Off the Books

by Lucy Arlington

  “Do you have a cell phone?” I needed to call the police. Get someone over to my house.

  Zach loosened his grip on the wheel and made a move for his back pocket. The car suddenly veered too far to the right, nearly sideswiping a parked car.

  “Never mind!” I yelled. “Just get me to my house.”

  “So, I was right,” Zach said, gripping the steering wheel tighter and hunching forward as he accelerated. “Lynn’s the killer. I knew I’d solve the case!”

  “Stop worrying about the case and just focus on the road, would you?” Suddenly he cranked on the wheel, taking a corner at breakneck speed. My arms tightened around Olive, poor thing. She’d buried her head in the crook of my arm and her tiny body was trembling with fear. I thought of telling him to slow down, for Olive’s sake, but I was sick with fear over Mama and Trey. If Lynn had been heading for my house, she could already be there by now.

  “You just don’t want to admit that I solved the case before you,” Zach was saying.

  “That’s not it,” I said, sliding the other way as he turned again. “I just want to live through this car ride. Besides, you’re only half right.”

  “Half right? What do you mean by half right? Did Lynn kill him or not?”

  “Dr. Meyers killed Chuck. Lynn just helped her set it up.”

  “What? Dr. Meyers?”

  “Never mind about all that right now. Just drive.” I began a silent plea inside my head, repeating over and over, Oh, please don’t let them be at home! Please don’t let them be home.

  Up ahead, I saw the turnoff for Walden Woods Circle. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself. Suddenly, we came to a screeching halt.

  I opened my eyes and looked around. We’d made it, but I didn’t see the Vespa anywhere. “Hold on.” I handed over Olive and ran up the walk to try the front door. Locked. Plus all the lights were off and everything looked quiet. Thank goodness. No one was home.

  “She didn’t come here,” I told Zach, climbing back in and shutting the door. I asked for his cell phone again, planning to call Sean with this new information, when another idea came to me. “I don’t think she could get far on the Vespa in this weather,” I commented, glancing out window at the falling snow. The roads were already coated with a slippery sheen, making it hazardous for even cars. Navigating the Vespa, especially for someone inexperienced, would be difficult. She’d want to get as far from here as possible, but where would she go? The airport in Dunston? I just couldn’t see her navigating the mountain roads in the snow on a scooter. Maybe the train station. But I knew the last train out of the Valley had left over an hour ago. She’d probably go after a car. But where would she … “Go to the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast,” I told Zach. “Hurry!”

  As we sped off, I started punching Sean’s number into the cell phone, only to find that Zach’s phone was out of charge. “It’s dead,” I said, waving the phone his way. “Do you have a phone charger in here?”

  Zach reached his hand across the seat toward the car’s glove department. “Yup. Right in—”

  “I’ve got it,” I said, batting his hand away and rummaging through the cubbyhole until I located the charger. I immediately plugged it in and waited impatiently for the phone to gain enough charge for a call. In the meantime, we’d pulled onto Sweet Pea Road. After a few more hair-raising curves and one near wipeout, we screeched to a halt in front of “The Grand Lady.”

  *

  DURING THE DAY, the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast was breathtakingly beautiful. The light pink exterior always brought to mind lazy summer days under the shady branches of a fully blossomed magnolia tree. But tonight, with darkness fallen and snow swirling around the turret, it looked brittle and spooky. “There aren’t any lights on inside,” Zach commented. “Maybe she didn’t come here, either.”

  “She’s here,” I said, pointing to the side yard, where a single tire track in the fresh coating of snow betrayed her presence. “Those tracks belong to my Vespa. She must have driven it around the side of the house. Probably to hide it.”

  Zach reached for the car door. “Let’s go get her, then.”

  “Wait!” I said, pointing to the phone. “There’s almost enough charge to make a call. You get hold of the police. Tell them to send someone right away. Then follow me.”

  I cranked the car handle and hopped out, not waiting for his reply. On the porch, a loose board screeched under my weight, the sound magnified by the stillness of the cold night air. I stopped and collected myself, breathing deeply. Slowly I opened the storm door, cringing as its rusty hinges screamed out my arrival. After another deep breath, I tried the knob on the main door. It turned easily. The door was unlocked.

