The Gossip

by Nancy Bush

  “I don’t know that that’s true.” She looked toward the kitchen. “I have to put this order in.”

  “Okay.”

  Emma watched her leave, then headed out the door with Duchess. She would have liked Harley to go with her, but she’d told Lorena that she would be coming back today and it was important to keep her word.

  * * *

  Thud, thud, thud.

  Mac heard the noise above the pounding inside her own head and realized someone was beating on a wall somewhere above them, maybe a door. Chas’s face grew rigid and fury made his eyes bulge. “Bitch!” he screamed.

  “Thad?” a woman’s distant voice called.

  Chas ran across the room and then up a stairway; she could see the bottom concrete step. “Go away!” he screamed. Mac shivered. Just how unhinged was he? It made her heart go cold.

  “There was a young woman here today to see Mom. She seems kind of off and she lives at Ridge Pointe.”

  “You let her in?” Chas demanded, aghast.

  “No. But she’s coming back.”

  “Well, don’t let her in.”

  “She said it was confusing which grandson kissed Rayne at that place. She said Mom thought it was you. I don’t know what she really wants, but I told her it couldn’t be you because you’re so damn anal about no public displays of affection, in fact no displays of affection whatsoever.”

  “JUST DON’T LET HER IN!”

  “Stay down there in your fucking den and die,” she snarled. “You’re as crazy as your bipolar father.”

  Mac heard a bolt turn, a heavy metal door slide back and slam into the wall with force. There was a sharp, “Thad!” and then a quick, aborted scream. Scuffling and shrieking and Thad roaring in fury. The sounds of the fight grew more distant and Mac quickly examined the twine around her wrists. It was pulled tight, knotted. Could she work her way free? No . . . She needed a tool. Where? How?

  There were books on the metal shelving in front of her, across the room a ways. And office supplies of a sort. A box cutter. That was a box cutter!

  If she swung herself by her wrists, her feet could reach the shelving. She would have to wrap one foot around the metal corner post of the shelving to stop her momentum, then attempt to grab the box cutter with the toes of her other foot.

  Impossible. Her head was throbbing. Her wrists were killing her.

  She gritted her teeth and ignored the pain. She swung herself forward, moaning against the burn at her wrists. Her feet came up and she missed hooking her right around the post and swung backward, but she’d dislodged several of the books. One dropped to the floor. The box cutter shifted and she held her breath. If she pushed it back much farther it would be out of reach.

  She heard footsteps on the stairs, stomping heavier than when he’d ascended. If she’d thought he was breathing hard before, now his chest was rapidly rising and falling. The cowboy hat had fallen off during the tussle and there was a streak of blood across his torso she didn’t want to think about. His eyes were bright, almost feverish.

  He came at her and grabbed her face and started kissing her. It took Mac by surprise and she wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. She held herself still as his tongue thrust into her mouth. She wanted to bite it off but knew that would serve no purpose other than making things worse for her. She concentrated instead on fighting back the pain in her head and wrists.

  “Who was that?” she managed to get out when he finally moved from her mouth to her ear. One of his hands was painfully crushing her breast.

  “Oh. Lorena. Mother.” He laughed, almost a giggle. “She won’t be bothering us anymore.”

  “Who’s the girl from Ridge Pointe?”

  He pulled himself away from her, angry. “Stop talking. She’s not a girl. She’s a woman. And a retard. She’s attractive, though. Her name’s Emma.” He seemed to get hold of himself again and cocked his head, as if listening, maybe thinking. Then he walked away and searched through the Sharpies, producing one in purple. He added Emma on to the whiteboard. “Don’t worry,” he said, coming back to Mac and running his tongue down her cheek. “We’ll have enough time together.” He touched his fingers to her chin, which was swollen and tender. She realized he’d hit her with an undercut. “Sorry about that. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just had to get you in the truck. You’re not like those gossips.”

  “Like . . . Rayne?”

  “And Brenda and Stephanie. The mean girls. The trio.” He stepped back and said in a falsetto, “Mr. Toad! Mr. Toad!”

  Mac wanted to defend Stephanie. There wasn’t a mean bone in her stepsister’s body. But that line of conversation wasn’t going to get her anywhere. “She called you Thad. Lorena.”

