A Scrying Shame

by Donna White Glaser

  As soon as she gets back from the cop shop.

  Dick took another long swallow and motioned for Arie to drink up. She raised the glass but didn’t let the whiskey do more than wet her lips.

  Dick turned away and stared out the window into the darkening night. “This couldn’t have come at a worse time. She’s been a bundle of nerves ever since Marissa died. That’s understandable, I guess, but she needs to move on.”

  “They were very close. And Marissa was murdered, after all.”

  Dick set his Scotch down with a sharp click of glass on glass. “She was a virus.”

  “Marissa?” Arie was shocked at his sudden virulence, but he’d finished off his drink. She hoped he wasn’t on any medications that would interact with the alcohol.

  “Ready for another?” Dick asked.

  “Uh, no. I’m still working on this one.”

  He frowned. “Well, drink up. It’s seventeen-year-old gold. I’m not going to pour it down the sink.”

  Arie took a small sip. When his frown deepened, she took a bigger drink. She couldn’t afford to piss him off before getting him to let her back into Riann’s office. If she’d only hung on to that stupid address book instead of setting it down when he’d snapped at her.

  “I’m going to have to get going pretty soon, Dick. I’m supposed to be picking someone up. If I could get that—”

  “Don’t be silly. You can stay a little longer. Riann should be home any minute, and then she can give you the go-ahead.”

  Dick smiled at her with a false amiability. Arie knew she was being manipulated, but she wasn’t completely sure what his motive was. Was it as simple as a nervous old man who didn’t want to be left alone during a frightening time, or something worse? Had he seen her stuffing the manuscript page into her bra? Maybe he was keeping her there until Riann got home to take care of it, or to stop her from going to the police with it. And where were the cops, anyway? Weren’t they going to execute the search warrant?

  Maybe they were all busy organizing a manhunt, with Brant as the prey? Whatever the reason, Arie knew she had to go, with or without the address. She’d have to think of some other way to find Brant.

  “Oh! I almost forgot.” Dick broke into her thoughts. “Riann left something for you when she got back from the gym.”

  “She did?”

  “If I wasn’t so upset, I would have thought of it earlier. Be right back.”

  Arie couldn’t imagine what Riann would have left for her, and as the fear that Dick was going to come back clutching a butcher knife crossed her mind, he returned. He had something pink and fuzzy in his hand, so Arie relaxed.

  Until the old geezer slapped one half of a handcuff on her wrist and the other to the metal armrest of her chair.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Arie leaped to her feet but only managed to trip and fall. The chair landed on her hip. She yelped and shoved it off, but it rolled, twisting her wrist.

  “Ow!”

  Dick stood above Arie, watching her struggle.

  She knew, of course. She knew right then who the killer was, but if there was any way of convincing him that she didn’t, she had to try.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? I don’t know what Riann told you, but I’m not into this kind of thing.”

  So lame.

  Dick seemed to agree. He snorted and then took his glass over for another shot of his seventeen-year-old gold.

  Arie scrambled to her feet, dragging the chair with her. She yanked on the handcuff, trying to wiggle her hand out. If it was only some kind of sex toy . . . her stomach heaved at that particular thought. But if it was, then it was probably some cheap manufactured-overseas product. There had to be some fail-safe, right?

  Wrong. At least, not one that Arie could find. Dick continued watching her, an amused expression on his face.

  “Dick, you need to let me go right now.” The nanny was back.

  But Dick was made of sterner stuff. He smiled wider and took another swallow. With his glass, he gestured toward Arie’s, which had overturned when she’d bolted up.

  “Look what you did there,” he scolded. “That’s wasteful. And it’s too bad because this would have gone a lot easier on you if you would have finished that off.”

  “Let me guess. You put something in my drink, didn’t you? How original.”

  “No need to be sarcastic. You put yourself in this situation. Nobody asked you to come stick your nose into our business. Did they? There wouldn’t have even been a problem if it hadn’t been for you and that weirdo juju stuff you pretend to do. I don’t know how you came up with that crap, but I’m not as gullible as those dimwits.”

