by Gail Oust
“I tried to warn you, Piper, but you refused to pay attention. I thought surely you’d take the hint to leave well enough alone when I forced you off the road the other night. But no, you’re as stubborn as a mule.”
My purse with the pepper spray was on the floor next to the chair I’d been sitting in and out of reach. “You’ve been spying on me, haven’t you?” I recalled the uneasy sensation I’d had when I returned Shirley’s shoes. “You’re the person who broke into my home.”
“Where’s the flash drive? I know you must have it.”
“What flash drive?” I bluffed.
Reba Mae inched closer to me. “Can’t you just buy another one? They sell ’em at Walmart.”
“Idiot!” Zach shot Reba Mae a contemptuous glare. “It’s what’s on that flash drive that makes it invaluable.”
How were we ever going to get out of this alive? Zach would shoot us in a heartbeat if we shoved him aside and made a run for the border. “What can be so important that you’d kill for?” I asked, stalling for time.
“That tiny piece of plastic could send me to federal prison until I’m an old man. Shirley kept meticulous records of all our transactions. Since I couldn’t find them on her hard drive, I knew they must be on a flash drive. We had a sweet little deal going until Shirley developed cold feet. She was about to make a deal with feds. I’d be charged with mortgage and real estate fraud while she’d get off with a slap on the wrist.”
Keep him talking Piper. Buy yourself time. “You chose an unusual way to kill Shirley,” I said. “Why not shoot her and be done with it?”
“In hindsight that would have been much easier.” He barked out a laugh. “Her death could be classified as a crime of opportunity. I knew where she kept a spare house key. I decided to pay her a late-night visit, try to reason with her. I found her up to her pretty neck in bubbles with a fancy hair dryer in plain sight. It didn’t take much of a jolt to short-circuit her heart. I thought it a stroke of genius to dump her body at McBride’s and point the blame in his direction.”
He was too calm, too controlled. Much too sure of himself. My earlier optimism had vanished quicker than a glass of champagne on New Year’s Eve. “So what are you going to do, shoot us? Do that and we’ll bleed all over the bank’s nice carpet. Bloodstains are hard to get rid of. Besides, you said the manager knows we were here.”
“I’m willing to take my chances that the flash drive will never be found. You women are another problem entirely, but I think I have the solution. You put me in mind of a movie I saw years ago—Thelma and Louise.”
Reba Mae clutched my arm. “Best I recall, that movie didn’t end so good. Didn’t they drive off a cliff?”
“That’s the one.” He chuckled. “In my version, I’m renaming the characters Piper and Reba Mae and having them disappear over the edge of a stone quarry. Don’t worry, ladies; it won’t hurt a bit. You’ll already be dead before you hit bottom.”
CHAPTER 32
AS ZACH HUSTLED us out of the bank, I caught a glimpse of a surveillance camera positioned to view the side entrance.
Zach must’ve noticed that I saw it but seemed more amused than alarmed. “Security cameras aren’t going to be of any help. Instead of looking for free coffee mugs or koozie cups, I used my time to better advantage and bypassed the system.”
My heart sank at hearing this, but my spirits perked up again at the sight of the Ford Focus, the car Clay had loaned me, patiently waiting in the lot next to a Honda Accord that I assumed belonged to Zach. If he wanted us to drive off a cliff, he wouldn’t want to sacrifice his own vehicle in the process. A germ of an idea—one born of sheer desperation—was slowly taking shape. “I’ll drive,” I volunteered bravely. “I insist.”
“You’re way too eager. Let your friend take the wheel.”
“B-but…,” Reba Mae stammered.
I elbowed her in the ribs. “The honors are all yours, girlfriend.”
Reba Mae’s lower lip trembled as she took the keys from my hand. “Did I mention I get carsick with a gun at my back?”
By now, the drizzle had stopped and dusk was falling. All the streets had been rolled up for the night. The good citizens were home either eating dinner or chilling in front of their televisions. But help in the form of the Brandywine Creek Police Department was only blocks away. All we had to do was get there in one piece. Piece of cake, right?
The gun Zach held never wavered as he slid into the backseat behind Reba Mae and me.
