by Meryl Sawyer
Something inside Alyssa twisted into a cold knot, and she finally accepted that they would never talk Hattie out of this. The anxiety she’d kept at bay swept through her. When it receded seconds later, something crystallized in her mind.
“Why did you kill Phoebe?”
Gordon shook his head a little, silently denying it. Alyssa braced herself, convinced she’d blurted out the ugly truth. Murder was one thing, but killing your own child became a whole new level of insanity.
Hattie’s gaze never wavered; she kept the gun trained on Alyssa. “It’s your fault.”
Everything is my fault, Alyssa told herself, and it had been since she had moved into this house. It didn’t matter if she could deal with it, but she tried to imagine what poor Phoebe must have felt when her own mother aimed the gun at her. On some level Phoebe must have known how sick Hattie was. That’s why she’d taken elaborate precautions, pretending she still cared about Clay and accusing Alyssa of trying to lure him away.
“Hattie, tell me it isn’t true,” Gordon said with a low moan.
“She was leaving—the ungrateful little bitch. She was divorcing Clay and moving to Paris.” Hattie’s tone was matter-of-fact as if this explained everything. “Phoebe wasn’t going to tell me. I overheard her talking to that faggy Frenchman.”
“She and Clay were never happy,” Gordon said.
“Of course, they were happy.” Hattie wiggled the gun at Alyssa. “Then she came home and started chasing him. Phoebe didn’t want to be humiliated, so she decided to divorce Clay.”
“I can’t believe you shot our daughter.” Tears flashed in Gordon’s eyes.
“I wasn’t going to let her leave,” she replied without a hint of remorse. “I took one of your guns, the small .22, and—”
“My gun. Oh, God, no.”
“You planted it at my aunt’s house, didn’t you?”
“Yes. It wasn’t hard to get in.” She smiled, obviously proud of herself. “I came through the main gate behind a boy delivering flowers. When the nurse took the vase upstairs, I walked right in, planted the gun, and left.”
“You missed your calling,” Alyssa said, thinking how demented this woman was. They would have to be clever—and lucky—or she would kill them. “You should have been a cat burglar.”
“Shut up! I’m tired of talking. We’re going out to the pool house. On the way, we’ll stop by the garage.”
“Why the garage?” Alyssa asked although she had a good idea, but she wanted to buy time.
“Do I look stupid? I have cans of gas in there. You can tote them out to the pool house.”
It was a wild thought, but going to the garage was a welcome idea. Anything to take up time. With luck, Jake would come to Thee’s house, discover she was missing, and know something was wrong.
Don’t rely on anyone but yourself, cautioned an inner voice. Look for an opportunity to use the pepper spray.
“Peel the tape off dear, dear Gordon,” Hattie said.
Alyssa hesitated, looking around as if she didn’t quite understand. Her only weapon was time, and she had to use it in any way she could.
“Now!” Hattie screeched.
Alyssa took her time walking over to the chair where her father was bound by miles of silver duct tape, her eyes on the gun as if she feared walking too fast and being shot.
The look in her father’s eyes beseeched her to do something, anything. Hattie hovered close, making it impossible for Alyssa to pull the pepper spray out of her pocket without endangering their lives. She inspected Gordon’s body, trying to find the end of the tape.
“By his elbow,” Hattie said.
Alyssa found the frayed end of the duct tape and pulled on it. The tape barely moved, so she yanked harder, deliberately overworking to use up time. Slowly the tape separated from the layer below. Alyssa laughed to herself. She couldn’t imagine what had gone on when Hattie had tied Gordon to this chair, but she had overdone the tape. It was going to take a long time to unwind it.
“Where are the scissors?” Hattie asked after a few long minutes of Alyssa tugging at the tape.
Gordon hesitated, then replied, “Second drawer in the desk. Maybe the third drawer down.”
Hattie kept the gun leveled at Alyssa’s temple. “Cut off the tape. Make it quick.”
Alyssa searched the second drawer. A stapler, paper clips, pens, pencils, and erasers, but no scissors. “It must be in the third drawer.”
