by Dawn Dugle
"Tsk. Tsk. Ms. Ward. Breaking and entering! What will your father say?" Seth backed away from me a little bit, well out of my arm's reach. "Hands where I can see them."
"That's Sergeant Ward!" I said in a much calmer voice than I felt. I raised my hands up.
"That's not what I heard... I heard the police found Claire Rousseau's murder weapon in your freezer," Seth smiled at me.
"You son of a bitch."
"Now, now. Name calling is pretty passé, don't you think? If you would be so kind as to empty your pockets."
I pulled the phone out of my pocket and was about to hit the button for an emergency call, when Seth knocked the phone out of my hand. "Don't be trying to call for help. No one's going to come riding to the rescue. I want everything out of your pockets."
He motioned towards the workbench with his gun, and I walked sideways, keeping him in my line of sight. I placed the evidence collection tube, the black light and the lock pick kit on the counter.
"The gun too please. Slowly."
I gently pulled the revolver out of my pocket.
"Put it on the ground and back away."
I laid the weapon on the ground by my feet and then started to back away, but not before I kicked the gun across the room. "Whoops. My bad."
"That doesn't matter, Ms. Ward, I'll take care of that after I take care of your body. Now, take off your hoodie and turn around so I can see that you no longer have any other weapons on you."
I complied, tossing the hoodie on top of the gun and then I turned in a circle to show him I had no more weapons. I had to keep him talking so I could get his gun away from him.
"Tell me, Seth. Since you seem to think you're going to kill me too, have you ever killed somebody in cold blood? Because I think the murder of your cousin was actually an accident. If you shoot me, you'll have to stare at me in the eyes to do it."
I could see Seth's hand on the gun was shaking, but he scoffed. "Not if I make you turn away and kneel on the ground."
"I'm not kneeling. You'll have to kill me where I stand."
"Your choice."
"But before you do, tell me - why did you kill Claire? Was it because they were onto your drug smuggling?"
Seth regarded me with a startled expression.
"Oh, you didn't know the feds know all about it? Well, they do. As a matter of fact, they're on their way here right now to take you down. You might as well give up and confess. I bet if you confess about your involvement, and give the prosecutor evidence against the bigger bad guy, you could probably walk on this little murder charge," I was talking fast, inching closer to him.
"That's total horse shit. They don't know."
"They do," I nodded. I summoned my inner Abreo Stare, willing it to the surface to cover for the biggest lie of my life. "They have your inside man from Customs, and it's only a matter of time before he turns you in."
My version of the Abreo Stare worked for the second time ever, and Seth took a step back.
"Seriously tell me. I want to know. Why did you kill Claire?"
Seth looked like he was seeing a ghost and I frowned.
"If it wasn't about the drugs, then it had to be because she was more talented than you."
I must have whacked the beehive pretty good because Seth exploded in a rage. "That BITCH did not have more talent than I have! She got lucky with the old hags in this town who wanted to be her patrons. They protected her and bought up her paintings for ridiculous prices, much more than they were worth!"
He was waving the gun around as he paced back and forth. I noticed a hammer on the workbench, and moved slowly in that direction.
"She had the audacity to accuse me of being jealous! Jealous! Me! I was painting while she was still showing middle-class housewives homes without a view! Claire Rousseau indeed. Her name was CATHY REDDY! Claire Rousseau - such a pretentious name. And Claire had decided she was done painting full-time. She just wanted to retire and paint for fun. Putting her paintings on wallpaper for Christ's sake! WALLPAPER!"
"You killed her because she wanted to put her art on wallpaper?"
Seth's face turned purple as he screamed: "I KILLED THAT BITCH BECAUSE SHE NEEDED KILLING!"
The admission stunned him and that was all I needed. I grabbed the hammer and threw it at his hand holding the gun. I didn't wait to see if it connected, I dove for my revolver on the floor. Skidding on the plastic drop cloths, I grabbed the gun, turned and fired, hitting him in the shoulder. He dropped to the floor, bleeding.
