by Judith Rolfs
Karen recounted the horrid details of her mother’s death, and then the others. Whitney’s pulse skittered at the agony her mom had endured.
The word “why” pounded in her head. She listened with one ear, all the while frantically exploring escape options. The front door was locked. It would take extra seconds to reach it and open—time enough for Karen to fire. She had to find another way.
Silence filled the room. Ask her another question, a voice within Whitney insisted. “My mother would never hurt anyone. What did she ever do that made you want to kill her?”
“Nothing. She was a wonderful woman. That’s why I had to end her suffering over your father’s infidelity. In her case, I doubted she’d ever go after another woman’s husband, but many do. Emotionally, she’d experienced abandonment. Her depression tortured her.”
No! Whitney shut her eyes a second. Dad, how could you? She’d suspected adultery but never let herself acknowledge the possibility. Her dad’s remarriage had been way too quick. She forced herself not to think about it now.
“You should thank me for what I did.”
“You’re insane!” Whitney’s jaw jutted out. “How can you speak about killing so callously? You’re supposed to be a healer.”
Karen’s face reddened at the words. “Crazy! That’s what I heard in the mental hospital when I was a child. I will not be deterred from doing what I have to do.”
Whitney saw Karen’s fingers tighten around the grip of the gun. She waved it as she spoke. “Your mother was a broken-hearted woman. A woman never gets over that kind of rejection. I know. I never recovered from my husband’s betrayal.”
“So that’s it. But you stayed married. Why?” Whitney’s eyes were mesmerized on the gun. Could she knock it away before Karen got a shot off? Not a chance.
“To make his life a living hell. After his affair was over, Charle’s was truly contrite, but I never let him forget the pain he inflicted on me.”
Whitney prayed. Lord, I need help. Where are my neighbors? She forced herself to ask Karen another question. “But you don’t drive a silver BMW?”
Karen laughed, a sick sound. “My receptionist, Peg, leases one. I borrowed hers when my car was in the shop the day I killed Blaine. I loved hearing about it on the news.”
“How cruel and calculating. Why does Charles stay with you when you act so unloving toward him?”
“Guilt. He keeps trying to make it up to me.” Karen gave a humorless laugh. “I enjoy watching him suffer my rejection. Mind you, it will never equal my agony over his betrayal. I don’t expect you to understand. You’ve never experienced the wrenching of your selfhood —the loss of your very soul when a man who covenanted to love you until death devalues you and replaces you like a used car. What woman doesn’t want to die when that happens? I simply help them fulfill their desire.” A sneer played at the corner of her mouth.
“You’re insane. There’s no other word for it.”
“Don’t say that.” Her lips twisted. “You’ve never seen firsthand what happens to a rejected wife. The essence of who she was—her pride goes first, and then her health disappears. She can’t eat or sleep. And if emotional bankruptcy isn’t enough, a divorced wife usually loses more than half her former income.”
“Killing isn’t a solution.” Whitney struggled to keep her voice calm. She wanted to scream at this demented woman.
“I’ll admit killing seemed bizarre even to me at first,” Karen continued. “Remember, a woman destroys herself emotionally. After a time to deaden her pain, she often steals another woman’s husband and starts the cycle over again.”
Karen seemed to be enjoying this process of justifying her actions. “I’ve never told anyone this before. You’re my last victim, so why not?”
“You were wrong about my mom. She’d become a Christian. She could have forgiven my dad. She’d have been fine in time.” Blood hummed through Whitney’s veins.
“You didn’t see her when she came to me in the depths of clinical depression.”
“She may have been despairing at first, but people can be helped by the grace of God and caring human beings. That’s what mother probably thought you were.”
“I cared enough to end her pain. No one could do more.”
“Ending her life? You talk about stopping pain.” Whitney’s throat clogged with tears.
“You’re young and immature and have never been in a marriage relationship.”
