Dead Giveaway (26 page)

Even though she'd always hated the sport in the past, Grace was finding herself grateful for her father's hobby. He'd been quite a sportsman, going on safari in Africa, moose hunting in Canada, and fox hunting on a private estate in England. When she packed up his taxidermy shop, she'd sold most of the guns, but several were on the wall. Moira had insisted they lent a touch of authenticity to the room.

As she approached the door to the storage room, Grace couldn't stifle an involuntary shudder. Moira had wanted to come down with her, but her leg was still sore and she might need her strength later. Grace held her breath as she pushed open the door. Moira had warned her not to turn on any lights that might cast a reflection on the snow outside the window. She clicked on her flashlight and forced herself to step inside, training the beam of light on the huge Kodiak bear. She knew she was being foolish, but she still wanted to make sure it didn't move as she walked past it.

There was a gun on the wall next to the bear, but Grace knew it was an antique muzzle-loader. Her father had shown her a picture of a man measuring out black powder from a horn to load it.

Grace stopped and shined the beam around the room. The eyes of the black panther glittered and she stepped back a pace, nearly impaling herself on the horns of a gazelle. She had to stop being so childish and find a gun they could use.

A rifle hanging on the wall caught her eye, a hefty weapon dating back to the Civil War called a Springfield Trapdoor. Grace grabbed it, then hurried to the cabinet where her father had kept his supplies. It was a mammoth piece of furniture, made of solid mahogany, and Moira had insisted she keep it. Since her father had been an organized man, the hundreds of drawers were labeled neatly in his Spencerian script. Grace started at the top row and worked her way down. Screws. Nuts. Bolts. Wads. Grace pulled out that drawer. She thought she remembered her father saying something about wad-cutters once.

The moment she pulled out the drawer, she knew these wads weren't for a gun. She wasn't sure what her father had used them for, but they looked disgusting. Her father's handwriting was difficult to read and Grace decided it would be quicker to pull the drawers out one by one. She found a lot of interesting things that way, but none of them looked helpful. There was even a drawer of glass eyes that she promptly slammed shut again, but she finally found some shells in a drawer labeled “snap caps.” As she stuffed them into her tote bag, she noticed a long, narrow drawer under the others. There was something that looked like a giant ice pick inside with a funny piece of metal sticking out where the handle should be. She picked it up, wrapped it in a piece of fur so it wouldn't stick her, and put it into her bag. She wasn't sure what it was, but it certainly looked nasty.

Grace flicked off the flashlight and headed for the door. Done! She was about to turn the knob when she heard footsteps outside.

 

 

The Caretaker had decided to start with Grace and Moira and work his way up to the top floor while everyone was sleeping. If someone got wise, he'd be able to trap them on the stairwell. Naturally, he'd fixed the elevator. It had been a simple matter to replace the cable he'd loosened and there was no way he wanted to tire himself out by climbing up and down all those stairs.

When morning came, he'd blow up the building. That part would be simple. The plate glass windows on the north and east sides of the building were double-sealed, designed to make the huge furnace in the garage run more efficiently and to reduce drafts. The only windows that could be opened were the bedroom and bathroom windows on the west side and the patio doors on the south, and it wouldn't take long to secure them. Then he'd turn up the gas and wait. Once the highly combustible mixture had built up to a concentrated level, he'd fire a shot from the outside to create a spark. Even though the Old Man had been grief-stricken about his daughter's death, he'd pulled himself together enough to agree that it was a solid plan.

He walked silently through Grace and Moira's living room and opened their bedroom door. Grace was smaller and it would be easier to snuff out her life without waking Moira. Then he'd finish off Moira.

The bed had been slept in, but it was empty now. He should have gone up to Betty's first and used the camera to track everyone. He was making mistakes already, and he hadn't even started. He'd check out the rest of the rooms, and if he couldn't find them, he'd run up to Betty's and let the closed-circuit system do his hunting for him.

Grace flicked off her flashlight. Why hadn't they called on the intercom? Had he found them and killed them all? She was paralyzed with fear as she realized her worst nightmare was coming true. She was trapped in her father's stuffed menagerie with no escape!

Suddenly Grace remembered the pile of animal skins behind the Kodiak bear and forced herself to move. The room was pitch-black and she had to orient herself by touch. Grace shuddered as her fingertips grazed the black panther's smooth fangs. It seemed to take hours, but at last her hand touched the bear's huge claws and she felt her way around the back. She'd just pulled a large water buffalo skin over herself, its musty animal scent still strong, when the door opened.