  “It’s not crap.” Arie placed herself behind the chair so she could hold on to the back of it. Her wrist throbbed.

  “And I really did just come over to get Kelli’s address. I never once thought you were the killer. So who’s the dimwit now?”

  Dick’s eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted into a sly smile. “Well, I couldn’t be sure. Better safe than sorry. People tend to underestimate old farts like me. Marissa sure did. So did Wyatt, for that matter. And Kelli? There’s another little leech. Do you know all Marissa’s money goes to her? That’s Riann’s money. That disgusting book was as much her idea as Marissa’s. Not that she needs it, mind you. I’ll take care of anything she’ll ever want or need, but if she had her own money, people wouldn’t be so nasty. Like that Wyatt jerk. I knew what he was saying behind my back. Who did he think he was? I made my first million before I was twenty-five, and it certainly wasn’t my last. All that loser could do was try to find some rich titty to latch onto. He couldn’t take care of himself. And he thought he was better than me? He thought he could take my woman?” Dick snorted.

  “At least he didn’t kill someone.” Arie slapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Worse, whether it was because of shock or whatever Dick had spiked her drink with, she felt a little woozy.

  “Starting to feel it, aren’t you? You know, before Riann, I sometimes had to be a little inventive with the ladies. They couldn’t see past a few wrinkles the way she can.”

  “Maybe you should have shown them your bank account. That seems to have worked with Riann.”

  The sense of evil that thickened the air between them deepened. If Arie had been frightened before, the glint that slithered into Dick’s eyes terrified her. She wanted to run, but her legs felt thick and sluggish. And there was the chair to think of. She tugged at the handcuff, but it held. Her wrist was starting to swell.

  As if reading her mind, Dick slid open a drawer and pulled out a knife that looked big enough to slaughter a cow.

  “Be careful, Dick. Some people might say you’re compensating for something.”

  “Well, they’ll only say it once.”

  He hefted the knife—cleaver, really—as if testing its balance. Arie supposed after two murders, he had gotten a feel for what worked and what didn’t. Two murders that she knew of, that is. He was old. He could have been at this for years.

  “This is stupid,” Arie said. “What are you going to do? Kill me in the middle of your kitchen? We both know what kind of a mess that’ll be. And what are you going to do with my body? Toss it in the lake? People know I’m here. It’s the first place they’ll look.”

  A shadow of doubt crept over his face, but only for a moment.

  “I guess I’ll have to cut you up into little bitty pieces and feed the chunks down the garbage disposal.” He reached over and flipped a switch next to the sink. A raucous grinding sound split the air. He flicked it off. “We just had it repaired. It’s working fine now.”

  “How nice for you.”

  Dick seemed to be working out the kinks in his little plan. It was time to go.

  Arie picked the chair up, holding it lion-tamer style, and started backing out of the kitchen.

  Dick matched her step by step, a tango of death. Her nerves shot sparks of adrenaline, trying to g
et her to run, but the chair . . .

  As if reading her mind, Dick said, “How far do you think you’re going to get carrying that chair? It’s already getting heavy, isn’t it? You might as well stop. I’ll tell you what. I’ll make it easy on you. We could use a blindfold. We’ve got plenty of them. You’ll never see it coming. I’ll make it easy and pain-free.”

  Despite Arie’s firsthand knowledge of dying, she didn’t take the offer. Besides, she was tired of being stabbed to death.

  Arie’s backward journey deposited her in the living room. Instinctively heading for the wide light space of the patio doors behind her, she backpedalled at full speed. At least until she rammed the small of her back into the waist-high platform of Dick’s stupid model train.

  Buildings and houses rocked and crashed to the floor, and a Soo Line locomotive tipped over onto its side.

  “Hey! Watch out, you clumsy heifer.”

  Heifer?

