An Educated Death (46 page)

Even with heated seats and the heater on full blast, my hand, when I held it against my face, was like a block of ice. I should have been working on a clever plan for how I was going to get in and out of there safely while persuading Ellie to turn herself in ,but my mind was verging on mush. Fear will do that. I used to scoff when I read about people doing stupid things under stress. Now I understand.

If anyone was going to make a plan, it would have to be Dom. I could barely push enough thought through my head to do the basics necessary for driving. Luckily, I'd done the drive to the Bucksport School so often my car knew the way down 128 from the North Shore to the western suburbs. The car behind me must have felt less secure; it stuck to my tail like a remora. It was annoying but people do that in fog, just pick out a set of taillights and follow them. I've even been known to do it myself.

I snapped on the radio for company and was rewarded by being invited to rock around a Christmas tree. For once it sounded more inviting than what I was doing. It just showed how a change in perspective could affect one's appreciation of music. I would rather have been doing that, or twisting the night away, or even willingly done the mashed potato or the electric slide if it meant I didn't have to go see Ellie Drucker.

I didn't feel that I had any choice. Rocky and Dorrie, the ones who should have been on this errand, were temporarily AWOL while I was, as Ellie had pointed out, about to ruin her life. Besides, there was poor Josh Meyer, whose bony knees, heaving shoulders, and ravaged face had roused my maternal instincts, in the clutches of a woman who had demonstrated her willingness to kill. Thea Kozak, always the slave of duty. I had just about reached my limit on this job, though. I shoulda stood in bed and let George do it.

But as I'd often observed, George never seemed to be available. No knights in shining armor were dashing to my rescue. My mother would say this was the consequence of too many years of insisting I could do everything myself. Maybe she was right. Still, I thought independence, even if it came at a high price, was worth it. Most of the time.

Besides, it wasn't entirely true. True, Andre wasn't going to be there but Dom was and he was as solid and trustworthy and competent as anyone. Even if he was married and old enough to be my father, I could imagine accomplishing my mission and swooning in his arms. The trouble was I could also imagine him giving me a stern swat on the rear end and admonishing me to stop feeling sorry for myself and to go call Andre. That's just how it is. Cops stick together. At least I knew that Dom wasn't coming for Andre's sake, though he would have if Andre had asked, he was coming for mine. I wouldn't be doing this without Dom as my lifeline.

His big maroon car was idling quietly at the turnoff to the Bucksport School. I parked behind him and he got out and walked back to my car, getting in on the passenger side. He didn't say anything until he'd turned on the light and studied my face. Then he felt my hands. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "This isn't part of your job. We can march into the Sedgwick police station and demand that they handle this."

"She's got a kid in there, a student, and I'm afraid of what she may have done to him. Or what she may do if someone else shows up at the door." I couldn't quite keep the tremble out of my voice. I was all too aware of other times when I'd unwittingly put myself in danger. This time I was going in forewarned.

"Cops are trained to handle situations like this."

"And what if they blow it? It's all my fault that he's in there—"

"And why is that, may I ask? Because you told him who dunnit and sent him off to get revenge?"

"Of course not."

He affected an accent. "Ah, Saint Theadora, who causes the sun to rise and sets the winds in motion. Who causes the would-be killers to confront the has-been killers and who—"

"Shut up, Dom. I'm scared out of my skin and I think I'm going to throw up. You want to call the cops again, call the cops."

"Is that what
you
want?"

"I want to be home in bed. I don't want to blow this. I want a happy ending—"

"All very well, but what were you planning to do in there?"

"I thought I might trade myself for Josh. He's just a kid."

He whistled softly. "You and Lemieux were made for each other, you know that? You've both got too much hero and no common sense."

"He's got plenty of common sense," I began.

"And you?"

"I just want to talk to her. To see if I can get her to let Josh go. We'll call the cops when we get there. I just want a few minutes to... I don't know... to try and fix this without a big shoot-'em-up scandal. Bucksport has had about all it can take. But Dom... I don't have a plan...."

