Killer Moves: The 4th Jolene Jackson Mystery (Jolene Jackson Mysteries)

by Paula Boyd

  A symphony of sirens in the distance confirmed his statement. Things would become official very quickly and I really needed some unofficial time with my mother. I wasn’t going to get it though, not for a while. I walked over to her, sitting there in the wheelchair, with Jerry holding her gun only a few steps away. The reality of what had happened—or at least part of it—sunk in. My mother had saved me.

  Most of the gunshots I’d heard had been hers. Linda had shot at me, I knew that, but the gun’s silencer made those sound different. The loud and rapid gunfire had been from my Mother. She had killed Nurse Linda. To save me.

  Now it was my turn to stare in disbelief. I really thought I’d been shot and was dead—and I would have been if Lucille hadn’t shown up. But how had she known I was in trouble? How had she even known to come out here? What had she seen? How had she moved so quickly and quietly? How had she made the shot at that distance and with such deadly precision? So many questions. I didn’t ask any of them, of course, I just leaned down, squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

  She nodded, her eyes filling with moisture.

  Sirens screamed louder as a police cars and a fire rescue trucks swung into the parking lot. They cut their sirens, but more still echoed in the distance. This was going to attract quite a crowd.

  “Lucille,” Jerry said, “Jolene and I will join you in your room in a few minutes after we take care of some things here. We’ll be there when the officers take your statement. Until then, do not talk about what happened. Understood?” She nodded again and Jerry motioned for the nurse to take her inside.

  Lucille sat in the wheelchair in a very dignified pose—shoulders back, nose tipped up and her hands folded in her lap---as the nurse wheeled her to the front of the building.

  Chapter 32

  “Do you know who the woman is?” Jerry asked. “A nurse here?”

  From where we stood, I couldn’t see my car—or what was behind it—but I could tell there was plenty of official activity there. And I didn’t need to see it anyway. It was an image I’d never forget. “Nurse Linda. Linda Waverman.” I nodded at his questioning look. “Yes, Waverman’s wife. She and Finch were in the drug thing together, although I don’t know how or why.” I glanced over to Finch’s truck. The front end was folded around the light pole. Perez stood beside it. Finch sat on the ground, leaning back against the concrete support. His head and face were covered in blood and it looked like he was crying. Almost felt sorry for the smarmy little guy—almost. “There’s definitely a story there.”

  “I didn’t see Lucille discharge her weapon,” Jerry said. “But I did see you trying to get away and the gun was still in the nurse’s hand.”

  “The ice chest full of pills in my trunk should clear up a few things too.” I nodded again and sighed. “That’s why I was late.”

  “I saw the ice chest,” he said, clearly waiting for me to continue with an explanation.

  “Gilbert found it on the jobsite. He thought it was drugs, which it was, just not the kind he thought. But then Finch convinced me Gilbert was wrong, that it was really just sampling supplies. Since I hadn’t looked at the stuff for myself, I believed him and agreed to give him the ice chest. When I got to the car though, I had another message from Gilbert. He’d found more stuff onsite. I was heading back inside to tell you about all of it when Linda stuck the gun in my back.” My telling was somewhat matter-of-fact, but the feelings that kept creeping in weren’t. “She was making me get the ice chest out so there would be room for me in the trunk. Dead, of course.”

  Jerry’s eyes softened for a moment. “You’re in shock too, you know.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Probably.” I sighed again. “I’m a lot of things.”

  He reached over and gently squeezed my arm, almost as if afraid to touch me. Maybe he thought I’d fall apart if he held me. Maybe he was right. “You’re okay, Jolene,” he said softly. “There’s just a little more to deal with. You can do it.”

  Once again, I didn’t see that I had a choice. But I knew what he meant. He was worried about me having another happy meltdown, but I didn’t feel one coming on, which was weird. Apparently, I can handle nearly getting killed—and the gunfire and mayhem associated with it—I just lose it over cars and such. “I’m okay.”