  “Nope. There’s only Chas. As of today, Thad is dead.” He sounded as if he’d just decided that.

  Mac could feel a swirl of air in the dungeon-like room. Thad, or Chas, had left the door open at the top of the steps. She didn’t think he would be foolish enough to leave it open by mistake. She guessed that Lorena might be dead as well and any hope of help from her was over.

  * * *

  Emma knocked on Mrs. Throckmorton’s door. It had a metal ring she could smack that made a thunking sound. She’d used it earlier in the day and Mrs. Throckmorton’s daughter, Lorena, had answered right away with a scowl on her face. Emma had told her she should turn that frown upside down, to which she had said some very rude remarks, and when Emma had said she would come back later in the day, she’d said, “Don’t bother,” in a snarly tone Emma hadn’t liked. That’s why she’d brought Duchess with her this time. She thought Old Darla might have been right and they—Lorena and Thaddeus—were keeping Mrs. Throckmorton in the house with too many stairs. And besides, Emma had promised she would be back.

  This time Lorena didn’t hurry to answer.

  Emma knocked again and waited. She looked through the skinny windows on either side of the door. Her eyes widened as she saw that funny chair on the stairs was coming down the side of the stairway. She watched as it came to a stop. Lorena was sitting on it. She stared through the window back at Emma and Emma went cold from the inside out. “I see his eyes!” she whimpered, causing Duchess to growl low in her throat.

  Lorena lifted an arm to point at Emma. Her face was covered in red, red blood as she tried to get out of the chair. One foot was out, then the other, and Lorena suddenly pitched forward and down the steps to slide onto the cream-colored marble floor with the big rose in the center.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Taft called Nolan Redfield and asked if Mackenzie was still at their house. He got Stephanie on the phone, who immediately sounded worried. “No! She was here, but I texted her that she didn’t need to come back because Nolan was back. Isn’t she with you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “That’s been over an hour ago! Longer!”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find her.”

  He clicked off. He’d tried to clamp down his worries, telling himself he was being paranoid. But he knew something was wrong. Could feel it in his bones. He’d lost his Glock to the police after the bust today and wouldn’t likely get it back for a while. He had another handgun, a .38, in his wall safe. He went to it now, unlocked it, and pulled the gun and some ammo out. He loaded the gun and headed for his Rubicon. His whole side felt like it was on fire.

  Stay ahead of the pain.

  He was glad he hadn’t.

  * * *

  Dong, dong, dong, dong. The metallic clanging must have been from the front door, Mac determined. It made her own head ring. Thad/Chas had been taking his time, and she’d been wondering just how long she could put up with this before she would break, when the clanging started.

  Dong, dong, dong, dong. It went on some more until Thad/Chas was infuriated. He threw Mackenzie away from him, nearly setting her swinging, and roared his fury. She stopped herself with her foot as he raced back to the stairs.

  Immediately she tried to swing herself forward again. Reach the box c
utter. Two tries and she hooked her right foot around one corner. Her wrists felt like they were being cut off. She could hardly see, her head hurt so badly. With the toes on her left foot she edged the box cutter toward her. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, concentrating on moving it ever so carefully.

  “What the fuck!” she heard Thad/Chas exclaim.

  There was a high, keening feminine cry.

  Mac shivered and the box cutter fell onto the floor with a clatter, sliding toward her.

  But not far enough.

  Shit.

  She stood on her feet, releasing the pulsing pressure on her bound wrists. Her ears were tuned to what was going on upstairs, while her eyes were glued to the box cutter, tantalizingly just out of reach.

  * * *

  Thad ran upstairs and saw Lorena working her way across the floor, almost swimming toward the front door. Through the side light Thad saw the retard. He jumped over Lorena and threw open the door, grabbing Emma by the shoulders.

  He didn’t see the dog until it leapt up and bit off half his ear.

  Thad screamed in shock and fury. He tossed Emma aside and grabbed for his ear. The dog was on him, its jaws snapping onto his arm. He kicked and thrashed and tried to run but the dog held him fast.

  And then a man’s voice. “Emma, call off the dog.”

  “Duchess, down,” she said in her monotone voice.

