Mayhem Takes a Dare: The Second Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 2)

by Jada Ryker

  Marisa tried to push Punky away from her ankles as he nipped at them. She managed to roll from beneath her brother. She raised herself to her hands and knees and bent over his still form. Blood flowed from his chest. His eyes were open, the confused, questioning green eyes of their childhood. “Marisa, are you OK?”

  She pressed her hands on his chest as hard as she could to staunch the bleeding. “Mosely, you saved my life.”

  “Of course I did, Marisa. You’re my sister.”

  “Mosely, hang on, we’ll get an ambulance here! Alex, call 911!”

  Another form flew past her and joined the tussle behind the desk.

  “I’m calling 911, Marisa!” As Verna moved away, Punky’s barking sounded further away.

  “You’re under arrest!” The uniformed police officer’s harsh tones recited Macon’s rights.

  “You’re making a mistake! I’m a respected and licensed therapist! These people broke into my office and tried to kill me!”

  “Save it for your lawyer. That’s Wanda Bra Woman and her sidekick, what’s his name.”

  Marisa looked up.

  His hand on the enraged therapist’s shoulder, the officer winked at her. “I’m Officer Daviess. Do you remember me? I was there when Cam hauled all of you to the station after the mob incident a few months ago at the wrestling match. I’m a big fan.” The round face brightened. “Can I get your autograph once I’ve got this guy stowed away?”

  “Now I’m not only what’s his name, but I’m the sidekick.” Alex knelt next to Marisa and squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, Mosely, you’re a hero, man!”

  “Me, a hero? Who would have thought it?” He turned his head and frowned. “Marisa. I am so sorry for everything.” His eyes closed.

  Marisa pressed her forehead against his. “It’s OK, Mose. I love you.”

  “How can you love me after everything I’ve done, Marisa?”

  “I hate what you’ve done, Mosely, but I never stopped loving you.”

  Mosely’s thin hand groped for hers. “Marisa, I stole the quarters out of Mom’s commemorative map of the fifty states. I pried the quarters out and took them. When she asked me about it, I said I didn’t do it. When she said I was the only one who could have done it, as well as taken her missing knick knacks, I said I didn’t remember.”

  Marisa clutched his hand.

  “Mom said she believed me, Marisa. She always believes me.” The green eyes opened. “One good thing about dying is it’ll free me from the drinking. I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing that will ever cure me.” The eyes drifted closed as if they were too heavy to remain open.

  Daviess hauled Macon toward the door. The therapist glared down at her, his face twisted in hatred. “Hey, Marisa. You’re the big sister. You should have saved that boy. This is all your fault.”

  Marisa pressed Alex’s hands to her brother’s bleeding chest. She rose to face Macon. “Macon. Kiss my ass.” She doubled her fist and hit him squarely in the nose. Blood rained down his face and onto his shirt.

  “Oopsie.” Officer Daviess marched Macon to the door. “Clumsy suspect tripped and hit his nose on the desk.”

  “Marisa, you bitch!” His voice muffled by his hands on his bleeding nose, Macon snarled down at her. “I’m going to get you! Just wait!”

  The officer shook the screaming Macon as he hauled him out of the room. “That’s Miss Bitch to you.”

  Marisa knelt by Alex and helped him stem the blood gushing from her brother’s chest. She bit her lip to keep from groaning. “Are you in pain, Mosely? Just hold on!”

  The head on the floor moved dreamily from side to side. “No pain at all. I used the whiskey to wash down a couple of oxycodone tabs before you got here.”

  Marisa forced herself not to yell at her brother.

  “Hey, Marisa,” Mosely coughed. “Help me smoke a cigarette right quick. They’re so unreasonable about smoking in emergency rooms. And grab that bottle. It’s still half full.”

  In spite of her resolution, a thin scream escaped Marisa’s set mouth.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  A wave of dizziness caused Althea to sway. Clara caught her and steadied her. “Are you OK, Althea?”

  Althea shook her head to clear it.

  Clara bent over the still form of the police detective. “I don’t think the head wound is bad. I’m not touching that slab of wood stuck in his leg. Let’s help him to his feet, and I’ll carry him downstairs!”