  He studied my face for a moment to make his own judgment. Then, satisfied—or not--he said, “Walk with me over to Perez. I need to see if he needs anything more from me, and to also tell him where you’ll be.”

  The adrenaline rush was starting to wear off and I was beginning to feel the effects of bouncing around on the parking lot. “You go on. I think I’ll just go sit on that bench by the front door.” I saw Jerry’s concern. “I’d just like a little distance, even if it’s only for a minute.”

  Jerry nodded. “I won’t be long.”

  I turned and walked toward the bench on the left side of the building, the one farthest away from the front doors. I could both see and sense many eyes peering out at me from the lobby, but I didn’t care. In fact, I didn’t really care about anything except having just a few minutes to close my eyes and think about nothing. Sitting down, I pulled my legs up and crossed them under me and closed my eyes.

  “Excuse me,” a voice said. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  What? I jumped, sucked in my breath and snapped my eyes open. “What?”

  Director Paula Hall stood in front of me. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, but it’s important.”

  The director’s face was ashen and I could almost see her body quivering. “I don’t know what’s happened here, but I am wise enough to know it’s related to things you told me about.”

  Still jittery, I unfolded my legs, put my feet on the ground and took a deep breath. “Yes. And then some.”

  “I’m really sorry I didn’t believe you.” She took a shaky breath. “I’m also sorry for the way I treated you and your mother.”

  While I had to question my own believability meter regarding Finch, I didn’t question this. Director Paula Hall wasn’t pretending. “You really didn’t know about any of it.”

  “I still don’t,” she said. “And I won’t like it when I do.” She took another deep breath and shook her head. “Gunshots were reported and the officers ran. I followed. All I could see was your mother on one side of the cars, holding a gun, and you squatted down on the other. But there was someone else, wasn’t there?”

  “Yes.” I figured it was breaking the rules for me to tell her, but she was going to know the basics in a few minutes anyway. “Linda Waverman tried to kill me. Over the drugs in my trunk.” With every word, the director’s eyes grew wider and her mouth dropped farther. “She’s dead. It’s a long story.”

  Director Hall just stood there, staring in disbelief.

  “Look, the police will give you the details. And if there were any others involved, my guess is they’ve already scattered like cockroaches, so you shouldn’t have to worry about that. Right now, you have a building full of people looking for answers you can’t give them. You can, however, let them know they’re safe, that it’s all over out here—and it is.”

  “It is far from over.” She blinked a few times and shook her. “There’s just so much I don’t understand. And your mother,” she said, still shaking her head. “She broke her hip only a few weeks ago, but I saw her, standing out there, by herself…”

  “She saved my life.”

  “I just can’t believe any of it.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I sighed. “Look, this is going to be a big mess to get cleared up, but right now, just take a deep breath and focus on doing what you know to do.” I wasn’t sure how I’d become counselor for the woman who’d wanted to have me drawn and quartered on the public square, but it was what needed said. “There are a lot of people inside who need you.” I smiled a little. “Go be a great director and start getting things back on track.”

  She pressed her lips together. “I would like to know mor
e about what’s helping your mother heal so quickly. Later, perhaps you could tell me about it, if you’re willing.”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  Paula Hall drew another deep breath. “I truly am deeply sorry,” she said, then turned and hurried away.

  I glanced around to see where Jerry was—still with Perez—and then I saw a familiar white truck weaving its way slowly through the emergency vehicles. The yellow lights across the cab and the big poles sticking up behind it made it clear who the owner was. But why was Gilbert Moore at the rehab center? And why were the police letting him come onto a crime scene? I was going to get some answers soon, because he was headed my way and so was Jerry.

  I stood and walked along the building toward him—and away from the lobby. Gilbert pulled to a stop and I headed to the driver’s side window. Jerry met me there.