  Arie swung the chair like a scythe, mowing down a logging mill, a wide expanse of forestland, and half of a quaint, midcentury small town where a teensy circus had set up tents.

  Dick shrieked with rage, a sound that simultaneously brought fear and glee to Arie’s heart.

  She ducked under the platform and pulled out train tracks and electrical wires with her free hand. Dragging the chair behind and crunching over clowns, barns, and other casualties, she scurried down the aisle, wreaking havoc on Dick’s tiny world.

  He was surprisingly agile for an octogenarian. He slid under the plywood and charged after Arie. He’d gone silent now, which was even scarier.

  When she made it to the aisle nearest the patio door, Arie took one last swing at a mountain range, then she darted out of the display. As she fumbled with the lock, she saw a length of a two-by-four wedged in the track between the slider in the door jam.

  No time to—

  A sharp, stinging blow struck her shoulder. Something punches me in the back. It burns. Arie spun away, bringing the chair up to block Dick’s next swing of the knife.

  His face was twisted into a hideous snarl. He panted, but the hunt had made his eyes sparkle, and he showed no sign of tiring.

  What kind of vitamins is the old bastard taking, anyway?

  Arie reverted to backing away, holding the chair up to parry his blows. Her wrist throbbed with the growing pain, and her wounded shoulder made the chair wobble uncertainly. She felt blood running down her arm. She was getting tired. Fuzzy numbness pushed in at the edges of her focus and not from blood loss, although that would be a problem soon enough.

  Arie kept backing away, trying to force her brain to come up with a plan, something more than defensive moves. She stumbled, and the chair slipped.

  Dick slashed at the fingers holding the chair, but Arie managed to twist back up. The knife made a ringing sound against the metal chair leg. The vibrations hurt her wrist.

  “Getting tired, aren’t you?” Dick’s smile looked feral. “That chair must feel like it weighs a hundred pounds. Can you feel your muscles quivering? They’re getting tired.”

  Arie kept backing up. She was almost to the hallway, but then what? She knew the front door was locked, and there was no way she could keep Dick at bay while she unlocked it.

  “And that shoulder . . . it must be burning by now.”

  As if leaping to its master’s bidding, Arie’s shoulder blade flared with pain. Tears filled her eyes.

  “Oh, poor dear. It’s real now, isn’t it? You’re going to die. Right here, right now. And it’s going to hurt so terribly. I told you before I could make it fast and painless, but not after that little demonstration in there.”

  He glanced back at the destruction of his big-boy toy, and the fake solicitous expression that he’d donned to mock Arie slid off his face.

  Taking advantage of his distraction, Arie scurried into the foyer. But Dick lunged at her face. She again parried with the chair. This time, one of the legs caught him across the cheekbone with a solid thunk. He slipped on the tile.

  He hit the floor with a resounding crash and a soul-satisfying—to Arie, anyway—howl.

  Arie backed up until she felt the door at her back.

  “Don’t leave,” Dick yelled. “Can’t you see I’m hurt? I need an ambulance.”

  “You’re kidding, right? You don’t seriously expect me to get you help.”

  “I think I broke my hip.”

  Arie snorted. “You mean you’ve fallen, and you can’t get up?”

  Relief flowed through her veins like morphine. She lowered the chair but didn’t completely let go. He was a sneaky bastard, and she wouldn’t put it past him to launch off the floor like a horror show serial killer. Arie couldn’t even watch slasher movies, and here she was living one. Again.

  “Not so easy and pain-free now, is it, Dick? Do you see what happens when you run with knives?”

  Dick snarled and lunged toward Arie. Happily, this wasn’t the movies, and the attempt only served to give him more pain. Much shrieking commenced.

  A pounding at the door directly behind her caused Arie to join the chorus for a couple moments, but then she realized the cavalry had finally arrived.

  She flung open the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “Are they at least charging Riann as an accessory?” Chandra asked.

