Guns and Ammo and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  Instead of adding another body to the mix, I followed Jill downstairs in the late morning sunshine, joining my mother and the looming maintenance man who sat quietly on a stool and munched some cookies Mom handed him. Moose drooled at his side, Petunia not much better, while my mother fed the two lurking canines bits of fruit to keep their minds off the chocolate.

  Yeah, that was working.

  Jill exhaled and rubbed at her temples, clearly suffering. I patted her shoulder and handed her a cookie, pouring her a glass of milk. She took both though she looked like she barely understood what she held as she spoke.

  “Okay, so, Dan.” I shrugged as I helped myself to my own decadent treat. Mom made amazing cookies. “Motive,” I said. “For Gallinger.”

  Jill nodded. “His father’s business in ruins, he vows to take down the man who crushed his family’s dreams.”

  Huh, Crew never sensationalized suspect chats like that. I kind of liked it. Helped me visualize. Though, imagining someone as open faced as Dan Robles plotting someone’s murder felt off.

  “How long ago was it?” I’d failed to ask Crew that question.

  But Bill seemed to have the answer. “Are you talking about Robles and Robles Paper Mill?” I chewed as Jill gestured for him to go on. “Dan was just a kid, maybe in his early twenties. That was a long time ago.”

  Huh. He and Gallinger were about the same age. “Do you think he held a grudge after all this time?” Stranger things were known to happen.

  Bill pondered a long time, mouth crammed with cookie before he shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Though I’ve known him for years and he’s never said it bothered him. Just mentioned it as fact, you know?”

  Okay then. “What about Caleb?” He had military training, after all. But no motive. Hired to do the deed? But by who, and why?

  “I think Adrian Winterton is our main suspect,” Jill said, helping herself to Mom’s offering as my mother slid the plate toward her and topped up everyone’s milk. So wholesome, this scene. Who would think we’d be discussing murder over the preferred snack of kids and good, clean fun? Said a lot about what I considered fun, I guess. “Motive, means and opportunity.”

  “No one has an alibi for Gallinger’s death,” I said. “Not even us. The whole place was wide open. It could have been anyone. So I agree, we need to focus on motive.” And a cheating spouse was a pretty powerful motivator. “What about Eddie, though?” I wasn’t liking the fact he’d been the only one who’d been out and around with a loaded gun when Frieda, Bill and I’d been shot at. Though, it was pretty dumb of him to just saunter in carrying it if he had fired the bullet.

  Then again, it was also very clever, if I flipped that around. Who would think he’d be so stupid if he’d done it?

  Argh. I hated having so many possibilities.

  “Do we think the murder has anything to do with whoever shot at us?” Bill sounded less worried and more curious. Huh. I wondered if getting shot at wasn’t something that bothered him. If so, I’d like to trade brains for a bit so I could shake the unease that clung to me despite the fact the suspects were all upstairs.

  “And,” I said, having a horrible, horrible thought that would no doubt plague me and refuse to let me sleep even a single wink (if we were still stuck here tonight, that was), “what if whoever shot at us isn’t even here?” Jill seemed startled by that, Bill nodding slowly, like he’d already thought of that. “What if the shooter wasn’t one of the guests, but is someone who followed us up here? Killed Gallinger for that matter, too? Someone we haven’t even seen yet?” The shadow flittering by that night? Could it have been a total stranger after all?

  Mom put an end to that terrifying line of thought. “We can’t know for certain,” she said. “All we can do is do our best to stay safe, Fee, and not go chasing boogeymen who likely don’t even exist.”

  Right. Phew, thanks, Mom.

  Jill, grim and quiet, finally sighed. “There’s nothing we can do at the moment,” she said. “Everyone’s locked in and we’re at a standstill with the investigation. Let’s finish up what we can, and if the bridge isn’t repaired in time, get a good night’s sleep and come at this again in the morning. Hopefully by then there’ll be an update on the bridge and we can bring in help.” Was she thinking about Crew?

