Hot Enough to Kill

by Paula Boyd

  Gone, as in dead. The woman was fully and completely deranged. "If you knew the money was at the cabin--and somebody had to put that hideaway box in the bathroom--why didn't you just go get it?"

  "He put that box in," she said, kicking her brother again. "I didn't know a damn thing about it until today. He'd been doing entirely too much thinking for himself lately, and that's not healthy."

  Okay, I sort of got why she was out to get revenge on the town for not treating her the way she wanted, but there were more twists and turns that just didn't fit. "So why did you shoot at me and Leroy?"

  Susan laughed, and this time she sounded sincerely amused. "Actually, sweetcakes, I thought you were your mother. How's that for a kick in the teeth?"

  The jab hit its mark--and it was a very low one. Okay, Jolene, I told myself, there are worse things than being mistaken for your mother--like death--so suck it up and stay focused.

  I chanced a look at my mother, and what I saw did not help me suck up anything. Lucille had pure terror written across her pale skin. It was one thing to deal with a known idiot, like Leroy or Dewayne, but Lucille knew serious trouble when she saw it. Susan Schuman Miller was smart and ruthless, and it was scaring the daylights out of my mother.

  Lucille pressed her long-nailed fingers against her lips and stared, trying to hold back tears. "You killed BigJohn." Tears puddle in her eyes. "I don't care what anybody says, he really did care about me, and you killed him."

  "Don't get yourself too worked up, Granny. Bennett's first concern was always for himself. He never even noticed your key missing from his cabinet."

  Lucille pressed her fingers to her mouth harder, but a sob slipped out anyway.

  "That wasn't the best part, though. I think the most fun I had was seeing what happened when the gun found its way back home. Everybody thought that slut carving was a zinger at Granny." Susan nodded at me and winked. "But we know better, don't we, Jolene?"

  Well, we did now. My father's favorite shotgun had been carved up as a slur against me? Not my mother, but me? Why? Some convoluted thing to do with Jerry and Amy no doubt. I didn't much care to hear the screwed-up reasoning behind it, because obviously Susan Schuman was seriously screwed up.

  Then again, at the moment, so was I. A man was dead in front of me, his blood spreading out across the floor, and I was doing everything I could not to look down at it. I was teetering on the edge of a meltdown the likes of which I had no reference for. I had to get control of myself. I had to not think about him--or that I was one finger twitch away from being there with him. I had to focus my petrified brain on what she might do next--and how I could stop her. How, dammit, how?

  I heard Mother sniffling and sucking in little crying gasps, and when I turned to look at her, my heart just broke. Lucille Jackson had tears running down her face and looked absolutely scared to death. I couldn't let her just stand there like that.

  "Here, Mother," I said, stepping toward Lucille. "Let me get you a tissue from your purse."

  "Hey, there, sweetcakes. I'm not ready to shoot you just yet, so don't make me," Susan said, following me with the gun. "Get away from her."

  Susan stood about six feet away from me, and I stood between mother and Susan--and the gun. Mother was semi-protected, but the odds were good that the bullet would keep right on going through me and into her. Gory thought, but true. I didn't have much of a plan, but I knew I had to do something--even if it was wrong. And I had to do it now. Right now.

  Leroy was still up against the fish trough, about the same distance away, although I wasn't sure what significance that held. With my back to Susan, I couldn't see what she was doing, or much of what Leroy was doing, but I hoped he was paying attention and might have a jolt of both instinct and ingenuity to help out when I needed it. This was right up there with the pigs sprouting wings theory, but hope springs eternal.

  I said, "Either shoot me now or let me get my mother a tissue." I moved my hand toward the purse. "I'm not going to just stand here and not help her. She's an old woman and you're upsetting her. She has a heart condition besides." It was pure bravado talking, but I didn't have anything to lose. I glanced into Mother's face to see if her hackles had raised over my comments, particularly the old woman part. They hadn't. In fact, I didn't even think she'd heard me. And that was a very bad sign.

