Authors: Cindy Sample
Dying for a Date (32 page)
I edged away from the earthmover. Could we make a run for it and escape back to the sales office? I remembered seeing a phone on the desk. How long would it take 911 to get someone out here? And how would we keep Peter from shooting out the lock? And us.
Distracted, I slipped on a piece of gravel. The noise sounded as deafening as a boulder rolling down a mountainside.
Crack!
A bullet whizzed past my cheek. I picked up a fist-sized rock and threw it across the road.
Peter turned and fired towards the direction I'd thrown the rock
With his attention temporarily diverted, I grabbed my mother's arm and we darted over to one of the mammoth backhoes. She clambered up the metal ladder and entered the small glass enclosed cab. I went around to the other side, scrambled up and squeezed into the enclosure. The tiny space was a tight fit and I made a contract with God that if I survived this ordeal I would drop another ten pounds.
Mother looked perplexed as she gazed at the controls. Did we need a key to operate this thing? “There's no ignition. I wonder how we start it."
I pointed to a square numbered keypad on the console. What combination should I try? I pressed 123 and the engine roared. Would we be able to escape and reach the safe haven of the sales office?
A shot rang out. The window exploded.
The glass window of the backhoe disintegrated into a spider web of cracks.
"That SOB isn't going to hurt my baby.” Mother yanked on some type of lever and we started moving forward. I couldn't decide if I was more stunned by the bullet hitting the window or my mother swearing. We rumbled on to the road. If I hadn't been so terrified I might have enjoyed the ride.
Peter stood in the middle of the pavement, his mouth gaping. Good thing he drank all that wine. Otherwise his brain might have relayed a message to his legs to react more quickly. We were on the verge of mowing him down when he came to his senses. He ran to the side of the road and scaled the ladder of another big machine. No wonder his development costs were so high. Half the heavy equipment in the county resided in his subdivision. Our own backhoe was careening downhill, away from the sales office—not the direction we needed to go.
"How do we turn this thing around?” I asked over the roar of our machine.
Mother looked down for some type of braking mechanism. She must have found something because we jerked to a sudden stop. She paused, trying to find a lever that would allow us to switch directions.
Bam. The grinding sound of metal hitting metal resounded through the night. My head hit the roof of the cab. The evening sky glimmered with the brilliance of a zillion stars before I blacked out.
When I came to, my head felt like it had been run through a trash compacter. The ringing in my ears sounded like a chorus of sirens.
"What happened?” I gingerly prodded a rapidly expanding lump on the top of my head.
"Peter rammed us.” She looked at me tearfully. “I was so worried about you."
Wham. Another enormous jolt threw us into each other.
"I can't believe we're being rear-ended by a backhoe.” I shook my head in disbelief. Bad idea. I almost blacked out again. The siren sounds grew louder. They became accompanied by the sound of a hundred chain saws buzzing in unison. Suddenly an enormous beam of light pierced the dark sky. Was I losing consciousness again? Was that cosmic shaft of light radiating from heaven?
I peeked out the side window. Neither.
A helicopter from the California Highway Patrol hovered overhead, its searchlight focused on both our vehicles. The clang of a bullet bouncing off metal resounded through the night.
The searchlight had turned us into sitting ducks—target practice for Peter. I swiveled in my seat. There must be a way to outfox him. Peter stood in the door of his cab, his left arm clasped around the metal frame, his right hand holding the gun leveled in our direction.
"Mom, do something."
She looked flummoxed by the array of levers. Technology has never been my forte but one of the joysticks had a drawing of a claw on it. It reminded me of the helpful drawings on my computer keyboard. When in doubt, go for it.
I shoved the lever back.
Bingo.
The immense claw-like attachment on the rear of our backhoe telescoped out and crashed through the front windshield of Peter's machine. Perfect timing. The impact knocked him from his precarious perch. He fell off, landing in a flurry of gravel on the side of the road.
"Those sirens are getting closer. I see headlights coming up the main road,” Mother said.
"Thank God. I thought I had permanent ringing in my ears.” The spotlight illuminated the killer, his face eggplant purple with anger and pain, as he rocked back and forth clutching his ankle.
