A Crafty Killing (34 page)

“My wife will never believe it,” Hilton said.

“It doesn’t matter. That clod of a detective investigating Ezra’s death will believe anything.”

Katie’s fingers began to tingle from lack of circulation. Her gaze strayed to movement behind Tracy.

Tracy glanced over her shoulder, then back to Katie. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” Katie’s gaze returned to the gun.

Then, in a flash of fur, Della jumped from her perch on the bookcase, landing with claws sinking into Tracy’s scalp.

Tracy screamed, arms flailing as she swatted at the cat.

The gun fired into the ceiling. A shower of plaster and lath rained down on all of them.

Katie grabbed Hilton’s sleeve. “Come on!”

Scrambling into the kitchen, Katie yanked open the door and barreled through it as feline and human screams echoed from the living room.

More gunshots reverberated through the frame house, but Katie was already out the door, tripping down the wooden steps.

Tracy’s Chrysler Sebring blocked the end of the driveway.

There were no houses in sight; only barren fields surrounded the property.

There was only one place to hide.

Katie sprinted for the barn, which was just a silhouette against the cloudy sky.

“Gerald!” she hollered, looking back. Hilton shambled behind her, his left hand clutching his sagging right shoulder.

Katie fumbled to open the barn door’s hasp. The deputies must’ve cut off Ashby’s lock.

Hilton caught up, breathing hard. “She—she shot me.”

Katie yanked open the door, pushing Hilton inside. “Find a place to hide.” She slammed the heavy wood door behind her, found the inside bolt—and threw it.

Oh, swell—now they were trapped, she realized. Tracy could shoot through the wooden barn, but Katie was willing to bet she hadn’t brought much ammunition. At least, she hoped so.

“What do we ... do now?” Hilton puffed, leaning against the back wall. His face was shiny with sweat and pale in the wan light.

“I don’t know. I left my cell phone in my purse on the kitchen counter, along with my car keys. I don’t suppose you have a phone?”

Hilton shook his head. “I had to give it up—couldn’t afford it.”

“Katie!” Tracy yelled. “You’re only making it harder on yourself.”

Think!
Katie’s brain demanded.

Sudden light shone in through the barn’s dirty window. Katie risked a look. Tracy had switched on Katie’s car’s headlights. Katie ducked back, afraid Tracy might see her and take a potshot.

“You can’t wait in there all night,” Tracy taunted.

“Oh, yes, we can,” Hilton hollered.

Frantic, Katie glanced around the dim barn. There had to be something she could use against Tracy, but what? A gun had a longer range than the spades, shovels, and other gardening tools that hung neatly on the walls. And Katie couldn’t lob old bricks, cans, and bottles out the window. Ashby’s graveyard statuary stood on tables and on the concrete floor. Dropping a smiling cherub on Tracy would be a satisfying but an unlikely way out of their situation.

“What are we going to do?” Hilton hissed, crouched next to a trough-like sink with a hose connected to its faucet. Underneath sat a bulky machine.

A glimmer of hope raced through Katie. She peeked out the window, looking for Tracy.

Tracy fired.

A window shattered.

Katie ducked the flying shards of glass, and dashed across the barn to the sink.

“Think about it, Tracy,” Katie yelled, connecting the end of the hose to the rectangular machine. “You kill us and there’ll be questions. Davenport isn’t as dumb as he looks—he’ll link you to us.”

“I’ll take that chance, bitch!”

“What are you doing?” Hilton grated, his face drawn, his fingers slick with blood.

“Trying to save our necks.” Katie fumbled to plug in the machine’s power cord into a wall socket. “Keep her talking.”

“Uh . . . I’m gonna sue you, young woman,” Hilton stammered. “For ... uh . . . grievous bodily harm.”

Katie rolled her eyes but continued to work. “Keep talking—we’ve got to lure her in here.”

“Are you crazy?” Hilton demanded. “She’ll kill us!”

Katie duckwalked across the floor to the barn door, pulled back the heavy bolt, pushing the door open a crack.

“Come on out, Katie,” Tracy called. “It’ll be easier if you do this my way.”

“You’ll have to drag us out,” Katie yelled, rushing back to the sink. She turned on the water. The hose grew rigid.

“I’ll burn you out!” Tracy threatened.

