“I agree,” Chester Walker said. “Let’s just leave out the final number completely.”
“All right,” Stephanie said, “but we’ll need a new final act.”
“We have one,” Martin said. “My magic act. It’s the highlight of the show any way you look at it.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Nadine said. “Porcelain marionettes.” She rose and scanned all of our faces. “I’m sure most of you haven’t heard Stephanie’s brilliant idea for an additional fundraiser. I’m going to set up a booth in the lobby for the event, and will donate a full half of my profits to the school.”
“And just who do you think would buy anything from you, after what you did to the students of Carlton?” Elsbeth spat out.
The murmur of general agreement arose in the room. Nadine’s cheeks colored. An argument ensued among several in the room, some saying we shouldn’t dismiss anyone’s willingness to share half of their profits. But I tuned out, having thought up another silly card idea.
In my cartoon, a young man has entered a boardroom with an elderly, bearded man dressed in sandals and a white robe and sporting a Moses-like aura. The people in the boardroom are staring at them with jaws agape, as the smiling young man says, “You told me my team needed to show a prophet this quarter or else, and here he is!”
The debate surrounding me was curtailed when Nadine lifted her chin and said, “Well, I don’t need to give my hard-earned proceeds to your cause, if that’s your attitude.” She collected her dolls, stopped and glared at Stephanie, and said, “I hope you’re satisfied, now that you’ve humiliated me this way.”
“My mind must have been elsewhere when I made the inane suggestion to you,” Stephanie said. “I apologize.” Nadine marched out of the room. I felt my own cheeks warming, but to Stephanie’s credit, she did not look my way.
As if the incident with Nadine had never occurred, Elsbeth continued, “We should end with a tribute to Corinne and Olivia. Maybe a medley of their favorite songs.
I could create a piano arrangement in their honor. Better yet, we have that chamber orchestra as the second act. My musical arrangement could include them, too.”
We’d come a long way from clowns to a chamber orchestra, but far be it from me to stand in the way of dignity.
“You know what would be even better?” Chester said, getting to his feet in his excitement. “If the whole cast got together to sing the medley. Like what they do in the Miss Universe Pageant. Elsbeth could make the arrangement and conduct the piece.”
“So much for dignity,” I murmured under my breath.
“Does anyone know what their favorite songs were?” Danielle asked.
“‘Love Can Build a Bridge’ was Olivia’s,” Stephanie said quietly. “Jenny told me.”
“The Star Wars theme song was Corinne’s,” Dave said wistfully.
Elsbeth’s eyes lost their sparkle. She looked across the room at Dave. “Are you absolutely certain ‘Star Wars’was her favorite song?”
“By far,” he said with confidence.
“Did she have a second favorite?” Elsbeth asked meekly.
Stephanie appeared nonplussed. After a pause, she gestured at Elsbeth and forced a smile. “There you have it, Elsbeth. ‘Love Can Build a Bridge to Star Wars.’ Are you up to the task?”
“Don’t you need trumpets for ‘Star Wars’?” Chester asked. “I used to play trumpet back in high school. Granted, it’s been more than twenty years, but I could pick it up again well enough to do the one musical phrase.”
Elsbeth squirmed in her chair. “I can’t really envision a chamber orchestra gettin’ down with ‘Star Wars.’ And it’s a little lean on lyrics. This little medley would hardly be the pinnacle of my musical career.
“You know,” Elsbeth continued with a sigh, “come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind donning my clown costume again all that much.”
Stephanie sighed and turned toward Martin. “You win, Martin. You’re the final act.”
“Yes!” he said, pumping the air with his fist.
A few minutes of debate continued, but then Stephanie called for an end of the meeting and everyone headed out. I kept my seat, however, lost in thought. Tommy and Lauren made their way toward me.
I looked around. The three of us were the last people left in the room. “Can you let me into the office, Lauren? I need to see a student directory.”
“I’ve got one with me,” Lauren said, reaching into her purse to retrieve it.
“Great. Let me see it.”
