Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers

by Diane Capri

  He sat on the bed beside her. He wore slacks. Except for the silver chain around his neck, he was bare-chested. His blond hair fell into his face. His hand was inside her shirt, caressing her breasts.

  Piper stared back, expressionless, trying not to struggle. He wanted a reaction. He wanted her to fight him.

  “She’s not your type, Tony,” said a female voice nearby.

  Just past him in the doorway, Sybil stood in a nightgown.

  “That’s what makes it so much fun, Mom,” Tony said. Although he appeared unruffled by his mother’s presence, he pulled his hand away and rose up from the bed.

  Not Sybil. Norma. The dark wig and brown contacts gone. Her pale blue eyes alive with indignation.

  The woman held Sybil’s journal and thumbed through it. “Is this the only one you have?” she asked. Piper nodded. “Where’s your boyfriend? The cop?”

  “I don’t know.” She fumbled to button her blouse.

  “We’ll have to move faster now.”

  They were in the master bedroom, the room she had seen Sybil pace in numerous times in the past. A birdcage sat on the floor near the bed. A yellow canary lay dead at the bottom of the cage. The room had the odor of death. The bird, she wondered, or Sybil? Was she dead too?

  Within inches of her face, Norma said, “I can’t begin to tell you what a pain in the ass you’ve been. You can’t win now, so make the best of it.” She gave Piper a hard shake and slapped her face.

  Piper heard a low moan in the bed beside her. Slowly turning her head to avoid another bout of dizziness, she saw the thin, pale form of Sybil Squire on the far side of the mattress. Her white skin and hair blended in with the sheets, making her nearly invisible. Sybil reached out and touched her arm with icy cold fingers. The ring finger on her left hand was bent at an odd angle, the knuckle swollen three times its normal size. A circle of skin, where her beautiful diamond wedding ring had been, was bruised and raw.

  These people were monsters. They thought nothing of torturing an old woman to get what they wanted. Sybil’s breath no longer smelled of scotch and tobacco—the days of indulging their patient-turned-prisoner had long passed. Her breath smelled of neglect and decay.

  Within the emaciated face, the sunken eyes remained expressive. They seemed to take over her entire face. Bruises and scabbed-over sores riddled her face, chest, and arms. Sores the exact size and shape of a cigarette tip. Blood caked at the corner of her mouth, her pale feet poked out beneath her soiled nightgown. Piper’s heart caved. Sybil became her loving Nana in her final days of terminal cancer, begging silently to be pain-free and at peace. Once again Piper found herself comparing this woman with her grandmother. She couldn’t save Nana Ruth, but she could try to save Sybil.

  “How touching,” Norma said to Sybil. “A total stranger gets more affection than I ever got. Those frigging birds got more attention. Is it any wonder I have to be so tough on you? Is it?”

  Tony pulled Piper from the bed and slammed her into a chair. A stabbing pain shot through her head, spots jumped in front of her eyes.

  “All right, look, we’re very close to finishing up our business here. You’re going to help us, and then we’ll leave you all and be on our merry way.”

  Piper seriously doubted they would leave them alive, especially after killing the handyman and stashing him in the Vogt’s freezer. They had nothing to lose and everything to gain by killing them.

  Norma opened Sybil’s journal and rifled through the pages. “Listen to this,” Norma said with her face in the journal. “Would you listen to this?” She began to read, “‘Norma leaves for England tomorrow. I’ve no choice. They’ll help her there. Sending my little girl away breaks my heart. I’ll miss her terribly…they say it’s for the best. But I wonder, is it?” Norma paused. Mocking sentiment filled her words. “‘Jane says in time she’ll realize that those of us who play an important role in this fantasy world called Hollywood must make certain sacrifices.’”

  Norma Knoller whirled around, platinum hair flying, pale eyes flashing, to scream at the frail form on the bed, “You selfish bitch! You had no choice? It was for the best? Whose dirty secret was it, anyway? Not mine—I was ten years old. I didn’t understand what was going on. The only sacrifice made was by me, me—your little girl. I was the one sent off to a strange country to live without family, to battle the bloody nightmares alone, because it was all for your perfect fantasy world. What you did you sacrifice, Mommy dearest? Tell me! What great sacrifice did you make? You continued to star in your pathetic movies. You got married again and replaced me with your precious brat.”

