by Linda Ladd
I kept the Glock ready, finger near the trigger, as I climbed the steep incline. The path twisted around bushes and undergrowth, and I searched the sides of the trail as I went but didn’t want to admit what I was looking for. If the killer had assaulted Dottie and Harve out here, he might’ve gotten Suze, too. Or maybe Suze might be the killer. I’d never trusted or liked her. She’d given me the creeps from the first day I met her. Dottie had been her best friend, and now Dottie was dead. Suze had been on duty the night Sylvie was murdered at her bungalow. She had been first at the murder scene, so she had opportunity….
I came up behind an old barn at the top of the path. It was weathered and dilapidated, and the roof had seen better days, but it was the structure I’d seen from the water. I edged along the side closest to me, glad the wind obscured any sounds I was making in the dead leaves and debris hugging the wall. I stopped when a two-storied brick farmhouse appeared in my line of vision. It was in better shape and looked occupied. The back of the house sat about thirty yards out in front of the barn and had an open porch with a swing. A dirt road curved around the house through the woods. This looked like one of the old homesteads that had been built generations ago and never sold to developers, like Harve’s land, which had been passed down in his family.
Keeping out of sight, I searched the windows of the house. There were four upstairs and two on either side of the back porch. The bottom floor had dark-colored drapes, but the top story had white sheets blocking the old-fashioned sash windows. No sign of life. I backed out of sight, leaned against the barn, and tried to get Bud on my cell again, but the phone showed no signal. The rain was beginning to pour now, drenching my white polo shirt and khaki slacks to the skin. My sense of danger was up and running about a hundred miles an hour.
When I heard a bang, I crouched and trained my weapon on the corner of the barn. It sounded again, and I took a quick peek in that direction. The front door of the barn rattled in the wind gusts. I observed the house for a few minutes, saw no movement inside, then took the barn door fast and hard in police stance, arms extended, ready to fire, my back to the wall as soon as I gained the interior.
Inside, it was dark and dead quiet, except for moaning wind invading rotten plank walls and drumming rain on the roof and splashing water where the roof had lost shingles. Daylight was fading quickly, and the heavy storm clouds filled the barn with gloom. I took a step and almost tripped over Dottie’s kayak. She would never put it in somebody’s barn. She always kept it handy near the water. I knew then that I’d stumbled upon the killer’s lair.
There was a vehicle covered by a dark green tarp. I looked around, then went down on one knee and pulled up the edge of the canvas. The Porsche Black had reported stolen. The killer must’ve stolen it when racing away from Sylvie’s crime scene. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. Okay. I had to go on. The killer liked to spend time with his victims, torture them, and arrange the bodies according to his fantasies. Harve might be inside the house, hurt or dying.
My heart hammered inside my chest when I stood up, adrenaline pumping through me. Still no sound, no movement, except for the sporadic thudding of the barn door. I inched around the back of the Porsche and found a beat-up green Ford station wagon. There was an old-fashioned, bullet-shaped silver travel trailer behind it, in the back of the barn.
Keeping low and alert, I checked out the interior of the station wagon. Lots of trash on the dashboard and in the backseat—McDonald’s wrappers and sandwich boxes, donut sacks, soda cans—but no Harve, no Suze, no dead bodies, thank God. The travel trailer was ancient, about a thirty-footer, with plenty of dings and dents on the aluminum shell. One metal step led to the door. It was locked. I tried to see in the windows, but frilly blue gingham curtains covered them. I looked around for Suze’s red Ford Taurus but didn’t see it. Either she wasn’t home or the car was parked out front.
The rain was coming down in sheets now, loud and hard and with the fresh, pleasant smell of summer electrical storms. I moved to the door and observed the back of the house for a minute. I tried to call for backup again but couldn’t get through and knew I wouldn’t be able to until the storm abated. I considered whether to go in alone and look for Harve or take the Cobalt back for help. But there was no real choice because I knew Harve might be inside. And he might not make it out alive if I took off and wasted time getting reinforcements.
