Hit and Run

by Amy Shojai

  Her face burning, September fought to keep control. She understood Lia’s issues with her grandmother. “So you both kept your relationship secret. Out of the goodness of your heart.” September didn’t try to hide the sarcasm.

  “I’ll thank you to watch your tone with me. You’ve got your own closet of skeletons, missy. I only wanted to protect my family.”

  “And like you said, Latana Ojo had died, so Rose January didn’t matter. I understand, I truly do. Thanks for your time, Aunt Cornelia.” September disconnected. She had had only a few questions answered, but couldn’t stomach continuing the conversation.

  “So.” Lia glanced over at her. “Help or hinder?”

  September scrubbed her face, and forced a smile. “Doesn’t matter. Once I get Mom to a safe place, we’ll have the heart to heart we should’ve had years ago. I just wish she’d trusted me. Trusted her family.” That gave her pause. Did dad know about Rose’s past?

  The phone rang almost as soon as she disconnected. September recognized Combs’s number, and handed the phone back to Lia with a head shake, and finger to her lips. “It’s safer for us both if he doesn’t know I’m home yet.”

  Lia scowled, but nodded. “But I’m not lying for you.” She let it go to voice mail, and they both listened.

  “This is Jeff Combs. Again.” She could hear the aggravation and something else in his voice. Fear? “September’s brother called. Her sister April’s in the hospital and I guess they’re calling the whole family together. But now Rose isn’t picking up the phone, either.” He hesitated, and added, “Tell September that Teddy told me everything. Dammit, when will she trust me enough to share what’s going on?” He blew out a breath. “Anyway, I called the local PD and my partner will swing by the January house. I can’t get back any time soon. The connecting flights in Chicago are grounded with a snowstorm. Anyway, September—if you get this—call me, dammit. And I love you.”

  September squeezed shut her eyes. “He said Rose isn’t answering her phone.”

  “Want me to take you to the hospital?”

  “No. There’s nothing I can do for April. I need to check on Mom.”

  (29 Years Ago)

  FOR ONCE, VICTOR PROVED true to his word. Documents he purchased signed by Judge Southgate proved her children’s parentage. The final settlement Cornelia offered gave her enough to find a modest home, away from city life, so they could become a normal family.

  The real estate agent made her laugh, and even better, he liked having a ready-made family. They joked that the two youngest looked like him. Six months later, Rose Dixon married Lysle January.

  Chapter 57 (Present Day)

  SHADOW TIPPED HIS HEAD side to side as he listened to September and Lia’s conversation. Hearing Combs’s voice on the phone made both women upset. He could always tell when September felt bad. While on the train, he’d worried for a while she might have one of her spells. She dozed and startled awake, over and over. He’d only slept a short while and tried to stay awake to do his job. He’d kept her safe on the strange noisy car-thing, and stood up tall and silently showed his teeth if anyone came too close. Not that he’d bite anyone. Shadow didn’t like the taste of people, not even bad-people. But if need be, he’d show his teeth and warn them away.

  He liked Lia. She understood dogs, and he especially liked staying where she lived with the other dogs and cats. But he preferred having September all to himself. So he’d enjoyed their trip together. Mostly. When she got scared, though, the fun disappeared. And this last part of their trip hadn’t been fun at all.

  He had whined with excitement mixed with more worry when Lia’s car pulled to a stop far away from the front of the familiar house. Before they’d left, they’d visited people here that mattered deeply to September. They belonged to September the same way that Macy-cat belonged to Shadow. And the way Karma-dog belonged to him, too. They were family.

  He knew Combs mattered to September, a lot, too. Almost like they belonged to each other. That worried him.

  “Wait for us here. If it’s safe, I’ll bring Mom back.” September left the car. “Shadow, let’s go.” He wagged his tail, ready to stretch his legs. September used her “serious business” voice, which meant fun work for him.

  She didn’t attach his leash. He knew the way to the front door, but she led them around to the back instead. They approached from the alley, and when September placed a hand on his neck, he could feel her tension. His anticipation grew.

