by Jada Ryker
“Stay out of my head!” Mae Rue stepped forward in anger.
Winter inquiringly tilted to one side. “Given your unusual upbringing by impoverished and drug-addicted parents, I am surprised you succumbed to your Husband’s courting tactics. Your lifelong focus has been to think of what your parents would do in a situation and then take the opposite action. You put yourself through college with hard work and scholarships. Even when your parents’ fortunes drastically changed, you refused to accept money from them. And when they died—-”
Mae Rue clapped her hands over her head. “Stop it!”
“Perhaps you wanted the stability of a quiet life on a working farm to cement the anchor of your Library. And you hoped in quiet desperation for children.” The orb seemed to purse non-existent lips. “You have passed your fourth decade, which I understand is quite risky for childbearing. At your advanced age—-”
Mae Rue repressed a scream. “I won’t help you unless you tell me why you need the artifact.”
Winter rolled, as if in thought. “My ancestors were renowned Scientists. When I finished my education, I was given a place in the Ministry of Science. Although I tried hard, my work was substandard and derivative. I knew I was on the brink of losing my place. I could not let it happen. I committed an act of sickening dishonor. I stole the work of a colleague and passed it off as my own. She dissented. The Minister believed me. In despair, she rolled into a hyperbaric oxygen chamber.” Winter’s wife bounced next to him, her outer surface touching his.
Mae Rue raised her eyebrows.
“It was used on Earth to treat air bubbles in deep sea divers’ blood. Your world now uses it to treat conditions related to oxygen deprivation, like cerebral palsy and injuries to the brain.” Winter rolled gently against his wife. “My colleague rigged the controls. Under the extreme pressure, she exploded.” His mother bounced to his other side. The children gathered around their elders.
Winter’s wife communicated directly with Mae Rue for the first time. “Although he could have kept silent, my Husband confessed. Since then, he has chosen actions of the highest honor. Still, he feels he bears the stain of ultimate dishonor.”
Winter bounced. “I must go back in time and choose the honorable action.”
“But you could change other parts of your future.” Mae Rue felt like shaking the floating orb. “What if you don’t meet your wife and never have these children?”
Winter vibrated. “In our culture, honor is everything. You of all people on this world should understand. Your Husband’s murder—-”
Mae Rue screamed and clamped her shaking fists to her head.
“Excellent. You have decided to help me. You think it is the fastest way to get rid of us.” Winter bowed in relief and gratitude. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER NINE
“I don’t believe it. The sixtyish bus driver Fred Wilkins, balding and pot-bellied, has been kidnapped by sorority girls?” Wiping perspiration from his forehead, Alex lunged to avoid a collision with a laughing group of young men staggering under the weight of their stuffed backpacks.
“Fred’s text says the college girls think he’s looking for talent to appear on Prancing with the Stars,” Marisa answered, her low heels clicking on the campus sidewalk. “When he tried to tell the ladies that he couldn’t help them, they overpowered him. They’re keeping him tied up in the sorority house until he allows them to try out for the show. He said he’s alone now because they’re practicing dance numbers.”
“Why would they think Fred is connected with a major television show?” Alex was amazed. “And why would a television show target Grayhampton, Kentucky, for a talent search? We’re a fair-sized city, but not nearly as large as Louisville or Lexington. Louisville is a short drive away. Why here?”
Marisa ruthlessly repressed her guilty knowledge of Tara’s plan to trap Elizabeth Furlong into agreeing to provide her fingerprints and DNA. “I don’t know. Since we’re in the same addiction support group, Fred sent us the text to rescue him.”
“What do you mean ‘we,’ Marisa?” In the unseasonably warm autumn sunshine, Alex tugged off his charcoal gray suit jacket. “I’m not a member of your and Fred’s support group.”
Marisa forced her gaze away from his broad shoulders, flexing under his pristine white dress shirt. Above the shirt, the smooth, handsome face was saved from being beautiful by the large pointer of a nose. While the angles of his thin face were sharp and predatory, subtle humor softened his mouth. With his lithe, muscular build and his eyes the color of a summer sky at dusk, he looked attractive and dangerous.
