I grasped the door handle, but not soon enough. He grabbed my arm and spun me around.
“Let me go!”
“In your dreams. Lila, call the police.”
“I have a better idea.”
She dropped her straw bag on the sofa and dipped her long, elegant fingers into it. They came out holding a pink Derringer, the business end pointing at my left breast.
“From Toys R Us?” I asked.
A corner of her lips twitched, knowing and nasty. “The Bixby woman learned otherwise.” She giggled.
Elegant Lila Lott giggling? Unbelievable.
“Imagine my daddy married to that. He’s headed for the White House. I couldn’t let a tramp like her, or you, stop him.”
This was it. The golden moment. Or almost. Now I needed to alert the cops. “Put the gun down, Lila. Don’t shoot.” I said that real loud. “I swear I won’t say a word, not to anyone.”
“That’s correct. You won’t. Let her arm go, Trey. Step aside.”
“What the hell are you doing, Lila?” he asked.
“I don’t want to shoot you, darling. Step aside.”
“Don’t listen to her, Trey. She’s a killer.”
Uncertainty flashed across his face. His hand on my arm eased. “Lila, put the gun down. That’s not the way to solve problems.”
“You want to debate?” Her voice was icy. “Like in law school? Don’t be a fool. This little tramp will talk. I can see it in her eyes.” Her attention riveted on me, she didn’t even glance his way to knife him between the ribs. “And I can’t buy her silence with sex, now can I?”
Beneath the stubble of his unshaven, Saturday face, Trey turned ashen.
“Before you shoot, Lila, there’s one small problem you’ve overlooked,” I said.
She cocked the gun, but, curiosity flickering in her eyes, she paused. “Your manicure doesn’t match your gun.”
She glanced down to check, and in that split second, I dove for the door handle. The gun went off, missing my head by inches.
“Get out of the way, Trey,” Lila ordered.
“No. Don’t shoot, Lila,” he yelled. “I’ll stop her.”
He made a grab for my arm but got a fist full of fabric instead and ripped my sleeve out of the armhole. Fury distorting his features, he whirled me around and seized the front of my shirt. The pocket tore off, and the transmitter slid out, hitting the floor with a sharp whack.
“What was that?” Lila asked. “What fell?”
Eyes widening, Trey stared at the transmitter. Then a breath of air whooshed out of his lungs. His whole body sagged as if that one deep breath had taken his life along with it. Letting go of my shredded shirt, letting go of me, he went over to Lila, gently took the gun from her hand and dropped it into his shorts pocket. “It was a button, darling. Just a button.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
True to his promise, in seconds that seemed like years, Bradshaw busted in with Matt close behind him.
Brandishing Glocks, they yelled, “Police, hands in the air! Hands in the air!”
I wasted no time reaching for the cathedral ceiling, but Trey, holding Lila in his arms, simply shook his head. “Sorry, officers, she needs me. I can’t let her go.”
“You’re going to have to, Mr. Gregson. She’s ours now,” Bradshaw said.
Like the air in a pricked balloon, all the fake bravery drained out of me. I slipped to the floor, limp and exhausted, as empty as a roadhouse bottle at midnight. I tented my knees and laid my head on them, hiding my face, hiding from the truth. God, I’d messed up bad. So darn certain I knew who the killer was, I’d accused an innocent man of murder. How could anyone have been so wrong? So pigheaded?
“Honey.” Matt’s voice was close to my ear, so he must have been crouching by my side. I didn’t raise my head to look at him. I was too ashamed.
“Honey, are you all right?”
“No,” I murmured.
“No? What’s wrong? She didn’t shoot you, did she?” Alarm had leaped into his voice.
“She missed.” With that, I threw my arms around him while he held me and patted my back.
Voices and footsteps sounded all around us, but I didn’t give a good giggly.
“Sheriff, I have the transmitter.” Bradshaw.
I didn’t have the nerve to look him in the face.
“When you’re through, ah, helping the CI, will you bring her to the station?” he asked. “We need a statement.”
“As soon as she’s able, Detective.”
“Not too long, okay?” Kind of snarky.
I guess clinging to a cop at a crime scene wasn’t considered a proper way of behaving, so as soon as the room emptied out, I yanked a tissue out of my jeans, blew my nose, and stood. “Thanks, Matt. I needed that.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” His eyes crinkled with amusement.
A strange time to be amused, I huffed, and then I glanced down. “Oh, heavens.”
“Very sexy bra.” He sent me a big toothy grin.
“My best one.” I said, drawing the ripped shirt together in front. “It’s lacy.”
“I noticed.”
“I wanted to look good, in case I ended up in the morgue.” Not true. I’d never given the morgue a moment’s thought, but Matt didn’t know that, and his grin disappeared. Temporarily.
“You’re a remarkable woman, Honey Ingersoll, but there’s one other little thing.” The grin reappearing, he pointed to the back of my jeans. “I think you may have wet yourself. You know, being frightened and all. It’s not uncommon.”
I reached down and felt my bottom. Damp. “For your information, Sheriff, that’s Champagne.”
