Dead Velvet Cake

by James, Emily

  A friend. Those words hit me in the chest and nearly knocked the air out of me. Even though I’d come in here and basically demanded to know if she’d done those very things, she still considered me a friend.

  That, more than anything else, made me sure she was innocent.

  I hadn’t been a very good friend to her up to this point. In fact, right before someone reported me to the police, I’d been close to giving up on the case because Dan assured me I wasn’t being seriously considered as a suspect.

  “I know you weren’t behind it.” At last, I did. I wouldn’t let anyone or anything shake that again. “I’m heading to the police department right now to give them the antimony I found. They’ll probably start checking to see if anyone who had a motive to kill Anthony also managed to buy or otherwise procure antimony.”

  Eve’s hand didn’t so much as subconsciously twitch toward the sunglasses lying on her desk. She truly didn’t know anything about antimony, not even that her brother’s job could make her seem even more guilty than she already seemed.

  If the police arrested her, I’d give her Nicole’s number. Until then, I wouldn’t stop trying to find out who’d really killed Anthony.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Mr. Green said from the doorway, “but didn’t you say you needed to leave on time today?”

  Eve picked up her cell phone and glanced at the screen. “I didn’t know it was so late. Oil changes wait for no woman.” Some of her perkiness was back in her voice, but it sounded more forced than usual. She looked to me. “Want to walk out with me?”

  “Actually, I wanted to borrow her for a minute.” Mr. Green dabbed at his forehead with an old-fashioned handkerchief. He held up a hand before I could say that I had another appointment. “I won’t keep you long. I took the liberty of making up a quote for you—just in case. I’ll give it to you so you can look it over.”

  I was supposed to meet Dan in ten minutes now, but it’d likely be faster to accept the quote than it would be to argue with him. I nodded and waved for Eve not to wait for me. Neither of us had time to chat in the parking lot anyway.

  I followed him back to his office. “Just one minute. I have it ready.” He rifled through some papers on his desk, then pretended to smack himself on the forehead and moved over to the filing cabinet in the corner. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but did I hear you say the police think someone is trying to frame you for Anthony’s murder?”

  Something cold slithered up my spine and wrapped around my throat. He’d said he had the papers ready, so why would they be in the filling cabinet? Unless there were no papers or he was stalling. Unless he’d drawn me in here to see what I knew about Anthony’s murder.

  Mr. Green had as good a motive as anyone for wanting Anthony gone. He’d been stuck in a partnership with a man who couldn’t have been more the opposite of him. He either didn’t have the money to buy him out or Anthony wouldn’t sell. Considering the business was called Rigman & Associates rather than Rigman & Green or even Green & Associates, Mr. Green must have either been a minority partner or became a partner later. It explained why Anthony prevented him from doing things he otherwise would have wanted to do, like give a good recommendation to Harper. There may have even been a clause in their contract that stopped Mr. Green from selling his half and starting over without Anthony’s approval. Many contracts had non-competes these days.

  Everyone spoke well of Mr. Green. He seemed to try to be even kinder to make up for Anthony.

  Maybe he’d found himself trapped and finally couldn’t stand it anymore. Killing Anthony—wrong as it was—might have seemed like the only way to protect his business and his employees from a man he hated.

  If I were right, I couldn’t let Mr. Green know I suspected him.

  I edged backward toward the door slowly so as not to draw his attention. “I’m actually supposed to be meeting with a detective right now. He didn’t give me a choice. I’ll come back for the quote another day.”

  “I’m really sorry, Isabel.”

  I started to tell him not to worry. That I could return for the quote anytime. Until I looked up and saw the gun pointed at me.

  22

  “You know that I didn’t want it to come to this.” Mr. Green moved around his desk, keeping the gun pointed at me. “I’d hoped the police would simply arrest you, and we could put this all behind us. But I can’t have them looking into my buying history.”