  “Shadow, check-it-out.” She made a sweeping gesture with one hand, and he launched forward as though spring-loaded. The still, cool air offered perfect scenting conditions. He didn’t need to stick his nose in the grass. Scent hung several feet above the ground, and he could move quickly through it, testing as he ran.

  He stopped to more closely investigate areas where scent pooled; in the corner where the garage connected with the house; the cluster of garbage cans; a hollow beneath trimmed hedges. No cars sat in the driveway, and Shadow detected two vehicles, one still warm, waiting patiently behind the closed garage door. He sniffed the front steps, identifying the smell of the hard-brittle Rose-woman who so often upset September. Fainter smells reminded Shadow of the children, especially his-boy Steven. Only the brittle woman had passed this way today.

  Abandoning the front area, Shadow continued to the rear of the house. More smells wove a more tantalizing story. The tall wooden fence sheltered a pool of warm water, hidden from canine view but the pungent chemical water tickled a good-dog’s nose. Another familiar but frightening scent brought Shadow to alert. His ears swiveled, listening. A dragging sound combined with the scent of the bad-man from the cemetery. He didn’t wonder how the bad-man followed them so far. Shadow only knew he must warn September.

  Another smell—copper bright—clouded the air. Water splashed. The danger-man could hurt September. He had to protect her.

  Shadow’s whine escalated into whimpers of concern. He scratched the fence, leaped against it, and the gate squeaked open under his assault. He stalked inside, ears plastered flat and tail bristled, scanning back and forth, scenting for the danger. Steam billowed from the pool. Blood painted the water.

  The gate swung shut, locking a good-dog inside.

  Chapter 58

  SEPTEMBER SLOWLY, CAUTIOUSLY opened the rear door of the house. She’d waited a long time for Shadow to finish his preliminary circuit of the house. His silence told her he’d found no overt threat. Combs would tell her to wait for the police, and she agreed in principle. But her heart screamed for her to run into the house, find Mom, and carry her away from the danger.

  Why hadn’t Shadow returned? She looked out the door, checking both directions, but heard and saw no sign of the big dog.

  She scanned the room. At first nothing seemed amiss. Her mother kept an immaculate house. The room surfaces in the kitchen shined. September crossed to the butcher block island. The decorative mortar and pestle had been moved from its usual place. Mom might use something on the island, but always, without fail, replaced them, wanting everything tidy and in the right location.

  The mortar held an open but empty pill bottle of pain medication scripted to her sister April. Curiously, September picked up the heavy stone pestle serving as paperweight on an old delicate lace handkerchief next to a yellow pad of paper. Mom’s flowery script scrawled across the page, overlapping the lines with frantic loops and squiggles that screamed her alarm with a two-word repeated phrase:

  I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!

  “Mom? Mom!”

  Outside, Shadow’s alarm bark erupted, escalated to frantic howls, and then fell silent. September whirled to run to her dog’s aid.

  Mr. Bleak stood in the doorway. “Why can’t you stay dead?” He shut the door behind him.

  Reflexively, September lobbed the stone pestle. It hit the side of his head with a satisfying thunk.

  He grunted and took half a step back, then straightened. “This ends here.”

  �
�Mom! Shadow?” September screamed, and whirled. She raced through the kitchen toward the front door.

  Bleak thundered after her. He tackled her in Mom’s pristine living room.

  September fell across the armchair, knocking it sideways to the floor. She scrabbled to crawl away, regain her feet.

  But he fell on top of her. The breath burst from her lungs beneath his weight. Mr. Bleak straddled her, hands about September’s throat. “This time, it is very personal.” He squeezed.

  She instinctively reached for his bare cat-bitten hands, each too swollen to fit inside gloves. She clawed at the constriction around her throat to no avail.

  He continued to throttle her.

  She had seconds before she lost consciousness. September fought panic. Remembered her self-defense class. She grabbed his left elbow with both hands, and pushed it up and sideways with all her strength. Nothing happened. He had too much control. So she quickly brought her left arm up on the inside of his right elbow and grabbed his shoulder. At the same time, she clutched his neck with her other hand, hugged him. And rolled.

