Death in a Major (23 page)

 

Chapter Twenty-Six

I
DIDN'T KNOW
how much time I had before Frances and Bernice decided how to get rid of me, and I didn't even want to imagine what their decision might be. Instead of allowing myself to dwell on such frightening thoughts, I focused on my most immediate problem—­how to get out of the powder room.

After shuffling over to the door, I turned my back to it so I could reach the doorknob with my hands. I turned it and gave a push with my shoulder, but as I'd expected, the door didn't budge more than half an inch. I leaned more of my weight into the door but with the same result. Whatever Bernice and Frances had pushed up against the door, it was far too heavy for me to shift it.

I blew out a breath of frustration. At least they hadn't replaced my gag before locking me in the room. I considered screaming for help, but quickly tossed that idea aside. Considering that I was locked in a windowless basement room, the only ­people likely to hear my screams were Frances and Bernice. The last thing I wanted to do was spur them into getting rid of me sooner than planned.

There had to be another way out of the powder room. I considered breaking through the drywall as I'd done once in the past to escape a raging fire, but that would be too noisy and this time I had nothing but my bare hands with which to break through the wall. The lid from the toilet tank wasn't an option since it was missing along with the toilet seat.

Carefully, so as not to hurt my neck too much, I tipped my head back and examined the ceiling. I almost smiled when I realized that it was a drop ceiling. Maybe that was my way out.

I bit down on my lower lip as I considered my options. If I could climb up on the pedestal sink, I'd be able to reach the ceiling quite easily. But not with my hands behind my back. I lowered myself to the floor—­doing my best to avoid the gruesome dark stain—­and tried to wiggle and wriggle my hands down behind my legs to my feet. It took a lot of stretching and fierce protesting from my neck, but, despite nearly popping my shoulder out at one point, I finally got my cuffed hands to the front of my body.

It took me a few seconds to catch my breath after that struggle, but then I pushed myself to my feet and continued to put my plan into action. Holding on to the edge of the sink, I jumped up onto the rim of the toilet and from there crawled and shifted until I had my feet in the sink. Carefully, I raised myself into a standing position, my bound hands pressing against the wall to keep me steady.

Once I felt stable enough to let go of the wall, I raised my hands and pushed at the ceiling panel above my head. As I'd hoped it would, it lifted easily. I nudged it up and to the side so it slid over top of its neighbor, leaving a large square hole in the ceiling. The hole extended over the wall and into the hallway, providing an escape route. I gave the metal framework above my head an experimental tug. There was no way it would hold my weight. I'd have to climb straight from the sink to the top of the wall. I wouldn't have a lot of room to squeeze through at the top, but at least the joists ran perpendicular to the wall, giving me a chance to escape that way.

I took two or three seconds to simply breathe and settle my nerves, but I didn't waste any more time than that. The wall was about a foot away from the sink so I leaned forward until I could grab the top of it. Then I jumped up off the sink toward the wall. I bashed my head on the metal framework and my neck let me know of its displeasure, but I managed to hook one elbow up over the top of the wall.

I hung there for a moment, wondering if I'd fall to the floor and have to try again. Maybe my arms weren't strong enough to pull me up. They were already burning. I made a mental note to work out more in the future so I'd have stronger arms to help me out of my next predicament.

Who are you kidding?
I said to myself.
Work out
more
? You don't work out at all.

Okay, so that was true, but it wasn't the right time to dwell on my lack of discipline in the exercise department. Determined not to fall, I planted my feet against the wall and hoisted myself up far enough to hook my other elbow over the top. Then I gritted my teeth and heaved myself up farther, working my head and torso through the gap at the top of the wall.

It wasn't a comfortable position and I never would have scored any points for style, but at least I made it far enough to hook one of my knees up and over the edge. I almost panicked for a second when I thought I was stuck between two joists, but with a few wiggles and a lot of determination, I unwedged myself and got both my legs over the wall so I was looking back into the powder room. I edged back an inch or two and gravity did the rest.

My hands scraped against the top of the wall as I fell and I stifled a cry as all the injured parts of my body protested, but I landed on my feet, relatively unscathed. More importantly, I'd escaped.

Well, sort of.

At least I was out of the powder room. Fluorescent lights glowed overhead, allowing me to see that I now stood in the hallway, near the door to the powder room, which had been blocked by a sturdy wooden chest of drawers. I heard a low rumble of voices coming from somewhere above me and knew my captors weren't far away. All the more reason to get moving.

I squeezed past the chest of drawers and shuffled along the hallway, moving as quickly as I could. When I reached the door leading to the outside, the knob turned easily in my hands. I opened the door carefully, hoping it wouldn't creak or groan too loudly.

It didn't.

