1 In For A Penny

by Maggie Toussaint

  So it was something of a shock to hear the alarm clock ring in the dark. I quickly hit the off button and slipped into my stealth outfit. Madonna groaned and lowered her big head back on my spare pillow. “No you don’t,” I said. “Get up. You’re my first line of defense if this meeting turns ugly.”

  She must have thought I was talking to myself because she didn’t move. It was only when I tugged on her collar that she stirred herself to grudgingly descend her throne.

  I only had the smallest of qualms about taking a quite possibly pregnant dog into the line of fire. Would the dogcatcher come and take Madonna from me if he knew I was endangering her life?

  I couldn’t worry about animal welfare now. I had a killer to apprehend and I could only do that if I got to this meeting without alerting anyone else. I had no intention of Animal Control or my family members knowing that we’d left this house.

  Fortifying myself with coffee was a necessity. In the kitchen, I scribbled off a quick note to Mama and the girls giving them specific instructions to call the police if I wasn’t home before it was time to leave for school.

  The dog seemed to catch my nervousness because she kept pacing around the kitchen. I double-checked to make sure that the flashlight worked, then drove to the golf course.

  There were no cars on the road, no cars in the parking lot. Everyone who had any sense was still home in their beds, where they should be.

  The closer I got to the maintenance shed, the more I questioned my sanity. This was not a smart thing to do. I should have disregarded the note and called someone.

  If I was a cigarette smoker, I’d be chain-smoking right now. As it was, I craved chocolate and wished I kept a supply of candy bars in my car for emergencies. The closest thing I could find to chocolate in the Gray Beast was a used gum wrapper. Ugh.

  I grasped Madonna’s leash and steered her in the direction of the maintenance shed. Birds were making rustling sounds in the dark trees lining the parking lot. My nerves shouted, “Go home.” But I couldn’t. I was a woman on a mission.

  The person who sent me that note had information I needed. I had to keep believing that. If I didn’t, then the only other possibility was that I was going to my own funeral.

  Chapter 25

  There was a chill in my bones that had nothing to do with the brisk pre-dawn air. My plan to hold my cell phone in one hand with the emergency number already punched in was a no-go. I needed the flashlight because it was pitch black out here and I had the dog leash in my other hand.

  I hoped like hell this wasn’t a trap. I didn’t relish being the killer’s next victim. No one was lurking outside the maintenance shed, but the acrid smell of gasoline wafting out of the building puckered my nose.

  Madonna was my weathervane. She wasn’t agitated or off balance in any way and I felt relieved. So far, everything was going according to my plan. I stood outside the windowless building and waited. Was someone hiding inside the shed? I’d feel safer if I knew that no one was in there.

  I entered the maintenance shed, stepping over the path of straw that led out the door. Madonna pulled me along on her leash.

  Everything seemed to be in a semblance of order. There was no evidence of vandalism, no big white envelopes with my name on them sitting around. There were no people lurking behind the large grass-cutting machines in the darkest corners of the building.

  Shovels and rakes lined the walls. You never knew what might come in handy in a situation like this. I was admiring a motorized sand trap rake when Madonna nudged me and I stumbled. As I went down on my knees, a gun roared in my ears and the shed door swung shut.

  I cowered beside Madonna on the floor. I was too scared to move, too scared to stay put. I took a shaky breath of the gasoline-scented air. This was bad. I had to get out of here.

  No more shots rang out. I concluded I was alone in the shed. I grabbed my light and rushed to the door. It was locked.

  Madonna barked incessantly at the door. Shit. Why hadn’t Madonna barked before we were locked in? What kind of reject guard dog was she?

  My stomach fell to my knees.

  I wanted out of this building, fast.

  Okay, Cleo. You’ve got a brain. Use it.

  Why would someone shoot at you and then lock you in this aluminum frame building?

