No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7

by Barton, Sara M.

  I decided to take my evening run in the opposite direction, to avoid getting near the edge of the press feeding frenzy. Once I changed into my running clothes, I headed down Johnson Boulevard and over to Spruce Street. It was less traveled, less scenic, but I told myself that at least I wouldn’t have anyone following me. Boy, oh boy, was I wrong about that.

  Chapter Nine —

  The sky was overcast, putting a damper on the evening’s sunset. There was a light breeze coming off the ocean and it seemed to follow me as I ran towards Jenkins Hollow. I decided to do the front loop, running on the trail down to the old ruins and back. I gave myself twenty minutes to do it, knowing that meant I was averaging a ten-minute mile. It felt good to have the wide open space to myself, save the occasional walkers and a family having a picnic dinner under a big sugar maple in the pasture. A figure on a bike passed me at a rapid rate, feet pedaling frantically. I couldn’t have said whether it was a man or a woman, because the hood was pulled up over the bike rider’s head, but my gut told me it was a man. He was certainly in a hurry, almost out of sight by the time I reached the top of the hill and headed down towards the old stone fortification. I turned at the well, marking it as my halfway point, and checked my watch. I was running about a minute slower than I had hoped, but I was distracted by my thoughts of Susan’s murder.

  I had never met the woman, but the belongings in the house gave a glimpse into her life. Definitely a colorful, almost chaotic character. I thought the name she had taken on, Rainbow, probably described her approach to life. This was not a timid wallflower. The decor of the house proved that. The photographs illustrated that. She was defiantly proud of herself in some of the more kinky ones, almost as if she were daring the photographer to keep up with her unconventional side. Could she have rubbed the killer the wrong way? Kyle had an enormous ego and a very large need to have it stroked. Maybe she told him to go pound sand and he lost it. Maybe she had found someone new to take his place, someone like her neighbor, although I didn’t really think John Sullivan was her type. Maybe Kyle hurt her while they were having sex. Maybe she wouldn’t let him control her. I thought about how angry he was when I called him on his bad behavior.

  I was running down the steep incline to the brook basin when I felt a sharp, painful sting as something struck me hard in the stomach. A moment later, I was struck again in the middle of my thigh with equal ferociousness, hitting muscle and causing me to instantly cramp up. Grabbing my leg reflexively, I was unable to stay upright, and the rest of me tumbled the remainder of the way down. I felt my skin burn as I tore across the surface of the gravel-covered trail. By the time I landed in a very unglamorous pile of pain, a bruise the size of a quarter was emerging on my left thigh. There was another purple shadow on my stomach. What in God’s name could have caused that? I looked all around me before I saw what was out of the ordinary. On the ground, about ten feet apart, were two tiny white glass balls, very visible against the dark gray stone path.

  Standing up tentatively on my sore leg, I hobbled over to the first glass orb and picked it up. Why would someone want to hit me with what seemed to be a white marble? I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t true, even as I knew it was. I couldn’t help thinking that it reminded me of the run the other day in the park, when I went tumbling down the hill. Had something struck me then, too? Maybe that sting I felt on my ankle wasn’t just a stray pebble sent into the air by a wayward footfall.

  It took me ten minutes to hobble up the hill and find my way to the road. I saw the familiar car just as I emerged from the tree-lined path. Jasper had his mother in the Lexus and I could see the look of concern on their faces as he pulled off the road and slowed to a stop in front of me.

  “Suzanne, what happened?” Jasper rushed to my side.

  “I think someone hit me with this.” I held out one of the white glass balls for him to see.

  “That’s slingshot ammo,” he told me. He looked down at my thigh and the now-throbbing bruise. “You could have been seriously hurt. What kind of kid thinks this is a good activity?”

  He managed to load me into the back seat. His mother was kinder than I remembered, offering me ice from her cold drink.

  “This is the second time in a few days you’ve had this kind of spill,” Jasper pointed out.

  “Funny,” I groaned. “I remember feeling a sharp pain in my ankle before I fell at Plover Park.”

