Last summer. When Barbara Mercer visited the “Johnsons” in Lennox for the last time. I swallowed hard. “The mob sent an assassin after Car…uh…the runner? That sounds like something out of The Godfather.”
“It gets worse. Today, one of the Chicago PD sources got some intel that the contract on the runner was picked up by another hitman.”
“A second killer?”
“Yes. They don’t have an ID, but they know there’s a direct link to the crime boss.”
I had to work to keep my voice steady, adrenaline coursing through my body. “I don’t understand. If the runner already testified, why kill him? Revenge?”
“It’s been known to happen. Code of honor and all that. But in this case, there’s greater motivation to take out the guy.”
“Yeah?” I whispered.
“Apparently, the testimony from the accountant focused on bookkeeping, money laundering, racketeering. All targeting associates of the boss. Now the Bureau of Organized Crime has figured out that there is something the runner has that implicates the boss directly.” Bill paused. “Proof that he planned the murder of a politician.”
“Like who?” I asked tentatively.
“An Illinois congressman who was pressing an investigation into the business ventures of said mob boss. This evidence would give the organized crime unit a direct link to a guy they’ve been trying to prosecute for decades. The runner apparently taped conversations, snapped photos of emails, got ahold of texts. Money laundering is one thing. Plotting to murder a high-profile politician is another.”
Yikes.
“You’ve got to keep all of this to yourself.” Bill paused. “Dodie?”
“If they know this hitman is here somewhere…near Etonville…what are they doing about it?” I sounded shriller than I intended.
“Calm down. These crime unit guys are pros too. They’ve sent their own man undercover to protect the runner. And find the evidence.”
Both the mob boss and the Chicago police wanted to get their hands on Carlos’s proof.
“They’ve asked the Etonville PD to help out. Which means me. Suki’s on the case.”
I got the hint: Stay out of the way and don’t get involved. “Have you seen a photo of the…individual…in witness protection?”
“Not yet. But I have his name.”
I held my breath.
“Ethan Mercer.”
The nail in the coffin.
* * * *
I sat on the bench, stunned, for several minutes. It was good news, bad news for Carlos Villarias/Ethan Mercer. The bad news: a second hitman was either on his way or had already arrived in Etonville. Good news: the Bureau of Organized Crime from the Chicago Police Department had sent the cavalry in the form of an undercover cop who was here to protect Carlos. A bolt of investigative lightning struck. Mr. Chicago! Is that what the out-of-town stranger was doing here? Posing as a plumbing supplies salesman, eating at the Windjammer, taking Carlos to work, even coming to a performance of Dracula? His presence was beginning to make sense.
After warning me to be careful and stay away from trouble until he returned early tomorrow, Bill said good night and clicked off. Carlos had protection and Bill was on his way home; there was nothing for me to do but sit in the theater, watch the dress rehearsal, and chill, hoping that Carlos, and by extension, Bella, was safe.
I felt weary when I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked into the theater. I was late…seven forty-five. The rehearsal had probably already begun, unless, according to Penny, the ELT was operating on theater time, in which case I was early.
Romeo sauntered into the lobby, his face buried in his cell phone.
Why was he wandering in the house in costume? “Hey. Rehearsal not started yet?” I asked.
He gave me one of his typical bad-boy sneers. “The star’s taking the night off,” Romeo said with a touch of snark.
Oh no. Romeo continued to run his mouth about actors who weren’t members of the Etonville Little Theatre corrupting the process with their egos. Did he hear himself? Romeo was the poster child for egotistical actors. I swept past him into the house.
It was a screwball scene. Walter onstage flapping his arms at JC, pointing to the trick bookcase, then the magical chair. One of the crew trying to control the flying bat, which swooped over the downstage area, narrowly missing Penny, who tooted a short blast on her whistle to get actors onstage. They meandered out of the green room, adjusting costumes, bewildered. Had the ELT ever rehearsed with the lead actor missing? Lola sat in the first row, tugging on a blond strand of hair. Even from behind, an aura of angst surrounded her.