"You shot me! You BITCH!" He screamed at me.
I walked over and kicked his weapon away from him, then grabbed my phone. "Now, now Mr. Campbell. There's no need for name calling!"
My heart rate was skyrocketing again from the adrenaline. I took a few deep breaths and walked over to the workbench to grab a rag, which I tossed to him so he could stop the bleeding in his shoulder. I kept my eye and gun trained on him as I walked over to grab my phone and dial Dixon back.
The phone rang right behind me. Crap. Rookie mistake. You never turn your back on the exit. I spun around and was hit squarely in the face with an easel, knocking me to the floor.
I looked up and was so shocked, I couldn't form a sentence before I was knocked out by the second hit of the easel.
∞∞∞
Chapter Thirty-Five
I thought a Champagne headache was bad. I was wrong. So, so wrong. Getting hit in the face, twice, by a metal easel is worse. The figurative sumo wrestler who sat on my head after my 40th birthday brought some friends. This time, they were kicking the shit out of me. I slowly came to, blinking as the bright lights of Seth's studio were burning into my retinas. My hands were zip tied in front of me, but my legs were free. That was good news.
The bad news was everything else. I was against the wall of the studio, the farthest point from the door. And in between me and the door, my attacker was busy crating up the remainder of Seth's murder paintings and stuffing the crates with bricks of powder. I'm assuming those were the drugs part of the drug smuggling equation. I sat up and groaned as the pain in my head got worse.
"Oh great, finally. I thought we'd have to kill you before you woke up," Seth sneered and grabbed the lid for the crate with his good arm. He had his other arm in a sling made out of his very expensive jacket, that was soaked with blood. I got a kick out of that. Hey, I may be facing down imminent death, but this shit tickled me to no end.
Seth hammered nails into the wood to seal up the crate he was working on, the hammering in time with the pounding behind my eyes.
I looked at his partner. "Monica. Monica. Mousy Monica. My, my don't you look different."
Monica, the timid assistant, was no longer wearing oversized dresses and a sad look as she mooned over my lov..boyfr...PERSON.
This decidedly-not-timid Monica was dressed head-to-toe in a black leather catsuit, her brown hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail and she wore entirely too much makeup. She had a gun holster around her hips, like we were in the Wild West.
"All part of my cover, darling," she purred and came over to where I sat on the floor.
"Where's Dixon?" I asked.
Monica bent down in front of me. "He's taking a little nap right now. He might wake up in a while, he might not. Either way, we'll be long gone by then."
I kicked out to knock her over but she scooted out of the way, laughing. Damn it.
"Where are you going? Besides prison," I asked calmly.
Monica tossed her too-long hair over her shoulder and smiled. "Oh darling, I'm not going to prison. I have a one-way ticket to Singapore, then on to another country without extradition. Not that you need to know."
"You two are just going to box up these murder paintings and the drugs and head off into the sunset?" I put my zip tied hands underneath the hem of my tank top.
"Well, one of us is riding off into the sunset." Monica pulled her gun out of the holster, pointed it at Seth and shot him, point-blank in the chest. Seth didn't even cry out, b
ut he died with a very surprised look on his face.
Monica put the gun back in her holster. "Men. So stupid. They always think they will come out on top. But you and I know better, don't we dear?"
While she was busy murdering Claire's murderer, I had reached up underneath my tank top to get to the top of my sports bra. This was no ordinary sports bra. This was the top-of-the-line-best-birthday-present-ever sports bra. A Booby Trap. And inside was the knife my Bonus Mom bought for me. I put the knife flat between my palms and tried to look casual as Monica turned and looked back at me.
"You don't seem surprised that I shot him," she remarked.
I shrugged. "Eh. You are both criminals. Criminals can't be trusted."
She regarded me for a moment, then pulled a slim phone out of her bra and dialed a number. "The crates are ready for shipment and I'll have two other items for disposal."
Monica hung up and looked at me, tilting her head. "They'll be here soon."
She tucked the phone back into her bra.
