Broken Vows Mystery 02-For Richer, for Danger

by Lisa Bork

  She hiccupped. “This is all my fault.”

  I squeezed her hand. “It’s his fault. He lied to you about everything. He’s an evil man.”

  Bryce positively preened as he perched on the edge of the ottoman next to me and the drawer holding Ray’s gun. Apparently, he was rather proud of his criminal mind.

  My fingers itched to reach for the gun, but he’d be on me too fast. I couldn’t risk it. I decided to keep Bryce talking in the hopes Ray was on his way home. He’d notice the strange car in the driveway and enter with cautious suspicion.

  I thought back over the last few weeks and tried to piece the rest of the story together, all the little details falling slowly into place. “You met Heather at the ski resort where you worked.”

  Bryce nodded. “I’m surprised none of the other resort employees have stepped forward yet to claim the reward you’ve been advertising, although Heather does look different now. She won a karaoke contest in December the year before last. I hired her to work in the café after that.”

  Candace Morton told me Bryce had a thing for the young girls where he worked. “You had an affair with her, but you didn’t know she was under eighteen.”

  “She had a fake ID. She used it to fill out her paperwork. How could I have known?”

  “But you dropped her when you found out.”

  He shook his head, looking almost gleeful that I didn’t know it all. “The ski season ended and the relationship had run its course. I didn’t know she was under eighteen until later.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “If I tell you that, then I’ll have to kill you.” He examined the gun in his hand, turning it to the right, then the left. “But then I planned to do that anyway.”

  I wasn’t surprised, but my heart started beating even faster than before. The pressure from the Crime Fighters announcement had forced Bryce into action. But he must realize Ray would go on looking forever if he killed us. Was he insane?

  Erica began to sob loudly. Bryce pointed the gun at her. “Stop it, Erica.” She continued to wail, the volume increasing with each heave of her chest.

  He waved the gun in my direction. “Make her stop.”

  I gathered Erica to my chest and attempted to soothe her. I was sure the trembling of my own arms didn’t support my whispers of assurance in her ear that Ray was surely on his way. She did manage to stifle her sobs.

  I looked at Bryce over her head. “So how did you learn Heather’s age?”

  “She met my stepdaughter, Abigail, at the ski resort and struck up a friendship with her.”

  Erica wiggled in my arms. I released her, thinking I’d been squeezing her too tight. She leaned back against the couch and glared at Bryce.

  I continued with my questions. “And Heather told Abigail about your relationship?”

  Bryce’s lip curled. “Months later. They kept in touch after ski season ended.” He looked off into the distance and sighed. “Abigail told Heather it wasn’t the first time I’d had a relationship with a young woman. Heather thought she was special. She thought I loved her and wanted to marry her, but couldn’t bring myself to break my wife’s heart.”

  He brought his gaze to meet mine, then shifted it to Erica. “You know, those stupid romantic notions of childhood.”

  Erica stiffened. I held onto her hand a little tighter.

  “The girls planned to tell my wife and the police. As I said, we left Lockport because of a similar little incident.” He pulled himself taller and grimaced. “It’s really not my fault. All these little tramps lie about their age. They all have fake IDs and MySpace accounts. They’re asking for it. And they’ve had it before. It’s not like I was their first.”

  Erica started to shake uncontrollably.

  “But then your stepdaughter was killed and somehow Heather got her ID.” That part had me stumped and I wanted to hear his explanation.

  Bryce smirked. “I tried to hit them both that night, but I missed Heather.”

  I heard a gasp. It was me. I couldn’t believe this man had just confessed to killing his own stepdaughter. He was insane. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill us. Ray, where are you?

  I closed my mouth and thought for a moment. “How did you come to be at the racetrack the day Theo died?”

  Bryce smiled a sadistic smile. “To tell the truth, I’d stopped worrying about Heather. She never came forward, never contacted me again. I thought she was gone from my life. Then I saw her one night at a motel outside of Canandaigua. You know, a no-tell motel where you pay cash and the desk clerk has more to hide than you. She and Theo were staying there.”