“Seat belt,” I told Reba Mae, fastening mine securely.
Zach snorted. “This will be one of those situations where seat belts don’t save lives.”
“Click clack, front and back,” I said. “Remember how the kids nearly drove us crazy with that slogan they brought home after a policeman gave them a safety talk?”
“Enough chatter,” Zach snarled. “Let’s move.”
Her hands shook so badly, it took Reba Mae two tries to jab the key into the ignition. She looked ready to burst into tears any second.
“Don’t worry, girlfriend; you can do this. Remember how you aced drivers ed back in the day.”
Reba Mae stared at me as though I’d lost my marbles; then comprehension dawned slowly in her soft-brown eyes. “Yeah,” she sniffed, “thanks for the reminder.”
“How about some music?” I suggested brightly. “Music is always good in a clutch.” I emphasized the word “clutch” while repeatedly stamping my left foot against the floor. “First!” I practically screamed. “Let’s hear some Beyoncé.” Leaning forward, I shoved a CD into the player and cranked up the volume. Soon the notes of Beyoncé’s hit “Irreplaceable” filled the car.
Reba Mae, her lower lip caught between her teeth, gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Drawing a shaky breath, she pressed down the clutch and shifted into first gear. The car jerked as she eased up on the clutch, then crawled out of the bank lot at a snail’s pace.
“Don’t get any smart ideas!” Zach shouted to be heard over the music. “I don’t want to shoot you before we reach the quarry, but I will if I have to.”
I didn’t want him to shoot either—before or at the quarry. On the plus side, a gunshot would draw attention. I felt safer in town but didn’t harbor much hope if we reached the highway.
“Speed it up, will you. Put this damn thing in second.”
Was it only wishful thinking on my part, or was Zach beginning to sound less confident?
Reba Mae gritted her teeth. “Second gear comin’ right up.”
“No need to clutch the wheel so tight,” I advised, stomping down on a make-believe clutch on the passenger side.
“Sorry,” she murmured as she obediently pushed down the clutch, shifted into second, then released it. The Ford bucked and nearly stalled when she let it up too quickly.
Zach, who wasn’t wearing a seat belt, cursed and struggled to maintain his balance. “Turn right at the intersection. The old quarry’s about two miles outside of town down a dirt road. And,” he yelled, “do it in third gear!”
“To the left! To the left!” I belted the lyrics. Better out of tune than out of time.
I wildly motioned Reba Mae to turn left when we reached Lincoln Street—home to the Brandywine Creek Police Department. “Pop the clutch! Now, now, now!” I screamed, hoping, praying, Reba Mae remembered her disastrous first attempt for her driver’s permit.
Never missing a beat, Reba Mae whipped the car around the corner, pushed down the clutch, and instantly released it. The little car lurched violently amid a lot of clanking and thunking. Propelled by momentum, it veered over the curb, bumped across the sidewalk, and—literally—crashed into a corner of the police station before coming to a stop.
Zach, who wasn’t wearing a seat belt, was thrown forward. The gun in his hand fired accidentally, blasting a hole through the roof of the Ford Focus. Words spilled out of Zach VanFleet’s mouth like an old-time silent movie, but I couldn’t make out a thing he was saying because of the ring
ing in my ears. I saw Reba Mae hunched over the wheel, but she gave me a weak thumbs-up to show me she was okay.
People began pouring out of the building with Precious Blessing leading the charge. Officer Gary Moyer had his weapon drawn. McBride followed close on his heels. Beau Tucker was next, his face red with exertion as he struggled to free his gun from its holster. Last, to my surprise, trailed Colin Flynn.
“Gun!” I pointed at Zach, who was making a frantic attempt to scramble off the floor and flee. “Gun!” I repeated though I couldn’t hear myself speak.
The car’s rear door flew open, and Gary Moyer hauled out a furiously resisting Zach VanFleet. Beau Tucker retrieved Zach’s pistol from where it had landed under the seat. McBride opened the passenger door, his concerned blue eyes inspecting me for damage before he reached down and unfastened my seat belt. I tried to stand, but my rubbery legs refused to support my weight. No problem. McBride was there to catch me.
