"Well, I wasn't the president of the drama club for nothing," she said with sarcasm.
I knew the paring knife I held in my hand was not going to save me. I tossed it down on the kitchen table so Crystal would not view it as a threat. I was going to have to rely on my wits—and maybe some old-fashioned good fortune—to get out of this situation alive.
The house was full of people, and yet it was unlikely another soul was on this end of the dwelling. The house was so large and the walls so thick, even a scream could conceivably go unnoticed. It was worth a try, however.
"Open your mouth to scream, and I'll be forced to shoot," Crystal cautioned, as if she'd read my mind. "I have a silencer on this gun, you know. I can be miles away from here before anyone even realizes you're dead."
Yes, I did know she had a silencer, and I believed she'd shoot if I even looked like I might attempt a scream. She had a desperate look on her face, convincing me she'd do whatever she had to do in a last-ditch effort to avoid being apprehended. She had nothing to lose at this point. I clamped my lips together tightly. If nothing else, it gave me a little confidence to realize Crystal was stalling. She could've shot me and been gone already.
Over her shoulder I saw a whiff of smoke escape from the oven. I heard hissing sounds as drops of the frozen lemonade concentrate dripped from one of the canisters and landed on the scalding hot surface below. Crystal was so tense she didn't appear to notice the smoke or hissing sounds coming from the oven. I started to comment on the fact, but stopped myself just in time. Due to the adrenaline pumping through her veins, Crystal was oblivious to what was happening in the oven behind her. I knew I might be able to use her distracted state to my advantage. I had to come up with some kind of stall tactic to buy myself time.
"Why did you kill Mr. Prescott, Crystal?" I asked in as calm a voice as I could manage.
"The greedy bastard destroyed my family."
"How did he destroy your family? What happened? Maybe if you turn yourself in and explain it to the authorities, they'll show leniency toward you."
"No they won't. Don't try to con me, Ms. Starr. I may be young, but I'm not a complete fool."
"I know you're not a fool, Crystal. Don't start being foolish now by killing me, too. You would definitely be caught and tried and found guilty. This is Missouri, you know. They have capital punishment in this state. Kill me too, and you'll be lucky to escape getting the needle," I said. I was trying to reason with her. And if I scared her into handing over her gun, that'd be all right with me. "Is there someone in on this plot with you? Someone who pushed me down the stairs Tuesday night after you'd already left to go home."
"No, there's no one else involved, although I think everyone who knew Prescott is glad to see him gone."
"But then who—"
"I pushed you down the steps. I was hiding behind a cabinet in the storage room attached to Stone's office. I waited a long time for you to come upstairs. Afterwards, I climbed down the emergency fire escape and walked out to my car while everyone was attending to you, lying on the steps. I wasn't really hoping to kill you, just put you out of commission for a while. If you hadn't been so determined to see Peter Randall cleared of the charges against him, you would've had the opportunity to see the sun come up tomorrow. Sometimes being a goody two-shoes isn't such a great idea."
"You'd let an innocent man be charged with a murder you committed and let him be punished for something he didn't do?" I found this more unforgivable than the actual murder.
"Yep. I would've been delighted to see Randall take the fall for Prescott's murder. More than delighted, actually. He was my father's financial advisor at one time, too, for a few years anyway. My father lost a lot of money on his stock tips, not once or twice, but three separate times. As Dad grew poorer, Randall grew richer off the commissions Dad was paying him to make the trades for him. He was nearly as greedy and immoral as Horatio Prescott. You should have backed off and let Randall take the fall. For one thing, you would have lived to see tomorrow."
"If you kill me too, there is no way you'll get away with it. How is it going to help your parents if you end up in prison or worse? The attorney fees will be overwhelming, and having you led away in shackles won't be easy on them either."
I heard the sizzling sound of more drops of lemonade hitting the bottom of the oven. Crystal still seemed oblivious to the sound as she appeared to contemplate what I'd just said and even seemed to consider setting the small handgun down on the table. But then she shook her head and pointed the gun at me with a new resolve.
