by Roslyn Woods
“That’s right, little pig,” said Jeremy, “open the door and let me in! Give me the money, and even if the cops take me in, I’ll keep your dirty little secret.”
“Why should I believe that?”
“Because it’s in my best interests. I need the income you’re going to inherit from Dori’s death. I won’t get anything if old Irving gets a lethal injection. Not that I wouldn’t tell if you decided to drop me, because at least then I’d get the pleasure of seeing him get his due punishment.”
“He’s not so bad, Jeremy.”
“Aw, that’s sweet!” He was mocking her now. “You’re defending the old guy who killed someone so he could inherit her money and have a younger version of the same model! Have you ever noticed how you kinda look like her?” Yes, he was enjoying himself.
“Shut up, Jeremy!”
“You do! Though, and I hate to say it, I never thought you were as pretty as Dori was. Not even close, really. I mean, she was getting old, but she was a real beauty. Truth be told, I’d have been glad to have her myself! She was a real head-turner. And you, you’re not exactly a babe, if you know what I mean. All anyone would ever call you is maybe cute. But you’re young! At least you’ve got that going for you!”
“I said, shut up, Jeremy!”
“Let me in and give me the money,” he said, his voice controlled, but she could tell his anger was building. Maybe it was like that for him. Maybe he was the kind of crazy that slowly built up to a boiling point and then all hell broke loose.
Lacy unlatched the door and Jeremy opened it.
“Here it is,” she said, handing him an envelope. “He can’t get any more for a while without being noticed. You’re just going to have to wait for the next one.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you in February then.”
“Okay,” she said. “Late February.”
“Maybe. You’re not calling the shots, Lacy, so you’d better get that through your head.”
Chapter 34
There was obviously a lot of tension in the air between Margie and Donald, and Shell wanted to give them enough time to work it out. Not wanting to interrupt them, she drove to her apartment, packed a few things in an overnight bag, and drove back to Margie’s house without texting her.
Upon her arrival, she was greeted by the ferocious barks of Tabitha through the front door. She unlocked it and carried her things in. “Hi, sweet doggie!” she said as Tabitha jumped on her shins and wagged her tail. “Hi, baby! Let me lock the door and put my stuff down in the guest room! In a sec I’ll let you out back to go potty.”
She turned the deadbolt on the door and flicked on the overhead light before carrying her things into the second bedroom and dropping her pack and overnight bag on the bed. She turned on the lamp and surveyed the room. It was small, but it was clean and tidy. Margie kept a desk in here with her laptop and a chair she had borrowed from the dinette. It will do for a few days as a comfortable landing spot, Shell thought.
It’s really cold in here, she noted as she returned to the living room, Tabitha at her heels. Which makes perfect sense. It was still January, after all, and Margie had said she was going to turn the heater down to fifty-five. Shell went over to the thermostat and turned it up to sixty-eight before she picked Tabitha up and carried her into the kitchen.
“I know there are treats in here, because your mommy bought some, and you’ll get one when you come back in.”
She turned on the back porch light, opened the door, and put Tabitha down. The dog ran out and began exploring the back lawn. It was cold, and Shell decided to shut the door for a few minutes, thankful that the backyard was securely fenced. Give her a few minutes, she thought. Through the window over the kitchen sink she could see her running around the yard, her first time to run and play all day.
And now I’ll make some tea and text Margie. She put water in the kettle and turned on the burner before going into the guest room to find her phone. In a moment she was seated back at the dinette texting.
I’m at your house. I didn’t take me as long as I thought and I decided I’d give you and Donald some time to finish dinner. Tabitha and I are warming up the house and I’m making a cup of tea.
She was starving. That little ruse to leave Margie and Donald alone meant she’d had no dinner. Maybe I’ll have a bowl of cereal, she thought, heading to the pantry. She was just filling a bowl with Cheerios when her phone dinged. Of course it was Margie.
I can’t believe you did that! You weren’t supposed to go to the house alone at night! It will take us a few to pay the bill and get over there.
Shell typed back, Sorry. I’m fine till you get here. Then she went back to the fridge and got the milk out.
She had only eaten two bites when she heard Tabitha yapping at the back door, so she went to let her in. The dog ran straight through the kitchen and into the living room where she continued her yapping at the front door. It was a furious amount of energy she was expending, jumping on the door and growling between sharp barks.
It was too soon to be Margie and Donald. Margie had just texted. A chill went up Shell’s spine and the hair on her arms stood up. Who was Tabitha barking at? She went over and looked through the peephole, but she couldn’t see anyone. She moved to the window and separated the slats of the blinds with her fingers, hoping for just a peek at the front porch. Yes, someone appeared to be squatted at the front door. He seemed to be making an attempt at picking the lock.
She hurried back into the kitchen and checked the back door to make sure she had turned the deadbolt. Relief! She had. Behind her she continued to hear a strange scratching sound at the front door between Tabitha’s barks.
Where is my phone? Where had she put it? Where? There it was on the dinette. She hurried over and began texting Margie.
Jeremy is here. He’s trying to get in. She hit send and dialed 9-1-1. An operator answered rather quickly.
“Hello. Where are you located?”