As soon as I made the decision to act, I took a deep breath and ran across the backyard. The dirt was beginning to turn into mud, which sucked at my tennis shoes, but I hardly felt the cold rain. I bounded up the back steps, flattened my back against the wall, and listened for sounds from inside. The porch swing creaked back and forth on its rusted chains, and the wind had blown a dead philodendron plant off the banister and scattered dirt on the floor. I heaved in a breath and wiped the rain out of my eyes, then reached around with my left hand and tried the doorknob. It turned easily.
My nerves were dancing around like crazy, and I wet my lips and got my act together for a second or two. Chances were that Dottie’s killer was inside this house waiting for me, and I could get him if I kept my cool and used my training. Chances were, too, that he had no idea that I was anywhere around. Unless he’d heard my boat, but I figured the wind and rain had probably drowned that out.
I pushed open the door a little, then entered the house quickly. I stopped just inside and let my eyes grow accustomed to the dusky light. Everything appeared neat and orderly. A living room on the left. A dining room on the right. Both were fully furnished with funky, modern stuff that didn’t really go with the old house but looked like the kind of decor that Suze Eggers would choose.
No lights on. Silence. A steep wood staircase led upstairs right in front of me, and I could see the kitchen down the narrow hall behind it. I waited a few seconds, fully expecting somebody to jump out and charge me like in horror movies, but nothing happened. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Suze Eggers didn’t live here. Maybe it was just a harmless lake home owned by people from St. Louis or Kansas City or somewhere, and I’d scare the hell out of them when I jumped out and held a gun on them. But I knew better, and fear climbed up my spine and tapped me on the shoulder.
I moved cautiously down the hall, past an empty bathroom with an old-fashioned claw-footed tub, and stopped in front of a closed door beside the kitchen. I sucked air, then shoved it open. White sheets covered the windows, making it hard to see. When my eyes grew accustomed to the filtered light, I saw Suze Eggers’s Cedar Bend uniform thrown across the end of the bed, along with lots of other clothes. The room was empty.
Relieved, I retraced my steps to the bottom of the staircase and listened. The storm was beating the hell out of the windowpanes. If somebody was upstairs, they’d never hear me coming. That was a good thing. I started up the steps, both hands gripping the gun out in front of me.
Upstairs, it was shadowy, but enough light came through the covered windows for me to see where I was going. A long upstairs hall ran toward the back of the house, with three closed doors. I hesitated again, listened for killers creeping up on me. Nothing but the weather. Thunder cracked not far away, and I jumped a foot, then moved quickly to the first door. I was wasting too much time; Harve could be in bad trouble somewhere.
I opened the door and peered around the door facing. It was even darker inside, but I could see a shape lying on the bed across from me. I held the Glock steady on it while I fumbled around on the wall inside for a light switch. I found it and flipped it on, and when the light flared, I saw Harve lying on his side on the bed. Relief hit me, but I didn’t run to him. I kept my eye on the closet door and moved slowly across the floor, gun swiveling from closet door to bedroom door.
I turned him over and found him breathing. I couldn’t see any injuries except for a shallow cut above his left eyebrow. I whispered his name, still watching the bedroom door, but I couldn’t get him to wake up. He’d been drugged, but he was alive and unhurt, and I had to get him out of here. But fi
rst, I had to make sure the killer wasn’t lying in wait for us somewhere in the house.
Fairly certain I was alone, I made my way quietly down the hallway to the second bedroom. It was empty. Two down, one to go. I opened the third door at the very rear of the house and found the window undraped, so I could see. Somebody moved on the bed, and I almost pulled the trigger. When they didn’t move again, I crept to the bed with my gun trained on them.
“Don’t move a muscle,” I warned, but when I saw who was in the bed, I faltered and nearly dropped the gun. I couldn’t believe my eyes at first, but it was Dottie, drugged, too, but still alive, still breathing. Joy filled me, and I grabbed her and shook her. She screamed and came awake fighting, so I clamped my hand over her mouth and said, “Shhh, Dottie, I’m here to get you out. Where’s Suze?”
Her eyes were wide and terrified, but when I took my hand away, she murmured in a slurred, frightened voice, “She put something in our coffee, and I can’t keep my eyes open. My muscles won’t move right.”