I crept down the aisle, slipped into a seat next to her. “What’s up?” I whispered.
Lola turned to me, dark circles under her eyes, frown lines splayed across her forehead. She was tired too. This show was taking a toll. “It’s just too much. First the bookcase refuses to cooperate, then the crew can’t get the flying bat under control. Walter is sulking because the Creston paper gave Carlos a great review but dinged his performance. And he doesn’t like the way the trick chair is operating.”
“Speaking of Carlos…?”
“He hasn’t shown up yet. Penny has been calling and texting, but no response,” she said with a grimace. “It’s not like him to be late, or at least not to notify the stage manager.”
We both looked up at Penny, who was writing furiously on her clipboard, ignored by the cast.
“Penny, get everyone in place for the warm-up,” Walter demanded. “We’re exploring the space.”
Lola rolled her eyes, muttering, “Oh brother.”
I recognized that exercise: the actors led one another, blindfolded, around the stage, trying to avoid set pieces while getting the lay of the land. It required trusting your partner and surrendering to the moment. Neither of which was on display in the theater tonight. Everyone was jumpy.
The stage manager inched her way to Walter. “Still missing Carlos.”
As if this was news to him, Walter did a complete 360-degree pirouette, taking in the stage, Lola, and Romeo, who was taking his sweet time ambling through the house. “What do you mean, missing?”
“As in, he’s not here,” Penny said.
“How can he not be here? It’s a brush-up rehearsal.”
“I know. I tried—”
“No one is excused from a brush-up rehearsal,” Walter announced.
“He’s not answering his phone,” Penny said.
“Then we have to find him. How can we rehearse Dracula without Dracula? After all, ‘his performance was the highlight of an otherwise average production,’” he said petulantly.
“Quoting the review from the Creston paper,” Lola murmured.
Geez.
I had an idea. “Lola, why don’t you convince Walter to begin without Carlos? Maybe Penny could read his lines?”
We swung our heads toward the stage. Penny gave up on her whistle and lounged on the settee, tapping her cell phone and tossing blindfolds at actors. “Maybe one of the other actors who isn’t in his scenes. Meanwhile, I’ll take a quick trip to the Hanratty place to see what’s keeping him.”
Lola bounded to her feet and put a hand on my arm. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Please let me know when you find him, okay?”
If I find him. “Will do.” I jerked my head in the direction of the stage, where blindfolded actors were bumping into furniture. “Good luck.”
Lola crossed her fingers and headed for Walter.
I resisted the urge to check on the Windjammer. Benny was in charge and fully capable of keeping things running and monitoring Henry. I ran down the block, hopped into my MC, and turned the ignition key. Then I pointed my car toward the temporary home of the Villariases. I hoped I wasn’t too late. But for what?
16
Traffic was light on the streets of Etonville as I
drove down Main and turned left onto Amber. I passed the Municipal Building, wondering if Suki was in her office and if I should tell her what I was doing. To what end? Failing to appear for an ELT brush-up rehearsal was not against the law. The Chicago Police had the situation under control; all I needed to do was locate Carlos and convince him to get to the theater. Within minutes I was on the outskirts of town, guiding my MC through neighborhoods until I reached the road that ran past the Hanratty house. The moon provided the only light on the deserted lane.
I slowed as I approached the place. The Villariases’ Subaru was in the driveway. Good. They were home. I rolled to a stop behind it. The place was as spooky as the night of the cast party—the weathered exterior walls, the rickety front porch steps, dim light from the first-floor parlor windows. None visible from the second or third floors. Did I really want to do this? To quote Edna, “It certainly looked haunted.”
I counted to ten and left my car. The wind had picked up in the last hour or so and now whooshed about, tearing at my open jacket. I pulled it snugly about me. Once on the porch, I was alarmed to see the front door ajar. Not unlike the day Lola and I had visited with Bella. Didn’t the Villariases believe in locks?
