An Eggshell Present: An Abishag’s Fourth Mystery (Abishag Mysteries Book 4)

by Michelle Knowlden

  We heard an impatient knock on the door.

  “Keep your shirt on,” Kat yelled. “We’ll be there in ten seconds.”

  We high-fived, and Kat ran back to Sebastian’s room. I hovered at the front door, knees shaking.

  When she returned with syringe in hand, she hissed a few instructions. Then she retreated to my bedroom to wait for my signal.

  I took a deep breath and yelled through the door, “Got problems with this door. Go around to the back.” We didn’t want the neighbors watching.

  I sped to the back door and met Sebastian’s aide on the patchy lawn, plastering a big, fake smile on my face. “Connor! We weren’t expecting you. Did the agency call?”

  He wasn’t wearing scrubs. Instead he wore street clothes, a polo shirt accentuating his broad shoulders and muscular arms. My heart skipped a beat, and then I straightened to the last millimeter of my 5 foot 2 inch height.

  Without waiting for an invitation, Connor stepped towards the back door I left open. I diverted him by walking to a scraggly tomato plant.

  He glanced at the door, and then followed me. Good He faced me, his back to the door.

  “Your text seemed anxious,” he said. “I thought I should stop by and make sure Sebastian was okay.”

  Hands twitching, I knelt and fingered the tomato plant. His bodybuilder form loomed over me.

  “So sweet of you.” I glanced up, shading my eyes against the sun’s glare. “But Dog’s here, and Sebastian’s sleeping.”

  Connor looked at the house. “Dog?”

  I remembered that we always called Dog “Doug or Douglas” around Connor. It was the name he used with the hospice agency. Since I was about to assault Connor, I figured I didn’t need to explain who Dog was.

  I rose to my feet, and said evenly, “The game’s up, Connor. We know you’re more than a hospice aide.”

  If he’d looked confused or surprised, I would have laughed and made a joke of it. He didn’t look surprised or confused. He looked resigned.

  “How did you find out?” Reaching for his pocket, he took a step towards me.

  So I sprayed him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  When he yelled and covered his face, my martial arts training paid off. I kicked him in the belly or maybe a little lower. Groaning, he dropped to his knees. Kat sprang from where she’d been hovering by the back door and plunged the syringe into his thigh. He tried to speak but after a few whimpers, he was unconscious.

  We had taken him out in less than 20 seconds.

  I gulped. “Is he okay?”

  Kat put two fingers to his throat. “He’s breathing and has a pulse. Let’s drag him to your room.”

  “Why my room?”

  “We can’t leave him here. Dog would see him from the living room. Our room’s upstairs, and we can’t take him to Sebastian’s room.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Dragging a dead weight thirty feet may sound easy, but he was incredibly heavy and hard to angle around the door frames. We may have hit his head and hip against the jambs a few times.

  We pulled him far enough into my room to shut the door. At least I shut the door while Kat raced out to the garage. When she returned, she had a fat roll of duct tape. We wound it around his wrists and ankles a dozen times. I put my head to his chest and listened carefully as I’d listened to four comatose husbands. I sat up and nodded with satisfaction.

  “He sounds fine. When do you think he’ll wake up?”

  She shrugged. “If he wakes up before Officer Fujikawa gets here, then we’ll question him. If he doesn’t, then Fujikawa can have him.”

  Pretty cavalier after all our effort. We maneuvered him to his right side with legs bent in the approved recovery position. I stood and helped Kat up, staring at Connor with regret. I had been looking forward to making him confess to nearly killing Sebastian.

  “We should duct tape his mouth,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Not till he wakes.”

  From the kitchen, Dog bellowed, “Where is everybody? The timer went off.”

  I slipped a pillow under Connor’s head. “Sebastian won’t be able to sleep with all this noise,” I said.

  “You check on him. Dog and I’ll put dinner on the table.”

  Sebastian slept through Connor being taken down and Dog yelling. His color had improved, too. I decided to let him sleep through dinner. In Dog’s medkit, I found some eye drops. I sloshed some water in Connor’s eyes and then the eye drops. Should help after being pepper sprayed. I stowed the towel I’d used to sop up excess water around Connor in the laundry room (to hide the evidence), and headed to the kitchen.

