“Veronica!” Ashli gasped, forgetting she was trying to stealth away.
“Yes, Veronica, my sister. The nurse to the old man from your apartment building. Another fool with a thing for Doris Day. What is it with you men, anyway?” Diane waved the knife in irritation.
Lange tried a new tactic. His only concern was getting Ashli out of harm’s way. With his best seductive grin, he shrugged and told Diane, “Sorry, I’ve got a thing for blonds. Did I tell you how much I like your hair? You look good as a blond, Di.” He glanced at Ashli for the briefest of seconds, praying she would recognize the lie for what it was. “Very hot.”
“You think so?” For the first time, Diane seemed uncertain. She frowned, clearly wanting to believe him.
“Definitely.” The word burned as it left his lips. His own stomach churning, Lange stepped closer. “And that dress.” He glanced again at Ashli, seeing the stricken expression on her beautiful face. “I could never resist a blond in red.”
A sob broke from Ashli’s throat, causing Diane to answer with a bitter laugh. “I should have dyed my hair weeks ago. Could have saved myself a lot of trouble. And a can of paint.”
“That - That was you?” Ashli gasped. “You painted that on my window? But why?”
“Because you are nothing but a little lying, cheating, boyfriend-stealing, do-goody little blond haired bitch!” When Diane raised the knife to stab her, Lange grabbed for her hand. He missed, but succeeded in knocking the knife off course. It slashed across his palm and flung blood into the air.
“Did you- did you do those other things?” Ashli whispered. Still in shock, she didn’t notice that Lange was bleeding again, this time more profusely, or that she was in serious danger. “Have you been stalking me?”
“Stalking you? Why on earth would I stalk you?” Diane laughed bitterly. “You’re nothing to me. I wouldn’t waste my time on a pathetic little boring loser like you. Tell her, Lange. She’s boring. Boring, boring, boring.”
Ashli jerked her gaze to him, noticing his hand for the first time. “You’re bleeding!”
He had his hand wrapped in the tail of his shirt, but the blood was soaking through. His jeans were sliced above the knee, where more blood freely flowed. If he lost much more blood, Lange knew he would be in danger of passing out. He had to get Ashli out of the apartment and to safety before that happened.
“It’s not too bad,” he denied. “Diane’s going to take me to the hospital and get it looked at, aren’t you, Red?”
“Huh?” Clearly confused at the affectionate tone in his voice and his use of the old nickname, Diane looked at him with dazed eyes.
“You always look out for me. Remember that time my appendix ruptured? You took me to the hospital. You took care of me, Red. But I guess I can’t call you that any more, can I?” He took advantage of her confusion and reached around to take the knife from her hands. “That’s it, that’s my girl,” he cooed. “Just give me the knife, and it’s going to be all right.”
“But – But Ashli . . .” The hatred had seeped out of her voice, and was replaced by the needling whine of a pouting child.
“Ashli’s going home now. She’s going to call her friend, Mr. Sullivan, and she’s going to leave us here, just the two of us.” He spoke to Diane, but his eyes were hard on Ashli. When Ashli started to protest, shaking her head, he ignored her. He pulled Diane to him with his one good arm, motioning behind her for Ashli to leave.
“But I hurt you!” Now the unstable woman began to cry.
Out of respect for their two-year relationship, Lange felt compelled to help the woman he had once been involved with. She was clearly mentally disturbed. Torn between his loyalty to Diane and his love for Ashli, Lange prayed that Ashli would understand.
“I know you didn’t mean to, Di,” he said gently, holding her as she cried. Over her head, he silently begged Ashli with his eyes, fully understanding for the first time that he was in love with her. It was Ashli he wanted to hold, Ashli he wanted to comfort. And it was Ashli he had to protect.
“You’ll take care of me, right, Diane? You’ll take me to the hospital and get me checked out.”
“Just you and me?”
“Just you and me. Just the way it’s always been.”
“You left me before.”