After stumbling out into the stairwell, I shut the door behind me, making as little noise as possible. Darkness filled the stairwell with deep shadows, but I put my cuffed hands out in front of me and shuffled forward until my toes hit the first step. I twisted around and sat down, bumping myself up one step at a time until I reached the top. I teetered as I straightened up again, but I didn't fall, and as soon as I regained my balance I peered into the shadows around me.

A meager amount of light reached me from the lights above the back porch and the side door of the garage. I didn't want to pass through the light to escape into the back alley, so I followed a concrete path around the side of the house.

Moving wasn't easy with my ankles cuffed together and I certainly couldn't go at a fast pace, but I got into a good shuffling rhythm and reached the front gate in less than half a minute. I glanced over my shoulder, my heart booming in my chest. Nobody was behind me.

Knowing that could change any second, I unlatched the gate and passed through it, shutting it behind me so my escape route wouldn't be immediately obvious once my captors discovered that I'd slipped out of my powder room prison. From the gate, I cut across the lawn and headed for the street. I probably looked like a stiff penguin as I hurried across the grass, but that was the least of my worries.

I focused on the house across the street, the one Janet had pointed out to me as belonging to her friend Linnea. If I could get over there and knock on the door, I could ask Linnea to call for help. I hopped down the curb and hustled across the street, hopping back up to the grass when I reached the other side.

Still shuffling, I cast a glance over my shoulder. A shadow moved by the gate I'd escaped through, sending my already racing heart into overdrive.

No, no, no!

Bernice was hot on my trail.

“Good gracious, what's happened to you?”

A woman stood on Linnea's front porch, the door open behind her. She wore a coat, and a toy poodle strained at the end of a leash. She stared down at me with a mixture of surprise and concern.

“Please, call the police!” I shouted to her in desperation.

I shot another glance over my shoulder. Bernice hesitated on her front lawn. She'd spotted her neighbor.

“Please!” I beseeched Linnea.

She whipped a phone out of her pocket. “Of course.” She peered across the street as she punched numbers into her phone. “Is that man after you?”

In the dark it wasn't surprising that she'd mistaken Bernice's muscular form as that of a man. I didn't waste time correcting her.

“Yes!”

As Linnea put her phone to her ear, Bernice spun around and hightailed it back through the gate, disappearing into the shadows. I sagged against the porch steps with relief.

No doubt Bernice would alert her mom that the jig was up and they'd take off into the night. But at the moment I didn't care about them getting away. All I cared about right then was the fact that I was free and my kidnapper had given up the chase.

T
HE FIRST POLIC
E
car arrived in less than two minutes. After some quick explaining on my part and the arrival of another two police vehicles, one officer helped me out of my cuffs while several other officers converged on the house across the street.

I knew they most likely wouldn't find Frances and Bernice there. The two women had probably hopped in Bernice's van and made a dash for the highway. But I'd given the police Bernice's name and they'd likely be able to look up her van's license plate, so all was not lost.

“Let's get the poor girl in the house,” Linnea said to the officer at my side. “She's shivering.”

She was right, I realized. I hadn't noticed before but my whole body trembled with a mixture of cold, relief, and exhaustion. The officer took my arm and helped me up the stairs and into the house.

He offered to call an ambulance, but I declined. Although sore and bruised, there was nothing seriously wrong with me. I was, however, glad to get inside and escape the chilly night air.

“You're Linnea, right?” I checked, just to be sure, after the officer had left me alone with the gray-­haired woman. When she looked puzzled, I added, “I met Janet the other day. She told me that your dog found the body in the woods.”

Linnea's face relaxed and she smiled. “That's right.”

The toy poodle sniffed at my feet as I sat down on the couch.

I scratched him on the head. “And you must be Toby.”

The dog sat down and leaned against my legs, apparently enjoying the attention.

“Sorry about your kidneys, little guy.”

Linnea grabbed a blanket from the back of a nearby chair and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Let me get you a cup of hot tea.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully. I pulled the blanket more tightly around me and twisted in my seat so I could look out the front window.

Aside from a ­couple of officers and a few onlookers milling about in the blue and red light cast by the police vehicles, there wasn't much to see. I kept my eyes on the scene outside anyway, unable to tear my eyes away. Linnea returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup of orange pekoe tea for me. After thanking her again, I sipped at the tea, grateful for its comforting warmth.

I soon had to turn my attention away from the window when the police officer who'd helped me into the house requested my statement. Holding tightly to my cooling cup of tea, I supplied him with all the details I could remember, and also filled him in on the two murders. He assured me that Detective Salnikova would be notified and went outside to join his colleagues.