  We parted ways a moment later, Bill quietly thanking Mom for the cookies before leading Moose out, Jill staring at the remains of her milk long enough I took the hint when Mom didn’t move, either. Time for a Lucy Fleming pep talk? I could have used one of those myself, but had to settle for the grunting, snorting company of my cheerful little pug.

  After a quick trip outside—nervous on my part—for Petunia’s benefit, I hurried upstairs to my room and locked the door firmly behind me. Yes, it was still daylight, but I’d been shot at only a few hours ago, right? Chicken. And now I had Mom to worry about, though I knew she had Bill wandering the halls with Moose and Jill to watch out for her. Still, I should have checked on her instead of rabbiting to my room.

  Bad daughter.

  I sank into the soft mattress, the quilt sighing under me, and stared at myself in the long mirror of the wardrobe. Time to drape the thing again, especially if I planned to nap and try to get enough rest to catch up with what I’d lost.

  Pacing wasn’t exactly conducive to relaxing oneself, but my mind simply wouldn’t stop spinning. By the time the clock read 4PM, I’d worked myself into the kind of frenzied lather that usually led to me going out for a run before I became a danger to myself. Usually with Crew to bounce ideas against.

  No Crew, though, was there? He was stuck on the other side of the river dealing with who knew what while I wore a hole in the hardwood floor, worrying about murder and who had been the actual target of the shot.

  Thinking about him brought me back to sit on the bed, to stare into the mirror and face something I’d been avoiding. I looked myself in the eye and finally took a moment to think about Crew.

  The future seemed to unfold in front of me despite my best efforts to keep my thoughts in check. It was hard not to flit ahead, to our life together, to love and maybe marriage and would we have kids? A house, a life here in Reading? We hadn’t even had a chance to check the compass marking at the bottom of the harbor at the Cutter Lake marina. I still worried Daisy might have told Rose about the treasure hunt, as unfair as that concern might be. It had forced us to bide our time, though, and I’d kept what I’d seen the night I almost drowned to just me and Crew, as terrible a friend as that made me. But I wanted to keep the hunt for the hoard to us, to the people I cared about. Half the fun—okay, all the fun—was the childlike glee we all seemed to take from the story. And knowing Crew’s grandfather was the author of the very book Grandmother Iris led me to, that he and his father both had the compass tattoo? That just made me feel all the closer to Crew.

  Was that the catalyst for this recent declaration of love? No, it couldn’t be. Maybe it really was just the fact I’d almost died on him a few times. The risk of losing me could have been the kick he needed. Considering his beloved wife died young from cancer, I really did need to be more careful.

  Still. While his proclamation made me very, very happy, as did his desire to let everyone know he loved me, apparently, his protectiveness could take a hike.

  Besides, as I readied for bed and slid under the comforter, Petunia beside me, huffing her happiness at finally getting some rest, I reasoned that it was most likely Frieda had been the target of the shooter. I had nothing to do with any of the men, and aside from being Dan’s friend, neither did Bill. Which meant, too, the shot had nothing at all to do with the murder of Grayson Gallinger.

  Which led me to Eddie, Dan and a very troubled mind. Sighing, still tired and unable to rest, I went downstairs to help Mom with dinner.

  ***

  What was that? I sat up abruptly, heart pounding, a meep of terror escaping at the sight of a bulky monster with a wild mane staring at me from the side of the bed. Wait, that monster had a pug b
eside her and while my hair was a bit on the messy side thanks to the loss of my ponytail holder at some point, my reflection hardly qualified as a creature feature.

  I exhaled my irritation at forgetting to cover the mirror into the quiet of the room, heart settling into a more normal pace while I rubbed at my tired eyes and realized I wasn’t getting any more sleep tonight. Dinner was long over, the evening quiet, the guests/suspects locked away again. Sure, the day had been tame enough. But with the cover of darkness, who knew what might happen? Restful sleep wasn’t in the cards, apparently. Not when I had to know why anyone would want to kill Frieda Tibbets.