  “Why would someone want to harm you?” June wondered aloud. “You seem like a nice girl.”

  “I am a nice girl,” I agreed wholeheartedly. For the life of me, I couldn’t think of a single enemy I might have, other than Kyle. “Does anyone know where that creep is?”

  “You didn’t hear?” Jasper announced, watching me through the rearview mirror. “Kyle’s in police custody. They’re holding him overnight.”

  “Damn!” I cursed. “He made such a good suspect. What kind of jerk uses a slingshot?”

  “Well, when I was a kid, the typical target was a squirrel.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t go around torturing little squirrels with marbles,” June demanded.

  “Not me, Mom. Remember Keith Hublein? The guy was a wizard at knocking squirrels out of trees. He didn’t kill them. It usually stunned the hell out of them.”

  “That’s mean!” his mother admonished him. “I wish I had known. I would have peppered Keith’s fanny with marbles, give him a taste of his own medicine. What a little juvenile delinquent he was.”

  From the back seat, I watched mother and son, thinking that they were comfortable bickering together. June and I thought alike on the fate that should have befallen Keith Hublein. It’s one thing to get rid of a pest. It’s another to enjoy the cruelty of torturing a living creature.

  That thought brought me back to the fact that I had been deliberately struck by a couple of glass balls used as ammunition for slingshots. Was my assailant sadistic? Did he mean to inflict pain on me? Or was he hoping for worse? And if it wasn’t Kyle, who was it?

  “He had to be hiding before I ran down that hill,” I said suddenly, interrupting their conversation. “And he had to have been hidden at Plover Park, too. Do you think it’s just some jerk using runners as target practice? Or do you think it was me he was after?”

  “Would anyone have a motive for hurting you? Are you being stalked?” June was curious.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “No hang-up calls? No strange mail?” she asked. I shook my head.

  “Well, you take my advice, dear. Don’t take any chances. It’s not worth it. These days, there are a lot of unbalanced people out there, doing really crazy things.”

  “Tell me about it,” I replied with dismay.

  When we arrived at my place, Jasper helped me out of the car and up the stairs while his mother waited for him. He got me an ice pack from my freezer and a cold soda.

  “Are you going to be okay, Suzanne?”

  “Sure.” I gave him a little smile. “I’m getting used to falling down when I run.”

  “No,” he told me. “Don’t ever get used to it. It’s not okay that someone hurt you. I think you should tell the cops. It might have something to do with Susan Lefkowitz’s murder.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The first time you got hit, hadn’t you just decided to buy the bungalow? Today, her body was discovered. Maybe the killer is mad at you for stirring things up. Or you’ve made him nervous.”

  “Oh, great. Now I’ll never be able to sleep tonight! Thanks, Jasper.”

  “Look, I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just saying that maybe you’re a target because you upset the apple cart.”

  “I wish I hadn’t.” I looked down at that bruise. “What a terrible thought. What if he comes after me?”

  “Let me drop June off at my sister’s — that’s where she’s staying tonight. I’ll come back after we eat and I’ll stay the night here with you, probably around nine. That sofa looks pretty comfortable.”

  �
�Oh, I feel silly. Maybe it’s just my imagination. Maybe those little glass balls were already there on the ground.”

  “And maybe they weren’t,” Jasper pointed out. “If nothing else, you’ll get a good night’s sleep. By the way, do you have a problem with dogs?”

  “Only the human kind,” I responded with a half-hearted smile.

  “I’ll bring Fang with me. Lock the door. Call me if you need me. And think about telling the police about what happened. Even if the incidents are unrelated, that’s information the cops should have.

  “I’ll think about it,” I promised. The idea was less than appealing, but I would consider it.

  After he left, I closed the door and used the dead bolt. And then, giving in to a bout of nerves, I got out my tool box, the big one I keep in the closet. Most women probably aren’t familiar with basic builder’s tools, but I grew up around them. I’ve been swinging a hammer since I was about ten and I crafted my first dollhouse. At eleven, I built my own tree house with my dad supervising me. At fifteen, I spent the summer working on my dad’s crew. I might not carry a Glock, but I’m mighty fast with a nail gun, and no slingshot-wielding creep was going to get the drop on me.

