by Judith Mehl
He moved back to the cab but stood by his open door for a long time. Agatha entered and relished the security and comfort of her own home. When she moved through the living room she peeked through the small opening in the drawn drapes and saw him standing there. She waved from the front window until he drove away. Then pulled the drapes closed again. No point in announcing she was home.
Her favorite lounge chair called to her. Kicking off her shoes, she snuggled down, already feeling relief. Her mind took in all the familiar accoutrements that formed the necessities of her life as she’d known it just days ago. The clock on the mantel, placed perfectly so she could see it from her chair, needed winding. The table lamps passed down from her grandmother. The footstool, lovingly quilted and protected from even the dirtiest of shoes. I am so grateful to be here right now.
Agatha wanted so badly to contact her friends and employees just to talk, to catch up on gossip, to seek the assurance that everything ran smoothly while she hid out. So much needed to be done this time of year she felt she was letting everyone down.
She wandered into the kitchen, digging some crackers out of the box to nibble, then made a cup of tea. The soothing vapors of chamomile might work some magic. She’d promised not to interact with anyone from work in any way. Besides, whoever sent those bouquets knew herbs, their lethal potential and their meanings. Who better than one of the employees who worked with the plants every day? The thought brought on the shakes. Someone from the past instead, maybe.
She should look through the old photo albums of her and Margaret when they were growing up. Margaret always lived on that herb farm. She’d inherited it from her parents. George moved in with her when they married and continued the work of the farm with her. Was there someone from the past who could have sent the bouquets? Someone who might be in the photos? It was worth a try to help trigger her memory. The idea bore more acceptance than the thought of any of her current friends trying to kill her.
A few minutes later she turned on the light by the coffee table so she could look carefully at the albums. Each time a picture triggered a memory she stopped and studied it, her mind reliving the scene and bringing it to life. The past overwhelmed her for a while as she moved slowly through the pages. She and Margaret and her husband had some great times together. Not partying times, but heartwarming none the less. Even digging in the dirt was fun when shared.
Restless, she set the album aside and sorted through the rest of the quilting supplies to take back with her. Turning on the other lamp so she could see the colors clearly, she piled the teal blue fabric patterns in groups and secured them in her travel quilt bag. Eventually, she’d have to return and she needed more work to keep busy. She wasn’t used to feeling helpless and it drove her crazy. Should she call the hotel and let Nick know she was all right? They may have missed her by now. On the other hand, they’d just come and pick her up. It could wait.
The car was in the garage, couldn’t she just sneak out and run some errands, just like she would in real life? This was real all right, but not normal. When she woke up every morning she didn’t usually fear for her life.
She decided to play it safe and lay low. She began to feel part of a mystery thriller as it unraveled in the books she read. If she didn’t want to be the dead body at the bottom of the well, so-to-speak, she’d better think like the detective.
He probably wouldn’t sit here savoring stale crackers. He’d make a plan. She grabbed a notepad from her quilting bag and listed what she could do. Logically, that would be to identify the killer. Being a timid soul, she would alert the police and let them handle it from there. Sounded good. She wrote down.
One: Identify killer.
She couldn’t think of a number two. Okay. Work with number one. It must be someone that Margaret knew, and that she, herself, had known at least slightly. Someone from the past. On the other hand, what if they were all wrong. What if the killer was someone she knew who killed Margaret because she was her best friend? That was too psychotic. This is Grandham for heaven’s sake—not New York City. Besides, how does Rosalin fit it? She knew Rosalin, mostly as an associate through the herb shop.
Trying to fit Rosalin into the puzzle caused her to go blank. It didn’t work in any of her scenarios. Kind of like forcing a piece of a waterfall puzzle into a jungle jigsaw. She sipped her cold tea. This was going nowhere. She’d leave Rosalin out of it for now, poor dear soul, and get to that later.