  “Cora? Lynn?” I called out, groping the wall until I found a switch. Light flooded the entryway, casting shadows across the hall and into the still-darkened parlor. “Cora, are you home? It’s me, Lila.”

  The only answer was the rhythmic ticking of the parlor’s grandfather clock. Suddenly all of Cora’s beautiful antiques, lovingly collected over the years, seemed menacing. “Lynn?” I called again. An abrupt movement made me startle. I whipped around to find Zach standing behind me, holding Olive. “Why’d you bring the dog in here?”

  “Yeah, right. Leave her in the car so she can chew up the leather seats? Or worse, freeze to death. You think I want to get fired?” He put her down on the floor and attached the leash to her collar. Then he handed it to me as he removed a brass-headed antique cane from the umbrella stand in the corner. He gripped it like a baseball bat.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” I told him, although my eyes slid over to the remaining cane, one with an ornately carved eagle on the handle. I shook it off. No, Lynn might have helped kill Chuck, the man who’d tormented her for years, but she’d never hurt me. I was sure of it. “You called the police, right?”

  “Yup. They’re on the way. Think she’s in here?”

  “Yes. I do.” I couldn’t explain how, but I could sense Lynn’s presence. Maybe I had a little of Mama in me after all. “But I’ve called her name a few times and she hasn’t answered. We should wait on the police.”

  “Yeah, but Cora might be here. And she might need help.”

  Zach was right. If Lynn came to get Cora’s car, she might have … No, I just couldn’t believe that Lynn would hurt anyone. Would she? But she had been a party to murder.

  “I’m going to check upstairs,” he said.

  “No, really, Zach, we should wait. It might be dangerous.”

  Zach dropped the leash and swung the cane like a bat. “Listen. I’ll go upstairs and you stay here. Hey, I’m the one who figured out she was the murderer, right? And I play on the summer softball league.”

  “Huh?”

  He swung the cane again. “Yup. A .420 batting average.”

  I didn’t know beans about batting averages, but I did know about Zach’s overzealous, impulsive tendencies and I didn’t want him knocking Lynn’s head off with the cane. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Zach. I’ll go.”

  He looked at me like I had a third eye. “Do I really have to remind you of what happened the last few times you took on murderers?”

  I sighed. He was right. I didn’t exactly have the best batting average when it came to confronting murder suspects. Not to mention I thought the idea of going up there was a poor one anyway. Olive’s leash started slithering away from us, and I pounced on the end of it, then reached down to pull her back. “Stay here, girl.” When I glanced up again, Zach was already on the staircase.

  “Besides,” Zach continued, moving up the steps. “You’re engaged to a cop. He’d be really ticked if I let you get killed. Like I need to have a cop mad at me. No thanks.”

  He ascended the steps, hunched slightly forward, the cane clenched in his hands. He called out Lynn’s name a couple of times, but still no answer. When he reached the landing, which was just large enough for a small wing chair and side table, he paused for a second, tilting his head to one
side as if he’d heard something. He took a couple of practice swings with the cane and then continued up the second flight of stairs.

  I shuffled my feet nervously and listened hopefully for the sound of approaching sirens. I was actually starting to worry about Lynn’s safety. Especially now that Babe Ruth was on the case.

  Then suddenly I heard a large crashing sound overhead, followed by pounding footsteps that seemed to echo throughout the house. “Zach!” I yelled, quickly tying the end of Olive’s leash around the leg of an antique hall table. I snatched the remaining cane from the umbrella stand and started for the stairs, but I stopped on the second step when I heard another noise coming from behind me. Backtracking, I inched my way toward the parlor. Again, I heard the noise and it sounded like someone moaning.

  The light from the entryway only illuminated a few feet into the parlor, leaving the rest in shadows. “Cora? Lynn?” I called before finally locating the light switch. As soon as the light flooded the room, I saw Cora, gagged and bound on the sofa. I went to her. “Cora! Are you okay?” I asked as I struggled to undo her gag. In the hall, Olive started protesting her confinement. Her high-pitched yelps echoed throughout the house.