  Althea was amazed. “Are you crazy? You can’t carry him down those stairs!” The thick smoked choked Althea and the intense heat threatened to incinerate her. She gasped. Her chest hurt with each breath she took.

  “Althea, I was a volunteer firefighter longer than I was a lunch lady! I’ll take him down in a fireman’s carry. You’ll have to go in front of me as a spotter and help me get down those steps!”

  Althea helped Clara haul the groaning, partially-conscious man unsteadily to his feet.

  “I have to get you two out,” Camden mumbled.

  Grunting, Clara managed to maneuver herself under him. Althea helped her position him across her beefy shoulders.

  “You go on, Clara!” Althea turned to the flaming hallway. “I have to check those rooms! There may be people who didn’t get out!”

  Another explosion shook the building. It sounded as if it came from downstairs.

  “No! I need you to help me get him down those stairs. The fire is blazing out of control. Even if you can make it to the rooms, you’ll never get out! If you don’t come with me, I could fall with him and kill us both! Now, come on!” Clara authoritatively turned toward the stairwell. “Hurry, before the stairwell turns into a giant chimney for this fire!”

  At the foot of the stairs, they paused. Her eyes streaming from the smoke and her nose running, Clara huffed, “The lobby and entrance way are on fire! That bitch actually put a bomb at the front door to prevent people getting out of here!”

  Clara turned toward the double doors in the lobby. “Damn it! The patio door is blazing. There’s no way we can get out that way!”

  Althea’s mind raced. “Those are the only exits close to here!”

  “The kitchen! There has to an outside door from there! Let’s go!”

  Staggering under the weight of her burden, Clara led the way through the deserted, smoke-filled dining room. Ignoring the bone-deep ache from the old break in her healed hip, Althea ran ahead to the “Employees Only” door, and threw it open.

  The kitchen was dark and quiet. Althea flipped the light switch by the door. The smoke hadn’t reached the room yet. With its gleaming, stainless steel appliances and scrubbed counters, the cool kitchen appeared far removed from explosions and fires.

  Clara led the way to the back. “Here’s the door!”

  Althea pushed the metal bar, and the door swung open.

  The cool night air felt wonderful on Althea’s sweat-soaked face. She inhaled deeply, trying to fill her lungs with clean air. She choked and gagged. Using the skirt of her filthy dress, she wiped her streaming, burning eyes. In the moonlight, she could see residents moving around the grounds. Interspersed with them were uniformed policemen, trying to herd the elderly people away from the building.

  Althea glanced up at the back of the building. Windows had blown out, and smoke poured from the flaming openings.

  Clara stumbled on the uneven ground.

  “Clara, I’ll get a policeman! Put him down!”

  “No, Althea! She may have planted more bombs. I have to get him to safety!”

  The high-pitched scream of sirens filled the night air.

  Clara doggedly staggered toward the parking lot.

  Althea threw herself on a uniformed policeman. “Lieutenant Camden!” she gasped. “Hurt! Over there!” She pointed to the hulking figure of Clara, with the young man slung across her shoulders.

  The policeman shook Althea off and sprinted toward Clara and the lieutenant.

  In the parking lot, Clara and Althea lean
ed on a car, side by side, gasping for breath, their chests heaving.

  The next explosion was deafening. The top floor of the building seemed to shoot upward in flames, forming a huge fireball.

  Clara pulled Althea down behind the car as flaming debris rained down on them.

  As Althea huddled next to Clara’s protective bulk, she could hear people shouting and more sirens.

  She also heard two raised voices, one male and the other female.

  A trilling laugh edged down Althea’s spine.

  Clara and Althea looked at each other in shock.

  “Moira!” they breathed at the same time.

  Leaning on each other, they struggled to their feet. “Should we try and find a policeman?” Althea whispered.

  “Get out of my way, you stupid bitch. I have to save Althea!”

  “That’s Clay!” Althea and Clara followed the sound of the voices.

  In the far corner of the parking lot, they paused behind an SUV. Clara peeked around the edge.

  Althea peered over Clara’s meaty, scorched shoulder.

