BAD PICK

by Linda Lovely

  “I’m hoping that a flashlight is close by,” Amber said.

  “My trusty Eveready is right by the staircase,” I answered. “It’s a heavy-duty sucker. It’ll make a good club once we get the drop on her. I’ll be right back.”

  “What if she comes to check on us? I should come with you.”

  “No, we can’t risk making noise. Don’t want to spook her. Then she’s bound to check on us. I know my way around. You don’t. There’s a hall closet right around the corner. You can hide there while I retrieve the flashlight. Put your hand on my shoulder. I’ll guide you.”

  I opened the closet door and whispered, “In you go. Stay put till I come back.”

  I tiptoed toward the staircase, terrified the creaking boards might give me away. If the woman heard me moving, she’d know we were no longer bound and gagged. My staccato breathing wasn’t exactly quiet. But terror had seized control of my heart and lungs. Couldn’t be helped. I wrapped my fingers around the flashlight and headed back to Amber.

  I was halfway between the stairs and closet when I heard a car in the driveway. Ursula!

  I started screaming. “Ursula, don’t come inside. Call the cops! I’m headed upstairs. Gonna scream bloody murder from the rooftop.”

  I kept screaming the same warning over and over as I raced to the staircase, no longer worried about creaking boards. Ursula probably couldn’t hear me. Might still be in her car, windows rolled up, heater on. But I was darn sure our lady of the fire could hear my bellows. Of course, so could Amber.

  Stay in the closet! I wanted to scream, but didn’t dare. Just had to trust the detective had enough smarts to wait until our arsonist started chasing me up the stairs before she came out of hiding. I willed Amber to run outside to Ursula’s car. Call the cops.

  I clutched the banister and stuttered to a stop. One of the stair treads wasn’t damaged, it was missing. I flicked on the flashlight, pointed the beam up. Which step? Eighth or ninth? The replacement oak board I’d bought but didn’t install leaned against the wall, one step up from the missing tread. I switched off the flashlight and resumed my race up the stairs counting…one, two, three.

  At eight, I grabbed the wall rail and the outside banister and swung my body up, over the missing step.

  With any luck, my pursuer would break her leg or neck. She’d only have time for one astonished scream when her foot failed to connect with anything but air. I smiled in satisfaction as I pictured a face-first crash. If nothing else, a fall had to slow the witch down. Give me time to find a place I could get the drop on her.

  I could hear loud footsteps. And her high-pitched curses. Whoever the woman was, she exercised a vocabulary that would have Temple of True Believers hunkered down expecting lightning bolts from on high.

  Amber, did you make it outside yet?

  I heard our captor start up the stairs. Knowing she was well past Amber’s hiding place, I screamed a new warning. “Ursula, Amber stay outside. Call the cops! She’s coming upstairs.”

  My chest heaved as I reached the second floor. I was winded. Unless my pursuer worked out on a Stairmaster, she’d be huffing and puffing, too.

  Okay, where to go? I ran down the hall to the front bedroom. Its windows weren’t boarded. Maybe I could see Amber and Ursula. Open a window. Make sure someone outside heard my warning screams.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Moldy Muenster! A narrow beam of light bounced around the stairwell. I’d assumed my flashlight gave me an edge. Never considered the handy-dandy lights built into smart phones. There went my hope of her leg crashing through a missing tread.

  I kept running to the front bedroom even though I knew my footsteps would give my destination away. I was desperate to get to a window.

  I raced to the window overlooking the sunporch and driveway. In the darkness, I could just make out Ursula’s car, headlights on, and two silhouettes.

  I unlocked the double hung window, and braced my palms beneath the meeting rail to push up the lower window. Didn’t budge. Painted shut. I tried again. Put every ounce of strength I had into muscling it up, breaking the seal. It groaned and moved. I heaved it up.

  “I’m up here,” I yelled.

  “Get out of the house now,” Amber screamed back. “She’s poured accelerant all over the place. If she strikes a match, it’s all over. You can make it. Just climb out the window. Drop down to the porch roof. You’ve got to get out!”

  No! Please no! I can’t.

  I couldn’t jump out into that black void.

