Stamped Out

by Terri Thayer

  “I do. Tammy called him for me. Said you’d gone home in a huff and needed some consoling. Nice of him to be so Johnny-on-the-spot, don’t you think?”

  The pit in her stomach grew icy cold tentacles.

  “This way, with Mitch coming, it’ll look like a lover’s quarrel gone bad.”

  April’s heart stopped. Mitch was going to be the fall guy. The one missing piece of his plan. She was going to be his latest victim, and Mitch would be blamed. She wished she could tell Mitch to stay away.

  She scanned the barn quickly. Could she climb over the counter and make a run for it?

  He was staring at her breasts now. She felt undressed, vulnerable, naked.

  “I’ve got to make it look good,” he said, leaving his post at the end of the kitchen and slowly walking toward her. “Like Mitch had been in your pants.”

  She shivered. He wanted her to know what he was going to do to her. He wanted to watch her realize and become afraid. Her fear was his power. She let him get a little closer.

  He came alongside the refrigerator. April jerked open the freezer door, hoping to hit him with it. He ducked and it fell open harmlessly. She moved away from him, opening the door to the dishwasher and letting it fall in the narrow space between the counters. The dishwasher door hit him across the knees and he fell down hard.

  Putting two hands on the edge, she vaulted herself up onto the counter. She reached overhead, pulling the heavy pot rack. The pans rattled as she swung it, just as he was getting up. The rack gained momentum and knocked across his face. He lost his balance and tumbled, his long legs and arms hitting either side of the counters. She heard his grunting exhalations.

  When she jumped down from the counter into the great room, Lyle lunged for her. Her stamping supplies were spread out on Mitch’s table where she’d left them. She grabbed a pot of embossing powder and threw it at his face. The powder spread into his eyes, and he cried out.

  April didn’t waste any time. She ran to the ladder leading to the loft and climbed up. As soon as she was in the loft, she pulled up on the ladder. It felt a lot heavier than her father had described. The picture of her father’s smiling face describing his latest toy came back to her. He was sitting in jail because of this man. She felt a surge of adrenaline course through her.

  She yanked harder, feeling the first two rungs make their way into the loft. She braced herself, pulling so the ends of the ladder were no longer on the barn floor. They were sticking straight out.

  Lyle jumped up and grabbed the end of the ladder, ripping it from her hands. She screamed as she felt muscles tear, her fingers burning from the strain. Lyle struggled to pull the ladder down, but his fingers were slippery with exertion and he dropped his end. The ladder sprang back up toward April, bounced and fell to the floor.

  April bit back a scream. Now she was trapped in the loft with no way out. And Lyle had a way up. She looked over the edge. The loft was at least sixteen feet off the ground. The floor was hardwood over concrete. If she jumped and broke a leg, she’d be in worse trouble. She needed to be able to run for her life.

  Lyle looked up, cackling. He was breathing hard from his trek through the kitchen, but he knew he had her trapped now. His face was dark with embossing powder and white where he’d knuckled his eyes.

  She could see him take in a deep breath. He pushed on his side, as though he had a cramp. He was older than her by about twenty years, and his age was showing. He needed to catch his breath.

  And he could. The fact was she wasn’t going anywhere. She scrambled into the corner of the loft, instinct sending her into the darkness. She had to fight not to throw the covers over her head. She had to keep talking, otherwise she would give up, cocoon herself and wait for her fate.

  She wavered but then found her voice and yelled at him, “You could just walk away, Lyle. I don’t know anything. Nothing I can prove.”

  “You know I came to the barn, for one thing,” he said. “To plant this so that the cops could find it.”

  She peeked down. He was pointing a gun. She scrambled to the farthest corner, clutching her sides as she shook.

  “Don’t worry,” Lyle said. “It hasn’t been fired in fifteen years. I’m not an idiot, you know. I wouldn’t kill you with the same gun I used on Frankie.”