“This is irrational. Why didn’t you kill yourself, then, to end your own pain?” That wasn’t the answer but Whitney threw the idea at her.
“Then who would save women like Blaine and Jillian? Never mind, you’ll never understand.” Karen spun on her heel. “It’s time to end this.”
“You were wrong.” Whitney couldn’t let Karen’s lie prevail. “Blaine was beginning to heal. She had a new job, an opportunity to travel, and was on her way toward a happy life.”
“All short-lived, temporary.” Karen swiped her free hand down her face.
Whitney stared into her eyes and saw nothing but darkness, not one glimmer of light. How had bitterness so engulfed her?
Karen lifted the revolver in her hand. “I used this gun for everyone except your mother. Such a trusting, sweet dear. I enticed her over the barrier and pushed her. Now our conversation is over and you must die also. You shouldn’t have gotten involved.”
The sound of a doorbell chime startled them both.
In an agitated voice Karen whispered orders to Whitney. “Pretend you’re not home. Don’t make a sound.”
Whitney caught a glimpse of Rich standing at the entrance, his back to the window. Seconds later a knock sounded on the front door.
SIXTY-ONE
“I have a silencer on this gun.” Karen clinched her jaw. “I’ll kill you if you make a sound. If he comes in, I’ll shoot him, too. I intend to do whatever’s necessary. I have nothing to lose. If you don’t want him to die with you, be still.”
Whitney shut her eyes. Silently she repeated Jesus’ name and bit her lip so hard it bled. She couldn’t expose Rich to this mad woman.
She held her breath. Her eyes flooded with tears.
A few minutes later a car started up outside. “Good, he’s leaving.” Karen checked the window. “A wise decision.”
Terror pounded a heartbeat through Whitney’s veins.
In a vicious, controlled voice, Karen resumed the conversation. “You may judge me after you’ve experienced the pain of a woman scorned.”
“You gave your husband too much control over your happiness. Only God can provide complete emotional security and unconditional love. That’s where you went wrong.”
“If your God loves human beings, why doesn’t He do something to eliminate such terrible pain in their lives?”
Whitney shook her head. “You have suffering all wrong. People mature and become stronger when they go through challenging times. God wastes nothing, not even human sorrow.”
“Nonsense,” Karen shot back. “Reincarnation is far more logical.”
“Every day people overcome adversity with God’s help. You killed these women because of your lack of belief in God’s power to help and heal.”
“God didn’t do much for you, or you wouldn’t have come to see me for counseling.”
“Remember I came to find out if my mom had told you anything that would explain her death. Even now, with a gun in my face, I have deep peace. I’m going to be okay no matter what.”
Karen shook her head. “Empty words.”
“More than that. God’s supernatural love can and does heal.”
Karen turned abruptly at a snapping sound behind her. Rich exploded through the back door.
Karen whipped behind Whitney, using her as a human shield. Karen took quick aim and fired.
Rich ducked. Blood spurted from his right leg. He grimaced as his head struck the table, and he fell unconscious to the floor. Horror swelled like a wave inside Whitney.
Karen lowered the
gun to shoot again. Whitney jammed her elbow into Karen’s gut then slammed the edge of her hand down hard on Karen’s wrist, making her lose her balance. Karen toppled, but her fingers held tight to the gun.
Whitney thrust herself against Karen, using her legs for added power. They stumbled to the floor together, rolled and thrashed, arms flailing. Karen still had the gun. How could a woman in her fifties be so strong?
Whitney tried to remember what she’d learned from freshman self-defense class. She reached for Karen’s forearm and slammed it with all her strength against the floor. Karen screamed in pain as the gun and her hand hit the floor, metal against bone. Her fingers flew open and the gun slid from her grasp. Whitney extended her right arm, inching toward it, fingernails scratching and breaking against the wood floor. Almost there. Her breathing came in gulps.
Suddenly Karen sprang over her like a cat and shoved the gun out of Whitney’s range.