"They'll get over it and be happy to have achieved retribution. Now back up and get your hands up where I can see them," she said. "Besides, I can't undo what's already been done."
I did as she instructed and asked again, "Why did you kill him, Crystal? What did Prescott do to you? The least you can do is explain it to me before you kill me."
Crystal sighed and said, "My father used to work for him at D&P Enterprises. Dad was a CPA there, head of their accounting department. One day he brought it to Mr. Prescott's attention there was an unexplained deficit of several hundred thousand dollars in the corporate account. Prescott went ballistic."
"Going ballistic" was one of Wendy's favorite sayings. Crystal and Wendy had to be about the same age, I thought. I made a mental note I needed to call Wendy if I lived through this current ordeal. I turned my attention back to Crystal to listen to her explanation.
"Dad was just doing his job, doing what he was paid to do, and yet, a week later he was given his walking papers. Prescott fired him, of course. It became very clear to Dad who was responsible for the missing money."
"Mr. Prescott, I presume?"
Crystal looked annoyed, as if disgusted with me for not paying attention. She said, "Yes, of course it was Prescott. My father had been a loyal employee of D&P Enterprises for over fifteen years when this happened."
"Your father surely had good enough qualifications to get another job somewhere else," I said to the young woman who now had tears streaming from her eyes. It was obviously a very emotional subject for her. I was touched at how deeply she cared for her parents and amazed at just how far she would go for them.
"He was so upset at being fired by Prescott that he suffered a massive stroke that same evening," Crystal said. "He's been in a wheelchair ever since, unable to use his right arm or leg, and he's unable to speak coherently. He draws disability pay, but my mother had to go to work, cleaning other people's houses, to make ends meet. And it's all because of the corruptness of Mr. Prescott, who fired my father because he was afraid Dad would be able to prove he was the one who embezzled the missing money. Dad was convinced both Prescott and Dack were stealing from the company, behind each other's backs, as if competing to see who could out-embezzle the other partner. I vowed to myself one day I would make Mr. Prescott pay for what he did, and Boris Dack, too, if the opportunity arose. I was happy to see Dack brought down without my help. And—"
"Uh-huh," I nodded. "Go on. What'd you do next?" I had to keep Crystal talking.
"When I heard the buffoon was being honored at a dinner here at the inn, and Mr. Van Patten was looking for help, I knew it was the opportune time to exact justice. It was time to make Horatio Prescott pay for the pain and suffering he had forced my family to endure. So I turned in an application, and you interviewed me and selected me for the job. Thanks, by the way, for giving me this opportunity."
"Well, you did have the best qualifications of all the applicants," I said inanely.
"Thanks," Crystal said with a smile. "I took over all of the responsibilities of running the household when my mother had to go to work to support us. Not only did I learn how to take care of the family finances, I also learned how to cook, sew, clean, and even—"
Crystal stopped talking abruptly, realizing she'd drifted away from the main subject. She waved the gun recklessly and continued to speak. "Anyway, I was hoping to eliminate Mr. Prescott by poisoning him. But, as you know, that pl
an failed, as did my attempt to eliminate you the same way when you started asking too many questions. I realized too late, unfortunately, I should've given Horatio the entire dose of the tansy oil. If I had, all that's followed wouldn't have even been necessary."
Crystal was now sobbing and the gun was oscillating back and forth in her quivering hand. I really did feel sorry for what had happened to make this young woman so bitter, even though she was threatening my life for the third time since Monday. This obsession of hers was beginning to irritate me, but I had to appear as if I felt nothing other than an overwhelming compassion for her.
"I'm so sorry, Crystal, for you and your entire family. Now that I've heard your story, I'm sure the authorities would show leniency. They might actually acquit you of the murder charge, if you were to turn yourself in before anyone else gets hurt. I promise I'd help you in any way I can." I was sincere in my pledge. I was not merely trying to save my own life, although it did add a compelling incentive.