  He brushed his hand over the gun’s barrel. “I started to keep an eye on them, tracking them from motel to motel. When you came to see my wife and me, I knew you’d find Heather eventually, too. I needed to prevent that. I just had to wait for the right time. That day at the track was manna from heaven.”

  Erica began to wail again, drowning out all conversation and my thoughts. I’d never seen her like this before, even at her worst moments. But then, in the past, she’d been the one in control of her impending death.

  Bryce stood and walked around to the other side of the coffee table, coming to a stop a few feet from Erica, who wailed louder. He waved the gun in my direction. “Make her stop!”

  I reached for Erica, but she sprang from her seat, slamming her arms into Bryce’s chest and knocking him backwards onto the floor. She landed on his chest and pummeled it with her fists, screaming “YOU BASTARD!”

  Bryce reached for his gun that had fallen out of his hand. I scrambled over the coffee table and dived for it. He got there first, swinging the butt of the pistol into Erica’s head. She slumped alongside of him, dazed.

  I grabbed for his wrist and missed. He scooted backward against the fireplace and held the gun on me. I froze, my heart still beating wildly.

  Noelle began to cry, softly at first then with increasing intensity. All the banging and crashing must have awakened her. My hands started to shake. I couldn’t stop darting looks at the doorway to her room only steps away.

  Bryce pulled himself to his feet. His white dress shirt had a spot of blood the size of a quarter on it where Erica had touched his forearm earlier. Marcia had winged him after all.

  He took a step toward me, waving the gun toward Noelle’s room. “Go get her, Jolene. I’d like to meet her.”

  No way in hell. I looked up at him, face burning and throat swollen shut with fear.

  He came closer and waved toward her room again. “GO GET HER, JOLENE!”

  I continued to meet his gaze, refusing to move. Ray, where are you? We need you!

  Bryce took a few steps in the direction of her door. I slid across the floor to block his path.

  He kicked me in the leg, hard enough to get my attention but not enough to disable me. “Get her, or I’ll get her myself.”

  I stood. Now I was directly in his path to Noelle’s door. I’d die before I’d let him near my child. I folded my arms across my chest, trying to hide my shaking. Sweat rolled down my forehead and burned my eyes. “No.”

  He pointed the gun at my forehead. In reflex, my eyelids closed.

  I heard a shot.

  My eyes popped open. At first, Bryce’s brow furrowed as though he was confused. Then he twisted and tried to see his backside. He reached around with his left hand, turning to look at Erica and moving a few feet away from me. As he turned, the gun in his right hand swung around toward her.

  She held Ray’s gun in both hands, legs shoulder-width apart. Without hesitation, she shot again. This time the bullet hit him in the left shoulder. She emptied the rest into his chest, blood spraying everywhere and flames flicking out the gun’s tip.

  I felt warm, wet spots on my face. My hand moved of its own accord to wipe my cheek. I jumped backwards to escape the gore. My stomach rolled.

  Bryce slumped to the floor. His gun fell useless by his side. He looked confused for a moment as though he couldn’t believe things h
adn’t gone as he planned. Then he began to twitch. The blood gushed from his wounds faster. His eyes widened as if a shock had run through his body. He let out a gasp. Then he was gone, the now all-too-familiar glaze filling his eyes.

  For a moment, the roaring in my ears drowned out all sound and thought. I swayed and feared I might faint. I bit down hard on my lower lip. The pain felt refreshing. I returned to reality and my living room.

  Noelle continued to cry. I rejoiced in the sound. It meant she was still alive.

  I swallowed my nausea and stepped toward Erica, who had dropped Ray’s gun to the floor. She stood frozen, looking catatonic, gazing down at Bryce’s body.

  My first thought was “All those years of therapy down the drain.” Even Ray had taken months to recover from shooting a man. Erica might never recover.

  I reached for her arm and rubbed it gently. “Erica?”

  Her gaze shifted to me.

  “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry you had to shoot him. It’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

  She blinked. “What do you mean ‘sorry’?”

