by R J Fournier
“Are we going to help? Is that why you’re here?”
“Josh said he didn’t want anyone else around in case something does happen. We’re going to make sure Suzanne is okay.”
“I thought she’d moved out.”
“Well, just to be sure.”
They’d reached the fork to Ajnabee’s house. It was dark. Helen turned and parked in front. Delyth pulled up beside her.
Sam opened his door and, standing with one foot on the side sill, peered toward Howard’s house. Although the fog wasn’t thick where they were, it obliterated everything below them. “I can’t see anything,” he said.
Delyth got out of her car and came around to Helen’s side window. “Shush!” she told Sam in a stage whisper. “Voices carry in this weather.”
Helen had read just the opposite, but now wasn’t the time for a debate about acoustics.
“Sorry,” Sam said, his voice lower. “I’m going down there.”
“Not a good idea,” Delyth said. “Josh will take you for an intruder and shoot. You could try calling.”
“There’s never any cell service along here.”
Helen feared his anxiety would spill over into foolish action. Perhaps they could settle on something they could all do together—safety in numbers, after all—away from Josh’s gun. “It doesn’t look like Suzanne’s home.”
“Or she’s already moved out,” Delyth said.
“Or Josh could have told her to turn off her lights,” Helen said, “like he told Howard.”
“Is she in danger too?” Sam asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“How can you know?”
“It’s too complicated to go—” Helen’s answer was interrupted by a car approaching from the direction of Howard’s property, going much too fast for the dirt road. She heard the crunch of it bottoming out in the ruts and the spray of gravel as it swerved into the Duddas’ driveway.
“That’s Foley’s car,” Delyth exclaimed.
“What’s he doing?” Helen asked.
Still standing halfway in the car, Sam screamed, “He was coming from Howie’s.” He jumped clear of the door.
“Wait,” Helen shouted. “More likely he was coming from his own house. Besides, if he was at Howie’s, Josh was there to take care of things. Right now, we really need to check on the Duddas.”
Sam stopped.
“Are you sure they’re in danger?” Delyth protested.
“After the way he was driving?” Sam countered.
“She’s right, though,” Helen said. “We need to proceed carefully.” She got out of the car. “We have to see what he’s doing, but stay out of sight.”
Half-crouching as if that would make them less visible, they crept across the road and along the drive toward the Duddas’ home, Delyth in the lead. As they got closer, she pointed at the silver car parked several yards in front of them. “I think he’s still inside,” she whispered.
“What’s he doing?” Sam asked.
Delyth motioned to the trees by the side of the drive. “We should find out before rushing in.”
Helen wished she’d had a chance to change out of her teaching shoes that were now wet from the grass under the trees. She was also cold, her thin jacket no defense against the damp chill.
They squatted behind the bushes and watched. The fog turned to drizzle that condensed on the branches above them and fell in large drops. In front of the Duddas’ house, everything was quiet. In the distance, dogs howled. Nearby frogs croaked. Even these sounds were muffled by the fog.
“We can’t just sit here,” Sam whispered.
“We need to wait until something happens,” Helen said. “We can’t go barging—”
Three rapid gunshots echoed across the valley, silencing the dogs and frogs. Helen instinctively ducked although, if someone were shooting at her, it would have been too late. Sticking her head above the bush, she saw Foley jump from his car and race toward the house.
Standing, Delyth commanded, “Call 911.”
“Where are you going?” Helen demanded.
“To see what’s going on.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sam said.
The mother in Helen wanted to tell them not to be foolish, stay where they were, but she knew it would be futile. All she could muster was a feeble, “Be careful.” She took out her phone, praying for reception. Miraculously, she saw two bars. Punching in the numbers, she watched Delyth and Sam creep toward the house. The signal may have been weak, but the call went through.
“911. What is the nature of your emergency?”
“Someone’s shooting.”
“Are you in any danger?”
“I’m hiding outside the house.”