Puffs of smoke were now coming from around the door of the oven on a regular basis, and drops of lemonade concentrate continued to drip and fizzle on the bottom of the oven. As ridiculous as it seemed, I felt bad about making a mess in the new oven Stone had recently purchased for the inn. I wondered if Easy Off Oven Cleaner could remove the burnt residue from the bottom of the oven. It occurred to me then that I must have taken complete leave of my senses to be worried about the oven when I was in imminent danger of losing my life.
"I'm afraid I can't trust you. I can't trust anyone. I'm sorry, but I have no choice but to eliminate you as a threat, Lexie. If it's any consolation, I really do feel bad about having to kill you." With trembling hands, Crystal lifted the gun and aimed it at my face. She grimaced and squinted her eyes, as if she couldn't stand to watch the bullet pierce my skull. As she began to squeeze the trigger, she closed her eyes tightly shut.
I tensed my muscles and shut my eyes tightly, too, no more thrilled about the situation than Crystal claimed to be.
Ka-boom!
The loud explosion rocked the kitchen of the Alexandria Inn and could be heard from one end of the old historic home to the other. The loud percussion of the shot knocked me off the chair and on to the tiled floor.
"Aaggghhhh!" A scream followed in the wake of the explosion. My first thought was I felt pretty good for someone who'd just been shot. My second thought was it had been a loud explosion for a gun with a silencer attached to it. And my third thought was it had actually been Crystal who'd screamed, not me. I opened my eyes slowly, relieved to discover I'd not been shot at all. The explosion had come from the oven, not the gun Crystal had been brandishing. The gun now lay on the floor, where it'd been flung as Crystal was hit by flying debris.
A thick cloud of smoke enveloped the young woman as hot lemonade dripped from her skin and shards of glass from the oven door stuck out at all angles from her back and arms. Crystal groaned, writhing in agony from the burns and lacerations she'd sustained from the effects of the exploding lemonade canister. One of the lemonade canisters had finally built up too much pressure in the severe heat of the oven, I realized. It was the miracle I had been praying for.
I was sprawled out on the floor in complete astonishment for a few moments before I pulled myself to my feet to do a quick assessment of my condition. I had a few drops of hot sticky lemonade juice on my forearm, and felt the sharp pain of a rather large shard of glass piercing my left shoulder. And I was still bruised and sore from my ungraceful fall down the stairs.
But all in all, it wasn't nearly bad enough to prevent me from lunging for the derringer that had clattered loudly as it fell onto the floor beneath the table, immediately following the explosion. As I snatched the gun from the floor, the kitchen door sprang open and Stone rushed into the room. It was evident he was startled to see I was clutching a gun in my hands and also by the fact there was blood flowing out of both Crystal and me. Despite her injuries, Crystal made a dash for the door leading to the veranda, nearly knocking over Stone in her haste.
"It was Crystal. She killed Mr. Prescott, Stone. Stop her!" I yelled. I knew I looked and sounded like a raving lunatic, with blood and lemonade dripping from me as I shouted at Stone.
Stone looked at me searchingly. I nodded and gestured toward the door with Crystal's gun. He sighed, took a deep breath, and bolted for the door with me right behind him. In an awkward series of motions, he leaped over several bushes, hurdled a birdbath, and dodged four or five low-hanging tree limbs. Somehow, Stone managed to tackle the fleeing woman before she cleared the yard. The fact Crystal was seriously injured from the lemonade canister explosion no doubt gave Stone a slight advantage.
An enormous sense of relief flooded through me. I was trembling all over in reaction to what had just occurred. I looked up as a crowd of Historical Society members began to gather around me. I realized, suddenly, how thankful I was that no one in our little group of eccentric, but likeable, guests was a hardhearted killer. I was almost disappointed they'd all be leaving to go home soon. Almost—but not quite.