“Hurry up.” Hattie waved the gun in front of Gordon’s face. He flinched, but didn’t utter a word.
Alyssa opened the next drawer and fumbled through file folders, Post-it pads, and envelopes. She found the scissors, but kept rummaging through the stuff.
“Come on, Come on,” urged Hattie in a high-pitched voice.
“Just a minute.” Alyssa stalled. “I don’t think they’re in here.”
Hattie slammed the butt of the gun against the top of the desk. “Don’t fool with me.”
CHAPTER 40
Jake pulled up the street and spotted Alyssa’s rental car near the LeCroixs’ house. Where were the mourners who always made condolence calls? True, there had been two days to pay their respects, but some of them should be here tonight.
This was not a wild goose chase, he decided. His sixth sense had kicked in big-time. Alyssa wouldn’t come over to see her father and not call to tell Jake where she was or that she would be late.
Hattie.
He should have guessed she was the killer the minute Sanchez told him how shocked Troy had been to discover Hattie knew their secret. But who would have thought a mother would murder her own child?
The woman wouldn’t hesitate to kill Alyssa. He attempted to steady his erratic pulse. What if he was already too late to save her?
He hadn’t had the chance to tell her about his conversation with Troy Chevalier or his subsequent discussion with Sanchez when he’d learned how Hattie had treated Troy. If he had, Alyssa might have figured this out. After all, she’d lived for years with Hattie. He blamed himself for letting her walk into danger without having a clue.
Jake shucked his jacket and tie, tossing them onto the backseat before opening the car door to the suffocating, moist heat. He raced up the walk to the dark porch. He rapped the fox head knocker and waited. He tried again. Nothing. He peered into the living room window. A single lamp was burning, but he didn’t see anyone.
“Aw, crap,” Jake muttered to himself. Had they gone somewhere else? Not necessarily. Just because no one answered the door didn’t mean they weren’t here.
He circled the house, thinking. If they weren’t here, his next move was to call Sanchez. The detective could roust as much manpower as money could buy, then turn the Big Easy upside down until he found Alyssa. Son of a bitch! His cell phone was in his jacket pocket back in the car.
The backyard was eerily silent. The pool lights glowed in the lagoon-like pool. He craned his neck and looked upward to see if there were lights on upstairs. The second floor was as dark as a tomb.
He was turning to leave and call Sanchez when a flicker of light across the yard captured his attention. Then it vanished. Now there was nothing but the dense darkness of the backyard beyond the pool. He waited a moment. There it was again, the strobe of a flashlight coming out of the backdoor of the garage.
He edged forward, a step at a time. Who was out there? He inched closer, concealed by the azalea bushes, then came to an abrupt stop, his heart lurching in his chest. He recognized Alyssa and Gordon. Each of them was carrying a can or jug of something. Behind them, a gun trained on Alyssa, walked Hattie.
Relief surged through him, threatening to make his knees buckle. Alyssa was still alive. If he could come up with a plan, he could help her.
His relief was short-lived. The trio disappeared into the pool house. He had to act fast. He could run back to the car and call the police, but Alyssa might be dead by the time they arrived.
He raced over to the small pool house where the lights ha
d gone on and peered through the window. It was a single room furnished with white wicker chairs and a matching love seat. Off to one side was a small bar with glass shelves. Two saloon-style doors opened off the main area into changing rooms.
“Gasoline,” he whispered to himself when he saw what Alyssa and Gordon had been carrying. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see what Hattie had in mind.
She waved the gun at them, saying something he couldn’t hear. Alyssa and Gordon unscrewed the caps on their cans of gasoline and began to pour it around the perimeter of the room. Hattie stayed right behind Alyssa, the gun aimed at her head.
Jake’s first thought was to throw a rock through the window, but that might frighten Hattie into shooting. How could he distract the maniac without spooking her? With his next breath, he had the answer.
He walked over and knocked on the door, a light knock intended to get Hattie’s attention without alarming her. No one answered. The door was solid wood, and from where he was standing, a bush blocked his view into the window. He knocked again, then opened the door.