I was petrified he still had possession of the gun. Then Peter crawled across the asphalt surface, his leg dragging behind him, in a desperate attempt to retrieve his weapon, which must have landed across the road.
My mother maneuvered the throttle and before you could say “Bella Lago,” the huge front bucket lowered. She expertly scooped Peter up and within seconds he was trapped nine feet above the ground.
Four vehicles with flashing beacons of lights crested the hill. The noise of the sirens diminished as the cars abruptly stopped. The helicopter briefly touched down in an open area and an officer jumped out racing in our direction. Sheriff's deputies, their guns drawn, surrounded the backhoe. One of them bellowed through a megaphone, “Put your weapons down. Leave the vehicle. Now."
Okay with me. My entire body trembled from PTDMSS—post-traumatic dating a murderer stress syndrome. Mother opened the door and gracefully descended the ladder. Of course, she's taller and slimmer, and was dressed in a pair of slacks and flat-heeled shoes. I slipped on the second step, losing one high heel in the process. I almost landed on my well-padded posterior when someone caught me, keeping me from exposing my legs all the way up to my bikini wax.
Engulfed against a broad chest, my heart rate went into overdrive as Tom's arms wrapped around me.
"Uh, what should we do with this guy?” one of the deputies asked, pointing up to the bucket of the backhoe where Peter peered over the edge. Tom reluctantly released me.
"I'll take care of him.” With the agility of a teenager, Mother climbed up into the backhoe. We applauded as she lowered the bucket. Two of the deputies grabbed Peter and handcuffed his hands behind his back.
As the officers marched the prisoner past Tom and me, Peter's face contorted in anger. He spat at me, his spittle landing on my bare foot. “You stupid cow."
Stupid cow?
That was the last straw. I limped over and kicked Peter in the balls. The deputies couldn't stifle their grins as he bent over from the impact of my one remaining pointy-toed stiletto.
Tom drew me close and whispered in my ear. “Laurel McKay, you are one hell of a woman."
I was still in a state of shock, but it didn't keep me from asking, “How did you find us?"
"Brian called Liz to tell her he would be working late. He suggested you girls go to dinner. When she told him you were having dinner with Peter Tyler he came unglued. He knew we were trying to put together a case against Tyler."
I shot an accusing look at him. “You never told me that."
He matched my look with one of his own. “You never gave me a chance."
Oh.
"We were suspicious that Tyler had something to do with Mike Clark's death. He claimed he didn't know him, but Clark's fingerprints were in the sales trailer. It took awhile to follow the paper trail but we finally ascertained that TLC was a partnership between Tyler, Lindstrom, and Clark. With Tyler the last man standing we knew he had to be our guy. We just didn't know why."
Good thing Tom knew an amateur bank detective. I'd fill him in on the details of the loan fraud case later.
"The minute Brian heard you were out with Peter, he called me and we raced to Placerville. I couldn't remember who you were dining with, but I remembered last week you said you were going to the Sequoia House."
After a lifetime of being ignored, I'd met two men who actually listened to me. Of course, one of them also wanted to kill me.
"When we arrived at the restaurant you'd already departed. We sent deputies to Peter's house and the real estate office. The deputy who checked out the Centurion office noticed a red gummy bear on the recently vacuumed carpet in Tyler's office. That locked it up for me."
Good thing I hadn't gotten around to cleaning out my messy tote. Next time I'd leave a trail of colorful gummy bears. Although hopefully there wouldn't be a next time.
"How did you think of looking in Bella Lago?” I asked.
"What better place to stash a body than a beautiful but deserted lakeside setting? I hopped in the copter and we kept in touch with the other units. I didn't care how long it took. I was going to search every ravine in this county if I had to.” His hand trembled as he lightly traced his fingers down my face. I sensed he wanted to kiss me but not with an audience comprised of El Dorado County's finest watching us.
We stood next to each other. The heat radiating from the burly detective warmed me up as we watched Mother climb down from the backhoe. She pulled her coat close and ambled over to where we waited.
