Through the Storm (Bellingwood Book 8)

by Diane Greenwood Muir

  "I won't move," Joss said, planting her feet.

  Her hands trembled, rattling the cookies on the plate and Polly said, "Let her put the plate down on the table so that she doesn't drop it."

  He waved the gun, gesturing to a small table just beside the doorway. "Fine. Put it down. Now, Miss Giller, where are those comic books?"

  "The what?" Polly was confused. Then, all of a sudden, she wasn't. "Oh. The comic books. Loren hadn't collected those over the years. He was the one who won them. That makes sense now."

  "Where are they?"

  "Honestly, they're all over the place. You're going to have to give me a few minutes to gather them up. There are some in our bedroom and some in the media room. A friend was reading one the other night."

  "You're reading them?" He was incredulous. "Do you know what those are worth?"

  "I guess not. They're just comic books."

  "If you've damaged them, I might just shoot you right now." He brushed his forehead with the hand holding the gun. Polly hadn't seen too many people wield weapons, but this stupid man didn't look very comfortable with it.

  "Let's find them," Polly said. "We'll start in the media room. It's right through here." She sent him through the door, past Joss and gave her friend a pointed look. Sal did not need to get involved in this. Joss shrugged and stayed close to the wall.

  He made a beeline for the table where three of the comics were resting, still in their plastic covers. "Thank god these are clean." He shook one at her. "This is worth eight hundred dollars! I don't know what she was thinking."

  "Did you kill my husband's uncle because of these comic books?"

  He spun around and pointed the gun at Polly. "Take me to the rest of them."

  "You killed two men because of comic books," she said again. "That's ridiculous. So, are you planning to kill me and my friend?" Polly knew she was being rash, but she was at the end of her rope. This was the third time a man had threatened her this week and to be honest, other than the ski mask, this one looked the least likely to actually hurt her.

  "Move it," he demanded.

  "Okay, okay. There might be one or two on the desk in here," and she led him into Henry's office and chuckled when she realized that a bottle of pop was sitting on top of one of the comics.

  "What are you people thinking?" he asked, carefully pulling it out and cradling it in his arms.

  "I think you're a little overboard with your obsession."

  "You don't know anything about my obsession. This is worth sixteen hundred dollars if I can find the right buyer. I can't believe that old woman gave my things away. She never liked these things, but I knew what I was doing. My collection was worth tens of thousands of dollars before she got her hands on it. And no one had any idea that it was sitting in a barn in the middle of Iowa."

  He brushed his hands across the desk, moving papers around, checking to make sure there weren't any more. "Okay, next room."

  "Did you ever tell her what your collection was worth?"

  "Hell no. She would have made me sell it a long time ago."

  "You know she probably wouldn't have given them away if she'd known."

  "Whatever. Take me to the rest of them."

  "They're back here, in my room. I'll warn you, it isn't very clean, though," Polly wondered if she'd lost her mind. Worrying about her bedroom when a man had a gun in her house?

  "I don't care about that. Now go."

  "So why did you kill Loren?"

  "The old guy in the truck? He lied to me and then he tried to run for help. I ran him off the road and when he realized I was serious, he threatened to hurt me. I don't like threats."

  "So you killed him."

  "Please, he was a loser old guy. He was going to die soon anyway. I probably did everyone a favor. Once they get to that age, all they do is suck the life out of everyone around them. You have to wait on them and they're not even nice. He wasn't a very nice man at all. Not as bad as my old man, but still not very nice."

  "And the other man you killed?"

  "I caught up to him the next day and he was going to one of the stores in Ames to sell them. He would never have gotten enough money for them. He just went on eBay and thought those low bids were the best price. I hit him over the head and then realized he would probably tell someone, so I shot him and took him back to Mom's and dropped his body in the tub. She never goes out there. No one ever goes out there but me."

  Polly pointed to Henry's bedside table where he'd placed a stack of comics. "How did you even know who had gotten the comic books? Your mom left before they chose the winners."

  "Old people are so gullible," he said. "I called the head person on the list at Mom's house. You know they print those things with names and addresses. Everything was right there. She was so proud of the fact that she'd kept a list of every person and what they'd won."

  "Wow," Polly said.

  He bent over to pick through the stack of comics and Polly looked up to see Sal tip-toeing into the bedroom with a cast iron skillet raised over her head. Before Polly could take a breath, Sal hit the guy on the head and he dropped to the floor.

  The two of them looked at each other and Sal said. "We need something to tie him up. Quick. Tell me what you have."

  "I don't have anything," Polly said. "I'm not a cop. Here. Maybe the tie off my robe? I don't know."

  They turned the man over on his stomach and Polly handed Sal the cloth belt. She twisted it around his hands and then bent his knees and tied the two ends around his ankles as well.

  "That should keep him."

  " I can't believe you just did that," Polly said.

