Sleeping with Anemone (35 page)

Suddenly, Kana straightened, looking very smug. “Then come get me.” He put his shoe on the footrest of Dad’s wheelchair and gave it a hard shove.

I gasped as Dad’s head snapped forward, then back. He gripped the wheels to steady his chair, glaring at the Hawaiian, a trickle of blood running down his throat. “If I wasn’t in this chair—”

“Come on, then!” Kana cried, waving his knife back and forth, taunting him. “Get up! What’s stopping you? Need your running shoes?”

“Abby, get my crutches.”

I stared at Dad in shock. Surely he wasn’t serious! What did he think he could do?

“Abby.”

I eyed the metal crutches propped in the corner, but as soon as I made a move, Kana pointed his knife at me. “Stay where you are.” He backed toward the corner, then folded the blade, slipped it in his pocket, and picked up a crutch in each hand. “Are these what you want?”

“Unless you’re afraid to give them to me,” Dad said.

Kana used the rubber end of one of the crutches to poke Dad’s knee. “For a crippled old man, you certainly talk big.” He turned and heaved the crutch through the kitchen doorway, where it hit the refrigerator and clattered to the tile floor. “You want your crutch? Go get it.”

Dad glared at him. “You son of a—”

“I said go get it!” Kana yelled. But when Dad started toward the kitchen, Kana shoved his wheelchair back again. “Not in your chair. Crawl! Do you hear me? Crawl for it.”

My heart constricted. If Kana wanted to humiliate my father, that was how to do it.

As Dad struggled to control his temper, I knew I had to do something to distract Kana before he humiliated Dad any further—or worse. All I could think of was to get him talking. Maybe that would buy us some time until someone realized we were in trouble.

Suddenly my phone began to play Reilly’s ringtone. I froze as Kana glanced toward my coat.

“I know you stole the brooch from a museum in Hawaii,” I said, talking over the tune. “Why that brooch? Why the anthurium? Is it the most valuable or was it easier to conceal?”

The music stopped. I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Kana gave me a coy glance. “Your curiosity seems out of place at such a time, Ms. Knight. You’re not stalling, by any chance, are you? Trying to keep me from finding the brooch?”

I could feel my face turning red. I’d never been able to hide my emotions. Still, it seemed to have worked. He wasn’t focusing on Dad. “Do you really think I’d keep a valuable brooch at my parents’ house?”

He used the other crutch to pull books off the bookshelf against the wall, letting them fall to the floor one by one. “But the brooch
is
here. And you know how I know that.”

“You planted a bug,” I said. “Too bad I found it.”

“You found it too late.” He tipped over a ceramic vase, sending it tumbling to the carpet, where it rolled to his feet. He stepped on it, cracking it, then peered inside. “What a shame to ruin these nice things. You could simply give me the brooch, Ms. Knight.”

“How about if you answer my questions first, such as why a smart thief would hire bunglers like Bebe and Hudge?”

“I see you prefer to draw this out. Very well. We’ll play it your way.” His gaze swept the room. How long before he found my purse? “I didn’t hire the, as you called them, bunglers.” Kana moved around the room, looking under objects, pushing aside drapes. “My error was in trusting someone else to do a job for which he wasn’t qualified.”

Kana swept a potted orchid and two mirrored picture frames to the floor. “Fortunately, I do learn from my mistakes.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see Dad slowly moving his wheelchair backward, in the direction of my mom’s antique writing desk in the corner, beyond the sofa. It was a rolltop desk and the top was shut. Inside were tiny cubbyholes where Mom kept bills and miscellaneous items. The desk had a secret compartment. Was that where Dad kept his service revolver?

Trying not to sound as anxious as I felt, I said, “You’re referring to Tom Harding?”

Kana was eyeing my coat. “Mr. Harding was a disappointment.”

I moved to block his view. “Your plan was that Harding was supposed to receive the brooch and turn it over to you, right? Except that it went to me instead. So Harding hired Hudge and Bebe to get it back. And when they screwed that up for the third time, you killed one of them, then beat up Harding and left him to die.”

Kana held out his palms. “Beat him and dirty my hands? No, Ms. Knight, I prefer something cleaner.” He reached inside his suit coat and seconds later was holding his knife. His eyes glimmered with excitement as he ran the tip along the padded armrest of the crutch, watching my face as the rubber cushion split in half.