  "Hurry up then," Susan said matter-of-factly. "Clean your sniveling selves up, but knock off the whining. I just hate whiny women."

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Leroy watching me. He knew as well as anybody what was in the purse that sat in the chair next to Lucille. What he didn't know was whether I was going to swing it or pull a gun from it. I didn't know either.

  Leroy no longer had a gun, so I couldn't expect him to do much, except realize that something was about to happen.

  I made eye contact with him, looked down at the purse then kind of jerked my head toward Susan. The gesture wasn't terribly clear, but at least he knew I was about to do something.

  "I really hadn't expected you all to show up here together for me," Susan said amicably. "It is rather convenient, but it also rather muddies things up a bit, which is why you're still alive. I will, of course, have to kill you, but that's not as easy as it sounds. These things have to work out logically."

  Logic was the last thing I was worried about. I did not look around, but knew she was eyeing us one by one, trying to work out a believable chain of events.

  She laughed. "So many choices. Tying up a neat knot in three murders and a suicide is going to take some doing. If I'd just shot Dewayne in the head, this would all be a piece of cake--my bad. As it is, I can't very well just shoot you all here and expect the cops to figure out how you killed one another." She sighed heavily. "I surely do hate doing these things on the spur of the moment. I'm much more effective when I have some time to plan."

  While Susan congratulated herself on her intelligence and unfortunate circumstances, I dug in Mother's purse and got the tissue like I'd said I would and wiped away Lucille's tears. It shook me more than I wanted to admit to see my hard-nosed mother so stricken. But then we very well might be dead in the next two minutes, so I was flying free and loose on the emotional thing. "I love you, Mom."

  She blinked a little, tears spilling out from the effort, and sniffed, a ragged sobbing thing. She couldn't talk, but she nodded a "me too."

  Okay, I'd had enough. Giving Susan time to work out a suitable plan for our murders wasn't going to help anything. If she was going to shoot us, she was going to have to do it on the fly. I had no doubt she would, but I also realized that nobody was going to show up to save us, so that seemed to leave any saving business up to me.

  I knew before I did anything that somebody was going to get shot--Susan was going to pull the trigger. But if I did something now, we had a chance that not everyone would die as she'd promised. There was no way I could get the Glock out of the case and ready to fire before Susan shot me dead. So, I did the next best thing. I transferred the tissue to my left hand and dabbed Mother's eyes again. With my right hand, I reached down, grabbed the handle of the purse, spun around and flung it toward Susan as hard as I could.

  Time slowed to a crawl. I watched the purse hurtle through the air toward her head. I saw her eyes widen. I saw her jump to the side. I saw her squeeze the trigger.

  Boom!

  I stumbled backward a little, watching as Leroy lunged toward Susan.

  He knocked her gun arm up and another boom blasted through the room.

  Then another.

  After the third shot, Leroy staggered and stepped away from Susan. As he did, I saw that he was pointing his gun at her. At some point, he must have grabbed his gun back from her. But what had happened?

  A crimson stain began to spread across Susan's chest. Then I saw her face. Eyes wide in stunned disbelief, she crumpled to the floor, falling across Dewayne.

  Leroy stepped over and kicked her gun across the room then looked toward Mother and me.

&
nbsp; I started to say "good work" or something like that, but his face got all funny looking and his jaw hung slack. I couldn't see that he'd been shot, but something was definitely wrong. I glanced at Mother to make sure she was all right. Her eyes were wide and she looked petrified. I could understand that feeling. "Mom, you okay?"

  She started sobbing and pointing at me then spun around and ran to the far end of the room. When she came running back with a towel, I knew something was very wrong. "Leroy," she shrieked, seeming to come out of her shock a little. "Get over here!"

  But Leroy was already there beside me, although I didn't know exactly why. "Good Lord, Jolene," he said, his voice quivering. "You've been shot."

  What? About then I began to notice that I couldn't move my left arm and a searing pain was creeping up through my shoulder. I ventured a look down. Blood. Lots of it. Mine. "Well, damn."

