“Oh my God. What a pig.” She glanced at me with a rueful smile. “This is why I gave up on men and married a woman.”
Chad was nearing the end of the bars. “Holly, I need help turning around.”
“You’re a big boy. Figure it out.”
Private
On my way out of the hospital, I swung by the pharmacy to say hi to Nora.
“Hello, Katy,” she called from behind the glass window. “I’m absolutely knackered and was about to take a break. Have you time for a coffee?”
We sat outside on the brick-walled patio, watching a little brown sparrow hop from table to table scavenging for crumbs.
“I hear your ex is up and doing physical therapy.”
“Yes, he is.” I added two packets of sugar to my coffee. “I was just—hold on. My phone’s vibrating.” I plucked it out of the side pocket of my purse. “I don’t recognize this number. Area code 559. I’ll let it go to voice mail.”
“Five-five-nine is in the Central Valley, I think,” said Nora. “Didn’t you say your uncle lives in Clover?”
“Yes, but how would he have found my number?” I waited a minute and then listened to the voice mail. “Hello, Katy. This is Uncle Ted calling.” His voice was a smooth baritone, reminding me of a slick radio announcer.
I shuddered, feeling like he was standing next to me. “I can’t believe it. It’s him. My uncle. I’ll put it on speaker.”
“Hello, Katy. This is Uncle Ted calling. Your letter arrived yesterday afternoon. I’m afraid I cannot do as you say. As soon as I’m free to travel, I’ll be coming to see my sister and niece. I look forward to meeting you. I’ve seen your photo online, and you are a very pretty young woman. You have your mother’s eyes.
Katy, I am an old man who needs some peace. I’m not a threat to anyone. I’ll let you know when I am coming.”
“This can’t be happening.” My hand shook as I attempted a swallow of coffee. “I really thought my threat to tell his probation officer would stop him.”
“What do you think you’ll do, love?” Nora’s faint British accent calmed me a little.
“I have no idea. I really don’t want to contact the probation officer because that means dragging my mother and grandmother through all of that. But the part about being a harmless old man now? What a crock. It was just in this past year that he was groping his granddaughter. As long as he is alive, he will never be harmless.”
Nora reached across the table and took my hand. “If there is anything I can do.”
“I know.” I patted her hand then pulled away, shoving my chair back. “I’m sorry, Nora, but I need to go home and think. I can’t let this happen.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
FRIDAY • AUGUST 30
Posted by Katy McKenna
Private
Wednesday, August 28
Part One
I am an old man who needs some peace. I’m not a threat to anyone. His words spun like an endless loop in my brain. Over and over.
Wednesday morning, after a long toss-and-turn night, I concluded that the only way to shut this down was to drive to Clover and finish this insane business, face-to-face. I would make him understand that if he bothered my mother or grandmother again he would be spending his golden years behind bars.
It’s only about a two-and-a-half-hour drive, but I threw a few things into a duffel bag in case I was too emotionally drained to drive home. Daisy saw the bag and danced around barking, “Road trip! Road trip!”
“No, baby. Mommy has to do this all by herself. I do not want you exposed to that terrible man.”
She may not have understood everything I said, but the word “no” definitely deflated her high. She collapsed on the floor with a huff and gave me her mopey look.
“Daisy. The expected high today in Clover is ninety-eight.” I hugged her and got coated in dog hair. “I’d love to have your company, but you’d be miserable. You’re much better off staying home with Tabitha and Auntie Emily.”
About ten miles out of Clover, I switched on the GPS app on my phone to guide me to his house. My GPS buddy was taking me on the long route, and that was fine with me. I was in no hurry for my meetup with the devil.
I cruised through downtown and out toward the rolling hills beyond into an upper-middle-class neighborhood. A high canopy of sycamores and elms lined the peaceful, shady streets. Wide green lawns fronted circa 40s–50s sprawling ranchers, Tudors, and Craftsmans.
Too soon my GPS announced, “You have arrived at your destination.” I cruised past his house, then parked several houses down. Now moments away from meeting this contemptible person, my initial righteous resolve had fizzled out, replaced with ramping trepidation.
I would have gladly stood on a stage in front of ten thousand people singing “The Star Spangled Banner” in my birthday suit rather than knock on his door. About to turn tail and run, my cell phone chirped a text from Mom.
I’m worried about Mom. Haven’t seen her this down since Dad died.
Anger reignited, I left my cane in the car, jammed the keys into my pants pocket, and hobbled to his front door. I stood on the wide slate porch facing the ominous red door, staring at the wrought iron knocker. Then I stabbed the doorbell three times. Then waited about ten seconds and punched it again. I knew he had to be there since he was under house arrest, so I hammered the knocker for good measure.
I waited a minute more, then tried the door handle thinking, I seem to be making a career out of entering houses uninvited. It wasn’t locked. I pushed the door open, poked my head inside, screwed up my courage, and whispered his name. At least there wasn’t a dog this time.
I had two choices. After my recent trespassing experiences, you’d think this was a no-brainer. Obviously the smart choice was to leave. Not known for making smart choices, I stepped inside, shut the door, and stood in the expansive foyer pondering my next move, as I looked around.
