Nowhere to Hide

by Carlene Thompson

  He shut off the car, opened the door, and stepped out. As soon as he closed the door, a powerful force slammed him against it, knocking the wind out of him. A strong arm encased in black wrapped around his neck, jerking back his head as a body pushed him so hard against the car he couldn’t move. His heart pounding, Will gasped, “Dillon?”

  A deep-throated, eerie laugh sounded in his ear. “Poor Melody is in prison. I’m sure she dreams about you every night. Do you dream about her?”

  “Please. I…I…”

  The front door of the house opened and Evelyn Addison called out, “Will? Willie, is that you, honey?”

  “Mama looking out for her baby,” the awful voice said in his ear. “She has to because you’re always too drunk to take care of yourself. I have a piece of advice, although it’s coming too late for you—when you have a guilty conscience, never turn your back.”

  The arm around his throat loosened. Just as he started to yell for help, a knife slid fast and deep across his throat. Blood spurted, but Will Addison felt no pain. Time seemed suspended. He gazed up and saw the stars. He closed his eyes and he saw Catherine Gray’s face. Then he saw Gretchen’s old, tired, knowing look and he groaned softly. Evelyn called again just as his attacker let go of him and Will’s dying body crumpled limply to the cold driveway.

  Chapter 19

  1

  Marissa doubted that the Aurora Falls Gazette had experienced so many large late-breaking news stories in one week for at least twenty years, and Pete Hagarty requested that the regular staff come in and help for a few hours, although it was a Saturday. After all, Evelyn Addison had found Wilfred Ames Addison IV, her son, the son of the mayor, with his throat slashed in the driveway of the Addison home the previous night.

  Buddy Pruitt had also been found by his mother, but Marissa knew that even though Bea Pruitt had been hauled off to the psychiatric ward, Evelyn Addison would manage to create an even bigger splash. She had called a press conference this morning and the newspaper would be running the photo of her sobbing copiously into a handkerchief while her husband stood looking wide-eyed and stunned behind her. In the conference, she had declared Chief Deputy Eric Montgomery “inexperienced,” “incompetent,” and “lazy.” Marissa knew that last comment would keep Evelyn on Eric’s blacklist for the rest of her life.

  When Marissa arrived ten minutes early for work, she saw Hank Landers already seated at his desk and looking tired. She felt as if she’d been deadweight in the newsroom this week, but she couldn’t help her involvement in the investigation that seemed tied to the attempt on her own life. Marissa interrupted Hank for a minute to tell him she appreciated all the time his daughter Robbie had put in on her case. Hank had replied abruptly that it was simply Robbie’s job, then turned back to his work. He couldn’t help but resent her a bit, Marissa thought. He was overloaded with work because of her and he was worried about Robbie, whom he’d never wanted to become a police officer.

  Now Marissa was starting another workday to which she could contribute nothing. When Eric had called in the middle of the night to tell her about Will, he’d told her the police were linking the investigation into Will’s murder with that of Buddy’s Pruitt’s, in which she was considered a person of interest. She could not be involved with any newspaper stories covering the murders of Buddy Pruitt or Will Addison.

  Marissa had liked Will, but after Eric had told her about Will’s murder she couldn’t picture Will’s face or remember the sound of his voice. She couldn’t even feel sympathy. Some part of her had gone numb with shock. And guilt. She had no idea how Will’s murder could be connected to her, but she knew it was. Somehow, she had triggered the recent murders. A psychiatrist would call her a narcissist, but she knew she was right. She wanted immediately to leave the city and she would have done so except she was certain it wouldn’t help. Marissa believed it was too late for her to do anything to help because just by moving back home months ago, she had set in motion a chain of events that wouldn’t end until the last person in someone’s ghastly plan was dead.