So back to the album. This time nostalgia could not interfere with the goal. Review all faces. As she ruffled through all the pages again she looked more closely, and used her magnifying glass whenever she needed to bring faces into better focus. She thought as she looked. Someone who knows herbs. I’ll leave out any of the current employees. The police should have checked them all by now. Maybe someone further back. She made a note to check with Charlie who’d worked on the herb farm with George. He might be able to think of someone.
Her vision was blurring and just as she was about to close the album, a face in an old family photo stood out. The nephew. What was his name. Ghastly. The name and the kid. Left when he was a teenager. He could easily have hated Margaret. She didn’t take him in when George died. Of course, George wouldn’t take him in either. The sister went off with the kid and some weird man and she’d never seen him again. Ichabod. Igor. No, don’t be ridiculous. He was George’s sister’s kid. A McKinney didn’t marry a Russian. Well, maybe. But it doesn’t sound right. Irving. Bingo.
She penciled his name on the back of the photo in a shaky hand with lots of question marks. No last name came to her. Puzzling over that she tucked the photo in her notebook. She had to call the police.
A loud banging on the door caused her to jump in dismay. Who could know she was here?
She headed to the window to take a peek and looked at the door as she walked by. Oh no. She hadn’t locked the bolt. Just the handle lock. She reached for it as the door crashed open. It didn’t require much imagination to recognize the much older Irving.
Agatha backed away, feigning confused fright to cover her motions. She dropped the photo album on the table by the door, carefully squeezing in her notebook as a marker on the page showing Irving in the other photos.
“What you doin,’ lady?”
“Just marking where I was in the book,” she said, stepping in front so he couldn’t see what kind of book.
“You won’t see that again, lady. Get in my car now.”
Irving Brantley grabbed her arm with all the frustration of a man following a long hunt. Agatha was his prey and letting her loose wasn’t an option.
Chapter 35
Simplified handwriting, such as rounded tops, and on the lower case ‘s’ and ‘r,’ are a way to speed up the message. This can develop from one’s own nature, though those of similar natures may congregate in certain professions.
“Mrs. Karprinski. Is everything okay?” Kat juggled the phone, her purse, and her notebook while walking to the car. She’d answered concerned to hear Marta’s voice. She had not called her after their visit last week.
“I’ve been watching out my window. Just as I promised. I wanted to call that kind officer that stopped by but I saw your card first. I’m not even sure the police could do anything.”
Though Marta’s words seemed a little disjointed, her voice held strong and steady. Kat encouraged her to continue.
“I saw a bunch of cars racing by, you know, toward Gunther’s old house. One of the cars was one I recognized from those men who came to my door. I told you about them. Don’t know what’s happening there. It worries me.”
Kat swung her purse and notebook through the driver’s door to the passenger seat. They landed side by side like they’d found a familiar spot. “It’s probably okay, Mrs. Karprinski. Maybe the developers sent some surveyors in to start work.”
“Maybe so. But that fancy Mercedes sports car that just flew by didn’t look like a surveyor type car to me.”
Kat wondered. Nick? W
hat could Nick be doing out there? How many other Roadsters could be in the area? Still hanging on to the phone, she gurgled in surprise.
“Why, Mrs. Karprinski, how did you recognize a Mercedes?”
“I may have been a farmer’s wife, but now I mostly read and watch the TV. Some dumb people are caught stranded on that ‘Highway Thru Hell’ program. And that ‘Top Gear’ show sure does get you goin.’ I like the turbocharged ones best.”
Kat turned the key in the ignition, not sure where to go. “Okay. Let’s get back on track. Other than a lot of traffic is there anything that seems suspicious?”
“Well, I guess the only thing really would be the two cars that got to the little intersection there before the farm and split up. First, three men got out of the cars. After talking for a minute, the men in one car went up the road. The other guy took that dirt road. You know, the one to the back of the farm. What Gunther called wild country.”
“Mrs. Karprinski. I’m not sure what’s going on. I’m worried, too. I noticed that beautiful painting of Jesus you have in the foyer. If you pray, now would be a good time.”