The decor was an eclectic mix of contemporary and antiques. It worked. So much nicer than the last house I’d broken into. And then I caught the murmur of voices. Whoever was in the house must have heard me beating on the door but probably thought the crazy person gave up and left. Nope. Still here.
My inner alarm was clanging, Get out. Get out. Then I thought, Oh God, what if he’s molesting a neighborhood child?
I looked around for some kind of weapon, wishing I had my cane. There was a heavy, red ceramic vase sitting on a console table. I grabbed it and crept down the hallway toward the voices. If he were hurting anyone, he was a dead man.
Then I heard, “You’re really going through with this?”
I know that voice. No, it can’t be. I inched toward the open doorway.
“We can still leave, you know.”
My heart clawed its way up my throat, and my shaking hands were so slick with sweat I had to set the vase on the floor and wipe them on my pants. This makes no sense. Oh God, why didn’t I stay home?````
“No. I have to do this. And we can’t leave. He can identify us.”
“We should have covered our faces. What were we thinking?”
“Go wait in the other room and leave me to this. If we
leave now, he’ll wake up and call the police. It has to be done.”
Do what? What could they do that would get them in trouble with the police?
“You’re right. But I’m not leaving you. Please, just do it before I change my mind again.”
I decided to leave before they discovered me and then heard, “There. It’s done. Now he can never hurt anyone again.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God. What have we done?”
“You haven’t done anything. I did it.”
“But I drove you here. I let you do it. I wanted you to do it.”
“Because we agreed it was the right thing to do. He is a despicable, evil man who hurts innocent children, and he would have continued to do that. Somebody had to do something. The judicial system failed all
of his victims. Someone had to set things right.”
I stepped into the room.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
FRIDAY • AUGUST 30
Posted by Katy McKenna
Private
Wednesday, August 28
Part Two
“Katy!” Nora screamed.
Debra crumpled onto the bench at the foot of the king bed, clutching her heart, gulping for air.
“What are you doing here?” Nora stepped toward me trying to block my view of the person on the bed.
I moved closer, edging her aside, looking at the pale, unconscious silver-haired man. Well dressed. Respectable looking. Not the scuzzy, meth-addicted pimp I’d imagined. “Is that my uncle?”
“Please, Katy. Let’s go to another room where we can talk.” Nora helped Debra to her feet.
I felt completely off-kilter, like I’d just stepped through the looking glass into an alternate dream world. “I don’t understand what’s going on. What’d you do to him? Did you drug him with something?”
“We can explain.” Debra wiped her mouth with a tissue. “But not here.”
“Let’s find the living room,” said Nora. “We’ll talk there.”
I took another glance at the stranger sleeping on the bed and left the room with the ladies following. In the hall Nora picked up the vase. My spine suddenly prickled with fear, thinking she might slam it over my head. I spun around just as she set it back on the entry table.
“I think the living room is that way.” She pointed beyond me.
The spacious room was accented with vivid, splashy art—my uncle’s name in bold black letters slashed across the lower right corners. Painted by anyone else, I would have loved them but instead they creeped me out.
Nora shut the plantation shutters lining the windows facing the street, then sat next to Debra on a leather sofa. “Please sit, Katy.”
“I don’t want to sit,” I said, hugging myself, feeling chilled to the bone. “I want to know what the hell is going on here.”
“This was my idea, so it’s mine to explain.” Debra glanced at Nora. “I could use some water.” She turned the leather-strapped watch on her bony wrist to check the time.
Nora left the room. While we waited, I paced, panicky and completely baffled. All I wanted to do was get out of there, but first I had to know what was going on. I stopped pacing and studied Debra’s sickly countenance. She averted her eyes under my stare but said nothing. It had been only a few days, maybe a week since I’d last seen her, but she was wasting away. Her light brown face was blotchy and withered, and blood stained the crumpled tissue she held.
Nora returned and set a tall glass on a coaster. Debra took a pillbox from her sweater pocket and struggled to open it.
“How’s the pain level?” Nora opened the box and dumped a pill in Debra’s hand.
“Bad.” She gagged down the pill, then checked her watch again. “Katy. I know I look bad, and I’m sure you’re wondering, so I’m going to be blunt. I’m dying.”
“What do you mean?” I sank into a leather sling chair facing her.
“Just what I said. I am dying. Soon. I have stage-five lung cancer.”
“But you don’t smoke, do you?”
“No. But I grew up with two smokers. So maybe this is the result of that. Who knows?”
“Are you doing chemo?” I asked.
“I chose not to. I have no family and…”
“That’s not true,” said Nora. “You have me. If you’d told me sooner, I could have helped you.”
Debra smiled sadly, shaking her head. “Maybe if my daughter had lived.” She stopped talking, lost somewhere in time for a moment. “Some people, when given a terminal prognosis, choose to spend their final days working their way through a bucket list. But I have no desire to jump out of a plane or climb mountains. I chose to work as long as possible, doing what I love most. Caring for my patients. Chemo would have halted my life immediately.”
