“I may be able to get some sleep now that they can focus on D. B.’s real murderer. I’m so grateful you believed me from the beginning. Everyone has looked sideways at me since the police started questioning me. What a relief!”
“I’ll say. Make sure you call Nolan tonight.”
“I will. Just as soon as I have … Hello?”
Gracie looked at the phone receiver and answered, “I’m still here, Kim.”
The phone went dead.
Chapter 41
Gracie turned into the long driveway. The porch light wasn’t on, and she couldn’t tell if there were any lights on inside. The curtains must all be closed. She could only hope she was overreacting. The phone line had been constantly busy when she’d tried calling Kim back. Maybe she was on the phone with Nolan, but that wasn’t her first guess. Kim’s car was parked outside of the garage. She jammed the SUV to a stop behind it. There were no other vehicles around, except for an ATV on the lawn.
Running to the door, she pressed the doorbell twice. No lights switched on.
She began pounding on the leaded glass sidelight. “Kim! It’s me, Gracie. Kim, please open up!”
Unable to budge the locked door, she ran to the back of the house, crossing her fingers that she could get into the farm office.
Fortunately, the door was unlocked. A banker’s lamp burned steadily on D. B.’s desk. Drapery rods leaned against the filing cabinet. The top desk drawer was open. Papers were scattered across the floor. The door from the farm office to the main house was unlocked. Gracie breathed a sigh of relief when she found herself in the dark kitchen.
Moonlight glowed through the windows and gave enough light to find the way into the dining room and foyer. She waited for a moment by the coat rack next to the front door to formulate a plan. She had none. She wasn’t even sure what faced her or where to look. A flash of recollection brought a very bad feeling, and a wave of nausea surged in her stomach. Steeling herself, she started for the stairway. A thin glimmer of light caught her eye at the top of the stairs. It was the small lamp on the console table on the landing.
Before she went any further, she should probably call for backup. She crept into the darkened living room to make the call. Yanking the phone from her shorts, she punched in 9-1-1. The crash of glass from upstairs stopped her hurried explanation to the dispatcher.
“Please send help to the Jackson Farm,” she hissed and pressed the “End” button before the 9-1-1 operator could ask any questions.
She couldn’t wait for the deputies to show up. She’d have to do this on her own. She looked around for any sort of weapon. Nothing. She’d have to hope for the best.
Turning the corner to face the grand staircase, she tentatively called out, “Kim? Are you here?”
Her ears strained to hear the slightest sound, but silence prevailed. She tiptoed up the winding stairs, still calling for her friend. As she reached the landing, a muffled cry broke the stillness; a dull thump sounded. Gracie saw light filtering from Kim’s doorway at the end of the hall. She called again, frozen in place. The door sprang wide open, and a disheveled Kim stood, wrapped in a white cotton robe, trembling in the doorway.
“Gracie! What are you doing here?”
Kim’s tear-streaked face was caricature-like in the odd shadows that played off the walls. She gripped the doorknob with one hand. The other clutched the robe around her throat.
“I … I couldn’t get you on the phone. I was worried.”
“You shouldn’t be here. Go home, please … please go home.” Her voice caught in a wrenching sob, her eyes full of terror.
“You’re not fine, and I’m not going anywhere. Who’s with you?” Gracie demanded, suddenly feeling brave.
She was halfway down the hallway when the muzzle of a Glock 9mm loomed larger than life behind Kim’s head.
“Don’t come any closer,” Carla snarled, stepping out from behind the door. Her face was flushed, her eyes glinting with rage. “Stay where you are.”
Gracie’s heart pounded like a bass drum in her ears. She felt as if she were drowning.
“Carla, what are you doing? Tell me what’s going on here. I want to help.”
She backed toward the railing on the landing, grasping it with both hands behind her back.
Carla pushed Kim forward with the pistol. Kim stumbled, then ran toward Gracie. Carla scrambled forward, screaming at her to stop. The gun blast made Gracie’s knees give way. Kim cried out, sprawling face first in front of Gracie, the right sleeve of her robe soaked with a widening stain of crimson. Carla pitched forward like a football tackle, the black handgun raised to strike. Kim rolled to her left, struggling to stand, effectively knocking Carla off balance. Gracie rose from her knees, and threw herself toward Carla to ram the teetering madwoman down the stairs. The pistol flew from Carla’s hand, hit the railing, and clattered to the hardwood floor below. She screeched, blood trickling from her nose, struggling desperately to regain her balance. The gangly woman missed the railing by inches and then tumbled down the winding stairs, while Gracie tried unsuccessfully not to be sick on the carpet.
Chapter 42
Ambulance lights pulsed in the darkness, and Kim was whisked away. It didn’t look good, from what the EMTs had murmured to one another as they’d tried to stabilize the unconscious woman. Carla sat handcuffed in a cruiser, staring zombie-like into space. She seemed none the worse for wear after the fall. She’d refused treatment, even though her left wrist was swollen with a lump the size of a baseball. The thick carpet had probably saved her from any major injuries. Lights pulsed in the darkness from the bevy of law enforcement vehicles parked at odd angles all over the lawn. Crime scene people were hard at work in the house.
Jim stood by Gracie, who had just finished her statement to a furious Investigator Hotchkiss. She was now explaining it all over again to Jim, who was of the same mind as the policewoman.
She sat shivering in the warm night air on the edge of a cruiser’s backseat, while Jim towered over her, arms folded across his chest.
“I know it was stupid not to call anyone sooner, but everyone was looking for Roscoe, and I wasn’t really sure anyway. It all happened so fast. I didn’t expect it to go quite that way, you know.”
Tears streamed down her face, streaking the remains of her party makeup into puddles on her cheeks.
