by J. R. Ripley
My chairs.
I couldn’t be certain from this distance and in the dark. But what other two chairs could they possibly be?
I strained against the windshield trying to imagine what she might be up to. She pulled the door shut, picked up one chair and disappeared up the hill. She held a flashlight in one hand. I watched its light bounce randomly over the uneven ground as she walked.
As I sat there trying to make up my mind whether to follow or not, she came back down the hill. She grabbed the other chair and went up the hill again.
Once I was certain she was out of sight and wouldn’t notice the lights coming on in the Mini, I opened the driver’s-side door and snatched my purse off the floor. I softly shut the door behind me. My heart was pounding. It was deathly quiet out here. And way too dark for comfort.
Especially since I was alone out here with a crazed killer!
I hurried over to her minivan and stole a look inside. All quite ordinary. Like any minivan should be. No dead bodies, no weapons of individual or mass destruction.
I turned and looked up the hill, my mind churning. There was no sign of Trish but I could just make out a rutted track. I hunched over and followed it.
After about five minutes of walking, the trail levelled off. There was a gap between two large egg-shaped boulders. I moved to the side and slowly approached. Peeking around the edge of one of the giant red rocks, I saw where Trish had led me.
She was standing in the center of a medicine wheel. I’d come to learn that these are fairly common monuments in Red Rock Country, originally constructed by early indigenous cultures. Medicine wheels are ceremonial circles of stones usually laid out in a particular pattern with a center stone or cairn and an outer ring of stones with spokes – lines of rock radiating out in the four cardinal directions: south, east, north and west.
Apparently they come in all sizes. Some may be as small as six feet in diameter, others twenty feet or more. This one was on the large size.
Native Americans used medicine wheels for meditation, prayer, healing and spiritual rituals. Believers consider medicine wheels to possess a true physical connection with the spiritual world. I tugged at the crystal around my neck. Mom would love this.
Some medicine wheels are said to be quite ancient. I had no way of knowing how old or new this one might be. For all I knew, Trish had constructed it earlier herself.
But why did the medicine wheel need chairs? Did Trish think the aliens might need a good rest? Someplace to sit down after their long flight from the Whatchamacallit Galaxy to Earth?
Trish had placed my two dining chairs in the center, within the small central circle. Her flashlight sat on a small stone facing the middle. She looked around for a moment, picked up her flashlight, then headed back my way.
That was it? She was leaving the chairs? My mind panicked. Should I race down the hill ahead of her to my car? Should I wait where I was?
I heard the crunch of feet over gravel and pressed myself against the rock, praying she didn’t see me. It was too late to make up my mind on a plan. I was going to have to let Trish go first. I groaned as I watched her disappear. I just realized she was going to pass the Mini Cooper on her way out to the highway.
She’d get suspicious. But at least she wouldn’t know it was me. She must know I ride a bike and don’t even own a car. Surely she wouldn’t recognize the Mini as my sister’s vehicle.
But what would she think suddenly discovering a second car out here when there hadn’t been one on her way out?
I waited until she was out of sight and crept after her. As I started down the hill, I spied Trish heading back up. I gasped softly and quickly covered my big mouth with my fist. I ducked down hastily. She held the flashlight in her left hand, but had something else in her right. I recognized it.
It was one of those red plastic gas cans.
I scurried back up the hill, hid behind a cluster of small boulders and waited for her to go by.
I heard noises coming from the medicine wheel and crept back around the corner, sticking my head out just far enough to see clearly. She was tossing gasoline over the chairs and mumbling some sort of incantations. If Mom was here, she might know what that mumbo-jumbo meant. I knew one thing …
She was going to destroy the chairs!
I retreated and flattened myself against the rock. As soundlessly as possible, I dug around in my purse until my fingers wrapped around my cell phone. I could only hope I’d be able to get some kind of signal out here.
I tapped the phone and it sprang to life. Bingo! I had bars. I hit the menu for a list of recent calls and tapped my finger on Detective Highsmith’s number.
‘Hello?’ It was a woman’s voice.