  “I found a hole where Finch had buried more stuff,” Gilbert said to Jerry. Then, he looked at me. “Since you weren’t calling me back, I decided to come to you. I figured the sheriff would be around.” He looked back at Jerry. “There’s more at the site.”

  “I’ll get somebody out there right away,” Jerry said. “Can you go back and show them where it is?”

  “Not hard to find, Sheriff. I parked my backhoe over it.”

  “Please,” I said, trying not to sound as desperate as I felt. “Tell me this part can wait until tomorrow. I really want to go home.” I didn’t say “with you” but he got the message anyway.

  So did Gilbert. “It’s not going anywhere,” he said, handing Jerry a card. “I’ll go grab a bite to eat. Call if you need me.”

  Jerry nodded and Gilbert put the truck in reverse and backed away.

  “He told me to look in the ice chest before I turned it over,” I said. “If I had, none of this would have happened. None of it.” I ran my hands over my face. “I was just so focused on other things.”

  “You’ve been pulled in fifty different directions,” Jerry said softly, stepping closer. “It’s okay. All that matters is that you’re okay and so is your mother. Now, we better go check on her. Perez will be in shortly to take her statement.”

  Yes, the statement about how she just killed a woman. “Is she in trouble, Jerry?”

  “There will be an official investigation, but self-defense is evident, particularly since one shot hit your left taillight, which was in her general direction.”

  “Linda wouldn’t have let her live. The woman was evil—insane. She’d been trying to kill Waverman all along and was mad because I saved him.” Then I remembered the second time Waverman went to the hospital. “Now that I think about it, Finch was sure Waverman was dead the second time.”

  “He would have been if Finch had waited any longer to call the ambulance. But presuming the deed was done, he started covering his tracks.”

  More snippets of memories came back. “The first time, he tried to keep me from helping him. I can see it now. The second time, he watched him die. Wow.” And then, even more pieces fell into place. “Linda was going to kill Waverman after she killed me, she told me so. She had a heart attack arranged, but I don’t know how. Or, maybe I do. Waverman said the nurse—his wife—was going to give him a shot if he didn’t take the pills. I put them in the closet for him so she wouldn’t know. Wow.”

  “If that’s the case,” Jerry said. “Then she probably has a syringe on her somewhere.”

  “That will help, won’t it?”

  “Yes and Finch is also confessing, which will fill in the gaps. Hopefully, once all the information is pulled together, it should be fairly straightforward, at least where you mother is concerned.”

  I was really relieved to hear that. But I bet it wasn’t going to be so straightforward for Finch. Then again, maybe it would. “Linda admitted she was using Finch, but he apparently liked being used. He may have been infatuated with her. She didn’t share his fantasyland, but she sure gave him the hope of sticking it to his bully boss in about ten different ways.”

  “Money probably played a role as well.”

  “Probably,” I agreed. “I bet he knew about the insurance money, but I doubt he had any idea what Linda was making on the drug deal. I have no clue on that either, but I bet it was big.”

  “Regardless of the details,” Jerry said. “Finch is going away for a long time.”

  As I nodded, from out of nowhere, something Jerry had said earlier caught up with me. Of all the things that had happened today, it was pretty inconsequential, and yet, just thinking about it was making me hopping mad. “Hey, didn’t you say something about my car getting shot?” I heard my voice get louder and higher. “What’s up with that? It’s a brand new car! Is it ruined too?”

  “Just a taillight, Jo,” he said. “It can be replaced.” Even though it wasn’t the professional thing to do, he put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him. “Cars can be replaced. You can’t.” He pressed a quick kiss to the top of my head. “The EMTs need to look you over.”

  I let my head rest against him for just a moment. “My body hurts and I’m still a little fuzzy, but I really think I’m okay.”

  “Not taking the chance.” He made a quick call. “It won’t take long.”

  Within a minute, there was one EMT shining a light in my eyes and another checking for other damage. The verdict was that I had some nasty bumps, bruises and scrapes—and probably a mild concussion—but I was generally okay. We went through the drill on what to watch for with a head injury and when to get myself to an emergency room, that sort of thing.