  He held the gun with one hand, as if he’d gleaned his technique from TV. Jarrod used to rant at shows and movies constantly where people did that. Anyone with training used two hands on their weapon. It gave more stability, which in turn helped with better aim.

  Maybe I could use that. If I dove at him, maybe his shot would go wild.

  Then again, wild didn’t mean it wouldn’t hit anything vital. It only meant the bullet wouldn’t go where he intended it to go.

  Frankly, I didn’t want to trust where the bullet would land even if he aimed for a non-vital part.

  But he wasn’t likely to aim for a non-vital part if he shot that gun. He wouldn’t have pulled it on me if he intended to let me live. He hadn’t gone to all this work only to have me ruin it.

  “Close the door.” His words were so soft that my mind couldn’t make them fit the situation. “And then put your cell phone on the desk.”

  I stepped backward toward the door. Frontward would have made it easier for me to run, but backward meant he had to continue looking me in the face. His hand on the gun shook slightly. He wasn’t a hardened killer. He’d probably bought that gun, realized he couldn’t shoot Anthony, and then poisoned him instead.

  I couldn’t bank on him not being willing to shoot me now, though. He’d killed once already. In elementary school, I’d gone on a field trip to a homestead farm, and one of my classmates asked the farmer how he could kill and eat his pigs. He’d said the first time is the worst, and that every time after that got easier. I assumed the same was true for killing people.

  If I ran and he was willing to shoot me, he’d have an easy shot. The hall was long and narrow. He could empty his gun, and one of the shots was bound to hit me.

  As long as I was alive, there was still hope of talking him out of this. If I ran and he shot me, it was all over.

  I reached back, found the door, and closed it.

  I moved forward at a pace that would have allowed a snail to beat me in a race. Giving up my phone felt worse than closing the door. My phone was my only hope of calling for help.

  I stopped a foot away from his desk. His gun pointed at the large target of my torso. I tried not to look at it.

  Instead, I forced myself to look him in the eyes. Everyone said he was a good man. Maybe I could reason with him. “I know you don’t want to do this. You’ll be a hero to most of your employees for freeing them from Anthony, but I’m innocent. You’re not the kind of man who would hurt an innocent woman.”

  His gun didn’t lower, but he patted the air with his free hand, as if he would have patted me on the shoulder had I been closer. “You and Eve stirred up trouble by refusing to leave this all alone. I wouldn’t have had to otherwise. You were only supposed to go to prison for this. It would have been better for you than living in your truck. I knew that as soon as Eve mentioned it the last time you were here.”

  “Eve didn’t say I was living in my truck.” I modulated my voice to the same kind of tone late night radio DJs used. Soft, soothing, lower pitched. The kind of tone that was meant to help people relax. “She said I practically live there because I spend so much time there. I live in a house.”

  A micro frown passed over his features. So he hadn’t actually known I lived in my truck. He’d misunderstood Eve, and he’d run with it. He’d convinced himself he’d be helping me. Prison, to his way of thinking, was warm in winter and cool in the summer. I’d have regular food and indoor plumbing. He must have thought that was a good trade-off for my freedom.

  “This doesn’t have to go any further.” I took a
step back toward the door again. “The police don’t suspect you. They suspect Eve, and they won’t be able to tie her to the antimony.”

  That wasn’t entirely true with her brother’s job, but hopefully he didn’t know that.

  His gaze glazed over slightly, and he didn’t stop me as I took another step toward the door. “It’s too risky,” he said almost to himself. “If they can’t find the connection between her and the antimony, they’ll look at the rest of us.”

  His hand tightened on the gun. I froze.

  He motioned with his free hand toward the desk. “I said put your phone down. And take a seat. I’ve come too far and done too much to protect this business to risk it all now.”

  The softness was gone from his voice, replaced by a hard resolve. I felt like I was getting a glimpse of what he must have looked like when he spiked whatever Anthony ate or drank with the antimony. Nothing I said was going to convince him to turn back.