He stepped into the pool house. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Hattie glared at him, madness, stark and vivid, glittering in her eyes. She’d herded Gordon and Alyssa together. The gun was trained on Alyssa’s head.
“Jake,” Alyssa said.
It was just a single word—his name—but in it Jake heard relief and love. If he lost her, he had no idea what he would do.
“You must want to die with them,” Hattie said.
“You’re going to kill them? What a brilliant idea. I never would have thought of it.”
His bizarre reply confused Hattie for a moment, but the gun never moved.
“Are we having fun yet?” Jake asked her.
“I always hated you,” Hattie said. “You’re such a wise apple.”
“Wise apple? That’s a first.” He tried for a laugh. “I thought you might like to know the police are on the way.”
“You’re bluffing.”
He gave her a shit-for-brains grin. “Why would I walk in here unarmed, if I hadn’t called the police?”
Her expression told him he’d just rolled snake eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Alyssa will be dead by the time they get here.”
Jake took a step forward. “Gordon or I will get you. It’s impossible to shoot all three of us at once.”
“That’s right.” Gordon spoke for the first time in a firm voice.
“It doesn’t matter,” she responded, a sickening note of triumph in her voice. “Alyssa’s brains will be splattered all over this room.”
“If the police aren’t here in time, I’ll kill you.” Jake meant every word.
“No, Jake,” Alyssa spoke up. “Promise me you won’t kill Hattie. Being brought to trial and found guilty in front of all her friends would be worse than death for her.”
“You’re right. I’ll hand her over to the police.” He took another step forward.
“Don’t move!” yelled Hattie.
He stopped, judging he was about five feet away from them. “Gordon, be prepared to grab Hattie.”
A noise from out in the yard took them all by surprise. Hattie cocked the gun. A white-hot burst of fury and adrenaline surged through him. The room narrowed, focused into one small target. Jake lunged forward, tackling Alyssa to get her out of the way just as Hattie fired.
Enraged, Hattie shrieked, “You’re dead! You’re dead!”
He landed on top of Alyssa, quickly rolling off her toward Hattie. In a lightning movement, he grabbed her legs and yanked hard. Jake had a momentary impression of a face contorted by deranged fury.
Hattie collapsed backward, but she managed to squeeze the trigger. The bullet zinged by his head in Alyssa’s direction. Gordon threw himself over his wife’s body. With a surge of insane strength, Hattie bucked and threw Gordon to the side. Jake grappled for the gun, unable to stop her from firing again.
He yelled at Alyssa to stay down, or thought he did. With the blood pounding in his brain and the noise from the gun reverberating in his ears, it was hard to tell. Suddenly, the room was deathly quiet, and Jake realized he had the gun.
“Are you okay?” he called to Alyssa through a red mist in his eyes.
“Yes,” she responded, tears in her voice. “Gordon’s been shot.”
Jake raised his head, dimly realizing the gun was empty and Hattie had stopped struggling.
“Oh, my God! Jake!” Alyssa cried. “You’ve been shot, too.”
The red haze obscuring his vision was blood. He reached up and touched his head. Blood was gushing from his scalp. Alyssa scrambled over to him, all the color leaching from her face.
“It’s not serious. A bullet grazed me. That’s all.” He swiped at his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “What about Gordon?”
“H-he’s unconscious.”
The door to the pool house flew open. In waltzed Ravelle and her television crew, cameras rolling. Hattie hadn’t moved since emptying the gun, but now she huddled against the wall, her face covered.
“We’re here with the LeCroix family where so much tragedy—”
Jake vaulted to his feet, then staggered to the side, light-headed. “You stupid bitch! Did you call nine-one-one?”
“No,” answered the man with the camera.
“Get on it! A man’s dying here!”
He dropped to his knees beside Gordon. His shirt was soaked with blood. Alyssa was attempting to stop it with her hands.
“Father, hang in there. Don’t die on me.”
