Chapter 44
Diane stood in the doorway of the living room watching across the small slate-tiled foyer as Frank, Gregory, and Star made temporary repairs to the door so they could secure it for the night. Actually, Frank and Gregory worked on the door. Star supervised and entertained.
“So, Marguerite tells me you want to be a lawyer,” Gregory said to Star as he held the door while Frank settled it on its hinges.
The door was patched with lumber Frank had in the garage. Tomorrow he would get a new door—probably have workmen come out and replace the wood doorframe with steel.
“Yes,” answered Frank, before Star could say anything. “It will be a partnership. Diane and I will put them away, and Star will get them out.”
The three of them laughed. Diane smiled at them having such fun repairing a door knocked down by predators. The fact that the predators were after her wasn’t lost on her.
“I was lucky,” said Star. “I had Uncle Frank and Diane when I was accused. A lot of people don’t have anyone.”
Frank looked up at Diane and smiled, as if he’d sensed her presence.
“You look like the cat who’s discovered how to open the refrigerator,” said Frank.
“I know what’s going on. I know what Oliver was concerned about and what Simone was investigating . . . just not the who,” said Diane.
Gregory almost dropped the door. Star moved quickly to help him catch it.
“What? How did you find out?” he said. “You discovered this since we got here?”
“I called Martine,” she said.
Frank and Gregory slipped the door firmly on the hinge. Gregory and Star stepped away so Frank could check the drag. He moved the door back and forth.
“She spoke with you?” asked Gregory.
“I’ll go make us some hot chocolate and we’ll talk,” said Diane.
As she turned, her left shoulder burned at the same time a loud report filled the room with startling noise. Diane fell back against a small table, going down with it and several of Star’s porcelain figurines she had brought back from Paris.
Frank had been behind the door, adjusting the hinges. He slammed it closed at the sound. Gregory was pushing Star back from the door and to the floor, shielding her with his body.
“Star! Diane!” shouted Frank.
“I’m all right,” shouted Star.
Gregory shoved her away from the front wall of the house and she crawled to an inner wall and sat with her back to it, drawing up her legs, making herself small. She had her cell phone out, punching 911.
Frank hurried in a half crouch toward Diane.
“High-powered,” Gregory said. “Stay away from the front wall, everybody.”
“Diane,” said Frank.
“I’m okay,” she said. “Just really pissed off and, shit, I burned my shoulder on something.”
“Damn,” said Frank. “You’re shot. Don’t move.”
Diane put a hand on her deltoid and came away with blood on it.
“I’m all right,” she said. “I may have cut myself on the glass.”
Frank reached around her and helped her off with her jacket and pulled back her blouse.
“You’ve been creased by a bullet,” he said. “Gregory, look after her. I’m getting my gun.”
“I’m really all right,” said Diane.
To prove it, she stood and righted the table and started picking up Star’s figurines of dancing ladies in fancy dresses.
“Sit down on the rug here, near the sofa,” said Gregory, leading her to the couch.
Diane heard Star on the phone with 911.
“No, I’m not in the panic room this time. Yes, I’ll keep the line open. I think Diane Fallon has been shot; she’s bleeding. I’m all right, just mad as hell and really tired of this. I’m putting you on my Twitter account.”
Diane smiled. “Really, it’s nothing,” she said to Gregory. “What is Frank doing?”
“Getting armed,” said Gregory. “We don’t know what is going on. I’m going to move you and Star to the safe room and help Frank.”
“I’m fine here,” said Diane. “Get Star into the room. She’s still out in the foyer. Where is Frank? I don’t hear him.”
“Don’t worry about that now. Just put your hand over my handkerchief here and hold it firmly. I’ll get Star, though she seems to have more presence of mind than the rest of us,” he said.
Diane put a hand over her shoulder and held it tight on the handkerchief covering her wound. Really it wasn’t that bad, she thought. The bullet just brushed past her shoulder, cutting it along the way. She doubted she even needed stitches.
She knew where Frank was. He’d taken his gun from the safe and gone outside to look for the shooter. She would go help, but he would not be expecting it and might become distracted. But she wasn’t going to just sit here and worry. She stood and went to the safe and retrieved her own gun and an extra.
“Star,” Diane said, when she came into the living room. “Get into the safe room and stay there.”
“The police are on their way,” said Star.
“I know, but I need you in the safe room. Okay?” said Diane.
Star nodded.
“I’m going into the safe room now,” she said into the phone. “No, the others are staying out here. I don’t know what they are going to do. They are all with law enforcement though . . . I’ll tell them.”
“The nine-one-one lady doesn’t want you to do anything rash,” said Star as she went into the safe room and closed the door.
Diane gave Gregory the extra gun.
“I don’t know if they plan to rush the house,” she said. “We need to be prepared. And don’t look at me like that. I’m fine. You wouldn’t be worried if I’d simply cut myself on the shoulder. That’s what it is, just a scrape. And I’m sorry about the hospitality. Here in the South, we usually do much better.”
