Claudia Must Die (9 page)

“Are you trying to kill all of us?” A vein on Francis’s forehead bulged, but the rest of his face remained calm.

Parker slumped back in her seat and frantically rubbed her face. “I need air.”

Before Francis could stop her, she jumped out of the car and stormed across a field. The two in the car watched Parker place both hands on her head and let out a primal scream that could raise the dead.

Fritz popped his head up and bolted from the car to Parker’s side. She stooped to stroke his loyal head, feeling closer to Ida when the dog was around. Could it be that Ida’s spirit was inside her dog? The thought brought a smile to Parker’s face and her demeanor calmed. She strolled casually back to the car, as though the previous few minutes hadn’t happened.

When she approached the open door, Parker leaned down. “Can you pop the trunk, I need a dry shirt.” She tugged on her sweaty tee.

Francis nodded and did as she asked.

Parker fossicked in her bag until she found what she wanted. Carefully, she slipped the gun into her jeans, turning her body away from the roadside so no one would see what she was up to. Then she grabbed a fresh shirt to change into.

Returning to the backseat of the car, Parker then climbed in and positioned herself so she wouldn’t feel the gun. She motioned for Francis not to look so she could change her shirt. Fritz nestled his head in her lap, and Parker scratched his ears, completely at ease.

Francis and Claudia eyed each other. Considering Parker’s actions earlier, and the screaming in the field, Francis and Claudia were both floored by, and disbelieving of, Parker’s new, peaceful mood.

Francis determined to drive as fast and as long as possible, before Parker had a complete mental breakdown.

Parker noticed the look pass between the two. She was shocked that Francis was buddying up to Claudia—the woman who had slaughtered Ida in cold blood. For the moment, Parker was willing to pretend everything was kosher. She could wait, anticipating her moment to blast Claudia’s head off. Parker’s eyes glazed over as she pictured the scene, and she happily patted Fritz’s head, humming an Irish ballad Ida used to sing late at night.

Later that afternoon, the trio stopped at a diner. Francis intended to drug Parker again, so he wouldn’t see her silly smirk every time he checked the mirror, but he feared killing her if she didn’t have food in her stomach.

He sipped on his second cup of black coffee. “Parker, surprisingly this coffee is gourmet.” He gestured to the run-down diner. “Would you like a cup? I know you’re exhausted.” He wanted to add she clearly wasn’t thinking straight, but did not.

Parker’s mind still felt muddled. She nodded and then strolled to the bathroom while Francis ordered another two cups, one for himself and one for Parker. The waitress delivered them before Parker returned. Francis casually added the crushed pills to Parker’s mug.

Claudia cocked her head and started to speak, until Francis put a finger to his mouth to shush her. “I want the rest of the journey to be tranquil,” he said.

He must have drugged her last night
, Claudia thought.
Explains why we had to run to the drugstore at 2:00 a.m.

Parker slid back into her booth, nodding to Francis and Claudia. She knew she had to convince them that her temporary insanity was over—not that she felt insane. No, the student felt justified. Ida would approve of the con job. Ida had been the type to take matters into her own hands, knowing that the authorities were useless ninety percent of the time.
Claudia must die
, Parker told herself as she sipped her coffee.

Across the table, Claudia smiled at her, even as the student picked up her book.

The waitress stopped by to top up Francis’s coffee cup once more. “Oh, that’s a great book. I felt for the family. Can you imagine the torment they must have felt, knowing they were going to be ruthlessly murdered?”

Claudia gasped and placed a hand over her heart, as if attempting to still its thumping. Parker, grinning like a mad woman, tilted her head and locked her eyes on Claudia.

The waitress, ignorant of the tension, departed as the tinkling of the bell over the door announced the arrival of two new customers.

Parker continued smiling innocently at Claudia, as her prey squirmed in her seat. The new calm and cheerful student terrified Claudia even more than the murderous Parker did. Her smile was eerie; her eyes, menacing. And her newfound serenity was anything but calming. Parker picked the book up and held it open, each index finger forming a pretend gun that she pointed right at Claudia’s head.

Drink up, Parker Mapes
, thought Claudia, as she smiled sweetly back at the deranged person across the table.