“You attended a support group meeting.” Flipping her walnut braid over one shoulder of her sage suit jacket, Marisa consulted the campus map on her phone. “I can’t believe how much the campus has changed in twenty years. Given the glacier speed of the Kentucky legislature in appropriating funds and its difficult dealings with the University’s president, the number of new campus buildings is amazing.”
Alex folded his gray jacket over one arm. “I attended the addiction support group meeting by accident! Fred misunderstood the ‘Spank Me’ license plate on my car, and he insisted I attend the meeting with him. I don’t think that puts me on his rescue party short list.” He ran a hand over his short dark hair, turning the stylish spikes into rumpled tufts of hair. “I thought you were asking me to eat lunch with you, not drive you to our alma mater so we can charge across campus to save an unlucky bus driver.”
In her low heels, Marisa’s eyes were level with Alex’s dark blue irritated ones. “I do want to have lunch with you, Alex, as soon as we help Fred.” She slid her phone into her green skirt pocket. “The young ladies’ residence hall is on the other side of the College of Social Work building. Let’s go.”
“Did you notice the posted flyers?” Alex perked up in anticipation. “Today is free lunch for everyone at the students’ center. It’s across the courtyard from the college.”
“Alex, you’re so cheap! You’re the interim Chief Executive Officer of the trauma hospital. I’m the Human Resources Director. I think we can pool our resources and pay for a nice lunch.” Marisa quickened her pace in anger.
“The flyers state ‘alumni welcome’. We both graduated from here.” Alex jogged to keep up with her. “How can you call me cheap? I gave you a custom-made pink motorcycle helmet, with a special retractable opening to allow your braid to stream along behind you when you ride with me. And I even found a matching bow for you to clip to your braid.”
Marisa repressed a shudder. As wide as Alex’s head, the magenta bow was splotched with infectious-looking green splatters. The wicked metal clip was the length of her forefinger, with a point as lethal as a weapon. She summoned up a weak smile. “I love my helmet. Unfortunately, Laithe got his orange paws on the bow and shredded it with his sharp teeth and claws.”
“Oh, no! I thought Laithe was my friend. He’s such an intelligent Abyssinian cat, I never thought he’d chew up your bow.”
“The breed is very playful. I’m sure he just got carried away.” Marisa hid her smile. He’s a very smart cat, she thought. And he hated that bow almost as much as I did.
As they took to the grass to veer around a group of chattering students walking abreast, Alex shook his head. “Why didn’t Fred call the police, since he has his cell phone?”
“He texted he had managed to steal a cell phone from one of his captors. He doesn’t want us to call the police. I suspect he doesn’t want to get the girls in trouble. Both campus administrations and police departments have cracked down on hazing activities.”
“You got all of that from a desperate prisoner’s text? And there you go with that ‘us’ again, Marisa.” Alex snapped his fingers. “Fred could have fought them off with The Library. He’s put it to use as a weapon in the past.”
“I’ve never seen Fred without The Library.” Marisa took Alex’s arm and steered them both out of the path of two students with eyes only for one another. “As the addiction support
group librarian, Fred keeps every scrap of paper associated with the group in that battered piece of luggage. When I suggested he start keeping pamphlets and meeting schedules online, he howled like a wounded coyote.”
Alex laughed. “That old suitcase on wheels holds an amazing amount of addiction and recovery literature.”
Marisa’s lips twitched. “I’ve sometimes wondered if the ancient piece of luggage is bewitched, larger on the inside than on the outside. Regardless, wherever Fred goes, that scuffed bag goes with him, either reposing at his feet or rolling along behind him.”
Alex met her gaze, his navy eyes alight with mischief. “I can’t imagine him using it in self-defense against a group of young women.”
“Given the nature of Fred’s addiction,” Marisa mused, “I think he allowed them to take him along with them. And it also explains why he contacted us and not his irascible girlfriend, Clara Eastwood.”
Alex sighed. “Miss Clara the Lunch Lady. She made decades of elementary school lunches worth eating. I’d love to go see her. I wonder where she landed after the assisted living center burned.”