‘VV?’ I whispered.
‘Who is this?’
‘It’s Maggie Miller. You know, the beignet café lady.’
‘The murder suspect.’
Ouch. That hurt. ‘Who said I’m a suspect? I can name any number of better suspects. In fact,’ I said, and then, suddenly aware that my voice had risen, I gulped and brought it back down several notches, ‘I’ve got one of them here right now,’ I whispered.
‘What are you talking about? Please make yourself clear.’
‘That’s what I’m trying to do,’ I snarled. ‘Listen, I’m out here at some medicine wheel between two big rocks and Trish is immolating the chairs.’
‘What? What chairs?’ I was catching a tone of impatience. ‘And who is Trish?’
I sighed into the phone. ‘Where’s Detective Highsmith?’
‘Who is it?’ I heard the detective holler from the distance. It sounded like a TV was going in the background too.
‘It’s the Miller woman,’ I heard Veronica reply. ‘Saying something about some woman named Trish and some chairs.’ I sniffed. The smell of smoke came my way. If he didn’t get here soon, the evidence would be toast. Literally.
‘What? Tell her I said to give it a rest. Tell her I’ll talk to her tomorrow, like I told her earlier. That’s if I don’t lock her up first tonight.’
Boy, he sounded tense. I had a feeling whatever team he was rooting for was on the losing side of things. ‘Then hang up!’ I heard him shout.
‘Mark said that you should call him tomorrow.’
‘I heard.’
‘OK, then. Goodnight, Miss Miller.’
‘Don’t you dare—’
Click.
I stared at the phone. The screen read ‘Call Ended.’ ‘Hang up.’ Ooh, that woman. Oh, that man!
I noticed I had a message on my phone. I’d forgotten about whoever had called while I’d been talking to Detective Highsmith earlier at the police station. I pressed the play button and held my ear to the phone. It was a call from Mesa Verde Medical Center, asking me to call back.
What on earth could that be about? Maybe Dr Vargas was telephoning to ask me out on a date?
A woman can dream, can’t she? Then I remembered the nightmare that was his sister.
Some dreams are best left unfulfilled.
No way was I calling back out here where Trish might see or hear me. I ran back to the Mini. There wasn’t much reason to stay now. The damage had been done.
And there was no way I was calling Detective Highsmith again. Besides, there wasn’t much left to see but a pile of ash. Can you dust dust for fingerprints?
I didn’t think so. I mean, those CSI guys are good, but I don’t think they’re that good.
I stopped at a gas station and convenience store out on the highway and dialed the Mesa Verde number. I yawned as I waited for someone to pick up on the other end. I was exhausted and had to be up early to get to work. After this call, I was heading straight back to Ed’s house to catch a few hours’ sleep.
A sharp male voice answered. ‘Mesa Verde, can I help you?’
‘This is Maggie Miller. Someone from there called me?’
‘Oh, yeah. Ms Miller, right. One of our patients was asking about you.’
‘Oh, no! H
as Mr Teller been readmitted?’ I’d been expecting the worse and now it had happened.
‘Who? No. Mr Smith.’
I scrunched up my face. ‘Brad Smith?’
‘That’s right. He was real anxious to talk to you.’
‘Brad Smith is one of your patients? What happened?’
I heard a deep sigh on the other end of the line. ‘We don’t know for sure. But the paramedics brought him in here pretty busted up.’ There was a short pause. ‘He asked for you before he went into a coma.’
‘A coma?’
‘Yes.’ There was sadness in the man’s voice. ‘Sorry to be the one to break it to you like this. Are the two of you close?’
I stood there, listening to the cars streak by as I sat in the lot of the gas station. Brad Smith had called the café trying to reach me. What had he said? Had he discovered something? Had he some big news about Rick Wilbur’s murder?
Was that why he was now lying in a coma in a hospital bed?
And was it my fault?
THIRTY-FOUR
‘They said it was a car accident,’ I said to Ed when I got back to his house. Though it was late, Mr Teller was awake and lying in bed watching television on his laptop.
‘Tough break,’ grunted Ed.