“I’m so sorry about all that, really, but it doesn’t explain why you’re here in my uncle’s house. And why you’ve done whatever it is you’ve done to him.”
“Hear me out, Katy.” She stifled another coughing spasm. “I couldn’t let that man in there…” She glanced down the hallway. “…be free to hurt other children. And I couldn’t let him hurt your mother again. I just couldn’t.” She glanced at her watch again, then nodded to Nora.
Nora stood, brushing away the stray hairs clinging to her face and tucking in her wrinkled white blouse. “We should go now.”
“Not just yet. I have to explain this so Katy truly understands, because now she has to make a decision too.”
I sucked in a slow, shaky breath, pretty sure of the answer to my question now, but still I asked again. “What did you do to him?”
“We sedated him and then—”
“Oh, thank God. I thought maybe you’d—”
“Nora, I’m going to check him now.” Debra used the sofa arm to push her spindly body erect.
“I’ll go,” said Nora.
“No. You’re not a doctor. You stay and talk to Katy.”
I watched her lurch out of the room, using furniture and walls for support, then said to Nora, “I still don’t understand.”
“Katy.” Her warm brown eyes were filled with compassion. “Yes, you do.”
Debra returned and Nora helped her sit. She sipped her water, then said, “It’s done. We should leave soon.”
I rushed to my uncle’s bedside. His crotch was damp and the odor of feces drove me back. I kept a hand clamped over my nose and mouth while I watched his chest for movement. I studied his slack, unfamiliar face, a thick wad of terror clogging my throat. How could I be related to this man? And then I realized he had Ruby’s nose.
“He’s gone,” said Debra from the doorway. She advanced toward me holding out her hand, revealing a syringe.
I recoiled, remembering another recent run-in with a syringe. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you what I used. I injected him with a lethal dose of a neuromuscular blocking agent.”
“An overdose causes respiratory failure,” said Nora.
I said nothing, watching the syringe in Debra’s hand. Was I next on their extermination list?
Debra swayed on her feet and grasped the bureau for support. “How many times have you wished him dead, Katy?”
Too many times to count. “But I didn’t really mean it.”
“I don’t believe that. And neither do you.”
Debra was right. From the moment I first heard what he had done to my mother and his granddaughter, I wanted the son of a bitch dead. I’d had wild daydreams of killing him myself. He was a perverted human being who finally got exactly what he deserved. Now my mother and grandmother would no longer live in dread, wondering when he would come knocking on the door. Or when he’d hurt another child.
I gazed at him, my feelings a mix of disbelief, fear, gratitude, horror, relief. “She’s right. I’m glad you’re dead.”
“So now what do we do?” Nora moved to stand beside Debra.
“That all depends on Katy,” said Debra. “Can you live with this, or are you going to turn me in?”
“Us in,” said Nora. “You couldn’t have done this alone. Not in your condition. And we agreed it was the right thing to do.”
I contemplated the situation as best I could considering my current state of total discombobulation. If I turned in Debra, Nora would be an accessory. These courageous women had done society a great service at a tremendous risk to themselves. And they’d done it for my mother and grandmother. And for every other child he’d hurt in the past or would hurt in the future. And I was glad they had done it. How could I possibly turn them in?
“One thing you should think about, Katy.” Debra drew in a wheezy breath. “If you don’t go to the police now. Today. You could be held responsible too.”
That hadn’t occurred to me, but she
was right. If I chose to turn a blind eye to this, I’d be an accessory to murder. This was a life-altering decision I had to make in a matter of seconds, and once made, there would be no take-backs.
I turned away from them, gazing out the window at a tin bird feeder hung in a sycamore maybe fifteen feet from the house. Two finches were quarreling over its one perch. One gave up and flew off. Was this decision as easy as that? Yes, because there was no decision to make. I had to do the right thing.
“I’m sure. I owe you both a huge debt of gratitude.” I pointed at the corpse. “In a way, so does he. You released him from his terrible demons.”
“Thank you, Katy.” Debra stood, appearing energized by my decision. “We have to make sure we leave nothing behind that will lead back to us, in case there’s any suspicion of foul play.”
“What if they do an autopsy?” Just asking made me want to throw up.
“The drug only remains in the liver for a very short time after death,” said Nora. “And it could be days before anyone discovers his body, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“A man his age dying of an apparent heart attack shouldn’t raise any suspicions.” Debra handed the syringe to Nora. “Put this in your purse, and we’ll get rid of it on the way home.”
She removed her turquoise neckerchief and wrapped the syringe in it. “Are we going to leave him like that? Just lying there on the bed, fully clothed? Won’t that look a trifle odd?”
“You’re right,” said Debra. “If he’d had a natural heart attack, he’d be on the floor or sitting in front of the TV. Something like that.” She thought for a moment. “We can’t move him. He’s big and trying to drag him through the house would most likely be detected by homicide detectives.”
“We could make it look like he was taking a nap,” I said, suddenly no longer an innocent bystander.
Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection Page 48