  Her mouth was coated with BBQ sauce from the chicken wings she was gnawing, but Arie’d known her long enough to decode her mumblings. Besides, who was she to judge? She was struggling to keep sauce from dripping down her chest and was pretty sure she had bleu cheese dip smeared all over her cheeks. There weren’t enough napkins in the world to keep up with the mess, but wings were fifty cents on Tuesdays, and there was no way to resist that kind of deal, especially not when they tasted this good.

  “Nope,” Arie said when she was finally able to answer Chandra’s question. “Dick said he did it and then refused to give details. He’s got a lawyer now, of course. So does Riann. My theory is she stole the ring from Kelli and then sent it to Brant. She knew how bad everything looked for him already, so she probably figured his having it in his possession would tip the scales. She was almost right.”

  Arie reached for her bottle of Leinenkugel and almost slid off her seat. She hated high bar stools. They were made for tall women with lots of leg to flaunt. Being perched so high made Arie feel like a kid left to dangle her feet. Plus, her boobs already made her top-heavy, which threw her balance off.

  “But if she knew Dick killed her best friend,” Chandra said, “why would she feel she had to set Brant up?”

  “She was afraid.”

  Arie thought about the vision that had risen from Riann’s blood—the panic and the guilt. Had Riann known? She must have, on some level, anyway. Why else would she feel she had to protect Dick?

  A woman in a denim skirt fell against Arie, almost toppling her off the barstool. The chicken wing basket skidded down the bar, but Chandra managed to grab it before it sailed completely off. After apologizing profusely, the woman’s date guided her back to their table. They both laughed.

  Chandra returned to the subject. “Okay, I get being afraid. But wouldn’t that just make you want to turn him in more? I mean, how could you live with a murderer?”

  “People are weird. O’Shea says by now, she’s almost convinced herself that Brant really did it. If you lie to yourself long enough, you start believing the crap yourself. I don’t think she could admit, even to herself, that Dick killed Marissa and Wyatt. She still can’t. Did you know she’s still living at the lake house?”

  “So she’s stuck with facing the truth or leaving her meal ticket? Still doesn’t seem like a hard decision to make.”

  “It wouldn’t be for you,” Arie said. “But ever since she was a kid, Riann convinced herself the only way she could survive was to trade herself for a lifestyle. Dick was everything she’d been aiming for her whole life. That’s why it hurt so bad when Marissa started making fun of her and then, worse, started writing a
book that would expose her past and make a mockery of what used to be their shared dream.”

  The band started playing a cover of Trace Adkins’s “Marry For Money.” The girls looked at each other and laughed. It felt good. Laughter had been scarce lately.

  “Speaking of O’Shea . . .” Chandra had a wicked smile on her face and also barbecue sauce, which Arie pointed out. It didn’t deter her friend.

  “There isn’t anything to speak of,” Arie said. “He took my statement, but that’s it.”

  “Maybe for now, but there was something there. He must be a breast man. Not that there’s any other kind, really, but—”

  “He was doing his job.”

  Instead of taking offense, Chandra smiled knowingly. This time, she let the subject drop and called the bartender over for another round. She made a face when it arrived: one club soda and another Leinie for Arie. She’d lost the coin toss for designated driver.

  “Is your mom talking to you yet?”

  “If I speak directly to her, she will answer, but not if it’s about Brant.”

  “It’s not your fault he got arrested again. He’s the one who got drunk and made such a ruckus at Kelli’s. I’da called the cops on him, too.”

  “I know, but it was in the paper and all. I talked to Brant, though. He’s doing better. He had a lot of questions.”

  “I bet. Did you tell him about the visions?”

  Arie sighed, then took a swallow of beer. “No. There’s no way he’d be able to wrap his mind around that. I haven’t told anyone in my family.”

  I told O’Shea, and look how that turned out.

  “You’re probably right, but—” Chandra broke off and grabbed Arie’s arm. “I see him!”

  Arie spun toward the dance floor.

  And there he was.