  I swallowed the bile burning my throat and tried again to reach her. “I know it’s a horrible thing to have to take a life. But he was an evil man. It’s not your fault.”

  A hint of a smile touched her lips. “You think I’m freakin’ out because I killed him?”

  I blinked. “Aren’t you?”

  “Hell no. He was going to kill you.” She stood a little taller. “I love you.”

  She shot a contemptuous gaze at Bryce’s body.

  “I should have shot him in the balls and made him suffer longer.”

  Ray, Jeff, Gumby, and the sheriff himself arrived at the house within minutes of my 911 call. By then I had washed Bryce’s blood off my face and changed my shirt so that I could pick up Noelle, who greeted their arrival with much interest.

  Ray threw his arms around both of us and held on tight. Gumby hugged Erica.

  Erica seemed to welcome the support. She’d started to sway a little bit while I called the police, as though the full magnitude of what she had done had finally hit her. An emergency appointment with Dr. Albert, her psychiatrist, was definitely in order. I might even make one for myself.

  Ray left his friends to bag the evidence and sat next to me at the breakfast bar as Erica and I told our story to the sheriff, who bore some resemblance to Santa Claus, except he wasn’t a right jolly old elf. He had on red suspenders, a plaid flannel shirt with a cigar burn in the sleeve, and khakis that folded over beneath his big belly to reveal the white lining on the waistband. One of his stogies stayed clamped firmly in his teeth as he asked questions and noted the answers. He grumbled a little bit under his breath when he heard Ray had left his extra revolver at home with an untrained, unlicensed woman, but he never argued with the end result. Instead, he ambled off to call and update the prosecutor.

  It took a couple hours for Bryce’s body to be removed from our living room. By then, Erica, Noelle, and I were fast asleep in my bed. When Noelle awakened around seven a.m., we rendezvoused with Ray at the breakfast bar, where he served us his special Sunday Belgian waffles, even though it was only the middle of the week.

  The doorbell rang at nine as we finished the dishes.

  I walked through the living room and couldn’t see any signs of the carnage from the night before, although I could smell carpet and upholstery cleaner. Ray must have cleaned all night. I looked through the peephole and swung the door open wide. “Isabelle!”

  Isabelle did not look herself. Usually she dressed in a form-fitting suit with fashionable shoes and elegant jewelry from her husband’s store. This morning she wore faded jeans, a T-shirt, and flip-flops, her mousy brown hair hanging in straggles around her face.

  She hugged me, and hugged me, and hugged me until I started to feel uncomfortable. I pried myself loose. “You saw the news this morning, didn’t you?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “You were the lead story. It lasted a full five minutes. I had to come.”

  I hugged her quickly again. “I’m glad you did. Come sit down.”

  She hugged Erica and Ray, and kissed Noelle’s cheeks, lingering over her as though taking in every feature of her face. My feeling of unease returned.

  We all sat in the living room, Isabelle bouncing up and down nervously on the couch. She turned to me. “I was thinking about what you told me the other day, about how Heather and Theo met at the May Day celebration last year.”

  I nodded and looked at Ray, who shrugged.

  She glanced at Noelle, who sat in my lap holding her favorite doggie squeeze toy. “Noelle was born in December, a week before Christmas, right? That’s what her birth certificate says, right?”

  My feeling of unease increased. “Right.”

  “Are you sure that information is correct? I mean, I know her birthmother’s name was incorrect. Do you think the birth date is correct?”

  Ray spoke up. “The hospital confirmed that date.”

  Isabelle squinted as though pained. “Well, you know babies usually stay in the womb for nine months, and Noelle was full size, eight pounds, when she was born. It seems to me that Theo and Heather had to have met sooner or …” She trailed off then seemed to find her courage. “I don’t think Theo is Noelle’s real father.”

  I pulled Noelle closer to my chest. “Could she have been a preemie?”

  Isabelle sighed. “Babies gain most of their weight in the last few weeks of the pregnancy, approximately a half pound a week. It’s highly unlikely that Noelle would weigh eight pounds if she was born after less than seven months of gestation.”

