Dyeing Season

by Karen MacInerney

  "How much are we talking?"

  "Another ten acres," I said. "I'm happy to pay you a finder's fee, too."

  She pursed her lips, considering.

  "Can we go talk about this in the house?" I suggested.

  She thought about it for a moment. "Can't hurt," she said. "But I have to do something with them so they don't run away."

  "We can lock the barn from the outside, can't we? I'll go check."

  "No," she said. "You stay here. I'll check." She gave me a hard look. "But if you try anything, I'm not afraid to use this gun."

  "Understood," I said.

  She opened the door of the Escalade and walked backward toward the barn doors. When she stepped out of the barn, I whispered, "I'm going to distract her as long as I can. See if you can get out somehow and run over to my house. The door's unlocked; go in and call the police and let them know what's going on."

  They nodded, their faces pale.

  "Come on out, Lucy," she said. "And no funny business, you two."

  I let myself out of the SUV and walked to the doors of the barn, trying to look confident and unconcerned. Which was a bit of a challenge with a deranged real estate agent leveling a gun at my head.

  "Do you have a key to the house?" I asked. "I figured we could go have a cup of coffee in the kitchen, where we can keep an eye on the barn."

  "There's a lock box on the front door," she said. "The code is 7572. If you try anything..." She looked meaningfully at the barn.

  "Got it," I said, wondering how I was going to get us all out of this.

  21

  My heart pounded as I hurried around the house. The porch roof was still twisted up; although the storm had hit just a few days earlier, it felt like a lifetime ago. I punched the code with shaking fingers and fumbled with the key. I let myself into Dottie's house a moment later. Unfortunately, the only phone in the house was in the kitchen, so there was no way to contact the police without Faith seeing me. As I closed the front door behind me, I scanned the entry hall and the living room to the left, looking for something I could use as a weapon. Unfortunately, unless I could find some way to hide an umbrella in my pocket, I was out of luck.

  I walked slowly to the kitchen and opened the back door. Faith bustled in and gave me her real estate smile, with a little bit of frosted lipstick on her front tooth. She'd locked two teenagers in the barn, and earlier had duct-taped them and gagged them, but you'd never know it from her chirpy, let's-make-a-deal demeanor.

  "Let's sit at the kitchen table," she suggested.

  I wanted to stretch things out as long as possible. "Mind if I make us some tea?" I suggested.

  "I suppose," she said. She was still holding the gun, but it was no longer leveled at me. It was as if she'd forgotten it was there; the gun dangled almost casually from her right hand.

  "I'll see if I can find some cookies, too," I said as I filled the teakettle with water and put it on the stove. "You've got a really good thing going, it seems," I added. "I'm glad Dottie is in a place where she's getting the care she needs."

  "Yes. The home really is the best place for a lot of older folks. They just don't realize what's good for them."

  "I know Eva was giving Dottie a hard time about moving, but it sounds like she was just really shortsighted," I said.

  "I'm glad you can see that. She didn't understand that taking care of things for her and moving her to a better place was doing her a service." She shook her highlighted, carefully coifed head. "To be honest? I think she just didn't want to be out of a job. Jerri and I had everything all set up, but she just kept trying to stick her oar in. Same thing that happened with some of the residents at the home."

  "Oh?" I said mildly as I found a box of butter cookies in one of the cabinets.

  "She got fired for messing with things," Faith said. "She was interfering with what was best for the residents."

  "I heard she got into a dustup with someone named Jerri," I replied. "She was in charge of a lot of the residents, wasn't she?"

  "She is very efficient," Faith said. "If Jessie hadn't been around, I would have hooked Dottie up with Jerri. Fortunately, Jessie understood what was best for his mother."

  "Did he call you, or did you approach him?"

  She looked up at me and narrowed her blue eyes. "Why do you care?"

  "You just have such a reputation," I said, backpedaling. "I'm sure you're the person everyone talks to when they're thinking of selling. You are Buttercup real estate."

  She relaxed, and her lips curved into a smile. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my racing heart.