  As soon as I’d loosened the gag enough, Cora spit out, “It’s Lynn. She did this to me. She’s here. Upstairs. We have to get out of here.”

  I noticed dried blood on her head. Looking closer, I saw a small gash. “It’s okay, Cora. The police are on their way.” I hurried to undo the ties from her raw wrists. “Can you make it over to the neighbor’s house?” I had to speak up, just to be heard over the racket Olive was making.

  She started to sit up, and then her eyes grew wide as she reached out to steady herself. “I don’t think so. I’m too weak.”

  “Then you’ll have to wait here while I—”

  “No! Don’t leave me. She’s still here. Somewhere in this house. Please, just get me out of here.”

  “Listen, Cora. You’re going to have to be brave. I need to check on my friend. He’s upstairs. He may be hurt.”

  Suddenly, Olive’s barking stopped and I heard the clicking of nails against the hardwood floors. I also heard something else. Footsteps. “Where’s that coming from?” I asked Cora. “It sounds like footsteps in the wall.”

  “It’s someone on the back stairs. Probably Lynn!”

  I gripped her arms and leaned in close. “Calm down, Cora! Where do the steps lead to?”

  “From the top floor to the kitchen, on the other side of the pantry. By the mudroom.”

  “And the back door?” When she nodded, I took off in that direction, her protests following me through the house. But I didn’t hesitate. I knew it had to be Lynn, making her getaway. I wasn’t going to let that happen.

  As I ran through the front hall, I almost tripped over Olive’s leash lying slack on the floor, her empty collar still attached. But I kept running, hoping I’d beat Lynn to the back door. When I got to the kitchen, I found her standing at the counter, her bag slung over her shoulder as she rifled through Cora’s purse. “Are you looking for Cora’s car keys?”

  She wheeled, her eyes wide and wild. “Let me go, Lila. I didn’t kill him, Dr. Meyers did. But you already know that. So just let me go.”

  “Where’s Zach? Did you hurt him?”

  “He’ll be fine. Crap! Where did that woman put her keys?” I inched closer as she lifted the purse and dumped the contents. The keys fell out, landing with a jingle on the granite countertop. I pounced forward, my fingers connecting with them first.

  “Give me the keys, Lila.” Her voice was tight, her teeth clenched as she spoke. “I need those keys.”

  “You must have seen a text from Detective Griffiths on my phone,” I surmised. She didn’t reply but simply bobbed her head, her eyes still locked on the keys. “So you know it’s only a matter of time before your part in all this comes out.”

  “Just give me the keys.” She was begging now.

  I was hoping to stall her, just until the police arrived. Where are they anyway? I dangled the keys. “Just answer a couple of questions first. How long have you really known Dr. Meyers?”

  “Awhile,” she answered, every muscle in her body tense and coiled like a snake ready to strike. “She contacted me last spring. Her daughter, Amanda, was dating Chuck. She was worried about her and looked into his background and found our divorce records.”

  “And she asked you to help her plan Chuck’s murder?”

  Lynn’s expression loosened a bit. She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that. At first we just talked. I told her about my writing and I found out she was a writer, too. Can you believe that?”

  I nodded.

  “And she thought my book was good. She helped me do some editing and then convinced me to submit it to you.”

  “She told you about our agency?” Had Dr. Meyers actually set this plan in place that long ago? Found just the right person to help her? Someone who could easily be convinced to follow along with her twisted plan? After all, Lynn was used to being bullied; it wouldn’t be difficult to manipulate her. And Dr. Meyers, of all people, knew the techniques that bullies used, techniques she clearly exposed in her books to help women out of abusive relationships.

  Lynn was still talking. “It was good, you know, to talk to someone who understood what I went through. She helped me. She really did.”

  “You mean she was like your counselor?” I’d heard of this type of thing. Counselors who convince their clients to perform illegal acts. “I don’t understand. How exactly did Dr. Meyers talk you into helping her?”

