Murder Is No Accident

by A. H. Gabhart

  “Where is he?”

  Maggie pointed toward Michael slumped against the refrigerator and then ran to shut the back door. She turned the lock. Then she knelt by Michael and shook him. No response, but he was breathing. That was good.

  “Michael, wake up. Please.” Maggie looked for his radio, but it was gone. The man must have taken it. And Michael’s gun. A tremble swept through her at the thought of the gun. He’d shoot them all if he got out of the library.

  Miss Fonda tottered over to look down at Michael. “Don’t you think you should pull that off his face?”

  Maggie looked up at her. “Do you remember how to pray, Miss Fonda?”

  “Well, of course I remember how to pray. Our Father who art in heaven. My mother taught me the Lord’s Prayer when I was a little child.”

  “Deliver us from evil.” That was part of the prayer too. At the sound of broken glass from the front of the house, Maggie gave a little shriek. “Oh, dear Lord, please.”

  Miss Fonda said amen as Maggie jerked the tape off Michael’s eyes and mouth.

  36

  Michael had been in this place before. Dark, but somehow familiar. A voice was calling him back, but not Aunt Lindy’s voice the way it had been before. This was a young voice. Maybe Alex when she was fifteen. Wake up, Michael.

  But it wouldn’t be Alex. She had sent him away. He gave in to the dark again, but the voice chased after him. A panicked voice. He tried to open his eyes and couldn’t. Maybe it was all a dream. What if he had never come out of the coma when he was fifteen and his whole life was only one lived here in the darkness?

  No. He must have hit his head. He felt the ache. He tried to open his eyes again. They were glued shut. Was that someone praying? Aunt Lindy had prayed him out of the coma before. But this wasn’t Aunt Lindy. He knew the voice. If his head wasn’t pounding so hard. If he could open his eyes.

  It was a girl. He tried to reach out and touch her, but he couldn’t move his hands. Couldn’t open his eyes. Maybe he was paralyzed.

  Not paralyzed. Bound with something. Not rope. Maybe tape. A minute later tape was confirmed when it was ripped off his face. He blinked open his eyes. Maggie was kneeling beside him looking terrified as she ripped the tape off his mouth. Miss Fonda was standing behind her.

  He shook his head and set it to pounding even harder. Nothing was making sense. “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve got to get out of here. He’ll kill us.” Maggie looked ready to weep. “He has your gun.”

  At the word “gun,” Michael tried to jerk his hands free, but the tape held tight. “We need a knife.”

  Maggie started to stand up, but before she could, Miss Fonda stepped around her to open a drawer and pull out a butcher knife. “Will this do?” she asked.

  Michael twisted around so Maggie could slice through the layers of tape binding his hands. Her hands were shaking so much, he took the knife from her and freed his ankles. “Where is he?”

  “In the library. I pushed a chair and the couch against the door, but I heard glass breaking. He might get out the window.” Maggie took a quick look at Miss Fonda and lowered her voice to a whisper. “He was starting a fire. To burn the house down.”

  Miss Fonda didn’t appear to hear her. She was getting plates out of the cabinet. “You will all stay for dinner, won’t you?” She smiled over at them. “We can have pie.”

  Michael managed a smile her way. That seemed to satisfy her as she began humming and turned back to the cabinet. Michael pushed himself up to his feet and then had to grab hold of the table when his head started spinning. Maggie’s face faded away from him, as though she were falling into a tunnel, and for a second the blackness tried to grab him again. He fought it off.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I just heard them. I didn’t see anybody.”

  “Them?”

  “A man and a woman. She’s the one I heard when Mrs. Harper fell down the steps.”

  Miss Fonda dropped a dish on the floor and it shattered. “Audrey’s name was Carlson. Not Harper. She did fall, but it was Bradley’s fault. That she fell. All his fault.” She sank down in one of the kitchen chairs and stared at the glass shards at her feet. “And now I’ve broken her favorite dish.”

  Michael pulled in a breath. He had to forget the way his head was pounding and find something to use as a weapon. He had the knife, but it would do little good against a gun. The smell of smoke drifted back to the kitchen. He could almost hear the house crying along with Miss Fonda.