  Sybil Squire closed her eyes, shutting out her daughter.

  Tony leaped onto the bed, stood above the prone woman, his feet rocking on each side of her. “Grandmother, you were a rotten mother to my mother. My mother would never send me away, never. You owe her, y’know. Why don’t you just tell us? Where is it? You owe us!”

  Mr. Moto stepped into the room.

  “Okay, if that’s how you want to play.” Tony turned to Moto. “Jack, your knife.”

  Sybil’s eyelids squeezed shut tighter.

  Moto extracted from his pants pocket a Mother-of-Pearl-handled pocketknife and handed it to Tony. Tony pulled out the nearly five-inch blade, testing the sharpness by shaving a patch of hair from his forearm.

  “Now, Grandma, you have to open your eyes. It’s important you see what we have to do to Piper Buttinski, your self-proclaimed protector. Because every slice made into her pretty body will be a black mark on your soul. You’ll be responsible for her blood.”

  Tony leaped off the bed. He lifted the chair with Piper in it, carried it the five paces to the side of the bed and slammed it down. “If you don’t open your eyes, Grandma, I’ll have to slice off your eyelids. Is that what you want?” He pulled Sybil to the edge of the bed by her nightgown. He put his mouth to her ear and screamed, “Open them, now.”

  Sybil’s eyelids opened. In a voice barely audible, she whispered, “Let her go and I’ll…tell you.”

  “Oh, Grandma, it’s too late for bargaining. We’re beyond that stage of the negotiations. Besides, we have to punish your friend for being such a busybody. How much punishment I dole out, of course, is up to you.” He grabbed Piper’s wrist and pulled her hand toward Sybil, the palm facing her. “I used to read fortunes. Palms, actually. You’d be surprised what you can see in the lines of the hand. This line,” he placed the tip of the blade at a spot under the index finger, and traced it to under the ring finger, “is the head line. It reveals your determination in life. We all know how determined Piper can be, don’t we?” He retraced the line, only this time he pressed down, cutting. Pain shot up her arm. She strained to pull her hand away. He held it tighter. Moto held the back of the chair to keep her from tipping it over. A thin red line emerged. Tony wiped her blood on the sheets.

  “Now this is the heart line. Emotions are involved here. Is that new boyfriend’s name written all over this line?” He cut the width of her palm, from side to side. This cut was deeper. Piper cried out. Blood ran down her palm, wrist, and forearm to pool in the crook of her elbow. Again, he dragged her palm across the bedclothes, staining them with her blood. “This one, the life line, circles the thumb. If I press hard enough, I can take her thumb off.” He brought the blade down on the space between her thumb and index finger. She closed her eyes. Her body trembled from head to toe.

  “The pool.” The voice was so soft she barely heard it over the pounding of her heart.

  “What?” Tony said. “Grandma, did you say something? The key is where?”

  “Swimming pool. Chained to the drain … bottom.” Sybil let her eyes fall shut.

  “Mom, Jack, watch them.” Tony gestured to her and Sybil, then left the room, undoing his pants.

  Piper wrapped a pillow around her hand to stop the flow of blood. The wounds burned. Her hand throbbed.

  Norma paced from the bed to the window where Moto stood and back to the bed.


  “He dove into the pool,” Moto said.

  Norma thrust her face into Sybil’s face. “You better be telling the truth, old lady, or I swear I’ll rip your heart out with my bare hands. And I’ll make certain the world learns every sordid detail of that dirty secret you wanted so desperately to hide. They’ll know what kind of depraved, twisted men you married. And what a selfish, uncaring bitch of a mother you were.”

  “You’re sick, Norma,” Sybil whispered. “You need help.”

  “Shut up!” Norma slapped Sybil across the face. Piper heard a bone in her face crack.

  Moto said, “He’s been at the bottom of pool for a long time, I think she’s lying. Wait, he’s up. He’s signaling.” Moto opened the window and leaned out. He turned to Norma. “Wire cutters. He wants wire cutters. Where are they?”

  “In the tool shed. Go help him. Hurry.” Norma waved him out.

  Norma replaced him at the window. “Looks like we won’t need either of you anymore.”

  Piper scanned the room for a weapon, something heavy to charge Norma. The knife lay on the nightstand.