  The sound of my pursuer’s heavy footfalls changed. The woman wasn’t light on her feet, and she made no attempt at stealth. She’d reached the second floor. I’d badly miscalculated. She’d see me if I ran back to the door and tried to set up an ambush. She had a clear line of sight.

  Lord, help me. I bent over, heaved my upper body through the window. Hung onto the sash for dear life as I wriggled one leg out. I was straddling the sill when I saw the black demon hurtling toward me gun in hand.

  “You’ve ruined everything!” she screamed. “You’re going to die.”

  I was frightened of heights. More terrified of her. Even more afraid of the bullet that just whizzed past my head. I had one bullet hole scar, wasn’t looking for another.

  I twisted sideways to free my trailing leg from the window frame’s clutch. Screamed bloody hell as I tumbled head first out the window, raking my calf on the splintered sill. My hands scrambled for any purchase. I was headed down. I latched on to a drainpipe and held on for dear life. I skidded to a stop as my tennis shoes fought for traction on the slick shingles.

  It felt like I’d fallen thirty feet but, if I made a determined effort, the window was within reach. Not that I wanted to go back inside. Yet I wasn’t thrilled with my position—my face aimed at the ground like I was about to sled down a hill. I squirmed around so my feet faced the ground.

  Police sirens screamed in the distance, but they sounded too far away.

  Apparently the black demon heard them, too. “Where are you?” she yelled. “Don’t think they’re gonna save you. The fire will get you long before they can. You’re going with me.”

  She leaned out the window, brandishing not the gun but a long lighter, the kind you keep handy for lighting fireplaces or tiki torches.

  I was not going to let her burn Summer Place.

  I kept hold of the drain pipe with my left hand and swung myself back toward the window. With all the strength in my body and all the reach in my arm, I grabbed the business end of the lighter and yanked.

  But the stupid woman didn’t let go. I tugged harder.

  She wriggled farther out the window, head down. Gravity wasn’t her friend. She let go of the lighter to try and stop her fall. Her hands clutched at shingles. One of the shingles pulled free from the roof. Then her hands found only air.

  Her scream ended when she hit the ground.

  I could barely make out what was happening as two shadows ran toward the crumpled lump on the ground. The woman’s black outfit made it nearly impossible to distinguish her body from the shrubbery.

  “She’s dead,” Amber called up. “Now get your butt down before you take a header, too. Or a spark sets the building on fire.”

  My fear surged back. Just how was I supposed to get down? I clung to the downpipe like a life jacket, but I didn’t trust it. It had pulled partially free in my tug of war with the woman and dropped me lower on the roof. No way I could reach the window now to crawl back inside.

  My eyes were slowly adjusting to the nighttime light, when I was blinded. Someone had backed Ursula’s rental car over the edge of an embankment to tilt the car’s headlights up. My high wire act now had a spotlight.

  Maybe I should have been thrilled someone was trying to help. Instead I was spitting out meat-and-cheese oaths as fast as my lips—semi-peeled by duct tape—could move. Amber actually
laughed as her voice floated up.

  “You’re okay. We can watch and help you. Just do what I say.”

  “No,” I yelled back. “The firemen have ladders. They can get me.”

  “The place might catch fire before the firetrucks arrive.” Amber said. “You need to do something now.”

  Fine. I held my tongue. And just as I figured, she began to issue orders. “Shinny down that drain pipe about four feet.”

  Ten minutes later I was on the ground. I wanted to kiss it. I was willing to forgive Amber my scraped arm, and the two branches I’d snapped off a tree before I found one to hold my weight. I was almost willing to forgive her for being so bossy. She hugged me as Danny bolted from the front seat of a sheriff’s cruiser and ran to join us.

  He looked at me. “You okay? Got two frantic calls. Where’s the woman? Still inside?” Danny had his hand on his gun.

  “No.” Amber inclined her head toward the crumpled body. “I checked for a pulse. Broke her neck when she fell. She’s dead.”

  “Who?” Danny asked as we approached the still form.

  Amber’d pulled the hood away to check her pulse.

  “Jeannie Nickles,” the detective answered. “I suspected it was her.”

