Elizabeth C. Main - Jane Serrano 01 - Murder of the Month (30 page)

“She hid in the trunk of his car.”

“Is that how she got there? I wondered about that. Gutsy. Anyway, Gil spotted her scarf on the windowsill and figured out that she must be in the closet. He called me and asked what to do, same as always. That was easy. I told him to sit tight. Said I’d send Arnie out so that Gil would get his chance to show what a nut case she was, get her out of his hair once and for all. I never called Arnie, of course. What made it perfect was the look on his face when he saw what I was going to do. I’d waited my whole life for that look. I just wish Vanessa could have seen it.”

“So you called from your cell—”

“That’s right,” he answered. “Okay, that’s enough, Jane. We’re going now. I’ve been fair with you, so please don’t try to back out of our deal. We can make this easy or hard, but, it’s going to end the same way, no matter what.”

“I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “I really don’t. There’s a line from
The Tempest
, ‘On the bat’s back do I fly …’” I was coiling up my makeshift ladder as I spoke, using the words to distract him. Drawing a deep breath, I wondered whether it would be one of the last breaths I’d ever take.

“You misunderstood my promise. I said I’d go, and I will … but not with you!” On the last word, I threw the puny extension cord-twine tangle at his face, hoping to disorient him in the darkness just long enough for me to turn and get a running start toward the doorway to the outside behind me.

Even though I couldn’t see much, I knew that the closest branches of the apple tree stood a good ten feet from the side of the bookstore. But at this point, I was out of sensible options. I raced for the opening and jumped.

“Help! Help!” As I sailed through the air, I shouted as loud as I could. No need for silence now. Time slowed to a crawl and I spewed more words than I’d have thought possible before whacking the first branches of the tree with my outstretched arms. Clawing at the leafy wall which suddenly became porous and insubstantial, I broke off leaves and twigs as my forward momentum stopped and I began to fall. Heedless of the damage to my bare skin, I grabbed at anything within reach, skinning branches and detaching bunches of leaves as they slipped through my hands. The fresh smell of newly exposed bark reminded me of climbing trees as a kid, only I didn’t remember the experience as being so painful.

The side of my leg glanced off a particularly solid branch beneath me and peeled a strip of flesh from ankle to thigh as I slid by. Though the pain caused sparks of light to flash behind my closed eyelids, I grabbed blindly, desperately, at the branch. My arms briefly encircled it, just long enough to give me an instant of hope before I lost my grip. The brief stop slowed my descent only marginally before I completed my fall, landing flat on my back beneath the tree.

I lay stunned for an instant, drawing breath back into my lungs and absorbing the fact that I had survived the jump from a second story window. The scent of recently mown grass was so normal and welcoming that I wanted to lie there forever, but I had to escape before Harley could get down the stairs. He hadn’t fired the gun, even when I shouted, so he was still hoping for silence. If I yelled again, it would merely tell him exactly where I was. I couldn’t take the chance that he’d find me before someone else responded to my cries.

I heard Harley on the front staircase. There was no time to waste, so I rolled to my knees awkwardly, favoring the injured leg which had smacked the branch as I fell. Before trying to stand up, I looked at the shadowy bulk of darkened stores too far away across the lawn. For the first time ever, I was sorry that the mansion which had become Thornton’s Books sat regally on half an acre of grounds. I’d always loved the graceful setting, but now the open expanse was nothing but a hazard. If I could outrun Harley and reach those buildings, maybe I could lose myself long enough to summon help, but I had a long way to go and he still had the gun. Still, what was my choice?

I took exactly one step before crumpling to the ground with a muffled cry. The injury was worse than I thought. My right ankle was either sprained or broken and wouldn’t hold my weight. So much for running. As I crawled into the shadows beside the front door, my hand encountered something smooth and cold. I pulled back, expecting a telltale rattle. This was no place to be crawling around in the dark. Rattlesnakes were attracted at night to the warmth retained by stone foundations after a hot day.

