by Emmy Grace
Guilty bastard.
I’m just about to turn my mind to a plan to prove him as such when I notice his cane again. And the bottom of it where the rubber has been worn away. I can see the glint of metal as he moves.
I glance behind me at the familiar little holes in the dirt. Then I glance back to the tip of Victor’s cane.
One plus one, meet beautiful number two.
My heart starts to beat faster and my breathing picks up. I keep my eyes on them as I hand off my platter to the first person I can reach. It’s a middle-aged woman who just looks confused for a second, then takes the platter and walks away with it, following her kids.
I fumble for my phone and choose Clive’s number from my list of recent calls. When he answers, I whisper, “Clive, it’s Lucky. I need you to come to the festival and arrest someone.”
“Whoa, there, lucky lady. Slow down. You want me to do what now?”
“Come to the festival and arrest someone.”
“You know as well as I do it’s not quite that simple. There are procedures to follow.”
My urgency increases when Mr. and Mrs. Rossdale move away from the jewelry stand and start back in the direction from whence they came.
“Clive, you have to get down here before they leave. I can’t let him out of my sight, or he might disappear.”
“Let who out of your sight?”
“Mr. Rossdale. Victor. Gavin’s dad.”
“Gavin’s— You think the man killed his son?”
“I’m almost certain of it. But that’s why you need to get down here and arrest him. We need his cane.”
“His what?”
“Clive!” I snip. “Just get down here.”
I hang up, hoping that he will come quickly, if for no other reason than to make sure I’m not up to doing something stupid.
Which I’m not.
Yet.
But if he doesn’t get here before they try to leave, my hand will be forced. AT that point, all bets are off.
I follow the Rossdales as they weave their way in and around the bodies of men and women and their children. Neither speaks. Neither looks up or glances around. They both appear to be lost in thought, moving automatically in the direction of their car.
At one point, Helen looks up and then elbows her husband. I’m not close enough to hear her, but I see her mouth move in something that looks like “Sassy.” No doubt she’s thinking that they can’t just leave her.
The two glance around in search of Gavin’s fiancée. I turn my back to them and pretend to still be holding the platter, smiling at people as they pass or meet my eye.
I wait a respectable amount of time before I pivot toward Victor and Helen. When I do, much to my dismay, they’re gone.
My head whips this way and that as I scan the area for them. I don’t see them anywhere. It’s like they both just vanished into thin air.
Flippin’ killers and their flippin’ magic.
“Clive!” I hiss in frustration as I start off in the direction they were headed. Maybe they just walk fast. Or limp fast.
After a full three minutes of looking for them, I get a glimpse of Helen’s mustard yellow jacket just before she ducks into the passenger side of their car. I can already see Sassy’s head in the back seat and Victor’s silhouette behind the wheel.
I don’t have time to really think about what to do next. I do, however, have time to panic and react in a purely Lucky Boucher way.
I start running through the last little bit of crowd, toward the line of vehicles parked along the street. I shout as I go. “Victor! Victor Rossdale, stop!”
Of course, it does no good whatsoever.
I see the brake lights of the car flash on just before the reverse lights do. There are only two things on my mind. One is that I might have to strangle Clive. And the other is that I can’t let them get away.
I’m sprinting across the street toward the car when Victor guides it out of the spot and makes a U-turn to go back toward the Inn. He glances up, spots me, and pauses. In the split second, as we stare at each other through his mucky windshield, I know that I’m right. I see the madness, the evil in his eyes.
I’m not aware of doing anything to show my hand. I don’t think I smiled or looked smug or shook my finger in chastisement. Not unless I’m having blackouts or have adopted an additional personality. So, I don’t know what it is that tips him off, but something does. Because in the milliseconds that surround our stare down, Victor Rossdale makes a choice. One that’s really, really not good for me.
He hits the accelerator and aims his car at me.
I hear the squeal of his tires. I hear the roar of the engine as he punches the pedal. And I see the tightening of Victor’s jaw.
As the car races toward me, I realize that I could dive left. Or right. Either one would get me out of the way. That would be the safest thing to do. But then he might get away, and now that he knows I know, that would be a disaster. It’s truly now or never.
So, I choose now.
And I do the only thing a responsible adult would do.
I fling myself onto the hood of the oncoming vehicle, grab onto one of the windshield wipers, and start screaming, “Citizen’s arrest! Citizen’s arrest!”
19
Victor yanks the wheel one direction, which sends my body sliding violently across the hood. I scream. Of course, I scream. I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever done this before, and being the one actually on the car is much more terrifying than it is in the movies.
It's also much harder to hold on.
The windshield wiper does absolutely nothing to help me. It bends back at the first sign of resistance and nearly lands me on the pavement. Luckily, I manage to grab the edge of the hood where it nearly meets the windshield and I hold on like… Well, I hold on like someone will run me over if I let go.
I’m pretty sure this is where the expression “death grip” comes from.
Also, no manicure will ever be able to save my fingernails.