  April tried to speak, but the gun had scared her speechless. A primal panic had been unleashed. She forced herself to breath, mouth wide open. She strained to hear him.

  She heard Lyle cross the barn, away from the loft. “This is going in the filing cabinet. There’s a little hidey hole back here where your father keeps extra cash. I hear the police are getting a search warrant. I’m going to hide the gun, and then you’re going to die in a terrible accident.”

  She heard the metal drawer screech open and felt as though the runners were scraping across her stomach.

  “Your white knight will be here any moment. We’ll just wait for him, so I can make this look real good. I’m thinking murder-suicide. What do you think?”

  She refused to let her brain go where he wanted her to.

  “How did you convince Frankie to come back to the Castle the morning after the party?” she asked.

  Lyle was breathing heavily; the noises coming out sounded disconcertingly like a lover. April wondered where Mitch was. He should be here by now.

  “Your father wanted the Castle sealed. Frankie found me there, working. He knew I’d sold material off the job site, and he wanted in. I didn’t want him as a partner, and he took exception to that.”

  “Did you know he’d raped Tammy?”

  She heard him catch his breath. He hadn’t known. Damn, she’d made him madder.

  Then came the noise she’d been anticipating, fearing. The ladder thwacked against the loft. Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. She heard him push on the bottom rung several times, testing his weight.

  She crawled quietly to the edge of the loft staying low so he wouldn’t see her. She positioned her feet on either side of the ladder and braced herself with her hands, knowing he needed to be about midway up the ladder before she could try to push it back and cause use his weight to pull the ladder down.

  His face appeared over the edge of the loft. Her body was shaking from not screaming out. She turned her face into her shoulder and pushed with all her might.

  The ladder lifted away from the loft two inches and stopped. Lyle’s face was creased with surprise, his eyes wide and terrified. He shifted forward, and the ladder changed direction, leaning against the loft again. She kicked again, grunting like a tennis player as the breath expelled from her.

  He grabbed her leg, and then she did scream. Loud and piercing, it had the effect she wanted. Lyle let go.

  She sat up and tried pushing the ladder with her upper body, twisting away as Lyle reached for her hair. His movement caused the ladder to sway, and April feared the ladder would fall and she would go over with it. She backed away, realizing she didn’t have the strength to knock the ladder down with him on it. Still swaying, Lyle leaned forward.

  April’s breath was coming in short, hard bursts. She felt as if there was no air to breathe. She crawled backward to the other side of the loft, grabbing her pillow as though that would fend him off. Her hand bumped into her sketchbook.

  Time slowed as she remembered what she’d been doing the last time she used the sketchbook in the loft: cutting out skulls. Her sharp scissors were here somewhere. She tossed the covers, trying to find them.

  Lyle sounded like a train coming, huffing as he rested, getting his wind back. The sound terrorized her.

  His hands gripped the edge of the loft. April patted down her bedding.

  Just as a leg appeared over the top of the loft, she reached under the bed and felt the cold, smooth edge of a blade. Her hand closed around the scissors.

  Lyle pulled himself into the loft and stood, arms reaching for her. Forcing herself to run toward him, she lunged with the scissor blade held out in front of her.

 
The scissors met his hands and he stumbled back, his foot catching on the end of the ladder. As if in slow motion, Lyle fell backward, over the edge of the loft, landing with a sickening thud.

  The ladder crashed down to the floor.

  April fell back on the bedding, chest heaving. There was no noise from below. When her heart slowed down until it was just beating rapidly, no longer threatening to come out of her chest, she looked over the side. Lyle was splayed out on the floor, blood under his head.

  The barn door creaked open, a sound that wrenched through her. She gasped.

  “April?”

  Mitch’s voice echoed through the barn.

  CHAPTER 18

  When Ed and Vince stopped by the barn, April was washing her plate. She’d just finished brushing off her sketchbook. She’d gotten crumbs on it drawing while she was eating her toast.