Diane went through the house turning off the lights in the front rooms. She went into one of the front bedrooms and looked out the window through the curtains without touching them. She didn’t see any movement. The street-lights hadn’t been shot out or extinguished in any way. That was a good sign. It seemed to her that any long-term campaign to lay siege to the house would include knocking out the lights.
Gregory had gone to another room toward the back of the house to look out the windows there. He came back, shaking his head.
“It’s quiet,” he whispered.
Diane listened. All she heard was the sound of the refrigerator, clocks ticking, and miscellaneous road noises. Diane felt hot and her arm started to throb. Stop, she willed, it’s not hurt that bad.
She and Gregory waited in the living room. She was afraid to move, afraid to even make the floor squeak. She listened for sirens and wondered if they would come in silent. She wondered if Izzy, Neva, David, or Jin heard the call and were also on their way. She wondered what Frank was doing.
The sound of gunfire made her jump.
Chapter 45
“That was gunfire . . .” Star ran from the safe room to where Diane and Gregory were standing, stumping her toe in the dark. “Ow, damn. I heard gunfire. Uncle Frank is out there!”
“You are supposed to be in the safe room with the door closed,” said Diane.
“I thought you guys might have to run in real quick and, besides, I can’t hear anything from in there.”
“I know that sound—it was a Glock,” said Gregory, “not a rifle. What kind of weapon does Frank use?”
“Nine-millimeter Glock,” said Diane.
“That means Uncle Frank is okay. Right?” asked Star.
“I’m sure he is,” said Diane. She wasn’t sure. She trusted Frank, but these guys were bold and vicious. She had no doubt they were the same ones who set the Mayan Room on fire just to cover their tracks. Her mind was racing to come up with a plan that wouldn’t put Frank at greater risk trying to protect her if she went out to look for him.
“Let’s go see,�
�� said Star.
Diane shook her head. “If we go out there, too many things can go wrong. It could put him in more danger.”
“But we can’t just wait,” said Star. “The other guy might have a Glock too, and maybe it was his gun we heard. My dad might need help.”
She was right. Diane had to do something. She could go out the back door, stay close to the house, and . . .
She was about to tell Gregory what she planned to do when the doorbell rang. Five times—two short, one long, a short, and a long.
Diane exhaled. “That’s Frank,” she said.
She turned on the lights and opened the door. Frank stood on the porch with a policeman in tow. The policeman—the young one who replaced Izzy—nodded. Diane noticed he had Frank’s gun in his left hand, holding it upside down by the trigger guard. She told him she and Gregory were armed, so he wouldn’t get jumpy when he saw all the guns inside.
“Everything’s all right now, ma’am,” he said. “You can put your guns away.”
Diane looked at Frank. She wanted to hear from him that everything was all right. He looked grim, but gave her the slightest of smiles. She stepped aside to let them enter.
She imagined they would have to answer questions. She hugged Frank and kissed his cheek. He held her tightly around the waist, lingering. He had killed whoever it was. She could feel it in him.
The man may have deserved it, but it’s not an easy thing to kill another human being. They stepped back from each other and, while Frank led the policeman to the living room, she took her and Gregory’s guns and put them back in the safe.
Star embraced Frank and wouldn’t let go of his waist.
“You okay?” she said. “I heard a shot. Is someone out there? Is it the guy who shot Diane? Is he dead? Did an ambulance come for Diane? If he’s out there lying in the grass, can I go kick him?”
Frank looked at her and smiled. “I’m fine,” he said.
Star and Frank sat down on the couch. The policeman sat opposite them. Gregory stood back in the shadows near the wall.
“The paramedics just drove up, ma’am. He said you’re shot?” the policeman asked.
“It’s not serious,” Diane said. “The bleeding is almost stopped. I’m sure it’ll just need a butterfly bandage.”
The doorbell rang again, and as she went to answer it, she saw that the bullet that creased her shoulder had hit a photograph of her and Ariel.
“That damn son of a bitch,” she said with such force that they all stared at her.
Frank jumped to his feet. “Diane, are you all right?”
Star and the policeman looked startled. Gregory had already noticed the photograph.
“The photograph of me and Ariel. Damn it. The bullet hit it. Damn him. Damn him.”
She picked up the picture and rubbed her thumb over Ariel’s face, cutting her finger on the broken glass. The bullet blew Diane out of the photograph, leaving a ragged edge beside Ariel.
Frank came over and embraced her.
“Who are those people? Why do they want me dead?” It came out sounding more teary than she had intended.
“We are going to find out,” said Frank. “Let the paramedics in. I’ll speak to the policeman.”
Diane nodded, walked over, and opened the door. Two paramedics were standing on the porch with their cases in their hands. They were the same ones who had come several months ago, after the last intruder. They must think her a magnet for homicidal maniacs. They would be right.
“Someone has a gunshot wound?” one of them said.
“Me,” said Diane. “It’s not bad.”
She led them to the kitchen and let them tend to the wound. She could hear the voices in the other room but not what they were saying. She wanted more to hear what Frank was saying than to have her wound looked at. But she stayed and let them clean and tend to it.
“You’re right,” the paramedic said. “It’s not too bad. Just a deep graze. We can close it with a butterfly. Are you up-to-date on your tetanus?”