  Norma turned and saw Piper looking at the knife. She rushed to the nightstand. She snatched up the knife and came at Piper.

  Piper pushed the chair back and scrambled to her feet, deflecting the first stabbing thrust with the outstretched pillow. Norma’s wild swing threw her off-balance, giving Piper a split second to shove her with all her might. Norma fell backwards over the chair. Her head hit the edge of the dresser with a thud. Norma tried to rise, but slumped to the floor, eyes rolling back into her head.

  Piper snatched up the knife that had fallen from Norma’s hand. As she came around the bed to help Sybil, she checked out the window. Moto was coming out of the shed with the wire cutters.

  Piper pulled Sybil’s legs to the side of the bed and lifted her into an almost standing position. Sybil was too weak and sank down on the mattress with a deep sigh. Sybil couldn’t stand and Piper couldn’t carry her. Piper had to get help. The phone on the nightstand was dead, the cord missing. Piper raced down the stairs to the phone in the kitchen. Keeping low so that Moto and Tony couldn’t see her, she grabbed at the wall receiver. The dial tone was like heavenly music. She dialed 911. It seemed a lifetime before someone answered. “What’s your emergency?” She gave them the address and said that she was being held hostage, someone was dead and the killers were about to take two more lives. Not waiting for a response, she turned and ran back through the house and up the stairs. In the bedroom she rushed to Sybil and kneeled at her feet. Something was wrong. It took her a moment to realize that Norma was no longer sprawled out on the floor.

  “Where’s Norma?” Piper asked, taking the limp scarred hand in her hand. The hand was warm, the palm moist. Sybil’s head was bowed, her chin on her chest, her eyes closed behind an unruly mass of platinum hair. Then Piper saw it. Her gaze traveled downward to a naked foot and leg at the side of the bed, a foot with cigarette burns. She looked back at the woman whose hand she held. The woman lifted her head with great effort, turned her face toward Piper. Pale blue eyes stared into hers with pure loathing. Piper gasped.

  Norma grabbed her around the throat and squeezed, pushing her down to the floor. Her body straddled Piper’s and her knees held Piper’s arms to her sides in a vise-like grip, her super strength fueled by rage. Amid screaming sirens, her thumbs pressed into Piper’s windpipe and Piper knew that in no time, police or no police, she would be dead. She stared into those pale blue eyes and watched the world around her go red, then white. A brilliant white, like a bursting nova, and at the core, a vision of her grandmother fading in and out.

  Suddenly the pressure on her throat eased. With a grunt, Norma fell away from her and toppled to the floor at her side. Sybil bent over Norma, both hands still gripping the handle of the knife, its blade buried in her daughter’s back. Sybil’s legs wobbled violently, her daughter’s body the only thing holding her up. Sybil slumped to her knees. The two women, uncanny in their resemblance, seemed to embrace, bonding at last.

  Piper eased out from beneath Norma and touched Sybil’s shoulder. She had wanted to save Sybil, yet in the end Sybil had saved her.

  She pulled herself to her feet, leaving a fresh trail of blood on the bed sheets. The room shifted and rocked. A sudden dizziness hit her. Dizziness she quickly blamed on lack of oxygen from her near strangulation. She fell to her knees. When the ceiling fan began to sway and items fell off the nightstand and dresser, she realized it was an earthquake. The ceiling cracked. Directly over her head a thick wooden beam split. She screamed. Her own scream filling her ears shocked her into action. Panic propelled her toward the exit with one thought—to get out.

  On hands and knees, she crawled to the doorway, pitching to the side as knick-knacks and paintings crashed to the floor around her. She saw Jason charging through the doorway from the back of the house. The trembler tossing him from side to side, slowing his progress.

  “Piper, hurry!”

  “The pool! Tony—”

  “We’ve got them.”

  She crawled another foot and stopped. The sight of Jason brought her to her senses. Sybil. She needed her help. She looked behind her. The beam creaked, shifted again, raining plaster down on Sybil’s head. Piper crawled back into the room, glancing at the beam as she inched her way across the floor in what seemed like slow motion.