  He spotted a rolling pin on the cabinet. Again, not much help against an armed man, but all he had.

  “Time to get out of here.” He put a hand under Miss Fonda’s arm to pull her up.

  She refused to move. “I have to fix dinner.”

  He tried to think. “We have to go to the store. We’re out of eggs.”

  Miss Fonda sighed and got to her feet. “I can’t make a pie without eggs.”

  Somebody was trying to open the back door. Michael pointed Maggie toward the front. “Take Miss Fonda out that way. It’s closer to the grocery store.”

  Maggie looked in a panic, but she nodded and tried to get Miss Fonda to go with her. Miss Fonda refused to move. “That’s not the way.” She headed for the back door just as somebody began pushing on the knob.

  “Run, Maggie. I’ll take care of Miss Fonda.”

  The girl looked hesitant, but then a gunshot splintered the lock. Maggie took off toward the front door. Michael wanted to follow her, make sure she got out safely, but he couldn’t leave Miss Fonda, and the way his head was spinning he couldn’t carry her out. Michael pushed Miss Fonda over in front of the refrigerator.

  “Stay there,” he ordered. She looked upset but stayed put.

  He took up a position beside the door. Michael raised the rolling pin up and felt like an idiot. This wasn’t going to work.

  He needed to grab Miss Fonda and get out the front too. Get his rifle out of his car. Call for backup. Too late now. The door crashed open.

  Vernon Trent came through the door, Michael’s gun in hand. He ducked just as Michael brought down the rolling pin. Trent grunted as the blow glanced off his shoulder, but he didn’t go down. Michael grabbed for Trent’s arm that had the gun and knocked it away, but Trent was quick on his feet and whirled around to shove Michael against the wall. Another bump to the head. Dazed, Michael staggered toward the man, but Trent kicked him and Michael went down. Miss Fonda screamed. Michael scrambled for his gun and grasped it, but again, Trent was faster.

  He pulled a snub-nosed revolver out of his pocket and jerked Miss Fonda over in front of him. “Drop the gun.”

  Michael stared at Trent. “You’re in enough trouble without adding to it.”

  “In for one, in for a dozen. Little difference now.” The man put his hand on Miss Fonda’s neck. “I probably can take you both out at once. A little jerk here. A bullet there. All before you can get a shot off.” He tightened his hold and Miss Fonda whimpered.

  Michael dropped his gun.

  “Now if you’ll be so good as to stand up and pick up that painting behind you and carry it outside before the fire gets too advanced. It would be a shame for a van Gogh to perish in the flames. It could bring millions at auction.”

  “Where is it?” Michael pretended not to see the painting leaned against the wall.

  “I could just shoot you both and carry the painting out myself.” Trent’s voice was dry.

  Michael picked the painting up and held it in front of him. It wasn’t quite large enough to use as a shield, but he could hold it up to at least make Trent worry he might hit his million-dollar painting if he tried to shoot Michael. But that wouldn’t protect Miss Fonda. “This it? Doesn’t look like a million dollars to me.”

  “That’s because you’re a hayseed from Hidden Springs.”

  Trent must have loosened his hold on Miss Fonda, because she stepped away from him to peer at the painting of fishing boats. “That
was Father’s favorite, but Mother hated it. I haven’t seen it for years. I thought it was in the attic.”

  “So it was.” Trent kept the gun pointed at the old lady. “Too bad I didn’t have more time to explore the other castoffs up there, but I kept getting interrupted. Time to go now. I seem to smell smoke.” He took Miss Fonda’s arm.

  She frowned at him and tried to jerk free. “I don’t think I want to go with you.”

  “Makes no difference to me.” Trent raised the gun up.

  Michael shifted the painting to take Miss Fonda’s hand. “Come on, Miss Fonda. We need to take the painting outside where the light is better.”

  Michael was relieved when Miss Fonda moved toward the door. Outside he’d have more room to somehow get her out of the way and find a way to disarm Trent. Perhaps a million-dollar painting would make a good weapon. But where was the woman Maggie said was with Trent?