"The plan is simple. You go in, you assess the situation, and if she doesn't want to give herself up, you leave."

"What if she won't let me leave?"

"Then you holler and I'll come in. Why don't I just come with you?"

"She might not let me in. As long as you're there, Dom."

He squeezed my arm. "For you, Princess, I am always there."

At that moment I could have hugged him and gone home. For a fleeting instant, the world was safe and perfect. But the clock was running and Ellie's vague hints about Josh loomed large in my mind. I knew what sort of things she did to people. I knew what they could do. So we would call the Sedgwick cops again. But I was going in. "Let's go," I said.

"You're sure?"

I thought about all the times I'd been accused of being too certain, too pigheaded, too determined to have my own way. "Would you accept almost sure? I just don't want to risk anything happening to him... to Josh. And she... she might not be alone." It wasn't so farfetched to think that Chas, having caused the problem in the first place, would rally to his wife's support.

"Okay. You go in and check things out, but that's all. No heroics, understand? I'll be right outside the window. Scream and I'll come in."

Why was he giving in so easily? Didn't he know how scared I was? I really wanted him to come with me; I was just afraid that if he did, she or they would see him and immediately do something awful to Josh. That's what hostages were for, to protect bad guys. I couldn't risk it. If Ellie Drucker was willing to do awful things to Laney and to Carol, what was there to protect Josh? "How are you going to get in?" I asked.

"If you can't open the door for me, I'll come through the window. Don't worry. I'll manage." He shut off the light and opened the door. "We'll take my car," he said.

"But I have a phone—" I started to argue with him, Thea the control freak to the end, but of course he had a full battery of police communications equipment in his car. Either of us was capable of dialing 911. He could probably do a lot more. Plus he had a trunkful of useful gear. I took a deep breath, swallowed my argument, and followed him, reminding myself that you don't ask someone to help you because of his experience and expertise and then refuse to let him use it. That was a fundamental truth I was supposed to have learned in my years as a consultant—you don't have to be an expert in everything, you only have to know how to find and use experts.

Ellie had given me directions to her house, which was on a side road off the main drive. Before we pulled into the driveway, Dom cut the lights and we crept forward slowly. The driveway was almost invisible in the fog but the house lights gleamed like a beacon. I patted my pockets to be sure I still had my Mace, and opened the door. "Wish me luck," I said. This time I made no effort to hide my fear. My hands were shaking, my knees were knocking, and I felt an anxious adrenaline rush go through my body. "If I die, be sure to check out the cup of tea on the shelf in my office. Cold poison peppermint tea. And tell Andre I'm sorry."

"You're not going to die," he said firmly.

The door closed and I was alone in the cottony darkness. In the distance, I could hear the crunch of tires on the main campus road. At the door I hesitated, took a deep breath, and knocked. She must have been watching through the peephole. The door swung quietly inward before I'd even lowered my hand. Ellie Drucker stood there, dressed in a vast pink quilted bathrobe, an unreadable expression on her face.

"How nice of you to come," she said as though this were a social visit. "We've been waiting for you. This way, please." Still the gracious hostess, she stepped aside and motioned me into the living room. A quick glance told me that it was a comfortable room, well furnished with antiques, books, and paintings. Things that weren't bought on a teacher's salary. Ellie's money. So tightly held there wasn't even a little bit extra to buy a poor girl an abortion. But my overall impression was of cavernous, high-ceilinged darkness. Only a few of the lights were on. My gaze didn't linger on the decor, though, but went straight to the figure lying on the couch, trussed like a turkey, a streak of blood running from the scalp down onto the cheerful flowered upholstery.

I stared down at him, back at Ellie, and back at the silent figure on the couch. "That's not Josh," I said.

"Of course not," she said, dropping to her knees beside her unconscious husband. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and tried to wipe away the blood but succeeded only in smearing it around.

"Of course not," echoed a voice from across the room. There were no lights on at the far end. I peered at the barely visible figure sitting in the darkness.

"Josh?"

"Well, it's not the Good Humor man."