“Is anyone injured?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see inside the house from here.”
“What’s the address of the house?”
Helen didn’t know. Delyth had driven the first time they’d come together, and Helen had just remembered the way. “It’s a dirt drive off Sullyton Road. There’s a sign indicating the Dudda Farm. That’s where I am, the Duddas’ farm.”
“Can you see a number on the house?”
“No. I’m too far away.”
“What city are you in?”
Helen exploded. “Sullyton, for pity’s sake.”
“Ma’am, try to stay calm. I need to make sure—”
She watched as Sam stood and ran to the front door. He pulled it open and stood erect in the doorway. Helen heard another gunshot. Sam fell sideways.
“My God, they shot Sam.”
TWENTY-ONE
Creeping toward the house, Delyth’s only thought was to witness a crime firsthand. Ted couldn’t refuse her the chance to write about it. The article would run on the front page, above the fold. The vision suppressed any consideration of possible danger. At least, mostly suppressed it; she still kept low and watchful for anyone looking out from the house.
She ducked under the window to the left of the front door, then slowly, carefully rose to peer through a corner of the pane, revealing as little of her head as possible while still able to see in. Sam came up behind her. She put a finger to her lips, then pointed through the window. He leaned around the edge of the window just above her.
Directly in front of them, Jerzy and Karen Dudda were sitting in straight-backed chairs, their backs to her, their hands tied behind them and gags around their heads. Across the room, the gunman was holding a pistol against Ben Dudda’s temple. Ben was also holding a pistol, by his side and pointing down, but he made no attempt to use it. The gunman’s face was obscured by the hood of his jacket, but he seemed to be talking to someone close to the door. He wasn’t big enough to be Keir Foley. Was this an assassin Keir had hired to kill Ajnabee, back to complete a second contract? He could be talking to Keir standing by the door. But if it was an assassin, why was Keir there? What were they talking about?
Suddenly, Sam stood, muttered, “He’s going to kill the kid,” and raced to the door. Delyth managed a hoarse, “Don’t,” but he’d already yanked open the door and stood, fully exposed, in the doorway.
After that, multiple things happened in rapid succession, too fast for Delyth to react.
The gunman pointed the gun at Sam.
A voice near the door—Keir’s?—yelled, “No.”
Delyth watched as Jerzy pulled his hands free, the rope falling to the floor. His feet still tied together, he managed a standing broad jump across the room, knocking the gunman’s arm and deflecting the gun.
The gun went off.
Somewhere in the house, a child—Kyla?—started screaming, “Mommy! Mommy!”
The gunman shrieked and raced toward the door. The hood fell back from his face. Except it looked like a woman. It took Delyth a moment to recognize her. It was Emily Foley.
That, more than the gunshot, the screams, the chaos, made Delyth panic, as if until then the scene she’d witnessed had been no more than a movie, surreal and d
istant, and it took the jolt of a woman she knew, a woman she hadn’t suspected, revealed as the killer to make it real. She ducked down below the window in time to see Josh run up to the door, his gun drawn. She wanted to yell, “No. Don’t. Get down. You’ll be killed.” She didn’t understand why the words refused to come out.
She heard Josh saying, “Ben! Ben! Look at me.”
She inched up to peek through the window.
“You remember me,” Josh said, his tone seductive, cajoling. “I’m Detective Griffin. I want you to slowly put the gun down on the floor.”
Ben looked stunned, incapable of understanding Josh’s instructions.
Emily, outside of Delyth’s line of sight, was wailing and keening, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Ben,” Josh said with a harsher edge to his voice.
Still lying where he landed, Jerzy tore the gag from his face. “It’s only blanks,” he shouted to Josh. “It’s loaded with blanks.”
“I still want him to place the gun on the floor and kick it towards me.”
“Ben, do what he says,” Jerzy pleaded.
As if snapping out of a trance, Ben looked at his father and back at Josh, then bent down, dropped the gun and pushed it to Josh.