‘Yeah,’ I said, wearily. ‘Do you know him?’
He shook his head. ‘The newspaper’s not one of our properties.’
‘I think I’ll give Carol Two that little treat I promised her, then hit the sack.’
‘Good idea,’ he agreed. Ed rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Mind hitting the light on your way out?’
I nodded, flicked off the ceiling light and closed his door behind me. Carol Two mrowled at my feet. I’d forgotten all about her treat earlier. ‘Come on,’ I said wearily, ‘let’s get you some tuna. Then,’ I said, looking down at the cat at my feet, ‘I suggest we both get some sleep.’
She mrowled once more. I like it when a cat agrees with me. I dug around through the drawers looking for a can opener and found drawers full of assorted knives, one full of old brochures for Vegas and Reno and one chock full of what looked like mostly expired coupons.
I finally found a can opener mixed in with a drawer full of cheap silverware.
A knock on the front door scared the living daylights out of me. And that was something, considering it was practically the middle of the night.
Was it Trish? Had she figured out where I was staying? Had she spotted the Mini? Should I have parked up the street or the next block over?
I shivered. Had she come to get rid of me like she had Rick Wilbur?
I stole to the front room and peeked out the window through a crack in the slats. The living room was one place where the windows had been boarded up. A couple stood under the grimy porch light. For a moment, I feared it was Trish and Rob.
Me, an invalid and one scrawny cat would never be able to fight those two off. But as the man knocked again, I realized this pair was too young to be the Gregorys.
The young man was thin and wore baggy blue jeans and a blue T-shirt that was way too large for his frame. His companion had short dark hair. Though a few pounds overweight, she was quite pretty, and was flaunting what she had in a pair of denim short-shorts and a pink tube top.
‘What if he’s not here?’ I heard the girl say.
‘He’s here,’ the young man said, a hard edge to his voice. ‘Where else has he got to go?’ He pushed a black lock of hair from his forehead.
Were they talking about Ed or did they have a wrong address? The banging got louder. I knew I had to answer it before they woke Ed and the whole neighborhood!
‘Can I help you?’ Carol Two came up to the door and I shooed her away with my foot.
The young woman had light-toned skin and gray-blue eyes. She used way too much mascara. ‘Who are you?’ she asked, looking up at me. She couldn’t have been more than five-two, standing.
‘I’m Maggie.’ I looked up and down the block. An old Mazda sat directly across from the house. ‘Can I help you?’
The young man and woman looked at each other a moment. The girl didn’t look much more than eighteen. He may have been a few years older.
A dark van rounded the corner and crept slowly along the otherwise quiet street. We all turned to watch it pass. Was that Trish? Had she found me? I was so jumpy I was seeing the woman everywhere! Was that her behind the neighbor’s sycamore?
‘We must have the wrong house,’ the young man replied. ‘C’mon, Blaire.’
‘But I’m tired and we don’t have any money—’
‘I said, come on.’
He grabbed her hand and led her to the Mazda. I shut the door and headed for bed. I took a quick shower in the bathroom between the bedrooms and pulled out a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt to sleep in.
As I stepped barefoot into the hall, I heard noises coming from the direction of Ed’s room. A slit of light was visible under the door.
I rapped lightly.
‘Come in.’
I opened the door and Carol Two came in with me. What was it with this cat following me everywhere? ‘Are you OK in here?’ Ed was under the covers, the ever-present portable computer resting on his lap.
‘Sure, why?’
‘I thought I heard shouting.’
‘I couldn’t sleep. Streaming MasterChef on the laptop.’
I nodded. ‘I like to watch TV when I can’t sleep, too.’ I stepped closer to the rumpled bed. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ He definitely didn’t look OK. He was whiter than a ghost wearing bed sheets. I flipped on the bedside lamp.
Ed sighed with obvious exasperation and shut the computer. ‘Yes. I’m fine. It’s late; I think I’ll try to get some sleep.’
