Connie’s head turned toward the library’s other exit, wondering if they could make it down the hall and outside before Kevin was aware of them. But they’d heard every door Hayworth had opened, so the opening of their door would be just as audible, and that hardwood floor announced everything that made contact with it. Unless they could remove their shoes and run out of here in stocking feet? Except Kevin and Hayworth were already on the other side of the partially open door between the library and study. Just how much noise would she and Derek and Moose make knocking things over with their elbows while getting their shoes off?
“That’s funny,” Hayworth said. “I was just in here, and the light worked fine then.” After a short pause, the room brightened. “Bulb was loose.” There was a longer pause. “It was really loose. I wonder how—”
“I don’t see a safe. Where did you say it was?”
“Over there, behind the—”
Squeezed in front of the two men, Connie had a clear view of Hayworth, but she couldn’t see Kevin. Hayworth had grown still, one hand still pointing to the desk, then the hand dropped to his side. He said, “Nothing seems amiss in here. No need to check the safe after all.”
Connie drew her eyebrows together. The light bulb had been so loose it might’ve fallen out of its socket, yet he’d found nothing amiss? Then she remembered the safe’s contents, and a glimmer of light appeared at the end of the tunnel. Hayworth had something else on his mind besides a loose light bulb. Deliverance had been presented to them, in the form of a plastic bag containing a substance its owner didn’t want to display to the chief of police.
When Kevin didn’t respond readily, Connie wished she could see him so she could gauge his manner. Then he said evenly, “As we’d agreed, as long as I’m here, Mr. Hayworth…”
“Thank you, but it’s not necessary. I’ve been home long enough that if anything was wrong, I’d have noticed it. And we don’t need to check upstairs either.” He stopped, and when he spoke again his voice sounded stilted. “I apologize that my maid’s carelessness caused you to waste your valuable time tonight.” He massaged his forehead. He didn’t have to feign weariness; the man was tired, but the movement was too elaborate. He looked back up. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m exhausted. I need a sandwich and a good night’s sleep.”
Stepping aside, Hayworth motioned toward the door. The gesture held confidence, yet there was an underlying sense of nervousness in it.
After a long silence, with no discernible movement in the study, Kevin asked, “What’s in the safe, Mr. Hayworth?”
Despite the severity of the circumstances, Connie was impressed. But she hoped this was a clash her brother-in-law would be losing.
Hayworth’s confidence seemed to take a harder hit. His effort to regain control was evident. Then he straightened, his body appeared to grow rigid, and he drew upon what was probably ingrained arrogance. “I assure you that there is nothing within my safe that would be of interest to you. Now, if you don’t mind…”
Again he motioned toward the door, this time superciliously.
At the end of a long silence, in which Hayworth lost another degree of hauteur, Kevin said mildly, “Yes, sir. And you’re welcome.”
Clearly taking his time, he passed in front of Hayworth and entered the hall, and their unwitting host took an instant to steal an easier, deeper breath before switching off the light. He then followed the chief of police, and the study door was pulled closed behind them.
Absolute silence, stillness, and disbelief reigned at the connecting door to the library.
Footsteps receded down the hallway. The front door opened and closed.
“Ai…yi…yi,” Connie breathed.
“Never thought I’d be grateful for that man’s failings,” Moose whispered. He backed up. She hadn’t realized how cramped she was until he moved.
“We’re not out of here yet,” Derek reminded them. His voice was as quiet as his manner was grim. “Hayworth must be on his way to the kitchen by now, and Kevin needs time to get all the way gone. He was on foot. Who knows how far away he left his car.”
Connie came to life. Once Hayworth discovered the unlocked door in the kitchen, he’d undoubtedly grab the phone to call for help, so she had to beat him to the draw. She pulled the door open and headed for the desk. On her way she motioned toward the window. “Check on Kevin’s progress.” Her voice was clipped, tight with tension. “If he’s still hanging around out there, we’re out of luck and options.”
Derek inched the blinds apart. Connie picked up the phone receiver and gratefully noted the dial tone, which signified that Hayworth wasn’t already on it. Then she racked her memory for the number of the time-recording operator before realizing the service had been discontinued. Damn! Just when you needed something, it was gone. Who could she call to jam up the phone line without leaving a clue to her identity? And whoever she called had to have automated twenty-four-hour service.
Then abruptly she aimed her penlight at the phone pad and chose numbers by their letters. She’d recently changed phone companies because it’d grown impossible to speak to a live person when she’d called with a question or problem, and the automated choices were endless. She could kill thirty minutes if she had to, and the number was the company’s name. Super easy!
“If you had a gun, where would you keep it?” she asked of the room in general.
“In my bedroom or study,” Derek answered without hesitation.
“Thank you for your call.” Connie jumped at the recorded voice. It seemed unduly loud.
“If he heads upstairs, we’re out of here,” she said. “If he comes in here…” Instead of finishing the sentence, she threw her head back and stared at the ceiling.
“Okay, Kevin’s out of sight,” Derek said. “And hopefully out of hearing distance.”
“If you’re calling regarding your telephone service, please press one. If you’re calling regarding your cable service, please press…” Connie punched a number without looking at it.