"What's going on here?" It was like biting into a chocolate and finding it was a radish. "What have to you done to Mr. Drucker?"

"You can call him Chas," Josh said. "He likes that. I've done nothing compared to what he's done to me." He paused for effect. "Yet."

"So you know about Chas and Laney?" I took a step toward him, trying to get close enough to see his face.

"D-d-don't... come any... closer!" he commanded in a shaky voice. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then why am I here?"

"You're the detective. You tell me."

I shook my head. "I'm not a detective, Josh. That's what everyone said, but I'm not. I'm a consultant. I come in, I ask a bunch of questions, I write a report. I don't solve crimes." My voice was small and shaky.

"Then I guess I'll have to tell you," he said, sounding surprisingly agreeable. "You're here as a witness."

"As a witness to what?"

"Vengeance!" He shouted the word and I jumped, knocking into a set of fireplace tools that rocked and clanged behind me. "Retribution. Payback. That filthy, manipulative, self-satisfied pig there on the couch used Laney and then killed her because her pregnancy would have embarrassed him."

"You don't want to do this, Josh—" I began.

"Oh, yes, I do. And I want you to watch because you're the one who just had to know what was going on. Couldn't leave me alone. You had to be in my face, all the time, trying to make me tell you who Laney's lover was, rubbing it in that I didn't know, like salt in a wound. Well, now you know. Now you'll know everything."

Behind me, Ellie Drucker was making low moaning sounds. "Mrs. Drucker, will you please, for God's sake, shut up!" There was a crash as something he'd thrown smashed into the wall behind me.

Ellie jumped up with a wail and planted her hands on her ample hips. "You stop that right now!" she said. "That was a priceless antique, Josh. Brought back from China in the—" Another object smashed into the wall. "Eighteen thirties," she finished in a small voice. "Please...." She sank back down on her knees, cradling broken pieces in her hand.

"He didn't kill her, Josh," I said. "He was with other people, he couldn't have."

"Don't bother," Ellie Drucker said in a strangled voice. "I've already said everything there is to be said. He doesn't care."

"She's right," Josh agreed. "I don't care. It doesn't matter whether it was Chas who actually pushed her, or whether it was Mrs. Drucker. It's like a chain reaction. Like dominos. He's the one who set things in motion. He didn't care what happened after that. He didn't care that she was scared or that she was alone or that she was humiliated and afraid of being hurt. He didn't care if she was sick or how she felt about her father knowing, even though her father was the only other person besides me who really loved her. He didn't think about any of that. He just wanted to screw a kid. A kid the same age as his daughter and he didn't want to have to use a condom because he wanted his dick to get the full benefit. Just a squirt and a groan and good-bye, sister."

"Oh, stop. Please. Stop talking that way," Ellie Drucker pleaded. "You make him sound like a monster when he's just a man who made a little mistake. Haven't you ever made a mistake, Josh?"

"Yes. Not hitting you right after I hit him. You're the one with the money, aren't you, Mrs. Drucker? And you're the one Laney had to go to and beg for it, because the big stud there was too much of a coward to give it to her. What did you say to her, anyway? 'Meet me by the path and we'll take a little walk out into the woods, get far enough from the campus so no one can see us, and then I'll give you the money?' Only instead you pushed her out on the ice and let her die!" His voice wavered. "Have you tried to imagine what that was like for her? I have. I've imagined it every day since it happened and I've dreamed it every night. Every time I close my eyes I can feel her icy hands grasping at mine. Every night I try to save her but it's always too late."

"It's not too late for you, Josh," Ellie said. "Just let us go and you won't get into any trouble, I promise you. Don't do something that's going to screw up your whole life."

"I already did that. I fell in love with Laney. And you already did that. The two of you. You used her and then you killed her."

"But we didn't kill her! We didn't. What can I do to make you believe me?" She threw out her arms, a piece of broken china underfoot knocked her off balance, and she fell with a rousing thud. The coffee table overturned with a crash, scattering candy and knickknacks and books across the floor.

"There's nothing you can do," Josh said dramatically. "It's too late."