Although exhaustion had infiltrated every bone in my body, I was too wired to close my eyes and relax. I considered borrowing Linnea's phone to call JT, but I decided to wait. As much as I wanted to talk to him, I didn't want to worry him. It would be better to tell him the entire story once it was all over, once the police had Bernice and Frances in custody. Then I could assure him that I was fine, that everything was fine.

After a time, I got up from my spot on the couch and paced Linnea's living room, the blanket still tucked around my shoulders. I only stopped moving when someone entered the house through the front door, left unlocked to allow the officers easy access.

A shadow moved in the foyer and Detective Salnikova stepped into the living room.

“Midori,” she greeted. “I hear you've had quite the evening.”

“Is there any news?” I asked, jumping right to the question clamoring in my head.

She nodded, and something close to a smile touched her lips. “Frances and Bernice Barlow were pulled over on the highway a few minutes ago. They're both in custody.”

I sank back down onto the couch, my legs no longer willing to support me.

It was over.

 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A
FTER
I
'D SPENT
a few more minutes with Salnikova, Linnea loaned me her phone so I could get in touch with JT. I gave him the shortest version possible over the phone, but that was still enough to freak him out. He calmed down—­somewhat—­after I repeatedly assured him that I was fine, but it took all my powers of persuasion to keep him from rushing out of his house and coming to pick me up. Salnikova had already told me that an officer would drive me home and I didn't want to wait the time it would take JT to get to Surrey before heading back into Vancouver.

“I'll meet you at your place then,” he finally conceded. “I want to see with my own eyes that you're okay.”

With a welling of warmth in my chest, I agreed to that arrangement and hung up. I waited for Salnikova to finish speaking with a uniformed officer on the front porch before leaving the house to join her in the chilly night air.

“All set to go home?” the detective asked me.

“Yes,” I said, rubbing my arms to ward off the cold. “Except I wanted to ask you about Jordan. What will happen to him now that you have the real killers in custody?”

“He'll be released,” Salnikova assured me. “It might take some time to get everything sorted out, but I'm sure he'll be home before long.”

That was a relief. Yes, Jordan would still have to deal with the aftermath of the murders and he'd have to adjust to his mom's new relationship, but at least he wouldn't be behind bars. Plus I knew he was a resilient kid. He'd be all right in time.

After I ducked back inside to thank Linnea for her help, Salnikova led me down the front steps to a police cruiser parked at the curb. She introduced me to a female officer by the name of Jenkins and then left me to join two other detectives across the street.

The presence of the numerous emergency vehicles and the recent arrival of crime scene technicians had drawn a good-­sized crowd of curious onlookers, but I had no interest in joining them in their gawking. For a change I simply wanted to leave the professionals to their work and go home.

Officer Jenkins held open the door to her cruiser and I climbed into the vehicle. Although we exchanged a few words at the beginning of our journey into the city, we soon lapsed into silence, my head resting against the back of my seat and my eyes drifting closed. I only opened them again when Officer Jenkins parked the vehicle.

She offered to escort me across the street to my building, but I told her it wasn't necessary. From inside the vehicle, I could see JT pacing back and forth in front of the entryway. Tears prickled at my eyes but I also smiled. I thanked Officer Jenkins for the ride and climbed out of the cruiser.

JT stopped his pacing when I shut the car door. I checked both ways and darted across the street. An expression of immense relief crossed his face as I approached.

When he opened his arms, I stepped right into them. My neck ached and exhaustion thrummed through my entire body, but in that moment I didn't care. All that mattered to me right then was the fact that I was alive, safe, and with my best friend.

T
HE MORNING OF
the following Friday found me in my kitchen, carefully placing one cake layer over another, a spreading of chocolate icing between them. Once the top layer was in its proper place, I stepped back to anxiously examine my handiwork. So far, so good. The cake looked fairly even and no large chunks had crumbled away.

I wasn't much of a baker and usually figured it was best to leave the creation of tasty treats to those much more skilled. But that night I'd be at JT's house with his family to watch the first episode of
Absolute Zero
and I wanted to take something to the party. Despite my lack of confidence in the baking department, I'd decided to tackle the chocolate cake JT had requested. I could have picked up a cake from a bakery, but I wanted to put more effort into my offering.

Still, the task was a daunting one for me, even with a recipe and detailed advice provided by Bronwyn, an avid baker. Only time would tell if my decision to take on the challenge was a good one or a terrible one. If the cake turned out to be a complete disaster and tasted terrible, I could always make a quick run to the bakery and pick up a replacement, but I didn't want to have to do that.

Drawing in a deep breath, I grabbed the bowl of chocolate frosting I'd prepared minutes earlier and began the process of icing the top and sides of the cake. My movements were cautious and a few crumbs came loose from the cake here and there, but I managed to get the entire cake covered without running out of frosting. I turned the cake on its plate, inspecting it from every angle, and was relieved to see that it didn't look too bad. It was a far cry from a professional job, but not bad for a beginner.