I looked at the door. “It’s Suze, Dottie; she’s the killer. We gotta get you and Harve outta here now before she comes back.”
Dottie kept trying to focus her eyes on my face, and I said softly, “Oh, God, Dottie, I’m so glad you’re all right. We thought you were dead. We found another body and then we found your clothes and we all thought it was you. I’m so glad you’re all right.”
“Harve…Harve…” Dottie said weakly, struggling to sit up.
I kept my voice low. “Harve’s okay, Dottie. Try to listen to me. Do you know where Suze went? Is she coming back here tonight?”
Dottie didn’t answer, and I gave her a hard shake to wake her. “Dottie, c’mon, I’ve gotta get you and Harve out of here before she gets back.”
Her eyes popped open, and she blinked hard. “She sleeps in the cellar. Don’t go down there alone, don’t…”
Then she slipped out of consciousness again, and I couldn’t wake her.
I hadn’t seen a cellar door, but I had to check it out, so I left them sleeping, descended the stairs, and went looking for it. If she was in the cellar, she could probably hear my footsteps on the creaky old floor, so I tested each footfall before I put down weight. I left the lights off and kept against the wall. I found the cellar door under the staircase, hidden behind a drapery.
I opened it and looked down the narrow, enclosed steps. There was a light on, and I could see a naked lightbulb hanging from a chain near the bottom of the stairs. I started down the steps and immediately felt colder air, which made me shiver in my soaked clothes.
At the bottom of the steps, I looked around the unfinished concrete cellar. There was a picnic table and several lawn chairs in the middle of the room, and a small chest freezer against the far wall. My eyes became riveted on a narrow cot near a slanted concrete coal chute. Suze was asleep under a red-and-white quilt, lying on her side, facing the wall, but I’d know her spiked hair anywhere. I had the advantage of surprise, so I moved quickly across the room and stood over the bed.
“Suze! Don’t try anything or I’ll shoot you. I swear to God, I will.”
Suze didn’t move, and she didn’t wake up. I frowned and held the gun on her as I jerked the covers off with my left hand. A scream tore out of me when Suze’s decapitated head flew off the bed along with the quilt and bounced with a spray of blood onto my shoes. I jumped back in horror, knocking into the lightbulb and sending shadows careening crazily around the cellar walls in disorienting patterns of black and white. There was no body on the bed, just rolled-up blankets, and Suze Eggers’s head came to a rest on her left cheekbone and stared at me out of wide, frightened eyes.
Oh, my God, my God, my God…
30
I stared down at Suze Eggers’s head lying on the cellar floor and tried hard not to panic. My God, if Suze wasn’t the killer, who was? Where was he? I had to get Harve and Dottie out of this house. I ran up the cellar steps and found the door at the top locked. I kicked it hard, twice, and when it gave, I came out into the hallway, with my gun leading, and heard someone running up the steps.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” I cried, then took the steps two at a time until I reached the second floor. Everything was silent again, so I moved to the bedroom where I’d left Harve. The light was off, and I reached around and flipped it on. Harve was still on the bed, but now Dottie was standing beside him.
I ran to the bed, relieved Dottie was awake and able to walk. She could help me carry Harve. “C’mon, Dottie, we’ve gotta get Harve out of here. The killer’s somewhere in the house.”
I shook Harve’s shoulder, keeping my weapon trained on the doorway. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the gun. “Dottie, help me pull him off the bed. Hurry!” When she didn’t answer, I turned to look at her and glimpsed the eight-inch meat cleaver she held high in one hand. Before I could react, she knocked my gun arm aside and chopped the cleaver down hard against my left upper shoulder. I screamed as it cut deep, the top of the blade lodged into my collarbone.
Then she was all over me, cackling the most awful laugh I’d ever heard and grabbing for my gun. The weapon went off, slamming two slugs into the wall. The struggle made the embedded blade twist in the bone, and I went woozy with pain. I almost blacked out, and my knees buckled weakly to the floor. Dottie wrestled the gun away and threw it across the room, where it hit the wall and slid under a chair.
