Mystery Bundle (Saints Preserve Us, Pray For Us Sinners, Murder Most Trivial)

by Leigh Ellwood

  “No, I don’t believe that.” Landon tensed. “Dakota wouldn’t kill anybody. Rick, neither.”

  “Dakota said she had her tuition taken care of, Landon,” Ronnie said, nodding to the neighborhood around them. “Look around you. This isn’t the grandeur of Two Witt, and JU’s an expensive school. How do think Dakota can afford it?”

  “Then why would she hint about Miss Witt being murdered like she did that day at the deli?” Landon asked. “Why not leave everyone to believe Miss Witt just died in her sleep?”

  “Revenge. She hated Lorraine Witz, so what better way to get back by framing her for a crime?”

  “Yeah, but if Dakota was in Miss Witt’s will, why not just take the money and run? Forget about nursing school. Why stick around?”

  Ronnie paused with her hand on the door handle. She had to admit that the young man was sharp.

  “Why does my nephew collect jars of graveyard dirt?” she asked finally. “Why do people do anything?” She reached into her purse and handed Landon her cell phone. “I don’t know about you, but I intend to find out for myself. What I want you to do is stay here and call L—, er, Sheriff Caperton and tell him to get down here. If I call, he won’t come.”

  Landon shrank from the phone as one would from a snake. “And you think he’ll listen to me? What would I tell him, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. Tell him somebody’s breaking into Dakota’s duplex, or that there’s a domestic disturbance.”

  “I can’t do that! I could violate my probation for reporting a false crime.” Landon looked genuinely frightened, and Ronnie suddenly felt for him.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll cover for you. Just do it, please?” She thrust the phone at him again, and he reluctantly took it. With one glance past his shoulder into the overgrown lawn, peppered with weeds, she added, “If I’m right, and if somebody in there doesn’t want me to come back out, you won’t be calling in a false report.”

  “Huh?” Landon’s eyes widened. “I don’t want you getting hurt, Ronnie.”

  Ronnie put a hand over Landon’s trembling arm. “I’ll be fine. Make the call.” She leaned back to leave, but Landon pulled her close and, moving his hand behind her neck, planted a soft kiss on her parted lips.

  He broke free just as quickly and dialed three numbers, not looking at Ronnie.

  “Right,” Ronnie sighed, and slid out of the door. To the future.

  ~ * ~

  Dakota’s duplex sat to Ronnie’s left. The RAV was parked on the driveway as close as it could get without scraping against the maroon brick exterior, and the diamond-shaped window in the door was covered from the inside with some type of black, gauzy material. Heavy metal music, muffled and deep, vibrated from within the small building. The hinges of Rick’s door hummed, and Ronnie guessed that her immediate neighbors were either not home or too used to the noise to bother complaining.

  Knocking and ringing the doorbell would be useless, she decided, so she tested the knob. To her surprise, the door was unlocked, and Ronnie was slapped directly in the face with a crescendo of screeching guitars and tinny cymbals. Ronnie did not recognize the tune, or the female singer, whose lyrics consisted mainly of screeching one very high note.

  Ronnie thought to call for Rick or Dakota, but doubted she could be heard over the music. Finding the stereo, she decided, would be her first priority before confronting whoever was home, assuming her hearing was still intact.

  The kitchen, to her immediate right, was dark and empty, so Ronnie trekked down the short hallway into a living room filled with beanbag furniture and plastic crate bookshelves. Posters of anorexic, pale musicians covered the walls. Empty beer cans and music magazines crowded one end table. It looked all Rick. Ronnie could not find any influence of Dakota in the room at all.

  Maybe in the bedroom, she decided, since that appeared to be where the music originated.

  A left turn into another short, dim hallway led Ronnie to a slightly open door. The music was louder, the wailing vocalist more anguished and unintelligible. Who could listen to such loud music? Ronnie had not wanted to surprise either Rick or Dakota, but the noise left her no choice. She hoped, however, that she would not push open the door to find the couple engaged in sexual intercourse…

  Or, worse yet, being held at gunpoint, with Rick on the floor of the bedroom, unconscious and bleeding, Dakota huddled on the bed screaming bloody murder.

  And Daytime Emmy winner Allayne Witt, alive and well and gun in hand, presiding over the scene.

  Chapter Thirteen

  With one swift movement Allayne reached behind her and switched off the stereo. Dakota’s screaming ended simultaneously. That was not a female singer Ronnie had heard accompanying the music.

  Allayne waved the gun at Ronnie. “Get in here,” she said, her voice betraying any hint of illness.

  Ronnie obeyed and stepped deeper into the bedroom, keeping her eyes on Allayne for several seconds before blinking slowly. Her sight did not deceive her; Allayne was truly alive. How could this be, given what Lorraine had described to her that fateful night? Allayne’s body still appeared frail from her fight against cancer in a simple T-shirt and jeans; a blue terry turban covered her head. Her hands were white against the dull black metal of the gun, the emerald ring sparkled, and Ronnie watched the nearly translucent veins bob as Allayne tightened her grip on the weapon.