“I’m on Second Street near Chicon,” she said and rattled off the house number.
“Can you be reached at the number you’re calling from?”
“Yes.”
“What is the nature of the disturbance?”
“There’s a man trying to get into the house I’m in.”
“How is he trying to get in?”
“He seems to be trying to pick the lock on the front door, but I’m afraid he’ll get tired of that and just kick the door in.”
“Do you know who the person is?”
“I think so. I’m in my best friend’s house, and I think the person outside is her ex. There is a restraining order against him.”
“Does he have a weapon?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea!”
“Don’t get off the line ma’am. A car is in your area and will be there soon. Don’t panic. Go to a secure location where the intruder is unlikely to find you should he get into the house.”
“There is no secure location.”
“How about a closet? Could you hide behind clothes in a closet?”
“I think that’s unlikely with the dog here. She’ll just keep barking if I take her with me, and I’m not leaving her.”
“Just stay on the line ma’am.”
“Right. He’s going to get in! I’m putting the phone in my pocket.”
“Just don’t hang up. Help is on the way.”
Tabitha did keep barking, and Jeremy kept scratching. In a moment she heard him swear. Yes, it was him. Why was he trying to pick the lock? What did he want? Margie’s car wasn’t here, so she wasn’t here as far as he knew. Shell herself had parked across the street between some other cars, and she doubted he had noticed hers. He had probably expected to find the house empty.
The scratching sound stopped. Footsteps. What was he doing?
In a moment she heard a loud noise at the side of the house, something hitting the fence. He was breaking the latch on the gate, and she was pretty sure she could hear the padlock clinking
as the screws were ripped from the fence and the gate flew open. Only seconds, and there was pounding on the back door.
The kettle was about to whistle, and she turned off the burner, noticing the cast iron skillet that Margie had left on the stove. She picked it up. What was she thinking? She couldn’t fight a man as big as Jeremy. She set the skillet on the dinette beside her bowl of cereal and faced the door.
There it was again! What was he using? A big hammer? He was getting in. In a moment the door frame would break against the pounding. Tabitha was barking and growling at the back door now, and Shell hurried over and picked her up. The last thing she wanted was for Jeremy to hurt the dog when the door broke in.
And then there was one more loud whack and the door was opened amid a spray of splintering wood. She just stood there looking, her only defense, the minuscule canine in her arms.
“Shell!” he said, looking surprised.
“Hello, Jeremy,” she said, a strange calm in her voice as she stroked the head of the small, growling creature.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m staying with Margie. What are you doing here?”
He glared at her, a fiery look in his eyes Shell had never seen before. She tried to sound normal when she spoke, “I asked what you’re doing here, Jeremy. And why didn’t you knock?”
“You know you wouldn’t have let me in, Shell.” There was an odd, breathy anger in his voice. He was seething.
“I don’t know that at all,” she said. Just keep him talking.
“Yeah, you do.” He pushed past her and went into the living room, looking anxiously around, turning on the unlit lamps.
“What are you looking for? Maybe I can help you,” she said.
“Shut up, Shell.”
“Let me help you find what you’re looking for,” she repeated. “I’ll be glad to help you find it because I’d like for you to leave.”
“Okay, I’m looking for a video tape.”
“A video tape?”
“You know which tape I’m looking for, Shell. It’s the one Margie got from the bakery.”
“Oh, that video tape! Actually, they just call them tapes, Jeremy.” Do I have to sound so condescending? “They’re not really tapes anymore. They’re digital recordings now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Surveillance is recorded digitally now, Jeremy. Margie has a recording, but it’s digital. It isn’t a video tape.”
“Well, whatever,” he said, doubtfully. “I need it.”
“Sure. My guess is it’s in the guest bedroom next to her computer.”
He brushed past her again, knocking into the dog just enough that she was able to wriggle out of Shell’s arms and hit the floor in a run as she chased after Jeremy, barking and growling at his heels. Shell could hear him switching on the light. “Where!” he shouted. “God dammit, Shell, where is the damn thing?”
She walked slowly into the room, her phone in her shirt pocket, the line still open, the operator not speaking. “It’s gotta be here somewhere,” she said, conscious that Tabitha was on the other side of Jeremy now, out of her reach.
“What does it look like? Dammit, Shell, you stupid bitch! Tell me now before I have to hurt you.”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic, Jeremy! There it is!” she said, pointing at the flash drive in the side of the laptop on the desk.
“What are you pointing at?”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” she said, pulling the flash drive from the side of the computer. “Here it is. Take it!” she said, tossing it to him. “Now you’ve got the recording.”
“You’re sure it’s on here?”
“Yes! Don’t you know anything about computers? The recording is on that little stick.”
She could see that he was beginning to understand his mistake. He wasn’t taking anything from anyone by stealing a flash drive. The video had been downloaded onto the drive from somewhere else, and there wasn’t any way to keep it from the police.
“Shut up, bitch!” he said. “You don’t get to talk to me like I’m a kid.”
“Okay, whatever. I just helped you, so I don’t know why you’re being so ungrateful. You’ve broken into Margie’s house and threatened me and all I’ve done is help you.”