  For a moment, I peered into Jeannie’s dead eyes. Her expression suggested surprise. Even in death, her face looked wholesome, grandmotherly. Right. I let my gaze wander.

  Oh, no. Her ears. They weren’t pierced.

  What the Feta?

  Jeannie Nickles had not lost a gavel earring. She hadn’t lit the cottage on fire.

  FIFTY-ONE

  I pointed at Jeannie’s virgin earlobes. “Jeannie didn’t lose a pierced earring. Someone else set the cottage fire.”

  I didn’t name my candidates. Figured the same names were on everyone’s lips. Esther and Ruth. I hadn’t ruled Ruth out. What had become of that third set of pierced earrings made for Toomey’s loved ones? Maybe Ruth conned someone into lending her a replacement. Explained she didn’t want her dad to discover she’d lost half of his special gift.

  The firetrucks arrived and Danny gave the fire chief a quick update. Chief MacLeod hurried off to inspect the house and assess the fire danger.

  Danny took a call on his handheld. He squeezed his eyes shut, doffed his hat, and massaged the bridge of his nose.

  “Pastor Nickles is en route. One of our deputies picked him up at the Temple after he called 911. Nickles was hysterical. Kept demanding we find his wife before she committed suicide.

  “Suicide?” Ursula’s voice vibrated with anger.

  “Yeah, suicide,” Danny answered. “The deputy hasn’t been able to calm him down enough to find out why he thought Jeannie wanted to kill herself.”

  “Or kill others.” I muttered.

  Amber nodded. “Maybe Jeannie planned both and intended to die with us. Go out in a blaze of glory. Just not sure why.”

  Ursula had one of those “ah ha” looks. “To save someone she loved. Trade her life. Perhaps to save her daughter or maybe her granddaughter.”

  Danny took off his jacket and walked over to the body. He draped his coat over Jeannie’s pale face. “Don’t want the pastor to see Jeannie like this. Not a sight any loved one should see.”

  “Did the reverend say anything that could help make sense of this?” Amber asked.

  He frowned. “The call was recorded. I’ll get the emergency operator to play it back.”

  We listened to the call. Again and again the pastor repeated the plea to find his wife, then he cried, “I’m not strong enough to protect Esther. The girl needs her mother. Oh, Jeannie, don’t leave me. Please God, why have you abandoned me?”

  I’d seen Pastor Nickles’ face up close and personal. His hate almost a physical force. On this call his strangled voice communicated a different emotion. The man was inconsolable.

  His pain was real. Though I didn’t want to, I pitied him.

  I noticed the fire chief walking toward us. I held my breath, my mind awhirl with bleak visions. Would he tell the firefighters to light Summer Place ablaze? Do a controlled burn to protect the neighborhood? Ever since I heard the word “accelerant” I’d feared the worst.

  “The arsonist used gasoline,” Chief MacLeod began. “Only found one empty container. Splashed gas around the structure’s ground floor.” He paused to glance my way. “None in the portions you’ve renovated, Brie.

  “Gas is volatile and will evaporate rapidly if we encourage it by bringing in big fans and opening every window. We’ll monitor the building to make sure there’s no ignition source. The danger should pass by morning.”

  Couldn’t help myself. The breath I’d been holding whooshed out as I threw my arms around the fire chief and gave him a fierce hug. “Thank you so much. I was so afraid Summer Place was lost.”

  My gratitude seemed to embarrass Chief MacLeod. He cleared his throat and I stepped back. “Um, okay then, I need to talk with our men. I’ll keep you posted.” He hurried off into the night, which now had a Swiss cheese peek-a-boo likeness. Portable lights poked lots of bright white holes in the blackness.

  Danny took another call. “The Pastor just arrived.” He looked at the ground and kicked at loose gravel with his right shoe. “Sure wish I knew the right thing to do. Maybe we should check the reverend into a hospital before we tell him Jeannie’s dead.”

  Amber touched his sleeve. “I know. You’re wondering if there’s anything to be gained by questioning him with his dead wife’s body in plain view. There’s no right answer. But it might be your best chance to get the reverend to spill what he knows.”