“What’s taking him so long?” Moose asked. He was actually wringing his hands. “Is he not even going to notice the—”
“Moose, get that light bulb, the one at the door,” Connie said, her hand over the mouthpiece. “And put the thing in your pocket this time. I don’t want—”
She jerked the receiver away as the punched numbers resounded in her ear. Each man must’ve caught her action because their heads snapped toward her. With lips pressed together and her hands clenched, she waited for Hayworth to figure out what was happening. She’d counted three beeps and wished she could also dial nine-one-one and hand this emergency over to a professional. Then she scrunched up her face. The lawful professional had just left. She wanted the other kind?
After Hayworth’s multiple beeping, the recorded voice started all over again.
“What the hell?” Hayworth said. He sounded more angry than scared.
“Your call is very important to us,” the voice droned on. “Please listen carefully to your choices because the menu has changed.”
Then he must’ve caught on, because he asked, overriding the recording, “Who is this?” His voice held no alarm that she could hear. The situation couldn’t look good from his end, yet he sounded like he was in control of it. If he headed out the front door after Kevin, the kitchen would be open for their escape, or at least for an attempt at it.
The operator was on choice number four, which told Connie that Hayworth wasn’t in a hurry. She knew he was still there because she heard him breathing. Then he asked, voice again overriding the droning, “Where are you?”
At the same moment Connie was invited to press number five if she had a question concerning billing, the phone clicked in her ear. She held the receiver against her chest, muffling the sound.
“We’re on,” she whispered into the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-TwoCell phone! Connie’s mind screamed at her, and her muscles tensed so tightly she felt like a block of stone. Unless Hayw
orth was too cheap to have one? She understood minutes cost a fortune on those things. Or if he had one, he might’ve left it in his car like Derek did.
Then quietly, slowly, the door to the study opened.
If their host had a cell phone at hand, he’d already used it. When the light switch again didn’t produce light, the form at the door reached for the lamp, but this time he would find no bulb in the socket. Straightening, he remained still, facing into the room. His guests were at an advantage because they were accustomed to the dark.
“Who are you?” he asked, exhibiting no sign of being intimidated.
She wondered how they were going to handle Mr. Julian Hayworth.
“What do you want?” Then he added dryly, “As if I didn’t know.”
He didn’t seem alarmed by his intruders, so he probably thought they were the Maxwell brothers. Since he’d won all the encounters so far, he’d be thinking he’d win this one, too.
“Come all the way in, pilgrim. Don’t be shy.”
Despite the intensity of the moment, or perhaps because of it, Connie wanted to giggle. Derek’s impersonation skills had never been good, and he hadn’t improved with lack of practice. John Wayne would’ve winced.
Derek stood near the window. He flicked his flashlight on, directing it at Hayworth, and it picked out the gun in their host’s hand. The weapon was directed at Connie, who stood in front of the desk and still held the noisy phone receiver.
The gun changed direction, pointing toward Derek’s light. Connie replaced the phone receiver in its cradle and clicked her light on. At the same instant, Moose clicked his on. He stood at the opposite side of the room from Derek, and Hayworth’s gun hand wavered. He had a dilemma.
Connie felt a sense of satisfaction. The man had been too cool; he’d needed to be brought down a peg. Then the gun returned to cover her, in the center of the room. She nodded, her satisfaction taking a back seat. That was his wisest choice, but it still didn’t feel good. Derek’s light rose and caught Hayworth full in the face.
His head jerked away from the blinding glare. “All right!” he snapped, allowing force to his anger, but the gun lowered to his side. “Okay.”
The tension in the room, at least among the three uninvited guests, eased a bit.
“You got hold of your shooting iron in record time there, pilgrim,” John Wayne said conversationally. Derek also knew how to be cool. “Where do you keep it?”
Connie was reminded of a joke about men and their preoccupation with guns, all kinds of guns, and it was harder containing her giggle this time.
“What do you want?” Hayworth repeated, ignoring the question. He still wasn’t cowed, not by a long shot. And he still had the weapon.
“Just to ride off into the sunset,” John said reasonably. “Our movie, our script. Now you mosey on over here to your desk and sit yourself down. We’ll tuck you in all secure-like and take our leave. And on your way, you can deposit your iron on that table there with the useless lamp on it.”
“Which one of you is Max? The one with the poor impersonation skills? Who is that supposed to be, anyway? Elvis?”
Connie clamped her lips together, hard. She feared she wasn’t going to get out of here tonight without cackling out loud.
“I see the big guy over there,” Hayworth added. “But where’s the dummy? The one in the middle is too short. But he was still stupid enough to hold on to the phone, telling me exactly where he was.”
In retaliation, Connie raised her light, shining it in his eyes. He evidently didn’t like that, and he’d had time to regain confidence. His gun hand rose.
“Watch it!” Derek made a quick move forward, and Connie put her arm out to stop him.
The gun lowered again. “You’re not Max,” Hayworth said thoughtfully.
Connie dug her fingernails into Derek’s arm, then pulled at his collar to get his head down so she could whisper into his ear. “You’re letting him play you. Get back to where you belong and stop being stupid.”