She stretched to pick up the gun as Whitney lunged and tackled her legs. She scrambled on top of Karen, pinning her beneath her weight.
Karen moaned like a trapped animal. Whitney grabbed the gun. Swinging it up high, she slammed the butt of the gun hard on Karen’s head.
Karen moaned twice before passing out. Panting, Whitney shoved the gun into her waistband and staggered to her feet. Gasping, she punched in 911 and shouted her address. She requested an ambulance and the police. Yelling for Rich to hang on, she wound a lamp cord around Karen’s wrists. No way would she risk her coming to.
Whitney staggered over to Rich. “Help is on its way.” Urgency pounded through her. She raced into the bathroom for clean cloths to press into his wound.
Rich struggled to talk as she knelt next to him. “I kept thinking about you all day. I stopped for an oil change after work, and then thought I’d stop over and try to talk you into going out for ice cream.”
“Don’t speak. Save your energy.”
“When you didn’t answer the door, I almost left. Through the garage window I saw your car inside. I figured maybe you’d gone for a walk but saw lights on in the back of the house.” His eyes twinkled. “I know you’re too thrifty to leave your lights on and not be home.”
“So being cheap saved me?”
Rich nodded grimly. “One light might have been for security purposes, but not two. I decided to investigate and went around back. When I peeked through the kitchen window, Karen Trindle was pointing a gun at you.”
Whitney’s cheeks flushed. “I’d be dead if you hadn’t come. How can I ever thank you? Karen’s a deceived woman poisoned by her own bitterness and resentment.”
“But she functioned capably in her career, didn’t she?”
“People can be logical in many aspects of their thought processes but still be mentally ill. Karen actually believed she helped women eliminate their emotional pain by killing them. Her theory of reincarnation convinced her she was doing them a favor.”
“Why didn’t anybody spot signs of her obsession?”
“She masked it well. Her sympathy for her clients was genuine.” Whitney shuddered. “Her solution to their difficulties was sick.”
The clock chimed in the background. A siren screeched.
Rich raised his arm and brushed his hand tenderly down Whitney’s cheek. “One question. Is this what life would be like married to a journalist?”
Placing her arms around his neck, Whitney kissed his lips lightly. “Yes.”
He whispered, “I want you anyway.”
EPILOGUE
Jordan was devastated by his aunt’s exposure as the murderer of the women of Cortland City. He immediately sought counseling with Dr. Sarah Stevens.
Carla was a valuable witness in the trial leading to Karen Trindle’s conviction which reduced the charges against Carla for art forgery. Her mom was spared the details of her crime, and speaks with pride about her daughter’s civic service.
Edward Langley’s wife, Tara, took parenting classes and to everyone’s amazement appears to enjoy being with her stepchildren. Edward jokes that it’s like having three teens at home.
Larry divorced his second wife Althea after he discovered she was seeing another man. Larry makes weekly trips to Blaine and his daughter’s cemetery plots bringing fresh flowers whatever the season.
Dr. Sarah Stevens became a popular talk show guest and makes regular appearances on News at Five Live. She recently cut back on her counseling hours to travel more with her husband, to his delight.
Whitney and Rich married six months after their near death experience. They’re expecting their first child - a baby girl. Whitney fantasizes about future tea parties with her daughter and playing in the rain together.
Please enjoy this sample from Bullet in the Night by Judith Rolfs, available from Prism Book Group!
Tucker Lawrence barged into my office and collapsed onto a chair. His lower lip trembled as he blurted out, “Lenora’s been shot.”
Instantly my world turned cold and dark despite sunbeams streaming through the window. My heart began to pound. Usually no one gets past my office manager, Ellen, not even a six-foot-six man with the intimidating posture of a redwood tree. Good thing my next client hadn’t arrived yet.
Dressed in khakis, dark blue silk shirt, and dry-cleaner-perfect linen jacket, Tucker could have been mistaken for a GQ model. His face, framed by a silver-gray beard, had held its handsomeness well for sixty years. He sat inert as if saying the words sucked the strength from his body.