  "I wouldn't trust it for very long, but I called the cops and someone should be here really soon. Apparently, your phone is still talking to Aaron."

  "Henry is going to be so upset when he finds out this happened while he was gone."

  "But I was here," Sal said, preening as she stood up a bit straighter.

  "Yes you were. I was just trying to stall him until someone came."

  "I wanted in on some of your fun, but I have to tell you, this was more pathetic than exciting."

  "Except for the whole gun thing."

  Sal bent over and looked at the gun and then with her toe, kicked it away from the guy on the floor. "He wasn't planning to use it. The safety is still on."

  "I wouldn't even know that," Polly said. "But thank you."

  Joss led Stu Decker and another deputy into the bedroom. The two men took one look at the man on the floor and did their best to withhold their laughter, but failed miserably.

  "You hogtied him with the tie from your robe?" Stu asked.

  "It's all we had," Sal sad. "I'm Sal Kahane."

  "You're Polly's friend from Boston. Yeah. I know. And now you're caught up in her crazy world." He bent over and strapped a zip tie around the guy's wrists and untied his feet, handing the tie back to Polly.

  She shied away from it. "Drop it on the floor. I'm not using that until it's been washed a few times."

  Stu pulled the man's mask off. It was obviously Edith Willard's son, John, but he wasn't familiar to anyone.

  "Wake up, buddy," Stu said then turned to Sal. "You hit him with a skillet?"

  "Just once."

  "Come on, buddy. Wake up." Stu tapped the man's face and was rewarded with a moan. "How ya doin' there? Your head hurt?"

  "What?"

  Stu helped him stand up and though he was wobbly, the man came to his feet. "What did you hit me with?"

  Sal brandished the pan again.

  "Who are you and where did you come from?" he asked. "Where's my gun?"

  "Don't worry, buddy. We've got everything we need. You do understand you're under arrest for murder and for threatening these good women here."

  "I wasn't going to hurt them. I just wanted my comic books."

  "There's plenty of reading material in the prison library. Let's go."

  "Just a second," Polly said. "Can I ask him another question?"
>
  "Sure," Stu said. "What do you want to know?"

  "How did you know the comic books were here?"

  "You can thank my dear old mother for that," he said. "She called me this morning to tell me that she'd talked to someone who talked to someone else and if I wanted to replace my old comic books, you had some very similar to what she'd given away and maybe you'd agree to sell them to me. The stupid old woman thinks it's all about the comic books. She had no idea what she'd given away."

  Obiwan came running into the bedroom and stopped when he saw Stu and John Willard. He barked several times and walked over to Polly, placing himself between her and the men.

  "You're a good boy," she said. "Where's Henry?"

  Obiwan barked again and looked at the door. Henry came rushing in, panting as he pulled up short. "I swear, Stu, they were perfectly quiet and safe when I left them. If I had thought for a moment that things would fall apart, I would never have left and I certainly wouldn't have taken the dog with me."

  "We're fine," Polly said. "And I'm a little tired of having everyone stand around in my bedroom."

  "I need those comic books, Polly," Stu said, guiding John Willard out. "Can someone help Jim gather them up?"

  "I've got it," Henry said. "Just get him out of our house and out of my sight. I can't believe these damned comic books are at the center of all of this."

  "How did you know?" Polly asked.

  "Aaron called and told me what he'd been hearing on the phone call that apparently you're still on with him. He started recording things and he says that though it's broken up in places, they have a pretty good confession."

  John Willard seemed to crumple at that. "Will someone call my mother?"

  "You can do that when we get you to Boone," Stu said. "Let's go."

  Polly followed them out and then picked up her phone, "Aaron? Are you still there?"

  "Yes Polly. Sal hit him with a frying pan?"

  "It was cast iron and she's a strong woman."

  He chuckled on the other end of the call. "I'm glad everything turned out so well this time. I can't even yell at you about this."

  "No you can't. And please, when you tell Lydia, will you make sure that she knows I'm fine. I didn't do anything stupid. I didn't get into a fight and I told you immediately."

  "I'll do that. You take care of yourself and it looks like we'll be talking to you real soon."

  "I know, I know. Just one more in the long list of reasons for me to come visit you."

  She hung up and Joss brought the plate of treats over to the coffee table. Polly grinned at her. "How ya doin'?" she asked.

  "Being your friend is absolutely bizarre," Joss said, flopping into a chair. "How am I going to explain to Nate, and, oh by the way, his mother now, that I was at your house and a man pulled a gun on me?"

  "Maybe you shouldn't lead with that," Sal said. "Maybe you should start by telling him that the murderer was caught and you got to watch the whole thing happen."

  Joss gave a weak chuckle. "I don't think that will help. Actually, Nate will think it's funny and be sorry that he wasn't here, but his mother is going to lecture me on how important it is to stay safe so that Cooper and Sophie have a mommy around. Because of course, I don't know that yet." She tilted her head back on her neck, looking up to the ceiling, then looked back at Polly. "Please can I move in?"