Die bitch
, thought Parker, as she sipped her lukewarm coffee; it was nowhere near gourmet. If Cousin Francis had endorsed it to Ida, Parker knew she would have thrown it in Francis’s face.

A smudge of lipstick on the lip of the cup made Parker cringe. She wasn’t wearing lipstick. Iowa—or whatever Midwestern state they were in—was a filthy place filled with nothing but shitty diners, rednecks in John Deere hats, rows and rows of corn, and coffee cups smeared with lipstick. Parker missed Boston. She missed Ida.

Francis monitored Parker’s intake of the pills. He determined they had twenty minutes before she passed out, giving him more than twelve hours of peace. He hoped they would be in Loveland, Colorado by then. He anticipated that, once there, he could channel her bloodlust on Dennis, rather than Claudia.

He had, however, chuckled at Parker making guns with her fingers and threatening Claudia. Even though Francis no longer desired to kill Claudia, he liked Parker’s grit. Ida would have found it quite comical.

Francis left the women alone for a moment to go and check on Fritz, who was sitting behind the restaurant. The dog had plenty of water, he saw, and stood as still as a statue. Every time he saw Fritz, Francis thought of Ida. Did Parker feel the same, he wondered?

As he walked back into the restaurant, Francis glimpsed a young man who looked vaguely familiar. The Irishman knew it was time to get the “twins” and leave. He couldn’t take the risk of being seen by anyone.

“You two ready?” He didn’t bother sitting down.

Claudia grabbed her purse and bolted for the door. She wanted to be as far away from Parker, who hadn’t uttered a word during Francis’s absence, as possible. The student didn’t need to speak. Her fucking smile and crazed eyes said it all.

Francis sighed.
I’ve created a lunatic
.

Parker swallowed the last of her coffee, stood up and swooned a little. Francis rushed to her side before she fell. He didn’t want a repeat of the McDonald’s incident.

“Man, I think I stood too fast.” Parker swiped her forehead with the back of her hand and rubbed her eyes. “I feel better now.”

Francis nodded, took her arm, and walked her out the front door. The bell announced their departure.

After loading Parker into the backseat, Francis retrieved Fritz. As he and the dog ambled past the front door of the diner, he heard the bell tinkle. Francis slowly turned his head, ordering the dog into the car.

Fritz obeyed, even though Francis hadn’t moved a muscle to follow.

The brothers eyed Francis—all three of them coming to the sudden realization of the others. No one moved.

Claudia sat in the front seat of the car frozen, not because of the assassins outside, but because Parker had suddenly bolted upright in the backseat. Claudia thought for sure this was it. She closed her eyes and waited to be killed, just like the family in the book.

When she heard the backdoor slam shut, Claudia quickly glanced at the backseat. She saw only Fritz. “What the?” Then she heard Parker shouting.

“You!” Parker screamed, marching closer to Boyd and Otis.

Francis tried to cut her off, but Parker pushed him aside and scrambled to her left.

Parker righted herself to the best of her ability—the pills had kicked in—and walked like a zombie, stiff and unsteady on her feet, closer to the brothers.

“You! You killed her!” Parker screamed.

The brothers didn’t know what to do. Never before had they seen the aftermath of their work. Seeing the emotion in Parker’s eyes stunned them into silence. Even her zombie impression could not mask the suffering they had inflicted upon her as soon as Otis had pulled that trigger.

Thirty feet away from the brothers, Parker pulled out her gun. Francis’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
When in the hell had she pulled that out of the trunk?

Parker raised the gun with difficulty. Its weight and her blurred vision forced her to lower the weapon a little and shake her head to clear her sight.

With effort, she fired a shot. It thudded into the asphalt in front of Boyd’s feet. He jumped and pulled out his handgun, as did Otis.

Francis rushed toward them, yanking his gun out, too.

“Am I the only one without a gun?” shouted Claudia to Fritz. The dog didn’t respond. His eyes were glued on Parker, and he pawed the door to get to her.

Parker raised the gun again, as she had seen guys do in the movies, perpendicular to the ground instead of upright. She aimed right for Boyd’s head. Just as she pulled the trigger, Francis grabbed her. The bullet skidded off a car in the parking lot.

