Claws for Alarm

by Karen MacInerney

  "It wasn't," he said. "I always wanted to be with Ingrid. And she wants to be with me. I should have married her instead, all those years ago, but Francine..."

  "What happened?" I asked, edging closer to the bed. He was holding the gun in one hand and the syringe in the other. What was in the syringe? I wondered. Nothing good, I was sure of that.

  "She decided I was the one. I was weak. And before I knew it, we were engaged to be married.” He shrugged. "She was a force of nature. I was kind of surprised the brick worked."

  I could see that, but didn't feel it was the moment to discuss it. I took another step closer to the bed... and Rainy, whose face was still and pale. "Out of curiosity... what do you know about Audrey Meadows? The woman Francine framed for arson?"

  "Oh, her. Yes... Francine wasn't very happy with her. She cost her a lot in legal fees."

  "So she committed arson on her own house to get her arrested?"

  "Of course she did," Gus said. "Sent the letters and everything... at least at first. That's what gave me the idea to do it here."

  "So you sent the threatening notes?"

  "I did... and boy, was she unhappy about that. Not used to things being turned against her."

  "Why did she decide to move to Maine?" I asked.

  "I wanted her to," he said. "I started sending notes in Florida. And then I slashed her tires. It wasn't hard to convince her to get out of town. And when I told her about how isolated the island was..." He shrugged. "Imagine her surprise when she started to get letters here, too."

  "It's like you enjoyed it."

  "I kind of did. I spent so many years dancing to her tune, it was a nice change of pace. Plus, I got my second chance with Ingrid."

  "Did Francine know about it?"

  He shrugged. "She was too self-involved, I think."

  "Why not just divorce her?"

  He blinked at me. "And be penniless? After all the years I put up with her? I don't think so."

  "How could you have been penniless?"

  "She's got good attorneys. Always used them, and never let me forget where the money came from." He grimaced. "Take no prisoners, that was her motto. Her only exception was me." His face drooped, and even though he was holding a gun on me, I felt a twinge of pity. His and Francine's seemed to have been something of a twisted relationship. It didn't excuse what he'd done... but I could at least sort of understand it.

  Except for the part about killing someone. And framing a stranger for your crime.

  "What happened to Audrey? Do you know?"

  "Suicide," he said shortly.

  So it was suicide, just as I’d suspected. Poor James. "I think her fiancé had a vendetta against your wife. He's at the retreat."

  "I know," he said, smiling. "They'll never figure out it was me."

  "They will if you shoot me here," I pointed out.

  "Then we'll have to go somewhere else," he said. "But first..." He raised the hand with the syringe.

  "What is that?"

  "Air," he said.

  "She's so young, though," I said, edging closer to the bed and trying to find the Call button. As he focused on the syringe, the gun wavered, pointing a little to the right of me. He was about to sink it into the line when the door opened.

  He dropped the hand with the syringe, tucked the gun into his jacket—still aimed at me—and smiled at the nurse who came in.

  "Still sleeping?" she asked brightly.

  "Still sleeping," Gus said. "And we were just leaving," he added, making my eyebrows rise; that I hadn't expected. As he spoke, he crossed the room and stood behind me. "Time for an early dinner. Let's go!" he added in a firm but bright tone.

  I probably should have made a scene right there, but I didn't, and before I knew it, he was walking me out of the hospital toward the parking lot.

  "Why did you decide to leave?"

  "The timing was wrong. I'll deal with you first, then go back to take care of her. I’m not sure she even saw me, but it’s important to be thorough and take precautions.” He stopped beside a gold Lexus, then paused. "Where's your car?" he asked.

  "Over there," I said, pointing."

  "We'll take yours," he said. As he continued to train the gun on me, we walked over to my Kia. "Give me the phone and get in the car," he said when we got there. I fumbled in my purse for the keys and phone, and reluctantly offered both. "Keep the keys," he told me as he grabbed my phone. "You're driving."

  "Where are we going?"

