by Rickie Blair
“What was it?” I asked, intrigued despite my fear—and also to keep him talking.
“I don’t know. I sent the guy away. I didn’t care what the old man had to say. A few years later, I reconsidered. By the time I decided to find out, he’d been dead for two years. Heart attack.”
“I’m sorry. It’s too bad you couldn’t say goodbye.”
“Too bad?” He laughed. “Too bad? Like it was some kind of accident? No.” He shook his head. “I think Sydney was rewriting his will and Marjorie killed him before he could finish it. I think he was on to her.”
“On to her? What do you mean?”
“She was cheating on him, with Ian Rupert. She married Rupert two months after my father’s death. Husband number two.” He shrugged. “Assuming that’s all there were.” His face contorted into a terrifying grin. “The Black Widow Killer. That’s what they called her.” Then he laughed.
Cold fear gripped my gut as I realized why he was laughing.
“You killed Ian Rupert, didn’t you? And let Marjorie take the rap.”
Fritz chuckled coldly. “You should be a detective.”
“But how did you—”
“Convince her to go along with it? That was easy. I told her a private investigator had been to see me and he knew my father intended to change his will to cut her out.”
“The investigator didn’t tell you that.”
“No, but Marjorie believed me because it was the truth. I told her the police would re-consider my father’s death once they heard the new evidence about his will. She’d be charged with two murders—and never leave prison.”
“Why would they think she killed Ian?”
“Because Marjorie and Ian sold my father’s restaurant chain and pocketed the cash. They burned through it pretty fast, with trips to the Orient and cruises and fancy cars and jewelry.” Another snarl curled his lip. “The money was nearly gone. It wasn’t much of a jump to suggest Marjorie wanted Ian out of the way so she could start over. And then there was the insurance money.”
As long as he was talking, he wasn’t shooting. So I kept him talking.
“How much insurance?” I asked.
“Half a million. If you were on the jury, who would you believe? And remember—not one murder, but two.”
“It was very clever of you,” I said, hoping to put him at his ease.
“Enough talk. Let’s move this along.”
“Fritz, the police are on their way. You can’t possibly get away with this.”
He raised the rifle again, pointing it at Derek. “Come to think of it, Verity, you might come in useful. Maybe I’ll leave you alive for now.”
My brain was buzzing with fear. The vein in my neck had given up throbbing in favor of pounding.
I played for time. “You picked Marjorie up at the bus station to gain her confidence. Then planted that ridiculous fake mustache in Lucy’s office to throw everyone off the scent.”
Fritz merely snorted, which made his own, real mustache jerk. “She was too dead to deny it, wasn’t she? That was a lucky break.”
I took a step closer, stifling my overwhelming urge to run. “So that was you in Lucy’s house. We must have surprised you. You broke that vase and tackled Patty on the sidewalk.”
He snorted again, then jerked the rifle in her direction. “Your friend got in the way.”
Patty clasped both hands to her throat, eyes wide, unable to speak. For once.
“Meanwhile, Marjorie actually thought I had forgiven her.” Fritz scowled. “She always was a fool.”
I was surprisingly calm. There was an air of inevitability about this encounter. As if time itself had stopped, caught up in the breeze that swirled my hair and swept over the Peak. “Derek didn’t kill Marjorie Rupert,” I said.
Fritz chuckled. “Oh, I did that. And she deserved it. You can see that.”
“But why did you set fire to Rose Cottage?”
“Because you did too much sleuthing.” He shook his head with a wry grin. “You really should mind your own business, Verity.”
It was a good thing that Fritz had a rifle in his hand, because otherwise I would have delivered a vertical front kick that would have landed right in his… well, let’s just say an area well above his knees. Narrowing my eyes, I said, “The police will arrest you for Marjorie’s murder.”