  She lifted Sybil under both her arms and tried to drag her away from her daughter. Norma reached up, wrapped her hand around the handle of the knife buried into her upper back and tugged the blade out. She twisted around. The crazed look in those ghostly eyes frightened Piper more than the earthquake or the beam overhead. Norma raised her arm to plunge the blade into her mother’s chest. Piper kicked at those wild eyes, her sandaled foot landing squarely across the bridge of her nose. She heard the crunch of bone breaking. With blood pouring from her nose, Norma pulled herself upwards, gripping the knife. Piper marveled at her superhuman strength. Norma turned to Piper, her mouth twisted into an ugly, triumphant grin. The blade rose above Piper’s throat just as the beam gave way and came crashing down, seemingly powered by invisible hands. Norma looked up as it struck her in the face, a long sliver of wood pierced through one of those penetrating pale blue eyes, obliterating it completely.

  Jason pulled Piper to her feet, lifted Sybil, and together they made their way down the stairs and out of the house.

  The piercing sounds of sirens and car alarms filled the air. The neighborhood was alive with people running into the street, shouting. The entire world had suddenly gone mad.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Los Angeles Times. AWARD-WINNING ACTRESS VICTIM OF ABUSE: Eighty-five-year-old Sybil Squire is recovering from injuries sustained at the hands of her daughter and grandson. The film star’s daughter, assumed murdered years ago, resurfaced, and in a bizarre bid for revenge…

  Sybil Squire was again headline news after nearly forty years. Three people were in the morgue, one was in the hospital, and two were in the county jail awaiting arraignment for a number of charges, Murder 1 heading the list. The earthquake made the front page as well, but took a backseat to the scandal involving the once-famous screen idol.

  When Jason and Piper had exited the Squire house with Sybil, the ground stopped trembling as abruptly as it had started. Piper didn’t remember much of what happened, or in what sequence, except that she was never so glad to be outside and to see the West Hollywood police.

  Jason took Piper to the emergency room at County General where the cuts on her hand were stitched and bandaged. As he stood by, holding her other hand during the procedure, Piper thought how easily she could completely fall for his guy. Was he the one, Piper asked herself. The conversation with Belle played in her head: “Do I have a type?” “Yes, you just haven’t found him yet.” Maybe she had.

  The police removed the body of Luke Monte, handyman, from the Vogt’s freezer. A cadaver dog detected cadaver scent in Sybil’s rose garden. Tony had killed the man
, buried him, dug him up, and placed him in the freezer. To throw off suspicion from himself or maybe hoping to frame Piper for the murder, she wasn’t sure which. The reference to the Rose Garden in Sybil’s journal had been a clue to the whereabouts of the handyman’s buried body.

  The police found the key to the safety deposit box chained to the drain at the bottom of the pool. Suspecting something sinister was about to happen, initiated by the unexpected visit from Mr. Moto and her grandson, Sybil had transferred a good deal of her fortune—cash, jewels and negotiable bonds—to a new safety deposit box the day of the fire.

  Avidon died from his leap off the roof of the Tropical Palms. The envelope left with the desk clerk contained a written confession to the murder of sanitarium nurse Judith Neely.

  The body in Norma Knoller’s gravesite was exhumed. Through DNA testing, it was determined to be the body of Judith Neely and not Norma Watson Knoller.

  With his mother no longer alive to oversee his life, a devastated Tony Avidon—a.k.a. Anthony DeMille and more recently Luke Monte and Arnold Copeland—confessed to killing the Vogt’s handyman on the day of the earthquake and conspiring with Jack Ling and his mother in the injection death of Sybil’s longtime friend and housekeeper, Vera Wade. He went on to confess to charges of forgery, elder abuse, financial exploitation, and intent to kill his grandmother, Sybil Squire.

  Sybil went to the private hospital in West Hollywood where a contrite Dr. Lowdell treated her for malnutrition, neglect and the physical abuse she had sustained while under her daughter’s care. Her chances for survival were fair. When Piper visited her, a frail Sybil told her that to protect Piper, she had tried to discourage her from getting involved. “I should have known you wouldn’t be deterred by anyone or anything. Your grandmother had those same strong principles. She would have been proud of you. As I am.”

  The earthquake, although it felt strong, of a magnitude that kills, was only 5.2 on the Richter scale—anything under 6.0 was considered a mere nuisance to Angelenos. Yet the quake’s damage to the Squire house had been devastating, and it did kill. Investigators speculated that the structural damage had occurred during the earlier quake, weakening the overhead beam. The final quake had been significant enough to bring it down.