Death by Tea (28 page)

Something had come into Mike's eyes as he spoke. It was as if remembering David's death was enough to send him into a murderous frenzy. I knew then that no matter what happened, what I did or said, he was going to come at me.

I wasn't going to stand around and let him do it.

Mike took a step forward. I feinted toward the kitchen, which seemed to be the best place to go. I figured Mike would think the same. He moved to cut me off, and I immediately changed direction and darted toward the living room. I snatched up one of those solid candle holders that are about the size of a small cup. I turned and threw it as hard as I could, aiming for Mike's head.

It smashed into the wall about three feet to his left. He snarled at me and charged. I started for the hall, realizing there was nothing I could use against him in the living room, unless I wanted to try to beat him over the head with my TV.

Mike spun around a chair and swung his tire iron. I jerked back, avoiding the blow, but my lamp wasn't so lucky. It shattered on impact, spraying glass and ceramic pieces all over my freshly cleaned floor.

I screamed and scuttled backward, right into the TV I'd considered using as a weapon. It was one of those HD flat screens that should normally be bolted to the wall or a stand of some sort. Unfortunately, I'd done neither. I hit it hard enough for it to crack back against the wall and then heave forward. I made a mad grab for it and realized that in doing so, I'd be giving Mike a chance to clock me a good one, so I shoved on it instead. Mike managed to leap back before it came crashing down at his feet.

“Break all you want,” he said. “It won't help you.” He wasn't even breathing hard, while I was panting.

I looked for a way out of my predicament. Misfit, who should have been hiding somewhere due to all the noise, was sitting in the dining room, watching us with his ears pinned back. It appeared he was my final hope.

“Attack!” I yelled at him, startling Mike. He jerked back, clearly expecting a massive dog of some sort to come flying at him. All he found was an orange cat giving him a curious look.

“Traitor,” I grumbled as Mike chuckled. The cat was going to be of no help.

Mike came at me then, tire iron held above his head, poised to strike. I shoved on the coffee table as he neared. It didn't move much, but Mike's leg clipped the edge of it, anyway. He tripped and fell into the stand that used to hold my TV. He went down hard.

I bolted between the coffee table and couch, thinking I'd caught my break and could get out the front door before Mike could right himself. Too bad I was watching Mike struggle to his feet instead of watching where I was going.

When I'd moved the coffee table, it had not only turned to get in his way but also cut off the clear path to the door between the table and the couch. My knees hit the corner of the table at a full run, and I went tumbling over it. I hit the floor hard and skidded across, giving myself some serious rug burn in the process. I came to rest near where Misfit had been sitting a moment before. At some point, he'd taken off and left me to fend for myself.

I tried to scramble to my feet, but before I could so much as get to my hands and knees, Mike was atop me. I spun and kicked out, hoping to hit him where it counted, but instead I ended up kicking the wall. My leg went instantly numb, and pain shot through my foot as one of my toes snapped. I was on my back, Mike atop me, his hands on my throat.

He'd lost the tire iron in his fall, apparently, which would have been great if he didn't have all of the leverage and was choking the life out of me instead. I beat at him with my hands, but it was to no avail. If he'd been any stronger, he could have crushed my windpipe and been done with it. As it was, he was cutting off my air, which might be slower but would make me dead just the same.

And then, thankfully, that was when the blessed sound of sirens filled the air.

Mike's grip lessened on my throat as his head jerked up. I sucked in a gulp of air, which burned going in but felt good. It might be my only moment of reprieve, and I needed to take advantage of it.

“Oh, man.” Mike jumped to his feet and started to run for the door.

There was no way I was going to let him escape. Despite the pain in my foot, despite how every breath felt as if I were swallowing fire, I rolled over onto my side and grabbed for his leg. The grab was wild, but I caught him. Mike went down hard, nose cracking the floor. I held tight to his foot, even as he began kicking at me.

“Let me go!” he shouted as the siren reached a crescendo outside.

“Never!”

There was the clunk of a door slamming closed, and a moment later my angel stepped through the door. Paul scanned the scene, gun in hand, looking as if he wasn't quite sure what he was looking at.

“He killed David Smith!” I shouted. “And he tried to kill me!” I hoped he would do something before Mike's foot finally found my face. He was bucking wildly even now.

It all seemed to click at once. Paul's face went hard, and since Mike was ignoring the gun in his hand, he did the next best thing: he tackled the already prone man, and zip-stripped him up faster than I could blink. I let go of Mike's foot and rolled over onto my back, panting and in pain but alive.

And at least this time, I didn't pass out.

30

The parking lot to the theatre was so full, I had to park down the street and walk. I got out of the car, limping, as I made my way back toward the large brick building. I was dressed as if on a date—a cute, light blue skirt and white blouse—but unfortunately no man was going to meet me, much to my disappointment.

My toe had indeed been broken in my fight with Mike, but it was worth it considering David Smith's murderer had been caught. I'd turned over all of the information I had on David, including the conquest book. It didn't really help the police in their case against Mike, but hey, whatever. I didn't want it.

Of course, Paul wasn't happy I'd been holding back on him. I couldn't blame him, really. I did let him know that the only reason I hadn't told him about what I'd found was because of how he'd been treating me. He looked rightfully abashed, but I do believe it was also the reason I was going to this thing alone.

I reached the front doors to the small brick theatre at the same time as Chief Patricia Dalton. She was wearing her uniform, though the top two buttons were undone and the stiff hat she always wore was missing. She looked as if she'd just come off duty.

“Hi, Chief,” I said, leaning against the side of the building to catch my breath. In the week after Mike's arrest, I'd pretty much sat on my butt, thanks to my toe. I was quickly assuming the shape of my recliner.