“What now?” Tommy asked.
“I can’t believe that Corinne’s favorite song was really ‘Star Wars.’ I think Dave Paxton lied. I’m going to call Brian Underwood and verify that.”
“So what if he lied, Molly? Maybe he hates to sing and wanted to get out of it. So he named a song nobody would want to perform.”
“Or maybe he lied because he hated her for purportedly dating someone else. Remember, this is someone who’s constantly professed his love for the woman. Now here he is, hatefully mocking her by suggesting that she liked the antithesis of her type of music.”
I dialed as I spoke, and a male’s voice answered. “Brian?”
“Yes?”
“This is Molly Masters. Do you happen to know what Corinne Buldock’s favorite song was?”
“Favorite song? No idea.”
“Could it have been the theme song from Star Wars?”
“No way. She was into old folk songs. Joni Mitchell. Judy Collins. Like that.”
“That’s all I wanted to know. Thanks. ‘Bye.” I hung up. “I knew it! She was into female folk singers. It’s Dave Paxton. He’s the killer. I just know it.”
“Great, Molly,” Tommy said, making no attempt to disguise his anger. “I can arrest him on account’ve lying about someone’s favorite song. That’s a federal offense, right?”
“Let’s do what we said we would. Hypnotize me. You still have the clown costumes as evidence, right? And you labeled who was wearing each costume?”
“Yeah, but—”
“There has to be something there. Some cologne scent on the costume that I could remember under hypnosis that will point at Dave.”
“Listen to me carefully, Molly. Memories given while a witness is under hypnosis cannot be admitted into evidence in a trial. It’s only helpful for finding the perpetrator, not for conviction. Even if under hypnosis you recall, say, a birthmark on the killer’s neck which positively IDs the person, you can never testify in court about any of that. It’d be too easy for the hypnotist to plant memories. In fact, once you’ve been hypnotized, you can’t testify in court at all. You’d no longer be considered a reliable witness.”
“It would be enough for you to get a search warrant, though.”
He spread his hands. “To search for what? Don’t you think by now the killer’s got any ‘n’ all incriminating evidence well buried?” He fisted his hands and seemed to focus on my neck, then turned to his wife. “Lauren, did you know this was what she was goin’to pull?”
“Yes, but—”
“You should’ve told me!” Tommy massaged his temples. “Now there’s no time. I’ve gotta locate a signaling device.” He looked at me again. “You wear it like a belt under your clothing and push the button on it when you’re in danger. It’ll immediately signal the station house that you’re in trouble.”
“Thanks, Tommy.”
“I should be able to get it to you by midday tomorrow. Just stay out of trouble till then.”
“We’ll follow you home,” Lauren said.
Just then Tommy’s radio beeped. He responded, speaking mostly in numbers and acronyms.
“An emergency?” Lauren asked when he’d finished.
“Naw. Just gonna have to go check out things at the bowling alley after I drop you two off. Got a couple of over indulgers.” He rocked on his heels and said, “Ready to go, Moll?”
We got into our cars. The lighting in the parking lot was enough to assure me that Tommy and Laure
n were arguing. I had the impression whenever I glanced in my rearview mirror that the argument was continuing during the drive home. I pulled into my driveway and waved as Tommy and Lauren circled the cul-de-sac before driving off toward their own home a couple of blocks away.
Meanwhile, the garage door wouldn’t open. The mechanism was old, and it often took two or three tries till the remote worked.
Having pressed the button five times already with no results, I yanked the controls off the visor and pressed again. The red button wasn’t lighting. Plus its weight was abnormally light.
Someone had removed the batteries! I needed to get the hell out of there!
A large figure was coming toward me from behind the bushes. I tried to throw the car into reverse while fumbling for the lock on the door, but it was too late. The person flung my door open.
“Get your hands away from the horn. You let out even so much as a peep, and I’ll shoot you dead on the spot.”
It was Dave Paxton. He had a gun pointed directly at my head.