  Danny nodded. “All right. But you three need to get out of sight. The man’s been telling his congregation Brie’s a murderer.” Danny looked at me, then nodded at Ursula and Amber. “Haven’t heard if he’s denounced you two publicly, but seeing strangers could set him off. Go sit in the cruiser.”

  “Danny’s right,” Amber said. “No point arguing.”

  The deputy’s cruiser gave us orchestra seats for the upcoming drama even though we wouldn’t have an audio track.

  We watched as Danny put his arm around Nickles and spoke to him. The reverend shook the deputy off, ran to the body, and pulled the jacket away from Jeannie’s face. Then he fell to the ground, his whole body convulsing with sobs.

  Danny and another deputy tore him away from Jeannie and helped him up. Nothing to gain, I thought. Take him to the hospital.

  A woman rushed in and cradled the pastor in her arms.

  She turned her head. Ruth.

  I couldn’t hear her words, but felt certain she’d refuse to let anyone talk with her grandfather in his current state.

  Danny signaled the paramedics, who quickly escorted the pastor to an ambulance. The only surprise? Ruth didn’t go with him. She stayed and spoke to Danny. Whatever she said prompted the deputy to hustle over to the squad car where we huddled. “I’m taking Ruth to the Sheriff’s Office,” he said. “She says she’s ready to make a statement, and she wants all three of you there.”

  I’d thought the evening couldn’t hold more surprises. This was a big one.

  What was the woman thinking?

  FIFTY-TWO

  I called Mom and Dad who’d been waiting impatiently for us at Harvest Café. “What the heck happened to you? We snapped up a large table and people are glaring at us and the empty chairs,” Mom began. “I hope you’re en route.”

  I cut off her complaint. “We’re not coming.” I quickly explained the circumstances. As Mom gasped repeatedly, I could hear Dad’s worried voice in the background. “What’s wrong, dear?”

  I promised Mom that Ursula, Amber and I would come see them no matter what time we left the Sheriff’s Office.

  “Please have hot coffee and plenty to eat,” I added, trying to lighten the mood.

  The hind end of Ursula’s
rental car was stuck in the embankment she’d backed over. Her good deed—aiming the car’s headlamps to light my high wire act—meant we’d need a tow truck to free the car. So I drove Amber and Ursula to the Sheriff’s Office. Ruth rode in the sheriff’s cruiser with Danny. I noticed she sat up front, not in back like a criminal. I stayed on the cruiser’s bumper.

  However, they ditched us at the Sheriff’s Office when Danny dropped Ruth curbside and parked out front. We practically had to park in the adjacent soy bean field. When we trudged in from the cold, the woman at the front desk motioned us down the hall. “Conference room on the left, three doors down.” Ruth was already seated. Danny was pouring her coffee. “Cream or sugar?” he asked.

  “Neither, thanks, Danny,” she answered. “I take it black.”

  Her use of the deputy’s first name reminded me what a small community this was. Of course, Ruth knew Danny McCoy. Though she now lived in Greenville, she’d grown up in Ardon County, went to school here, spent plenty of Sundays parked on a pew at the Temple of True Believers listening to her grandfather, Reverend Nickles, preach.

  Toomey’s legitimate daughter nodded at the three of us. Her gaze lingered on Amber, her half-sister. “I’m sorry for all you’ve been through. I told Danny you deserved an explanation. I wanted you to know you’re all safe now that my grandmother and mother are dead.”

  “Your mother’s dead? When?” Ursula asked.

  “She overdosed tonight. Suicide. Before she killed herself, she posted on Facebook. Said she’d be long dead before the post appeared. The post was a confession.” Tears pooled in Ruth’s eyes. “I’d hoped to get here in time to save my grandmother.”

  The tears failed to move me. Ruth had a hand in this. Her fiancé’s threat suggested she either suspected or knew what was going on. Yet she’d done nothing to warn anyone or stop the madness.

  Danny insisted on reading Ruth her rights and getting her permission to record the conversation. She waved a hand in a don’t-bother-me gesture. Given that her father and fiancé were lawyers, I couldn’t believe she wanted to proceed without counsel. Did she feel she was blameless? Or did she think refusing a lawyer would make us more inclined to think she was an innocent?