Hilton’s eyes widened in panic. “I
told
you!”

Katie uncoiled the hose. “She’s bluffing. She’d need an accelerant.”

“There’re three cars out there full of gasoline,” Hilton hissed. “All she’s got to do is park one of them against the barn and shoot the gas tank. And then—boom—we’re fried!”

Momentary panic ripped through Katie. Presumably Hilton’s keys were in his coat pocket, and Tracy wouldn’t sacrifice her Sebring and implicate herself. But what about Katie’s keys? She’d left them in the house.

“She’s bluffing,” Katie said again.

“Katie!” Tracy hollered.

“Go to hell!” Katie shouted, hitting the button, powering up the machine. A rumbling growl drowned out the heartbeat thumping in Katie’s ears.

An engine roared to life. The nearest car was her own—Tracy
did
have her keys!

Light and shadows shifted as the car rolled forward.

“She’s gonna crash through the wall!” Hilton yelled.

But the car didn’t crash. Instead the barn was doused in blackness.

Katie jumped to her feet, heading for the broken window, yanking the heavy box and hose behind her. Looking out, she saw that the car’s front bumper touched the barn.

Tracy opened the car door—stepped out, turned, and aimed her gun at the gas tank.

Katie broke another, lower pane, shoved the plastic-and-metal three-foot wand through the jagged opening, and pressed the trigger handle. Her hands jerked as a geyser of water exploded from the pressure washer, the force knocking Tracy flat on the ground.

“Gerald! Get out there, get the gun away from her!”

“I can’t—my arm is numb!” he cried.

“Then get over here and keep her pinned on the ground!”

Hilton struggled to his feet, staggered as he made his way across the dark barn.

“Lean against the wall for support,” Katie ordered, thrusting the power washer’s handle into his sticky hand, folding his trembling fingers around it. “Don’t faint on me!”

Hilton nodded, swaying, his breaths quick and shallow.

Katie dashed for the barn door, threw it open, and ran across the rain-slick grass toward Tracy. She dived for the gun still clutched in Tracy’s outstretched hand. Hilton caught her with a jet of freezing water, knocking her down, leaving her gasping for breath.

A car pulled up at the end of the drive, stopping behind the Sebring.

“Hey!” a male voice called.

Tracy staggered to her knees. The water caught her in the back, slamming her facedown into the muddy ground once again.

Katie threw herself on Tracy, grappling for the gun. They rolled over and over, needles of icy water drilling into them.

“Hey, stop!” yelled the familiar voice.

The torrents of water suddenly ceased, and a sneakered foot clamped down on Tracy’s outstretched hand.

Frigid, muddy water dribbled down Katie’s chin as she looked up into Andy Rust’s face. He smiled. “I thought you might need my help,” he said. “But it looks like I was wrong.”

“And you just showed up?” Detective Davenport asked, incredulous. Why did he look so disappointed?

Andy nodded, folding his arms across his beefy chest. “I saw Hilton pull out of the Victoria Square parking lot right after Katie. He turned right just like she did. Then I saw Tracy head out after them. It didn’t feel right, but I kept working. Then the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me. I was married to Tracy for three years. I
know
how nasty she can be.”

Still huddled under a scratchy wool blanket she’d found in Ezra’s linen closet, Katie squinted up at Andy, grateful he’d been concerned for her welfare.

“I knew Katie had gone to feed Ezra’s cat,” Andy continued, “and it didn’t feel right when those two followed her. So, I left one of the boys in charge of my shop and jumped in my car to see if I could catch up with them.”

“How far behind were you?” Davenport asked.

“Five—maybe ten minutes,” he said.

“And what did you find?”

Andy grinned, glancing over at Katie. “That Mrs. Bonner is quite capable of taking care of herself.”

It had taken almost an hour for Davenport to show up at the scene, but Deputy Schuler had gotten things well in hand. He’d shown up before the ambulance arrived, taking custody of Tracy. Suffering from blood loss, Hilton had been taken to the nearest hospital in Rochester, although the paramedics didn’t seem to think he was in any immediate danger.

Davenport glared at Tracy. “What’s your side of the story?”

Huddled under a matching wool blanket, Tracy glowered at the Detective. “I’m not saying a word until I have a lawyer present.”

Davenport nodded at Tracy. “Get her out of here.”