He heard the anger flash in her voice. He knew her moods could change in an instant, and she could become violent again. Lange kept his voice smooth and even, staring over her head into the bright blue depths of Ashli’s eyes as he promised, “I won’t leave you now.”
“What about Ashli?” Diane whined.
Ashli? He loved her more than life itself. He knew that now. He had always known it, on some level, but like a fool, he had fought it.
Aloud, he told both women, “Ashli’s leaving. She’s going to call her friend, Mr. Sullivan. He’s a good man. He’s half way in love with her. He’ll take care of her.”
“Like you’re going to take care of me?” Diane asked, snuggling against him.
“Like I’m going to take care of you.” Unable to hold Ashli’s bright gaze, Lange closed his eyes. For a moment, the blackness swooped in, threatening to send him to his knees. It could have been the loss of blood, or perhaps, the lost chance at love.
Either way, when he opened his eyes, Ashli was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Ashli stumbled from Diane’s apartment, her vision blurred with tears. She wasn’t so distraught that she couldn’t decipher at least part of the message hidden in Lange’s words: call Detective Sullivan. It was the part about him being half in love with her that she didn’t understand, but there was no time to worry about that now. Lange was bleeding and needed medical help. And Diane obviously needed a straight jacket.
With trembling fingers, she dialed the number the policemen had given her.
“Sullivan here.”
“Detective Sullivan.” Relief flooded through her when he answered on the first ring. “This is Ashli. I need your help.”
“Is it your stalker? I can be there in five minutes.”
“No! No, I’m not at home. I’m at . . .” she paused to look around the plush complex, trying to recall the exact address. “CastleMain Condominiums. Apartment 34C. There’s a woman. She has a knife. Lange was cut and he’s bleeding. I think he’s taking her to the hospital, but I’m not sure. Just send someone, please.”
“Wait a minute. Who’s hurt, Sterling or the woman? Why is he taking her to the hospital if he’s the one who was cut?” the detective asked, clearly confused.
“Because she’s crazy.” The words rushed out, one upon another. “She asked me to come over to cook dinner and then she pulled a knife and then . . . just come. Please hurry.”
“I’m dispatching a unit and an ambulance as we speak, and I’ll be there in twelve minutes, tops. Stay where you are.” She could hear the movement in his voice.
“No. No, I-I’ve got to get out of here!” She was already beginning to walk away, her pace getting faster and faster.
“This woman, is she your stalker?”
“No, but she’s the one who wrote on my windows.”
“And why is Sterling taking her to the hospital? What is his connection to all this?”
“She’s his girlfriend.”
***
She drove like a maniac to get home. She ran a red light and turned down a one-way street going the wrong direction, but she made it home in one piece. She managed to make it to Daisy House before totally unraveling, but not to her apartment. She got no further than the garage.
She laid her head against the steering wheel and allowed the tears to come. They came in a torrent, wracking her body with violent sobs. She was flooded with emotions, each one as powerful and ravishing as the next. Confusion. Shock. Hurt. Fear. Love. Betrayal.
The betrayal hurt most of all.
The tears subsided at last. Still, she sat there, too confused to even think. It was growing dark outside, just like it had grown dark insid
e her heart. After another ten minutes of sitting inside her car like a zombie, Ashli pulled herself together. She dropped her cell phone and keys into her pocket, but somehow her purse seemed unimportant. She left it in the seat of her car as she stumbled out of the garage and toward the back doors of the mansion.
Ashli’s fingers were clumsy when she tried to enter her code. She could hear Mr. Parnell tinkering in the shed, and for a moment, thought she might have to call him for help. After three attempts, the doors unlocked and she staggered inside. She wasn’t aware of going up the stairs, but the next thing she knew, she was standing outside her door, where a package dangled from the doorknob.
There was no postage on the box and no return address, but Ashli was too distraught to notice. She unlocked her door, wondering for the hundredth time how Lange was. Had he driven himself to the hospital? Had he let that crazy woman drive him? Or did he wait for the ambulance? Why hadn’t she stayed there and insisted on taking him, herself?