Chapter 19
The Song Goes On
“Damn. It’s a stick shift,” he murmured. “Makes it a little harder to drive and keep a gun on you.” He switched the gun to his left hand, which he rested on the steering wheel, and put the car in reverse. “Don’t go getting any ideas, Molly. I’m ambidextrous. And a sharp shooter with either hand.”
Your mother must be so proud, I thought, clenching my teeth. I had to battle the rage that enveloped me. If there was any chance of my getting out of this mess alive, it would likely require my calmly convincing him that he shouldn’t kill me.
I eyed the gun in his hand. Now that he was holding it in his left hand, it was on the opposite side of his body. I had even less chance of grabbing it, if things came down to that.
My vision fell on the glove compartment, and I regretted that I’d already disposed of Jenny’s knife. Maybe it was just as well. What “good would a knife do me against his gun? An inferior weapon was worse than no weapon.
He struggled for a moment with the gears as he shifted into first and headed toward the main entrance to. the Sherwood Forest subdivision. That was a mistake—he’d drive us right past Tommy Newton’s house. He mustn’t have known Tommy’s address, and why would he?
If Tommy was still there, dropping Lauren off, maybe I could catch his eye somehow.
I had a brief but clear view of Tommy and Lauren’s house between the trees, just before we reached the intersection with their cul-de-sac. Their garage door was open and their overhead light was on. They must have just pulled in. There was almost no chance that they’d see me, but this could be my only opportunity. He’d never recognize the car, let alone me, from this distance.
Just as we were even with the entrance to their cul-de-sac, I did the only thing I could think of that could signal Tommy—try to jump out. I opened my door and the dome light came on.
Dave grabbed me and hit the brakes. We came to a screeching stop, which was exactly what I’d wanted. I was certain that Tommy would turn and look at my car when he heard the tires squeal. Now if only he would recognize me in the dome light. Dave aimed his gun at me. “Get back in your seat! Shut the door and lock it! Now!”
Not wanting Tommy’s signal to be my getting shot, I did as told.
“Damn it!” Dave snarled. “I need to think. I wasn’t planning on having to do this, you know. I thought I was in the clear. You couldn’t know what it’s like, Molly, to love a woman like I loved Corinne.”
I couldn’t imagine loving someone so much I needed to murder them. Though he apparently didn’t discriminate against murdering those he didn’t love either; he’d murdered Olivia and now intended to do the same with me.
“She was my life, my inspiration. All those drawings you saw that I did? They were for her, just her. I couldn’t work after she dumped me for that…kid, Brian Underwood.”
“You’re a talented artist,” I murmured, hoping a couple of compliments might convince him to let me go.
“I was.”
“I got the impression that Olivia considered you the best-selling artist of her gallery.”
Dave stiffened. “You should never have nosed through my stuff. She’d be alive if it weren’t for you.”
When had I nosed through his stuff? I’d flipped through his sketches that one time with Olivia. She’d said that the one sketch was from a work that was among the first paintings she’d sold. Only that sketch had been so out of balance visually, something an artist would have corrected in the final work. Suddenly, I knew.
“You killed Olivia because she remembered something incriminating she saw in that one sketch, didn’t you? The one of the painting Olivia said she’d sold, where you show Corinne standing in profile. You knew she remembered the original painting.”
He chuckled, but without humor. “Very smart, Molly. I’d painted it with Corinne aiming a gun. The sketch jarred her memory, about how I’d told her about my collection of guns back when she first accepted the painting for her gallery.”
There was no sense in my pointing out to him that Olivia could have just as easily remembered about his gun collection when she witnessed Corinne’s shooting. “She threatened to tell the police?”
“Unless I paid her fifty thousand dollars. I don’t have that kind of money, and anyway, it would never have been enough. She’d only have asked for more.” He clenched his jaw. “Too bad you’re not smart enough to keep your nose out of my business, Molly. I never wanted to do this to you. Didn’t I give you enough warnings? The pipe bomb? That stupid clown doll of Nadine’s?”