  “I have to say, Ronnie,” Allayne said, her voice smooth and emotionless, “that your timing is just awful. I’d have preferred you stopped by fifteen minutes from now, when you would have found these two lovebirds dead in a suicide pact.”

  The mention of death set Dakota to screaming again, and Allayne silenced her by aiming the muzzle at the girl’s face. Dakota whimpered, her face puffy and red.

  “She’s already killed Rick,” the girl said, daring a glance down at the corner of the bed. Ronnie followed her gaze to the boy’s body and swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. Presently she saw his abdomen expand and quiver.

  “It’s okay, Dakota. He’s still breathing,” Ronnie assured her. To Allayne, she said, “We need to call an ambulance right now. There’s no need to kill these kids. It’s obvious they’ve done you no harm, since you’re standing right here.”

  “No, I’ll have to disagree with you on that one, Ron,” Allayne said. “Yes, I’m alive, but I’m only one of two people who is supposed to know that. Unfortunately, that second person is not in this room, and I can’t have too many people knowing my secrets.”

  Ronnie’s heart fell to her shoes. She hoped desperately that Landon had not changed his mind about making that phone call. “I don’t understand why you would fake your death, Allayne. I know from Landon Dennis about that fight you had with Danny about a contract, but if you didn’t want to act anymore why not just retire? Tell everyone to take a hike.”

  “You think I haven’t tried that, Ron?” Allayne’s voice sounded like a little girl’s—a little, tired girl. “It’s all I’ve been doing for the past three years. You know, I was almost happy to get breast cancer, because I hoped to use my recovery time to make a graceful exit from the soap. I had even talked with the producers about scouting for a replacement actress because they weren’t ready to part with Nurse Bethany. But then I kept getting sucked back in.”

  “Hurricane Lorraine?”

  “Mother, Danny, Marlene… ” Allayne appeared to loosen her grip on the gun but held it higher when Ronnie advanced a step towards her. “I wanted to take some time off, travel, do things I don’t get to do because I’m inside a television studio twelve hours a day. But Danny negotiates movie roles behind my back, my cousin wants me to become the new poster child for cancer survivors and work the Allayne Foundation full-time, and Mother wants me shaking hands with the Pope. I just want to be left alone! The way I had it set up, Danny and Mother will be financially stable for years, so they won’t need me anymore. I can finally do what I want.

  “You know, Ron, you got it good. You and Gina,” she
continued. “Even with all this saint business, I bet you don’t get hounded half as much as I do.”

  Ronnie fixated on the gun. “I don’t seem to have it good right now,” she said.

  Tears formed in the corners of Allayne’s eyes, and she sniffed sharply. “I don’t want to do this, please understand that,” she said. “It’s just these two,” she waved the gun at Dakota, who shrank back on the bed, “left me no choice. They were going ruin everything for me.”

  Ronnie glanced back at Dakota, whose bent head touched her knees. Her lips moved silently. Was the girl praying? She tried to think of what Dakota could have done to drive Allayne to such an act. She had to have found out about Allayne’s plan and tried to blackmail her. That would have explained Dakota’s earlier confidence that she would have money to finish school.

  “Dakota,” Ronnie prodded, “were you the one who injected that cookie with Nora Daily’s insulin?”

  Dakota lifted her head and nodded.

  “And this mourning act of yours, calling your friend and making hints at me, was a way to throw suspicion off of you?”

  Another nod.

  “Nora told me all about it,” Allayne offered. “Seems my former house girl was feeling a bit too big for her miniskirt, and informed Nora a few days ago that she was going to the police with the possibility that I was murdered. I told Nora not to worry, that there was no proof.”

  Ronnie nodded. That would explain the argument Loni saw outside her restaurant.

  “Why don’t you tell Ronnie what you told Nora, sweetie?” Allayne eyed the young girl with disgust.

  Dakota sniffled and hugged her arms around her shoulders. “I overheard them talking about their plan the first night they were here, while I was cleaning. I didn’t think she was serious until Miss Witt died, sort of.”

  “How were you able to fool everybody?” Ronnie asked Allayne. “I mean, I know you’re a good actress, but playing dead for so long while waiting for an ambulance?”

  “The magic of Hollywood, Ronnie,” Allayne said with a crooked smile. “The chief makeup artist at Southwest Memorial worked a few B-horror films. He showed me how to apply fake skin patches so it would look like I had no pulse. Plus, we made sure Nora was the only one who got close to me.” Allayne shook her head. “When Mother came to my home before Nora did she was too shocked to come near, so I was lucky in that respect.”

  Her face darkened again. “But we’re not here to talk shop. Dakota, continue,” she barked, waving the gun.

  Dakota gasped. “I-I told Nora that I had gone to the police and suggested there might have been foul play. I said that if I didn’t get half a million in cash from Miss Witt I would testify that I witnessed Nora injecting the cookie,” she said meekly, “and that she put the needle in Mrs. Witz’s trashcan to make it look like Miss Witt’s mother did it. I was eavesdropping that night you were in Mrs. Witz’s room, too, so I knew that you had the cookie. I figured once I got the money I could tell the sheriff that I was mistaken.”