  It took a few minutes to brush my teeth and mash my mess of a hairdo into something resembling a bun at the nape of my neck, my heavy robe covering my pajamas as I eased out into the corridor and looked down the dark hall toward Frieda’s room. If she was anything like me she’d still be awake. Or, more likely, I’d be annoying her knocking, but I’d risk it.

  Wait, was that footsteps? I paused just outside my door, head cocking to the side, Petunia halting next to me. Yes, definitely. And coming from downstairs. I eased to the top of the steps, frowning into the darkness, only then realizing someone turned off the upstairs hall lights, plunging everything into black. As for the sounds in the foyer, it was probably Bill, patrolling. He’d have Moose with him. Or maybe Jill, pacing, right?

  I needed to find the lights, turn them back on before my nerves got the better of me. My gut twisted into a knot as I hovered at the edge of the steps, skin tingling even while Petunia let out a soft, startled woof of greeting.

  Just as someone’s strong hands pushed me down the stairs.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Have you ever done a kettlebell swing? It’s an amazing exercise, one that builds core strength, arm strength, and legs all at the same time. There was a time I hated going to the gym, that working out was a chore. I even gave up running for a while, I think more out of apathy than anything.

  When I’d returned to Reading, I’d finally gone back to running regularly, and felt so much better for it. But it was Crew’s suggestion I try some weight training along with my cardio that turned me on to kettlebells. And, I had to admit, I was hooked.

  I’d never had upper body strength before, nor really any abdominals. I have to say, if you’re planning on being the focus of someone trying to kill you by pushing you around? Yeah, take up kettlebells. You’re welcome.

  Even as I tumbled forward, my whole being shrieking in silent horror at the long, terrible fall ahead, my arms snaked out and grasped the railing, fingers digging into the wood, upper arms flexing biceps not so long ago weak and girly now strong enough to keep me from tumbling head over heels down to the stone floor and a broken neck.

  My body flexed, tightened, legs bunching under me and pushing back against my attacker, though the pressure on me was gone before I could return the force. I stumbled to my knees, clinging to the rail with deathly attention, breathing harsh gasps into the air while Petunia barked her head off. At me or my attacker, I had no idea, but she stayed at my side instead of giving chase, which told me a lot.

  As in, that whoever pushed me was male and she was already afraid of him.

  Bill appeared from the dark, pounding up the stairs, Moose at his side, a door down the hall slamming open as Jill came tumbling out. Mom was close behind her, tugging at her robe, reaching for the row of light switches that returned illumination to the upstairs corridor. I sat down now that help had arrived, legs shaky, and cuddled my equally trembling pug.

  “I guess we know who the target was after all,” I said. Tried to make a joke of it. Burst into tears. Sheesh, talk about lack of composure. But I was getting pretty freaking tired of people trying to kill me, thanks.

  Not to mention the fact Crew was going to yell at me for this, wasn’t he?

  Mom hugged me when I finally choked out what happened, Bill looking furiously around him, though there was nothing he could do right now. My mother spun on Jill who looked equally upset and frazzled.

  “I thought all the doors were locked?” She didn’t mean to sound accusatory, I was sure of it, but from the way Jill flinched she took Mom’s words like a challenge.

  We checked all the doors together, the men—and one woman—tucked in safe and either asleep, faking it, or demanding to know why Petunia was barking. Jill simply locked them all away again while I hugged the pug against me and refused to let her go no matter how much wiggling she did.

  “If they’re all in there,” I said, keeping my voice down, partly to prevent the suspects from hearing me and partly to keep from freaking out, “does that mean I was right? The murderer is out here with us still? Someone we don’t know?”

  Jill looked like she wanted to throw up. “We all stay together from now on,” she said.

  “No, we make sure someone stays with Fee.” Mom hugged me again while my anger woke up at her words. Right, baby the poor little target. I was grateful for the push of temper because it straightened me out like nothing else.

  “I’m fine,” I said, putting Petunia down. “Mom, I am. Here’s the thing. Petunia stayed with me. Whoever attacked me just now, she’s afraid of that person. And she’s only scared of men who she feels are intimidating her or mean her harm.”