  When Marissa awakened Catherine and told her about Will, Catherine had wept almost as much as she had when their mother died. Marissa knew Catherine was not in love with Will but also knew of Catherine’s deep affection and concern for Will. Lindsay had accompanied Marissa into Catherine’s room with the news. When Marissa said she would go to give Catherine some privacy, Catherine had asked if Lindsay could stay with her. Marissa was so used to having the dog at her heels as she moved around the house, she wasn’t certain Lindsay would leave her. But just as with Marissa’s mother, Marissa told the dog to “stay” and Lindsay obeyed. Marissa couldn’t help putting her ear up to the door and hearing Catherine ask the dog to jump up on the bed.

  At one o’clock Pete had told the regular staff to go home. Most of them were glad to get back what was left of Saturday, but Hank Landers decided to stay. Marissa wasn’t surprised. His zealousness was almost legendary and Marissa admired him tremendously. She, on the other hand, was exhausted after not falling asleep until nearly two in the morning, then being awakened at three by Eric’s call.

  A chilling wind whipped around her when she stepped outside the Gazette office. The temperature must be at least ten degrees lower than it had been when she came to work, she thought. She didn’t know if the weather service predicted another blizzard. She certainly hoped not. Catherine and James were supposed to go to the movies, and Marissa knew Catherine desperately needed the diversion.

  When Marissa reached home, she found a note from Catherine saying James had taken her out for a casual lunch. Marissa smiled. Things were going well in that direction. Thank goodness for James, Marissa thought. This would have been a horrible Christmas for Catherine without him.

  Lindsay rushed to greet Marissa, the stuffed giraffe in her mouth. Marissa petted her, told her she’d been a good girl for comforting Catherine this morning, then went into the kitchen looking for something simple to eat for lunch. She settled on a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup made with milk instead of water. Afterward, she felt so sleepy she couldn’t imagine doing anything enterprising.

  “Feel like taking a nap, Lindsay?” The dog knew the word nap and began racing up the stairs, giraffe held tightly in her mouth. “That settles it,” Marissa said aloud. “We’ll make it a short nap.”

  They sat at a table with a beautiful view of the waterfall. Eric, looking especially handsome with his slightly long blond hair combed back and looking almost conservative, had asked for a special table arrangement—two apricot-colored roses and two white roses to go along with the graceful white candle. For once, the dining room of the Larke Inn wasn’t crowded but had just enough diners to make the room feel intimate and enjoyable.

  Marissa was so excited, she felt as if her cheeks must be glowing red. She and Eric had eaten here before on special occasions like a birthday, but they’d never been so dressed up; there had never been such electricity seeming to crackle between them. The waiter had taken their drink orders and given them tall, elegant menus with violet and black covers with the dinner offerings described in gold calligraphy on parchment paper. Eric lifted his menu. Marissa opened hers and stared at it just a moment before she smelled smoke. She looked across the table to see the corner of Eric’s menu on fire, one flame shooting up so high she squealed, he yelped, and everyone in the dining room looked at them as Eric threw his menu on the floor and began stomping out the fire. Meanwhile, Marissa scooted lower in her chair and raised her open menu in front of her face so Eric couldn’t see how close she was to uncontrollable giggles.

  She woke up giggling. A dog’s face hung over hers, dark eyes looking concerned. Marissa had no idea where she was. The dog licked her face, then moved slightly, and Marissa saw a shaft of dull light coming through a window, a print of Toulouse-Lautrec’s Le Moulin Rouge, a bright yellow upholstered chair, and she knew she was in her bedroom, not the Larke Inn the night Eric proposed to her. What a shame, she thought, smiling. Tha
t had been quite a night.

  And from the look of the light coming through her window, it was almost night again, she mused. This was supposed to be a short nap. She looked at her bedside clock. Five fifteen. She must have been even more tired than she’d realized.

  Marissa heard voices coming from downstairs. She listened for a moment. Catherine and James. Marissa rolled out of bed, straightened her hair and makeup, and went down to find them sitting side by side on the couch looking at movie offerings in the newspaper.

  “Well, hello, sleepyhead,” Catherine said, sounding just like their mother.

  “That was my idea of a brief nap. Three hours. Have you decided on a movie?”

  “No,” James said. “I want romantic comedy and she wants racing movies.”