“You know Harding is alive, right?” I asked in a trembling voice.

Kana paused, his gaze registering a tiny flicker of doubt. Then, apparently finished with his demonstration, he folded the knife, slipped it back inside his pocket, and used the crutch to move me aside. Without saying a word, he hooked the crutch under my coat and pulled it toward him, dragging my purse with it. As he lifted the coat into the air, my purse fell to the floor. I flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Did Harding’s girlfriend leave the country because she thought you were coming after her next?” I asked, pressing on, as he pulled my cell phone from the coat pocket. “You know she flew to France, right? The authorities are tracking her down right now. She should have an interesting tale to tell them about you.”

“Ms. Haven is no longer a threat,” Kana said. He tossed the phone through the kitchen doorway, then dropped the crutch and began to pat down my coat, as though it had hidden compartments. My purse would be next.

With a racing heart, I used my shoe to move my purse closer to the sofa, hoping I could slide it underneath. “Just out of curiosity, would you mind telling me how you managed to get a weapon inside the county jail and stab Hudge in a room full of witnesses?”

“There were so many people in uniforms, no one noticed one more, nor do metal detectors register anything
but
metal. But you aren’t truly interested in my talents, are you?” He tossed my coat aside. “Just as I am not interested in your pathetic attempts to distract me.”

My heart stopped as he leaned over to pick up my purse.

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to Dad. “Stop!” he cried, leaping over the end of the coffee table. He grabbed the handles on the back of the wheelchair and yanked Dad away from the writing desk. He reached inside and withdrew my mom’s old cell phone. “Did you think I wouldn’t see you?” he cried in a rage.

Dad pressed his mouth into a tight line.

Kana dropped the phone onto the carpet and ground his heel on it. “There! Pick it up if you want it, you old fool.” When Dad didn’t move, Kana kicked his chair. “I said pick it up!”

My heart was pounding so hard I felt faint, but I forced myself to say, “We don’t need a phone. The police know you’re here—my boyfriend alerted them. That’s why I’ve been stalling, Mr. Kana, so unless you want to be caught, you’d better forget the brooch and leave immediately.”

“Your boyfriend, Ms. Knight, has had a serious accident. I doubt he was able to tell the police anything.”

Oh, my God. Marco was in an accident. I stared at Kana in horror. He was watching me now, enjoying the shock that was surely written on my face, so I wasn’t about to ask him for details, but not knowing Marco’s condition was tearing me to pieces. Was that why Reilly had called? To tell me about the accident?

“He’s a liar,” Dad murmured. “Don’t believe him.”

“What did you say?” Kana demanded.

“I said you’re a liar,” Dad said more forcefully. “A liar and a coward who gets his kicks out of intimidating people he
thinks
are weaker than he is.”

“A
coward
?” Enraged, Kana drew out his knife and put the tip beneath Dad’s chin, forcing his head back. “You’re a crazy old man who knows nothing about me!”

“Please,” I cried, “put the knife down, Mr. Kana. He didn’t mean it.” But Dad kept goading, as though Kana’s threat meant nothing to him.

“I’ve seen too many punks like you, Kana,” he said through compressed lips. “I—” Suddenly, Dad’s eyes grew huge and he gave a loud gasp. Kana jerked the knife away from his chin as Dad began to struggle for breath.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” I cried.

His face turned red, his eyes rolled back, and his head started to fall forward. He caught himself and snapped upright again. Was he having a stroke?

“What is he doing?” Kana asked sharply, stepping back.

“Sugar . . . low.” Dad gulped for air, as though he was about to pass out; then his eyelids fluttered and his head fell forward again.

Sugar low? What was he talking about?

Dad’s head jerked up, and he struggled to open his eyes. He gasped several times, then said in a raspy voice, “Forgot . . . to take . . . insulin.”

“You forgot your insulin?” I repeated in bewilderment. But he wasn’t diabetic. He couldn’t be thinking clearly. Or had he not told me he had diabetes?

I started toward him only to have Kana jab the knife at me. “Sit down! Over there!”

I watched from the far end of the sofa as Dad made a weak effort to point to the glass jar. “Candy.” His eyes closed, his mouth sagged open, and his head dropped forward. Drool leaked from his mouth.