Because he sent her away, she reminded herself bitterly. He made it plain that he did not want her there, did not need her. He had chosen Diane.
But the look in his eyes! There had been so much sorrow, so much longing. He had been begging her for something, but for what? To understand? To play along? Or to give up? He had pushed her away, after all.
Diane said he had laughed at her. Diane said he wanted her back. Diane said . . .
Diane was crazy.
But he had chosen Diane.
Hadn’t he?
“Ugh!” Ashli screamed at the voices in her head, thinking she might be going crazy, too. She ripped open the package in her hands, needing to tear something apart.
The contents fell to the floor with a thud, wrapped in black lace. She bent to retrieve a beautiful antique clock. The hands were set to twelve o’clock, either mid-day, or mid-night.
Her first reaction was one of fleeting pleasure. Someone had sent her a present, a beautiful old time piece that had measured not only minutes, but years. Then it dawned on her. This was from her stalker.
Her second response was to fling the clock across the room. It crashed against the wall, knocking a porcelain figure down from a nearby shelf. Both broke to pieces on her hardwood floor.
“No!” Ashli cried angrily. “No, no, no! I can’t take this anymore! I won’t take it! This ends now!”
She stormed out of her apartment, headed for the carriage house. Mr. Parnell may have seen someone. And if he had let them put up cameras in the first place, they could all see who was doing this! She was going to get answers, once and for all.
She hurried to the carriage house, hoping he was still there. Maybe, she decided, she should be hoping his memory held long enough to recall the day’s events. His mind had been particularly bad these last few weeks.
“Mr. Parnell? Are you in here?” she called. Getting a whiff of an awful smell, this one more gut-wrenching than usual, Ashli hoped her stomach would not revolt.
“Doris? Is that you?”
She followed the sound of his voice, finding him at the contraption where he ground mulch and started the process for his prized fertilizer. His hands were covered in a dark substance, and the smell coming from the machine was enough to make her gag.
She was about to correct him when a smile split his wrinkled face. “Doris, it is you!” he crooned in pleasure. “But you’re early. You’re not supposed to be here until midnight.”
“Mr. Parnell,” she began wearily, “it’s me, Ashli.” This wasn’t good. In this condition, he would never be able to recall seeing anyone at her door. Not unless they had been there thirty years ago.
“Doris, what are talking about? Of course it’s you. I’d know that beautiful face anywhere.”
Ashli puffed out a weary sigh. She started to turn away, but something caught her eye. “Mr. Parnell, what’s that over there in the corner?”
“Nothing. I don’t see nothing.” He answered quickly, without looking in the direction she pointed.
“It looks like a bracelet. See it shining over there? It looks like . . . this is Jasmine’s ankle bracelet!” she said in surprise, reaching down to snag the silver chain from behind the mulcher.
“So? Found it in the yard.”
“When? When did you find this, Mr. Parnell?”
“Don’t know. Week or so ago, I reckon.” He wiped his hands on his bib apron, streaking it with the red substance so dark it was practically black.
“Did you tell the police about it?’
“Police?” He looked alarmed. “Why would I tell the police? Doris, you’re acting awfully strange tonight.”
“This might be important, Mr. Parnell. I think we should let Detective Sullivan know about this.” She palmed the silver chain and started to leave, but he caught her arm, his grasp surprisingly strong.
“You leave that here, Doris. You got no right to be snooping around in here and taking things that aren’t yours,” he lectured her sternly. “If you want a silver bracelet, I’ll buy you one. I bought you all that other stuff.”
“No, you don’t understand. This belonged to Jasmine. Jasmine is missing, Mr. Parnell, and possibly dead. This could be a clue.”
“Jasmine was making fun of you, Doris. She laughed at you. I had to teach her a lesson, Doris. That’s why I did it.”