Deputy Schuler stepped forward and pulled a hand-cuffed Tracy to her feet. “Come on. There’s a nice warm cell, complete with dry clothes, just waiting for you in the Monroe County lockup.” He pushed Tracy toward the kitchen, where two uniformed deputies waited to escort her to the Sheriff’s Office cruiser parked in the front yard.

Once they were out of earshot, Davenport spoke again. “It looks like Mrs. Nash was right about Ashby. I made inquiries yesterday, and just this afternoon got a report from the Cleveland PD. Seems Mr. Ashby was wanted for desecrating cemeteries in more than one county in Ohio, and he had a string of aliases as long as his arm, only he wasn’t very clever. He was also called Ashly, Ashland, Ashburger—and probably a lot more. It won’t be hard backtracking his movements.”

“Surely he couldn’t have made a living just selling copies of his cemetery art,” Katie said.

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Davenport continued. “He had a website advertising his wares. We’ll be talking to PayPal to find out just how many sales he’s made in the last year or so, and we’ll be impounding everything in the barn out back.”

“You’re welcome to it,” Katie said, and shivered. She studied the detective’s face. She’d originally thought the dull look in his eyes came from disinterest in his work, but now she could see it was something that had been reflected in her own eyes after Chad’s death: loss. She wanted to say something, to apologize, to offer her condolences, but thought better of it. He might not be happy that Deputy Schuler had even mentioned his wife’s death. So instead she said, “I’m cold.” Her damp clothes were still plastered against her like a clammy second skin. The only part of her that wasn’t frozen was where the purring cat sat curled on her lap. Katie scratched the fur around Della’s ears. The little tabby seemed none the worse for wear after her tussle with Tracy. “Can we go home now?”

“We?” Davenport asked, looking at Andy with a jaundiced eye.

“Della and me. She saved our lives when she jumped from her perch on the bookshelves and onto Tracy,” Katie said. Della purred even louder at the praise.

“I suppose I’ve got everything I need for now,” Davenport said. “But you and Mr. Rust will both need to sign statements in the morning,”

“I’d be glad to,” Andy said, and winked at Katie.

Katie put Della on the floor and stood, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders.

“What do you think Ashby used the power washer for?” Andy asked.

Katie shrugged, heading for the kitchen. “Probably to smooth the rough edges off his statue copies,” she said, gathering up cat food, bowls, and a few of Della’s cat toys, plopping them into a paper grocery sack. “Or maybe the force of the water helped ‘age’ the statues. I’m just glad it was sitting in the barn.”

“It wasn’t smart of you to confront Ms. Elliott,” Davenport admonished.

Katie rounded on him. “I didn’t have a choice, Detective. She showed up here—held us at gunpoint. I don’t know what else I could’ve done.”

“Next time, please call the Sheriff’s Office.” A couple of days ago, Katie might have taken offense at these words, but now she realized he really was worried for her safety.

She smiled. “Thank you, Detective Davenport. If I’m ever in the same situation, I’ll do just that.”

With a good-bye nod, the detective headed for the door.

“Need a ride home?” Andy asked Katie.

“I’d love one, but I’ll need my car in the morning. Could you wait while I put Della in her carrier? Then maybe you could carry her stuff to the car for me.”

“Sure thing.”

Unlike Mason, who suddenly developed a dozen legs—with claws as wicked as machetes—when confronted with his cat carrier, Della settled down as soon as Katie closed the Pet Taxi’s door.

Andy grabbed the bag of cat supplies and Katie’s purse, then waited for her as she turned off the last of the lights and locked the door to Ezra’s kitchen.

The rain had stopped and the sky was clear. Moonlight bathed the yard, and stars twinkled above them as they walked in silence through the dewy grass to where Tracy had left Katie’s car. Katie placed the cat carrier on the back seat, setting the bag of cat supplies on the car floor. She shut the door. “It’s been quite a night.”

“In more ways than one,” Andy agreed. “I’ve known Tracy almost my whole life. I knew she could be spiteful, but I never thought her capable of murder. Four people—my God. And to think I once loved her.”

Katie nodded. “I just have one question. Wednesday night around seven thirty, I dropped Rose off at Artisans Alley to pick up her car. I saw you looking out your shop window and waved, but you just glared and turned away. I thought maybe I’d offended you.”