought I could be any more scared.
Turned out I could.
TWENTY-NINE
THE RAIN WAS BACK, spitting out of a mercury sky onto the windshield of the Toyota. There were times when the precipitation of the Pacific Northwest got to be too dang much. I craved sunshine and warmth and air that sucked the moisture right out of your nasal passages in only a few breaths. I wanted high desert. I wanted to be anyplace where it wasn't so verdant, so green, so dank and damp and dark. The earlier blue sky and sunshine had been a tease, a glimmer of summer snatched away after only an hour or two.
That may have had something to do with my bad mood, but the real explanation was probably the killer sitting in the passenger seat beside me.
"What are you going to do?" I asked. Meaning what are you going to do to me?
Jude didn't answer, appearing to concentrate on the road in front of us. His eyes flicked over to the speedometer, which was pegged at exactly twenty-five miles an hour. I should have been speeding, should have tried to get pulled over by one of Barr's buddies at the cop shop, but stupid me, I hadn't thought of that. I was still trying to get my mind around the fact that Jude had threatened Erin. What kind of bastard did that? I had a new appreciation for Ruth's fear that he might hurt her uncle Thaddeus. My attitude toward her dilemma had been too cavalier by far.
I asked again, "What are you going to do?"
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "I'll work something out."
A carton shifted in the bed of the truck as I went around a corner. "There's no real evidence against you in Philip's killing," I said. "The Health Department is sure they have the real culprit, you know, beetwise. No one even thinks it was murder."
He got a little pale when I used the word "murder." Kind of sensitive for a killer, in my opinion.
"But you know," he said. "You'll tell."
"Tell what? I've got nothing. And anything you told me is hearsay. Even if I took out a sandwich board advertising what you did, you'd get off in court. Never see any jail time. I bet it wouldn't even get as far as court."
"My reputation would be ruined."
"Jude, you don't have a reputation in Cadyville."
"But I will. If I don't ruin it, then I will."
"If you hurt me, then you'll get caught. People wouldn't think much of that, now would they?"
"I won't get caught if you can't tell them."
I didn't like the sound of that at all. "There are people who know I'm helping you move."
"Good"
"But they'll know you're responsible if anything happens to me.
"No. They'll know you helped me out. Then you left. I don't know where you went. Gosh, I'm sure grateful she helped me move, I'll tell them. George saw you there. I don't know what happened to you after we unloaded the truck. I wish I did."
"You're banking on no one seeing us."
"Monday is Maryjake's day off. Heaven House is closed up."
"Barr will know. He knows I suspect you, and he's not the only one.
Fear and anger infused his face, and he ran a shaking hand through his hair. Then he dropped it into his lap. His eyes took on a speculative gleam. "Does he also know you have a stalker? Because you know how those situations can get out of hand, Sophie Mae. It's on the news all the time."
"Are you ... you're not... " Nah. I'd recognize the voice. Wouldn't I?
"Allen?" I asked.
"Allen? That's the name of your stalker? Isn't that the guy from your first night on the Helpline?"
Jude had been standing right in front of me when I'd been on the phone with Allen that night at Heaven House. Of course he wasn't my stalker.
He continued. "Oh, that's perfect. No, I haven't been following you. God, you're full of yourself."
"Hey, wait just a tootin' minute there," I protested. "It's not my fault someone targeted me."
"Well, it's working out pretty well for me." His lips turned up in an unpleasant smile.
"Not really," I fudged. "They caught him, last night. The Cadyville Creep. So blaming him isn't going to work."
"This Allen guy was the Cadyville Creep?" More of that smile. "So why did you wonder if I was this Allen character just now? Maybe they got the wrong guy. Maybe you're still in danger after all. Everyone will be so sad they didn't do more to catch him. I could tell you were scared when you were talking about him today. How he was contacting you all the time, and how you'd see him on the street, but you didn't want to tell anyone, your housemate or your boyfriend, because you didn't want to worry them."
He was really getting into his story now. It was coming together a tad too well for my taste.
"How did you do it?" I asked. "How did you get Philip to eat the beets?"
Jude grimaced. "He was a pig. Ate all the time. He liked beets. Heck, he never met a food he didn't like. When I was looking through the preserves George's wife had put up, looking for something for the exchange, I saw the jar those beets were in. Foam. Funny color. Bad seal. Next thing I knew I'd put them on my dear cousin's desk. Off they went to his kitchen, and then down his gullet."