  “You two again?” April said. They’d found a pretense to stop at the barn every day for the last week. Just to make sure she was okay. “You could have saved yourselves a trip. I’ve got five women coming in a few minutes. We’re going to stamp.”

  “We won’t stay long,” Vince said, restraining Ed, who looked as though he was going to settle in at the table.

  “We’re off to New York,” Vince said. “See some shows, hit the art museum. Just reenergize ourselves.”

  “You deserve that,” April said.

  Ed kissed April’s cheek. “Monday, we’re starting a new job. The old fire station. A couple from Philly bought it and want to turn it into a house.”

  Vince patted his partner’s shoulders. “Simmer down, dude. No shop talk until Monday morning. You promised.”

  “Don’t call me ‘dude,’” Ed said with irritation. He took a breath, about to say more, then clamped his mouth shut. He looked from April to Vince. “Okay, you’re right. I’m not even going to think about Retro Reproductions until then.”

  “Clive got us tickets to see the Eagles at Madison Square Garden,” Vince said.

  “Clive did?” April was amazed. Those tickets had been overpriced and impossible to obtain. “That show’ll be awesome.”

  “Awesome,” Vince said, echoing her with a little California Valley Girl in his tone, his eyes dancing. She pulled a face at his gentle mockery.

  Ed said, “We just saw Yost at the diner. Lyle has come out of his coma. They’re moving him to the nursing home. Under twenty-four-hour guard.”

  April cringed at the irony. “Poor Tammy.” At least she wasn’t working there now. Rocky had moved her into her house and was keeping tabs on her.

  “I just hope they don’t put him in George’s old room,” Ed said bitterly.

  The three of them were silent, thinking about George, a man with a lot of life behind him, robbed of the years he had coming.

  “How are Retro’s finances? What did your auditors find?” April asked. Vince and Ed had hired an accountant to come in and see how much Lyle had been skimming over the years.

  Vince and Ed exchanged a look. Vince put an arm around him. Ed took in a deep breath and said, “Retro Reproductions will go on. We may not be able to retire as early as we thought we were going to, but we’re going to be fine. We’ve got plenty of time to build the business back up again.”

  The two men stood, arms around each other’s waist.

  Vince gave Ed a significant look and a nudge. Ed got the message.

  “April,” Ed said, “we think you’re the perfect addition to Retro Reproductions. We’d like you to come work for us. Permanently.”

  April glanced at the smiling men. She couldn’t ask for better bosses. But her first love was stamping, not renovating. “Thanks, but without the Mirabella job, what would I do?” she said.

  “Just promise us you’ll think about it,” Vince said.

  Ed held out his free arm for her, and April stepped in. The three hugged. It felt so good to be a part of their lives.

  The hug broke apart, and Ed said, “So? Bright and early Monday morning? You won’t be late, right?”

  April laughed. Her father could not go out of character for long. “Right. Now go, have a great weekend.”

  They left, promising to enjoy themselves. April smiled at their backs.

  Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the kitchen door. Through the eyelet curtain, April’s heart did a flip when she saw Mitch’s face. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him in the last week. She’d spent the time mostly at the barn, setting up her own household, making stamps and eating the food that Bonnie made and that Clive bicycled over.

  “Having a party?” he asked with a smile, indicating the pile of stamping supplies on the kitchen counter. His face was open and strong, and the way the smile crinkled the corners of his eyes made her weak in the knees. Just a little.

  “The Stamping Sisters are on their way over,” she said. “My new gig.”

  Mitch was grinning at her.

  “What?” she said.

  “My sister’s crowd has never had anyone quite like you in their midst.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” April’s eyes narrowed, and he laughed.

  “You’re a breath of fresh air,” Mitch said. “You didn’t give up until you figured out who had killed Frankie Imperiale.”

  “My dad—” she began.

  He held up a hand. “I know, but there was more to it than that. You cared about this guy you’d never met.”

  April said, “Maybe that was the key. If I’d known him, I might have hated him like everyone else.”