Epilogue
It was with a great deal of sadness that I watched Detective Johnston snap the cuffs onto Crystal's wrists and read her the Miranda Rights. I wished I could have taken notice of her fragile emotional state and found professional help for her before her bitterness and anger had escalated to the point of murder. But I couldn't allow myself to feel personally responsible for her plight. She'd hidden her feelings so well that I'm not sure anyone could've guessed the depth of her mental anguish. There are so many avenues she could've taken in lieu of killing Horatio Prescott, if only she'd reached out for help and not taken justice into her own hands. Unfortunately, like so many others, Crystal had decided to mete out her own justice, in her own violent way. Now justice would be meted out once again—with her on the receiving end. This was not the way I had wanted this murder investigation to end.
I said a quick prayer on her behalf. I prayed the justice system would take pity on her and find she was guilty by reason of insanity, placing her in a mental institution instead of prison. Maybe then she could get the support and counseling she needed and go on to lead a rewarding and productive life.
I gasped in an involuntary reaction as the medical technicians attended to my wound. Soon my attention was averted by Stone's approach. He came up beside me and placed his hand on mine to comfort me.
"Are you doing okay, honey?" he asked. His face turned a pastel shade of green as he watched an EMT delicately remove the shard of glass imbedded in my shoulder. Blood gushed out after the glass was extracted. The emergency technician handed Stone a large cotton pad and asked him to apply pressure to the wound to staunch the blood flow.
"Yes, I'll be fine, at least after my nerves calm down. How about you? Are you okay?" I asked. I'd noticed he was walking with a slight limp.
He laughed, good-naturedly, and said, "It's just a strained muscle. I'm a little out of shape to be sprinting across the yard, leaping over shrubs and flowerbeds in a single bound, and tackling a young woman who's thirty years younger than I. But, all in all, I'm not too bad."
"I was impressed with your speed and agility, Superman," I said in jest. Stone made a comical face, and we both chuckled. He knew I often had to laugh to keep from crying, and I'd been sincerely fond of Crystal. "I'm just thankful you didn't have to catch a bullet with your teeth," I quipped.
"Me, too, honey. At my age, false teeth are probably just around the corner as it is. I still can't believe it was Crystal. Who'd have ever thought she could commit a murder like that. Shoot a man at point-blank range? And then threaten to shoot you. I can't even imagine her poisoning you or pushing you down a flight of stairs. She seemed so sweet and innocent to me."
"Me, too. I'm as shocked as you are, Stone. But other than her obsession to exact revenge for the harm done to her family, I think she's probably a sincerely sweet, innocent, and thoughtful young lady. Her threat to shoot me was just a panicky reaction borne out of desperation, I'
m sure. I'm not convinced she could have actually pulled the trigger and shot me had the lemonade cannot exploded when it did. Do you think the justice system will go easy on her?"
He squeezed my hand and kissed my forehead before responding. "I hope so. Detective Johnston has promised me he'd look after her and try to ensure she's treated with compassion and understanding, if that's of any consequence. I think he'll do his best to uphold his promise."
"I do, too. He seems like a man of honor and principles," I said.
"He also just told me Veronica is moving back to the area because after her divorce, she has nothing to keep her in Salt Lake City. Wyatt was pretty tickled about the news."
"Maybe something good will come out of this, after all. It'd be nice to see Wyatt find a mate in Veronica. I hope she likes to cook, even if she isn't all that fond of eating."
"Yeah, Wyatt deserves a good wife, whether it is Veronica or some other gal. Which reminds me, did I tell you Cornelius asked me about reserving the entire Alexandria Inn for the last weekend in May?"
"No, why would he want to do that?"
"He said he just asked Rosalinda Swift to marry him, and she's accepted his proposal," Stone said.
"My goodness! Well, how wonderful for both of them!"
"They want to have the rehearsal dinner, the wedding, the reception, the whole works right here at the inn, where they discovered their love for each other. They even plan to spend their wedding night here, along with a number of the guests who'll be coming from out-of-state for the wedding. And Cornelius tells me Rosalinda has agreed to seek help for her alcohol addiction. She'll be attending her first AA meeting tomorrow night, in fact."
"That's terrific news, Stone. I really am happy for them. I hope she can overcome the alcoholism. Then maybe she can keep Horny Corny, the old sex pistol, in check."
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