I peeked in. “Hello? Carlos? Bella?” Absolute silence. I tried the ancient-looking doorbell, all corroded around the edges. It tolled a mournful, two-ring chime. No response. Maybe Mr. Chicago had picked them up just as he had Carlos the other morning and taken them somewhere for safekeeping. Why hadn’t Carlos notified Penny? Or Walter? This was most likely a waste of time. If Carlos had been available for rehearsal, he would have been there.
Before I left, I had to satisfy my curiosity. I glanced around the yard. Which was ridiculous: There was no one anywhere nearby to see me. I stepped into the foyer and, to make my presence known, called out again. “Carlos?” The parlor on my right was empty, a table lamp providing the only light from the first floor. I tiptoed down the hall to the back of the house and the kitchen. I waved my cell flashlight around the appliances. All was neat, nothing disturbed. On an old wooden kitchen table, Bella had arranged a dozen pots of herbs. Jars and vials were lined up neatly—the extracts and concoctions from her plants that would become lotions and salves and homeopathic remedies.
There was no sign of trauma or struggle.
I texted Lola: at the Hanratty place…car here but no sign of Carlos or Bella. She responded almost immediately: thanks for trying…penny reading lines…ouch…coming back? I agreed to rejoin the ELT and hold Lola’s hand for the second act. I flicked off my flashlight, intending to beat it back down the hallway to the foyer and out of this old house. On my left, beneath the curving staircase that led to the second floor, there was a half-open door I hadn’t noticed before. I grasped the handle. A set of steps led to a lower level; the basement, judging by the dank smell and clammy air. There was a light on somewhere down there. I stuck my head inside the door, inching halfway down the stairs.
“Carlos? Bella?” I called out. Being in the house alone was spooking me out. Lights on, nobody home. A whoosh of air behind me, then a thud against my back, thrusting me from behind. I felt myself falling. The last thing I remembered thinking: I’ll miss Act Two.
* * * *
A blinding light shone directly into my eyes. “Take it easy. Let them examine you.” It was Suki.
Paramedics took my vital signs and looked me over for damage.
“Where am I? What’s going on?” I struggled to sit up and was slammed with a pounding head. I lay down again.
In the hazy illumination at the top of the stairs, I could see Lola and Carol on the periphery of the handful of technicians tending to me. “Thank God you’re okay,” Lola said.
“What happened?”
“You took a tumble down some stairs,” Carol said.
“These old house are like death traps. Everything’s rotten. Lucky you only fell a few steps,” said an EMT as he put a bandage on my forehead.
“How are you feeling?” asked Suki, concerned.
“I’m fine,” I asserted bravely. My head was killing me.
“Let’s get her out of here.” Hands lifted me onto a stretcher that was lugged up the staircase, through the hallway, and onto the front porch of the Hanratty house, where I was placed on a gurney. The cold air was a relief. Flashing blue and red lights whirled atop an Etonville PD cruiser, while an ambulance idled, ready to transport me to the hospital.
“I don’t need to go to the—”
Suki motioned to the EMTs. “It’s only a precaution. In case you have a concussion.”
Lola and Carol followed the gurney. Lola grabbed my hand. “What happened?”
“We were so worried when you didn’t return to the theater that we called the police,” added Carol, slightly frantic.
“Good thing you did,” I murmured. I was drowsy.
Lola looked devastated. “I’m sorry you came out here for nothing.”
Nothing?
“Carlos called an hour ago and apologized for missing rehearsal. Some family emergency,” she said hastily, patting my hand as I was loaded into the ambulance.
“He’s okay? Where was he?” He had no other family in the Etonville area, did he?
“Of course he’s okay. Now you relax, and don’t worry about anything. I’ll come by the hospital in the morning.” Lola waved goodbye.
The doors of the ambulance slammed shut, the colored lights of the various vehicles blurring as the ambulance lumbered away to St. Anthony’s Hospital in Creston. I closed my eyes and saw myself flying through space. No matter what the paramedics said, I didn’t fall because the house was a death trap and its structure rotten. Someone pushed me. I was lucky, all right. Lucky to be alive.