  "Did you talk to Eva, try to get her to understand?"

  "Oh, I did," she said. "It's a horrible thing to say, I know, but for Dottie's sake, it's a good thing Eva died when she did. Even though it's a real shame," she added woodenly. "I feel a little bad for her. It was a bad way to go."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, feeling a chill. Nobody but Tobias, Deputy Shames and I knew how Eva had died. "Strangled by her own scarf," Faith said blithely, inspecting the gun and rubbing at a smudge on the barrel.

  "Horrible," I murmured.

  "Still," she said, in a weird, dreamy voice, "what's done is done."

  "And then for Dottie's son to die so soon after," I said. "Who do you think killed him?" I asked, although I was pretty sure I already knew.

  "I'll bet it was that man she was seeing. Edward something-or-other. I heard the other day that he thought Jessie had killed Eva." She nodded sagely, still watching the barn. "I mean, it's obvious. Jessie was killed right where Edward works. It was a revenge killing. It's the only thing that makes sense."

  "You think?"

  She nodded. "He probably led him there under false pretenses, then got rid of him."

  "I'm sure once the police go through their phones, they'll be able to prove it," I said lightly.

  "I heard they didn't have their phones with them," Faith said.

  If I'd had any doubts at all, they were all gone now. "Even so," I said, "surely they'll be able to tell from phone records, won't they?"

  "I doubt that will help," she said. "Everyone uses caller ID blocking these days."

  If she'd blocked the number, why take the phones? Curiosity about who else her victims might have contacted? Or had she perhaps had earlier interactions with them—voice mails or texts—she wanted to keep under wraps?

  "What kind of tea would you like?" I asked, hoping to keep her comfortable and distracted while I figured something out. I stole a glance at the barn. Had Ethan and June figured out how to get out? Had I made a mistake in recommending they try? Faith's eyes had barely left the barn since we got to the kitchen. "Here," I said, displaying the tea boxes, hoping to draw her attention away from the window. "Dottie's got peppermint, chamomile, and English breakfast."

  "English breakfast," Faith said without looking. "With lemon, if you have any."

  "I'll look," I said. I opened the fridge, relieved to find a wizened lemon on the top shelf. I took it out and put it on a small cutting board, then reached for a knife. I cut the lemon into wedges, then turned and made sure Faith's eyes were still trained on the barn before slipping it into the pocket of my jeans. I put a plate of cookies on the table along with a plate of lemon wedges and the sugar bowl, then sat down next to Faith as we waited for the water to heat.

  "So," she said brightly. "Back to business. You want a piece of land?"

  "I do," I said. "I know you already have the place under contract, but do you think the buyer would be willing to do a deal?"

  "It depends on how much you're willing to spend," she said.

  "Who's the buyer?"

  "It's an investment firm," she said.

  My stomach lurched again. Which was saying something, considering I was sitting next to what I was pretty sure was an armed murderer and trying to keep her from killing my friend's child and his classmate.

  "What kind of investment firm?" I asked. "What are they planning to do?"

 
"I don't think that's been nailed down yet," she said vaguely. "But I'm sure they'd be open to a strong offer. It's a hundred-acre parcel. I'm thinking we might be able to peel off ten acres on the west side of the lot," she said, biting her lip. "Not including the house, of course. It's premium property, though, so it won't be cheap, although I might be able to get you a bit of a discount."

  "How much are we talking?" I asked.

  She quoted me a price that was three times as much as I'd spent to buy the farm. I knew property prices had gone up, but that seemed ridiculous. Not that it mattered, frankly. My main concern was getting the kids out of the barn alive... and, if possible, me out of Dottie's house without being peppered with bullets.

  "That seems like a lot," I said. "But I might be able to work it out." I took a breath. "Buttercup Holding has been buying a lot of properties, hasn't it? Did you help set it up?"

  "I have a lot of clients," she said tightly, but she didn't deny it.

  The kettle whistled, and I got up to pour into two cups. I put them on saucers with spoons, then carried them back to the table and set one in front of Faith. My hope was that she'd put down the gun long enough to squeeze lemon into her tea and stir it in.