There was a small opening where the skin was slightly torn and Grace could see his feet as he flicked on the bright overhead lights. He was wearing green and white designer tennis shoes she'd seen before. If Moira were here, she'd quip that it was probably what well-dressed killers wore when they stalked terrified middle-aged women in rooms full of stuffed animals.

Grace bit her lip to silence the terrified scream that threatened to tear from her throat as he stopped right next to her. She held her breath and shut her eyes. Moira had shown him around the menagerie when he'd first come to work for Ellen, and she prayed he wouldn't notice there was anything out of place. Then the lights went out and the door shut her in with the darkness and the Kodiak bear that suddenly seemed like a very dear friend. She stayed there, hardly daring to breathe, until she heard the front door close. Then she hoisted herself up on trembling knees and grabbed the rifle and her tote bag.

She rushed to the front door and peeked through the fisheye peephole to observe the newly repaired elevator. The green arrow flickered six times. He was going up to Betty's floor and that meant they were still alive!

Grace's fingers were trembling as she fumbled in the tote bag and slipped a round into the chamber. Then she ran to the stairwell and took the stairs as fast as she could, blessing her dancer's legs. There was no way she could get there first, but they were barricaded in Betty's bedroom. And she was coming with the gun that would save them.

“Oh, God! I was right!” Ellen's voice was shaking. Since she was good at puzzles, Jayne had given her the notebook and she was frantically working to divide the letters from Johnny's message into words.

“What does it say?”

Moira didn't take her eyes from the screen as she changed cameras and locations, desperately trying to locate Walker. They'd buzzed Grace on the intercom to tell her that he was up and moving, but there had been no answer.

“The words are,
Jayne If You Get This I Am Dead Cocaine In Dolls Watch Out Marc.
And then it stops. Johnny must have discovered that Walker was putting cocaine in my mannequins and he was killed before he could tell anyone. And the last part is a warning for Marc. Oh, I hope he's all right!”

“There he is!” Moira pointed to the screen where Marc had appeared.

“He's coming down the hallway. Thank God!”

Ellen jumped to her feet. “I'll get him. You keep on trying to find Walker.”

Marc was approaching the door when Ellen opened it, pulled him inside, and threw her arms around him. “Thank God it's you! We thought Walker had killed you!”

“What?”

“Come on.” Ellen tugged him toward Betty's room. “We're all holed up in here.”

Marc still looked dazed and Ellen realized that she hadn't explained the situation. “Sorry, I forgot that you don't know what happened. Johnny left a warning for you on Jayne's piano and Betty's all right now, but Walker killed her nurse. Grace went down to get one of her father's guns and we think she's okay, but we lost Walker when we tried to track him on Betty's television and now we don't know where he is.”

“There's Grace and she's got the gun.” Moira pointed at the screen where Grace was just reaching their landing. “Go let her in, Ellen. I'll keep trying to find Walker.”

Grace came in and rushed over to hug Marc, who was sitting in a chair by the door. “You're alive! We thought . . . it doesn't matter now, but Walker came down to the menagerie while I was there and I had to hide behind the Kodiak bear and thank God he didn't spot me! I rushed right up here as soon as he'd left, and I managed to load this thing, but I hope to God you know how to shoot it!”

“Uh . . . sure, I do. No problem.”

Marc's voice sounded strange. Ellen hoped he'd recover enough to do them some good. She patted him on the shoulder and handed him the notebook with Johnny's message. “Here, read this. Johnny left a coded message warning you that Walker was using my mannequins to transport drugs, but he . . . he was murdered before he could write the rest.”

“We think Walker's still in the building,” Moira explained, turning back to the screen. “He hasn't come out of the entrance and I've been switching back there every couple of seconds.”

“Don't worry, I'll find him.” Marc stood up. “You ladies stay right here. It's safer that way. And don't open the door for anyone but me.”

“But . . . will you have to kill him?” Ellen's voice was shaking. “He doesn't have a gun.”

“Then there's no problem. Give me the rifle, Grace.” Marc smiled as Grace handed him the rifle and the extra shells. “Perfect. You loaded the rifle with these?”

“Yes. Did I do something wrong?”

“Not a thing. I don't want to leave you unarmed, so you keep this one. I'll run up and get my hunting rifle.”

After Marc had left, Moira clicked the button for his floor and they all watched anxiously for him to appear. Ellen let out a relieved sigh as they saw him crossing the living room floor. “He made it!”