  The dog released him but kept up a soft, hair-raising growl. Thad glanced back and there was Mackenzie’s lover, a gun in his hand, trained on him. He thought of charging him, pushing him aside, and running out the door. He could get away. Race away. Get in the truck and leave.

  “Do it,” Jesse Taft told him.

  Lorena was crying on the floor and the dog’s lips were back showing its teeth, snarling and snapping, but it stayed by Emma’s side.

  Emma asked, “Where is Mrs. Throckmorton?”

  “Upstairs,” Lorena cried. “Thad will kill her. He will kill her!”

  Thad looked from one to the other of them. The precipice yawned. A Grand Canyon waiting to swallow him up. He couldn’t go with them. He couldn’t.

  Bang!

  The sudden shot rang through the room.

  Bang! Bang!

  In his peripheral vision Thad saw Taft throw Emma down to keep her safe. Who was shooting?

  The dog was barking its head off. Barking and snarling. Lorena was crying. A cacophony of noise.

  Thad realized vaguely that he’d been shot. The shock had covered the pain. He looked down to see he was bleeding from his stomach.

  And Lorena was gazing up at him through the rivulets of blood that ran down her face from the series of blows he’d leveled at her head when she’d run to her bedroom and he’d grabbed up the cut-glass vase with its fake red roses on her side table. Her smile was that of a madwoman.

  As he met her gaze, the handgun dropped from her hand and she laid her head on the marble floor. “I got you,” she said, and went limp.

  * * *

  Mackenzie was still trying to get her toe close enough to the box cutter when a barrage of footsteps clattered down the stairs. She braced herself for what, she didn’t know.

  And then Taft was there . . . and a woman she didn’t recognize—Emma?—and a medium-sized scruffy dog whose eyes darted back and forth and had a bloody mouth.

  “Mackenzie,” Taft expelled. He held his cell phone to his ear with his left hand. A gun was in his right hand, a .38, held down at his injured side.

  “You need some clothes,” Emma observed.

  “Your coat,” Taft said to her, then was on the phone with 911, tersely giving directions.

  Emma looked down at her full-length coat and slowly undid the belt.

  “Box cutter,” Mackenzie said, as soon as Taft had clicked off. She was so glad to see him she could feel emotion swelling in a wave of heat inside her, burning her nose and eyes.

  Taft spied the tool and snatched it up. The dog growled as he started to cut her loose, responding to the urgency, but Emma shushed her and kept her by her side.

  As Mackenzie fell into Taft’s arms, Emma solemnly handed over her coat and Taft reluctantly released Mackenzie long enough to help her on with it.

  “Your wound,” she said, shivering within the woolen folds. He pulled her close again.

  “Need to rub your wrists,” he said. “Make sure the blood’s flowing.”

  Mackenzie held her arms out of the sleeves. Taft grabbed first one, then the other, rubbing vigorously.

  “I was supposed to be taking care of you,” she said, despising the quaver in her voice, unable to stop it.

  “We’re both okay,” he said softly, his breath in her hair.

  Mackenzie’s eyes were closed but she heard Emma say, “Thad kicked Duchess, but Duchess wouldn’t let go.”

  Taft lifted his head and said, “Duchess is a very good dog.”

  “Yes, she is,” Emma agreed soberly.

  “You know him? Thaddeus Jenkins?” he asked her.

  A long time passed. Mackenzie opened her eyes to see Emma frowning hard.

  “He’s Mrs. Throckmorton’s grandson. It’s very confusing, but he’s not the boy who was kissing Rayne. That was Old Darla’s grandson, but Mrs. Throckmorton mixed it up. Old Darla died from a stroke and I feel bad. I don’t know her grandson’s name but somebody said he got arrested today. He has long hair and tattoos and even though Jewell didn’t like his long hair, I did. But then Jewell’s a gossip and says things she shouldn’t. If you can’t say anything nice, you shouldn’t say anything at all, which is why I’m not going to talk about Thad anymore.” She turned her gaze toward the whiteboard and said, “My name is on that list.”

  Taft and Mackenzie both looked to the damning indictment of Thad’s murderous crimes and his plans for the future.

  “He can’t hurt you now,” said Taft.