  I felt myself sliding down to the floor and saw Leroy's big old hands grabbing for me.

  The next thing I knew, I had a towel wrapped tightly around my upper arm, and Leroy and my mother were standing over me, telling me everything was going to be okay.

  I knew it wasn't, though, because they were both crying.

  Chapter 20

  I don't remember that much about the first few days after surgery, except the doctors explaining about the metal rod they had to put in my arm. And the only reason I remember that is because they had a visual aid to enhance their shuddering presentation--a long shiny piece of metal and wicked-looking screws. I would have really preferred not to know.

  I had no doubts that my mother had been with me the whole time, even though I hadn't done much except sleep, thanks to heavy duty drugs. But every time I did wake up, there she was. Nice. I also remembered Jerry being there, and my kids--Matt and Sarah--I'd seen them too, maybe. Were they really here or had I just dreamed it all?

  I'd been dozing off and on for most of the morning, but I hadn't felt like chatting so I'd just kept my eyes closed. However, in my brief moments of consciousness, I'd felt almost human--a big improvement. Mostly, though, I stayed in that hazy half-awake place where thoughts race around wildly, giving you all sorts of ideas on what you could or should be doing, then vanish into nothingness like wisps of smoke. It seemed like I'd had some kind of revelation during my mental travels, an important one, but I couldn't quite reel it back in.

  At some point through the haze, I thought I heard my mother talking to me. She'd been doing that a lot these last few days and so had the kids--or so it seemed. But Mother was here now, I was sure, because I could see her, couldn't I? Or could I just hear her?

  "Wake up, Jolene, somebody's here to see you."

  I pushed away the fog, and Mother's words began to register, slowly, and I dutifully tried to wedge my eyes open. It took a few blinks, but I finally coaxed my lids to stay halfway open.

  Mother was standing beside the bed. So was Jerry, but he wasn't in his uniform. He was in a hospital robe, with an IV rack beside him. He stood for a moment then sat back down in a wheelchair. I was trying to make sense of that, when I saw who was holding the back of his chair. Amy. Amy? What was she doing here?

  I wasn't sure if I'd died, or if I wished I had. Jerry and Amy. Here. Together. Heaven, it was not. And Jerry was still in the hospital? I thought he'd gone away with Amy. Damn, but this was confusing.

  "Hey, how are you?" Jerry said, his soft Texas drawl a little strained. "We've been really worried about you."

  Lucille patted my good shoulder and walked away so the lovely couple could get closer to my hospital bed.

  Amy gripped the bed rail and leaned toward me, her perfect blond beauty shimmering out like a delicate light. "I'm just so sorry about all of this, Jolene. I feel so responsible. I thought I knew her. She helped me through some hard times. I'm just so sorry. I can't imagine her being this different person." She blinked and sniffed. "I wish I could undo everything. Oh, Jolene, I'm just so sorry."

  So was I. Very, very sorry. "It's okay, Amy. Really." Actually, I didn't know that anything was okay, but it seemed to be the thing to say, especially to Amy. I was the one half-dead, and yet I was still compelled to comfort her. And she's here with Jerry besides. It was enough to send my already spinning head completely into orbit. "Jerry, are you okay? Did you have to come back to the hospital?"

  He shook his head. "No, Jo, I never left. I did change rooms--and names, however, when Bob found out Dewayne was on the run."

  "I came to see you...." I said pitifully.

  "I know," he said, a soft smile curving his lips. "I tried to call and tell you what was going on, but that wasn't something I could say on a cell phone. Just not secure. I'm really sorry about that, Jolene. I hope you weren't worried."

  Me? Worried? Ha! I scoff at worry and fear and panic. Speaking of which, just what the hell were these two doing here together anyway? I had mustered up enough courage to ask that very question when Jerry stuck his hand through the bed rail and squeezed my arm.

  "I bet you don't know that you're the talk of the county," he said, grinning like the owner of a first prize pig. "You wouldn't believe the newspaper articles that have been written about your heroism."

