Carnie ran out through the lab and up the stairs and retrieved her Bowie knife. She rushed back to the room and began to search for the edges of a secret door. It didn’t take her long to find them.
When she finally got the door open and leaned it up against the wall, she was disappointed to see nothing but dirt. She started to put the door back in place, but changed her mind. Kneeling down, she stabbed her knife into the dirt several times. On the third try she hit something. It was hard, but not rock. It felt like wood. She dug with her knife and her bare hands, throwing dirt to the side of the hole she was making—like a dog digging up a prized bone.
By the time she stopped, some of her fingers were bleeding. It was a door or some type of cover, she decided. She pried it open and was shocked by what she saw. And Carnie Slitherstone was not easily shocked.
“Oh, Elmo, what dirty secrets you have,” she said out loud.
Now she knew her scheme would work. Elmo would be forced to play along. It had been a wild idea, and she had already realized that Elmo would turn her down flat. But that was before she found this.
Her cell rang.
“Hello?”
“What’s happening there?”
“Elmo’s going blind at the computer. Mallie Mae and Macy are upstairs. I’m in the secret basement.”
“What are you doing down there?”
“Just looking around, working out some details.”
“You still think you can talk Elmo into holding secret clinical trials down there?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“He’ll never buy it, Carnie.”
“Oh, yes he will.” She looked down at her discovery. “He’ll have no choice.”
14 - COREYVILLE PHARMACY
“It’s 8:55, and we will be closing in five minutes. Thank you for shopping at your Coreyville Pharmacy,” said the assistant manager over the sound system. Then he walked to the entrance and locked the door. If somebody had waited that late to get their prescription, it was just too bad. They could come back tomorrow. His stomach was screaming for an order of Wendy’s biggie fries.
There was only one customer in the store—a long-haired man in granny glasses with a beard, wearing bell-bottom jeans and an oversized jacket. The old guy was straight out of a history book—San Francisco hippies, 1967. The only thing that spoiled the look was the more modern-looking jacket.
The man had been browsing the aisles for ten minutes or so, hands always in his pockets. “Sir, could I please get your help for a minute?” he said.
“Yes, Sir. What do you need?” said the assistant manager.
“I wanted to buy the large container of liquid Cheer, but it’s on the bottom shelf, and I just can’t get down that low to pick it up. Bad knees.”
Poor old guy, thought the assistant manager. “Okay, I’ll be happy to get it for you.”
The man led him to the aisle and the assistant manager squatted down to pick up the large plastic bottle. “This one?” He turned his head to look at the old man. But all he saw was something black flying toward his face.
The old man examined the assistant manager lying on the floor. He appeared to be out cold. He returned the gun to the holster underneath his jacket and pulled out a roll of duct tape. He wound it around the wrists and ankles very slowly to avoid making the familiar screeching sound. Then one last piece for the mouth.
Now he would deal with the pharmacist.
“Ma’am? Could I ask you a question?”
“Yes, Sir,” said the young female pharmacist. “How can I help you?”
“I need something for my back. An over-the-counter cream. The strongest thing you’ve got.”
“Okay. That would be capsaicin—the extra strength version. It’s on that aisle right there.” She pointed to it.
“Okay. Thanks.”
He walked to the aisle and looked for it. After a minute or so, he went back to the pharmacy counter. “Ma’am, I can’t seem to find it.”
“Okay. Just a second and I will help you,” she said as she counted out pills and poured them into a bottle.” She glanced at the weird old man walking back to the pain reliever aisle. He walks like a girl, she thought.
When the pharmacist met him on the aisle, he stepped back to give her room to locate the cream.
She wondered why he hadn’t been able to find it—right there in front of him. She picked up the box and turned to him. “Here it is.”
But her polite smile vanished when she saw the gun pointed at her chest. She automatically raised her hands.
“Put them down! Now turn around and put your hands behind you.”
The old man holstered his weapon, taped her wrists, and told her to lie on the floor, face down.
He taped her ankles and then he flipped up her skirt, revealing her pink panties. “You’re a sexy thing, aren’t you?” But there was no time for pleasure. He had a job to do. He rolled her to her side, ripped off a piece of tape and stretched it tightly across her quivering mouth and around her head.
He whispered into her ear, “Lie still—if you want to live.” Then he jammed ear plugs into her ears.
The old man quickly moved behind the counter, found a stool and sat down at one of the computers, slumped down so he could not be seen from the street. He keyed in a search for every customer who had filled a prescription for Viagra in the past 60 days. Then he did a similar search on Prozac, Namenda and several other drugs. He printed out the results of each search. When he was finished, he grabbed the printouts and slipped out the back door.
The assistant manager and pharmacist would be found in the morning. They would give their statements to the police, describing the scary old man. But the police would never find that old man. Because he had worn latex gloves. And because he had disguised his appearance and his voice.
And because he was not a man.
**********
“Hello?”
“Hi, Baby. I miss you already,” said Carsie.