All I heard was a gentle gurgling, which caused me to relax a fraction. Not a snake then, just a hose with water trickling through it. Oh, yes, the hose that Tyler hadn’t gotten around to moving. My earlier worries about someone tripping over it were replaced by a vague notion that maybe the hose could be useful.

I pulled tentatively. The hose was caught fast on something on the other side of the front door. I pulled harder, but it didn’t budge. So far, so good. Harley’s muttered curses were interspersed with the slamming around of books and shelves. He’d been delayed by his own barricade at the bottom of the stairs, but it wouldn’t be long before he came storming out the door.

I propped myself against the side of the building and yanked the hose up to what I judged to be about knee level. It remained taut. Temporarily, I laid it back down and pulled on the free end of the hose until at last the metal nozzle leaked a cool stream of water against my leg. It felt good on my lacerated skin.

Could I turn the nozzle and spray him? I tried it on my hand. Not enough water pressure. I’d have to trip him and then use the nozzle as a club. All things being equal, I liked his chances with the gun better than mine with the garden hose … but all things weren’t equal. Once again I pulled the hose taut across the doorway and braced myself. Just in time.

Harley’s running footsteps came straight toward the door and he rushed out. Assuming that he had his gun ready for action, I gripped that clumsy trip wire as I’d never hung onto anything before. Harley smashed into it and sprawled headfirst onto the sidewalk. His breath whooshed out, but he still had the gun, and a lot of pent-up anger. Scrambling to his knees faster than I expected, he turned in my direction.

The white blur of his face in the starlight provided a perfect target. I swung the hose like a lariat, once, twice, and whacked him square on the nose with the nozzle. He let out a shout, but I didn’t stay to watch what happened next. I scuttled away around the side of the store and toward the back door.

How long would it take him to recover and realize that I hadn’t had time to run away? It hardly mattered, as I couldn’t get too far anyway. I decided my best chance was to edge around to the back of the building. Maybe I could break a window and crawl inside to the telephone. That would make unwelcome noise, but if I just stayed put, sooner or later he’d find me.

No sound but the chirping of crickets. Apparently, those insects weren’t worried about all the crashing and falling and yelling that had been going on around them. It would be nice to be a cricket on a balmy summer night, surrounded by fragrant grass. Shouldn’t this be the ultimate peaceful experience?

Unfortunately, I wasn’t a cricket, and the night wasn’t the least bit peaceful. The minute Harley came close, I’d scream bloody murder. I hardly recognized myself tonight. I’d always been the mediator, the voice of reason for my family and friends, but this situation had brought out a side to me that I’d never suspected. After jumping out of that second story room, everything else seemed easy. Up against a murderer, I was determined to do battle … and to win. If I lived through the night, I might take up sky-diving.

I scooted noiselessly along the building, touching the uneven stone of the old foundation at intervals, as much for reassurance as for location. Spider webs coated my hands as I crawled. Now, in addition to rattlesnakes, I was worrying about the poisonous brown recluse spider, also known to favor the stone foundations of buildings in Central Oregon. Which would be the most lethal: a rattlesnake, a poisonous spider, or Harley with a gun? Nice choice. I reached the corner and listened again for sounds of pursuit.

Did I hear breathing? I paused in an agony of indecision, angry at myself for losing track of Harley’s location, yet impatient to get inside to that telephone before he could find me. I remained motionless for what seemed like a long time. A car slowed on nearby Easton Street before speeding away.

Okay, I reasoned. It’s a fifty-fifty chance that he came around the building the other way and is waiting for me around the corner. Either he’s there or he isn’t. I figured that if I saw him, the adrenaline would kick in so fast that I’d run whether my ankle worked or not. I poked my head around the corner.

Immediately, a hand clamped itself over my mouth and I was dragged, kicking and twisting, into the deep shadows. I tried, but couldn’t bite the hand restraining me, so I grabbed at it with both hands in an attempt to claw my way free. My fingernails were too short to do much damage, but I dug them into the flesh as best I could.

