A lot of things went through my mind: Mrs. Tupplemeyer’s attorney saying, She took advice from the wrong people. At the very least, Lucia and others were skimming money from investors. More likely, the whole investment scheme was a fraud. I couldn’t put it all together now. But if playing along saved my life, I would do it. Giving in too easily, though, would be a mistake.
“I’m not in the habit of cheating people,” I replied. “If I do this—I’m not saying I will—how much are we talking?”
Lucia liked that. “Greed.” A nod of approval. “Any other vices you’re willing to share with me tonight? Don’t answer. If Bunny comes through with the million, let’s say . . . well, how does a hundred thousand sound?”
She was lying. I knew it but managed to appear interested. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Isn’t that what I said? But there’s something else you have to do before you get paid. Are you ready for this?” Her smile was that of a mean drunk. “What I want is all the dirt you can bring me on your buddy. That’s right, dear little Liberty, the deputy sheriff.” She paused, disappointed by my response. “You’re not shocked?”
“Liberty and I haven’t been friends that long. Even if I was willing, I don’t know much about her. Nothing bad anyway.”
“Put your mind to it, dearie, you will. There’s not a woman on this earth who doesn’t have a guilty conscience or some dirty little secret. Photos are good, but video is better. I’ll give you some microrecorders to plant here and there. Have duplicates made of her apartment keys, too. I want her hard drive copied, her texts and e-mails, everything. There’s not enough time to get my hands on all two hundred million before Bunny dies, but her niece is going to inherit a bundle. By then Liberty and I—you, too, of course—will have what’s called a special relationship.”
I tried to disguise my disgust but couldn’t. Lucia waved the bamboo as a warning and came closer. “You’ll drop all this holier-than-thou bullshit when I tell you the alternative. You’ll go to state prison on a murder charge—sound fun? A big attractive girl like you might actually enjoy herself.”
My hands, crossed behind my back, began to fidget. “Get away from me. You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m methodical. Guess who the last person was to see that little redneck girl alive? Honey . . . it was you. I’ve got audio of you both in the Cadence mansion. Her screaming at you, ‘Don’t touch me . . . Stay away from me.’ Heartbreaking, the way she pleaded. The girl called you evil, as I remember. Your voice records nicely, Hannah. I loved the part where you said, ‘Sometimes I have to fake being nice to people.’”
“I never said that.”
“Oh, but you did. In so many words anyway.”
My mouth was so dry, I couldn’t swallow. Pretending my hands were tied seemed a cowardly retreat from Lucia’s lies. Yet I sat there and tolerated them.
From a safe distance—or so she thought—the woman hiked her dress and knelt so we were eye to eye. “Why wouldn’t you leave that poor child alone? It was sickening the way you kept after her. Push, push, push. What are you, twenty-eight . . . thirty? Too old to invite a teenage girl into your car for a drink. But you did. Just the two of you alone. That’s how you lured her outside, isn’t it? It all came out quite clear on the audio. God only knows how drunk the little tramp was when you dumped her at the side of the road—or wherever you left her. I’ll flesh out the details after I’ve edited the tape.”
Lucia, with her smug certainty, smirked and attempted to stare me into submission. I stared back. She had liquid green eyes set deep into the hollows of a face that was stamped with crow’s-feet—smoky parties and whatever poisons that had scarred her from within. I don’t know what the woman saw in my eyes. Rage, no doubt. But something darker, too—or unfamiliar—because her expression gradually changed. I watched Lucia gulp and stand, her balance wobbly. Then she stepped back while her ego and her eyes sought a graceful excuse to look away.
She found it. “Who the hell opened that?”
My vision was so tunneled, I didn’t know what she meant until I followed her gaze to the opposite wall. The barred doorframe had swung open. I had closed it. I knew I had closed it. But to protest my innocence was, in fact, an admission that I had moved around the room.
“It was like that,” I said.
“It was not,” she snapped and walked toward the door. “That’s the room where Theo’s mother sent him when he was bad. He never opens it. Ever.”