  Lynn’s jaw clenched. “I knew exactly what her daughter, Amanda, was going through. Sloan helped me see the truth—that my own abuse wasn’t over just because I’d left him, wouldn’t be, as long as others like Amanda suffered that way, too. Amanda was making the same mistakes I did. Chuck would beat her and she just kept going back to him. Eventually, he’d kill her. I knew he would have. He almost killed me.”

  “You really trusted Dr. Meyers, didn’t you?” I heard the slight sound of movement outside the back kitchen window. I hoped it was the police.

  “Of course. She’s helped me through so much. I … I probably wouldn’t be here, if it weren’t for Sloan.” She lowered her eyes and spoke softly. “I’m ashamed to admit this, but I was thinking of … Well, I’d lost all my will to live. Even though I’d divorced Chuck, something inside me had died in the process. Until Sloan came into my life. She saved me, Lila. I know what you must think of her, but you’re wrong. She’s really an amazing person. All the good she does to help women like me. And, well …” She looked up, her eyes bright and intense. “All she wanted to do was protect her daughter. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  Yes, any mother could understand that instinct, but murder? “So she decided the best way to protect Amanda was to kill Chuck?”

  “She’d tried everything else. She even sent Amanda away, but Chuck found her. They were going to get married. Sloan was beside herself with worry. She told me she just needed my help for a couple of little things. How could I say no? She’d helped me with so much.”

  “What little things, Lynn? The refrigerator system? Did you sabotage it?”

  “No. That was Sloan’s idea. She was going to kill Chuck here, in the pantry, but when I told her about Chuck working part time at the Arts Center, she came up with a different idea. A better idea, she said, because there would be so many people at the Arts Center. More suspects to throw the police off our trail.”

  “So she sabotaged the refrigeration system?”

  “Yes. She just snuck through the back door. A lot of vendors were using it to set up their booths in the culinary wing. Then she snuck back out and came around the front of the building.”

  “And brought the nail gun with her.”

  Lynn didn’t answer that question. For a second she seemed almost remorseful. Then her face hardened again and she said, “Chuck deserved what he got. The world is better off without him.�
�

  “No, Lynn. What Chuck did was absolutely wrong. He deserved to rot in jail for it. But no one deserves to be murdered. Maybe he would have changed one day. With the right help … I don’t know. Maybe not. But we’ll never know, because he was robbed of the choice. He was robbed of his chance to reform his life. And how ironic that you and Dr. Meyers chose to answer violence with violence.”

  Lynn’s eyes grew wide and I noticed tiny beads of sweat gathering around her hairline. “But I didn’t kill Chuck. Sloan did,” she whispered.

  “You helped her. And to make it worse, you planted the nails in Jodi’s room to make an innocent woman look guilty.” I remembered Cora saying she saw Chuck leaving Jodi’s room that morning. “Why was Chuck in Jodi’s room that morning? Did you have something to do with that?”

  She slowly nodded, her eyes wide with worry now. “Yes,” she admitted. “We just needed it to look like Jodi and Chuck knew each other. So, I told him Amanda would probably love a signed copy of Jodi’s book. Chuck was always big on gifts. After a particularly bad fight, he always brought me something: flowers, chocolates, even a necklace once. It would work, too. I’d melt right back into his arms, the same cruel arms that …” She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again and continued, “Anyway, I told him how crazy women were for Jodi’s books. And a signed copy? Well, that would really be something. I even saved him the money and effort by giving him my copy.”

  “The same copy you and Dr. Meyers used to plot his murder?”

  The corners of her lips tipped upward. “Ironic, huh?” Then she caught herself, her face softening again. She reached out. “Give me the keys, Lila. Please.”

  “I’m not going to do that, Lynn. I want you to go with me to the police. Tell them your side of the story. Dr. Meyers was your therapist; she used you. Manipulated you into going along with her plan. Into helping her commit murder.”

  Lynn pulled her hand back, her features sinking and eyes narrowing into tiny slits. “That’s not true. Sloan was my friend.”