  The pungent odor of gasoline permeated the air. With the quivering beam of my flashlight I traced the straw path on the floor. I’d assumed that the straw was used to cushion the concrete floor, but now that I thought about it, having straw around a place that spilled a lot of gasoline wasn’t a good thing. All it would take was one spark and this place would go up like a matchbox.

  The line of straw ended in a big heap, as if someone had been carrying straw away from the pile and lots had dropped on the way out of the building. Still, the pile worried me.

  I darted over to investigate it. The closer I got, the stronger the smell of gasoline became. Whoever spilled the gas must have tried to cover it up with the straw. Rafe’s occupational safety program needed a serious overhaul.

  Red metal glinted at me from the pile. I pushed the straw aside and discovered three open gasoline cans and several bags of fertilizer. A cold chill raced down my spine.

  This was not good. This pile of flammables and combustibles were a disaster in the making. I hurriedly sealed the cans and dragged them away from the straw.

  Madonna pawed the door. Her incensed barks reverberated through the metallic building. I tugged the heavy fertilizer bags in the other direction from the gas.

  That’s when I smelled smoke. My breath caught in my throat. Smoke. The straw. Fire.

  What if I hadn’t discovered that pile of gasoline and fertilizer? I wouldn’t be long for this world.

  A high pitched cackle sounded outside, scaring the breath back in me. I had to get out of here. Right now. Or I would be toast.

  This building wasn’t ventilated. Even if the shed didn’t go up in flames, smoke inhalation could be fatal. I ran a quick lap of the building perimeter, Madonna barking at my heels, urging me faster and faster.

  My lungs burned.

  My hamstrings ached.

  Why hadn’t I kept in shape?

  I couldn’t budge the big bay doors. They must be padlocked from the outside. Shit. No windows and all the doors were locked.

  But this place was filled with tools and machines. I huffed my way over to the biggest mower and climbed up on it. I’d seen the guy cutting the fairways with this big gang-style mower. The engine was in front, tractor style, and that gave me hope that it was powerful enough to get me out of here.

  Flames licked under the doorway. I was running out of time. The fire would be in the building in seconds. Madonna barked unceasingly.

  I turned the key.

  Click.

  Nothing happened.

  The engine didn’t turn over.

  Ohgod. Ohgod. Ohgod.

  I was too young to die. I wanted to see my girls grow up, to hold my grandbabies.

  Think, Cleo.

  If the motor didn’t start automatically, then there must be a combination of things to do. I’d never driven a tractor like this before, but once on vacation I’d ridden Uncle George’s field tractor. That one had a clutch which had to be engaged and a manual choke mechanism.

  I looked frantically at the knobs and pedals and began pulling and pushing things in various combinations. One knob activated headlights on the tractor.

  I turned the key again and heard the engine whir until it caught. The room brightened as the fire caught in the straw near the door. I pushed a ball-headed lever by the seat forward and maneuvered towards the nearest wall.

  I didn’t know if this would work but I wasn’t waiting around for help to find me. I was getting out of here right now. Please, please, let this work.

  Metal grated and groaned when the mower struck the wall. I crouched down and covered my head as rivets popped and the wall failed. Fresh air wafted in my face. I gulped untainted air a
s if I’d been underwater too long.

  Bizarre questions flickered through my brain. Would my auto insurance cover this accident? And, how would I explain to Rafe that I’d destroyed his maintenance shed? How much did a maintenance shed cost, anyway?

  Madonna surged through the hole I’d made in the wall and bounded around the building, barking as she ran. I couldn’t worry about the shed now. Madonna was on the trail of someone.

  I followed her on the tractor, the headlights picking up the twin trails of paw prints and human footprints on the dew-covered grass of the number two fairway.

  I lost sight of Madonna but I honed in on her barking over the rumble of the tractor. In the faint pink light of daybreak, I drove down the center of the fairway of this par five. It doglegged left and once I rounded the bend, I visually picked up Madonna about one hundred yards ahead of me.

  She’d stopped running and was standing on someone.