“Oh, Annie, Annie, you shouldn’t’ve come out here. I didn’t want to hurt you. Lie still, sweetie, and I’ll fix you up.”
I groaned in agony when she lifted me bodily and carried me to the bed. She laid me gently down beside Harve and ran out of the room. I fought to stay conscious and looked down and saw that the cleaver angled out of my upper chest just under my collarbone. It looked like it had pierced my muscle at least an inch deep. My shirt was cut open, and my bra strap was severed. The wound would’ve been worse if my leather shoulder holster hadn’t taken some of the blade. My white shirt was already turning red with blood.
When I tried to move, the pain was so bad I almost fainted. I shut my eyes and clamped my bottom lip with my teeth, groaning and turning my head until I could see Harve. He hadn’t moved, still deeply drugged.
Oh, God, I had to get my gun. I set my jaw and tried to sit up, but that drove the blade deeper into the wound. Then Dottie was back, and I tried to think how in God’s name I’d ever get away, but she was standing over me and pushing me down into the pillow.
“Dottie, please…help me…I’m bleeding…The pain’s awful….”
“I know, I know, honey, but don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. I’m gonna take good care of the both of you. You’re my best friends, and you’ll be Momma’s best friends, too, you’ll see. Dottie’s gonna make you feel better.”
I shut my eyes and heaved in some deep breaths, but every time I moved, the pain overwhelmed me. When I looked at Dottie again, she was threading a big embroidery needle. Oh, God, I had to get away from her, but I couldn’t move, and I watched her pick up a fat roll of silver duct tape. She pulled out a long length with a sharp shriek, tore it off, and quickly taped my wrists together.
“Dottie…why…why are you doing this…Please stop….”
“Hush, hush, now, darlin’. You’re gonna understand everything soon enough. I’ve got a big surprise for you. Now hold real still while I get you all stitched up.”
When she suddenly reached down and jerked the cleaver out of my shoulder, I came off the bed in sheer agony, but that was nothing compared to the pain I felt when she suddenly dumped a bottle of iodine into the open wound. I screamed and writhed on the bed until she held me down.
“I know, I know, poor baby. It hurts so bad,” Dottie said soothingly as she cut off my shoulder holster and shirt with the bloody cleaver and tossed them on the floor, “but it’s gonna feel better once I get it all sewed up.”
She picked up the needle and pinched the edges of the bleeding wound tightly together with
her thumb and forefinger. I groaned some more and clamped my jaw when she pushed the needle through one lip of the wound and out through the other. Oh, God, I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t, and everything went black for a moment, but not for long enough. I gasped for breath and moaned as she slowly and methodically stitched up the six-inch gash.
“There you go, all better.” She gave me the big, familiar Dottie smile, and I could only lie there and stare dully up at her. Nauseated, I wet dry lips and tried to breathe.
“See, I’m taking good care of you, just like always. Don’t worry so much. I love you guys, ya know that. I don’t like having to hurt you, but you forced me to.”
For a moment I could only stare at her in absolute shock; then I shifted my eyes down and saw the neat line of large black stitches she’d made across my bare flesh. Blood was still seeping out between the sutures and dripping on what was left of my bra. Dottie moved away from the bed, then came back a few seconds later with a hypodermic needle. “This’ll help the pain, so you’ll feel all better for the party. We’ve been waiting for you to get to come to our party for ever so long. Did you know that, Annie? Everybody’s so excited to have you home again, just like old times.”
“What?…I don’t understand…what party?…home?…” I kept trying to think straight, but the pain was throbbing and hot, and I couldn’t think about anything else. When she brought the hypodermic needle down close to me, I shook my head. “No…don’t give me that…don’t…” Then I cried out when she jabbed it between the stitches and injected God knew what into my wound.
“Now, now, be a big girl. It’s just a little morphine to help ease the pain. I’m so sorry I had to hurt you. I never wanted to, but you were gonna shoot me, and I had to. I’m pretty good with that cleaver, don’t you think, Annie? I practice on bodies I don’t need, sometimes with knives and hatchets, too. It’s fun. I’ll teach you if you want me to.”