“Call it anything you want, sweetheart. Now, if you’re good to go, we need to find you something to wear.”
He disappeared into Trey’s bedroom, returning with a starched white dress shirt.
“You’re in luck,” he said. “Custom made.”
“That’s stealing. I thought you were incorruptible.”
“Not where you’re concerned. But for your information, the county will reimburse Mr. Gregson. Though a missing shirt’s the least of his problems.”
I shed my destroyed shirt, donned Trey’s, and with the sleeves rolled up, the tail covering my wet rear end, drove with Matt directly to the Eureka Falls Police Station.
It was in chaos. Phones were ringing all over the place, and Deputy Ellie was going crazy fielding questions from curiosity seekers lined up at the front desk. As we hurried past, Todd Stevens, editor of the Star, hustled in with his photographer in tow.
“I don’t have a story for you,” Ellie told him. “No, you cannot photograph Miss Lott. No, I don’t know if the senator has been informed of her arrest.”
How on earth has the news escaped so quickly?
Zach met us outside of Matt’s office.
“Get up front,” Matt told him. “Clear the building. Tell the press they’ll be informed as soon as Detective Bradshaw is ready to make a statement.”
As Zach hurried off, we went into Matt’s office and closed the door.
He said, “I’m going out front to give Zach a hand. You’ll be okay in here for a while?”
“Of course.”
“Bradshaw will be in as soon as he’s filed formal charges.”
Against Lila, the love of Sam’s life. Oh, God, what had I done? He’d be heartbroken when he found out about her, though chances were he already knew. From the noisy excitement here in the station, the whole town knew.
The last thing in the world I ever wanted to do was hurt Sam, but who could have guessed that privileged, lovely, and oh-so-correct Lila Lott was a serial killer?
Serial killer? I bolted upright in the chair. Is she? During my little sting operation, Violet’s name hadn’t come up once. But since the same gun killed both victims, it was unlikely anyone else was involved. Though, as I’d learned this afternoon, without proof positive, you shouldn’t assume guilt or innocence.
I heaved a sigh that bounced off the walls of the tiny room. What with so much floating around in my head, it felt too heavy to hold up. I wanted to go home, take a hot shower, and go to bed. Tune out today and what I would see in Sam’s eyes the next time we met.
He’d never forgive me.
Oh boy. I laid my head on Matt’s untidy desk and closed my eyes. It wasn’t a bed with a duvet, but it would have to do.
The rattle of the doorknob startled me awake.
“Sorry we took so long, Miss Ingersoll.” Bradshaw, his face full of shadows, strode in.
Matt followed and closed the door behind them.
I pushed back from the desk. “Your seat, Sheriff.”
“Stay where you are, Honey.” He took a stance by the filing cabinet.
Bradshaw sat across from me in the only other chair in the room. He took a recorder out of his pocket and laid it on the desktop. “If you don’t mind, we need to verify a few facts.”
I nodded. Would I refuse at this point?
“The suspect’s testimony is on the transmitter. We heard every word.” He permitted himself a small smile. “Just a few questions remain.”
The operation had only lasted a short time, but it was a blur of accusations and denials and confessions. Though my recollection was shaky, I answered everything as best I could. When we were finished, he pocketed the recorder and leaned across the desk to take both my hands. “On behalf of the citizens of Yarborough County, may I extend our deepest gratitude?”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.”
“Oh, but it is.” He let go of my hands, gazing across at me with that dark look I’d found so off-putting just a short while ago. “You stopped a serial killer, Miss Ingersoll.”
“She killed Violet Norton too?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“Why? A harmless old woman like that.”
“Apparently she saw Miss Lott on the Hermann farm the day the Bixby woman was killed.” He shrugged. “She was silenced.”
Though I had guessed at a motive for Violet’s killing, if not the killer, I didn’t say so. This was a good time to keep quiet. I’d said enough already today. Besides, Bradshaw wasn’t through.
“Without your help, there’s no telling when we would have cracked the case. However, that said, I must tell you that you took terrible chances in there today and went way beyond our instructions. You’re lucky to be alive.” He stepped away from the desk. “So, my advice, young lady, is never again volunteer to be a CI. Not if you intend to live as long as Sheriff Rameros here wants you to.” With a wink—a wink!—he marched out, slamming the door behind him.
I blew out a breath and sent Matt a shaky smile. “Now what?”
“Now Bradshaw tells the press what went down. It’ll be all over the evening news. You’re going to be famous, Honey.” As if he needed to rest a while, he sank onto the empty chair. “Not only have you stopped a sick woman from killing again, you’ve altered the course of a national election.” A big, proud grin took over his face. “And how many realtors get to do that?”
Chapter Forty
Yup, Matt was right. NBC, CNN, MSNBC, Fox News, they all carried the story. I guess it had everything a media hype could want, murder, sex, money, and politics. Even the underhanded casino deal came in for an airing. I hoped to God all this negative publicity would keep the casino backers from going through with their plans. For clearly, they wouldn’t have Senator Lott’s influence to rely on.