  Good girl.

  The person under Madonna wore dark clothing and was not very large. A metallic object gleamed in the grass about five feet from the dog. I drove up, stopped the tractor, and jumped down. I investigated the metallic object first. In the tractor’s headlights, I recognized the initials engraved in the handle plate.

  J. A. S.

  Daddy’s initials. Joseph Anthony Sampson. This was Daddy’s pistol. My heart caught in my throat. How had this person ended up with my father’s gun? Had the killer been in my house like Charles Manson’s creepy crawly people?

  Had Dudley and the bank guard been shot with Daddy’s gun? I picked up the gun and pointed it at the person under my dog.

  A person who was sneezing her head off. I saw traces of bleached blonde hair trailing from her stocking cap and I suddenly knew who Madonna had taken down.

  Denise.

  Charlie’s wife.

  Hell. I should have trusted my instincts.

  Denise had everything. Why did she have to kill people? Wasn’t it enough that she’d ruined my life? How much destruction was enough for this woman?

  Why? That question hammered through my brain, and I couldn’t begin to answer it.

  But I did remember I had my cell phone in my purse which was miraculously still slung across my chest, bandolier style. I dialed the emergency number and requested assistance. I didn’t call Madonna off Denise or encourage Madonna to stop barking.

  That barking was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard, second only to the wail of the approaching sirens. That day when Denise lay down on my bed flashed into my head. She must have stolen Daddy’s gun then. Did she hear I’d burned the bedding she touched? Was that why she tried to burn me to a crisp?

  Over all the racket, I asked her, “Why Denise? Why did you try to kill me?”

  In between sneezes, she screamed at me. “You ruined everything. All my plans. I had to kill you.”

  My fingers tightened reflexively on the pistol grip. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m very much alive, and you’re going to jail. That is if you don’t die from sneezing to death.”

  “Damn you, Cleo. I was so close. Why did you give Charlie an alibi for the night of the bank guard shooting? I almost had it all.”

  “You’re wrong, Denise. You had it all, only you didn’t place any value on what you had.”

  “Can’t you get this dog off of me?” she whined.

  “Nope.” I smiled bitterly. “I figure that’s the least I can do to repay you for almost torching me.”

  “Damn it. You must be part cat. How the hell did you get out of there?”

  “I used my head, which is something you should have done before you became a murderer. What did I ever do to you? Why did you have to go and kill Dudley? He was just getting his life back together. And the bank guard. What did he ever do to you?”

  “Go to hell. I don’t owe you any explanations.”

  The sirens were closer now. I saw the flashing lights in the distance. The cops and firemen would be here any minute now. I wanted to kick the shit out of Denise. And puncture her inflatable boobs. And rip every strand of bleached hair out of her head.

  Instead I stood there aiming the loaded pistol at her, watching Madonna drool incessantly as she barked. Slime trails of doggie spittle decorated Denise’s stocking cap and black shirt like strands of gleaming tinsel on a Christmas tree.

  Denise wiggled and Madonna closed her massive jaws around Denise’s neck. My eyebrows shot up. Remind me never to cross this dog. When Madonna got pissed, she meant business.

  But she was definitely on my team. She wasn’t the type to transfer her loyalty to a bleached blonde with inflatable boobs.

  After helping me catch Dudley’s killer, Madonna could sleep in my bed for as long as she liked. So what if I smelled like a dog for the rest of my life? Madonna had saved me from being shot between the eyes. I’d saved us from being toasted. We were a great team.

  Chapter 26

  I had just given my story to the police and the mayor when Rafe arrived. His penetrating gaze never left mine as he strode to my side. “What are you doing here?” I asked, shivering.

  “I work here, remember?” He gave Madonna a quick pat on the head. “What are you doing here? The cops say the course is closed again today while they investigate the fire. I can’t make any money if the golf course is closed.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “It wasn’t my choice to meet at the course.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  I didn’t much care for his imperious tone, but I had ruined his shed. Would he hold that against me? As I repeated the events for him, he grew agitated. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. “Why didn’t you call me? Did you think you could take on a killer by yourself?”