“Now, I want you to lie facedown on the floor.”
“God damn it!” Jerzy bellowed. He turned over and sat up. “It’s not him. It’s her. Emily Foley. She still has the gun.”
Josh commanded, “Ben, stay where you are.” He pivoted to point his gun to a place just inside the door.
Cautiously, Delyth moved a few feet away from the window to where she could see Emily through the open doorway draped over Keir, blood seeping through his jacket and dripping to the floor.
“Emily, drop the gun,” Josh ordered.
She sobbed louder.
“Emily, Emily, listen to me,” Josh told her.
She didn’t respond.
Slowly, Keir moved his arm between her and himself, pulled out the gun and pushed it a short distance away.
“Emily, I need you to move away from your husband.”
The danger was real. The gun wasn’t far enough away. Emily could turn, grab it and shoot. Yet Josh stood his ground, calm and in control. He seemed a different man from the one who cooked dinner for her, who kept his house so neat, who made such gentle love.
Emily turned her head close to Keir’s lips, as if listening. She nodded then crawled on her hands and knees a few feet away from him.
“Now lie facedown and place your hands behind your back,” Josh commanded. Re-holstering his gun, he pulled out plastic-tie handcuffs from his jacket pocket. When Emily was in position, he knelt by her side, and put a forearm along the center of her back. Leaning forward slightly, he placed his weight on her back, preventing her from moving, from resisting. He grabbed one of her arms by the wrist and secured it in one of the handcuff loops. He took her other arm and pushed it through the second loop and pulled the tie tight.
Josh called to Jerzy, who had managed to free his legs. “Watch her.” Then he checked on Keir. He pressed a hand into Keir’s side. Keir groaned. “Help will be here soon,” Josh told him.
From behind Delyth, Helen called, “Where’s Sam?” Bent at the waist, she edged toward the door. “Sam?”
“I’m here.” He stood in the middle of the shrubs below the front porch where he’d fallen—leaped?—when Emily shot at him.
“Are you okay?” Helen asked.
“She tried to kill me. I can’t believe it.”
“Well, what the hell did you expect?”
Delyth laughed at Helen’s exasperated-mother’s tone. A release of tension. It could grow hysterical if she let it. She focused on controlling her emotions.
She heard sirens approaching, although the fog obscured the direction they were coming from. Sooner than she expected, a police car turned into the Duddas’ drive and skidded to a stop. The fog turned the blue and red emergency lights into blobs of color; their flashing threatened to make Delyth nauseated. She turned away and closed her eyes. She could still see the flashes behind her eyelids.
A sheriff’s deputy ran to the door. “There was a shooting?” he asked of no one in particular.
“Who’s that?” Josh called from inside.
“Josh… er… sir? How’d you get here so fast?”
“Tomalson? Good. First thing we have to do is secure the crime scene. Don’t let anyone in or out.”
“Shouldn’t I get the first aid kit or something?”
“The EMTs will be here soon. No one in or out, understand? And tell the people out there not to go anywhere. We’ll need them as witnesses.”
“Right.” Tomalson took a position astride the doorway. He said to Sam, who hadn’t moved from the porch, “You can’t go in.”
“I wouldn’t want to, thank you very much.”
Tomalson looked him up and down. “Say, could you do me a favor? Could you tell anyone who’s here they need to stay and give statements?”
“As far as I know, there’re only three of us. I live right next door. Do you think it’s okay if I check on things at home?”
“Sam, is that you?” Josh called from inside.
“Could I go check on Howie?”
“Go ahead. I know where to find you. Who else is here?”
“Delyth and Helen.”
“God damn it. I told them… Take them with you. I don’t want… Just take them with you. I’ll be over when I can.”
◆◆◆
They had to step off the driveway into the wet grass to allow a fire truck to get by, followed almost immediately by an ambulance. Several cars were coming down the road, lights flashing. Delyth turned away and concentrated on the ground in front of her to avoid the pulsing lights and keep her stomach calm.