“Hi, Sweetie. Me too. How’s it going there?” said Elmo.
“Okay, I guess. Grandma is about to show me how to make cherry divinity.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever tasted the cherry kind. I do like the white divinity. Hadley makes it at Christmas time.”
“Oh, but this is much better. I’ll bring you some when I come back.”
“Okay.”
“Are you still working? It’s getting late. And I’m sure you’ve been sitting at that computer all day long.”
“Yes, but I’m in the middle of something and I just don’t want to stop right now.”
“Okay, Honey. But don’t stay up too late. I love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
Grandma walked into the kitchen as Carsie was closing her cell phone. “Talking to Elmo?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Don’t worry, Sweetie. The wedding will be back on before you know it.”
“I hope so.”
“You did a great job snagging him, by the way. You looked so cute that day—he never stood a chance.”
“Yeah. But I really do love him.”
“Well, that’s fine, as long as you don’t forget what this is all about.”
“I don’t want to think about that.”
“But you’ve got to come through for us.”
“I will. But after that I just want to live my life with Elmo.”
“Happily ever after, huh? You can try. But he might find it hard to believe you weren’t in on the deal.”
“He’ll believe me. He loves me.”
“Yeah.”
“He will believe me as long as you and Carnie don’t let on.”
“Look, Honey, when you go in on a scam, it’s really hard to come out clean.”
“But I really think I can, Grandma.”
“Okay. Give it your best shot. I won’t rat you out. Neither will your sister.”
“Thanks.”
“Enough of this talk. Let’s make some candy!”
“I’m ready,” said Carsie.
“Okay, then. First, you need to gather the ingredients.”
Carsie would retrieve each item as her grandmother called it out.
“Here’s what you need: sugar…light corn syrup…that package of red candied cherries on the top shelf…vanilla…and eggs.”
“Oh. I didn’t know it had eggs in it.”
“So what if it does?”
“Well, I just worry about Elmo’s cholesterol.”
“That’s what you get for hooking up with an old man, Missy.”
“Grandma!”
“I’m just kidding. Besides, you only use the egg whites, so there’s no cholesterol. Of course, there is a lot of sugar.”
“That’s okay,” said Carsie. “I won’t let him pig-out on them.”
Grandma led her through each step of the process. She learned that it had to be done in a precise way, even using a candy thermometer at one point. Finally, she dropped rounded teaspoonfuls of the mixture onto a sheet of waxed paper. After a sufficient cooling period, they sampled the candy.
“Mmm, yes. Perfect,” Carsie said.
“And now you know how to do it yourself.”
“Thanks, Grandma. Elmo’s gonna love these.”
Her grandmother put her arms around her and held her close. “You’re so welcome, Carnie.”
Carsie expected a big hug. What she got was a long kiss on the lips. She pulled away.
“Grandma! What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry.”
“And why did you call me Carnie?”
**********
Macy took a break from reading her romance novel to go downstairs for milk and cookies. But first she peeked into the study and said goodnight to Elmo. She was relieved to see him alone. She half-expected to find Carnie in there, trying to seduce him. Maybe it was mean for her to think of Carsie’s sister in that way. But Carnie deserved it. After all, she had made a sexual advance toward Macy a few nights ago. With Carsie out of the house, who knew what Carnie might try to do with her sister’s fiancé?
And even though she was not interested in Carnie or any other woman in a sexual way, Macy was drawn down to the basement by a titillating curiosity. The Media Room was dark. But she saw a faint light under Carnie’s door as she approached it. She pressed her ear against the door, but heard nothing.
The door jerked open, swinging away from Macy. There was Carnie, standing in the doorway. Her smooth, naked skin reflected the soft glow of the nightlight. Her body was beautiful, perfect. It begged to be touched, caressed. Macy stood in a trance as Carnie’s blazing eyes saw right through her nightgown to the steamy flesh beneath.
Macy shook herself and ran for the stairs. She forgot about the milk and cookies and the romance novel. She locked her door, jumped into bed and pulled the covers over her head.
15 - RELUCTANT RUNNER
The living room clock said 5:58 AM. Cynthia wondered if Greg was going be on time, or if he would even make it at all. They had worked at her mom’s house until nearly 11:00 the night before. They were both getting worn down from the lack of sleep over the past few nights. But she had still managed to get herself out of bed every morning to go for her run. This would be Greg’s first attempt.
There was a knock at the front door.
“Good morning. I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” she said.
“Well, it wasn’t easy. But I told you I’d be here at 6:00, and here I am. Hey, aren’t you going to be chilly in those shorts? It’s 65 degrees out there.”
“Only for a couple of minutes. After that I’ll get warmed up. Actually, you’re going to roast in that.”
“But I thought you were supposed to wear a sweat shirt and sweat pants when you go running.”
“You are—if you want to maximize your sweating.”