I didn’t reply, just watched. Among the equipment near the milking table was a snake hook—not sharp, but on a five-foot aluminum pole. If I sat patiently until Lucia got to the door, I could have the thing in my hands and be ready when she turned around.
So I waited. The woman kept glancing over her shoulder to check on me. Maddening to pretend helplessness, but I did. Finally—finally—when she reached for the door, she looked away, but then spun around to surprise me.
I had just started to get up but stopped in time. Lucia continued to glare, one hand on the bars, her back to the door into the next room. I shrugged innocence and looked at the floor—which is when I saw what she had noticed: the tie wraps I had placed around my ankles were gone. They were several feet away where I had kicked them when I’d tried to stand.
Lucia raised the bamboo tube as if it were a flute. “You sneaky little bitch—show me your hands. You needed your hands to open this door.”
No more pretending for me. I stood and kicked the chair back—a metal chair that clattered across the tile. I was already moving toward the snake hook. “Call the police if you’ve got a complaint,” I said. “An ambulance, too, if you get in my way.”
I meant it. I didn’t waste a glance at the woman until I’d pocketed the box cutter and had the aluminum pole in my hands. Then I turned . . . but wasn’t prepared for the scene before me: Lucia had the bamboo tube to her lips and was zeroing in on me as if the thing were a blowgun.
A blowgun . . . ?
Yes, a blowgun. I hadn’t believed Theo when he said Lucia had studied with an Amazon tribe. But it was true. Extra darts, thin as needles, were visible in her right hand.
I yelled something, I’m not sure what, and hurled the pole at her, which clanged off the bars. Almost simultaneously, a wasp stung my left wrist. I looked down—not a wasp, a bamboo sliver three inches long. Lucia, her back pressed to the door, was loading the tube again as I twisted the needle out, careful not to snap off the point.
“Bet it burns like hell, doesn’t it?” She didn’t scream the question, instead sounded hopeful and eager, a woman whose pleasure would be delayed until I had experienced pain.
I picked up the folding chair to use as a shield. “What’s on those darts?”
Lucia was in no rush now. She had the tube loaded again. Twitched her nose in a way she thought was cute. “You’re bigger than most, so I’ll use five to make sure. Attractive girls”—a wicked smile—“usually only need two.” She braced her shoulder against the doorframe and raised the blowgun to her lips.
I ducked behind the chair and found a crack to peek through. Then I stood straight and forgot about everything else. “Get away from that door,” I told her.
Behind Lucia, through the hinged flap, a hand with freakishly long fingers had appeared. It was attached to an arm furred with auburn hair that glistened and snaked longer and longer as if squeezed from a tube or controlled by a contortionist. A fecal stink pushed ahead of it.
I started toward Lucia and yelled, “Get away from that door!”
Too late.
Long hairy fingers explored the hem of the woman’s robe, then sensed body heat. Lucia’s reaction was to turn and look. Then she opened her mouth to scream but instead made only a high-pitched choking noise.
It took a confusing moment before I understood: Lucia hadn’t lowered the blowgun. While screaming, she had inhaled one of her own darts.
&n
bsp; By watching Lucia during the next few seconds, I learned something that would take time to understand: when panic transitions to horror in human being, God frees us from our bodies—an act of the greatest kindness. The sufferer is replaced by a mindless creature who is left to struggle and endure pain in the hope of escape.
For Lucia, there was no escape—unless I went to her aid. And I did go to her, although I’m not sure why. My reaction, however, was delayed by my own horror. The chimpanzee’s fingers, after burying themselves in her flesh, found her collar and tried to pull her through a slot no larger than a mailbox. Bones snapped. More bones snapped when he tried again. Finally Lucia fell after the robe ripped away. The chimp’s hand was searching for Lucia’s hair when I at last took action.