“She’s at the Beatrice Hotel, across town.” Thinking of Althea in the same hotel, Marisa felt a twinge of pain. She ruthlessly repressed it. “We’ll make plans to go see Clara. Perhaps we can take her out to lunch. A real lunch, not something free!”
“I would never scrimp on Miss Clara’s lunch.” Alex sounded stung.
As Marisa opened her mouth to point out the flaw in his logic, sharp sounds split the warm autumn air. On the sidewalks and on the grass, shocked people froze, electronic devices in their hands and backpacks dangling from their hands or from their backs.
“Those were shots!” Alex tried to shield Marisa with his body.
“Everyone, get inside right now!” Marisa screamed as she dug under her jacket.
* * * * *
“Where did you get that gun?” Alex’s eyes wheeled from the people running toward buildings to the weapon in Marisa’s hand.
“It’s my Firestar nine millimeter handgun. I used to go to the range years ago, but gave up the hobby when my drinking spiraled out of control. When I was drunk, the last place I needed to be was a gun range. And when I had a hangover, the last place I wanted to be was a firing range. After I got sober, I decided to get a new weapon and put in some range time. Then, I completed my class for my Concealed Carry Deadly Weapon license.”
“Concealed Carry! Deadly Weapon!” Alex sputtered.
“I asked you to go with me to the class. If you hadn’t been so busy finalizing next year’s budget, you’d have your own license.”
“Stop brandishing that gun, Marisa! The police may decide you’re the shooter and take you out in a hail of bullets.” His heart pounding, he grabbed for her wrist. “At the time, you asked me if I wanted to spend the day together. You didn’t mention anything about getting a license to carry a deadly weapon.”
She frowned at the gun in her hand. “You may be right about being mistaken for the shooter. I’ll leave it under my jacket until we need it.”
Alex watched in disbelief as she calmly holstered the weapon in the leather crisscrossing her conservative cream blouse and straightened her green jacket over it. “Let’s get out of here.” He threw an arm over her shoulders and pivoted her in the direction of the parking garage. He gasped. “Look at the clock tower.”
Across the campus, smoke billowed from the spire of the historic building. Alex dragged Marisa’s resisting body along the sidewalk with him, her heels scraping the concrete. He paused, panting. “There’s the bookstore. Let’s take cover in there.” He hauled her along with him. “Stop fighting me!”
Marisa shook him off. “Right before the shots, I saw a glint of metal from the roof of the Social Work building. We have to check it out.”
Alex threw his body into her path. He grunted when she plowed into him. He grasped her shoulders. “We’re not the police.” He turned her toward the smoke. “There are the campus police officers, surrounding the clock tower building. If you’re so sure the shots came from the Social Work building, then call the campus police dispatcher. Or call Dreamus. At least most of the time, when we’re not meddling in one of his cases, we’re friends with him.”
Her sprinkling of freckles standing out on her pale, oval face, Marisa pulled away and dug in her skirt pocket for her phone. Her fingers flew. “Damn, no answer.” She ended the call and punched in numbers. “I’m calling 911… This is Marisa Adair, calling from the University campus. There’s a shooter on the College of Social Work building’s roof… I know the clock tower is on fire, but the shooter…”
“What did they say?” Impatient, Alex shook her.
Marisa rammed her phone in her pocket. “They’re convinced the shooter is in the clock tower. They’ve gotten several calls and emails. They don’t realize the fire is a diversion and the criminal is on the roof of the Social Work building.” Marisa shrugged off his hands and sped through the grass to the Social Work structure.
“Marisa!” Alex threw up his hands in surrender. As he ran after her across the trimmed lawn, he shrugged into his jacket. “You never listen to me! Why do I even try to reason with you?”
“Can’t hear you, Alex! Come on.”
“That’s convenient, Marisa, you never hear me.” If he kept pursuing a relationship with Marisa Adair, Alex speculated, would he die first from a heart attack or a stroke? As staccato shots ripped the air, he increased his pace to keep up with her gazelle run. Or would he die from stray bullets first?