  Catherine rolled her eyes. “I really don’t care that much, except that I don’t want something sad.”

  Marissa walked to the window and looked out at snow falling steadily against a pewter sky. “This doesn’t look like a cheerful Christmas snow.”

  “I know,” Catherine said. “It looks like last Saturday night, and I’m not even going to think about your wreck. You almost scared the life out of me, Marissa Gray, racing off to your party in that stupid convertible during a blizzard—”

  “I believe you said you weren’t going to think about it,” Marissa reminded her.

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to talk about it.”

  “Watch out, James.” Marissa grinned. “She’s sassy tonight.”

  “I am not—”

  “Hey, the movies don’t start for at least a couple of hours. Let’s go get something to eat,” James interrupted. “It’s dark already.”

  “I hate daylight saving time,” Marissa said, glancing outside again. The patrol car sat in front of their house, but between the snow and the darkness she couldn’t see the patrolman inside. “It gets dark way too early.”

  “Would you like to get dinner with us?”

  Always polite James, Marissa thought. She looked at Catherine and James, both smiling broadly at her, both no doubt hoping she’d say no.

  “I’m not very hungry,” she said. “I’m just really thirsty. Can I get you two anything?”

  They both shook their heads and went back to perusing the newspaper. Thank goodness Catherine would be with James tonight, Marissa thought. He’d already lightened her spirits, which Marissa knew would have been impossible for her to do. The weight of Will’s death had finally descended on her as she driven home from the Gazette office and her nap had done nothing to dispel it. She felt as if she could never really be happy or laugh again.

  Marissa wandered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and after staring for a minute decided she wanted a simple glass of water. When she shut the refrigerator door, she realized she’d forgotten to turn on a kitchen light. As she stood in the near darkness, she looked at the wall of windows at the kitchen’s end. Catherine had forgotten to close the blinds and the neighbor’s dusk-to-dawn light formed a backlight for a bulky figure standing close to the windows and holding something long and thick above its shoulders. Before Marissa could make a sound, the windows smashed. Glass flew, Marissa screamed, and another blow smashed more windows, another blow, another blow…

  And through the entrance she’d created stepped a shrieking woman swinging a baseball bat.

  2

  “Marissa Gray! I come to kill you, Marissa Gray! I come to kill you for murderin’ my Buddy!”

  Marissa, horrified, froze and looked at a frizzy-haired, swollen-eyed Bea Pruitt for a moment. Then Marissa turned to run and tripped over a chair leg. She went down hard on her knees but still managed to scramble away, screaming for help, cringing as Bea swung the bat and came closer.

  “You whore! You murderin’ bitch! They thought they could keep you safe from me, but they didn’t know how smart I am. I can play their game. I can play tricks better than they can!”

  James burst into the kitchen, momentarily diverting Bea. She squinted at him, then yelled, “You got yourself another one already? Be careful, boy. She’s a killer!”

  “Stop it!” James shouted, striding toward Bea until she swung the bat in his direction. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Not so smart, are you?” Marissa glanced up and saw Bea’s wild eyes, the tiny cuts all over her face, and bare hands dripping blood. “I’m Buddy Pruitt’s mama!”

  “Ms. Pruitt—”

  Marissa heard Catherine screaming out the front door for the patrolman as Bea snarled, “Sure, I’m Ms. Pruitt, but you can’t stop me by bein’ polite, boy. You can’t stop me from makin’ her pay for killin’ my Buddy.” Bea started to cry, tears running through the blood on her face. She started toward Marissa again, swinging the bat. Marissa stayed on her knees, cursing herself for backing into a corner. “You oughta thank me, boy. If you’d only seen what she did to my Buddy, you’d run a mile. Instead, in less than a week she’s got a new boyfriend—”

  “I’m not her boyfriend, Ms. Pruitt.” Every time James spoke, Bea stopped swinging the baseball bat and looked curiously at him. He’d obviously noticed and was stalling her. He lowered his voice: “I’ve known Marissa for a long time and I don’t think she’d kill anybody.”