Helen grabbed onto Sam’s arm. “I’m not letting you go,” she said. “Whatever were you thinking, running into the house like that?”
“I wasn’t thinking. That’s my problem.”
“You saved Ben’s life,” Delyth said.
“We don’t have to tell Howie about me being shot at. Not yet anyway. Okay?”
“He’s going to have a lot to absorb without that, I guess,” Helen said.
Delyth was anxious to start writing her report while it was still fresh in her mind. “I need to stop by the car and pick up my laptop.”
“Not by yourself you’re not,” Helen insisted.
“Dangers over,” Delyth responded. “I’ll just be a minute behind you.” She pulled out her cell to call Ted as she walked to her car, but no signal.
Without arguing the point, the other two followed her to her car then the short distance to Howard’s. The house was completely dark as they approached. When they got near, Sam called out, “Howie, it’s me. Everything’s okay. Let us in.”
A security light blazed on, followed by Howard bursting through the door. “Thank God. I was so worried.” He captured Sam in a hug, their faces buried into each other’s shoulders. When they finally released, Howard said, “Helen? Delyth? What are you doing here? Where’s Josh? What happened?”
“Let’s get inside first,” Sam said.
“Oh, yes. Come in.”
Delyth hadn’t noticed how wet and cold she was until hit with a wall of warmth walking into the kitchen. Even so, Howard said, “Josh told me to turn off the heat because the fan was so loud we wouldn’t hear anyone coming. I’ll turn it back on.” On the way, he turned on more lights.
“I need a drink,” Sam announced.
“Me too,” Helen agreed. “Please.”
“What would you like?”
The consensus was scotch.
“Would you mind if I used your phone?” Delyth asked. “I need to call my paper and my cell isn’t working.”
“Sure, there’s one on the wall.”
It was only a few steps away. Delyth dialed and was relieved when it went to voice mail. “Ted, this is Delyth. You probably heard about the incident at the Duddas’ fa
rm. Well, I was there. I saw it.” Her voice tried to betray her, but she managed to keep it in control. “I’ll write it up as soon as I can and email it to you. Save the space.”
Sam took out four glasses, put a single ice cube in each followed by a heavy pour of amber liquid.
Howard returned with some towels. After drying her hair, Delyth wrapped the towel around herself for warmth.
“What I could really use,” Helen said, “are some slippers. My feet are soaked.”
“We can do something about that,” Howard answered. “How about thick socks?”
After a look at Delyth shivering under her damp towel, Sam said, “And some blankets.” He started to follow Howard to the back of the house.
“Actually,” Delyth said before he’d left the room, “I was wondering if there’s a quiet place where I could write?”
“You’re going to write?” Helen asked. “Now? I’m too agitated still to concentrate on anything.”
“It’s my job.”
“How about the dining room?” Sam offered.
He led her to a small room stuck between the kitchen and living room and a step down from the hallway that connected them. The fog sealed off multi-paned windows, turning them the color of oxidized silvering on antique mirrors. In the center of the room was a maple trestle table glowing like aged wine. Putting down her laptop Delyth ran her fingers across the top, feeling the evidence of past dinners, past diners. After the tumult of the last two hours, it felt like entering a sanctuary, a place of quiet and safety.
Sam interrupted her reverie. “Sorry about the lighting. Designed for eating rather than writing.”
“This is perfect.” She picked up the laptop and placed it at the far end of the table.
“You might want to sit on this side. The draft coming off the windows can send a chill right through you.”
Delyth didn’t want to be facing into the room with the door behind her. Not that she feared danger sneaking up on her. Not consciously. She just felt better where she was. “I’ll be fine.”
Her laptop had just completed its boot up when Sam returned with a blanket. “Put this over your shoulders against the draft. Will you be long?”
“No. I just want to put down my impressions while they’re fresh.”