  She didn't.

  "Squeeze one of those in there for me, will you?" she asked. "Sugar, too?" I did as she asked, and gave her tea a quick stir. "Thank you," she said. "Now," she went on, picking up the cup with her free hand and taking a small sip. Her voice had changed; she was out of real estate sales mode. "I have to decide what to do."

  "What is there to do? Just let the kids go home. I'll vouch for you if they complain."

  "But they heard things," she said, fingering the gun. "It's risky."

  "Who's going to believe two kids?" I asked, feeling my heart race. "Just let them go. Whatever they heard can't have been that bad. Besides, you've been doing a service."

  "I don't know," she said. All of a sudden, there was a shift in the feeling in the room. A shift I didn't like one bit.

  "Have a cookie," I suggested. "Sugar always helps me."

  She reached for a cookie mechanically. A phone in her pocket started vibrating; she fumbled in her pocket, pulled a phone out and looked at the screen. "There's a text that says they're on their way. Who's on their way? Where?" She stood up, gripping the gun.

  "Whoever it is, I'm sure they're headed to Fred Smolak's ranch," I said. "You took the kids' phones when you found them, right?"

  She nodded.

  "None of us has had a phone since we were at Fred's place. We're safe here; the car's in the barn, and there's no one around."

  "I don't know," she said. "Maybe I should take care of the problem." Her eyes drifted to me, and there was a calculating look in them I didn't like at all. The barrel of the gun drifted toward me. "Who inherits your farm?"

  As she spoke, there was a chill breeze and a whiff of lavender. A moment later, there was a crash from the front room.

  Faith jerked and turned around, pointing the gun away from me, toward the sound of the crash. "What was that?"

  "I don't know," I said, and slid my hand into my pocket. As Faith stood up, my fingers closed around the knife. She took a few steps toward the living room. I fell in behind her, mustering my courage as she scanned the room.

  The mirror over the fireplace had come loose from its moorings, hitting the mantel and scattering photographs across the carpeted floor. "Not broken," Faith said as she lifted a corner of the mirror. "Good. No bad luck."

  As she began to stand up, still off-balance in her pink high-heeled shoes, I felt my grandmother's presence.

  Now.

  I stepped forward and put the knife to Faith's back. "Drop the gun," I said in a voice that sounded like business, even though my hand was shaking.

  "No," she said in a harsh voice. Her body whirled to the right, the gun swinging around toward me. The knife turned to the side. I reached for her wrist with my free hand, wrenching the gun away from me, but Faith was surprisingly strong. I held up the knife, not sure exactly where to put it as we wrestled. She might be trying to kill me, but I still felt squeamish about sticking a knife into another human being.

  Unfortunately, she seemed to feel no such compunction.

  "I should have killed you before," she snarled as I tried to figure out what to do with the knife.

  "Like you did Jessie and Eva?" I asked as I pushed against her wrist, straining to keep the gun aimed away from my head.

  "They had to die," she said. "They were ruining the whole setup."

  "Even Jessie?"

  "He found out from Eva. He was going to blackmail me, that dirty rat."

  "I thought he and Eva were enemies?"

  "She told him about the arrangement I had with Jerri and the doctor when she was trying to talk him out of selling the house. I was on the road to retirement in a few years... if he blew things up, all my plans would be destroyed."

  "And then he figured you killed her and was blackmailing you to stay quiet?"

  "Both. The set-up and Eva."

  Even though I was struggling for my life, I reflected that Jessie never was the brightest bulb. Blackmailing a murderer? "I had to stop him," Faith continued. "And now you... this is not what I planned."

  With a new burst of strength, she kicked my leg out from beneath me. The knife tumbled from my hand as I crumpled to the floor, still holding her wrist. I flailed for the knife with the other hand, but it was out of reach, and now Faith was bending over me, inching the gun closer to my head, her carefully made-up face distorted with rage, eyes bulging, lipsticked lips pulled back, exposing a line of yellowed teeth.