"Well, that was quite an adventure.” Her eyes gleamed as she brushed her hands in satisfaction. I merely stared at her, this woman who never failed to amaze me.
"When did you learn to operate a backhoe, and why didn't you tell me you could drive one?"
"I don't recall you ever asking me, dear. For your information, your father used to work construction during the summer while he attended college.” A wistful look passed across her face. “Sometimes I'd come out at night and we'd...” she hesitated and blushed, “we would fool around with the machines."
Fool around with the machines? Hey, I was her thirty-nine year old daughter. I'll bet they were fooling around on the machines.
"Ladies, I hate to make you do this but we need you to come down to headquarters.” Tom briefly put his arm around me and gave me a quick squeeze. “I know you both must be exhausted but this can't wait. We want this guy locked up for good."
"That's fine. There's just one urgent thing I have to do first,” I said.
"Retrieving some evidence?"
I shook my head and raced into the sales office.
After we took care of that tactical maneuver, we walked over to Peter's Jag. Tom located the trunk release button on the Jaguar's console and we collected our purses. My hero had to coordinate the enormous force that had come to our rescue so we climbed into the back of one of the squad cars. Deputy Sam would take us to headquarters where the sheriff was waiting to interview us.
The back of the patrol car wasn't the most aromatic place but I couldn't have cared less. I leaned my head against the leather seat and shut my eyes. My mother slid in and grabbed my hand in hers. We held on tight, exchanging weary smiles.
This was a Mother and Daughter outing we would never forget.
The next few hours were a blur. Once Peter sobered up, he lawyered up, refusing to say anything until his attorney was present. Because Peter had divulged his motive to me, I had to repeat my story numerous times before the sheriff was finally satisfied. My voice broke occasionally when I realized how close my children came to losing both their mother and their grandmother.
Detective Bradford sat next to my mother during my entire recital. He remained silent, gnawing away at a toothpick, with an occasional glance at her profile. When I got to the part where she lowered the backhoe bucket to scoop up Peter, he threw his head back and guffawed.
I wasn't too tired to miss the wink she gave him. Was she planning a romantic backhoe assignation with him? There was only one question yet to be resolved, at least, one question relating to this case. I had a ton of questions about this budding relationship between my mother and Detective Tall and Bald.
"So what's the deal with Dr. Radovich? What about his gambling losses?” I asked.
"I'm happy to say we caught up with the doctor at a facility designed to help those with gambling addictions. For whatever reason, I think Jeremy's murder made him realize he needed help."
Or maybe Dr. Radovich had a little encouragement from the Sopranos duo. Either way, I was glad he was on the road to recovery.
At 2:30, my mother and I were finally released. Tom arranged for one of the deputies to drop us off at our respective houses. He promised to call me first thing in the morning.
We were both exhausted and spent the drive in silence.
The deputy pulled into my driveway. I opened the door to exit the car, then leaned over and hugged my mother. “I don't know what to say. You were completely amazing tonight."
"Honey, I wasn't half as incredible as you. You were the one who figured out Peter was the murderer.” Her eyes started to tear as she clutched me close. “I am so very proud of you."
I frowned at her. “I still can't believe you set me up with a killer."
She chuckled. “Hey, every good real estate agent has to have a killer instinct.” I decided to ignore her and eased my tired body out of the squad car.
"Don't forget your purse.” At last count my mother had reminded me not to forget my purse approximately 4,580 times. But after tonight's adventure, she could remind me as often as she wanted.
I grabbed my tote. “Thanks, Mom."
I let myself in the house and walked to the kitchen. Miniature tremors coursed through my body as I realized that only a few hours earlier I'd stood in this room with a murderer.
Food, I needed food. No, make that carbs. I needed lots and lots of carbs. I opened the freezer and smiled. A gallon of brownie chunk ice cream beamed back at me.
I slid into a chair, dug my spoon into the chocolate delight and raised it to my lips. A blur of fur landed next to me, her reproachful green eyes meeting mine. I couldn't tell if Pumpkin wanted a snack, or if she was my reminder that I had vowed to lose weight if I came out of this alive. I sighed and put the tub back in the freezer.