Lila’s photographs, in which she looked gorgeous—what else?—and as innocent as a flower, appeared on every news broadcast and a special Sunday supplement in the Eureka Falls Star. My picture was in the Star too, with some flattering copy underneath it. Headshots of the senator, Tallulah, and Trey were also featured above the headline, SECRET LOVE NEST.
By Monday morning, the frenzy hadn’t died down a bit, and I still hadn’t heard a word from Sam.
Though dreading our meeting, I dressed with care, hair shiny straight and makeup in place. But I left off mascara in case I cried when I saw him. No sense in walking around with tire tracks running down my cheeks. And no black clothes either. Blue, I decided. It was my color, after all, and today I’d need every bit of help I could get.
Pulse pounding, I drove around the corner of Main Street into Ridley’s back parking lot, wondering, hoping, afraid. Yes, Sam’s car was there in its usual slot. Before getting out of the Lincoln, I sat clutching the wheel for a while, hoping my knees wouldn’t turn to rubber when I stood.
Finally, hands trembling, I picked up my purse. On the second try, I managed to open the car door and get out.
The weekend’s humidity had fled, leaving the air dry and crisp and sweet. Good, clean mountain air. So, why couldn’t I fill my lungs? Gulping, panting for breath, I leaned against the side of the Lincoln until the panic eased away. Then I stumbled across the tarmac to the back entrance.
The moment I walked in, Mrs. Otis spotted me and leaped up. Well, sort of leaped—first she had to heave to her feet—and came fluttering over to me.
“Land sakes, I’m so relieved to see you. I tried calling all weekend long but never got an answer.”
“Sorry about that. I turned off my phones.”
“I understand. How are you, darlin’?”
“I don’t know. It’s too soon to tell.” I gave her hand a squeeze. “Talk to you later. I have to see the boss.”
She nodded, sympathy welling in her eyes. That was dear Mrs. Otis all over. She always knew more than she let on.
Sam’s office door was closed, so I knocked. At a dim “Come in,” I squared my shoulders and entered. Having to face the one you loved, knowing you’d dealt him a body blow, was like facing a firing squad. It meant the death of all your dreams. Even though your dreams had been foolish, up till now they had held a tiny ray of hope. No more.
As I stood in the doorway, my heart sank to my shoes. In the few days since I’d seen him, Sam had aged ten years. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and he was thinner. His brilliant white smile, the signal that life was an exciting adventure, was nowhere to be seen. Like a man who had lost everything that mattered, he had a droopy, hound-dog air about him.
“Honey,” he dropped his pen.
“I, uh, I just came to tell you two things, Sam. First, how sorry I am for what’s happened. Truly, truly sorry. And second, I’m leaving. You won’t have to deal with me ever again.”
His gaunt face—yes, he definitely had lost weight—registered shock. “Does what I say matter?” he asked softly.
“Well, of course, but—”
“I don’t want you to leave.” He got up from behind his desk and came over to me, standing so close I could count every one of his impossibly long lashes. “I want you to stay forever.”
I gulped. “Forever?”
“Yes.” A smile lifted his lips, and my heart leaped up with it. “I’ve done a lot of thinking this weekend. Thinking that I should have done long before now. I’ve been thick as a brick, overlooking signs of trouble, telling myself they didn’t matter, denying the truth.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“Shh.” He put a finger on my lips. I thought I would die. “I do have to. Lila had me fooled, Honey. Hornswoggled. Her looks, her money, her position. I bought into it all and forgot the common horse sense my momma taught me.” His voice became tender. “That you’ve taught me too. I’ve been blind, but you’ve made me see past the lies and the glamour. Can you ever forgive me?”
His hands on my shoulders, his sapphire eyes, his lips, were so close, so very, very close. Everything I’d longed for was touching me, begging for forgiveness, for acceptance. Could it possibly be true? Or was I in some kind of strange but exciting universe?
I had no way of telling. The surprise was too great. I’d expected a firing squad and was being embraced instead. His arms tightening, he drew me to him, and bending down, gave me the kiss I’d been dreaming of, aching for, and had despaired of ever knowing.
> That’s when I got the second biggest surprise of my life. The gorgeous, wonderful, unattainable Sam Ridley didn’t kiss a single bit better than ol’ Billy Tubbs.
I was free.
* * *
Photo by Sharon Yanish
Jean Harrington swears she ingested ink as an infant, for words are in her blood. Her first job was writing advertising copy for Reed & Barton, Silversmiths, and she claims she has the spoons to prove it. Then for seventeen years, she taught forms of discourse and English literature at Becker College in Worcester, Massachusetts. For several years, she also directed a peer-taught writing center at the college that was available to any student with writing problems. After Jean and husband John moved to Naples, she began dreaming of murder, and the award-winning, tongue-in-cheek Murders by Design Mystery Series is the result. Murder on Pea Pike is book 1 in the Listed and Lethal series. Jean is up to her knees in dead bodies and loving every minute of it.
Jean is a member of Romance Writers of America, having served two terms as president of her local Southwest Florida chapter; International Thriller Writers; and Mystery Writers of America.
For more information, go to www.jeanharrington.com.
Murder on Pea Pike Page 22