  My eyes darted down to Faith's wobbly high-heeled shoes. She was off-balance. I heaved my body to one side and swept my leg into her ankles, still holding tight to her wrist. She let out a squeal and fell on top of me, her elbow digging into my stomach. I reached for her wrist with my other hand, but she still held tight to the gun, and was pushing it toward my head again.

  As we wrestled, there was the sound of a car engine in the driveway. Faith looked up. "Did they get out of the barn?" Her arm relaxed for a split second—long enough for me to slam it against the corner of the coffee table.

  "Ouch!" she yelled as the gun skittered across the rug.

  I heaved her off me and threw myself at the gun, but as my hand closed on it, something stabbed into my shoulder.

  Faith had the knife.

  I jerked my hand back instinctively, and she lunged for the gun. Feeling a searing pain in my shoulder, I shot out my arm and managed to shove it under the coffee table just in time. She squealed in anger and frustration and pulled back my hair; a second later, I felt cold metal bite at my throat.

  "No," I gasped just as the front door flew open.

  22

  "Drop it," came a voice I recognized, but couldn't place.

  "What are you doing here?" Faith asked in a hysterical voice.

  "Drop it," the voice repeated.

  "No." Faith's voice was gravelly. The knife bit in harder. Where was my jugular? How long would it take me to bleed out if she cut it?

  And who had walked into Dottie's house?

  Despite the knife digging into my throat, I tilted my head so I could see the door.

  It was Jennifer, and she was leveling a shotgun at Faith.

  "What on God's green earth are you doing, Faith? I thought you were a good Christian woman!"

  "This has nothing to do with that," Faith said. "Just walk away and let me tidy things up."

  "Tidy things up?" Jennifer said. "Oh, wait. You tidied up my brother, too, didn't you? And poor Eva?"

  Faith said nothing.

  "You were going to make a tidy packet on Mother's house, weren't you? And Eva didn't want you to, so you killed the poor woman who was trying to look after my mother."

  "Shut up," Faith said. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."

  "I can't believe this," Jennifer said. "What did my brother do? Threaten to give the listing to someone else? You're a
piece of work."

  "I'll kill her. You know I will," Faith hissed.

  "There are two kids in the barn," I blurted, just in case something happened to me. The knife bit in deeper.

  "Kids in the barn? Why?"

  "Explain later," I choked out. The pressure against my windpipe increased.

  How were we going to get out of this impasse?

  The same question must have occurred to Jennifer. "This needs to end," she said, her voice softer. "Just put down the knife, Faith. We can talk about it, figure something out. Nobody needs to know about this."

  Faith didn't respond. Was she thinking about it? Faith was pressed against me, her legs akimbo, panting. I could smell the tea on her breath, and her powdery perfume, and a little whiff of sweat and fear.

  "You can get in your car and drive away and forget all about this," Jennifer said. "You haven't done anything wrong here. Not yet. And even if you did do something before, there isn't any proof. You can just walk away."

  "What about the kids in the barn?"

  "We'll get them out and take them home," she said soothingly, as if she were talking to one of her toddlers. "And then you can go home and go back to business as usual."

  I felt the knife relax a little. Was it working? "Business as usual," she said. "That would be nice." Then she tensed again. "It's not going to happen, though. This one won't let it."

  "I will," I protested.

  "You went after me with a knife!"

  "I was just trying to get you to put the gun down," I said. "I was afraid you were going to shoot me."

  "I wasn't," she said. "I promise, I wasn't."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't know that," I said. "Can we call a truce?"

  There was another cold breeze, this time coming from the opposite direction from the door. Again, that sharp herbal scent of lavender.

  At the same moment, the door slammed shut and the wind chimes in the corner started to jangle.

  "What the..."

  The pressure left my neck for an instant. I launched myself to the left and rolled away from Faith. When I came up, Faith was sitting in the middle of the room, legs still akimbo, one pink pump adrift on the worn carpet, the knife in her slack hand, as Jennifer leveled a shotgun at her head.