  "None of your business," he told me, sounding a whole lot less like the meek husband I'd thought he was the first time I'd met him.

  He kept the gun trained on me as I climbed into the driver's seat. I had the urge to take off and leave him behind, but I was afraid he'd shoot me before I could get anywhere. He walked behind the car and got into the passenger seat.

  "You know, you could say it was an accident," I told him. "Manslaughter. Rainy's still alive. If you don't kill her—or me—you won't be charged with multiple murders."

  "Too late for that," he said. "I'm not young anymore. I don't have time to waste in jail. I lost Ingrid once; I'm not going to lose her again."

  "Don't you think she's likely to bolt when she finds out what happened here?" I still hadn't started the car; I was stalling.

  "She's not going to find out," he said. "In fact, no one's going to find you. Your disappearance will be just another unsolved mystery." The coldness in his voice sent shivers down my spine. "Drive," he ordered, and I turned the key in the ignition and obeyed.

  He directed me to the bridge leading from Mount Desert Island to the mainland. The tide was low, and I could smell the tang of seaweed as I crossed. Would it be the last time? I wondered, feeling a kernel of fear expand in my stomach. "Where are we going?" I asked again. Not that I expected him to answer.

  "You'll see," he said as I continued driving, past the little airport, past all the small businesses lining the road to the island. I glanced over at him, hoping he would drop the muzzle of the gun, but it was still aimed directly at me.

  I asked him more questions, but apparently, he was done talking, and an icy silence filled the car despite the warm sunshine outside.

  As we rolled into Ellsworth, I racked my brain for ideas. How was I going to get out of this? I couldn't call 911 on my phone because Gus had taken it. I had no weapons, and I felt very uncomfortable with the idea of trying to wrench a loaded gun—I presumed it was loaded—out of someone's hand when it was pointed at me. On the other hand, I was pretty sure it would be discharged soon if I didn't come up with a plan.

  I was coming up empty… until we came to a traffic light in Ellsworth. I was third back from the light. Beside me on the left, back two cars, was a police cruiser.

  "Just keep going straight," he said. "Don't do anything." He'd spotted it, too.

  My eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. I could see the cop in the car, staring out into the distance, not paying attention to much of anything at all. I looked at the car in front of me: a brown Ford Taurus with Connecticut plates. The light turned green. It was now or never. Saying a brief, silent prayer, I slammed on the gas and rammed into the trunk of the Taurus, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping the crack I heard wasn't a gunshot.

  20

  It wasn't, thankfully. The airbags had deployed, and for a moment all I saw was white. Beside me, I heard something heavy hit the floor. I looked over; Gus had lost the gun. I lunged toward the passenger floorboard but stopped short; my seat belt was locked. I fumbled for the latch and released it, then strained to reach the passenger floorboard again, struggling to push the half-deflated airbag out of the way.

  "Leave it alone!" Gus yelled as we both scrabbled on the floor. I didn't have time to look to see what was going on outside the car; I hoped the policeman was coming to see what was going on, but I wasn't going to count on that. My hand closed on the grip just as Gus's closed on the barrel. Adrenaline coursing through me, I yanked the gun back. There was a deafening crack and a seari
ng pain in my leg, but I still held on to the gun. With my free hand, I fumbled for the door handle. When my fingers closed on it, I flung open the car door and threw the gun out onto the pavement, just as the policeman was walking up to the Kia.

  He reached for his sidearm and took cover, pointing the gun at me. "I'm not armed," I told him, and looked down at my leg. It was covered in blood. "I've been shot," I said, and realized I could barely hear my own words. As I spoke, Gus slammed the passenger door open and vaulted out of the car. "He's a murderer," I said to no one in particular. Then, somewhere in the distance, there was another crack, and then everything went dark.

  * * *

  I woke up staring into a friendly face. I wasn't in the car anymore; I was lying on a stretcher. "Where am I?" I asked.

  "In an ambulance," the kind woman said, her voice muffled.

  It all came rushing back to me. "My leg..."