  The bridging move took him by surprise, but only momentarily. September struggled to regain her feet, gasping to catch her breath. She tripped twice on her way to the front door.

  He came after her.

  She yelled. Her voice made a choked broken-glass sound from his bruising grip. September grabbed a small lamp, one of the stained glass designs her brother made, and threw it at Mr. Bleak. He knocked it aside, hissing at the unexpected bruising weight that hit his wrist.

  September reached for the front door handle.

  Bleak casually stooped, grabbed up the entry rug, and yanked.

  She flew sideways, arms outstretched to break her fall. September hit the floor, rolling. One hand closed on the brass lamp finial. Teeth bared, she held it like a dagger.

  His kick drove the finial backwards, into her side. Pain blossomed. September fell into an abyss.

  HE DIDN’T HAVE TIME for this. He’d checked and the rest of the family remained conveniently tied up at the hospital. His information confirmed the mother’s suicide made sense, and wouldn’t be questioned once her secrets came to light.

  But Mr. Bleak couldn’t let September live, nor could he leave behind evidence of her death. That would prompt questions Mrs. Wong didn’t want raised. No, this time he’d ensure September Day disappeared for good. He’d take care of the damn dog, too. A little blood wouldn’t matter out by the hot tub. They’d just assume it came from the woman’s nosebleed. Funny, what heatstroke could do to a body.

  Mr. Bleak tidied the room. He reset the furniture, and balanced the lamp back onto the table, surprised the heavy glass hadn’t broken. After he retraced his steps to the kitchen, he examined the pestle for evidence—it hadn’t broken his skin—and placed it back on top of Rose’s suicide note on the butcher block. He found plastic garbage bags he needed in one of the kitchen drawers. One would contain the mess of the dog. The other would take care of September.

  He would do more than kill her. After what she’d put him through, she didn’t merit a quick clean death.

  So he slid the garbage bag over September’s head and shoulders. Tape secured her arms at the elbow tight to her body beneath the plastic. For good measure, he taped her wrists together. She’d blackout in minutes, and would be dead in another five. Once loaded in the car for transport and disposal, he’d take care of the damn dog.

  Chapter 59

  SHADOW STOPPED BARKING when he recognized the brittle-voiced woman in the pool of hot water. She sat neck-deep in the tub, outstretched arms floating while her head lolled backward. Red stained the water from her nose, and tainted the cold air with bitter copper. As Shadow watched, she slowly slid, slumped sideways, settling deeper into the wet.

  He whined, and looked from the woman to the locked gate. The bad man—he still detected his pungent presence—lurked on the other side of the barrier. Shadow had to protect September, that was a good-dog’s job! But this woman needed help now. September would want him to help her.

  So he barked, and barked some more, but nobody came to help a good-dog. September would heed his warning if she could. Maybe she couldn’t get past the barrier, either?

  Padding closer to the unconscious woman, he nudged her neck. But that didn’t rouse her. She just slipped farther into the hot water. He licked her face, and then ears—that always made September giggle and laugh—but the woman didn’t react. She slid down again, and this time her face slipped beneath the coppery water.

  Shadow reached down, under the water, to clamp strong teeth into her hair. And he backed up slowly, tugging her upward, grateful the water helped lift her high. After tugging for endless moments, Shadow let go, happy when she seemed to settle in place and stay still, head above the wet.

  Red still slowly spilled down her face, though. The water tasted bad, too.

  The tall wooden fence all around the steamy bath couldn’t be climbed. Shadow knew that without trying. No rough edges offered paw purchase, and only cement he couldn’t dig covered the ground when he investigated. Shadow yelped, urgency demanding he act, do something. But what?

  September screamed.

  Shadow threw himself at the wooden gate. But as he expected, it didn’t give way. He spied a cart with wheels next to the far wall. It held several big bottles on the bottom, lined up side by side, with stacked plates and glasses on the top.

