A Gala Event (3 page)

Gail was at the far end of the room, leaning heavily on an old kitchen table—the corner was given over to a mock-up of a kitchen circa 1900. The strange noises were coming from her, and as Meg took in the scene she realized that Gail was covered with blood.

Meg rushed across the room and grabbed Gail gently by her arms. “Gail? What happened?” Even as she asked, she scanned Gail's body for any injuries—and didn't find any.

It took Gail a moment to stop hyperventilating and focus on Meg. “Meg?” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw the lights on and I thought I'd stop by. Is all this blood yours?”

Gail looked down at herself. “Oh my God! No, it's not mine!”

Both she and Meg seemed to realize at the same moment that Gail was clutching an odd object in her hand, something that Meg couldn't immediately identify. But it was clear that it was completely covered with blood. “Gail, can you put that down, please?” Meg said softly.

Gail reacted with horror and dropped it suddenly. It clattered on the tabletop and spun for a moment. But Meg was distracted when Gail slumped against her, and she guided
her to the nearest chair. If it was a priceless antique, she didn't care, because Gail's legs didn't seem to support her. “Are you sure you're not hurt?”

“No, I'm fine,” she said, her voice stronger. She took a deep breath. “There was a man . . .”

Meg stopped her. “If all this blood is his, I think we need to call Art. Is that okay?”

“Wait! Check and see if he's anywhere in the building. He must be hurt, bleeding like this.”

Gail had a point. The man could be dying in a dark corner in the building, or outside. Art could wait for two minutes while Meg took a brief look around. “Will you be okay if I go look, Gail?”

Gail nodded without speaking.

Meg took a quick scan of the room, then crossed to the door to the foyer and turned on the lights—all the lights. She looked around again, and immediately saw a trail of blood drops leading from the kitchen corner to the front door, where she had entered. She felt a surge of relief: the man wasn't in the building. He'd left. She thought for a moment: when she'd been standing on the porch at the restaurant, had she seen anybody on or near the green? She couldn't remember noticing any movement, apart from the cars on the main road. So he'd been gone for a few minutes, the time it had taken her to cross the green. But how far could he have gone, if he was losing that much blood?

She went back to the corner where Gail was sitting, At least her breathing had returned to normal, but she had her arms wrapped around herself. She looked up when Meg approached. “Anything?”

“No. Looks like he went out the front. Gail, I want to hear your story, but let me get Art over here so you don't
have to repeat yourself. Is your family expecting you at home?”

“No, thank God. I told my husband I wanted to work late, and he said he'd pick up the kids and feed them and take them to a movie. I'd hate to have them see me like this.” She looked down at the blood that covered her front, now darkening and stiffening.

“I'll call Art. Can I get you something first? A glass of water? A cup of tea?” Meg tried to recall what you were supposed to do for shock and came up blank. Sugar? “Are you warm enough?”

“Meg, just call, will you? The heat works fine,” Gail snapped.

Meg stepped into the foyer to make the call. After five; would he still be in his office? Luckily he was, and Meg was put through quickly. “Hey, Meg. How're things going?” he said. “I don't see much of that guy of yours.”

“Art, no time for small talk,” Meg spoke quickly. “There's a problem at the Historical Society, and I think you'd better get over here.”

“What's wrong?” Art's tone had changed quickly, and now he was the Granford chief of police instead of a friend.

“I came by and found the door open, and when I walked in, I found Gail Selden here, covered with blood. Not hers—somebody else's. But whoever it was isn't in the building now.”

“I'm on my way.” He hung up abruptly. Meg calculated it would take him no more than five minutes to get to the town green. Should she call Seth? She almost laughed: Why should she call Seth? What was he supposed to do? After she'd talked to Art, or watched Gail talk to Art, if he let her stay, then she could call to say she'd be late for dinner. She could explain then.

She went back to Gail's side. “He'll be right over. Are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm not hurt, if that's what you mean. I'm scared and rattled and pissed at the whole situation. What could anybody want here? It's not like we've got any money—maybe twenty bucks in singles for the souvenirs up front. And it's not like we've got scads of valuable antiques, either.”

“Maybe a homeless guy looking for someplace to keep warm? It is getting cold out there,” Meg suggested.

Gail just shrugged. They waited in silence until they heard a car pull up outside. Meg went to open the front door. When Art climbed out of his car, Meg said, “There's a blood trail on the front steps here. I didn't notice it when I came in, so I've already tramped through it.”

“Nice to see you, too, Meg. Duly noted. Gail inside?” Art stepped carefully only on the edges of the massive granite slab that made up the front step.

“Yes. She seems to be holding up okay. I haven't asked her anything, once I was sure that she wasn't the one who was bleeding.”

“Thanks, Meg.” Art preceded her into the big main room and stopped in his tracks; apparently he hadn't expected to see quite so much blood. Meg suppressed a smile, which was wildly inappropriate: had he thought she was exaggerating?

“Gail, you okay?” he said, advancing cautiously, watching where he put his feet.

“Hi, Art. Physically, yes. Otherwise . . . I'll let you know later.”

“What can you tell me?”

Apparently he wasn't going to throw her out, so Meg went to what she knew was a small storage closet at the back
of the room and brought out two folding chairs. She gave one to Art, who nodded, then sat in the other, next to Gail.

Gail took a deep breath. “I was working on setting up the kitchen exhibit, unpacking some stuff I hadn't seen before. There was no one else here. It was just before five, but I hadn't locked up yet. I mean, why would I? There's nothing here worth stealing. So I'm pulling stuff out of the packing box, and I look up and there's this guy standing in the doorway. I say, ‘We're closed,' or something like that, but he just keeps standing there. Finally he says, ‘You run this place?' and I say, ‘Yes, but you'll have to come back some other day.' I mean, if it was somebody I knew, I wouldn't mind chatting, but this guy was kind of weird.”

