Fat Cat Takes the Cake (18 page)

I
t was snowing hard when Chase came out of the Amble Inn. She trudged across the parking lot, horizontal crystals stinging her face. She shielded her face with her forearm, since she hadn't taken the time to wrap her scarf over her nose and cheeks. After she got inside her little Ford, though, and had caught her breath, she took the trouble to protect her face. She was going to have to get out and scrape her windows. After turning the ignition on and aiming the heat full blast at the windows, she got out and started scraping. Luckily, the new snow was a mere dusting, lying over a very thin layer of ice, so it all came off easily.

Back in the car, the inside had reached a toasty temperature. She dialed the heat down slightly and set out. It soon became apparent that the storm was just getting started. It
worsened by the mile. As she drove through the almost whiteout conditions, she wished she had taken Eddie up on his offer to drive her home. She had driven through storms like this before, but had never liked it.

The traffic moved like a row of metal snails down the unplowed streets. There had been about two-and-a-half feet on the ground already and it might send them into record-setting territory. That was confirmed when she turned on the radio and heard the dire predictions. Maybe she wouldn't be working tomorrow, after all. If no one could get to the Bar None, workers or patrons, she could nestle upstairs with Quincy and stay warm and dry.

Once she made it home. If she made it home.

The car in front of her slewed as the brake lights flashed through the white haze. The rear end swung to the left. The driver didn't know how to correct the sliding and turned right, making the skid worse and spinning the car around.

Chase carefully applied her brakes, trying to stop before she hit it and also trying to avoid skidding herself.

The car kept spinning and swung into the oncoming lane where it clipped a truck. Both of them careened to the other side of the road, away from Chase's car with a sickening thunk of metal on metal. Those poor people, she thought, but was glad she was unscathed.

She pulled into an empty parking lot to recover from the fright. Taking several deep breaths, her mind wandered to everything that had happened that night.

Bart, working at the pizza place. He wasn't truculent at first. Had speaking about Dillon's coma upset him? Maybe. Or . . .

What had they been saying when he delivered their drinks? That's when he had started steaming. Panic iced the nape of Chase's neck, even though it was muffled in her warm scarf. They'd been talking about the e-mail, hunkyb.

Emergency vehicles, lights flashing and sirens wailing, sped past on their way to the accident she had just witnessed.

Chase squeezed her eyes shut and tried to recall the e-mail exchange.

rnorth83:
wotz ur problem man

hunkyb:
its all yr fault stay away from her its all yr fault

rnorth83:
or?

hunkyb:
ill smash in ur ugly face

“Stay away from her.” Of course. It was Bart Fender. The D in Ron's notebook—that could be Dillon. She had been one of Ron North's stalking victims. Bart could very well have been threatening him.
What
was all Ron's fault? Dillon's coma? Julie had been driven nearly crazy by his harassment. At one point, Chase had been afraid she was desperate enough to hurt herself, but Julie had insisted she wasn't. Did Dillon try suicide because of Ron North?

If Bart were hunkyb and if he had killed Ron North, and if he had overheard them trying to put everything together, she and Julie may be in trouble.

She called Julie. “Did you make it home?”

“Just walked in. How about you?”

“I would be home by now, but someone spun out and caused an accident in front of me. I pulled over to catch my breath. I'm going home right now.”

She told Julie what she had put together and told her to be very careful.

“You, too!” Julie said. “I'll keep my doors locked. Do you think he might try something tonight?”

“It's getting harder and harder to get around. I don't think so.”

“Call me as soon as you make it home.”

“I'm only about six blocks away.”

“I don't care,” Julie insisted. “Call me.”

Chase promised to do that. She left her phone muted so she wouldn't have any distractions. Driving in this blizzard would take all her attention.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel and her shoulders tensed as she pulled onto the treacherous street. She was unaware that she was speaking aloud until she heard mumbled prayers spilling out of her mouth. Her prayers didn't affect the snow, sadly. In fact, the intensity increased and the wind picked up in those last few blocks. She drove about five miles per hour.

By the time she steered into her parking lot, her whole body was as taut as a brittle gingerbread snap.

An older, beat-up car was the only other one in the lot. She didn't recognize it. Maybe someone had left it there and gotten a ride. Nothing was open on the block and hers was the only residence.

She glided to a slow stop near her door, got out, and locked the car door.

Again, she shielded her face with her right forearm, not bothering to pull up her scarf for such a short distance, and waded through the snow. It had drifted to depths of at least four feet in places.

It was hard to see even a few feet ahead. Her boot sunk into a drift and cold snow came in at the top.

After six or seven steps, an arm snaked around her neck. Instinctively, she left her right hand on her face, keeping her arm between her neck and the incredibly strong person trying to get her in a strangle hold.

“You're coming with me.”

She smelled pizza sauce on his breath. It was Bart.