“Oh, great. So maybe next time I’ll wear shorts.” Although he could never look that good in them, he thought. Wasn’t it kind of dangerous for her to be out running the streets early in the morning by herself, looking so cute and sexy? She had been doing it every day since moving to Coreyville a few years ago. But now, he would be along with her, to protect her. And he’d do his best to concentrate on the running—resisting the urge to grab her perfectly shaped butt.
“Ready to go?” said Cynthia.
“Yep. But wait—don’t we need a flashlight? It’s still dark.”
“Here you go.” She picked up two flashlights from the small table near the door. “We’ll get enough light from the street lights to see where we’re going. We’ll only need to turn on the flashlights when a car’s coming—just to make sure they see us.”
“Oh—one more thing,” said Greg. He turned her around and gave her a big kiss. “Okay. Now I’m ready to go.”
But as soon as he had said it, he began to have second thoughts. Maybe they should skip the running today and just lie around on the couch. But she had already opened the door, grabbed his hand, and started pulling him onto the porch.
They alternated jogging and walking, spending more time walking than Cynthia normally did.
By the time they got back to her porch at 7:00 AM, it was dawn, and Greg was exhausted. “It feels like I’m wearing concrete shoes.”
“Then you’d better not go for a swim.”
“Gee, I’m dying here, and my girlfriend is making jokes.”
“You’re not dying.”
“My legs are so wobbly, I can barely stand up.”
“Poor baby. You’ll feel better after you eat breakfast. Come on in the kitchen. I’ll give you a glass of orange juice. It’ll hold you until you get to Jane’s.”
While Greg was sipping his juice, she said, “You want to eat lunch with me today?”
“Sure. Where do you want to go?”
“Well, I’m afraid we’ll have to eat in my office. I’ll only have about 30 minutes to spare—at 12:30. Is that okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll bring box lunches from Jane’s.”
“If Jane ever went out of business, you’d starve, wouldn’t you?”
“I guess so.”
Once Cynthia’s mother moved in, she would cook for them. At least that was one thing he knew he’d like about Beverly living there.
“I’d better get going,” said Greg. “See you at 12:30.”
He gave her a goodbye, but-I-don’t-really-want-to-go kiss.
“I love you, Greg.”
It sounded so fresh and magical. And his knees were already weak from the running. How much weaker could they get before he crumpled to the floor, he wondered. “I love you too, Cynthia.”
The sparkle in her eyes made him want to say it over and over.
And Cynthia had begun to believe that the life of love and happiness she had always dreamed of was finally within reach.
**********
“You want to ride with me?” said the pastor.
“Sure,” said Greg. He wondered if Dr. Huff had seen the clueless look in his eyes. It had taken a full two seconds for Greg to remember that there was a funeral at 10:00. “Just let me throw on a tie and jacket.”
He had learned to keep a couple of sport coats and ties in his office for just such a memory lapse. A suit would be more appropriate for a funeral, but the immediate family would not see him anyway. They should already be in their seats by the time he arrived. And he would be singing over the sound system from a hidden room.
Greg liked the hidden room concept. One time he was singing for the funeral of a fifty-something year-old man who, without warning, had dropped dead in his favorite recliner. The service was held at a small country church. The widow and daughters started crying in the middle of Greg’s song. So there he was, standing at the pulpit, right in front of them, as they cried their eyes out. He hoped he would never have to do that again.
The 83-year-old woman and her husband had been faithful church members. But the congregation had seen little of their three sons after they were grown and out on their own. They were good ole boys
. Nice guys by most standards. But Dr. Huff would use their mother’s funeral to encourage the sons to seriously consider their spiritual condition. He had done the same at their father’s service two years earlier.
Greg was surprised to run into Henry Joe outside the funeral home. All three boys were known by their first and middle names. The other two were Harry Jeff and Harvey John. Henry Joe had followed in his dad’s footsteps, making a living repairing the old cars in the little town. He had taken over the shop when the old man finally retired. Henry Joe had replaced the fuel pump on Greg’s 1965 Bonneville just a few weeks earlier.
“Hey, Mr. Tenorly,” said Henry Joe, just before he took another drag on his cigarette.
Greg hated the smoking, but he appreciated being addressed formally. Henry Joe had apparently learned manners from his mama. “How are doing?”
“I’m okay.”
“Sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.”
Now Greg needed to move on. He never knew quite what to say to a son or daughter who had just lost a parent. He felt so inadequate to handle that part of his job. He couldn’t even remember what people had said to comfort him when his mother had died. He had felt such guilt for not being there to protect her. If he hadn’t been off at college he could have gone to the store for her that night. Maybe he could have avoided the drunk driver’s pickup.
Greg went in the door and looked down the empty hallway. He quickly walked to the music room. It was a tiny, with just enough space for two people—if one of them was sitting on the organ bench.
“Hi, Greg.”
“Hey, Sally.” He didn’t even know her last name or anything about her, except that she was always there to play the organ.
“So, you’re doing Amazing Grace and Abide with Me, right?” She was looking at the printed program.
“Yes, that’s right.”
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…
Greg Tenorly Suspense Series Boxed Set Page 25