I smelled cinnamon. What on earth? A burst of hissing sounds issued from the person holding me, sort of like the sounds a defective snake might make. I immediately stopped struggling and nodded to indicate my understanding. I didn’t know why she was there, but I knew I was being held in Minnie’s firm grasp. Once I stopped thrashing around, the hissing stopped and she let me go. I turned to look at her in the darkness, but could make out only her shadowy bulk, flanked by two other familiar and very welcome shadows. Behind them stood a smaller shadow with a wagging tail. The Murder of the Month Book Club—complete with mascot—had arrived.

“Harley,” I whispered urgently. “The killer is Harley. He’s coming. We have to—”

“Harley, eh?” Alix said. “Well, that’s a surprise. I didn’t think he had it in him. Still waters and all that.”

“You don’t understand,” I continued. “He’s got a gun and—”

“So does the sheriff,” Tyler said, the excitement of the chase evident in his voice. “Deputies too.”

“Shh,” Minnie said. Her usual fondness for talk seemed to have deserted her tonight.

“But he doesn’t know about Harley,” I insisted.

“Well, he knows someone was holding you hostage, and he’ll figure it out soon enough,” Alix whispered. “Minnie ordered Brady to tell Arnie to come over here and arrest anyone who wasn’t one of us.”

“Well, I
was
his Sunday school teacher,” Minnie reminded me.

“Brady was too confused to argue,” Alix agreed. “Probably thought she was crazy when she just kept repeating that Wendell had shown up without Jane and he wouldn’t eat a thing at the potluck. Of course, we knew that meant you had to be in trouble.”

“The police will be here any minute,” Minnie said. “Brady promised.”

“We got here first because Alix was driving.” Tyler’s admiration was clear. “She should give the cops lessons!”

Within seconds police cars converged from four different directions, sirens wailing. Apparently Brady had convinced the Russell County Sheriff that if a dog wouldn’t eat at a potluck, that must signify a crisis, especially if his old Sunday school teacher said so. An amazing number of uniformed officers from both the Russell County Sheriff’s Department and the City of Juniper jumped out and began to set up portable lights around the perimeter of the bookstore property. In minutes the entire area was as bright as a carnival midway.

We hugged the back wall of the bookstore and shielded our eyes from the glare. I kept a tight hold on Wendell’s collar.

A bullhorn cracked the silence as soon as the last of the sirens died away. “This is Sheriff Arnold Kraft of the Russell County Sheriff’s Department. I am speaking to everyone on the premises of Thornton’s Books. Put up your hands and do not move after that.”

Obediently, we raised our hands and stayed where we were.

“Don’t shoot, Arnie,” Minnie called out.

“We see you, Minnie,” Arnie answered. “And everyone with you, including the dog. Please, for once, just stay put.” Arnie’s command sounded more like a plea.

“It’s Harley Cunningham you want,” I shouted. “He tried to kill me.”

“Harley?” Arnie was skeptical. “You can’t be serious.”

“Be careful! He has a gun and he’s out front somewhere.” I wasn’t about to look around the side of the building myself.

“Harley, if you’re there,” Arnie still sounded only half convinced, “throw down your weapon and come out with your hands up so we can straighten out this whole—”

“Arnie, look!” Brady interrupted, his voice carrying to us through the bullhorn Arnie held. Arnie didn’t think to click it off, so we also heard Brady’s next question, “What’s that on the sidewalk?”

A short pause ensued. At length we heard Arnie’s incredulous voice, “Well, I’ll be damned. It
is
Harley, and he’s out cold.”

The next morning Laurence’s hospital room was filled with the entire membership of the Murder of the Month Book Club. We all interrupted each other, vying to give Laurence our own versions of what had happened the previous night. At length he put his hands over his ears and said, with a broad smile, “Just tell me straight out. Is my bookstore still standing? I left Thornton’s in your charge for only a few days, Jane, and—”

“You ungrateful wretch!” I waved one crutch at him from my chair, which had been located so that my leg in its elegant purple cast could be propped on the frame of his bed. “Not only is your bookstore still standing, but the publicity from our … heroics, as I prefer to call them … will probably double or triple your business.” I paused to bow at the applause of my friends ringing the room.