He chuckled again. “Why would they do that when this moron here is the guilty party?” Fritz motioned at Derek. “He pushed you and your friend off the cliff to prevent his secret from getting out. I’ll tell the police a sad story about arriving seconds too late to save you. And how I had to shoot him when the crazed fool rushed me.” Fritz slid his finger over the trigger. “Of course, the order of events may not be exactly as advertised.”
“Derek,” I warned. “Get away from the edge.”
“Yes, do,” Fritz echoed. “Because I won’t be able to shoot you if you fall.”
He raised the rifle to his shoulder and sighted along it. The explosion that echoed off the rock was so loud I gasped.
“What was that?” Patty screamed, clapping her hands against her ears.
Pinpoints of light shrieked across the night sky behind us. Then they burst, scattering showers of multicolored sparks.
The Founder’s Day fireworks had begun.
Patty sunk to her knees with both hands clasped to her chest, looking as if she was going to be sick.
Fritz smirked. “Fireworks—what an excellent idea. No one will hear a thing.”
Derek staggered back, eyes wide. “No, please…”
Fritz eased off a shot that missed him.
Derek dropped to his knees, whimpering.
Fritz laughed and lowered the rifle. “That was close, wasn’t it?”
Two more fusillades soared into the sky, spitting and squealing. They exploded into cascading waves of golden light. Normally I loved fireworks. Today I just wanted them to stop.
Fritz raised the rifle again. “Time to beg.”
Derek scrabbled backward, closer to the edge.
A series of explosions sounded, like the rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun.
Derek jerked his hands up in terror, leaning back.
“No,” I yelled, darting toward him. I dove for the rim, but I was too late to stop him from sliding backward and over the edge. By the time I reached him, he was hanging from the rim, holding on with both hands. I dropped to the ground, stretched to my full length, and reached for him.
Fritz squeezed off another shot. This one whizzed past my ears.
“For God’s sake, Fritz—stop!”
His only reply was more laughter.
I grabbed Derek’s wrist, holding on with both hands. His fingers curled around my arm, gripping it tightly, and his other hand gripped the edge. “Hang on,” I said.
I knew I couldn’t cling to him for long.
“Help me, Fritz,” I yelled. “I can’t hold him.”
The next shot hit Derek’s free hand, the one still grasping the rock face. With a scream of pain, he let go. The added strain on my shoulders almost pulled my arms from their sockets.
“Get out of the way, Verity, or I’ll shoot you, too,” Fritz called.
Patty snapped out of her stupor. “No,” she shrieked, darting over.
“Or your friend,” Fritz said, swerving the rifle toward her. “I don’t care which.”
“Patty—don’t,” I yelled, motioning her away with a shake of my head. “Stay back.”
My shoulders burned with the strain of hanging on to Derek’s wrist. I couldn’t pull him up without help. And I couldn’t hold him much longer. His hand started to slip.
A series of detonations transformed the night sky into bursts of cascading color. The fireworks illuminated Derek’s upturned face. I saw fear in his eyes.
A single bang exploded behind me. A shot whizzed past, making my ears ring.
Fritz laughed. “Getting closer. Won’t be long now.”
I closed my eyes, took a deep
breath, and then opened them. “He’s going to shoot us all, Derek. I’m so sorry. You have to let go. Trust me. It’s better this way.”
He closed his eyes, nodding slightly. Then his hand slipped from mine, and he fell.
I scrabbled to the edge on my stomach and leaned over, listening, holding my breath. More fireworks exploded, drowning out any other noise.
Which was probably a good thing.
As the echoes died away, I twisted my neck to scream at Fritz.
“Why did you do that? You son of a—”
I gulped back my next words. The rifle was a foot away, pointed at my head.
“You’re coming with me,” Fritz said. “You know the way out of here.”
I rose shakily to my feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The closed trails. You’re going to show me where they are.”
“I don’t know where they are. Anyway, the police will be here in minutes. I can’t help you. I’ll only slow you down.”