  I laid my cell phone on the desk, edged around, and sat in his swivel chair. It smelled a bit like pipe tobacco and the leather on the arms was worn thin.

  I’d always thought that, if I died young, it’d be by Jarrod’s hand. I hadn’t thought it would be because I’d stepped in to help a friend and got in over my head.

  Mr. Green pocketed my phone. “I’m going to get rid of your truck, and then I’ll come back for you. The police will think you ran away. They’ll stop investigating the rest of us and look for you instead.”

  He glanced back at the door. If I’d realized what he was doing one second quicker, I might have been able to launch myself over the desk and take him down. Or at least put up a good fight.

  But he was looking at me again before I came up with a plan.

  “This door can be unlocked from the inside.” He spoke as if he were talking to himself. Then he jabbed the gun toward me slightly as if it were a sharp-edged weapon rather than a projectile one. “Get up. We’re going to the storage room.”

  He stepped back so that I couldn’t easily reach for the gun while I passed. He pressed it into my back once I was in front of him.

  Even he couldn’t miss from that range, one-handed grip or no.

  “I promise that when the time comes to end this, I’ll make it quick.” His voice had an edge of penitence, but not enough that he might change his mind. More like a vegan putting out mouse traps. “If you believe in God, I’d suggest you spend your last minutes praying rather than trying to break out. There’s no window, and the wall butts up to a building that’s empty for the night. Even the janitorial staff won’t be in until the weekend.”

  He had me open a door and step inside. Before I could turn around, he slammed the door behind me, and there was the grate and rattle of a key in the lock.

  I spun around. The doorknob was the old-fashioned kind without any way of unlocking the door from this side. That had to be some sort of building code violation.

  Not that I’d have the chance to report it if I died today.

  He’d said he was going to take my truck and get rid of it. Maybe I should have signed up with his insurance company. At least then anything he did to my truck, they’d have to pay out.

  Of course, if I were dead, there’d be no one to make the claim.

  He hadn’t taken my keys from me, which meant he already had a set. That explained how he’d planted the antimony in my truck without leaving any signs of forced entry.

  He must have filched them at the barbecue. I’d left the truck unlocked and the keys on the driver’s seat. Dan, Claire, and I were going in and out gathering food, and I’d wanted either of them to be able to move the truck if need be. I hadn’t expected anyone to steal from the truck or to steal the truck in those circumstances.

  No one would have been keeping tabs on Mr. Green. He could have easily slipped to a hardware store to copy my keys. My truck didn’t have a built-in alarm, and it was old enough that the ignition key didn’t have those electronic chips that made keys impossible to copy in newer vehicles.

  I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. None of that mattered now.

  What mattered was finding a way out before he returned.

  He’d been telling the truth about the room not having any windows. The back wall was actually made out of brick, so I couldn’t even bang on it in the hope he’d been lying about the business next door.

  The walls were lined with tall, grayish filing cabinets that looked a decade older than me. Everything about the room said “outdated” and didn’t match with the front-of-the-business appearance. Even the air conditioning duct above me was double-sized, and the air coming out in an icy blast rattled the grate.

  I moved over to the door and inspected the doorknob. The screws were on the outside, so I couldn’t even try to use my truck key to take the doorknob off. I didn’t know how to pick a lock, and he’d taken my phone, so I couldn’t search the Internet for a solution. Of course, if I’d had my phone, I wouldn’t need to search for how to pick a lock.

  My brain wasn’t thinking clearly.

  There wasn’t even anything in the room heavy enough for me to smash at the doorknob with to try to knock it off, and the door itself was made of metal.

  My legs felt wobbly, like they’d already given up hope.

  I could not give up. If I did, Claire would think I’d run anyway. Worse, Dan would think I’d run. And how would either of them explain my sudden absence to Janie?