* * * *
I stood at the edge of a cliff looking down over waves crashing on a rocky shoreline. I couldn’t breathe. Something hit me from behind and I fell forward, raucous laughter chasing me as I descended, headed straight for the jagged coast. Inches from the bottom, I sat up, gasping for air.
My body damp under the hospital sheet, I lay back against the pillow, my chest pounding. My subconscious working overtime. I’d spent a fitful night. Though I hadn’t broken any bones, I was bruised on my shoulders and back and had scraped my knees. My head had apparently bounced off a step, leaving me with a monster of a headache but no concussion. I’d fallen four more steps, ending up on a landing as the stairs curved to the right. The landing prevented me from plummeting down the remaining flight of stairs. I was grateful for my hard head.
Pain meds made me drift off to sleep for a couple of hours, then I awoke again and slept intermittently until dawn, when sunlight crept into my hospital room. I was drained but wired. The events of last night only confirmed what Bill had shared. The stakes in the Carlos/mob boss game were high, and had risen after last night. Not only was Carlos probably in danger from the second hitman determined to prevent him from revealing evidence that would take down a Chicago crime figure. Someone was determined to prevent me from asking questions about Carlos’s background. I was warned with a note, attacked in the Hanratty house, not to mention being locked in the coffin. What was left? I needed a caramel macchiato, clean clothes, and some answers. Not necessarily in that order.
I refused breakfast, texted Lola, and requested my walking papers. There was no reason to keep me now. Lola appeared at nine with a takeout container of caramel macchiato and a change of clothes. I kissed her! She helped me dress—slowly—to minimize contact with the contusions on my shoulders and back. Then I was pushed to the hospital entrance in a wheelchair. We settled into Lola’s car. I didn’t say a word as we eased away from the hospital, through the center of Creston, and onto the highway.
She peeked at my face. “You look fine except for the bandage on your forehead. You need to take the day off and lie around. Recover from your bruises. I’ll call Henry if you’d like. Between Benny
, Enrico, and Carmen, I’m sure the Windjammer will survive. Remember when the pipes burst and you had to—”
“Lola! Pump the brakes!” I said kindly. I knew she tended to rattle on when she was nervous. Right now I needed to focus. I stared out the car window.
“I feel so guilty. It’s my fault you were at the Hanratty house. If I hadn’t been so crazed about the rehearsal, you wouldn’t have felt compelled to go out there to find Carlos.”
“Not your fault. I wanted to see him. At rehearsal would have been better.” I smiled. “So Penny read his lines?”
Lola relaxed her grip on the steering wheel, a slow grin spreading from ear to ear. “You should have heard her. Penny being Penny, she got into it a little too much. Hiding in the bookcase, playing in the trick chair, baring her teeth and threatening Lucy. Running after Renfield. Walter was into his own character, the rest of the cast gritting their teeth. Except for Edna, who’s always a good sport.” She took the turnoff into Etonville. “Hungry?”
I’d kill for a shower, but my stomach rumbled at full volume. I had to eat. Lola parked outside Coffee Heaven and I snapped on a ball cap and sunglasses. Maybe I could get in and get seated incognito.
“Dodie!” Jocelyn yelled when the jingle bells on the door announced our entrance. Every head in the place swiveled in our direction.
Lola headed for the last booth next to the back wall.
I tried to follow unobtrusively, my head down, my sore body hunched as I slipped between tables. No luck.
“We heard you were in a coma!” Nope.
“You didn’t break both your legs?” Again, no.
“That place is haunted…” I was beginning to agree.
“Does this mean you’re chasing a murderer?” Yikes.
“Now you all hush and get back to your breakfasts.” Jocelyn put an arm around me. I winced. “Let Dodie have a little peace and quiet.”
Etonville resumed eating, and I eased onto the bench. “Thanks for running interference.”
Jocelyn tapped her order pad, glowering. “That old house should have been torn down years ago. And that Realtor never should have rented to Carlos and Bella.” She lowered her voice and pointed her pencil in our faces. “I don’t know who you’re tailing, Dodie, and I don’t believe in vampires. Not exactly anyway. But something is off with Carlos.”
Killing Time Page 19