Victor tries jerking the car the other direction, sending me sliding alllll the way across to the other side. I’m still holding on, but my legs are now dangling off the side of the car. I’m kicking. At what, I have no idea. Maybe I can get some help from a passing tree or something.
I use my fairly pitiful upper body strength to try and pull myself up, which isn’t working at all until Victor hits the accelerator and makes a right. That provides me with just enough oomph to get myself resituated on the car.
I glare through the windshield at Victor, who is snarling like a true villain. I mean, the guy isn’t even trying to hide that he’s out to get me. Even though I’m the one clinging to his car.
Victor slams on the brakes all of a sudden and nearly rips my fingers off since I’m trying to hold on.
I scream.
Again.
I think it’s beyond my control now. The only bodily function I can control or even care to control is my grip. My fingers are now my most important appendages.
When I don’t slide off the hood, Victor hits the gas pedal again, this time slinging me forward. My face smooshes right into the windshield. Hard. I think I hear the vertebra in my neck actually crunch up like wrinkled paper.
I suppose this is how a bug feels.
I may never drive again.
Somehow in the chaos, I catch the wide eyes of Sassy, my sworn enemy and also my only help in this situation. She’s watching the whole thing like she’s in the theater, munching on popcorn, taking in a great chase scene. I don’t think she’s moved or blinked the entire time.
“Help me!” I yell at her.
She keeps metaphorically munching.
Maybe she’s in shock.
Because if she was in denial, that would be very much over by now. Surely.
Victor speeds up, and now all I see in my peripheral vision are landscape and trees and intersections whizzing by at breakneck speed.
And the neck at risk of being broken here happens to
be mine.
My fingers ache and burn, and I think the tips are numb. That or they’ve fallen off. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. But I also don’t know what else I can do. If I roll off the car now, there’s a good chance I’ll break every bone in my body.
Sweet Mary, where’s Liam when you need him?
No sooner do the words go through my head when I hear a deeper, louder roar. It’s a throaty grumble that has always reminded me of its owner. If a vehicle can be grouchy and difficult, Liam’s truck is.
Only right now, it’s the equivalent of the shining armor covering my knight.
The truck zooms past us and then, seconds later, I hear it throttle down. Way down.
Victor is forced to slow down, too, but he doesn’t come to a stop.
No, he’s not going to be stopped so easily.
Instead, he feints right, then left, then right again. I can only assume Liam is doing something to thwart his efforts to go around. And it must be working, because Victor never accelerates.
We continue to slow when the second sweetest sound I’ve ever heard rings in my ears, sharp and loud. It’s a siren. Probably belonging to Clive. He drives like a maniac, so no doubt he raced straight over here after I called.
Then I hear the magnified voice of Salty Springs Chief Sheriff and I have to grin. “Kindly pull yerself over, there Mr. Rossdale,” Clive says.
Southern gentleman to the bone.
Even though I’m still stuck on the hood of a car, staring at the man who killed my ex, I know it’s over. Or at least that it soon will be. I can see the fury of defeat, of imminent capture blazing in Victor’s eyes. He’s caught. Snared. Brought to justice.
And I survived.
It seems to take at least forty hours for Victor to roll to a stop and for Liam to come and peel me off the hood. He pulls me off and into his arms where I just hang limply. I think my fingers are in permanent “claw” and all the rest of the musculature in my body checked out long ago.
I lay against Liam’s chest like a wet noodle, and, honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if I could move.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, petting my hair.
He’s holding on tight. Like really tight. I may have given good ole stoic Liam a scare. I think I even feel his lips brush my temple.
“I’m okay,” I mumble breathlessly, my mouth smashed against his shoulder.
“It’s official. I’m never letting you out of my sight when any sentence starts with ‘I have an idea’.”
I laugh. And it feels so good. Like I’ve never laughed before. Not really.
“I’m okay with that.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
He’s such a bulldozer. But I kinda love it.
“As long as I get bathroom breaks, you can stay around as long as you want.”
At that, Liam pulls away enough to look down into my face. His eyes are stormy, worried, and his frown is firmly in place. But these days, I can read between the lines. Or maybe see behind the clouds. He’s not being grumpy or difficult or mean. He’s being concerned. He’s being Liam. This is just how he expresses himself.
“Maybe you should move in with me.”
That wakes me up quite nicely. “What?”
“Seriously.”
“Just so you can keep an eye on me? That’s a terrible idea.”
But one I love the thought of just the same.
“Not just so I can keep an eye on you. There are many, many other things I’d like to do. With you. For you. To you.”
Good lawd have mercy.
My brain fogs up like cold glasses on a hot day.
“But…but what about my animals?”
They’re never far from my mind, so that’s an easy thought to pull out of a muddled head.
“I can fence in some space. It won’t be that different than what you have set up now.”
“You’d do that?”
He nods.
“For me?”
He nods again. “I just have one caveat.”
“Ah. That’s more like it.”
“It’s not unreasonable. I just don’t want them in the bedroom.”
“But Gumbo… And Jingles… And Lucy…”
“Would you rather have them in your bed or me?”
That’s so not fair.