  It’d been one thing when disappearing was my choice. It was another thing entirely when someone else took that choice from me. I’d had enough of my choices stripped from me.

  Another blast of frigid air hit me, and I shivered. I glared up at the air duct.

  And froze.

  That air duct was huge. Human-sized huge.

  I wouldn’t have been able to fit into a newer heating or cooling duct. They’d started making them smaller in the last twenty years.

  This duct looked like it’d almost been original to the building. The hole coming into the room, at least, was large enough that I could fit through it. Even if I hit a blockage further along and couldn’t get all the way out, Mr. Green couldn’t shoot up the entire ceiling in the hopes of hitting me. Not only would that require a lot of bullets, but it’d be sure to draw attention. It’d sounded like he planned to take me away from here before killing me to avoid that very thing. Otherwise, he could have shot me before getting rid of my truck.

  Worst case, I got stuck in there. Once Monday came, I could scream until someone called the police. At least I’d be alive to scream.

  First, I had to get up to the grate. I stood under it and jumped. My fingertips didn’t even brush the metal.

  I circled the room. No ladder. Not even so much as a step stool. The only things in the room other than me were the filing cabinets. If I tipped one over, it might be enough.

  I moved to the cabinet that looked like it would fall closest to the grate. I pushed against it. It barely moved. It must be full from top to bottom with records.

  Getting rid of my truck couldn’t take that long. Mr. Green could be back any minute. I had to hurry.

  I ripped open the bottom drawers and tossed the file folders out. That should help make it top-heavy as well.

  I pushed again. It moved slightly this time. I put my shoulder into it and rocked. It gained momentum and finally tipped. It landed with a crash that felt sharp in my ears. If the floor hadn’t been concrete, I would have sworn I felt it shiver.

  It wasn’t perfectly aligned with the grate, but it was close.

  I scrambled on top. The metal gave slightly beneath my feet. If I jumped and missed or wasn’t close enough to grab hold, I might fall right through. The last thing I needed was to create my own version of a snare, impaling myself on rusty metal.

  I wouldn’t be able to jump to test it. I reached my hand up. The tips of my fingers grazed the grate. I was so close. And still so far away.

  If I got out of here alive, I wasn’t ever going to consider running from
Lakeshore again. Not seriously anyway. All I wanted right now was to give Janie a hug, sit across the table from Dan and see him smile, and be lectured about something small and stupid by Claire.

  I had to get out of here alive. As Claire had pointed out, my heart wasn’t the only one at stake. I had people who cared about me.

  I stepped down from the filing cabinet. I couldn’t knock another one over in such a way that it would get me closer. I’d have to try to pull a drawer from one of the remaining cabinets.

  I sprinted to the closet cabinet and yanked the middle drawer open. It caught before coming free.

  But most cabinets had removable drawers, didn’t they? Or was that only newer versions and not dinosaurs like these?

  In the filing cabinet I had back when I had a house, the drawers came out when you tilted them back and lifted slightly to take them off their tracks. I tore the paperwork out of the drawer and tried it. It gave slightly but didn’t release.

  I tugged harder, bracing my foot against the bottom of the cabinet. The drawer let go, and I flew backward. The drawer screeched across the floor. I landed hard, my wrist twisted under me, and pain shot up my arm.

  No! If I broke something in my wrist, I wouldn’t be able to climb up into the ducting even if I reached the grate.

  I crawled to my knees and gently rotated my wrist. Spikes of pain shot through it, but I could still move it, and it didn’t look like anything was broken. I could work with a fracture. Fractures didn’t kill people. I’d had them before.

  I turned my mind away from the pain and placed the drawer on top of the prone filing cabinet. The metal front looked even thinner than the main body of the cabinet. I wouldn’t have long once I stood on it.

  I craned my head back for a better look. I couldn’t see screws on the grate. It almost looked like it rested in a slot. If so, I’d need to shove it back into the vent and then haul myself up before the cabinet gave out.