  Surprisingly, I ate voraciously. Between each of three helpings of the tuna casserole, I checked on Sebastian (and Connor) and found both resting comfortably. After one trip to the back bedrooms, I helped myself to the cheese and tuna Kat left on her plate. I also had two servings of salad—store-bought produce supplemented by backyard foraged tomatoes, Italian squash, a turnip, and radishes. When I returned from my fourth check of our patients, I found bowls of ice-coconut milk topped with the last of the summer blackberries. Mayhem does bring on an appetite.

  “Sebastian should have dinner with his meds,” Dog said.

  “I’ll make up a plate for him.” Kat gave me a meaningful look.

  As I followed Dog into Sebastian’s room, I heard my bedroom door open softly. Good. She was checking on Connor. For kidnappers, we took excellent care of our victims.

  Sebastian woke at my light touch. “What hap-pened?”

  “Nothing.” I thought of Connor unconscious at the end of the hall. “You slept. We had dinner, and Kat’s fixing a plate for you.”

  “And here it is.” Accompanied by the smell of reheated casserole, Kat maneuvered a loaded tray into the room. I helped Sebastian sit up, and Dog handed him a pile of pills.

  “Need a plan,” Sebastian said. He fumbled with his fork.

  Kat and I avoided each other’s eyes.

  “I say we wait for the police,” Dog said.

  Kat eased into the armchair. “I agree,” she said.

  Dog raised an astonished eyebrow.

  “What?” She raised her eyebrows back at him. “Did you think I was going to suggest overpowering Connor with our supernatural powers and beating a confession out of him?”

  I covered swallowing wrong into a cough, sat next to Sebastian, and cut a tomato into smaller bites.

  She snapped her fingers. “Drat. I forgot that Storm Rollins is coming over soon.” To Sebastian, she said, “He’s the one we mentioned earlier as one of the Vote Greene campaign workers. He found some of the original receipts before they’d been entered into the accounts. He asked if he could bring them over.”

  “If you saw him, Sebastian,” I said. “Do you think it would help you remember?”

  He shrugged. “Might.”

  “Good idea,” Kat said. “Could jog his memory about the campaign finances.”

  “I thought about … you said,” Sebastian said.

  “Who said?” I asked. His fork slipped from his fingers again so I filled his spoon with tuna casserole.

  “Kat. Me asking you to mar-ry me.”

  The spoon clattered on the plate, and I gaped at him. Kat leaned forward interestedly in the armchair.

  Dog cleared his throat. “Kat, maybe we should leave …”

  She waved a hand to shush him. “Not when it’s getting good.”

  Not seeming to mind the audience, Sebastian’s gaze stayed fixed on me. “I re-member.”

  Kat breathed, “I knew it.”

  Dog rested his hand on her shoulder.

  “You were going to ask me to marry you?” I said slowly.

  Something was wrong. Although his gaze remained on me, he felt remote. The exact opposite of how he’d always acted around me. Had he remembered the engagement ring, but forgotten his feelings for me?

  “Yes.”

  Kat’s breath intake was audible, but from the c
orner of my eye, I saw Dog squeeze her shoulder warningly.

  As calmly as I could, I said, “But you’ve changed your mind.”

  “Yes.”

  It took every ounce of Abishag training to say serenely, “Because you don’t remember how you felt about me?”

  He shook his head. “I re-member.”

  Well, that was confusing. Why had he followed me to West Los Angeles if he no longer wanted me? “What’s changed then?”

  “Me. I’m broke. No good for you.”

  I looked at Kat. Her eyes welled with tears. I switched my attention back to Sebastian.

  “I don’t need money. Fitz is checking your accounts if you’re worried …” I fizzled to a stop when he shook his head.

  “No.” He was emphatic. “I’m broke. Brain da-maged. Not for you.”

  I didn’t understand how that mattered. “I know you’re brain damaged, Sebastian. But you’re getting better. You may even walk again. You may be able to finish your doctorate. Or not. Whatever. You’re still you.”

  “Not good for you. You marry a man not da-maged.”

  I looked for help from Kat, but she said, “Tell him, Les.”