A moment later, I had the aluminum pole overhead, ready to strike. Lucia saw me, stared up with glassy eyes, and once again made a whistling noise because she couldn’t scream. Perhaps she feared I intended to hit her. That’s exactly what I didn’t want. So I waited for the chimp to extend his arm before I slammed the pole down. Unlike my distant aunts, Hannah and Sarah, I’ve never chopped wood for a living. But I have used an axe. I swung so hard, my feet came off the floor—and was rewarded by a screech from the other side of the door, then a furious baritone chatter that warned of revenge. Yet the chimp refused to let go of the woman’s hair.
I swung again . . . and again—finally, the animal’s hand retreated. Stupidly, I tossed the pole away and used both hands to grab Lucia’s waist and tried to push her out of danger. The smart thing to do would have been to reposition myself and pull, but I didn’t. Nor did I consider the length of a chimpanzee’s arms.
When I believed we were safe, I started to say, “I’ve got to roll you on your stomach because—”
That’s as far as I got. On my buttocks, I felt a tentative weight, then the chimp latched onto my belt. With my left hand, I reached back and clawed at his hairy wrist while I searched my right pocket for the box cutter. Before I could use it, I was yanked backward; I sledded across the tile and slammed into the door. My tailbone absorbed most of the impact. Pain radiated into my spine and caused the box cutter to spin to the floor. I was dazed, but the razor was still within reach. I grabbed it and slashed blindly. The chimp shrieked . . . Then I was free, lying on my side.
I rolled, and kept rolling, until I knew I was safe. When I looked up, Lucia was still in danger, so I lunged, grabbed her ankle, and pulled her away, too.
“Open your mouth!” I yelled. “Wider.”
She made a gagging noise but did it. I couldn’t see, but my fingers soon found the dart lodged in her throat. Gently, I jockeyed it free. It came out as two slivers. The point was sharpened like a needle, blackened as if it had been scorched.
“Did I get it all? Swallow. Open your mouth again—let me see.”
“He . . . would have killed me.” Her voice was raspy, but at least she could speak. “Why . . . why did you . . . ?”
I steadied her head with my hands and for the first time noticed the pendant hidden beneath her dress: a silver ram’s head mounted on a pentagram. I knew its meaning but let it go. “We both need a doctor. What kind of poison is on those darts?”
Lucia shook her head. “Can’t move. Am I bleeding?”
Her spine was broken, I realized. “I need the key to the front door. I’ll call an ambulance. Tell me about the poison while I look for the key.”
The woman’s eyes glazed, but deep, deep within was a glittering awareness. “No,” she said.
I felt like shaking her. “I need to know what kind of poison. If I die, you’re going to die, too.”
Lucia’s eyelids fluttered to beckon me closer. “Go to hell . . . stupid girl.” Those were her last words before she died.
I tried CPR. Her lips smelled of moss when I blew air into her lungs. Out of a sense of duty, I kept at it, but was preoccupied with my own fear. Had the poison killed her or a broken neck? The spot on my wrist was red but no longer burned. If poison was circulating through my system, the effects were mild. A mild euphoric edge, if anything. Unlike Lucia, I had pulled the dart free instantly.
She’s beyond help, I decided. Find the key—run.
But where was the key? In Lucia’s robe—had to be—but the robe had been ripped off and was piled at the foot of the door. Before risking that, I hoped the key was somewhere on her body. As I searched, the metal slot opened. The chimp’s eyes peered through: two oyster-sized orbs of glowing amber. They swept the room . . . found the dead woman, then focused on me. Intelligent eyes. Eyes that noted details of my face, the color and size of me.
Oliver is brilliant, Theo had bragged. Or was I dealing with the female chimp? The snake pole and bamboo tube were within my reach. I grabbed the bamboo, yelled, “Get away—Savvy!” and hurled the thing.
It wasn’t the female chimp. The metal lid slammed shut, then levered upward. The chimp thrust his hand through and flipped a middle finger in reply. He grunted—UNT . . . UNT . . . ITCH!—a series of baritone belches intended to be understood. Then added, “OWL-A-BER!” to correct me. He glared at me for several seconds and then went to work on the door’s hinges, prying and pounding with a tool of some kind.