  Mom nodded, looking sad as she bend and patted the pug on the head. “Good girl, Petunia,” she said. “Poor thing. Robert has a lot to answer for.”

  “Forget Robert, Mom,” I said. “I want to know what makes me a target and who thinks they can get away with it.” So there, shadow attacker dude. Growl.

  We searched the whole building and found nothing. Nada. Zippopalloza. I was so tired by the time I went to my door and firmly closed it in Jill’s face with the promise I’d stay put the rest of the night (whoops, now morning), I fell on the bed and exhaled the last of my pent-up fear into the cool air while Petunia whined at my feet.

  Right, no stairs to assist her ascent. I sat up, grasped her under her front legs as she stood up to allow me to lift her and heaved her into my lap. The reflection of the pug in the mirror caught my attention, held it.

  But not because of the two of us looking back at me, the pug licking her lips as she settled on my knees and tipped her head to one side, black triangle ears lifted. No, because for some reason that same wardrobe door, previously closed, now stood partially ajar.

  I set Petunia back on the floor and stood, hands shaking, pulling the door open the rest of the way. Nothing, just an empty wardrobe. Right? Wait, no, not exactly. Because the front door to the big piece of furniture wasn’t the only thing ajar. The back panel seemed crooked.

  When I touched it, it clicked, the wood swinging softly open and I gaped, heart now in my throat, down a dark and quiet tunnel that disappeared into utter blackness.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  A normal person possessing a pair of functioning brain cells to her name? Would have turned and went out into the corridor and called for Jill, Mom, Bill, Moose, God, anyone, someone. Um. Yeah.

  A normal person didn’t reside in my head, it turned out.

  Before I knew it I was easing my way into the hole through the back of my wardrobe, my eyesight adjusting to the steady darkness within. Not totally black, then, but dark enough, Petunia tapping her way along at my feet. Right, I wasn’t alone. I had my steadfast pug at my side. She’d be a perfect bodyguard when the serial killer emerged from the dark and murdered me.

  The space behind the wardrobe turned immediately to the left, cutting me off from the view of my room. I was so focused on my heart pounding and my harsh breathing—surely loud enough to be heard through the whole building, echoing in my ears from the tight, narrow hall I could touch on either side and overhead with both hands—I almost nosedived into a set of steps going up. The subtle change in shades of black and the ricochet of my heavy breath warned me just in time, stopping and turning me around. That hadn’t taken long, about six or seven steps. I
looked back toward my room and the open wardrobe door, the faint illumination from that space hitting the back wall even if I couldn’t see the room itself, helping my eyes adjust further.

  The steps turned instantly to the right as I took the first one on bare, cold feet, and as I climbed, the ceiling lowered until I was crawling on my hands and knees. That lasted about fifteen feet before I found myself descending steps again, the bottom one facing the right, but a gap with another set of stairs leading upward making it apparent this was some kind of tunnel network. And, as I eased down the seven steps to the far wall and touched the barrier on the right, I felt the familiar wood of a wardrobe panel before easing it open and peeking into the room on the other side.

  I already knew whose room this was. I’d set it up, cleaned it, fluffed the quilt, sorted out the bathroom. Wasn’t surprised to find that Eddie wasn’t in bed or anywhere to be seen, either, despite the fact he was supposed to be locked up with the rest of us.

  This was a terrible idea. I had to get back to my own room before he found me wandering around in what had to be his means for murdering Grayson and escaping the building to shoot at me. He must have been coming to try to kill me in my room and followed me into the hall. His failed attempt to push me down the stairs had sent him scrambling back into my room before anyone could come to help and in his haste he must have failed to close the way behind him.

  Made total sense, in creepy hindsight. Didn’t make me feel more secure or anything. Just logical.

  Huffing with growing anxiety, I hustled back the way I’d come, bumping my head on the low ceiling as I moved too fast over Eddie’s ceiling heading for my own room, not catching my breath until I slipped out of my own wardrobe and slammed the mirrored glass shut behind me.