* * *
“Gonna be a long night,” Precious said after VanFleet was led off to a cell. “Best I brew a fresh pot of coffee for y’all.”
While waiting for our formal statements to be typed, we gathered in what had previously been McBride’s office. The space was barely big enough for two or three persons, much less six. Reba Mae and I, as guests of honor, occupied the visitor chairs. Beau Tucker settled his bulk in the desk chair while Colin Flynn perched on the desk. McBride and Moyer assumed relaxed stances leaning against the wall, arms folded, ankles crossed.
“Zach VanFleet confessed to killing Shirley,” I repeated as soon as the ringing in my ears abated.
“And he was goin’ to kill us next—Thelma and Louise style,” Reba Mae added. “He planned to shoot us first, then send the car—us in it—crashin’ to the bottom of the old quarry outside of town.”
I gratefully accepted a mug of steaming coffee from the tray Precious brought in. Now that the crisis was resolved and the adrenaline rush fading, I felt chilled. “VanFleet feared someone would find the flash drive that Shirley had hidden in a shoe. He said it contained enough information to send him to prison for a long time.”
“He’s correct,” Colin Flynn agreed. “I don’t suppose, by any chance, you know where I might find that flash drive?”
I took a sip of coffee and savored its warmth. “No, but McBride does. It’s password protected. He’s giving it to a friend who might be able to open it.”
“No need. That’s my specialty.”
I thought my ears were still playing tricks until Officer Moyer took pity on me. “Mr. Flynn—Colin—has been working undercover. He’s a special agent with IRS Criminal Investigation. He’s uniquely equipped to investigate mortgage and real estate fraud.”
Jeez, Louise, I groaned inwardly. I’d nearly pepper sprayed a federal agent.
“Well, don’t that beat all?” Reba Mae shook her head in amazement. “Maybe we could turn this whole episode into one of those made-for-TV movies and make a mint.”
“Ms. Randolph was on the verge of making a deal with the bureau,” Colin explained. “It’s my theory that VanFleet guessed her plan and killed to silence her. Unfortunately for McBride, he conveniently turned into VanFleet’s patsy. All the evidence I’ve acquired will be forwarded to the Department of Justice for prosecution.”
“The feds will have to wait their turn. Last I heard, murder trumps fraud,” McBride said with confidence born of experience. “VanFleet will be a guest at a Georgia correctional facility for the foreseeable future.”
Beau Tucker fixed a stare at a desk calendar as though seeing his dream of being head honcho circling the drain. “Guess it’s only a matter of a day or two before the town council meets, McBride, and you’ll be reinstated. Understand, I was only doing my job. Hope there’s no hard feelings.”
Everyone held their collective breath waiting for McBride’s reaction. McBride slowly straightened, dropped his casual pose, and stuck out his hand. “No hard feelings.”
After the two men shook hands, Precious returned and Reba Mae and I signed our statements. Then it was time to for us to leave. When we came out of the office, Hoyt was waiting in the reception area. He beamed when he saw Reba Mae unharmed.
“Caleb called to say his momma’s a one-woman demolition derby when it comes to driving a stick shift.” He chuckled. “I’m here as a self-appointed chauffeur ready to give y’all a lift home.”
“Music to my ears,” Reba Mae said, turning to me and giving me a high five. “To the left!”
Hoyt and McBride exchanged worried glances when the two of us began giggling our fool heads off, but the laughter was welcome release after the night’s tension.
Outside, we all piled into Hoyt’s luxury vehicle. I looked, but there was no sign of my loaner wedged into the police department’s bricks. Apparently it had been towed away while we were giving our statements. Since Spice It Up! was the closest destination, it became our first stop. McBride walked me to my shop’s front door while Hoyt’s Lincoln idled at the curb.
“You sure you’re all right?” McBride asked standing so close his body brushed mine.
“Mmm,” I said, feeling light-headed at his proximity.
“Glad you have Lindsey for company. I’d hate to think of you alone after what’s happened tonight.”
“Lindsey’s spending the night at CJ’s.” I smiled slowly. “I probably won’t be able to sleep a wink.”