T
here was no time to panic. She had to stay alive. First she tried screaming.

“Shut up.” His voice was soft and menacing. “There's nobody to hear you.”

“You let me go, Bart Fender! What do you think you're doing? I haven't done anything to you.”

She tried to step back onto his toes, but he must have been wearing steel-toed boots. So she tried to kick higher, aiming her heel for his family jewels. He was too tall.

“You figured out I killed that weasel, Ron North. I can't have you telling anyone else.”

Think, she told herself, think!

“After you pass out, you know what I'm gonna do with you?”

She couldn't bite his arm. Couldn't reach it. Anyway, they were both wearing bulky, warm clothing. And gloves. She began trying to shake the glove off her left hand.

“Let me go,” she kept screaming. “Let go of me!” At least he wasn't cutting off her wind and she could breathe fairly well. Although he was pressing so hard on the left side of her neck that she was starting to see stars. She drove behind her with her left elbow as hard as she could and met with a solid mass of hard muscle.

He raised his voice a bit. “I said be quiet. You're annoying me. North deserved to die. He's the one who killed Dillon. He drove her around the bend. She couldn't stand to be alive anymore, even with me by her side. It's all his fault she committed suicide.”

“She's still alive, Bart.”

“Not for long. Everyone says she's brain damaged, she won't ever recover. She would be all right if they would be patient and wait, but they're gonna pull the plug and then she'll be . . . gone . . . forever.”

She shook back and forth, trying to send them both tumbling onto the icy pavement that lay beneath the snow.

“Okay,” she yelled as loudly as she could. “Tell me what you're going to do.” Dare she hope that someone was within range to hear them? “You can't kill me. Other people know everything I know and—”

“Yeah, your friend Julie. She'll be next.”

“Next for what?” she screamed, lunging sideways with as much force as she could, trying to dislodge the solid Bart, who must outweigh her by at least a hundred pounds, she thought. Maybe two hundred. How could she get him off
his feet? She kept rubbing her gloved hand on her stomach, trying to dislodge the glove.

Tires crunched on the ice. Was a car coming? She couldn't tell if it was in the parking lot or passing by, out on the street, and she certainly couldn't look around for it from her position.

“I'm gonna put you under the same bush where I put North. Can't stand meddlers!” Now he was shouting, too.

Her glove fell to the ground. At last. She reached behind her and scratched.

Bart yowled, but kept his grip.

She reached again. This time she got an eye. She dug in and he let go.

Bart fell to his knees. Chase heard them crack on the icy pavement.

With one last, desperate lunge, he reached up and ripped her scarf off her neck.

She knew he wanted to strangle her with it. She shoved, pushed him over, kicked his head, and ran.

When she reached her door, she knew she would have to stop and unlock it. But when she glanced back, she saw a welcome sight.

“You're under arrest for the murder of Ronald North,” Detective Olson said in his steeliest tone as he snapped handcuffs onto Bart's hands behind his back. “You have the right to remain silent.”

“My eye! I need a hospital,” Bart whined.

Olson ignored him and kept speaking. The rest of the Miranda warning was music to Chase's ears and she wanted to kiss Niles Olson on the lips right there.

“We'll have the doc at lockup look you over,” Detective Olson said, shoving Bart into the rear seat of his car.

The ride to the station in the front seat of the policeman's car was warm, but they had to endure a constant barrage from Bart in the backseat. After Detective Olson called a couple of people, including someone about Bart's injured eye, he told someone else to impound Bart's car, then he turned to her.

“When you said you were onto another suspect, I got pretty worried about you,” Niles said. “I had no idea where you were and you weren't answering your cell phone.”

Maybe she shouldn't have turned the sound off. “The suspect I thought I was after wasn't Bart. The guy I questioned, I mean talked to, is harmless. Unless you're harmed by health food and too much exercise.”

As they drove, the storm started to let up. The flakes slowed to a few dozen at a time and they fell straight down. The wind had vanished.

“We've been keeping an eye on Fender for a few months,” said the detective. “So when I followed him to your place, it raised about a dozen red flags.”

“A few months? What for?”

“I'm sure the chief will make a public statement now that he's in custody. I'm ninety-nine percent certain we'll find what we need to nail him for both crimes in his trunk tonight.”

“For Ron's murder?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He's been selling steroids to his high school athletes. We
were able to get three of them to flip two days ago. Before his shift at the pizza place, he picked up a new shipment. I was going to try to catch him in the act of distribution, but now we have him for murder. I'm sure North's DNA will be in his car somewhere. I heard Fender mention putting him under the bush just now.”

Bart was howling so loudly behind them that Chase was certain he couldn't hear anything they said.

“So Julie is free. Right?” She cut her eyes sideways.

His smile made the warm car even warmer. “Right. Chief is getting hold of the judge. Someone will call her and her lawyer and let them know the charges will be dropped in the morning.”