  Maggie hesitated as she went by the stairs. Smoke was drifting out into the hallway, burning her eyes. She choked back a cough and thought of her stories up in the tower room. She could run up there and get them before the fire spread. The thought of her notebook pages curling in the flames and turning black made her heart hurt. She shook her head and moved on to the front door. Her heart would hurt worse if the man shot Michael and Miss Fonda. She needed to get help.

  A dark-haired woman stood beside Michael’s cruiser. It had to be the other person. Maggie hesitated, but she couldn’t go back into the burning house.

  The woman ran toward her. “Where’s Michael?”

  She didn’t sound like the woman in the house, but who else could she be? Maggie tried to run past her, but the woman caught her.

  “Is he inside?” The woman looked as scared as Maggie felt.

  “You should know. You helped tie him up.” Maggie didn’t want the woman to know that Michael was free now. Maybe that would help Michael.

  The woman frowned and shook Maggie. “What are you talking about?” Her blue eyes looked toward the house. “Are you saying Michael is in there? Tied up?”

  The woman didn’t wait for an answer. She let go of Maggie and turned toward the house. Sirens sounded in town.

  “Wait.” Maggie grabbed the woman’s arm. Her voice wasn’t the same as the woman in the house. “Who are you?”

  The woman jerked away from her. “Stay here. I reported the fire. Help is on the way.”

  “Michael’s not tied up now. We cut him loose.” Maggie rushed out the words. “But don’t go in there. The man has a gun.”

  The woman looked back at Maggie, taking in her words. “I have to,” she said, then ran on up the steps to disappear into the house.

  Maggie stared after her. Then she sank down to the ground beside Michael’s cruiser and put her head in her hands. Miss Marble came from nowhere to climb in her lap and push her head against Maggie’s chin.

  37

  Michael looked around when he went out of the house, but no other person was in sight. Just Miss Fonda between him and Trent, who still had the gun trained on her as he backed down the porch steps. Michael considered throwing the painting at him, but every time he shifted to get a clearer path toward Trent, Miss Fonda stepped with him.

  Sirens were sounding. Maggie must have gotten to a neighbor’s house. Michael stared at Trent. “You might as well give up, Trent. No way for you to get away now.”

  “I make my own ways.” Trent pointed toward a tree next to the gate into the cemetery. “Set the painting down over there.”

  “I don’t think so.” Michael held the painting up in front of him. “I think I’ll just hold it right here.”

  The sirens were getting closer.

  “Do as I say or I’ll shoot the old lady.”

  Miss Fonda peered over at Michael, a lost look on her face.

  “All right.” Michael slowly moved toward the tree. Time was on his side. The sirens were getting closer.

  “Drop the gun!”

  Michael thought he had to be seeing things. Alex on the porch. With his gun pointed at Trent. A beautiful, terrifying sight.

  “I don’t know who you are.” Trent shifted his gun toward Alex. “But we can see which of us is the better shot.”

  Alex held the gun with both hands in a shooter’s stance, but would she pull the trigger soon enough? It wasn’t an easy thing to shoot a person point-blank without hesitation if you’d never done it before. Trent had done it before. Michael’s head was still spinning as he calculated how long it would take him to cover the distance between him and Trent. Too long. But the sirens ripping through the air were close now. That had to be making Trent uneasy, even if he showed no sign of that as he kept his gun steady, pointed at Alex.

  “Watch out!” Michael shouted at Alex when he saw movement in the door behind her. Too late. The woman rammed her shoulder into Alex like a football blocker. Alex went down hard. The gun bounced on the steps and into the grass. She scrambled after it, but the woman leaped in front of her to pick it up and hand it to Trent. Alex sat up, looking as dazed as Michael felt.

  “Timely, Felicia.” Trent put his gun back in his pocket and pointed Michael’s gun at Miss Fonda again. “Now grab that painting and let’s get out of here.”

  “Felicia?” Michael stared at her, not wanting to believe she was mixed up with Trent.

  She kept her gaze downcast as she took the painting from him. “I’m sorry, Michael.”

  “You don’t have to do this.” He reached to touch her arm. “It’ll go better for you if you give yourself up.”

  “Don’t listen to him, girl. All the nice deputy has for you is a ticket to prison,” Trent said. “Now, hurry it up. Company’s coming and I’d just as soon not be here to greet them.”