  I rested for a while before getting up to scramble some eggs and toast some bread. I watched the evening news and a couple of game shows. The thought of a hot bath was tempting, but I really didn’t want to be naked if the killer stopped by for a visit. By eight-thirty, I was feeling drowsy. I double-checked my weapons on the coffee table. The hammer would be handy as a blunt force instrument. I loaded the nail gun with the longest nails I had available, thinking I could pin the killer to the wall if necessary. I grabbed a screwdriver with a long shaft to use like a knife and laid it on the table. Then, and only then, I let myself dose off, awaiting Jasper’s return.

  I was in the middle of a dream in which Jasper’s lips were almost touching mine when I heard a slight scratching sound at the door. The hair on the back of my neck rose up in response. Grabbing the hammer, I silenced the television volume and then crept forward, towards the door. I listened carefully, trying to identify the sound, but there was nothing more. And yet, something told me not to relax my guard. Instead, I waited, feeling like there was more to come. I was right, but it wasn’t what I expected.

  Five minutes after I heard the strange noise at the door, the lights went out without warning. I cried out as everything faded to black. Quickly, desperately, I reached out and felt my way along the wall to open the built-in cupboard near the kitchen. I was looking for my battery-operated lantern, and when my hands wrapped around it, I flicked it on. It cast an eerie glow in the dark room. Looking out the window, I could see that the street lights were still lit. Remembering that unusual sound at the door a few minutes ago, I rushed forward and checked the locks. The deadbolt I had so carefully turned was now unfastened, as was the door knob lock. I remedied that. I realized the scratching I’d heard was the sound of the killer picking my door locks. If he opened them once, the man who had been on the other side of my door might do it again. He must have gone down to the basement to shut off the power, planning to overtake me in the dark. That thought struck terror in my heart. The killer was coming back. He was probably climbing up the stairs at this very moment. I rushed to my turret, grabbed one of the chairs at the table, and dragged it back to the front door. Working quickly, I shoved it under the knob, wedging the door shut, and then I picked up my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. With one hand on the hammer and the other on the phone, I spoke breathlessly when the operator came on the line.

  “I’m at 16 West Avenue. Someone just tried to get into my locked apartment and then the lights went out in the building, but the street still has power.”

  “Can I have your name?” said the steady voice on the other end. “Are you alone? Are there other people in your building?” The questions continued as my hands shook uncontrollably. And then, suddenly, swiftly, the door knob turned, but did not yield. Seconds later, there was a terrible crash and the door frame splintered, but the chair under the knob held.

  “What was that noise?” the police dispatcher wanted to know. But I didn’t have time to answer. I dropped the phone and picked up my nail gun. When the next strike against the door came, I was ready. I pressed the gun against the wood of the door and fired. I felt the nail penetrate something on the other side. I heard a muffled yell, but I didn’t recognize the voice. The lights came on unexpectedly and as I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the incursion of brightness, there was a commotion out on the stairs. I could hear voices raised, but I couldn’t hear the conversation. And then there was shouting coming from outside the condo, followed by the screech of tires. I looked out the window, seeing the figures moving across the wide expanse of lawn. Police lights blazed into action as two patrol cars tore off in pursuit of a pair of tail lights, heading down West Avenue at a high rate of speed.

  “Ms. Dawkins?” A knock at the door drew my attention. “Glendale Police. Can you open the door?”

  “It’s okay, Suzykins. I’m here.” I heard my big brother’s voice and burst into tears. It took all of my physical and mental energy to remove the chair keeping the door in place. Even as I pulled it away, I heard the chair feet gouge my beautiful wood floor and cursed myself for being so sloppy. At last, the chair came free and I unlocked the deadbolt and the knob.