  “He is too deeply injured,” Emma said after a moment of thought.

  The sirens approaching in the distance were a welcome sound. Taft helped Mackenzie up the stairs and they met the cavalry. Cooper and Verbena and even her old partner, Ricky, who actually looked worried and chastened when he glanced at Mac, giving her an idea of what she must look like. There were others as well, along with an ambulance. One look around and the EMTs called for a second one.

  Thaddeus Jenkins aka Chas was dead on the scene and his mother, Lorena, had lapsed into unconsciousness from her head injuries. Cooper looked a bit dumbfounded to find Emma and Duchess on scene, and he put Emma on his cell phone to talk to her sister, Jamie, just as Emma’s niece, Harley, arrived at the house, out of breath and white-faced. Relief flooded her expression and she gave Emma a high five, as did Cooper.

  Detective Verbena asked Mac some questions, but quickly realized she was in no condition to be interrogated. They urged her toward an ambulance but she left with Taft, who took her to Glen Gen to be checked out. “I never thought I’d be back at the hospital so soon,” she muttered as they went inside.

  They saw some of the same hospital staff members from yesterday and this morning. One of the ER docs concluded that Mackenzie had a concussion and he also insisted on rechecking Taft as well. By the time they were released Stephanie and Nolan were waiting for them.

  “I can’t trust either of you,” Stephanie said, her eyes noticeably wet. “You’ve both got to come home with us.”

  “I’ve got pugs waiting for me at my place,” Taft told her with a faint smile.

  “Mackenzie, you definitely need to come back with me,” Stephanie said firmly. “You need to rest.”

  “But there are pugs at Taft’s.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” She tossed up her hands and shook her head. Her husband came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve been thinking about it, you know,” she said. “Thaddeus Jenkins. He was that nerd kid in grade school. He was . . . my God, he turned out to be one of those guys,” she exclaimed. “Those sick and twisted terrible predators! Rayne used to m
ake fun of him and Brenda did, too, and I laughed with them.” Tears filled her eyes anew. “I laughed with them and I felt bad but not bad enough. Do you think it’s my fault?”

  “You can’t say that,” Mackenzie told her.

  “There’s no predicting,” Nolan agreed.

  “I should’ve stuck up for him. I should’ve never been a part of it.”

  “Let it go,” Taft said gently.

  “Steph, I’m going to stay with Taft tonight. Don’t worry. Don’t blame yourself,” urged Mackenzie.

  “Was he coming after me, too?” she asked in a small voice.

  Taft told her, “Whatever he was or wasn’t planning to do, he won’t be able to any longer.” Then he tucked his good arm around Mackenzie and they walked to his Rubicon.

  EPILOGUE

  No, she didn’t sleep with Taft. She wanted to, she really did, but she was too beat up and he probably was, too. He insisted on giving her his bed while he took the couch. She was both disappointed and relieved. Disappointed because she’d wanted nothing more than to lie in bed with him, be that close to another human being, wrap herself completely within the safety of Jesse James Taft. Relieved because, well, she wanted something more long-term. A working relationship. Something that would last, and a night together after emotional upheaval just wasn’t going to cut it. Oh, bullshit. She wanted a helluva lot more than just one night, that was the truth of it, and that was going to take some work.

  The next few weeks passed by in a blue of healing and questions from authorities. Mackenzie and Taft were interviewed separately by the police and DEA. There were enough deaths and injuries in the wake of that one weekend’s events to put both of them under a microscope. Seth Keppler never regained consciousness and passed away in his sleep about two weeks later. To date Larry Perkins was still alive but barely. He was still in the hospital. Mackenzie hoped for his recovery, but she wasn’t sure that was going to happen. Though Thad had died that night at his grandmother’s house, his mother was expected to make a full recovery, though she had a long court case ahead of her for killing her son. Her mother, Sara Throckmorton, was discovered asleep upstairs, out cold, actually, as she’d been given a form of Rohypnol by either Thad or Lorena. Mackenzie wanted to blame Thad entirely, but there was evidence at the house that Lorena may have been the one to tamper with her mother’s food and drink, so there were more black marks in Lorena’s column. Her mother had been moved to Memory Care at Ridge Pointe, a decision made by her lawyers.