  "Even after all of this?"

  There was another knock at the door.

  "Who is it?" Polly called.

  "It's me, Jeff. And Sylvie. And Eliseo. What in the hell is going on in there?"

  Polly laughed as Henry went to open the door. "Come on in," Henry said.

  The three of them stood in a line, staring at Polly. "Why did the Sheriff's department just haul a man away from here?" Jeff demanded.

  "First of all," Polly said. "We're all fine. Just in case you were wondering. Secondly, that was the man who killed Henry's Uncle Loren. And you won't even believe why he did it."

  She waited and they couldn't come up with a good reason.

  "Comic books. It was all about comic books. Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard?"

  "To be fair," Henry interrupted. "Those were collector's items and worth quite a bit of money."

  "Yeah. You should have heard him panic when he thought you were reading them willy nilly."

  Joss headed for the kitchen. "I'm going to get more plates and napkins. Does anybody want anything to drink?"

  "Make mine whiskey," Jeff said. "Working here is taking a toll on me."

  Sylvie followed Joss. "Let me help. You have to tell me everything."

  "Come all the way in," Polly said to Eliseo and Jeff. "You might as well find a seat. We'll tell you what happened. Sal is the hero of this story, though. She's got some mad hog-tying skills and can heave a cast iron skillet like nobody's business."

  Sal slipped down on the couch beside Polly and patted her friend's leg. "I only did what I had to because you are the walking wounded."

  "I'm just glad you were here," Henry said. "I'm never leaving her side again."

  Joss and Sylvie came back into the living room, carrying trays with pitchers of tea, coffee and water. They were laughing at something Joss had said. Polly watched her friends settle in around her, chatting with each other and letting their concern float away as they ate and drank. Henry took her hand and squeezed it, then put a cupcake in her lap after peeling the paper away.

  A clap of thunder made everyone jump and then they smiled at each other, a little embarrassed to have been startled. The storm wasn't letting up, but that was okay. It would soon pass and at least everyone was safe and sound.

  Polly touched her cheekbone again. It had been nearly two years since bones had fallen out of the bathroom ceiling and she'd been kidnapped by an old boyfriend. In between that time and now, so many other things had happened. The events of this week would soon fade into nothing more than a memory, just as everything else had. It was people like those in front of her who made life fun, no matter what happened.

  "I love you guys," she said softly and realized that most of the room hadn't even heard her.

  Sal patted her leg. "We love you too," she whispered.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book has been waiting for me. Some of these stories have been preying on my mind for a while. I couldn't wait to finally catch up.

  A writer works in solitude. Well, this writer does. When I'm deep into a story, I'm grateful for absolute silence. Fortunately, my cat is quiet. While solitude works for the writing process, there are other things that happen along the way and I couldn't do this without amazing people.

  Book covers are supposed to be impossible and I'm fortunate to be married to an extraordinary photographer. Max always has something that makes me look good.

  Rebecca Bauman reads while I write and ignores the horrendous errors I make in the first, very rough, draft. She encourages me and tells me I'm amazing, which gives me the courage to go after another chapter. She is also the person I trust most when designing my covers. Her eye for design and color is incredible.

  My sister, Carol, has taken really good care of me through all of this. She shows up for a weekend, helps bring my world back together and then leaves so I can work again. Everyone needs a sister like that.

  Part of being a family means everyone gets involved. If you enjoy the two action scenes in this book, you can thank my brother, Jamie McFarlane, for his help. All I had to do was tell him what I needed to happen and this author of the Guardians of Gaeland and Privateer Tales series' wrote poor Polly into a couple of terrifying sequences. You'll want to check his books out.

  My beta readers are simply an amazing group. They are well read and some of the brightest folks I know. When I put my manuscript in their hands, they return it to me filled with great changes and insight into the story that I might have missed. I couldn't do this without them. Thank you to Tracy Kesterson Simpson, Linda Watson, Alice Stewart, Fran Neff, Edna Fleming, Nancy
Quist, Max Muir, Carol Greenwood and Rebecca Bauman for helping me bring Bellingwood to life.

  I'm always grateful to people who answer questions when I randomly drop an email into their lives. Thanks to Doug Purintun at Danda Arms for giving me wonderful information about handguns. He knows his stuff. I might have promptly forgotten it all, though, when I realized that there was no way Polly would be able to distinguish one type of gun from another. She and I ... we're useless with some of that.

  THANK YOU FOR READING!

  I’m so glad you enjoy these stories about Polly Giller and her friends. There are many ways to stay in touch with Diane and the Bellingwood community.

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  Join the Bellingwood Facebook page:

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  for news about upcoming books, conversations while I’m writing and you’re reading, and a continued look at life in a small town.

  Diane Greenwood Muir’s Amazon Author Page is a great place to watch for new releases.

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