"What now? We just wait here for your thugs to come get the crates and haul me away with Seth's body?" I swung my legs underneath me, until I was kneeling on my knees.
She walked closer to me. C'mon, just a little closer bitch. Just a little closer. She stopped out of range of my hands. "Maybe you want to have a little girl talk about that delicious dream boat Luke? Hmmm?"
I froze. "What are you talking about?"
"Luke Nelson, or should I say Lucio Saber?"
Icy cold fingers worked their way up my spine. "What did you say?"
"Luke Saber. That is his real name, isn't it? And here he thought he was being clever with his undercover identity," Monica shook her head. "Nobody looks twice at the mousy assistant. People say all sorts of things when they think they're alone, when in fact, I'm always right around the corner listening. That's how Seth knew this was a trap, because I listened into your call with Vern. And that's how my boss knows Saber's name and how the boss tracked down all of Luke's family members."
I struggled to stand up and she rushed over to push me back down. When her hands reached out to touch my shoulders, I grabbed the knife in my right hand and struck upwards, aiming for her neck.
She turned at the last second and my knife sliced her ear off. She screamed and pulled away from me, putting her hand on the side of her head that was gushing blood.
I pushed up from my kneeling position to stand, then lunged towards her with the knife. This time aiming for eye.
She sent a roundhouse kick at my hands, sending my small knife skittering across the plastic on the floor. She went for her gun holster, and I knew if she got her weapon, I was a dead woman.
I channeled my inner drag queen/defensive linebacker and ran forward, aiming my shoulders at her waist. I knocked her off her feet and onto her back, knocking the wind out of both of us.
She tried to buck me off as I grabbed her gun with both of my hands. I struggled to get up and point the weapon at her, but she punched it out of my hands.
Monica kneed me in the stomach, and caused me to roll over on my back. When she got on top of me, I kneed her in the junk. She screamed again.
Yeah. It hurts women almost as much as it hurts men. Take that bitch!
I scrabbled across the floor towards her gun, but she had recovered from my junk punch and landed on my back. She started punching me in the kidneys. It not only hurt like a son of a bitch, it was slowing me down.
"Get off my back, BITCH!" I went flat, then came up, arching my back and throwing the back of my head right into her face. She let go, but reached out to grab my hair. She came back with a handful of nothing. I stretched forward for the gun and was rewarded.
I rolled onto my back, aimed and fired at her face as she launched herself at me. I hit her right between the eyes, and the impact of the bullet flipped her body back to the ground.
She was dead before she hit the floor.
"AND THAT IS WHY YOU DON'T HAVE LONG HAIR IN A FIGHT!" I screamed to no one in particular.
It took me a minute to calm my breathing down so I could get up. And even then, I didn't just pop up off the floor. I rolled over onto my belly, got up on my knees and zip tied hands and eased off the floor.
The adrenaline that had stopped me from feeling my age was wearing off, and my 40-year-old body was complaining. This getting old shit is for the birds.
I walked over to get my phone. The doggone thing was still working, thank Oprah! I called 911, then looked around for my knife to cut the ties off my wrist.
Once they were free, I was about to sit down and just wait for the cavalry to arrive when...
"Dixon!" I ran out into the parking lot and over to his car.
He was slumped against the steering wheel. I reached in and checked his neck for a pulse. It was there, but weak.
I sighed and fell to the ground. The inevitable adrenaline crash made me decide to just close my eyes for a few seconds before I had to answer all the questions.
∞∞∞
Chapter Thirty-Six
SUNDAY
Why was I always waking up with a pounding headache? Maybe this is 40? Should I be expecting this from now on? If so, 40 sucks.
I woke up in a hospital bed surrounded by my entire family and Luke. They were all trying to be quiet, but my brothers had gotten into a whisper-argument about some asinine football game and they were progressively getting louder. I thought about laying there a little while longer until they left my room, but when I felt a strong hand lace his fingers through mine, I knew I was busted.
"Mi amor," Luke kissed the inside of my right wrist. "I'm glad you decided to rejoin us."