“Well, hello there, Miss Detective.” She said it with a teasing grin. “How's the foot?”

“Better.” I wiggled it in my loose-fitting sandals. I couldn't get it into anything else.

“Good, good.” She paused. “Talk to Paul?”

“Not really.” Other than when I'd given him the information I'd found, he hadn't spoken to me at all.

“He tell you why he came back that day?” She was grinning as if she'd been dying to tell me since the moment it happened.

I shook my head. He hadn't brought my car back, either. I'd had to convince Vicki to pick me up and take me back for it. Let me tell you, a freshly broken toe and the gas and brake pedals aren't compatible. It took me five times as long to get home, but darn it, I was determined not to ask for any more help.

“Your neighbor called us. Dispatch forwarded the call to me, not quite sure what to make of it. Miss Winthrow was ranting about you having rough sex with a minor. She claimed it was disturbing the entire neighborhood and someone needed to come in and break it up.”

“What?” I practically shouted it, drawing the eyes of a few stragglers who had yet to enter the theatre. “He's over twenty. And we weren't having sex!” The eyes of the gawkers widened as they hurried inside.

“I know.” Chief Dalton chuckled. “Good luck convincing everyone else of that. Between Eleanor and her friends, it is all over town now.” She turned and walked into the theatre, still chuckling.

Great, just my luck. I solve yet another murder and instead of being a hero, people were going to look at me as if I was some sort of child molester. Buchannan was probably already having a field day with that one.

With a grumble, I entered the theatre. The old building sagged from seemingly everywhere but looked sturdy enough. A woman in a little booth just inside the door took my five dollars and handed me a little piece of paper that would serve as my ticket into the play. I thanked her and headed inside to a nearly packed room. I caught a glimpse of Jules Phan and Lance, sitting down near the front, but there were no empty seats around them.

I scanned the crowd with a frown. There were people standing at the back, apparently unable to find seats themselves. There was no way on God's green earth that I was going to stand through this thing. My foot would probably fall off first. But I wasn't going to miss it, either.

I found Will sitting with his bowling buddies, Darrin and Carl. I considered going down to talk to him but decided I wasn't quite ready for
that
conversation, especially with the rumors flying around. Maybe once they died down, I could look him up and explain.

I was about to give up on finding a seat when I finally found an empty pair. One was an aisle seat, and the other was two seats down the row.

And between them sat Rita Jablonski.

I groaned. Of course those would be the only spots available.

I limped my way to the aisle seat and sat down, hoping she would somehow overlook me.

“Oh, Lordy Lou!” Rita exclaimed as I took my seat. “You look a pitiful sight.”

“Thanks.” I stretched my leg out as far as I could, which wasn't much. The rows were too close together, and there was enough traffic up and down the aisle, I couldn't use it for space. Still, it was better than standing.

“I'm sorry I haven't been in lately,” Rita said, talking a mile a minute. “Not that you've worked much, I'm sure. I've been so busy as of late, and what with the teapot going to Cherry Valley, I haven't felt all that great, either.”

“They won?” I asked, mildly surprised. With losing one of their own and my later accusations, I would have thought they would have been too distracted to discuss the book properly.

“Oh, Lordy, no.” Rita flapped a hand inches from my face. “They took the silver teapot home due to the murder clause within our rules.”

I stared at her blankly. “A murder clause?”

“Of course, dear. We've never invoked it before, so no one thought about it. In the event of a sudden death, due to unnatural means, the team who suffered the loss wins by default.”

“You didn't think of this before having the big talk?” Boy, it would have saved me a whole lot of stress if they would have figured this out before now. I could have focused more on what was going on around me and might have caught Mike sooner.

Rita snorted. “
I
did, of course. I just didn't see it as a big-enough reason to give the teapot to a team that was clearly going to lose, so I kept my mouth shut. That Albert . . .” She made one of those “Ooooo” sounds, like she was going to smack him upside the head with a newspaper the next time she saw him.

“At least you got the teapot back from the police,” I said. It was the best I could do to console her.

“Dented, of course.” Rita huffed. “Well, I'll never understand why the police didn't replace the thing for us. It's their fault it is ruined, so they should be liable.”

Mike was really the one to blame, but I wasn't about to tell her that. There was no reason to egg her on. She'd probably go to a lawyer to see if there was some way he could be forced to pay for it.

“We'll win next year,” Rita went on. “And you'll help.”

“I will?”

“Sure you will! You're part of the reason we lost this year in the first place. It's the least you can do.”

I wasn't so sure about that, but I nodded anyway. I'd just have to make sure to come down with a bad case of the flu this time next year.

“Oh, did I tell you that James is back in my bedroom? I missed having him there so much.” She sighed dreamily. “I dressed up in my best lingerie to celebrate, despite what the police did to him while he was in their custody.”

Right about then, I tuned her out. Part of it was because of what she was talking about, because, ew. And the other part was because my roving eyes had landed on the back of a sandy brown head of hair I instantly recognized as Paul's. As I watched, he lifted his arm and placed it on the backrest of another seat, which was currently occupied by Shannon, the waitress from J&E's Banyon Tree who had always teased him about never bringing a date.

The entire world went away for a few brief moments as I watched them. Paul leaned over and whispered something into her ear. I could hear her laugh from where I sat, despite the noise of the room.

Blessedly, the lights dimmed then and the actors—including Vicki in all of her glory—stepped out onto the stage. The play began, and for the first time I thought to look at my ticket to see what exactly I was about to watch.

Agatha Christie.

I should have known.

With a shrug, I shoved the ticket into my pocket and then leaned back to enjoy the show.

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Alex Erickson's
next Bookstore Café Mystery

coming in October 2016!