Cursing his own stupidity, he followed her trim, green-clad figure. The noon sun shone on her brown hair, setting the red highlights afire with its rays. Her legs were slim and athletic, a blur of movement as she ran across the lawn. She turned her head to look behind her. With her braid swinging and her brown eyes sparkling, she looked happy and carefree.
“Marisa, you’re enjoying yourself!” At the door of the college, Alex caught her arm and swung her around. “You gave up alcohol and painkillers and go to support group meetings…and now you’re addicted to adrenaline. That’s why you get involved in murders and tracking killers.”
Her chest heaving under her cream blouse, Marisa jerked at the door. “Damn! They must be on lock down.” She faced Alex. “Don’t be absurd. We get sucked into investigations by circumstances. We don’t look for trouble.”
Alex scanned the surrounding area. “Marisa, there’s a line between bravery and foolishness. Sometimes you cross that line.”
A white-haired woman pushed open the door. “Get inside!” Her glasses swung from a chain around her wrinkled neck and her body shook under the long flowered dress as she motioned them inside the building.
“Thank you.” Marisa grasped Alex’s hand and tugged him after her.
“I don’t think the building occupants are supposed to let people in when they’re on lock down.” Alex muttered a prayer as he followed her into the building.
* * * * *
Marisa tossed her phone to Alex as they climbed the stairs. “Any answer from Dreamus?”
He scrolled through her phone. “No missed calls or texts.” He handed the phone back to her as they paused at the door labeled ‘Roof’. “Marisa, if the shooter is on the roof, I don’t think it’s wise for us to rush in. We needed trained police officers to handle the situation.”
“The police don’t believe the threat is here,” Marisa argued. “If we don’t try, lives could die. At least by using the stairs, we won’t be exposed in the elevator doors as they open.” She turned the knob and eased open the heavy metal door.
A man and a woman warily circled the rifle lying between them. When Marisa gasped, they both swung toward the sound. The tall man was dressed in rumpled jeans and a wrinkled blue shirt, and his feet were encased in worn work boots. His face was white with strain and wet with perspiration. “Get back. If she gets the gun, she’ll kill us all.”
The woman’s ample chest heaved under her black polo shirt, e
mblazoned University Food Service. She shook her tangled red hair out of her round, flushed face. “He’s my crazy husband. He beats me. When I told him I wanted a divorce, he said he’d never let me go. He dragged me up here as his hostage! He started a fire at the clock tower as a diversion. He’s going to pick people off from here as they respond to the fire.”
Alex patted the air with soothing motions of his hands. “Let’s all calm down. Both of you back away from the gun.”
The man trembled. “Tamara drugged me. She brought me here in that steamer.” His hand shook as he pointed to the large metal cart pushed to the side. “I woke up sooner than she expected. She planned to shoot me ‘in self-defense’ and portray herself as a hero. She won’t have to deal with a divorce. As an added bonus, she’ll be famous. She thinks she’ll get tons of money from people who hear about her so-called heroics.”
“Brent is insane. If he gets that gun, then we’re all dead.” Tamara waved her hands. “He’ll keep going until the police stop him with a bullet. He’s desperate, because I’m leaving him, and he just lost his job because he threatened his supervisor.”
“I got laid off because the company never recovered from the economic downturn.” He inched closer to the rifle.
Tamara’s sturdy body mirrored his movements.
Marisa pulled her gun from the holster. “Alex, don’t get between my gun and them. We don’t know which of them is the bad guy.”
Alex pulled out his cell phone. He held it up on the tableau and clicked.
“Now is not the time to take photos for your online profile, Alex.” Marisa glared at him.
“I’m texting these pictures to Lieutenant Camden so he’ll send police officers to help.” Alex bent over his phone.
Brent darted a desperate glance at them. “Tamara posted on the Phiz Phase social networking website that her daughter had cancer. She used the ploy to get attention and donations. The police investigated, discovered her six-year-old daughter is healthy, and forced my wife to give back the money. I went to a psychologist, who said Tamara craves attention and money and will do anything to get it.”