  The EMTs left and Jerry guided me back toward the rehab center. “I want to get you out of here as soon as possible.”

  “Me too.” The automatic glass doors opened and we walked inside. “There’s only one problem with that…”

  “Let’s go see how she’s doing.”

  Chapter 33

  The lobby of the rehab center was eerily quiet. The crowds of people I’d seen from outside earlier were gone. Only a few patients sat by the windows. All eyes turned toward us as we walked through, but no one said a word.

  A young woman with a blonde ponytail and pink scrubs sat at the front desk, wearing a telephone headset and speaking deliberately as if reading. She paused and nodded to us, but quickly turned her gaze back to the sheet of paper in front of her. “Emergency personnel responded to a situation that occurred in the front parking lot, away from the facility. There is no danger to the building or occupants. All patients are safe. Daily activities and therapeutic appointments continue on schedule. No other information is available.”

  It looked like Director Hall had taken my advice to heart. I was impressed. I also had the feeling this whole thing was going to be a huge wakeup call for her both personally and professionally.

  The walk down the corridor to Lucille’s room was also unusually quiet—and felt strange. I stopped in front of the closed door, apprehensive about going in. Would she be in tears? Catatonic from shock? Had they given her medication to calm her down?

  That last option was repugnant to me, but so was allowing my mother to have a mental breakdown. And after what she’d just done—had to do to save me—it had to taking a toll. So, whatever made it easier for her to get through this trauma was okay with me. Taking a deep breath, I said, “I just hope she’s okay.”

  Jerry pushed the door open and walked inside.

  I followed—or tried to.

  Turned out, our first challenge in checking on Lucille was getting into the room. Four wheelchairs formed an arc in front of me, and in front of them, six or seven regular chairs. And in the big middle of it all, perched up in the bed as if holding court, was my mother.

  She was neither in shock nor comatose. She was, however, about to be in big trouble.

  The sheriff gritted his teeth, the muscles in his cheeks pulsing. He breathed heavily, a sort of growling sound that was his version of “Are you kidding me?”

  “Jolene!” Lucille said, waving. “Come on over here! I was just telling ev
eryone about my bra holster and how it works. Did you bring it back, Jerry Don? I promised I showed them.”

  “Everyone needs to leave room now,” Jerry said, his voice firm and authoritative. No one moved. “Clear the room!” His voice boomed and even I jumped to attention. “Now!”

  Seeing people starting to scurry, I hurried to the door and held it open.

  Those in wheelchairs zipped out quickly. Those with canes and walkers took a little longer to get moving.

  Jerry pointed to the two nurses who had been outside with Lucille. “Help get these patients back to their rooms, but do not leave this building until you have given statements.”

  They both bobbed their heads, eyes wide. They began helping the patients out, and as the last one cleared the door, one of the nurses turned back to Jerry. “Sheriff, everybody was just here to keep her company,” she said. “Miss Lucille didn’t talk about what happened. Just told us about her gun, how it worked and how shooting out radiators were a good way to stop stalkers, that sort of thing.”

  Jerry nodded to the nurse then looked at me with that old familiar “she’s your mother” glare.

  “If you’re going to scold me, Jerry Don,” Lucille said. “You may as well hurry up and get to it.”

  Jerry cleared a path through the chairs and sat down in the one closest to the bed. “You were specifically told not to discuss the matter with anyone.”

  “And I didn’t,” she said. “I did not talk about anything they didn’t already know. Everybody peeking out the window saw me with my shirt pulled up over my head and holding a gun, and they all saw that pickup truck crash into the light post. I didn’t talk about it, but they all knew that much.”

  The conversation was only going to get more contentious, so I busied myself with moving the extra chairs back against the wall out of the way. It didn’t take nearly long enough, because when I sat down in a chair at the foot of the bed, I was immediately dragged into the fray.