“Well, then, I think I might could have a cure for your insomnia.” He threaded his fingers through my tangled curls and lowered his mouth until it was inches from mine. “I’m warning you, though, I’ve never been one who likes one-night stands. I’m more of a long-term kind of guy.”
“Just so happens, long-term guys are my favorite kind.” I rose on tiptoe to claim his kiss.
Neither of us noticed Hoyt and Reba Mae had already left.
CHAPTER 33
TODAY WAS A red-letter day. It marked the first anniversary of Spice It Up! My little shop fairly hummed with excitement. Hands on hips, I stood in the midst of the melee and surveyed the scene. Colorful balloons, Lindsey’s contribution, floated from the ceiling. On the counter my giveaway, a large cellophane-wrapped basket tied with a red ribbon, awaited a lucky recipient. Outside on the sidewalk, I glimpsed women queuing up ready to enter the instant I flipped the sign in the window to OPEN. S. W. Hoyt, I noticed, was the solitary male presence among all the ladies. He’d said a team of wild horses couldn’t keep him from attending his gal’s cooking debut.
In the kitchen area at the rear, Reba Mae fussed with the ingredients of her meemaw’s Hungarian goulash. Pete Barker at Meat on Main had personally delivered the stewing beef he’d cut into perfect little chunks. Jars of sweet Hungarian paprika formed a pyramid at one end of her worktable. At the other end, a large wicker basket overflowed with onions, carrots, and potatoes.
“Your little celebration wouldn’t be complete without my gingersnaps,” Melly Prescott-Herman said as she approached with a tray heaped high with cookies. I really shouldn’t have taken the time away from getting my house ready for Vicki to list, but, well, I know how everyone loves my gingersnaps. Cot never seems to get his fill.”
I watched as Melly headed toward her assigned station behind my newly repaired cash register, where she donned a yellow apron with its chili pepper logo. Marriage seemed to have dulled my ex-mother-in-law’s sharp tongue. While she still offered advice—usually unsolicited—her tone was milder, less critical. To the amazement of those around her, she’d surrendered the pageboy she’d worn for years for a shorter, more carefree style that took years off her age.
“Hey, Mom, where do you want these?” I started at the sound of my son’s voice directly behind me. Turning, I saw Chad with folding chairs tucked beneath each arm.
“You can start a new row behind the other chairs,” I told him, pointing to the area where the cooking demonstration would take place.
“Gotcha.” Chad hurried off to set up additional seating.
&
nbsp; It seemed Melly wasn’t the only one sporting a new hairdo. I’d scarcely recognized my son when he’d shown up for a surprise visit two days ago. Instead of seeing the clean-cut preppy look he’d always favored, I was introduced to a scruffier version of my elder child. His longish strawberry-blond hair curled over the edge of his collar and, what’s more, he seemed perpetually in need of a shave. But his green eyes, nearly the same shade as mine, still had the same sparkle of intelligence and good humor they’d always had. Nothing I’d said had changed his mind about taking a gap year, but, in the end, I’d accepted his decision and given him my blessing. In the course of our long conversation, I’d even told him about the new man in my life, though he and McBride had yet to meet.
I glanced at my watch. Showtime. I started for the door but was interrupted when Lindsey charged across the room wildly waving an envelope. “I’ve been accepted at Vanderbilt.”
I stopped in my tracks. “Vanderbilt University in Nashville?”
“Is there any other?” Lindsey laughed. She caught me up in a bear hug that nearly knocked me over, then stepped back. “Sean received his official acceptance days ago. The school offered him a football scholarship. I was afraid I wouldn’t make the cut, but the mailman just brought my letter. This is so perfect! Nashville is even within driving distance, so just think, you’ll see me all the time.”
“That’s wonderful, sweetie,” I said, knowing college life would quickly become a bigger draw than spending time at home. “I’m thrilled you got into the college of your choice.”
“I can’t wait to tell everyone.” She darted off to inform her grandmother of the good news.
Once again life for my family was about to change. One thing that remained constant, however, was the love for my business. Spice It Up! had fulfilled a dream I’d harbored for years and, in the process, it taught me to use talents I didn’t know I possessed. My shop and I were good for each other.