  I tried the reasonable approach. “I’m already married, Sebastian. I’m married to you.”

  He exhaled in frustration. “Don’t need Ab-shag. Not veg-table now.”

  I clenched my hands tightly, wishing I dared take his hand. I was trying to be logical, but he wasn’t following my perfectly reasonable words.

  “Les. Tell him what you told me yesterday.”

  My mind went blank. “What did I tell you yesterday?”

  She had that look on her face when she thought me obtuse. “About how you feel about … you know.”

  “About?” My mind raced through everything I’d talked to her about. She patted her heart.

  “Oh.” I turned to Sebastian. “I told Kat I love you.”

  He went still, but I thought I should clarify. “Not just the you before the accident, but the you after the accident, too. When your mom terminated the Abishag contract, that was the worst moment I’ve ever known. Worse than being shot at. Worse than PTSD. Because it meant I lost you.”

  He reached for me. Dog grabbed the tray from his lap before it slid to the floor. I would have gone straight into his arms at that moment, except the doorbell rang.

  Dog winked. “I’ll take the tray to the kitchen and let you two talk. Dinner can be warmed again.” I think Kat intended to stay, but he herded her from the room.

  Sebastian shifted in the bed, and I scooted next to him, loving the feel of his arm going around my shoulders.

  “You sure?” he said.

  I nodded. “I didn’t understand what you were worried about.” My head dropped to his shoulder. “My previous three husbands were old and mostly brain dead. My previous boyfriend was expensive and kind of mean.” Grinning to myself, I wiggled closer to Sebastian. “You’re a great catch.”

  “Like a fish?”

  I laughed. “I already have a fish.” In case I hadn’t been clear, I said firmly. “I know you’ll be a wonderful husband, because you already are.”

  “Les?”

  Looking pale, Kat stood stiffly at the door. Dog towered behind her.

  I frowned. “Can it wait, Kat? Sebastian and I are still talking.”

  Dog suddenly pitched to the floor, carrying Kat with him. Behind them stood Storm Rollins who had shoved them. Now Rollins pointed a gun at me.

  “I’ve waited long enough, Mrs. Crowder.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I started to get off the bed, but Sebastian’s arm tightened. Cold fear shot through me.

  “What’s going on?” My voice sounded shrill.

  “Reich?” Sebastian said.

  I shook my head. “No, he’s Storm Rollins. From Dad’s campaign.”

  Rollins barked a humorless laugh. “The brain-damaged guy got it in one. I’m Adam Reich.”

  I sucked in a breath and tried to wiggle away from Sebastian. If Rollins, no Reich, shot me, he might hurt Sebastian. Sebastian’s arm held me like iron.

  Reich kicked at Dog. “You and your wife get over there by the window.”

  Dog slowly stood, keeping himself between the gun and Kat. He pulled Kat to her feet, and they moved to the far wall.

  Keep him talking. That’s what we did with his sister as she held a gun on Kat and me in Portuguese Cove. If we could keep him talking till Officer Fujikawa arrived, we might survive.

  “Were you the one who messed up my dad’s accounts?” I said.

  “Yeah.” He smiled sourly. “That was me. Like my sister and father, I was an accountant. Till you ruined our lives.”

  “Not me,” I said quickly. “No one here hurt your family. Hillary Crowder falsely accused your dad, and she died for that.”

  He moved closer to me, his gun pointing at my face. Peace like a river. Serenity like a lake. Calm like me. I grabbed Sebastian’s hand on my upper arm and clung to it.

  “My dad had nothing to do with that,” I said. “Why’d you go after him?”

  He shrugged. “I was going after you. And Sebastian Crowder. Thought I’d bring down your father and let Crowder take some of the blame. So you’d know what it felt like to have your father’s reputation ruined. And yours, too.”

  “That was Hillary, not us.” I was repeating myself, but I hoped he’d see the logic. Or that the police would get here. Fast.

  “I wanted this done weeks ago. Before Annette’s parole hearing. I thought maybe her lawyer could make a case that those she’d gone after were worse than she’d ever been.”

  I licked my lips. “But she killed someone. Maybe others besides Hillary. They never found that guy your dad went to prison for. Did she kill him?”