“Nice try.” Fritz poked the rifle into my chest, making me jump. “I’m not a fool, Verity. If the police were coming, they’d be here by now. Get going.” He poked me again, harder this time. I hoped his rifle wasn’t one of those hair-trigger things you’re always hearing about.
“Verity?” Patty’s voice was tremulous. “Where are you going?”
Fritz swung the rifle toward her.
“Please don’t shoot her, Fritz. She won’t stop you.”
He paused, considering.
“Look, Fritz—Marjorie got her just desserts. After all, she and Ian killed your father. Your actions were,” I racked my brain for a plausible excuse, “justifiable homicide.” I wasn’t sure that defense would fly in a Canadian court, but it was worth a try. “But if you shoot Patty, you’ll have no defense. None. You’ll be facing life in prison.”
“Only if they catch me.”
“Why take the chance?”
After a moment, Fritz lowered the rifle and barked an order at Patty. “Show me your phone.”
She pulled the pink, crystal-covered cellphone from her purse with a trembling hand and held it up.
“Turn around. Throw it off the edge.”
She did as he asked. I watched Patty’s beloved device soar into the night and drop, moonlight glinting off its cracked screen as it disappeared.
“You. Verity,” Fritz snapped. “Get moving. Hands on your head.”
We crossed the shale lookout and plunged through the trees and onto the trail.
With my hands clapped on my head, I was helpless to stop branches from slapping into my face. I scrunched up my eyes, trying to avoid being blinded while still keeping an eye on the nearly black trail.
“Faster,” Fritz said. “Turn to the right.”
I swerved off the main trail and headed along the secondary path that led in the opposite direction from the parking lot. Before long, we reached the pile of tree trunks that marked the first of the old trails.
Fritz pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and turned it on to read the sign. Trail closed. Caution advised.
“Move,” he said.
“I’ll have to use my hands.”
He merely grunted, which I took as permission to lower my arms before clambering over the pile of wood. I calculated the odds of overpowering him. Then I remembered his response to my attempted hook punch on Main Street. I hadn’t thought about it at the time, but Fritz obviously had martial arts training. Just my luck. I’d been taken hostage by the only restaurateur in Leafy Hollow with a black belt to hold up his apron.
“Move!”
I scrambled faster.
Before long we were on the other side and plunging through the undergrowth. Thorns and twigs scratched my bare arms and I squinted, trying to see the path while ducking branches. Was that starlight ahead?
Timing was critical. If I moved aside too soon, Fritz would figure it out. Too late, and I’d plunge off the escarpment myself.
I picked up the pace. Behind me, I could hear him breathing heavily but keeping up. The rifle barrel was trained on the back of my head.
A beautiful star winked into view. Then another.
I ducked to my right and dove headlong into the bushes.
Behind me, Fritz kept going, straight toward the edge of the escarpment. For a heartbeat, I thought it was going to work.
Then he skidded to a halt and pivoted to face me.
Cowering in the foliage, I grunted in pain as Fritz rapped the butt of the rifle on my head. I saw stars again, but these ones weren’t nearly as pretty.
“Get up,” he barked. “And no more tricks.”
Groaning, I rubbed my battered forehead and rose to my feet.
The valley loomed in the distance, only a few feet away. Fritz had stopped only inches from the edge.
“Turn around and find the right path,” he said. “Another stunt like that and I’ll shoot you and leave you here to bleed out. Don’t think I won’t.”
“It’s hard to see in the dark. We need to slow down.” I strained to listen for anyone coming along the path. An owl hooted softly—or maybe it was a chipmunk—and leaves rustled in the breeze. Nothing else.
Fritz slid the backpack from his shoulder with one hand and stepped to the edge. He kept the rifle trained on me while he swung the pack in a wide arc with his other arm. Then he let go and watched it drop. Unlike Lucy’s body, the backpack was well away from the cliff before it dropped. It might have gone into the river. From there, it was a short distance to the lake.
“Move.” He used his rifle to motion at the trail.