In those softly spoken words, Jake heard an echo of what was in his own heart. No matter what had gone on in the past, this man was her father. If he died, Alyssa would never have the chance to really know him.
Alyssa sat in the hospital waiting room, Jake’s arm around her. She permitted herself to revel in the safety of his body, to savor the bone-deep ache of love she felt for him. She was still shaking inside from the ordeal even though it was nearly three in the morning.
“Gordon’s going to make it,” Max assured her for the hundredth time since they’d wheeled Gordon into surgery. Max had joined them at the hospital the minute he’d seen the late-night newscast.
She prayed he was right. Jake’s wound had been superficial; a bullet had nicked his scalp. It had been taken care of in the emergency room. The bullet hadn’t struck her father’s heart but he had lost a tremendous amount of blood.
“I can’t believe Ravelle didn’t call the police when she heard the first shot,” Alyssa said. “A few minutes could have made the difference.”
“Getting a scoop was more important.” Jake’s voice was thick with disgust.
“If my father dies because she failed to act, I’m going to strangle that woman. There won’t be a jury in the country who’ll find me guilty.”
“Don’t talk like that. Gordon will pull through.”
“I’m going to call the District Attorney in the morning,” Max said. “I’m sure Ravelle broke a law by not calling the police when she realized a crime was in progress.”
“Good idea,” Jake said, “but I don’t believe what she did is considered a crime. It won’t hurt to make a stink, though, and let everyone know what a scumbag she is.”
After a moment of silence, Max asked, “Do you suppose they’ll find Hattie competent to stand trial?”
“That’s hard to say,” answered Jake.
“Let’s hope so,” Alyssa said. “A public trial would be Hattie’s worst nightmare.”
“Did anyone contact Wyatt?” Max asked.
“I’m sure the police did. He’s probably arranging for an attorney for his mother.”
“You’d think he’d be here,” Alyssa said.
The door to the surgical unit swung open, and Dr. Robinson walked out. He was the same surgeon who had operated on Aunt Thee. He recognized her.
“Hello, again.” He smiled. “I’ve got good news. Your father came through the surgery in fine shape.”<
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Alyssa barely heard the doctor’s explanation of how the bullet had struck Gordon’s collarbone, shattering it and causing tremendous loss of blood. He wasn’t going to die, thank God.
She hadn’t realized how fond she’d become of her father until she knew Hattie planned to kill him. Gordon LeCroix had his faults, but she couldn’t help loving him. When he was out of the hospital, she intended to spend more time getting to know him.
“Go home, and come back in the morning. By then your father will be out of the recovery room and in ICU. He’ll be allowed to see family members only.”
They thanked him and left the hospital. Even though it was very late at night, the air was hot, sultry. Alyssa didn’t mind. It felt good just to be alive, to know those she loved the most were alive as well.
“I need a nurse,” Jake said, touching the bandage on his head. “You’d better come home with me.”
Max drove them over to Jake’s loft, then said good night. Alyssa could tell by the way he’d behaved when he arrived at the emergency room to see Jake that he truly loved his son. She found it hard to understand what he’d done with the baby, but it was easy to forgive him. He’d lost both the child and the woman he’d loved. How sad it would be to spend so much of your life loving someone who didn’t love you.
“Yo, Benson,” Jake called when he opened the door to the loft, flicked on the light, and found the retriever waiting for them, his tail whipping through the air.
“Good boy,” Alyssa crooned, and the dog licked her extended hand.
Jake shut the door, then pulled her into his arms. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, the curve of her neck.
“I have to call Aunt Thee.”
“At this hour?” He kissed her lightly on the lips.
“I know she’s still up. When I called her from the hospital to tell her what happened, I promised—”
“Okay, okay.” He led her across the room to the telephone beside the sofa. “I’ll call her for you.”
He dialed the number, and she almost protested, but couldn’t. Half his head was bandaged, a reminder of how close he’d been to losing his life. For her. She could still feel the rush of warmth, of hope that had invaded every fiber of her being when he’d brazenly sauntered into the pool house and asked if he was interrupting anything.