  In the empty corner of the parking lot, Clay and Moira faced one another warily. The security light on its high pole illuminated them. Bugs and moths swirled around the buzzing globe. The sound of sirens filled the night air. At the outer perimeter of the illumination, the darkness of the forest seemed impervious to the artificial light and the moonlight.

  Althea gasped. Facing Clay with her chest heaving, Moira was holding a gun in her hand.

  She’d be damned if she’d let that psychopathic bitch kill Clay. Fired with anger and determination, Althea strode into the light.

  “Mrs. Peters!” Althea faced the other woman with her head high.

  “I should kill you now, you imbecilic old woman! You’ve ruined all my plans!” Moira’s arm came up.

  Clay stepped between her and Althea.

  Althea glanced at Clay. “Oh, my God, Clay, what happened?”

  The right side of his jacket and the shirt underneath were soaked with a dark substance. His arm pressed against his side, as if to stem the flow.

  “Lieutenant Camden insisted I wait in his vehicle while you put the plan for Moira to incriminate herself in motion. When I saw the smoke rolling out of the windows, I ran for the building. Moira was hiding behind that SUV. She stepped out and before I could react, she stabbed me.”

  “Clay!” Althea pulled at his arm and clothes as she tried to look at his wound. Her hands were wet with his blood.

  His face deadly pale and his eyes the same color as the moonlight, he nevertheless managed to smile at her. “Just a flesh wound, my dear.”

  With a whispered, incoherent prayer, Althea hugged him close to her.

  “One bullet would kill you both right now,” Moira sneered.

  Althea raised her face from Clay’s shoulder. “You might kill me, Mrs. Peters, but you won’t kill Clay.”

  Moira’s face tightened. “I could kill anyone, Mrs. Flaxton. Haven’t you realized that yet?”

  Althea saw a stealthy shadow moving carefully behind Moira. The light gleamed briefly on a polyester smock. Clara! Althea was torn between ordering Clara to run and keeping Moira talking so as to give Clara the best chance to overpower her.

  “You could have killed Clay at any time, Mrs. Peters. When he ran across the parking lot, you had a clear, unhampered chance to get him. You could have shot him. You could have stabbed him in the heart rather than in the ribs. You’re too much of a professional to have not killed him by now if that’s what you wanted.”

  Keeping her arm around Clay, Althea turned to face the other woman. She ignored Clay’s arm squeezing her in warning. “You didn’t kill Clay because you still love him. You tracked him down with the intention of getting him back. Based on his love for you thirty years ago, you thought he’d immediately fall into your waiting arms, like a ripe peach falling from a tree.” Althea shook her head sadly. “You miscalculated. In your skewed perception, you thought his memory of the events thirty years ago would have dimmed and faded into obscurity. You couldn’t believe he’d actually hold you accountable for your actions.”

  Moira’s face was shadowed. The slight breeze stirred her dress around her legs.

  “You tried blackmail first. You thought your knowledge of Mr. Jones’ death and its circumstances would give you power over Clay. When he refused to be blackmailed and spurned your advances, you were furious. You framed him for murder.”

  “If I love Clay and want him back,” Moira gritted, “why would I frame him for murder?”

  “That’s a good question, and the answer is: a woman who’d lived a normal, everyday existence wouldn’t have. But you’ve lived life on the edge, always ready to risk everything on a single roll of the dice. Based on that, I believe your plan was to break him out of jail. Then, you reasoned, he’d be forced to live a life on the lam with you. You knew he’d stay away from me if he was a fugitive. He would never jeopardize me. He’d lived an exciting life for many years; you thought he secretly yearned for that life back.”

  Clay’s arm tightened around Althea. “Althea is right. You miscalculated, Moira. At one time, I loved you more than life itself. But when you blew up that building and killed hundreds of people, many of them my friends and yours, my love for you was incinerated as well. You’ve lost, Moira.”

  Moira jeered, “I’m the one holding the gun. Therefore, I have not lost.”

  Clara’s arm swung around Moira’s throat. Clara jerked sharply, and pulled the smaller woman off her feet and onto the ground.

  The gun fired with a deafening, fatal roar.