She turned and walked away from him, “Come on, Tabitha. Time for your biscuit!” she called and headed for the kitchen, hoping against hope the dog would follow.
But Tabitha stayed at Jeremy’s ankles, barking, growling, and nipping every little bit.
Jeremy followed Shell into the kitchen, ignoring Tabitha for the moment.
“Come on, Tabitha! Here’s your biscuit!” she said again. Please come, Tabitha!
“Just so you know,” said Jeremy, “I’ve always hated you.”
For the first time, Shell looked at Jeremy and thought it was actually possible that he had killed Doris Leone. She could see the anger in him, the way he had lost all perspective.
“Well, thanks for your honesty, Jeremy,” she said standing beside the dinette. “I guess we’ve had our differences,” she answered coolly, wishing every moment that Tabitha would move away from him, but the dog wasn’t moving. Keep him distracted from Tabitha. Keep talking. “I mean,” she continued, “I like representational art best. I even like some conceptual stuff, just not yours.”
“I’m not the only person who doesn’t like representational art,” he said. “Lacy hates it, for example. And she hates your paintings, doesn’t think you’ve got any talent at all.”
“Yeah, well that’s her right. I’m not all that impressed with her skills either.”
“She paints with a knife. Can you?” he asked. She knew he was paying her back for her condescension about the flash drive and his painting, but she was suddenly conscious of Margie’s knife block on the counter behind her.
“I suppose I’d like to learn, but I admit I’m pretty inexperienced with a palette knife.”
“Maybe I could teach you,” he said, smiling threateningly, glancing at the knife block behind her. “I haven’t worked with a knife as much as Lacy has, but I might be a natural.”
Tabitha just kept on with growling and nipping at Jeremy’s ankles. Distract him. “Do you know anyone who consistently paints with a knife?” Shell asked.
“Only Lacy. She’s got hundreds of knives. She says they’re fast. Fast and sharp.”
“Well, that’s nice, Jeremy. Maybe she’ll teach you. I just hope you have more success with a palette knife than you’ve had with a brush.”
She realized she might have gone too far when he suddenly stepped backwards over Tabitha. He drew his foot back and gave the dog a hard kick.
She flew a few feet, a horrible squealing sound coming from her as she landed against a lower kitchen cabinet and fell to the floor, a heap of whimpering fur.
Jeremy was walking past Shell toward the dog as if to kick her again, and Shell didn’t know what came over to her. She found herself lifting the cast iron skillet and swinging it at him, making contact with the back of his head. There was a strange thud, and he fell to the floor beside the dog.
“You asshole!” she heard herself saying, and she lifted the skillet as if to hit him again.
Just then there was the sound of shouting on the porch and keys in the lock of the front door. Jeremy was somehow getting up and staggering toward the gaping backdoor.
“Bitch!” he said, and he was gone.
Chapter 35
Margie couldn’t believe Shell was inside the house with Jeremy. She fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking as she finally turned the lock and Donald hurried past her.
“Shell!” he was shouting. “Where is he?”
Margie was barely behind him. “Oh, Shell! What’s happened?”
Her friend’s face was streaming with tears as she bent over Tabitha. “He kicked her, Margie! It’s all my fault! I goaded him. I made fun of him, and instead of coming after me he hurt baby Tabitha!”
The d
og was continuing to whimper, and Margie crouched on the floor beside Shell, examining the canine as she continued to ask questions. “Are you okay, Shell?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine, but Tabitha isn’t.”
“Where did he go?” Donald asked.
“Out the back door,” Shell answered. “I hit him with the skillet and he fell. Then when we heard you on the porch he managed to get up and run.”
Donald didn’t say anything but ran out the back while Shell and Margie tried to figure out if it would be damaging to move the dog.
“Did you call nine-one-one?” Margie asked.
“Yeah. Right after I texted you,” she said. “I’m so sorry! I’m afraid he’s really, really hurt her, Margie!”
“Maybe. Let’s just try to be calm. We’ll have to find a way to lift her and take her to the animal hospital. They can examine her, take an ultrasound or something. I’m worried about internal damage or a broken back.”
Just then Tabitha wagged her tail briefly. “Oh,” said Shell, “she’s glad you’re here, Margie.”
In another minute, Tabitha was standing up and walking gingerly around the kitchen.
“Is it possible the breath was just knocked out of her?” Margie asked.
“I don’t know. Anything’s possible, I guess. I still want to take her to the vet. At the very least, she’s gotta be badly bruised. There could be internal bleeding.”
“We know her back isn’t broken at least, but you’re right,” said Margie. “I think we better get her checked out.”
“Maybe her life has toughened her up,” Shell said hopefully as Tabitha wagged her tail for a brief moment. “One thing about dogs, they sometimes forget what they’ve experienced rather quickly.”
“Or they just can’t tell us what they’re thinking,” said Margie. “I never thought I could hate Jeremy the way I do now.”
“I gave him your flash drive with the pictures of your cake decorating contest.”
“What? Why?”
“He thought it was the surveillance recording from the bakery.”
“Good job, Shell! Pete hasn’t given me the recording yet. Are you sure you’re okay? Were you scared?”