He took his time but stepped back. Connie set her flashlight on the desk, pointed toward Hayworth, and without hesitation walked toward him. As she approached their unwilling host, she gratefully noted that his gun hand remained down, probably because he was trying to figure out what the “dummy” was up to. The moves from her self-defense class sprang immediately to mind and hand. Not allowing him—or herself—time to think, she grabbed the wrist of his gun hand with her left and reached for the weapon with her right.
She heard Derek’s sharp intake of breath and was aware of scrambled movement behind her. But he must’ve thought better of interfering because he remained where he was.
Expecting Hayworth’s resistance, she jabbed her right elbow into his ribs before he could react. He grunted, hunching to protect his stomach. With the edge of her right hand, she gave him a sharp blow on the wrist of his gun hand—and then she had the gun. It was almost comically easy. The instructor had said that in physical confrontation, surprise was one’s greatest ally, and she was right.
Quickly, Connie stepped back. If Hayworth figured out he was dealing with a woman and got the gun back, he’d be writing his own script.
But then Moose was there, and Hayworth was propelled toward his desk and chair and was in it before Connie had time to blink. He grunted, possibly more in surprise than pain, as his backside collided with the chair.
Then his voice, cold and hateful, grated into the darkness. “You are not getting that book back, damn you! I will not, under any circumstances, open that safe. Do you understand me?”
His speech was ignored.
There was nothing to tie him up with, so Derek manhandled the man’s shirt off him. “Silk,” John Wayne said. “Fancy duds.”
The man’s miserliness evidently didn’t extend to his wardrobe. Derek wrapped the garment around man and chair, then tied the arms of the shirt together in three knots at the back, leaving their host’s hands free.
“So, how does it feel to be going home empty-handed, pilgrim? Again.” Hayworth’s voice oozed spite. Tied up in his desk chair in his t-shirt hadn’t dampened his antagonism.
Moose had exhibited no respect for the man, calling him an ineffectual bully, but Connie thought Hayworth was a touch more formidable than Moose had given him credit for. She didn’t want to take the man on.
Then she faltered, not breathing for an instant. She had taken him on; she’d disarmed him. A sudden tremor threatened to overtake her.
As if cued to her weakening state, Moose took the gun from her, fiddled with it, then stuck it inside his belt. She was glad to be rid of it. That was the second time she’d held a gun in her hands, and she fervently hoped there wouldn’t be a third time.
Derek stepped back, surveyed his handiwork with the aid of his flashlight, and then directed the light toward the telephone. It was out of Hayworth’s reach, but the desk’s chair had wheels. Derek tested the length of the cord, then carried the phone to the table at the door that held the useless lamp. The time it would take the man to maneuver the chair over the rug all the way to the door would allow them at least to get off the grounds. Moose removed two of the desk’s drawers and lined them up on either side of the chair, which should give them a couple more minutes.
The men joined Connie at the hall door. Hayworth’s voice, choked with enmity, followed them. “So you won this round. But you can tell Max for me he’ll never get that damned book back. There is nothing—absolutely nothing he can do—that will make me give up that magazine.”
Turning, they gave him a long look.
“We left you your stash,” John Wayne said.
* * *
They sprinted down the middle of the road, the men pulling Connie along between them, and fortunately encountered no traffic. Derek and Moose had started out with each of them holding on to one of her hands, but their collective holds had quickly moved to her elbows. There were moments during which both her feet left the ground at the same time.
Then they
were at the car and inside it. Three doors closed in unison, noisily enough that she winced. Drawing attention to themselves at this stage was too stupid to think about.
She was so shaky, she couldn’t get the keys out of her pocket. She had to get out of the car, dig into her pocket, and then get back in again. Moose was silent, but Derek maintained a long string of expletives, more than enough for both men. Finally, the key was in the ignition, the car was in gear, and she got it moving. And Derek got quiet.
She drove carefully, concentrating on not making a wrong move. They’d come so close to disaster, and now were so close to pulling it off that she was terrified of doing something stupid and blowing the whole thing. She studied every intersection, and every stoplight was a potential trap. She even slowed for green because it was eventually going to turn to yellow.
“Connie,” Derek said through his teeth, “let…me…drive.”
If she could find a place to pull over, she’d gladly give up the wheel. Then at long last there was the parking lot and the Mustang. Connie pulled into it and found an empty slot next to the vintage Ford.
The lot belonged to a theater. Plenty of cars, but thankfully no people wandering around. They sat, still and quiet, for a long time.
Moose broke the silence. “One more piece of business, then we’re through with this. Hopefully for forever.” He blew his breath out in a rush. “Hayworth’s gun. Max and I dismantled ours and threw the pieces away in different garbage cans across two counties. And I’m thinking that’s an excellent destiny for this one.”
“Go for it,” Derek said.
Connie twisted in the seat to give the big man a look that she figured carried her relief. “Thanks.”
He opened the rear door and exited the vehicle. Derek and Connie followed suit.
Derek gave her a hard look over the top of the car. “On the subject of guns, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing when you went after Hayworth and his gun. I was tempted to kill you myself.” He waited a beat, expression not easing. “I still am.”
Second Thoughts Page 18