  "It's going to be fine," she said. "You'll have a scar, but it didn't hit anything vital. It just bled a lot."

  "Thank goodness," I said. "And Gus?"

  "The gentleman in the car?" she asked.

  "Him. Yes. He tried to kill me."

  "He's in another ambulance," she informed me. "The officer on duty shot him when he tried to flee."

  "How bad?"

  "He'll live," she said as the ambulance turned into the hospital parking lot.

  I was spending more time at the hospital than I liked, I thought, as the EMT opened the ambulance doors and rolled me into the building.

  On the plus side, though, at least Rainy and I were still among the living.

  * * *

  The yoga retreat was on its last day when I got back to the inn early the next day. My leg was bandaged and I was limping, but at least I was in good enough shape to go home. The officer had shot Gus in the shoulder. Although he was still in the hospital, he'd been arrested after the incident, and I'd had a long chat with the police the night before. My ears still felt muffled, as if they were packed with cotton, and my leg still hurt, but all in all, I was in pretty good shape. Better yet, Rainy had come to long enough to confirm that Gus was the one who had attacked her as she was out walking to clear her head (she had admitted to taking a few too many Klonopin, too). The police had released Claudette, and she was back with her family. I had hobbled down to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea when Ingrid knocked at the door, looking like she'd aged ten years in just a few days.

  "Are you okay?" she asked.

  "I'm fine," I said, waving at my leg. "Only a flesh wound."

  "Do you have a few minutes to talk?" she asked. Her eyes were swollen and red.

  "Come in," I said. "I'll make us both some tea."

  "You know what happened," she said bluntly as she sat down at the kitchen table.

  "I do," I said as I filled the kettle.

  "I can't believe it," she said. "I loved him—or I thought I did—but I didn't want Francine to die for us to be together."

  "It wasn't your fault," I reassured her as I put the kettle on the stove. I walked over to Ingrid and put a hand on her shoulder; at my touch, she began to sob.

  "If I hadn't responded to him, none of this would have happened. Francine would still be alive, and I wouldn't be in this horrible, horrible situation. I can't believe what I've done... that I fell for someone like that."

  "You didn't know," I told her. "It was a mistake." I wasn't comfortable condoning an affair, although it's impossible for anyone to see from the outside what goes on inside a marriage, but I did know she wasn't responsible for what Gus had done to Francine. And Rainy.

  "What do I tell Jack?" she asked.

  "I don't know," I told her. "I'd recommend the two of you see a counselor, see if things are salvageable."

  "That's the thing," Ingrid said. "I don't know if they are salvageable."

  "That's what the counselor can help you with," I said. "But you have to stop blaming yourself for what happened to Francine. There was no way for you to know he would do that."

  "I should have known," she said. "If I hadn't answered that first message, none of this would have happened."

  "Maybe not," I agreed, "but I suspect it would have happened in a different way. There's no way to know... but again, it's not your fault."

  "I just wish I could believe that," she said.

  "I'm so sorry," I told her.

  She took a deep breath. "I have to tell him," she announced.

  "Yes," I said. "You do. But I wouldn't do it until you're in a counselor's office."

  "You think?"

  "I do," I said. The teakettle started to whistle. "Black tea or herbal?" I asked.

  She stood up. "Thanks, but I think I'm going to go make an appointment right now. I can't have this hanging over my head."

  "You've got a lot of healing to do," I said.

  "And some wounds to open, I'm afraid," she replied, looking stricken and forlorn. "The thing is... I really thought I loved him."

  "I'm so sorry," I repeated, and tears welled up in her eyes.

  "Thanks," she said. She swiped at her eyes and straightened up. "I guess it's time to go face the music."

  "I'm here if you need to talk," I offered.

  "Thank you," she said again. "I can't tell you how much that means to me."

  She gave me a brief, awkward hug, then headed out the door and up the hill.

  I had just poured hot water into the teapot when there was a knock at the door to the dining room. "Come in," I called.

  It was Willow.

  "How's it going?" I asked.