  Miss Fonda picked then to have a moment of clarity. “Felicia. Thank you for bringing Father’s picture down from the attic. There’s a perfect place for it in the hallway.” She stepped over and reached for the painting. “You are such a blessing to me.”

  Tears welled up in Felicia’s eyes. “I can’t give it back to you, Miss Fonda.”

  Miss Fonda frowned and clutched the top of the painting. “Of course you can. It’s mine.”

  “Enough is enough,” Trent said. “Get out of the way, Felicia. Time to end this nonsense.”

  Michael lunged for Trent as he leveled the gun at Miss Fonda.

  “No!” Felicia jumped between the old lady and Trent. The gun went off and Felicia screamed and fell.

  The next second, Michael hit Trent and wrestled the gun away from him. He knocked the man to the ground and kept a knee on his back as he pulled his arms behind him. The man roared and fought against him, but Michael pressed down harder to immobilize him.

  Out front the fire truck sirens went silent, replaced by water hitting the house. The red-and-white flicker of emergency lights lit up the surroundings. Then more sirens were sounding. Lester or maybe Buck or city policeman, Paul Osgood. Michael didn’t care who. He needed backup.

  “Vernon Trent, you’re under arrest for murder, theft, and arson. That’ll get us started.” Michael read Trent his rights with one eye on Felicia huddled on the ground beside them. She groaned as red spread across her shirt.

  Then Alex was beside Felicia, carefully easing back Felicia’s shirt to look at the wound.

  “It hurts,” Felicia moaned. “Am I going to die?”

  “Not if you stay still and do as you’re told.” Alex yanked off her sweater and folded it to press against Felicia’s shoulder.

  Michael kept his hold on Trent as he stared over at Alex. “What are you doing here?”

  “Not glad to see me?” Her eyes met his.

  “Not with a gun pointed at you.” At the thought of Trent threatening to shoot Alex, Michael tightened his hold on the man, who let out a yell. Michael paid no attention to Trent’s protests and kept his eyes on Alex.

  “Later,” Alex said. “Right now a woman is bleeding. A man needs arresting, and a house is burning down.”

  “A
nd an old lady is heading back into that house.” Michael spotted Miss Fonda tottering toward the house, carrying the painting. “Miss Fonda, wait.”

  Before Alex could stand up to go after her, Maggie came around the house with one of the firemen on her heels.

  “Stop her.” Alex pointed toward Miss Fonda.

  The fireman went after Miss Fonda, but the old lady dug in her heels. “Let go of me. I have to hang Father’s painting in the front room.”

  Maggie ran over to her. “Here, Miss Fonda. Let me carry that for you.” She took the painting from Miss Fonda. “You need to tell me about this painting. Are these fishing boats?”

  As she and the fireman led the old woman away from the house, Lester showed up, panting a little. “What do you want me to do, Michael?”

  “Give me your handcuffs.” Lester would have his with him. He never went out unprepared, even if he rarely met crime firsthand. “Where’s the kid?”

  “I got him.” Lester unhooked his cuffs and handed them to Michael who snapped them on Trent’s wrists and pulled him up off the ground. “He’s out in the car with his dog. Is that Mr. Trent, Betty Jean’s boyfriend?”

  “Yes and no. Trent. Not Betty Jean’s boyfriend.”

  Felicia spoke up. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  Lester gave her a funny look. “But what about Sonny?”

  “He’s dead,” Felicia said.

  Alex looked at Lester and then Felicia. “This place is a circus.”

  But Alex was smiling and breathing. They were all breathing.

  Maggie held Bertie and dared Jesse to move away from her side as they watched the firemen put out the fire. She didn’t say them aloud, but she thought a lot of prayers. Some of it still felt like her fault. If she hadn’t come looking for Jesse. If she had called somebody instead. Why did she always think she could do things herself?

  She didn’t want the house to burn down. And not just because that meant she’d lose her stories. Miss Fonda would lose so much more. All her things. Her memories. While she didn’t remember things happening now, she did remember times in her house. Mrs. Gibson had come after Miss Fonda and taken her back to the home. She’d taken the painting with her. The one that man said was worth millions. Just some boats, but Mrs. Gibson said it might be a van Gogh. Maggie had read about him.