“Did what?” Ashli’s brow furrowed in total confusion. What on earth was he talking about now? She didn’t have time for riddles, not tonight. Her head was pounding and her nerves were raw. It had been a grueling day, and that smell was getting worse. It smelled like something rotten. Or dead. Her stomach rolled again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Parnell, but I need to get out of here.” She tugged to free her arm, but he had a firm hold. “Really, Mr. Parnell, that smell is making me sick. I have to leave, right now.”
“Oh, Missy, why did you do it?” There was real sorrow in his voice as he tightened his grip. “I thought you were the one. But you’re just like all the rest.”
“You’re- You’re hurting me, Mr. Parnell,” Ashli gasped. She knew it was silly, but she was beginning to get frightened. He was such a nice old man, but his mind was playing tricks on him. Already once today, she had seen what a sick mind could do. She tried unsuccessfully to pry his fingers off her arm.
“Why did you do it? Cavorting with that television fellow!” He spat the words. “Then that private detective. I thought better of you, Missy. I thought you were pure. But you’re just like all the others.” This time he did release her, with enough force that she staggered backwards.
She crashed against a black trash bag and knocked it to the ground. When some of its contents fell out, she threw her hands to her mouth in horror. “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. Oh! My! God!” she screamed hysterically, recognizing the mutilated form of a human arm.
“Now look what you did!” the old man snarled. “Why’d you have to go snooping around? You should have met me in the garden, like I asked you to! Didn’t you get the clues?”
Her eyes still riveted on the arm and pieces of things she dared not identify, Ashli had more pressing issues to worry about than an old man’s ramblings. Still, she asked in a terrified whisper, “What clues?”
“The clues. The fish, the flowers, the clock.”
“Those-Those were from you?” Her eyes flew from the contents of the bag to the man who stood between her and the doorway.
“Of course they were from me, who else would they be from?” he grumbled irritably.
“Cl-Clues?” She hoped he would think she was looking at him, when really she was judging the distance to the door. If she could just make it around the mulching machine. She took a tiny step to the right.
“Clues. Where can you find goldfish and roses and daisies and rhododendrons?”
“The- the garden?” she whispered. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
“Of course the garden! And what time was the clock set for?”
“M-Midnight?”
“So why did you come down here earl
y?” he roared. “I’m not ready for you yet!”
“I-I could come back,” she offered hopefully.
“No, you’ve already ruined everything now. You’ve already seen the others.”
“I didn’t really see anything, Mr. Parnell. Just- Just this bracelet.” She held up the thin chain. A shudder wracked her body as she wondered if that was Jasmine’s arm she had seen.
“You saw the bag. You saw the secret ingredient.”
Ashli’s eyes flew from the trash bag to the mulcher. Suddenly it all made sense. The bag, the awful smell, the dark stains on his clothes, Jasmine’s missing body. His prized fertilizer.
This time, her stomach did revolt. She threw up in the corner, right where the bracelet had been. When he turned on the machine and she heard the horrific sounds of grinding bone and human flesh, she thought she might faint. Reaching into her pocket for a tissue, her fingers touched her cell phone. She had forgotten she had it on her.
Pretending another dry heave that was not far from reality, Ashli leaned over and withdrew the phone, careful to keep it out of his sight. Lange’s number was second on her recall list. She punched it without hesitation. The text screen popped up.
“What are you doing over there?” he asked cantankerously. “Come over here where I can see you.”
“I’m sick.”
“You’re stomach’s empty. Come over here.”
She saw teenagers do it all the time. They would come in the restaurant and text without even looking at their screen. Praying her fingers were somewhere near the right keys, she shot off the message “SOS”, then slipped the phone back into her pocket.
She turned back around, wondering why she was surprised to see the wild, vacant look in his eyes. The man was obviously delusional. She had to keep him talking, keep him busy until Lange arrived.
If he arrived. What if they had taken his phone away from him at the emergency room? What if he never made it to the emergency room? What if Diane -
He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not Page 23