  I struggled to get away from him, but he held me fast. Why didn’t my wonder dog attack him? “Dammit, Rafe,” I said. “I don’t need this. I have to get home to my kids and explain what happened to them.”

  He glared at me again, and then he kissed me. Hard. My head started to spin and I think the earth may have moved a time or two.

  I’m pretty sure I melted against him, the kiss was so hot. Maybe my clothes incinerated. I couldn’t tell.

  I opened my eyes when I realized he’d stopped kissing me. Catcalls from the assembled police officers rang in my ears. I said the first thing that popped into my head. “That was no first-date kiss.”

  He grinned and my toes curled. Again. “This isn’t our first date. We may never have one if you keep doing harebrained things like meeting serial killers at daybreak.”

  I waved him away. “Don’t start on me. Britt has already fussed and read me the riot act. I want to go home.”

  He pinned me with a look. I may not have known him very well, but I recognized that look. It was the “we’ll talk about it later look.” Daddy had perfected that look on Mama. That look said “you’re not off the hook,” but most of all it said he cared.

  Was I ready for a relationship with Rafe? I was still emotionally vulnerable from Charlie’s betrayal. Letting this physical attraction flame out without ever indulging our apparently very mutual passion was a good idea.

  Fortunately this wasn’t a game show and I didn’t have to choose door number one, two or three.

  With trembling hands, I rooted through my purse for my keys. I couldn’t make my hands stop shaking. Madonna nudged me with her head, and I would have toppled over except for the tight grip Rafe had on me.

  “I’ll take you home, Cleo,” Rafe said.

  “You don’t have to do that. My car is over at the maintenance shed.”

  “So are about twenty other vehicles. It will be tomorrow before you can get the Beast out of there.”

  “I’ve got to take the girls to school,” I said.

  “The golf course is closed for the day. I can help you out there.”

  Britt winked at me as Rafe led me back down number two. I could just imagine what he’d be telling his wife about that hot kiss Rafe gave me. It’d be all over the grocery store befo
re lunchtime. It would be headline news by evening.

  I envisioned the kiss taking on such legendary proportions, that folks would forget to give me credit for flushing out the killer. They wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at my detecting skills or give me an ounce of credit for saving myself.

  On the other hand, maybe they’d remember that I’d been a pillar of the community for years. That I did their taxes on time and that not one of my clients had ever been audited by the IRS.

  One could only hope.

  * * * * *

  Madonna and I were just starting in on our second cup of coffee that afternoon when Jonette walked in. After reassuring Mama and the girls that everything was all right, then sending the girls off to school with Rafe—in a cool car, no less—I’d slept for a couple of hours.

  The excitement had been too much for Mama. After she fixed me a bowl of chicken soup for breakfast, she popped a sleeping pill and went to bed for the day. When she came to, I expected to be blasted for my reckless behavior.

  Work was out of the question. I’d declared today a holiday, but the truth was I couldn’t get any work done because I still didn’t understand why Denise had killed Dudley and the bank guard. I should have pressed her for more answers this morning.

  “There you are.” Jonette greeted me with a warm hug and then joined me at the table. “You’re the topic of conversation all over town. Joan at the beauty shop couldn’t stop talking about your flaming affair with Rafe this morning, Buck over at the gas station thought you and Madonna ought to get some kind of award for getting that killer off our streets, and Edna at the grocery store says your problem is that there’s too much sex on TV. Edna says it’s no wonder that you’re sex starved.”

  My coffee went down the wrong way and I coughed it out. “Sex starved?”

  Jonette’s grin was so smug I wanted to wipe it off her face. Trouble is she had a right to grin and she knew it. She had insisted adamantly that it wasn’t natural for a woman of my age and previous sexual proclivities to have such a long period of abstinence.