Otis pulled the trigger of his handgun, and winced when he heard Francis groan. The big man did not release his grip on Parker’s shooting arm, although she frantically tried to break free to shoot the brothers.

Boyd motioned for Otis to run for the car. But before making a break for it, Otis shot at Parker, intending to scare her rather than hit her. The bullet grazed the side of her stomach. It didn’t stop Parker’s rage, nor did it end her determination to break free from Francis.

The assassins stood right in front of her, or at least she hoped they did, since all she could see was the blinding sunlight that bounced off the surrounding windshields
. Why did I have to get sick today, of all days?
Parker cursed her luck.

Sirens blared in the distance. The Woolf brothers ducked into their car, and Francis picked Parker up and carried the deranged student to the sedan. Fritz growled his disgust at being locked in the car while Parker had needed him.

Cops appeared on the horizon of the highway. Francis gunned the car out of the parking lot in the opposite direction. The Woolf brothers followed right behind.

Parker rolled down the window and stuck her gun out.

“Shit, Parker! Knock it off!” Francis swerved, forcing Parker to drop the gun, which clattered down onto the blacktop. The Irishman had the foresight to lock the doors with the childproof lock, and Parker pounded on the handle, screaming.

Boyd and Otis witnessed the whole affair. Both stared at the guns they held, and without talking, lowered them.

Damn!
Francis cursed, noticing the gesture of the brothers in the car behind. Yesterday, he had been content with killing Claudia, the boys, and the husband. He hadn’t known them—not that he knew them now—but today, he could tell they were troubled.
What a fucking mess. Parker has lost her mind and is crazed enough to blast everyone off the map. Claudia is running from two assassins, her lunatic husband, and now Parker. And now the boys.

The boys’ faces, when they saw how frantic and distraught Parker was and how determined she was to get retribution, had said it all.

The cops had turned into the parking lot where the shootout had occurred. It wouldn’t take them long to realize that both groups had taken off in this direction. Francis had to get off the road. He was bleeding, and so was Parker.

He slammed on his breaks and turned down a gravel path that led towards an abandoned barn. He hoped the cops weren’t bright and would speed right on by. It helped that the Woolf brothers hadn’t followed him; at least there would be a car for the cops to chase.

Parker sat limp in the backseat, still awake, although she wouldn’t be for long. Adrenaline had helped her fight off the sleeping pills at first, but now she was slipping back into a foggy state.

Francis opened the back door to let Fritz out, and then sat next to Parker and lifted her shirt.

Claudia’s mouth fell open. “She got shot!” For a second, Claudia felt sorry.

“The bullet only grazed her,” Francis said as he dressed the wound from a first-aid kit he kept for such emergencies. The military had trained him to always be prepared.

Parker barely noticed Francis as he wrapped a bandage around her midsection. At one point, when she felt him reaching around her, she giggled. She had always been ticklish. Ida used to love to pin her down on the bed and tickle her until Parker begged for mercy.

“Ida, that tickles,” mumbled Parker.

Francis felt sorry for her. Yes, Parker had been a pain in the ass the past twenty-four hours, but it was obvious how much the kid was struggling to keep things together. He smiled at the thought of Parker, who had never shot a gun, prancing up to the brothers, ready to blow their brains out. That they were trained assassins had clearly never entered Parker’s mind, or maybe she had wanted to take them out as well as herself. Suicide by assassin?

The Irish man patted the bandage, satisfied that Parker hadn’t bled that much, thank goodness.

Sirens sounded in the distance, but Francis was certain they weren’t getting closer. He pulled his shirt off, revealing his freckles, faint ginger chest hair, and blood dripping down his shoulder.

“Oh my God! You got shot!” Claudia was beside herself. If Francis died, she would be alone with Parker. She stared into the backseat. Sure, the loon was sound asleep right now, but what would happen when she woke?

“Just a flesh wound. That’s all.” Francis placed the first-aid kit on the hood of the car. “Can you help me?” The wound was on his shoulder blade, and he was having a devil of a time seeing the extent of the damage.

Claudia stumbled out of the car. All the excitement made her feel faint. She held up the small mirror Francis had handed her, so he could eyeball his injury.

Francis grunted. He doused the wound with hydrogen peroxide, gritting his teeth as the bubbles burned. Claudia looked away. Blood had never been her thing.