Everyone got quiet as I opened my eyes all the way and tried to sit up.
Luke's arm snaked around my back to help me up. "Careful, mi amor. You had a terrible trauma."
I looked around and noticed one member of my family was missing. "Where's Dixon?"
"He is in the room next door," Chief Dad said from the other side of my bed. "Monica shot him up with a horse tranquilizer, and he's been unconscious ever since."
I started to get up. "I need to go see him."
Luke pushed me back onto the bed. "He has someone keeping him company waiting for him to wake up."
I shuddered, then tried to take it back. Crap. She'd be Aunt Kate soon enough, but I wasn't sure if everyone knew, so I kept that news to myself.
Tripp stepped forward and grabbed the hand Luke didn't have. "Hey sis. Great job solving the Claire Rousseau murder."
"Even if she did go about it the wrong way," Chief Dad crossed his arms and tried to frown.
"My bad. Sorry?" I shrugged.
"It's the strangest thing," Tripp continued. "From what I understand, you were working undercover for ICE when you heard a disturbance inside The Campbell Gallery. Once inside, you discovered Monica and Seth were crating up paintings and heroin for shipment overseas. You then heard Seth confess to murdering Claire Rousseau. Blood from the murder apparently splattered against three new canvases Campbell had prepped and he decided to use the blood as part of the painting."
"That's just disgusting," Bonus Mom Denise shuddered.
"His murder paintings also had names about revenge and keeping quiet," I added. "He really was a twisted mother fu... FUDGER!"
Bonus Mom smirked at me and shook her head.
"We also found Seth's phone. And guess what he had in the maps?" Tripp asked.
"A pin for the evidence disposal site?" I asked, smiling.
"You betcha' sis."
I turned to look at Chief Dad. "So..."
"So, case closed. You're going to get a commendation and I talked to Captain Silva about the retroactive Detective promotion and back pay. I approved it," Chief Dad said. A cheer went up in the room and everyone started clapping.
Luke looked at me frowning. "What's the trouble mi amor?"
Everyone got quiet as I looked Chief Dad in the eye. "Thanks Chief. But... I quit."
Stunned silen
ce settled on the room for about three glorious seconds before total chaos broke out.
"But I thought you wanted to make detective..."
"You have all that time on the force...."
"What will you do now?"
Luke's mismatched eyes twinkled as he leaned down to kiss me, ignoring my family altogether. He then turned to face everyone in the room and said: "Okay, that's enough excitement for the day. Wysdom has many injuries and needs to rest. You've seen she's fine, but now it's time to go. All of your questions can wait until later."
They shuffled out with puzzled looks. A couple of them wondering if I needed a cat scan or an MRI, they weren't sure which medical procedure would be called for to have my head examined, but clearly I needed something.
Luke turned back to me and sat on the edge of the bed. "How are you, really, mi amor?"
"Better now that you're here. Lay down beside me," I rolled to my side and scooted away until my back was up against the railing on the far side of the bed. Luke got in and laid on his side facing me.
He reached up and caressed my cheek. "You scared the life out of me."
"I scared the life out of me too," I tried to laugh, but started crying instead.
This is the part I normally hate about a huge adrenaline rush. When you go through something that traumatic with your fight or flight response kicking into high gear. During the fight, you don't think about after.
You don't wonder what your body is going to do with all that excess adrenaline, but what goes up must come down. And every time, my come down included a crying fit. The fluctuating hormones of perimenopause probably made it worse. I hated it, because it made me feel weak-sauce.
This time, I didn't mind very much because Luke didn't say a word. He just pulled me into his embrace, stroking my hair and my back until the crying stopped.
Aha! This was how you comforted crying people. He was good at it.
"Monica and Seth weren't the entire operation," I started.
"I know. Now that we know about Monica's involvement, we're able to fill in a lot of blanks and we've been backtracking her movements," Luke explained. "She was careful, but not careful enough. It's only a matter of time until we find the Big Boss."