“What? It can’t be.” I covered my gaping mouth with my hand. Stupid response. Like words could change this unthinkable horror.
“One bullet, only one, and it penetrated her right lung as she sat at her desk. She’s alive, but comatose.” Tucker’s breathing came in bursts. “The ER doctor says the oxygen level to her brain was impaired. Lenora lapsed into shock before the paramedics arrived. Even if she survives, her prognosis for recovering normal functioning is poor.” Tucker clenched his fists.
I blinked away tears but couldn’t control the sick feeling in my stomach. I pictured my vivacious, compassionate friend. When Lenora walked into a room, it lit up like Christmas.
How could she be near death? I shivered and reached for my suit jacket on the back of my chair.
Numb, I stared at the furrow in Tucker’s forehead. “Counseling people isn’t law enforcement. It shouldn’t be dangerous. When Lenora and I became psychotherapists, we didn’t expect the job would involve physical risk.”
“Exactly.”
“May I see her?”
“Sorry. No visitors except family, and I’m all she has.” Tucker dragged a handkerchief from his pocket. “I’ve been at the hospital all night.” He blew his nose. “Not that she knew.”
“Who would do this?” I rifled through papers on my desk nervously. ”A disturbed client? Why shoot such a sweet champion of goodness?”
“My feelings too.”
“Was it a robbery?”
Tucker shook his head. “As far as I can tell nothing’s missing.”
He eyed my coffee pot in the corner.
“Would you like—?”
He was already moving toward it.
The brown liquid dribbling into the paper cup seemed surreal in this moment. I considered Tucker as he drank. Fragile, fearful? Why had he come here in person to tell me?
As if reading my thoughts, he answered. “It happened last night, too late to make the morning news. I knew Lenora would want you to know and pray.”
“Of course.”
Strange request coming from Tucker. Had this crisis suddenly changed his beliefs? Doubtful. More likely he was anticipating what would be Lenora’s wishes.
“And I came to ask a favor,” he added.
“Anything I can do to help.”
“Lenora has several counseling clients she sees at her office in our home. They’ll need to be notified. Hearing about this on the news could upset them even more. Then can you follow up with them if they wish?”
“Absolu
tely. I’ll make time. What about her clients through the foundation?” My eyes smarted thinking of the rehab work Lenora did with prisoners. “Do you need me to make those calls also?”
“The Second Chance board is on top of everything.”
“Okay.” It seemed such an impotent word. Nothing in Tucker’s world could seem okay. “It’s all so mystifying, to say the least,” I murmured, shaking my head.
Tucker took another gulp of coffee.
I pressed him for more details. Part of me didn’t want to hear, yet I had to know.
“Lenora was at her desk in the den. The bullet whizzed through the screen. She probably had no warning.”
My stomach tightened. “Who found her?”
“Kirk Corsini called the police.”
“The man she hired?”
“The ex-con she hired.” His tone made it clear he hadn’t agreed with Lenora’s decision. “If only I’d been there…”
“Were you still at your job in the city?”
“Monday through Thursday, as usual.” Tucker’s voice edged with sadness. “Kirk would know my routine, catching the last train Thursday night.” His voice trailed off. “The police suspect he shot her.”
“What would be his motive?”
“Kirk had his job review last night. It may have been what set him off. The police found Lenora’s notes on her desk, indicating areas where he needed improvement.”
“Hardly a reason for attempted murder.” Hearing the word, I squirmed in my chair. How could I know this ex-convict’s thought process?
“He could have had a rifle in his car, left upset, then doubled back, hiked into the woods, and shot her. Then hid the gun before he came back to the house to call for medical help.”
My eyes widened. “Why call an ambulance if he intended to kill her?”
Tucker shrugged. “Remorse after the act? Or to throw off suspicion? I’ve warned Lenora about being too trusting with these felons.”