“I can pray and look out the window at the same time.”
“Just stay to the side so no one sees you. Maybe even turn off the lights so no one thinks you’re home.”
Mrs. Karprinski mumbled assent as she studied the empty road in both directions. “I’ll call you if I see anything else.”
Kat put the car in gear with one hand while firmly fixing the ear bud with the other. “I have to make some calls. Do you know who the officer was who came to see you?”
“The name don’t come to me. Something like a mountain. Nice young man.”
“You mean Officer Fulton Hill?”
“That’s the one.”
“I’ll try him first, then some of the others. Definitely stay hidden. I’ll call you when I know more.”
Kat figured she needed at least 15 minutes to get to the site. Should she go? First she left a message with Detective Hill. Where was everyone?
She hated to interfere but she speed dialed Nick’s main office. G.L. would fill her in. The gravity of the situation sank in as the phone kept ringing. They never leave their phones unanswered.
I’ll stay out of the way, she promised herself as she sped toward the country road that would take her past Ackermann’s old farm. The last thing she wanted to do was walk into the middle of an agency set-up and ruin everything.
Wondering what else could be happening, she checked in with Marta again. The report that another car pulled up to the intersection and headed to the back gave bad vibes.
“Marta, of the cars that went to the back, was any of them the Mercedes sports car?”
“No. That came by later and went straight to the farmhouse. Since then a truck went up the road, too—I think it was one of those King Crab SUV’s or whatever they’re called. You know the ones big enough to put a cow in. I saw them on TV, not much around here. Didn’t know the other car. It went to the back of the property, also.”
Kat really started to worry. That property must be huge to hide that many cars. Either the drivers were all chasing each other, they were all lined up friendly, like at an extended family picnic, or all hell was going to explode any minute. She could hope for the picnic, still, Fanny had such a horrid feeling about that Chandler guy, Kat needed to prepare for the fires of hell version. There had to be something she could do.
If the guy following Fanny in the truck was also at this rendezvous, then more than a land fraud was underway. If he had chased Fanny presumably in hopes of finding Agatha, and he was involved with Chandler, then Nick and his men were in for more than a deed signing. She didn’t know how she could warn them.
Kat heard rustling and Marta apparently shuffled closer to the window. “Nothing now, but something’s going to pop. All those cars back there. Sure wish I could see behind that old farmhouse.”
“Now, don’t you dare go out there to look.”
Did Nick know the situation had escalated? She wanted to help without getting in the way. Nick wouldn’t have time to fear for her safety while in a stand-off. Still, she hurried to the scene. When she feared she was too close to drive any further she took off at a run, keeping behind the trees. I promise I will take up running again as soon as this was over. Please God. Let it be over soon—well, good soon, if you know what I mean. She talked with God often, so her discomfort didn’t come from that, but from her lack of control of the situation. Heck, she wasn’t even sure what the situation was. The more she thought about the uncertainty of everything, the more her anxiety rose to block her throat. She dreaded what she would find. She couldn’t stop running.
These T-strap pumps show off my ankles to perfection, but the 3-inch heels trip over every tree root. If she came back to the doc with another ankle problem he would probably reassign her to the looney bin. She looked down at the rut she just avoided and stepped into another one.
So far so good, but why hadn’t she changed to her trusty pink sneakers? She tip-toed through a break in the shrubbery and walked smack dab into Chandler holding a gun on Nick.
All shoe thoughts popped right out of her head. Chandler backed away and kept Nick at gunpoint. He motioned Kat to stop with his other hand. She froze in mid step.
They all looked down at G. L. with a gun at his back. He walked at the base of the drop-off a few feet behind where Nick stood. Chandler smiled. Nick jerked his head towards G.L., then back toward her and Chandler. The question in his eyes was clear to his wife. She blinked once in response and they moved simultaneously.
Thank God for her self-defense training provided free by her loving husband. Her right leg swung up and around so fast Chandler barely had a second to turn. Chandler’s gun was on the ground. Nick leaped off the ledge.