  I groaned, never happy to have an article written about me, particularly in this place. "Kimberlee Fletcher?"

  Jerry chuckled and shifted himself in the wheelchair. "It was all good things this time, Jo. Your mother's keeping a scrapbook. When you get to feeling better, you'll see all the good that's come out of this."

  "That's right," Amy chirped, like a soft, little snowy dove. "If it hadn't been for you, Jerry and I might never have resolved our problems. We both owe you so much."

  Resolved? Owe me? Oh, that sounded grand, just grand. Me, the marriage counselor. I was so proud.

  "Amy and I are going to make things work," Jerry said, still smiling broadly. "For the kids' sake. I mean really, Jolene, this whole thing really makes you think about what's most important in life, doesn't it?"

  "Yeah, it sure does," I said, keeping the "and it's not me" comment to myself. But while we were analyzing priorities, I figured mine ought to be to get right back to Colorado and away from Jerry Don and the glorious Mrs. Jerry Don lest I interfere with their resolution or reconciliation or whatever. I tried to scrunch down into the hard hospital mattress and disappear, but it didn't seem to be working. Where were those ruby slippers when you really needed them?

  "Besides," Jerry continued cheerfully. "You and I have been friends for over thirty years, Jo, and it's worked out just fine."

  Fine? Oh, yeah, it was working out just dandy. I was in the hospital with a steel rod and matching screws in my arm and he was back together with his ex-wife. Yes, everything was just great. So help me, if they told me they were going to a marriage counselor I was going to scream.

  "Jerry's such a good father," Amy said, sniffing just a little and patting his shoulder. She looked so pretty and fragile, and I just wanted to choke her. "I feel so bad about this whole thing," she said softly. "I made some awful mistakes, but there's no reason the kids should suffer for them." She seemed to suck in a new burst of energy and hers eyes sparkled brighter. "Oh, Jolene, you just won't believe what we've worked out. Jerry's going to move back into the house!"

  I choked. I coughed. I wanted to cry. Their reconciliation was moving mighty fast and I wasn't taking it well at all. Like a three-year-old to be precise. I tried to suck it up and act mature. "I'm so happy for you both," I said, my teeth clenching reflexively. I'd given it my best shot, really I had, but sincerity did not naturally radiate from the grinding of pearly whites.

  "Oh, you're just so sweet," Amy said, natural honey oozing from her voice. "Why, I told Jerry we owe it all to you. And I just want you to know you'll be welcome at our house any time, whether Jerry's there or not. The kids just can't wait for you to tell them about your adventures."

  Yeah, sounded lovely. I nodded and tried to look honored. I had no right to expect anything from Jerry. We were just friends. Had always
been just friends. I had to be happy for him. He deserved to be happy. So did Amy. So did his kids. So did everybody in the whole stinking world. I took a deep breath and tried again. "Your kids are great," I said, thinking of Rachel and Benjamin. They really did seem like great kids and I'd liked them right off. "Tell them I said hi." It was lame, but I wasn't in top form at the moment.

  Amy smiled and reached around Jerry to pat my arm. "I'd better run along now. I've got to get my things out of the house by tomorrow since Jerry should be home by then. Oh, my, Jerry, I almost forgot. I'm going to run by this afternoon and get Rachel's soccer shoes for camp so you won't have to worry about that when the time comes. And Benjamin's going to mow the grass this afternoon so that will all be done before you get there." Amy's smile fluttered angelically across her face as she fluttered to the door. "I know the kids are going to be so happy to have Jerry back in the house. He's such a wonderful father."

  I tried to smile but it was halfhearted at best. Yes, he was a wonderful father, and they were a wonderful family. Wonderful. Everything was just freakin' wonderful.

  Amy flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and shrugged. "Everyone thinks we're crazy, moving in and out of the house instead of just shuffling the kids back and forth between us, but I think it's worth a try. That way, the kids stay put in their own rooms and have what they need. Kind of like having a different nurse every shift. Only it will just be the two of us swapping out. We'll work it around Jerry's schedule, of course."