“Yes,” she said. “I do a lot of caving. I stay up-to-date on things like that.”
“That’s good, ma’am. I thought about caving once,” he said as he was treating the wound. “I’m a little bit claustrophobic. I understand that’s not too good for caving.”
“No, not too,” she said.
They finished with her and packed up their kits.
“Let a doctor see that in a couple of days,” he said. “But I don’t think you’ll have any trouble. Someone shot you here in your house?”
“They shot from a distance, through the open door. I was turning, or it might have been a different outcome,” she said.
“Now, that’s just plain wrong,” said the other paramedic.
“It is. People should be safe in their homes,” she said.
“You got that right. See a doctor right away if it starts to bother you.” He paused. “Your finger’s bleeding. Did the bullet hit you there too?”
“No, I cut it on some glass that broke. This hasn’t been my night,” said Diane. “It’s not bad. I’ll wash it off and put some Neosporin on it.”
The paramedics left and Diane went back to the living room to listen. She had missed most of Frank’s story. What she did hear was that Frank shot him when he turned the rifle on Frank. That frightened her. It could have been Frank that was shot. All this—Star was attacked and scared to death, Frank was almost killed, his home was damaged by a battering ram and gunfire—she had brought it all to his doorstep. She felt sick.
An arm slipped gently around her shoulders. It was Gregory. He was careful not to touch her wound.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“Not really,” she said. “The wound is nothing. It’s just . . . look what I’ve brought down on Frank and Star.”
“I don’t think it was you wielding the rifle or the battering ram,” he said. “We’ll figure this out. I’m eager to find out what you discovered from Martine.”
Diane saw more lights shining from outside. Another car.
“Can it wait until the police leave?” she said.
“Of course,” he said.
“We’re probably going to have more company,” she said. “Garnett will probably come by. That’s likely to be him now. I expect David to show up. I need to examine the grounds in the morning.”
“Why don’t you let one of your people do that?” said Gregory.
Just as she started to answer, the doorbell rang again.
“I’ll get it,” said Gregory. “You go sit down by Frank and Star.”
Diane nodded. She took a seat by Star and grabbed her hand. Star squeezed it back.
“We’ll need you to come down and make a formal statement tomorrow,” said the policeman.
“Sure,” said Frank.
Gregory came into the room with Garnett. Garnett opened his mouth to speak, but all that any of them heard was an explosion.
Chapter 46
The hotel was a three-story rectangle, painted a mustard yellow with red trim. It was a popular building color in Benjamin Constant, Maria had noticed. Inside the lobby was a painted cement and wood decor. A few wooden chairs and tables with brightly colored tablecloths in blues, yellows, and reds lined the walls. The lobby was simple and clean. And there were lots of people, some of whom she had seen on the tour boat. It made her feel normal and safe. But, she reminded herself, it was an illusion. They were not yet safe.
She spotted the Swedish couple who had rescued them from the forest. They smiled and waved. Hanna, the young woman, came over.
“Looks like you two have been shopping,” she said.
Maria nodded. “Couldn’t resist some clean clothes and things from the market. Charming shops, lots of souvenirs.”
“Yes, real local feel. We are eating at a lovely open-air restaurant at a pond this evening. Join us. It is not a half mile from here,” Hanna said. “Easy walk.”
Maria smiled and looked at Rosetta.
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sp; “What about it? Do you think I can get clean in time to go out and eat? Would you like that?”
Rosetta smiled and nodded.
“Good. Seven?” said Hanna. “We meet here. Patrik is going to find wheels. Perhaps we don’t have to walk, but is good weather, yes?”
Personally, Maria would like very much to not walk, but less than half a mile wasn’t far. She also wanted to skip dinner out and just stay in their room. But she thought acting normal and nonsecretive would give a better impression to anyone who might think the drawing on the flyer looked like her.
“I need to get a room,” said Maria. She looked at the crowd. “I hope there is one left.”
“I think they have plenty of rooms,” said Hanna.
Hanna wandered off to speak with other people from the boat. Maria was glad not to have to talk anymore. She wanted to appear normal and friendly, but she didn’t want to have to answer too many questions. She realized that when they got to their room, she was going to have to give Rosetta a crash course in grandparents’ names, schools, and American culture. All in a few hours. She was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea.
She saw people having to show their passports at the hotel desk. Damn. She thought for a minute, watching people checking in. Not everyone showed a passport. Of course, if you lived in Brazil, you didn’t have to. She thought for a moment longer. What was the name of some of the towns she saw on the map . . . a town she could say she lived in. It was her turn to check in.
Rosetta was barely tall enough to see above the counter. She put her hands on the edge and stood on her toes.
“We’re up from Río de Sangue,” said Maria. “Maria R. West and daughter.” Maria put twice the amount of money the room cost on the counter.
The woman behind the counter took her money, counted out the price of the room, and gave the rest back.
“One night?” she said.
Maria was glad the clerk spoke English. She didn’t want Rosetta to speak anything but English if they could help it. It felt as if their safety depended on illusion now. It was important to keep it up . . . to live it.
One Grave Less Page 24