My head is spinning. And my recent ride on a car hood isn’t helping. I push away from Liam and look around. Clive is putting cuffs on Victor Rossdale, Petey is bagging the tip of his cane, and Sassy is comforting Helen Rossdale over on the curb where she’s bawling her eyes out. Meanwhile, I’ve been having a strange and ill-timed romantic interlude with my hunky crush.
Only in my life.
“You know, this might be a conversation for later. I think we’re missing all the action.”
Liam sighs. I can’t hear it as much as I can feel it when his chest swells toward mine. “I guess you’re right.”
He takes me by the hand and leads me carefully over to Sassy and Mrs. Rossdale at the curb. Although I’m still shaky from adrenaline and overuse of muscles that just don’t do their own stunts, my heart is suddenly heavy and full of pain for this woman. Even though Gavin was a menace in the making and her husband was a mean alcoholic, I feel bad for her. No woman—or mother or wife—deserves what she’s suffering. The death of her child. The death of her marriage. The death of the man she thought her husband was.
Then again, maybe she knew he was capable of this. Who knows?
Regardless, my reaction is the same. Sympathy. Empathy. Compassion.
“Helen, I’m really sorry about Gavin. And about Victor.”
I’m not sorry he got caught, but I’m sorry that he did what he did.
“Go away, Lucky,” she says miserably.
I understand that, too. Despite my innocence, she’ll probably always hate me. And that’s okay. If she has to dish that out on someone, it can be me. Hundreds of miles away from her.
Sassy looks up and smiles a tight smile. I return it, and Liam and I walk away.
“Why don’t I take you home? You can go by and give your statement tomorrow. I’m sure Clive won’t mind.”
I glance back at the old man as he tries to force Mr. Rossdale into the back of his official SUV. He isn’t having an easy time of it. Luckily, Victor is really putting up much of a fight, otherwise Clive might be in trouble. But Victor ducks his head into the back seat and goes peacefully.
When he’s inside, Clive closes the door and turns to open the driver’s side door. He glances up at me and nods his head, tipping his hat. His wrinkles shift with his grin at me and then he’s disappearing into the SUV, too.
“No, I don’t think he’ll mind.”
Clive closes his own door, but before he can pull away and haul Victor to jail, I stop him.
“Clive, wait!”
The SUV stops and I hobble over to it, stepping up to the rear window and motioning for Clive to roll it down. In the backseat, staring daggers at me, is Victor Rossdale. Father. Husband. Drunk. Murderer.
“You picked me because Gavin tried to kidnap me, didn’t you?”
I’ve put the puzzle pieces together in my head, but I need to know if I have the correct picture.
When he doesn’t answer, I lay out my image to see if it lines up with his. “Your mistress was from here and Gavin was actually threatening her, right? Instead of trying to find me again, he was coming here for her. So, you followed him into the state. Then, what? Somehow got the upper hand on him and drove him here? Took him to the substation and electrocuted him, and then planted him behind my house?”
Victor stares at me long and hard before his lips twist into a cruel, maniacal grin. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”
“What I don’t understand is why electrocution? Why would you choose such an awful way to kill him? Why not just get it over with?”
He shrugs.
Shrugs!
“I worked on a line crew when I was in my thirties
. I know how dangerous those substations can be. And how hard it is to blame it on a person rather than an accident.”
“Then why blame me? Why not just make it look like an accident?”
“You ruined his life. You deserved to be punished just as much as he did.”
I’ll ponder the “ruined his life” bit later. I hope that’s not true. I hope with all my heart that’s not true.
“So, you electrocuted him and took him to my house.” That’s when it dawns on me. “Ah. That’s why the seat was still pushed so far back when you dumped the Chevelle.”
He says nothing.
“You moved through the woods pretty quickly for a guy with a limp.”
“Adrenaline,” he says simply.
I nod. “I guess so. And the Christmas lights? Was that just a last-minute decision?”
“I saw the boxes on your porch. Didn’t think it seemed quite right that you were decorating and having a good old time while my boy was lying dead behind your house.”
“Are you forgetting that wouldn’t have been the case if you hadn’t killed him?” To this, he says nothing. “All of this to frame me. And you thought it would work because of what he did when he tried to kidnap me, right? You knew that would look like motive for me to hurt him. Is that it?”
“It was the perfect plan.”
“Obviously not.”
“How’d you figure all this out?” he asks.
“Your cane. It leaves holes in the dirt. I thought it was a high heel at first, but you’re the only one that really has the strength to move Gavin’s dead body. The holes just sealed the deal. I followed them all the way to you at the festival. Then it all clicked into place.”
“You messed up my son’s mind. I don’t know how you did it, but you did. I blame you. I will always blame you.”
His words hurt. And they cause an unbearable sense of guilt for a handful of seconds before reason kicks in.
I lift my chin. “No. It’s not. Bad and sad and awful things happen to people every single day. And they all have a choice about how they’ll let it affect them, and what they’ll do about it. We can all choose not to be violent, not to take advantage of people, not to hurt others. Some choose right. Some choose wrong. Gavin chose wrong. That was on him. You chose wrong, too. And that’s on you.”