  Mitch laughed again. His dimple, just one, was deep, matching the cleft in his chin. He smelled like wood chips this morning, and she pictured him, already up early, turning a leg on his lathe or sanding a door. She liked the woodsy smell and breathed in surreptitiously, trying hard to hide her interest in his scent.

  He said, “I have a gift for you.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he laughed.

  “You don’t like gifts?” he asked.

  “I’m a little suspicious of gift-bearers,” she said. She had a feeling her own smile was goofy, too.

  “You’ll like this one,” he said. He pulled a huge coffee-table book from out of the bag he was carrying. He needed two hands to carry it to the table. She thought about the pictures he’d shared with her earlier. The book opened to a page marked with a yellow sticky note.

  “Take a gander,” he said proudly. She bent over the page to oblige, conscious that her tank top might reveal too much. She held a hand over her sternum, trying not to think about what she might be showing.

  But Mitch wasn’t looking at her cleavage. He was pointing to a mural. It looked to her like a WPA type, with thick-bodied men doing menial tasks.

  “It’s an authentic Refregier. Look right there. See that?”

  She looked. “The same guy that painted the mural at Mirabella? So?”

  “So, the signature is not the same as this Refregier. Aunt Barbara’s is a fake. Probably done after his work became recognizable.”

  “A fake?” April said.

  Mitch crowed, “The mural is worthless. Rocky has a friend who’s an art appraiser. She came out and declared it was not part of his body of work.”

  April felt her mouth open. She was speechless.

  Mitch filled her in. “A team of painters is in there right now, stripping the wall and painting over it. And Aunt Barbara has agreed to rehire Retro Reproductions to finish the rest of the renovation.”

  April caught Mitch by the arm and swung him around. “You’re not kidding?”

  She pulled him too hard, just as she turned, and he bounced off the table edge and landed in the circle of her arms. She caught him to keep him upright and in doing so, found herself locked in an embrace with Mitch, his sexy eyes inches from her own.

  She took in a deep breath, opening her mouth to apologize. She didn’t get a chance. Mitch leaned in and kissed her, lingering over her mouth and pressing his body into hers. He shifted so his arms were encircling h
er, and she felt the strength in his forearms. Visions of what his body was like underneath his khakis flooded her brain, driving out any inhibition.

  She kissed him back, fiercely. She felt his surprise, fueling her desire.

  Finally, she broke free.

  Her voice was raspy with need. “I have a husband, you know,” she said.

  “I heard it’s over,” he said, lining her neck with tiny kisses. She felt his eyelashes on her chin. Her knees weakened.

  “Technically, I’m a married woman,” she insisted. She’d been ignoring Ken, hoping he’d disappear, but it was time to cut him loose. She’d call him later.

  “It’s okay. I can wait,” Mitch said. He stopped kissing her and looked into her eyes. “You’re worth waiting for.”

  His words sunk into her like an insulin shot, giving her body exactly what she’d been looking for: a man who thought she was worth waiting for.

  The barn door opened again, and they broke apart sheepishly. By the time the door slid far enough open to let Rocky in, they were on opposite sides of the art book, admiring “ ’34 Waterfront Strike.”

  Rocky took in her brother’s reddened lips and April’s mussed hair, and shot April a knowing glance, but she didn’t say anything. She pointed to the book and offered her hand for a high-five. Mitch and April obliged.

  “I’ll leave you ladies to your fun,” Mitch said.

  April was amazed at how much she wanted to go with him. She’d been looking forward to stamping with the girls; now, that seemed like a poor substitute. But as he opened the door, Mary Lou and a still-pregnant Kit were there, followed by Suzi and Deana, so April waved good-bye.

  Having Mitch for a friend would be okay. A friend, like Rocky. Or Mary Lou. He was someone interesting to talk to. He was wise and steady. He was artistic and creative. The fact that he was good-looking was just an added bonus. She felt Rocky’s eyes on her, and she blushed. That was it, no more thoughts of Mitch. No point in fueling Rocky’s speculations.