  “Are you okay?” The first face I saw was Jasper’s. He wrapped me in his arms and squeezed me tight. As soon as he let me go, Ned hugged me, too.

  “I was driving by just as Jasper got here and I stopped to talk to him. We saw the lights go out. We went down to the basement to turn the circuit breaker back on.”

  “We had no idea the guy was up here, trying to get at you. He came scurrying down the stairs, holding his arm,” Jasper told me. “We tried to stop him, but he got away.”

  “Looks like you nailed the bastard,” my brother announced proudly. We all looked at the scrap of black fabric hanging from the metal tip that poked through the wooden door.

  “Did you see who it was?” I asked breathlessly.

  “You don’t know?” Jasper was surprised. “It was John Sullivan.”

  The police officer was still examining the battered door when his radio crackled to life. He chatted with the voice on the other end, sharing details. We left him on the landing and went back inside my condo. When he finished, he joined us.

  “We have a hostage situation. Sullivan is holed up in his house, threatening to shoot any cop who tries to get in.”

  “Well, that can’t be a good thing,” said Ned, understating the obvious.

  Chapter Ten —

  The local news stations covered the action in Glengarry Court, right down to the hours of negotiations by the S.W.A.T. team. When that went nowhere, the police staged a distraction, which allowed several members of the team to slip in through the basement hatchway. Once inside the house, they quickly apprehended Susan Lefkowitz’s killer.

  It turned out that she had barely spoken to her neighbor. Certainly, she had never given him a key to her home. That didn’t stop him from breaking into her bungalow, sometimes even as she entertained her lovers. On one of his illicit forays, when Susan was off doing a stint as Rainbow, the vibrational healer, John Sullivan had come across the letters and photos she had stored in a dresser in her bedroom. This apparently enraged Susan’s stalker, and he reacted by tearing up her garden, cutting all of the heads off of her daisies. When she returned home and found her flowers decimated, she assumed it was a prank by teenagers, not the result of a man spiralling out of sanity. Over time, he could no longer control his jealousy, and he began to menace his neighbor in dangerous ways that seemed to escalate with each new imagined slight.

  When he finally did decide to kill her, he didn’t rush into it. He didn’t one day lose his temper and lash out at her. Instead, he spent some time planning it. Police found Susan’s blood in his home, along with her collection of sex toys and the headboard she had tied Kyle up to
in that memorable photo. She didn’t even die right away. Instead, she was held captive, chained to a wall in the basement of John Sullivan’s home over the course of a couple of weeks. The police knew because they found the killer’s stash of naughty photos. The sheer look of terror in Susan’s eyes told the police that she had been tortured, debased, and otherwise abused by her kidnapper. When Susan finally managed to break free one day, she made it all the way to the kitchen before John Sullivan grabbed her and threw her down the basement stairs, intending to restrain her again. She struck her head on the way down, and slowly bled to death from the concussion she received.

  Two days after John Sullivan’s arraignment on murder charges, Jasper and I met for another picnic dinner on the beach. I had been staying with Ned and his family for a few days while my front door was replaced and my floor was repaired. Even though I knew that Susan’s killer was behind bars, I was still nervous about going back home.

  “Want me to sleep on the sofa?”

  “Oh, I do and I don’t. A part of me wants that, but another part of me thinks I need to know I’m safe there, even when I’m alone. And an even bigger part of me wants to know you’re staying with me for me, not as a protector, but because we both want you there. Let’s face it. You’re still wrapped up in Eva.”

  “Am I?”

  “You seem to be. You still keep me at arm’s length.”

  “How do you figure that?” Jasper leaned into me. “I’m here with you.”

  “Only because Eva didn’t want to move.”

  Jasper rubbed the back of my head affectionately. It hardly suggested he thought I was as irresistible as the goal-driven girlfriend with the fabulous figure and the emotional exuberance of a cold front moving in.

  “Eva offered last week to move here. She wanted us to get back together. I told her no. I want a very different kind of life than what I had with her.”

  You did? You do?”

  “I did. I do.”