  I wanted to believe that Isabelle was mistaken, but I caught a guilty and knowing look in Erica’s eye. “Erica, was Theo Noelle’s father?”

  Erica squirmed and then her shoulders dropped. “No. He knew that, but he fell in love with Heather. He didn’t want her baby to end up unloved like him. His mother was already knocked up when she married his dad. He never knew who his real daddy was and the one he grew up with treated him like a dog. He wanted Noelle to have a father who loved her.”

  Ray asked the question we all wanted answered. “So who is her real father?”

  Erica shrugged. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask Heather.”

  Our doorbell rang. Four heads swiveled in that direction. No one got up.

  The doorbell rang again. This time even Noelle raised her head from her toy as though she recognized something needed attention.

  With a sigh, Ray answered the door.

  I hoped Cory would be behind the door. I needed all my friends at a time like this.

  Instead, Greg Doran, the sheriff, and a man and a woman in business suits stood on our porch. Greg introduced the man as Mr. Simpson and the woman as Mrs. Bindle, both from the Department of Social Services.

  I ran into the kitchen with Noelle. Isabelle followed me.

  I backed into the corner against the stove. “Why are they here, Isabelle?”

  She didn’t want to tell me, but she was my friend. “The news interviewed Karen and her father about the petition they filed for Noelle’s custody earlier this week. Karen and her father knew all about what happened here last night.” She glanced at her watch. “They said they planned to call Social Services first thing this morning.”

  My chest felt like it might burst.

  Ray appeared in the archway. He looked at Isabelle. She touched my arm and walked around him, back into the living room.

  He approached me, resting his hands on my shoulders. “Mrs. Bindle is here to take Noelle into temporary custody. They scheduled an emergency hearing with family court this afternoon. It’s possible they’ll award custody to Heather’s sister.”

  I clutched Noelle tighter. My temple throbbed. “No-o-o-o-o.”

  Ray’s cheek twitched. His eyes closed for a second as though he were gathering his strength. “Darlin’, we have to give Noelle to Mrs. Bindle. We don’t have any choice. Greg will do everything he can.” />
  “No-o-o-o-o-o!”

  Undoubtedly sensing our distress, Noelle began to cry.

  Ray crouched next to me. “Please, darlin’, give her a hug and kiss for now. We’ll see her again.”

  “No-o-o-o-o!” I buried my face in Noelle’s curls. She wailed.

  “Jolene, you’re scaring the baby. You’re holding her too tight. Let me take her, please.”

  I loosened my hold on Noelle and looked down at her adorable little face, recalling the first time I’d seen her. She’d cried then, too. A little red face, cheeks like roses and lips like cherries, all snuggled up in a pink fleece snowsuit—the perfect baby.

  My tears fell on those cheeks now. She continued to cry, sounding fearful. My fears had filled her, too.

  My throat had swollen shut. I brushed her right cheek with my lips, then her left. I hugged her close and breathed in her familiar and wonderful No More Tears and formula scent. Then I let Ray take her from my arms. I dissolved onto the floor.

  ____

  At three o’clock Ray and I appeared at the courthouse, dressed in business suits. Greg met us just inside the door of the historic stone building with its polished wood banisters, shiny marble floors, and gleaming brass elevators. But all that paled in comparison to the despair that lingered in the air.

  “Heather asked to meet with you privately before the case is called. She’s in a conference room on the third floor. Do you want to see her?” Greg looked from Ray to me.

  “Of course.” Ray took me by the arm and steered me toward the elevator. The three of us rode in silence to the third floor.

  Greg escorted us to the conference room door. At the far end of the hall, I saw Heather’s sister Karen, standing beside a handsome younger man and a distinguished-looking older man, all in their Sunday best. Greg opened the door and stepped aside. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

  I followed Ray inside to find Heather dressed in a navy suit with matching pumps, her hair pulled back into a ponytail that covered the back of her neck and her flying eagle tattoo. She stood when we entered, but didn’t move from her place on the other side of the conference table.