“Can you describe him?” Art asked.

“Tall, maybe a bit over six feet—I'm just guessing. Skinny. Older than me. Dark hair with a lot of gray in it, short but badly cut. His clothes were kind of nondescript—I mean, there was nothing much to notice. He wore clothes. Jeans, shirt, jacket, running shoes. Nothing that stood out. But he acted odd—he just kept staring at me. Then he said, ‘You keep all the stuff from Granford here?' And I told him again, ‘You'll have to come back some other time.' But he just looked at me. So I came out from behind the table and said, ‘I'm closing up now. You'll have to leave,' and he wouldn't go. And then he took a step closer, and I backed up. When I put my hand on the table behind me, it landed on that.” Gail pointed toward the bloody object lying on the table.

“What the heck is that?” Art asked.

“It's a food chopper, circa 1880. It was part of the collection that I was unpacking.”

“So you picked up the chopper. Then what?”

“The guy took another step closer, until he was about
two feet away from me. And I guess I panicked, and I just slashed out at him with that chopper. It has a really sharp blade.”

“I'll bet it does. I'm guessing you connected with him?”

“I did. If you ask me where, I can't tell you. He was so startled, I don't think he even tried to defend himself. I may have shut my eyes and swung at him a couple of times. When I opened my eyes again, he was standing there, staring at his hands, which were covered with blood. And then he looked at me, and turned and ran out the front door.”

“How'd you end up with all that blood on you?” Art asked carefully.

Gail looked down at herself and finally realized the implications. “Oh God, I must have hit something important! He could be out there bleeding to death, if he's not already dead. You've got to find him!”

“Gail, keep it together,” Art said. “Yes, you might have hit an artery, but that doesn't mean he's dead. I'll call a couple of guys from the station and we'll look for him. Too bad it's getting dark out there.”

“Find him! Please?”

“We will, Gail. Meg, you have anything to add?”

She shook her head. “No. I was up at Gran's, and I took a moment to look out at the green, and saw the lights on here. Then I walked over from there. I didn't see anyone. I stopped in here because I thought it was probably Gail inside. That was just after five. So this guy has to have left before that, though not by much. And he's been out there bleeding for over half an hour now.” Unless he was already dead, in which case he would have stopped bleeding. No, Meg wasn't about to say that out loud.

“I'll call the station,” Art said, then walked a few feet away.

“What if I killed him?” Gail whispered. “What possessed me? I mean, it wasn't like he was threatening me or anything. I didn't see anything in his hands. I was just so surprised to see anybody else in the building. He seemed kind of . . . lost. Confused. And all I could do was lash out at him. And when he left, I couldn't even get it together to call 911.”

Meg put an arm around Gail's shoulders. “Don't beat yourself up over this, Gail. He frightened you. He was coming toward you, even after you'd warned him off. All you did was defend yourself. And we don't know that he's dead.” Or who he is, or what he wanted here. “Art and his guys will find him.”

Art returned quickly. “Gail, if you can't think of anything else I should know, why don't you go home now? Get cleaned up? Unless, of course, you don't want the kids to see you like that?”

“They're out at a movie with my husband,” Gail said. “Thanks, Art—I'd feel a whole lot better if I could get out of these.” She looked down at her clothes. “Should I save them? I mean, do you need them for evidence or something?”

“Might as well keep them, I guess.”

“Art,” Meg interrupted, “Maybe I should drive Gail home? I don't think she's in any shape to handle driving right now. Then I could bring the clothes back to you.”

“I've got a better idea,” Art countered. “Let me tell the guys what they're looking for, and then you drive Gail's car to her house. I'll follow you and collect the clothes there. Chain of evidence, you know. And I'll bring you back to your car here.”

Evidence of what? Being bled on? But the clothes would certainly show how much blood had been spilled. “That works. Gail, you okay with that?”

“Sure. I want the clothes out of the house as soon as possible.”

“Then it's a plan.” Art went out the front to greet the arriving officers, and spent a couple of minutes explaining the situation. Then he sent them out to look around the grounds. Would there be a blood trail? The light outside was all but gone—could they even see it? Which way would this person have run?

Art came back in. “Sorry to bother you again, Gail, but did you hear any cars near the building? When the guy arrived, or after he left?”

Gail shrugged. “No, but I wasn't exactly paying attention. You think this guy drove away?”

“We can't eliminate that possibility. Meg, why don't we leave now? I'll come back and give 'em a hand once we've dropped Gail off.”

“Can it wait until I've cleaned up a bit?” Gail asked. “I want to wash . . . this off.” She held up her arms.

“Of course, Gail,” Art said gently. “Take your time.”

Gail disappeared into the bathroom that had recently been added—by Seth, of course—and they could hear running water. “Hell of a thing,” Art said in a low voice. “I can't remember anything like this happening in Granford. At least Gail's all right, although I'm not so sure about the other guy.”

“It seemed like a lot of blood. You think it was someone just passing through? Looking for some quick cash? No, that wouldn't be right. Gail said the man asked about Granford records, so he must know the town.”

Gail emerged from the bathroom and retrieved her bag from somewhere in the back of the building, and wordlessly handed the car keys to Meg. At least Meg knew the way to Gail's house, so she didn't have to give directions. Mostly
they were silent, until they neared the house. “What am I going to tell my husband?” Gail whispered.

“Wait until the kids are in bed, and tell him the truth. You can decide how to explain it to the kids in the morning.”