by Lane Stone
“Was that what you used on Beatrice?”
“Yeah! I gave her a little in the funeral home lobby and more once she got in her car.”
“Was Janice Marshall with you at the lake? Did she help you kidnap Bea?”
“No, I played a recording of her squeaky voice.”
Jack turned the body back to face the window and swung him back so he’d have enough speed to fly out the window. The window!
“Wait!” I yelled again. I jumped off the bed and unlocked and raised my beautiful, new mahogany double-paned, double-hung window, then I unhooked and pushed out the screen. “Now.”
And just like someone had yelled “three” Jack let go and Robert Sanders exited head first.
“Ouwwww!”
Then a higher pitched, “Ouwww.”
He was lying sprawled out on the lawn on top of Tara and Paul.
“Are you okay?” I yelled to them.
“Actually, I think….”
“Actually, I don’t care about you. Tara? Paul?”
Paul got up and held a hand out to help Tara. When she was upright, he raised her left hand for us to see. “We’re getting married!”
I heard someone snore and turned back to Victoria and Abby. My dog seemed to be sleeping off a major binge.
“Vic, come look at Tara’s ring.”
She gave Abby a pat and came to the window, laughing. “Just so you know, Leigh and I are too old to wear bridesmaid dresses.”
Here’s to a love worth waiting for, here’s to a lane stretching out a....
I turned to see who was singing, but it had abruptly stopped. Mr. Sanders had scrambled to his feet and was taking off. He plowed into the singers. He was down and so were the man and woman.
My husband edged in beside me, “Never mind guys. Not a good time.”
“You know them?” I asked.
“It’s Mike and Marisa, or it was.” He looked to see if they were okay. “Remember, the duet we heard on Sunday night? It’s midnight. I hired them to sing to you for your birthday.” He kissed my forehead.
The couple struggled to get to their feet. This was made more difficult by Robert Sanders running over them. Too bad for him there were more people in my yard. One was Detective Kent. He was looking at Tara, but snapped out of it pretty darn quick when Sanders took off. In two steps, he had him swung around, against the squad car and handcuffed. Two uniformed officers assisted putting him in the backseat.
Detective Kent looked up at me. “What’s his name?”
Victoria shouted down, “Robert Sanders.”
“The charges?”
“The murder of Thomas Chestnut, kidnapping of Beatrice Englund, the damage at the Porsche dealership, plus breaking and entering.” I hoped none of the neighbors heard that. It all sounded so tacky.
“Come in tomorrow for your statements.” He walked off, head down. He was in love with Tara and he couldn’t have her.
“Leigh, we need to talk.” Shorty walked out of the shadow. He saw Victoria in the window beside me. “We need to talk too.”
Marisa said, “Can we go home now?”
“Sure,” Jack answered.
Victoria and Mr. Benz went downstairs to let Shorty, Tara and Paul in. After checking on our sleepy girl, Abby, Jack and I joined them.
They were sitting around the kitchen island. I got out the tea pitcher and he got glasses and spoons.
Frank started, “Leigh, I was with your mother at the end.”
I held my breath and all I was sure of in the world, was that Jack had moved over to stand next to me.
“She gave me a message for you. She said to thank you.”
She had gotten the last word.
My husband hugged me. Then he cleared his throat and moved to stand by Paul and Shorty. He cleared his throat a second time and I never knew throat clearing to be contagious but the other two copied him.
“You three have some explaining to do,” Jack said. “Leigh, let’s start with that guy I came upon on our bed. Who was he and how did you know he killed Paul’s stepfather?”
When I didn’t answer, Tara moved to stand by my side. “Leigh solved the murder. She solved one last year, too.”
“Thanks, sweetie. I did figure out last year’s murder, but I admit I had no idea Mr. ‘If you run I’ll chase you, if you stay I’ll kill you,’ killed Thomas Chestnut. I had figured the murderer was the person who was fired, because he put a bacterial powder on Thomas Chestnut’s keyboard, and later talked him into having that chip implanted, but I didn’t know that was Robert Sanders. The police would have gone to CDC as soon as they opened the computer and learned his identity. It was Robert Sanders who told Thomas Chestnut about us. Then he sat back and waited to activate the chip to release the Atropine.”
Victoria shook her head. “What kind of idiot was Thomas Chestnut to let someone he didn’t get along with, make modifications to his gun?”
My husband leaned against the kitchen island and ran his hand over his head. “Hold it. Can we back up? You solved a murder last year?”
“And stopped defective backpack UAV’s from being ….” Finally Tara realized that both Vic and I were clearing our throats and it probably wasn’t a coincidence nor medically necessary. “Well, we di-i-i-d.”
I stared back at Jack. “I’d say our involvement in that was strictly unofficial.”
“Good to know,” he said.