I understood more than the foul names he’d called me. I had to escape or a killer that Theo claimed was half chimp, half ape would soon force his way into the room.
The key . . . Where is that key?
My eyes settled on the robe piled within easy reach of the door.
• • •
THE GLOVES near the milking table were made of leather and wire mesh. They extended above my elbows. I wore them to cross the room, even though the bucket I carried was hooked to the end of the snake pole.
The door had been loosened by the chimp’s pounding. It crossed my mind that he was so busy, he might not notice if I tiptoed close enough to snatch the robe. I didn’t have the courage to try, though, couldn’t bear the thought of his hands on me again, so I stuck with my plan. It was a variation of something I’d thought about earlier, a way to surprise Theo.
When I was closer, I lowered the bucket to the floor and removed my left glove. I dropped the glove into the bucket, then watched and waited.
Coral snakes are shy. They live underground. Even when hunting, they prefer cover, which is why they are seldom seen. The snake I had captured used its tongue to find the glove’s opening. Soon, two feet of segmented colors—black, yellow, and red—disappeared inside as if slurped down a drain.
Now came the dangerous part. Using my right hand, I lifted the glove from the bucket and folded the wristlet closed. At the same time, I slipped my left hand under the glove to provide support, but also to appear as if I was wearing it. I took a big breath . . . then walked toward the door and pretended to have courage. “Hey . . . Hey, you—Oliver! I heard those names you called me.”
The silence on the other side was abrupt. The metal lid opened. Amber eyes blinked with what resembled surprise. I hollered, “I’ll shoot you if you cross me again!” then extended the left glove as if it were a weapon.
Never have I seen anything move so fast as the hand that snatched the glove from me. I had intended to offer brief resistance. Impossible. The glove disappeared through the slot before I could jump back. Then I did jump back and immediately grabbed the aluminum pole with its dull hook.
I heard a series of sniffs and guttural belches . . . then a grunt of surprise. After a beat came a roar that would have sent me running if I’d had someplace to run. While Oliver thrashed and roared, I rushed the door and used the hook to snag Lucia’s robe.
I didn’t look back until I was near the computer screens. My attention seesawed between the robe and the chaotic noise in the next room and the security cameras. In the kitchen, Gail and her skinny teenage friend laughed while the plump witch gestured—but Theo was gone. Nor was he in view of the other cameras stationed around the
property. Most likely he was returning to the serpentarium.
The key . . . Lucia had to have hidden it somewhere.
The robe contained several pockets. I found a bamboo quiver with a few darts left, a cigarette lighter, and a quarter-sized bag of powder. I placed it all near the box cutter, then turned the robe inside out, my hands shaking.
I was running out of time. The chimp had refocused his rage on the door. Over and over he slammed his body against it—two hundred pounds of sinew and muscle. After another violent collision, the top hinge exploded, throwing shrapnel across the room. It created an opening through which the chimp’s fingers appeared. When Oliver had a handhold, he began to rock the door back and forth. The opening at the top grew incrementally wider. Very soon, the bottom hinge would snap.
The robe’s hood revealed a hidden pocket, something hard inside. I struggled with it, then gave up. I wouldn’t have time to unlock the door even if it was the key. I had to do something . . . anything to buy time.
What?
Snakes. I was in a room filled with venomous snakes. Deploying weapons that might also kill me was a reckless act. But recklessness was my only hope. Shelves were stacked with shallow trays. I ran across the room, pulled a tray free, and spun it toward the door. Impact jarred the lid off. I watched long enough to see a rattlesnake as thick as my arm appear, then reached for another tray. As I did, I heard a slavering growl. I turned. Oliver’s long arm was draped over the door. His head would soon follow.
Don’t panic—fight back.
I did. Freeing one snake at a time was useless, so I squared my shoulders and grabbed the closest section of shelving. Back and forth I rocked the frame until an entire stack of trays crashed to the floor. Amid the buzz and hum of reptiles sliding across tile, I hurdled the mess, dodged Lucia’s body, and ran to the robe.
Haunted Page 20