This time Chandler blinked. That’s all the time he had before her leg swept behind his knee and knocked him off his feet. The impact sounded like a tree falling and he gasped for air. As he searched for it, she had the gun pointing at his head. She felt like planting that high heel right in his chest but restrained. The wise move meant keeping her distance. It didn’t stop her from seeing Nick’s successful sabotage down below.
She grinned at the guy on the ground at her feet. “You’re Chandler, I presume?”
Chapter 36
The speed of one’s writing tells much about a person. The writing will look sloppy, take more space, have slashes instead of periods, and lean more rightward than normal writing. This person is animated and outgoing, courageous, and quick in thought and action.
“Nick, My God, you came off that cliff at Chandler’s henchman like an Avenger.”
“Which one, G.L?”
“You want to discuss comic heroes with your foot on that guy’s neck?”
“You exaggerate. And I guess it doesn’t matter as long as I don’t turn green. I’m okay with most of the other men.”
“Why didn’t you just shoot the guy? If you hadn’t landed on him you could have killed yourself.”
“Don’t I know it. Adrenaline does that to you. Next time I’ll just shoot and not worry if you’re in the way of the bullet.”
“Oh. Right.” G.L. gave him a bear hug. “Great jump. Amazing job. And he’s still alive, too. Maybe he’ll talk.”
G.L. grabbed the man by his mangled arm and pulled him upright, ignoring his screams. “By the way, how come Chandler just let you attack without warning the guy?”
“Kat and I did a double play. Thank heavens for talented wives.”
G.L. jerked his head upright and saw Kat standing over Chandler. It was difficult to see him. The guy didn’t look to be moving. “What’d she do to him?”
“Actually, she only did her outside-inside kick and a sweep. It’s his gun she’s holding. Just for effect.”
“I guess she doesn’t need to shoot anyone with moves like that. Who would have guessed she’d be better at that karate stuff than you and me?”
“It helps me rest easier
at night to realize how good she is, but she shouldn’t have shown up here.” Nick said as he fleeced the henchman’s pockets and pulled out his ID. “You gotta’ love handy wives, though.”
The henchman had his mouth open staring up at Chandler and Kat. Nick nudged Akins. “How many?”
The guy closed his mouth. His whole body seemed to sag when he saw Chandler on the ground. Nick swiveled him around so they faced each other. “So, Jerry Akins, how many other guys do you have out there?”
G.L. answered first. “We ran into Lance out back. He and Tom have two guys they’re herding to the van.”
Nick could see Akins make his decision as soon as G.L. announced the downfall of his other companions. The man mumbled, “Two tall guys came the back way in one car. There was another one who came in a car by himself.”
Nick looked to G.L. who had handcuffed Akins after fixing a sling on his injured arm. His partner gave the handcuffs one last tug and said, “I took care of that one right after I arrived. Looks like we have the back end covered.”
Nick asked. “So who does that leave?” Both he and his partner turned to Akins.
“Chandler had a driver. He told the rest of us to come from the back and wait until you signed the papers. Then, if anything went wrong, we were supposed to knock you off the ledge. A nice, simple accident.”
G.L. looked a little puzzled. “Chandler had the gun on Nick. What happened to a push?”
Akins shrugged, or attempted to before he winced from the pain in his arm. Nevertheless it reflected true bewilderment. “Maybe that made it too personal for him. The driver was supposed to do any of the dirty work. Don’t know Chandler to do his own work.”
Nick said. “Lewis took one guy on the curve before Chandler saw us. The man is tied and muffled near the farmhouse. Chandler seemed to miss him but proceeded anyway. He was just as anxious to get my signature as I was to get his.”
“Did you get his signature before all this went down?”
“Yeah, that’s how I was distracted. Wanted to make sure he committed fraud before my eyes. The fine print boggled me. With Lewis delayed I was on my own with the review.”