  Clay fell heavily against Althea. She grappled with his limp body. His weight was too much for her. She had to allow him to slide to the ground. As Clay folded next to her, she tried to ease his fall with her body.

  Althea knelt beside him. His eyes were closed. Urgently, she felt his chest. As she felt the shallow rise and fall of his chest, tears of relief filled her eyes.

  How dare this woman try to kill the man she loved! Althea felt the flames of a white-hot rage engulf her.

  She surged toward the grappling women on the ground. Clara and Moira were locked in a deadly struggle. Moira drew back her fist and viciously punched Clara in the face. Clara crumpled to the ground, and Moira crowed in triumph.

  Althea fell upon Moira with a guttural scream. She slashed at the other woman’s face with the nails of one hand, and tried to punch her in the stomach with the other one.

  Moira yanked Althea’s hair as hard as she could. When Althea’s head snapped back, Moira deftly rolled Althea under her.

  Moira smiled. “If that gun hadn’t been knocked away, I’d kill you.”

  The sound of shouts nearby wiped Moira’s smile off her face. “I must run…but first, I want that recording device.”

  Her hip on fire, Althea strained against Moira’s weight, and tried to buck her off her.

  Moira thrust her hand into Althea’s dress. She urgently searched the folds, until she found the outline of the cylinder. Moira ripped the pocket, and grabbed what was inside.

  She held up the cylinder. “Good-bye, Althea. I wouldn’t really kill you. If I did, Clay would hunt me down. And I have no doubt he’d kill me.” She smiled slightly. “Tell Clay good-bye for me. He’s not dead. As you said, I would never kill him. I love him, and I always will.” Moira gracefully leaped to her feet.

  Clara managed to pull herself up. Her hand closed around Moira’s ankle.

  Moira stared at the gnarled fingers on her slim ankle. “I don’t believe this. What are you, the Ancient Avenger? Don’t you ever give up?”

  Stubbornly, Clara tightened her grip. “Fifty years in a lunchroom taught me to fear nothing and to forge ahead, no matter what.”

  The long hair flew when Moira threw back her head and laughed. “Clara, you would make an excellent partner in crime! Come on! Join me! Food fights among elementary schoolchildren can’t be that different from the constant turmoil among the world po
wers!”

  Clara bared her teeth. “You wouldn’t like me as a partner. It would be too uncomfortably close to you having a conscience!”

  “Bite me, bitch!”

  Clara chomped down on the slender ankle in her hand.

  Moira screeched. She viciously kicked Clara until her ankle was free.

  With a carefree laugh, she ran into the woods, as graceful as a leaping doe.

  “Althea!” Marisa staggered to the group on the ground, with Alex on her heels. She fell next to her friend and Clay Napier. “What happened?”

  Clay groaned.

  Althea gripped Marisa. “We have to get him to the hospital!”

  Alex was kneeling at Clara’s side. The old lady was still huddled on the ground. “And I think Clara is hurt!”

  Clara grunted, “I think it’s just broken ribs from her kicks.”

  Alex leaped to his feet. “I’ll get help! The place is swarming with ambulances! I’ll grab a paramedic!”

  “The assisted living center is an inferno! Mr. Napier is lying on the ground, bleeding! Now kicks? Broken ribs? What in heaven’s name have you three been up to?” Marisa’s voice rose to a screech.

  Althea gently touched the dark stains on Marisa’s blouse. “I may ask you the same thing, young lady! Now, let’s get Clay and Clara to the hospital!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The hospital room was crammed with people. With everyone talking at once, it was pandemonium.

  Althea sat next to Clay’s bed, her hand in his. He was propped up in bed. His face was white, but the gray eyes were sharp with intelligence and his mouth curved in tenderness.

  Dreamus Camden, his bed parallel to Clay’s, had cranked the head of his bed practically straight up. His head was swaddled in white bandages and one leg was bulkier than the other under the white blankets.

  At the foot of Dreamus’ bed, Clara lounged in an extra-wide wheelchair, her feet elevated and her arms crossed protectively around her mid-section. Next to her, Fred had his seat scooted as near to her as possible, holding her hand, The Library at his feet.