  "Better," she said. "Rainy's improving, and the retreat is almost over... and I never have to see James again. But more importantly... how are you doing?"

  "I'll be fine," I said. "Frankly, I feel a lot better now that the whole situation's been squared away."

  "I know it's been tough," I said.

  "Tea?" I offered.

  "No, thanks," she said, smiling. "I only have a minute. I just wanted to check in with you."

  "Thanks," I said as I poured myself a cup and hobbled over to the table.

  "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" she asked.

  "That's what they tell me," I replied. "At least I have an excuse to have people wait on me for a few days," I said with a grin.

  "There is that," she said as she perched on the chair across from me. She reminded me of a bird about to take flight. "This whole week has been a disaster," she said. "Rainy and Ravi, that awful woman Kellie, and James... " She drooped a little bit as she said his name. "At least I know I wasn't seeing a murderer," she said, shuddering. "For a little while there, I thought..."

  "I did, too," I said. "In fact, if I hadn't walked in on Gus about to do in Rainy, I might have told the police I thought he was the killer."

  "I talked to him," she said. "I asked him point-blank if he'd asked me to set the retreat here so he could do something to Francine."

  "What did he say?"

  "Actually, he told me he had. He'd planned to do something... but couldn't bring himself to do it once he was here."

  "I understand his fiancée committed suicide in part because of Francine."

  She nodded. "She had mental health issues, obviously... but what James told me what Francine did was a trigger. He apologized to me," she said, her eyes welling up. "He told me he did have feelings for me, but... he knew it wasn't fair to me if he wasn't over Audrey."

  "That was big of him," I said. "It might have been nice for him to tell you that when he broke up."

  "I think he has a hard time with feelings," she said.

  "In which case, maybe it's not so bad that you broke up. I mean, Willow, you're beautiful, successful, engaging... there have to be hundreds of guys who would love to date you."

  "Thanks," she said with a shy smile. "I guess... I guess I just got attached too quickly."

  "It happens," I told her. "You're not the only one to get mixed up with the wrong sort."

  "Like Francine," she said. "Why did h
e do it anyway? Her husband?"

  I shrugged. What had happened between Gus and Ingrid wasn't for me to talk about. "Marriages are mysterious things," I said vaguely. "She wasn't a very nice person, but I do feel bad for her."

  "I wonder about Kellie, too," she said. "If she's attacking random men at yoga retreats, things at home can't be too awesome."

  "Did she go after someone else?"

  "James had to fob her off last night," she said. "She was trying to get into his room."

  "She's a mess," I said.

  "I know. I kind of want to tell her husband, but I figure it's best to let them figure things out themselves."

  "You're probably right," I said, and took a sip of my tea.

  "But enough about that," Willow said, straightening up on the edge of her chair. "What do you think they're going to do about the pier now?"

  "That's a good question," I said. "I imagine without a joint investor, Murray may have to table his plans."

  "So there is a silver lining in all of this," she said.

  "I guess you could say so. I'm just glad Rainy's okay."

  "Thank goodness you walked in on him when you did," she said. "Rainy may be a bit lost, but she's a good person. I would hate to have had something happen to her."

  "I'm still not sure if Ravi gave her extra Klonopin, or if she took it herself."

  Willow grimaced. "I'm pretty sure it wasn't Ravi," she said. "Rainy's been struggling for a while. The yoga seemed to be working, but with all the drama with Ravi...” She sighed. "Maybe this will be what she needs to get back into treatment."

  "Here's hoping," I said, taking another sip of tea.

  She glanced at the clock again. "I really should go," she said. "It's almost time to walk over to the lobster pound." John had arranged for the entire retreat to eat there and give us both a break. "Are you coming?"

  "I'm just going to have some leftover lobster bisque and relax on the porch, I think."

  "Oh, the bisque," she said, eyes widening. "I think I'd weigh three hundred pounds if I lived here."

  I eyed her superfit form and tried not to roll my eyes. "Somehow, I think you'd manage," I said, and as I took another sip of tea, she flitted back to the retreat.