Paul was trying to get Tara’s attention. “Tara, is that how you know Detective Kent?”
She looked at him and smiled. “He needs us. You see, his wife keeps trying to kill him.”
“Oh, Lord. I need to sit down.” Paul rubbed his forehead and let himself drop onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.
Next it was Shorty’s turn to interrogate us. “Victoria, how do you know people like that? And what do you know about solving murders?”
She came to stand by Tara and me. “I know we didn’t have the right question. Tara kept asking it. Why did we show up at the wrong place and the wrong time? It seemed staged because it was.”
I took it from there. “Dr. Seuss said, ‘Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are easy.’ We had to see through the cyber security at Buford Dam matter, before we could get to the truth.”
“I may regret asking this as soon as it’s out of my mouth, but what is that truth?” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. He picked up a tea glass and then put it back down. “Wait, I need something stronger before you answer.”
I got out Waterford old fashioned glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. “That it was all about us. Even Bea’s kidnapping happened after Sanders heard her say at the funeral home that she was going to talk to her friends.”
“I don’t understand all I know about Janice Marshall’s tomfoolery, especially at the funeral home. Was it to keep an eye on Tara?” Vic asked.
I handed around linen napkins. “Couldn’t have been. She didn’t know Tara would be there.”
“Yes, she did.” Paul said.
“How?” Tara asked.
“Your name was in the obituary in Sunday’s Atlanta Journal Constitution.” Paul was looking sheepish and I couldn’t wait to see how he had listed her. “Why was she so interested in Tara?”
“Maybe Tara can explain that later.” Then I reached my hand out on the granite counter top, palm down. I looked at Tara then Victoria. “Is it time?”
Tara covered my hand. “I’m ready.”
“I’m ready.” Vic placed her hand on top.
“That’s quite a sandwich,” Tara said and laughed.
“Speaking of sandwiches, let’s eat something first.” I was grinning and it felt good to know that even though I ached on the inside, I remembered how.
Jack came around the island and took my arm. “Don’t we have some champagne in the garage refrigerator? Let’s toast Paul and Tara’s engagement.” While he was talking he was pulling me out of the room.
He closed the garage door, shutting us o
ff. Then he took me in his arms. “Will you run away with me?”
“If you’re asking me to go back to our old life, you know I can’t do that.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m retiring.”
I looked at the door. My friends were on the other side. “Ask me again in the morning, if you still want me to after what you’re about to hear.”
He took my arm. “I’m not afraid. I knew when I asked you to marry me, I’d spend the rest of my life saying, ‘Damn, Baby.’”
I turned to go inside but stopped. “Will you admit how mad it made you to have a stranger invade our home?”
“You drive a hard bargain. And you know it’s not the same.”
Victoria had started assembling tomato and lettuce sandwiches when we rejoined them. She had a huge smile on her face.
“What’s so funny?” I poured myself a glass of tea.
“We don’t know why Robert Sanders wanted Thomas Chestnut’s clothes!”
“I don’t know if I want to know that.” Jack reached for what he thought was his standard bottle of whiskey. “What’s this?”
The label on the etched glass decanter read Jack Daniel’s Single Barrel Select Tennessee Whiskey and the Jack Daniel’s signature was engraved near the bottom.
“That’s your retirement gift. We went to Lynchburg, Tennessee, and chose the barrel just for you,” I said. “If we don’t have a party, you’ll have to drink 249 more bottles.”
“I’ll do my part.” Paul held up a glass.
Jack poured and turned to Shorty. “What about you?”
Victoria looked at him. I was holding my breath, and I think the others were too, waiting and waiting for his answer.
“What are friends for?” He laughed and Victoria went to his side.
“Sit down, boys, and we’ll answer that,” Tara said. “We’ve got a story to tell you.
***
Mr. FBI Special Agent, that completes my statement. Robert Sanders thought he knew best about physical security versus cyber security, and, of course, he was a psychopath. We three were afraid if we told our husbands––Tara and Paul got married last weekend––they would think they knew best. They took it like men.
As they learned all Janice Marshall had done for Asher Charles, they freely admitted a woman at the other end of the spectrum was way preferable. As far as I know, those two are still dating and still deserve each other.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lane Stone is a native Atlantan and graduate of Georgia State University. She, her husband, Larry Korb, and the real Abby divide their time between Sugar Hill, GA and Alexandria, VA. When not writing, she’s enjoying characteristic baby boomer pursuits: hiking in various countries and playing golf. Her volunteer work includes raising money for women political candidates, communications and media for the Delaware River and Bay Lighthouse Foundation, and conducting home visits for “A Forever Home,” a dog foster organization. Check out her website: www.LaneStoneBooks.com. She tweets as Abby, The Menopause Dog and her Facebook page is: LaneStoneBooks.
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This book is fiction. All characters, events, and organizations portrayed in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
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