She slumped in the seat, suddenly so limp she could barely hold up her head.

W
hen Chase finally got home that night and switched her phone on, she noticed that Julie had called. She had been required to turn her cell off while she was in the station giving her statement. Chase was tired down to the very middle of her melting bones, but she perked up when she realized she could give Julie the news.

“Jules! I just got home from the police station.”

“Oh no. Are you okay? What happened?”

“It's a bit involved, but the end result is that Detective Olson arrested Bart Fender for the murder of Ron North and your case will be dismissed tomorrow.”

Chase had to hold the phone away from her ear when Julie
whooped. Chase giggled with glee. How fun that no one else had told her yet and she got to break the news!

“I have to call Anna,” Julie said. “If only it wasn't so late. I feel like celebrating and the roads are so bad.”

“Let's do that tomorrow night.”

“Do you think Anna will feel like it? Her baking contest is the next day.”

“Sure.” Quincy jumped into Chase's lap and his warm body felt heavenly after the cold police station. “She'll need a distraction, don't you think?”

“Maybe.” Julie sounded doubtful. “We can try, anyway.”

“Or maybe we should celebrate Saturday night. A double occasion. You getting off the hook and Anna winning the Batter Battle.”

“Oh, I hope she does. You think she will? I'm crossing my fingers for her,” Julie said. “I'll come by your place tomorrow night at any rate. What time?”

“Anna was thinking of closing up early and getting ready for Saturday, but Mallory and Inger both said they would stay to work. I think Mallory is going out with Tanner later. So, I'm free early. Are you?”

“I took tomorrow off, not knowing how long I'd be in court.” Chase could hear a smile of relief in her voice.

Thinking of Bart brought the vision of Dillon, lying still and pale in her hospital bed, to Chase. “Maybe we could drop by the hospital and peek in on Dillon.”

“Excellent idea. Two? Two thirty?”

“Three. I'll pick you up.”

Friday afternoon, Chase and Julie made their way slowly down the hospital corridor. They were both reluctant to
complete their errand, even though they knew it was something they should do.

“At least Bart won't be there,” Julie said.

“Why not?” said a man's voice behind them.

Dillon's father was on his way to the room with two cups of coffee.

“You haven't heard the news?” Chase asked.

“We haven't left Dillon's side all day.”

Chase was extremely relieved Dillon's parents hadn't turned off her life support yet.

“Bart Fender was arrested for murder,” Julie said.

The man jiggled the cups and sloshed a bit of coffee onto the floor. A huge grin broke out on his fleshy face. It was transformed from the mask of sorrow, which was all Chase had ever seen, into a picture of joy. “Come on into the room. You need to tell my wife. We've talked about how unstable he was, so many times, trying to get Dillon away from him.”

Both parents were relieved to hear that Bart was out of the way.

“Never did really like him,” said Mrs. Yardley.

“We have some terrific news of our own,” Dillon's father said after a sip of his coffee. “It's so nice you came by. This is a good time.”

“Yes!” Her mother's eyes sparkled. “Dillon's brainwave has been picking up.”

Chase and Julie couldn't help but notice the machines beside her bed. One showed a squiggly line that spiked a bit now and then.

Mrs. Yardley started to hum. Chase recognized the tune. “‘Happy Talk'?” she asked.

“Would you mind?” Mrs. Yardley said. “I'd like to sing it to her.”

“You can sing along if you'd like,” Mr. Yardley said. “I do sometimes.”

“She played Bloody Mary in the summer theater production of
South Pacific
a few years ago and she loves the song ‘Happy Talk.'”

“Of course,” Chase said.

Mrs. Yardley started and Chase joined in, when she could remember the words. There were a lot of them. Mr. Yardley hummed along and Julie was the spectator.

Chase wondered what the nurses and orderlies in the corridor thought.

“Wait! No, keep going,” Julie shouted. More softly, she added, “See? Her brain waves.”

The line was getting ziggier. Chase and Dillon's mother kept singing. Mrs. Yardley tightened her grip on her daughter's hand and Mr. Yardley had the other one. After two verses, Dillon's eyelids fluttered.

Everyone in the room held their breath.

Dillon's eyes closed again.

A nurse rushed in. “We have new activity.” She seemed excited, too.

Chase gaped when she saw the line on the EEG machine jumping up and down, bouncing like a manic yo-yo. She blinked to keep her tears from falling.

Dillon's eyes opened again, found her mother's face, and her lips moved. She mouthed the word “Mom,” then gazed slowly around the room.

The nurse looked at Chase and Julie apologetically. “I'll
have to ask you to leave. We've called the doctor. We'll need to do an assessment.”

“Good luck,” the two women called to Dillon's parents as they walked out the door. Two white-coated doctors rushed in a few seconds later.

Chase and Julie high-fived and left for Anna's.