  When September screamed again, Shadow didn’t hesitate. From a standing start, he leaped upward to the top of the cart—scattering plates and glasses to shatter on the cement below—then up and over the fence, and raced to find September.

  He pelted around the back fence. The rear kitchen door carried September’s scent where she’d entered. He battered the closed door with his paws, but it wouldn’t open. September had stopped yelling. But her cries came from the other side of the house, near the front door. So Shadow galloped the long way around to reach her.

  As he skidded to a stop at the bottom of the steps, the front door swung open. The bad man had September slung over his shoulder, her head and chest covered in plastic cinched tight.

  Bleak pulled out his gun, and aimed.

  Reflexively, Shadow dodged one way, then feinted forward with teeth bared. The man’s gun followed him. Shadow tensed for the gun’s bite, knowing it could reach out however far away he might be. Bleak would be ready for his nose punch. So instead he lunged, with jaws wide, and clamped hard on the man’s swollen wrist.

  The gun spat once, twice. Shadow hung on, growling, shaking his head like he did with bear-toy. The gun fell.

  The man kicked him, catching him hard in the ribs. Shadow yelped, and spun away, then came back again. He lunged at the man’s other arm, holding September’s legs tight against his shoulder. He made Bleak drop the gun. He’d make him drop September, too!

  Instead, Bleak landed another kick, half spinning Shadow around. And he slammed the door in Shadow’s face.

  Shadow threw himself at the front door, anguished cries echoing in the still, cold air.

  Chapter 60

  TEDDY’S PHONE RANG. He answered without taking his eyes off the road. “What is it, Tee? I’m five miles from Heartland, driving ten over the limit, and not in the mood to chat.”

  “Can you look something up for me? I need to be sure before I report to my Captain.” Usually brash, at times full of false bravado, for the first time the young woman sounded shook.

  “I’m driving. Can’t it wait?” He glanced at Macy, perching in the passenger’s seat, watching the road unfurl out the window.

  Tee grew more insistent. “Have Charlie drive. I really need a confirmation. I can’t make this accusation without more than a gut feeling.”

  “Charlie’s gone. I’m driving by myself now.” He’d been played the fool. Oh for sure, the girl had a seizure, no doubt about that. Maybe from the bump on the head she got in the hit and run. He’d wanted to stop at an urgent care to get her checked out but she
refused.

  “What do you mean, she’s gone?” Tee’s tone sharpened. “I knew that was a mistake! Are you okay, Teddy? She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

  He snorted. “Only my feelings. She disappeared about thirty minutes ago at the rest stop on Hwy. 75 at the Oklahoma/Texas border. Took that big white cat with her, and September’s cell phone. And she swiped my snazzy new cane, probably so I wouldn’t try to catch her.” If he didn’t know better, he’d say Sherlock tried to warn her about the seizure. He knew dogs did that, but cats? “She’s terrified that Mr. Bleak will come after her. I think there’s more to that than she’s saying. Anyway, she’s in the wind. Why, what does your Detective Redford say?”

  “He’s in the hospital. He tried to kill himself.” She sounded stilted, maybe to control her emotion.

  Teddy gasped. He took his foot off the gas in reaction, and the change in velocity made Macy stand up and meow. He reached out and chucked the cat under the chin, smoothing the fur to calm the cat.

  “I don’t believe them. Redford had this big celebration for his kid over the weekend. Got him a dog. A black and white Border Collie rescue named Oreo. He was so jazzed over that dog and his kid, he fairly glowed. Said the dog made friends with everyone, first time out of the car.” She rambled, clearly unable to reconcile the idea of her mentor taking his own life.

  “I’m sorry, Tee. That’s got to be an awful shock.” Macy head-butted Teddy’s hand, and again settled in the shotgun position. He’d always been a dog man, but Macy kind of grew on him. “Sure have been a lot of suicides lately.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Her tone changed from mournful to speculative. “Redford was close to retirement. Before I left, he’d been getting grief from one of the Chicago Aldermen, Kelly Radcliff Jacobs. Wasn’t there a Jacobs on the cat sale list?”