Closing his knife and tucking it in his pocket, Kana lifted the glass jar and held it out in front of Dad. “Is this what you want?”

Dad roused himself and tried to stretch out his hand. “Candy. Hurry.”

Kana shook the jar. “Are you sure?”

Dad’s jaw was slack, his breathing more labored. “Please,” he whispered.

“Then come get them,” Kana taunted. He glanced behind him so he wouldn’t trip on the books, and in that split second, Dad cast me a look that explained everything. There wasn’t anything wrong with him. He had a plan!

“Come on, old man. Here they are,” Kana coaxed, shaking the jar.

Dad winced convincingly as he attempted to grip the wheels to move the chair forward.

“Not in your chair,” Kana sneered. “Get up! On your feet. What kind of a big man are you that you can’t get up and come get them?”

As Dad slumped over, I said, “Please, Mr. Kana. My dad’s about to go into diabetic shock. He could die unless he gets sugar into his system. You don’t want another murder on your hands, do you?”

“Hey, old man.” Kana jostled the wheelchair with his foot until Dad dragged his head up. “Pay attention.” Then Kana removed the lid, dug out a handful of hearts, and displayed them in his palm. “Are you willing to beg for these to save your life?”

Dad murmured something, his head sagging. I held my breath as Kana moved up close, until he was inches from Dad’s face. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Please,” Dad rasped, “I beg you.”

“That’s more like it.” Kana held out his hand, offering him the candy.

I bit my lip as Dad lifted a trembling hand. What if he were forced to swallow them?

With a smug grin, Kana withdrew the candy. “Perhaps . . . I should eat them instead.” He tilted his head back and let the red hearts slide from his cupped palm into his mouth. He moaned as he chewed, as though they were delicious.

At once his eyes widened and his mouth opened like a fish as he dragged in air to cool his burning tongue. But that merely caused him to choke and cough up red goo. He tried to scrape the sticky candy off his tongue. He clawed at his throat, as though to rip out the searing heat.

In a swift, sure motion, Dad grabbed Kana’s arm with one strong hand and yanked him forward onto his knees, then gripped Kana’s throat with his other hand, practically lifting him in the air. “No one threatens my family,” he sneered.

As the Hawaiian fought to free himself, Dad tumbled forward, taking himself and Kana to the floor. “Get my cuffs from the drawer,” Dad ordered, keeping up his choke hold.

I ran for the handcuffs in the bottom kitchen drawer, but I yanked the drawer open with so much force that it fell to the floor, spilling the contents. Quickly I scooped up the handcuffs and ran back.

Dad had one of Kana’s arms stretched out to the side. His other hand was on Kana’s throat. “Snap a cuff on his wrist.”

Kana’s face was deep red and his eyes watery. Clearly he was in pain, yet even as he gasped for air, he managed a last effort to push my dad away. But Dad held him easily while I followed his commands.

“Loop the cuff around the sofa leg,” Dad said.

Quickly, I obeyed, then fastened that cuff on Kana’s other wrist.

“Now call the cops,” Dad said. He rolled onto the floor, putting distance between himself and the Hawaiian, then pushed himself to a sitting position and leaned against the sofa, breathing hard.

For a second all I could do was stare at my father in awe. I thought I needed to protect him, yet he had saved both of us. He was still the brave police officer I’d always admired. Tears misted my eyes. There was only one cripple in the room, and it wasn’t Dad.

At a heavy pounding on the front door, I jumped.

“Police. Open up.”

I ran to open the door and there was Reilly and five of New Chapel’s finest. I stepped back and they poured into the living room. Behind them stood my hero—make that Marco—who didn’t appear to be injured. I threw myself into his arms and leaned my head against his chest, my arms around his waist. “Marco, thank God you’re all right! Kana said you were in an accident.”

“It’s okay, Sunshine,” he said, stroking my hair. “I wasn’t hurt.”

I lifted my head to gaze at him. “You
were
in an accident?”

“Yes, and lucky for me I had that defensive driver training. But there’s an injured limo driver on his way to the hospital and a badly damaged black Cadillac wrapped around a pole at the intersection of Lincoln and Franklin. Are you all right?”