“Thank God!” Grace reached out to grip Moira's hand tightly. “I don't know whether he's brave or foolish, but I'm sure glad I don't have to go out there again.”

Paul kept the snowmobile on a path across the ridge that roughly paralleled the access road. There were clouds over the moon and the wind whipped up the loose snow to drive it against his face in what felt like needles of ice. He could feel Jayne shivering on the seat behind him and he wished he'd been able to run upstairs to get her parka. Betty's fur coat was stylish, but no match for warmth.

“Are you all right, honey?” The wind whipped his words away in a blast of freezing air, but Jayne leaned close to him and shouted that she was fine, although she suspected the tip of her nose was already well on its way to turning into an icicle.

The engine of the snowmobile coughed once and started to sputter as it came slowly to a stop. Paul swore in Norwegian again, and got out of the driver's seat.

“What's the matter?” Jayne felt her heart beat faster. She hoped nothing was wrong.

“We are out of petrol.”

“Out of gas?” Jayne gave a cry of alarm. “Oh, no.”

Paul patted her shoulder. “It is just that I now must switch to the second tank.”

Jayne gave a sigh of relief as Paul went around to the side of the machine and flipped a switch, then got back on and tried the motor. She could hear it turn over, but it didn't catch. Not on the second time, or the third, or fourth.

Paul frowned. “I think it is submerged.”

“Flooded,” Jayne corrected him. “What can we do?”

“We must wait until the extra petrol drains out and then it will start.”

Jayne sat for a moment, realizing that all the time they'd saved by cutting over the ridge was being lost now. Then the clouds rolled past the moon and it was bright once more. Jayne was just beginning to feel some hope, it would be easier to travel now that they could see clearly, when she spotted a dark furry shape barreling out of the trees ahead, charging straight at the snowmobile.

“Black bear!” Jayne pulled the gun out of her pocket and steadied it with both hands. “Get behind me, Paul.”

Jayne lined up the sights and fired. Thank God Jack had talked her into taking that firearms safety course after Paul had left! She hadn't gotten around to buying a gun, but she'd learned how to use six different types of weapons, a forty-five automatic among them.

The bear gave a roar that nearly deafened them and kept right on coming. Jayne was sure she'd hit it, but the bullet must have bounced off its thick skull. She seemed to remember hearing that someone had pumped twenty rounds into a black bear before it had dropped. She had to make every shot count.

Jayne could see the bear's teeth now, viciously sharp and gleaming in the moonlight. She squeezed off another shot, aiming right into its open mouth, and then another and another. This wasn't the same as shooting at paper targets. This was real!

She tried to stay calm as she aimed carefully and emptied the magazine. The bear was almost on top of them when it staggered and dropped to the snow.

Paul's voice was shaking. “I thought we had bought the ranch, honey.”

Jayne was too rattled to correct him. “Just try the engine again. And hurry!”

While Paul tried the engine, Jayne stared at the bear. It was a big one, five hundred pounds at least, with claws twice as long as her fingers and jaws powerful enough to rip a man's leg right off his body. Black bears were known to be vicious when awakened in the winter, and one half this size could kill with a swipe of its claws. Jayne didn't know what she'd do if it got up again. The gun was empty. She kept on staring at it, as if she could keep it motionless by the sheer effort of her will.

On the third try, the engine started, and as they sped away Jayne turned to look over her shoulder at the lifeless bundle on the snow, the dark stain of blood spreading beneath it. Then she started to shake. She'd just shot the most dangerous animal in the woods. It could have slaughtered them both, but it was a pussycat compared to the man who was stalking the halls of Deer Creek Condos.

 

 

Walker stared out the window, searching for movement in the shadows outside the building. Where the hell was Ellen? He'd rushed up here, hoping to find her before she could do any damage, but the spa was deserted.

He glanced out at the thermometer. Thirty degrees outside and the way the wind was howling past the windows, he was sure she hadn't gone out for a walk. That meant she was still in the building, but where? She'd taken his forty-five when she'd left and that meant she'd put the pieces together. He had to stop her before she alerted the others or all hell would break loose.

He turned and headed for the stairwell. Even though he had a master key, it would be a waste of time to check out every apartment in the building. Ellen was holed up somewhere, and she'd kill him with his own forty-five rather than turn it over to him. She had courage, a trait he admired, but right now he wished she were a shrinking violet. He loved her, no doubt about that, but he'd been a fool to let down his guard. And while he wasn't the first to be taken in by a woman, he sure as hell wasn't going to roll over without a good fight.