  “And I know about your relationship with Lew Caperton. I’ve already invested quite a bit in this charade,” Allayne explained coolly. “I wouldn’t recommend faking your death unless you have the capital. I had to pay off the EMTs, the coroner, the funeral director… I wasn’t about to write one more check.”

  “So you anticipated that your mother wouldn’t allow for an autopsy, given her beliefs,” Ronnie said.

  “It’s certainly a big help having a Jewish mother, isn’t it? But even I know that if there’s the possibility that a homicide might be investigated, my mother would lose the battle against having my coffin exhumed, and my hoax would have been discovered.” Anger rose in Allayne’s voice. “If Dakota hadn’t done anything, my mother would never have suspected foul play, and it would never have come to this.”

  “You don’t know that. I’m sure without the cookie—”

  “She would eventually have accepted my death,” Allayne interrupted. “Don’t analyze it further.”

  Ronnie looked down at Rick again. The puddle of blood around his abdomen was growing and starting to thicken. If he lay there any longer without medical attention he certainly would die. Where was Lew?

  She had to keep Allayne talking, however. More talking meant less shooting.

  “So Nora is the other person,” she said. “The two of you planned this.”

  Allayne nodded.

  “And you and Nora are…?”

  Another nod. Ronnie exhaled. “Oh, my.”

  “Yeah.” Allayne’s laugh was hollow. “Imagine if the soap rags got a hold of that tidbit. They’d have had to bury my mother right next to the box full of rocks, or whatever it’s filled with at my grave, after her heart attack. And I had to fly in from New York, disguised, of course, to clean up this mess.”

  “So this benefit Nora’s doing… it’s some kind of ruse, isn’t it? Keep everybody busy while you sneak back into town.”

  “And so far it’s working,” Allayne said. “I knew Danny and Mother wouldn’t stand for something like that during the traditional mourning period. I talked to Nora before I came here. They’re at the Alhambra now trying to put a stop to it. That should give me enough time to finish here and head to Two Witt to pick up some stuff. We’re supposed to be in Europe in a few days.”

  “With what? I heard whatever money Nora gets from licensing your name goes to the Allayne Foundation.”

  “Not in the most recent will I had drawn, the one only my lawyer saw just before I ‘died’. Nora stands to be compensated well for her years of, ah, dedicated service, by receiving a share of my residuals and licensing profits.” Allayne shifted to a comfortable stance; the gun looked heavy in her weakening state, and Ronnie pondered for a second the urge to tackle her. With the gun still pointed directly at Dakota, however, she did not want to risk another bleeding body.

  “So even though you don’t want to be an actress or be famous anymore, you see no problem with living off money made with your name and image?” Ronnie folded her arms and frowned. “Sounds rather hypocritical, you think? And what makes you think you’ll make as much money as the Elvises and Marilyns of this world?”

  “Because I left more than just a daytime legacy,” Allayne said with a wink. “In a few weeks, Nora is going to fly home to tie up some loose ends before moving the Allayne Witt Fan Club operation overseas, and she’s going to happen upon a manuscript by her favorite actress.”

  “What, a novel?”

  “My memoirs. More candid than anything Kitty Kelley wished she had written, and I name names. Publishers will be bidding high numbers for this baby.”

  Ronnie raised an eyebrow. “Am I in it?”

  Allayne laughed, but kept her gaze on target. “Come on, Ronnie! Would you want to read about your life? Didn’t they used to call you the Ice Maiden in high school?”

  That title had gone to Gina, but Ronnie did not see fit to mention that. “I guess you’re right, my life doesn’t make for a good read. Especially not my not-so-happy ending. Speaking of which…”

  “What about it?” Allayne hardly sounded sympathetic.

  “Well,” Ronnie tried to ignore the pleading look on Dakota’s face and instead tried to focus on another spot in the room. The scowling face of Rob Zombie on the poster above the bed, however, proved equally unnerving. “Surely you’re not going to shoot me here and leave me dead with these two,” she continued. “I mean, if it was implied in any way that I was a part of some bizarre love triangle gone bad…”

  Dakota cringed at this. Thanks a lot, chick, Ronnie thought.

  “…my family wouldn’t believe it, for one, and they’ll press for an investigation that will take up a lot of taxpayers’ money. Plus, it would really put a damper on Lorena’s canonization.”

  “So what, you want me to kill you somewhere else? Because I’m not waiting for the Pope to leave.” Allayne sighed. “I suppose if you drove here we could take a little trip. Just let me do one thing there.”

  R
onnie gasped as she heard a trigger being cocked, but remembered that Allayne had done that already. It did not register that the sound had come from behind her, through the open door. Lew’s deep, stern voice was true music to her ears.

  Lew was braced in the doorway, his own gun trained on Allayne’s temple. “I have a better idea, Allayne,” he said. “Why don’t you and I take a little trip, and I can get your autograph on a confession, and maybe our photographer can take some publicity shots from the front and sides.”

  Allayne grasped her gun with both hands, aiming now for Ronnie’s head. Ronnie’s knees buckled. “Take one step closer and I’ll blow off your girlfriend’s head,” Allayne warned.

  “You so much as say bang to Ronnie and I’ll blow you away,” he said evenly.