  Reich shook his head. “No.”

  Ice trickled down my back.

  I gulped. “You killed him?”

  He raised his head, and l saw his eyes. My heart sank. His eyes were as mad and merciless as his sister’s.

  I shot a despairing look at Kat, and then looked quickly back at Reich. Her hand was inching towards Stanley’s bow.

  Making sure his attention stayed on me, I blurted, “Why’d you run Sebastian’s motorcycle off the road?” They tell negotiators to not make it personal and try to build rapport with the perp. So I tried to sound friendly.

  “When I saw him that day at Vote Greene, I thought he recognized me.” He rubbed his shooting arm as if it was tiring.

  After nearly killing Sebastian and maiming him so badly, that was his reason? No way could I build a relationship with this guy, even a fake one. I’d have to change tactics to keep him talking.

  From my peripheral vision, I saw Dog look sharply at Kat and then away. As if he sensed it too, Reich started to swivel in their direction.

  I asked quickly, “How’d you get Patricia Hazelton to help you doctor the accounts?”

  His attention jerked back to me. As did the gun. I felt Sebastian tense.

  “She didn’t,” Reich said. “That was all me.”

  “No, seriously, I know she was in on it. Did you pay her?”

  His jaw clenching, he stepped closer to the bed. “She had nothing to do with this. It was all me.”

  Kat’s hand reached the bow.

  “But what about Connor,” I said. “You paid him to kill Sebastian, right?”

  He huffed. “Are you crazy, lady? I don’t know any Connor. My family doesn’t need anyone but ourselves. We take care of our own.”

  Softly, Sebastian said, “Simpson.”

  Reich froze.

  “The IRS agent who put away the racketeer?” Dog asked.

  “He was my father,” Reich said. “And what did he get for doing the right thing? His wife, my mother, was killed. They put us in Witness Protection. Every year, they’d change our names and we’d be re-located. Then my dad was falsely accused and put in prison. The government did squat to stop it.”

  Madness flattened his eyes again. �
��Well, someone’s going to pay now.” His finger moved on the trigger.

  Kat threw the bow at Reich and his hand flung up, protecting his head. Sebastian rolled over me, the momentum carrying us off the bed and onto the floor. Landing on Sebastian, I heard the gun fire.

  “Fleas!” a man shouted.

  Fleas? Did I hear that right?

  Still half on Sebastian, I raised myself a few inches and peered over the bed. Reich halted, his arm outstretched, reaching for his gun. Twisting around, he looked at the door.

  In the doorway, Connor stood swaying. His wrists were still duct taped, but he held a gun fixed, more or less, on Reich.

  “Don’ move.” I think that’s what he said. He slurred so badly, it sounded more like “don’t moon.”

  “Connor?” Dog said uncertainly. “You okay?”

  “No, I not okay. Those two …” He jerked his head at Kat and me. “Pepper spayed me, kicked me, and then shot me wit dogs.”

  “Drugs not dogs,” I said helpfully. “Kat gave him a syringe full of tranquilizers. And I sprayed him with pepper spray, not spayed him. I kicked him, too.”

  “Why?” Dog and Sebastian said at the same time. My husband had pulled himself off the floor and sat propped against the wall.

  Reich made a move. Connor waved his gun. “Freeze.” Still sounded like “fleas.”

  Kat offered, “Should I get the duct tape? To restrain Reich?”

  Still swaying, Connor said, “Yeah. Get it. I might fall down.”

  Kat ran past Connor to my room. Since Dog and Sebastian stared at me, I said defensively, “He was reaching for his gun. I had to defend myself.”

  Kat returned, and sidled carefully around Connor. Sitting on Reich’s back, she taped his wrists behind him.

  “I wiz …” Connor tried again, enunciating the words carefully. “I was getting my ID.”

  “Your ID?” Kat asked.

  “Wit my badge. FBI.”

  Kat and I exchanged horrified looks. FBI?

  “You might have said so,” I said tartly. “Before reaching for your pocket.”

  He staggered slightly. “Yeah. I’ll do that next time.”

  “Dog.” Sebastian jerked his head at Connor.