‘Oh, my gosh!’ I exclaimed. ‘You’re all sweaty. The bed’s soaked too.’ I felt his clammy forehead. Sheesh, before I was simply worrying about Carol Two dying on my watch. Now I had to worry about Ed dying on my watch!
‘Should I call the doctor?’ As in Dr Vargas. Hey, if I had to call a doctor it may as well be a handsome one.
Ed shook his head. ‘Nah.’ He waved his hand then punched his pillow. ‘I tell you what. If I’m not feeling better in the morning, you can call the doc.’
I reluctantly agreed and pulled the bedroom window shut. ‘I’ll crank the air down a few notches and see if that gets you cooled down.’
I shut Ed’s door and adjusted the thermostat in the hall. Poor Ed. Carol Two twisted between my legs and I remembered the can of tuna I’d brought for her. I’d left the can open on the counter when those kids had knocked on the door.
The cat followed me silently back to the kitchen, where I prepared her a nice midnight snack. I rinsed the empty can and added it to the hill of refuse rising from the recycle bin. Both the bin and the trash can were overflowing.
I yawned loudly. I suppose it could wait until morning but I didn’t want Ed to get up and see this mess. Heck, I didn’t want to face it myself in the light of day. Besides, I’d be getting up early tomorrow if I wanted to make it to the café on time to prep for opening. I couldn’t have Aubrey think I tolerated tardiness.
I picked up the overspilling trash can and pushed open the laundry room door with my knee. ‘Hey!’ I cried as Carol Two shot between my legs. I dropped the can on the stoop and gave chase.
‘Oh no you don’t!’ I muttered, jumping out into the star-filled darkness. It was chilly and smelled like a junkyard.
Fearful of waking Ed, I tread slowly and carefully, fully aware of all the junk that littered the yard. And me in bare feet!
I really did not want to cut myself. I could live without getting a tetanus shot any time soon. Shots were scary. Shots hurt. Shots were to be avoided at all costs. Whoever invented shots should be, well, shot!
‘Here, kitty, kitty!’ I called in a loud whisper. ‘Here, kitty, kitty!’
A black smudge shot past me. ‘Hey, Carol, Carol Two! Come here, you!’
I squinted, wishing I had some of those night-v
ision goggles. Instead I had a pair of eyes that wasn’t all that good during the daytime, let alone the dead of the night.
The middle of my foot landed flat on a sharp rock. ‘Ouch.’ I hopped on one foot while rubbing my injured foot with my fingers. ‘This is why I don’t have pets!’ I shouted at the cat.
I heard a movement over near the garage. ‘Gotcha now,’ I said.
I approached the side door of the garage. There was an old pet door that the previous homeowner had built into the bottom of the side door. It was large enough for a medium-sized dog, so it was definitely large enough for one ornery cat. Carol Two had obviously gone inside. In fact, I could still see the flap moving ever so slightly.
I tried the handle. Locked, of course. I stamped my foot. There was a broken pane of glass just above the door handle. ‘Looks like someone else had the same idea.’ Though it must have been long ago, judging by the aged look of the glass shards on the ground.
I carefully snaked my hand through the jagged opening and wiggled the lock free. ‘You can run but you can’t hide,’ I said playfully.
The door opened with a creak. I looked over my shoulder to make sure I hadn’t disturbed Ed. I didn’t want him struggling out of bed to come out here and check on the noise. He had enough problems.
Come to think of it, so did I.
Ed’s tan Buick and a century’s worth of junk filled the one-car garage but I saw little detail through the dim light of the stars and the half-moon overhead. My hands fumbled for a light switch and found it. I could only hope it worked.
Click. It did. Carol Two sat quietly in the corner licking the nose of the young man I’d seen on the porch earlier.
Ick.
Not that he minded.
Because I believe he was dead.
I smothered a scream with my hand. ‘Come here, kitty,’ I whispered, my voice tremulous. What the devil was this guy doing in here? The side of his face was covered in blood and a short-handled sledge hammer lay beside him. Had he broken in? Had the hammer fallen on him from the junk-filled rafters above?
What would a dead guy be doing in Ed’s garage? I backed up a step.
Unless … unless.