I stumbled back along the path and over the barrier, then pointed. “There it is. The trail to the back entrance. If you go straight down you’ll come out on a one-lane road that skirts the escarpment. From there you can easily walk to the main road. I don’t see what good it will do you—your car’s back at the parking lot.”
“Never mind about that. And I’m not going down there alone. Get moving.”
“Look, Fritz, you can travel faster without me. Let me stay here. I promise I won’t get in your way. The police are on their way. They’ll find you.”
“That’s why you’re coming with me.” He poked me again with the rifle. “Hands on your head.”
The trail started down at this point. It was slippery. I deliberately tripped on several tree roots to slow us down, mentally calculating how long it would take for the police to arrive in the parking lot and make the climb to the Peak.
Assuming they were coming. The dispatcher hadn’t been impressed with my explanation. I’d heard a faint sigh when she promised to send someone. I couldn’t blame her. Founder’s Day was known for its hijinks. Like the time the villagers awoke the next day to find the statue’s bronze sword had been replaced with a cell phone—and the founder was taking a selfie with it. That one trended on Instagram for days.
“Stop,” Fritz hissed. I halted, trying to hear over the blood pounding in my ears. Was that someone running up the path behind us? Or merely a deer, using the man-made trail to speed its journey through the woods?
A lone light splashed off the branches ahead. I gasped. Could that be—
“Halt. Police.”
“Move!” Fritz yelled, prodding me with the rifle barrel.
I ran. His boots thudded down the trail inches behind me.
At precisely the right moment, I hit the deck, tucking and rolling into the bushes in my best approximation of a parkour action star.
Fritz roared an obscenity, but he couldn’t see clearly enough to get off a shot. And he couldn’t afford to stop and yank me to my feet. Instead, he ran right past.
A moment later, his footsteps thundered over pine planks.
I grinned through the leaf mold, pebbles, and mud that plastered my face. Wouldn’t be long now.
Fritz reached the far side of the bridge.
Then the screaming started.
I didn’t even try to suppress my giggles.
I ex
tricated myself from the shrubbery in time to greet the police officers whose flashlights lit up the path.
“What the heck is that?” one asked, helping me to my feet. Judging by the freakish noise in the distance, someone was flailing in the dark, crashing into trees, and screaming like a little girl.
A nighthawk burst out of the pine trees to circle over our heads—no doubt sensing blood.
“That?” I asked. “That’ll be the European hornets. If you wait a minute or two, I think you’ll find Fritz Cameron will be back.”
As the thrashing and screaming grew louder, I turned to the officer with the walkie-talkie.
“And call the firefighters. They have to rescue Derek Talbot. He’s stuck on a ledge twenty feet down from the Peak.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Panic kept me on my feet until Fritz was in handcuffs, the firefighters had rappelled down the cliff to rescue Derek, and Patty was safely on her way to the bakery where a worried Clark was waiting.
When the cruiser drove away with Patty in the back seat, my knees suddenly buckled. I would have fallen had it not been for Jeff, who slid a steadying arm under mine.
“Whoa,” he said. “Let’s get you off your feet.” He urged me toward a cruiser, where a back door stood open, and helped me to sit. “Head between your knees, please,” he said, motioning to the cruiser’s driver to join us.
I complied, my chest painfully tight.
“Breathe. And don’t get up.”
“Jeff—about Marjorie’s memoir—”
“I know. It’s gone. We’ll never know what was in it now.”
I made an impatient gesture. “No, it’s—”
“That must be why Fritz threw his backpack off the Peak. With all this wind, those pages will be spread for miles—”
“No, they’re—”
“And the forecast calls for rain. Even if we find them—”
“Stop,” I said, raising my voice.
Jeff closed his mouth and gave me a quizzical look.
“I have to tell you something.” I pointed to the tow truck driver who was loading Fritz’s convertible onto his flatbed. “Don’t let him take that away yet.”