  “Then you don’t know her at all.” Bea squinted, blinked, and squinted again. “I know you.”

  “Oh?” James asked, his voice suddenly soft and threateningly curious. “Who am I?”

  “You’re…you’re someone I saw at the funeral.” She pointed her bat at Marissa. “Her mother’s funeral. My Buddy said you’re no good. He said you’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  James held her gaze. “And why is that?”

  “Because you…” Bea’s eyes looked empty before she blinked. “’Cause you can do just what you did to me! Make people forget what they’re thinkin’ and tryin’ to say!”

  Bea took another swing, missing Marissa’s shoulder by only a few inches. “No wonder she’s with you. You both trick people.”

  “You said you played tricks in the hospital.” She stared at James, who took two smooth steps toward her. “Ms. Pruitt, what makes you think Marissa killed Buddy?”

  “’Cause she smacked him one time. Then he made a little joke at the police headquarters about Marissa’s Monster and she threw a fit and said she’d kill him! I heard all about it!”

  James looked surprised for an instant. “From whom?” She stared at him. “Who told you Marissa threw a fit and said she’d kill him?”

  “I’m not tellin’ you nothin’. Don’t you go thinkin’ you can trick me.” She swung at Marissa again, this time so close Marissa could almost feel the bat against her head. She crouched lower, trying to cover her head with her arms. “I’m no tattletale, Mr. Whoever-you-are.”

  Bea took another swing and James leaped at her, throwing the swing off balance but not the woman. James had gotten between Bea and Marissa when Randall Crane ran in and whipped behind Bea so fast she didn’t seem to realize Randall had entered the room. Bea tried one more swing clearly meant for either James or Marissa when Randall closed his arms around Bea’s waist and yanked her backward. The bat crashed into a wall and stuck just long enough for James to grab it, toss it aside, and help hold the plunging, screaming Bea.

  Catherine rushed into the kitchen. “I called nine-one-one. Oh my God, Marissa! Are you hurt?”

  “I’m not sure.” Marissa tried to stand up and couldn’t make it.

  Catherine ran to her side. “Hold still until the paramedics get here. Did she hit you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Bitch!” Bea shrieked. “Whore! Murderer! God will send you right into the flames where you belong, but you won’t see me and Buddy because we’ll be together in heaven.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Marissa said weakly.

  Bea struggled violently. My God, doesn’t the woman get tired? Marissa wondered, her panic fading with the certainty that even without the bat, this woman could kill her if she could fr
ee herself. Bea was stout, but James was young and Randall was astonishingly strong. Still, they had trouble getting Bea under control. She writhed, thrashed, and wiggled like something slick and gooey in their arms.

  After what seemed like hours, Marissa vaguely heard sounds in the front part of the house. Two other patrolmen dashed into the kitchen, followed by a couple of paramedics. The last face Marissa saw before she fainted was Eric’s.

  Chapter 20

  1

  Marissa opened her eyes. The handsome face above her swirled and she quickly closed them again. “Hi, Eric.”

  “Hi your own self.”

  “Am I alive? I mean all the way alive?”

  “I think you’re asking if you’re injured. No. The paramedics didn’t even drag you off to the hospital.”

  “Please tell me they took Bea.”

  “First they sedated her. Then they took her and this time she won’t be back.” Eric shook his head. “Bea Pruitt is a better actress than anyone realized.”

  Marissa finally opened her eyes. They had laid her on the couch and covered her with her grandmother’s hideous afghan. Eric sat beside her. Catherine and James leaned forward in their chairs as if inspecting her. “I feel like a bug under a microscope,” Marissa said.

  Catherine looked as if she was recovering from a crying binge. “We were so worried. You could have been killed.”

  “So this is last Saturday night all over again. Me on the couch wrapped up in this awful afghan and the three of you staring at me after my brush with death. I tell you, this is getting old.”

  They laughed, asked again if she was all right, then told her they were all going to stay and keep her company. Marissa hadn’t thought she could feel much worse than she had on the kitchen floor, but her spirits dropped like rocks.