"But didn't he see they were bad?"
"I put them in another jar, all clean and pretty. It wasn't vacuum sealed, but he didn't know any better. His mother never had to can their food. My mother did, but not his. His mother had a cook to make littl
e Philip's grilled cheese, a maid to make his widdle bed." His obvious bitterness rode under every sarcastic word.
"How could you be sure they'd kill him?" I couldn't let it go.
"Nothing is certain. Except, as I said, he was a pig. If it didn't work, he never knew where they came from. I was still safe."
"And if he served your poison to someone else? Did you think about that?"
His eyes were stony as he gazed at the rain falling on the other side of the windshield. "Collateral damage."
Astonishing. He truly didn't care who he hurt in his bid to take over Heaven House and wreak revenge on Nathaniel's favored grandson. His dismissive attitude infuriated me. My fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard they turned white. I felt as if I could rip it right off the column
Jude pointed. "Turn here. Go down the alley."
He'd threatened Erin, and I had no doubt he meant it. Could she be protected? With enough warning, yes. Meghan would be furious, but that was better than letting Jude kill me. Better than letting him get away with killing his cousin and hurting both Barr and Ruth.
I turned.
Halfway down the alley, I screeched to a stop, opened my door and ran like my hair was on fire.
I'd be able to outrun Jude, non-athletic, bumbling, foot-shuffling Jude. Footsteps pounded on the pavement behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder. He was a lot faster than he looked. I veered between two buildings, determined to hit the street in front of HH before he caught up with me. There would be people there.
I panted like I was hauling a pack of rocks. I really needed to get more exercise. Maybe take up jogging or get a stationary bike or something. Six more steps. Almost there.
My head jerked back, and my feet left the pavement. The sight of buildings reaching up to the gray sky filled my vision.
Jude had grabbed my braid and pulled, really freakin' hard.
I landed on my butt in the damp muck of the alley. For a moment I couldn't breathe. Panicked, I flailed my arms and forced in a wheezing lungful of air. Pain shrieked up my neck.
He firmed his grip on the base of my braid and hauled me upright. Handling me like a rag doll, he forced me to stumble and trip into the back entrance of Heaven House.
"You just have to keep fighting me, don't you?" he muttered as he pushed me over to Maryjake's desk and began rooting through the drawers. My head was pulled back at an awkward angle. I had to arch my back and neck in order to stay upright. A sad state of affairs, that staying on my feet had become the best case scenario.
"What did you expect?" I grated out through my humiliation. "That I'd meekly cave? Is that what you expect from women? Or is that what you expect from everyone? And if they don't give you what you want, you poison them, or beat them up, or-"
"Shut up." His tone was curiously flat, but I complied because I didn't know how to finish the sentence.
In his pocket, his cell phone rang. He fumbled it out, looked at the display, then answered.
"Heaven House Helpline."
I opened my mouth, and he yanked on my braid. "Help!" I yelled.
But he flipped the phone closed and put it back in his pocket. "Too late. They hung up. Must not have been important."
The phone rang again. This time Jude ignored it altogether.
So much for community service.
Back to the desk drawer. "There it is," he said under his breath. I craned in his grasp, slewing my eyes to the right. He held up a key so I could see it. "Philip's apartment."
"Are we going to unload your things now?" Couldn't quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
"Yes. At least I am. Somehow, I don't think you'd be much help." He went back to rooting through Maryjake's junk. "I saw it right here the other day..."
I swung my fist behind me, but my unseeing aim was off. I hit his leg.
"Damn it!" He grabbed my wrist and let go of my hair, swung me around, and grabbed my other wrist. It was fast. I fought again, as I had in the driveway at George's, but he was just too strong. I opened my mouth and screamed as loud as I could.
A tiny smile quirked up the left side of his mouth. This old brick building was well sealed and insulated. We might as well have been in a tomb. No one would hear me, and we both knew it.
And then he was wrapping scotch tape around my wrists, over and over again.
I laughed, and pulled. Stopped laughing. Like Jude, the thin transparent tape was a lot stronger than it looked.
He grabbed my braid again, let go of my hands, and turned me to face away from him. At least my hands were in front of me.
The drawer slammed shut, and I found myself being steered to the far side of the room. Jude stooped in front of a red metal box, tools spilling out of it onto the painted concrete by the back wall. I had no choice but to bend, too, my hair still firmly in his grip like a rope handle.