Walker was frowning as he pushed open the door to the sixth floor. There was only one way to locate Ellen. He'd find her with Jack's closed-circuit system and pin her down. There would be time for explanations later, but first he had to get his weapon back one way or the other.

 

 

Ellen put her arms around Betty as they watched Marc on the monitor. He'd taken his rifle from the case, an ugly-looking object that reminded Ellen of the ones she'd seen on movie posters, and now he was filling his pockets with clips of ammunition. She didn't blame Betty for being frightened. She was frightened, too. Why did he have to take so much ammunition if he was just going to find Walker and tie him up?

“It's all right, Betty.” Ellen tried to calm the poor dear, who was trembling so hard, her teeth were chattering.

“No!” Betty started to cry. “Nice man!”

Ellen patted her shoulder. “Of course he is. Marc is going to help us.”

“He's got his parka and gloves.” Moira kept them posted. “He must think Walker's outside. He'd better change his shoes, though. Those sure won't make it in the snow.”

Grace swiveled around to look at the screen. “Oh, my God! I saw the killer's feet, down in the menagerie and . . .”

There was a sound of a key in the lock and Moira switched cameras. “It's Walker! And he's got a key!”

Ellen's hands were trembling as she picked up the antique rifle Grace had brought. There was no other choice.

“No!” Grace shouted, whirling toward Ellen, but Betty was faster. Her arm shot out, knocking the gun from Ellen's hands.

“Killer Marc!” Betty insisted. “Walker is nice.”

“That's what I was trying to tell you.” Grace hurried to unlock the dead bolt. “I saw the killer's shoes and . . . and Marc's wearing them!”

“Oh, Walker!” Ellen hurled herself in his arms. “I thought you were the killer and I almost . . .” She stopped and swallowed hard, unable to speak the words aloud.

“I figured you'd try to kill me.” Walker grinned down at her. “But I also figured you'd miss. Where did you get that antique? And where's my forty-five?”

They all spoke at once, trying to explain, but Walker caught enough to understand. Although Johnny's musical message had been accurate, they'd misinterpreted its meaning.
Watch out Marc
had been a warning for them, not him.

“Ellen? See if you can find coats and boots, everything we need for the outside. Stuff it all in one bag. Grace, you help Betty get dressed into something warm. Keep Marc on that monitor, Moira. Don't take your eyes off him and holler for me when he makes a move for the door.”

“You'd better take this.” Grace handed the Springfield to Walker proudly. “I went all the way down to the menagerie to get it and here's the box of bullets. Marc really blew it by leaving it here.”

As Walker looked over the munitions Grace had risked her life for, a quizzical expression came over his face. “Isn't it any good?” Grace asked.

“It's a good rifle, but those are dummy rounds. It makes a great club, though.” Walker hefted the Springfield. “Don't feel bad, Grace. It's more than we had before.”

“I've got this, too.” Grace handed him the fur-wrapped bundle. “It's just a big ice pick without a handle, but it looked plenty dangerous. Can you use it?”

Walker grinned as he unwrapped it. “Watch this, Grace.” He butted the ice pick up against the end of the rifle and twisted. There was a click as it locked into place. “It's a bayonet, a real pig-sticker. It's the perfect thing for hand-to-hand combat.”

Grace beamed. She'd gotten something useful, after all. But even without it, the trip hadn't been wasted: she'd never be afraid of the panther or the Kodiak bear again. She turned to find Betty smiling up at her. “Sweatsuit in closet. Help me, Grace?”

“Of course I will!” Grace could hardly believe her ears. It was the first time Betty had remembered her name. As she hurried off to get the sweatsuit, she thanked God this was one of Betty's good periods. They were going to need all the help they could get.

Ellen was stuffing the last coat in a duffel bag when Walker joined her. “Anything for me?”

She nodded and handed him a bright pink jacket. “I think it was the nurse's, but it's the only thing that's close to your size.”

“Not my best color, but I'll take it.” Walker slung the jacket over his shoulder and picked up the duffel bag. “Think carefully, Ellen. Did you tell Marc that Jayne and Paul left on the snowmobile?”

Ellen frowned as she tried to remember, then shook her head. “No, I'm almost positive I didn't.”

“Good. He doesn't realize the clock is ticking, and that's a big break for us.”

Ellen put her hand on his arm. “Walker? Who are you?”

“Later, Ellen. I work for the good guys. Will that do for now?”

Ellen nodded. “Do you really know Jack, or was that just a part of your cover?”