In retrospect, those were pretty clear “warnings,” and I wished I’d spent the last week or two in bed. How did he get those porcelain shards? I wondered, then the answer immediately occurred to me. He was likely to have access to Corinne’s dolls and to have taken vengeance by smashing them.
We were at a stoplight. It was too dark outside for me to signal anyone. If I jumped out of the car, he’d stop the car and shoot me. I felt sick to my stomach. That was going to be my last act on this Earth. Vomiting.
Dave ran his free hand through his curly hair and shook his head with disgust. “It was a stupid mistake, forgetting about that damned sketch. I should have destroyed it, but I never took any slides of the painting. That sketch was the only thing I had left of Corinne.”
The poor, lonely, homicidal maniac. “You could just drop me someplace and keep going, drive into Canada or someplace. You don’t have to…keep this up, you know.”
He chuckled. “You got part of that right, anyway. And I am really sorry I have to kill you, Molly. You haven’t done anything to deserve it. Except being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and getting in my way on stage that night. If only you’d been all the way backstage, like you were supposed to be.”
I put my trembling hands on the dash as if afraid of his driving speed—the last of my worries now. Please, God. Get me out of this! “If I could change the past, I wouldn’t have been on the stage at all, believe me. But, you know, they were never going to hypnotize me. They’d have lost me as a prospective witness.”
“Ironic, isn’t it? You tried to set up a stupid trap for me, and I fell for it.” He laughed. “Too bad for you I acted so quick. And that no one was watching your backside.” He grinned, enjoying this immensely. “That’s the one good thing in all of this. We’ve got that idiot Tommy Newton in charge of the police force.”
If I somehow lived through this, Tommy would hear no end to how little I appreciated the fact that he’d left me at my driveway instead of making sure I was safely inside my home. This was my doing, though. I’d been foolish and reckless, and my soon-to-be-motherless children were going to suffer for it. Why hadn’t I thought this through before I blabbed about hypnosis? I deserved to be shot for my stupidity!
“He’s not an idiot, Dave. He’s right behind us. So there’s no point in your killing me. He’ll just witness the whole thing.”
I was bluffing, of
course, but it made him look into the rearview mirror.
“Shit!” Dave cried. “You’re right!”
I am? I looked back then, too, and tears of gratitude filled my eyes as I saw that Tommy was indeed directly behind us. Though it was dark, I could tell it was him by his familiar silhouette and that of the telltale lights on top of his squad car.
Dave wedged the barrel of the gun into the gap between the armrest and the driver-side door. “Shit! I’ve got to lose him!”
With both hands on the steering wheel now, he floored the gas pedal. I slipped my seatbelt on and sent up an emphatic prayer.
We nearly tipped over as we squealed around a corner.
I pressed back into my seat as hard as I could. “This is a ten-year-old Jeep Cherokee! You’re not going to outrace Tommy’s V-8, or whatever his motor’s called. We’ll both get killed this way!”
“Shut up!”
He kept glancing in the rearview mirror. When Dave accelerated, Tommy had turned on his siren.
This whole area had grown so much lately. We were outside the town limits, probably someplace around Route 146, but Dave had apparently had it in his mind to take me to some remote field and shoot me.
A police car sped around a corner in front of us. “Look out!” I hollered. We swerved. Yet another police car was in front of us, which we quickly caught up with. Tommy must have put out an all-points bulletin for this car.
“Shit!” Dave cried. He had to slow down to get around this first car. A second one was parked diagonally across the road, blocking the pavement entirely.
Dave swerved and hit the brakes, and we skidded toward a tree. I shielded my face with my arms, feeling the car swerve yet again. Luckily, there was only the sound of a minor impact as the side of the car swiped against something relatively small.
We were still moving, being jarred up and down on a rough surface at teeth-breaking speed. I lowered my arms and saw that we were in a field my car would never be able to cross. We were being jostled far too violently in our seats for me to say anything to Dave, not that he would have listened anyway.
Death at a Talent Show (Book 6 Molly Masters Mysteries) Page 22