Then I saw the small hammer he'd used to pound the picture hanger into the wall of the game room. It lay diagonally across the top tier of neat metal compartments.
My hands crept toward it.
Ever so slowly.
Jude muttered under his breath some more. Whatever he was searching for continued to prove elusive.
My fingers were only inches away.
"Where the hell is it?" His voice cracked with anger. He gave my head a slight shake, as if I were keeping something from him.
"What are you looking for?" My fingers touched the handle of the hammer.
With a sudden movement, he upended the entire contents of the tool box onto the floor. Wrenches clanged and bolts traced crazy circles.
The hammer slid away before I could curl it into my clumsy grip.
But there: a big fat adjustable wrench. I lunged for it, but Jude had seen it already and jerked my braid. My head snapped back so hard I thought my neck would break.
ow!
He didn't respond, simply stood, pulling me up with him, and started marching toward the stairway to the top floor. Only now he had a roll of silver duct tape in his hand.
Staying on my feet was about to become a thing of the past.
Fear spurted through me. I couldn't let that happen.
I twisted in his grasp, pain shooting through my shoulders, then dropped my head and let my legs buckle. For a moment my weight was suspended from my hair. Then I was on my knees. He lost his balance and his right arm propellered as he let loose with a stream of obscenity that under other circumstances I would have found quite impressive.
But he didn't let go.
He did, however, turn to face me.
As hard as I could, I brought my clasped fists up between his legs. He grunted. Doubled over.
And loosened his grip enough for me to pull away from him.
I rolled onto my back and aimed a kick in the exact same spot I'd just punched. The first blow had connected directly, but I only had so much strength in my arms. I wanted to hurt him for good.
I wanted to hurt him forever.
He saw it coming, threw his hips to one side, and I only kicked him in the behind. The look on his face when he turned back was one of naked fury. A tsunami of adrenaline washed through me, and I was up on my feet and running.
Jude was right behind me.
Front door: locked. Back door: too far away. Upstairs: trap. Only option: game room.
I veered inside and swung the door shut. It closed with a satisfying snick in his face, and I fumbled for the lock.
No lock.
Right. Okay.
Panting, I held the knob while Jude rattled it. It began to turn in my hand. There, at the new table-a metal folding chair. I let go and lunged for the chair. The door began to open. I slammed my shoulder into it, closing it again. Jude swore some more. I jammed the chair under the knob, mashing one of my fingers in the process. It's hard to be graceful when your wrists are bound together.
He pushed an
d he pushed, but the chair held fast.
I gradually backed away from the door. Had to find a way out. My gaze swept the room. No phone. Nothing on the bookshelves. Nardella and her Treasures blinking over in the corner. Three more metal folding chairs. One of those would make an awkward weapon.
Why didn't I carry a cell phone like normal people? If I could just get out of here, I promised, I'd join the twenty-first century. I'd get a cell phone, an mp3 player, and any other technology I could find. I'd renounce my neo-luddite ways, I really would.
The picture of Edgar Cady was framed behind glass. Maybe I could do something with that.
Speaking of glass ...
The three south-facing windows let in a decent amount of light, even at this time of year, even with the sky returned to its typical winter dinginess. On the ground floor, they stared out at the ugly painted teal cinderblock of the building next door. Though not very big, I should still be able to wiggle through one of them. Excited at the prospect, I hurried over to them.
Unlike the ancient painted-over window frame in Philip's office upstairs, these windows had been replaced with modern security frames. Obviously designed not to open. Disappointment weighed like bricks in my stomach.
But windows are made of glass. Glass breaks. I eyed the folding chairs again.
Near them, the Chase brothers had installed the dartboard Maryjake had been so thrilled about. It was made of concentric rings of cork, painted red and green, black and white. On the floor below was a package of steel-tipped darts.
I wrestled them open and managed to extract one of the sharp pointy parts. It quickly perforated the transparent tape binding my wrists, allowing me to pull it apart and remove it.
The door shuddered as Jude kicked it.
I jumped.
"Careful," I called out, trying to sound confident. "If you make too much of a mess then the authorities'll know you have a very nasty temper."
The obscenity was even more creative than before. But the kicking stopped.
I finished screwing together the darts and added the flights. I couldn't hit the side of a barn with one of those things on a good day, but that wasn't going to stop me from trying if I had to.
Heaven Preserve Us: A Home Crafting Mystery (A Home Crafting Mystery) Page 21