After dipping a cake crumb in the bit of frosting left in the bowl, I tasted it and smiled. It was absolutely delicious. JT would be happy, and knowing that made me happy.

Or happier, to be more precise. The week had already given me plenty of reasons to be cheerful. I'd helped solve two murders, Frances and Bernice were safely behind bars, and Jordan was free. Another plus was that my conversation with Beaufort outside my apartment building had led to further investigation of the doctor and—­in the face of increased pressure from the police—­one of Beaufort's friends had admitted to giving him a false alibi.

On top of that, Beaufort's vehicle was caught on video by a traffic camera only a few blocks away from Major's residence within minutes of the call I'd placed to Detective Salnikova on the night of the break-­in. Beaufort's credibility had further been damaged when the police discovered that he was in possession of jewelry stolen from the charity benefit and other past events. It seemed the doctor was something of a kleptomaniac.

As it turned out, my latest theory was indeed correct. Archibald Major had become aware of Beaufort's thefts at the charity benefit and had begun his attempts to get Beaufort to resign from the PGP's executive committee soon after.

Although Major wasn't around to see it, his goal had finally been achieved. Since Beaufort had been charged with criminal offenses, he'd resigned from the executive committee, and his medical career was likely in jeopardy as well. As far as I was concerned, Beaufort had brought his current situation upon himself and I was glad the police finally had some evidence to back up my witness statement. More than that, I was relieved that the truth about the theft of Elena's brooch had come to light and Bronwyn's name had been cleared. Janine still wasn't happy with either of us, but Bronwyn's place in the orchestra was secure, and that was what mattered most.

As for myself, I'd needed painkillers and an ice pack for a ­couple of days after my run-­in with Bernice and her mother, but my injuries had now healed and I was back to playing my violin without any pain or stiffness.

I hadn't even needed to replace my phone. After convincing JT that I really was fine, I'd found the device right where I'd last seen it—­near the bushes by the front of my building. I wasn't even upset about Elena and the gray boots anymore. While out shopping the other day I'd come across another pair of tall gray boots and had fallen more deeply in love than I had with the other pair. These boots had decorative stitching that the others had lacked, and they provided the perfect final touch to the outfit I was wearing to the party that night. Elena was welcome to the other pair.

Knowing that time was getting on, I carefully set the cake in a box and hooked the strap of my quilted tote bag over my shoulder. I eyed the box and then my violin, wondering how I'd manage to juggle both while walking and riding the bus. In the end, I decided to leave my violin behind and use the spare one I kept at JT's place while teaching that afternoon.

Locking up my apartment behind me, I set off for JT's house, excited for the party and the premiere of
Absolute Zero
. There were a ­couple of dicey moments on the way there when the cake shifted perilously inside the box, but when I arrived at my destination, the cake was still intact. Relieved, I tucked it safely away in JT's refrigerator and turned my focus to my students.

The hours seemed to pass slowly that afternoon, but eventually I was done working and the other party guests began to arrive. As JT had requested, the party would be small—­just a ­couple of friends, JT's parents, and his aunt and cousin.

When I set the cake out on the table along with the munchies and goodies the other guests had brought, JT came up behind me and reached a finger toward the chocolate frosting.

“Hey!” I swatted his hand away. “You have to wait.”

“I've been waiting all afternoon,” he said. “Every time I opened the fridge, that thing was tempting me. I say we dig in.”

Finnegan, hovering near the food-­laden table with hopeful eyes, gave an enthusiastic bark.

“See? Finn agrees, even though he can't have any.”

That got another bark out of Finnegan.

“Who wants cake?” JT called out to the other guests, all of whom were gathered down the hall in the living room.

“We haven't even ordered the pizza yet,” I protested, although not without a hint of a smile.

JT sank the knife through the chocolate frosting. “Cake, then pizza, then more cake. It's a party, isn't it?”

My smile grew. I couldn't argue with that plan.

All the guests converged on the kitchen and soon each person had a plate of cake in hand. Although I wanted everyone to enjoy my chocolate creation, I was most anxious about JT's reaction.

As everyone set about eating, I kept my eyes on my best friend, watching and waiting. I didn't have to wait long. After he swallowed his first generous forkful of cake, a grin lit up his face.

“Wow. This is delicious, Dori.”

The others agreed and I happily started in on my own slice.

“You know,” JT said after he'd finished off his cake less than a minute later, “now that I know you can bake, I'll be bugging you to make me cake all the time.”

“I don't mind,” I said, a big smile on my face.

And I didn't. Not at all.