“Chief, you were almost killed tonight, and Kim is in really bad shape.”
His exasperation was more than evident, and the worry lines on his face made her feel somewhat comforted. He squatted down and took her hands in his. He squeezed them tightly, released them, and stood abruptly.
Jim turned to look at the activity around the house. A crime scene team member ran from the house to Investigator Hotchkiss, who squinted as she studied what looked like a small bottle. A deputy shone his flashlight on it, and the woman barked orders to him.
Jim returned his gaze to Gracie, who snuffled and wiped her smeary face with the back of her hand.
“I’ll take you home,” he said simply and pulled her to her feet.
Her parents met them at the house. Haley was eager to see her mistress, but Gracie could hardly function as she willed her sluggish legs to carry her across the floor. The dog, immediately subdued, followed Gracie and Theresa into the bedroom. Her mother helped her undress and was uncharacteristically mute throughout the process. Gracie felt herself slip into nothingness under the cool, smooth sheets.
******
Sunlight flooded the bedroom. Gracie groaned and forced her eyes open. They felt gravelly and swollen. She looked at the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was 9:36. Panic surged through her, and she swung her legs out of bed to hurry to the shower. Bob and Theresa were in the kitchen when she appeared, wrapped in her robe and a towel around her wet hair. Their faces were grim, and she knew the news wasn’t good.
Kim was in a coma. The bullet had torn through an artery and she’d lost a lot of blood. The quantity of sleeping pills that were in her
stomach had complicated the situation. Carla had forced Kim to swallow almost an entire bottle with D. B.’s Glock pressed to her head. She’d gotten a call from Kim about the accessory order that had helped her establish an alibi. Unhinged that Kim would no longer be a suspect, Carla decided that Kim should commit suicide out of guilt before her alibi became public knowledge. Until Gracie had shown up, it had almost worked. Gracie sat at the breakfast bar, the reality of death staring her in the face.
“What about Roscoe? Have they found him? Is he all right?”
She desperately needed some good news. She tore the towel from her head, dropping it on the stool next to her. Jim appeared at the kitchen screen door as if on cue. He had a crooked smile on his face and a box of sweet rolls in his hand.
“They found Roscoe last night on Richter’s property. He’s got a pretty good knock on the head and he’s banged up, but he’s going to be all right. They pushed him into a trench and tried to bury him. The man’s tougher than we thought.”
She heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, God, for something good,” she breathed.
“Get some caffeine in your system and tell us what happened last night,” her mother instructed while she handed a mug to her daughter.
Gracie nodded miserably and began the complete report.
“I was thinking the murderer was Dean because he was acting pretty hostile toward Kim. It wasn’t like him to be so forceful. When I started up to the farm, I remembered he’d told me that he was going to the barn. It’s an easy walk to the house from there. There was something about that necklace Carla was wearing that nagged at me, though. Then I remembered when I got into the office. The sapphire was exactly like the ring Kim wore. That couldn’t have been a coincidence. I had mentioned it to Dean, and he acted like he knew nothing about it. I guess he didn’t.”
Jim, who was finishing a hunk of caramel brown gooeyness, held up a hand as he finished chewing. Swallowing the last of the roll down with a slurp of coffee, he said, “You were right about the necklace. She took it from D. B.’s truck the night of the murder. It was a gift for Kim that D. B. had picked up that day. Carla considered it payment for pain and suffering, I guess. Poor Dean!”
Gracie frowned and shook her head. “What was she thinking? If Kim had seen the necklace, she’d have known right away. The way Carla talked, it sounded like she and Dean had a good marriage.”
“What you don’t know was that Carla had been pushing Dean to force D. B. to sell out to them for over a year. D. B. had messed around with Dean and the partnership for a long time, and Dean was content to bide his time. He was sure that D. B. would retire in the next year. Carla apparently didn’t believe the retirement plan would happen and decided to move things along. Dean told me last night that he’d suspected something was going on between D. B. and Carla. They weren’t having an affair, but Carla kept making hints to D. B. that it was time to speed up his retirement plans. She started redecorating the house to suit her own tastes, and with Kim’s blessing. Once D. B. figured out what she was up to, he finally told her to back off. His retirement would be on his own timetable.”
“Kim thought D. B. was having an affair with Cynthia Harkness,” Gracie broached. “She spent a lot of time with him the last few weeks he was alive.”
“There’s an ongoing investigation into Ms. Harkness’ dealings with New Energy and federal grants,” Bob Clark chimed in, holding up the newspaper and rattling the pages. “Looks like a big scandal for Streeker, who says he’s the one who got the FBI involved. Paper says she’s disappeared though.”
Jim huffed in disgust. “She’s probably on some island, counting the loot.”
“Probably,” Gracie agreed. “Streeker fired her at Isabelle’s party. Maybe she’s run away with Mitch Allen,” she said, half-joking.
“Oh, no,” said her father, holding up the newspaper again. “He’s been arrested and is facing an indictment for fraud and a list of other charges from the government.”
“What about Dean’s alibi? Carla vouched for him,” Gracie asked, rubbing her temples to ease a headache.
“Dean was really sick. So sick he was flat on his back when he wasn’t in the bathroom. He said that Carla could have come and gone 50 times that night and he wouldn’t have noticed,” Jim said. “The kicker was that she’d told him she had an evening appointment earlier in the day. When the police started questioning him, she swore she’d been at home all night because Dean was sick. She acted like the loyal wife, and Dean was grateful for a solid alibi.”
“This whole thing makes my head spin,” Theresa complained. “It’s a wonder you weren’t all hurt or worse.”
“It is a wonder,” Gracie agreed.
43
The strawberry social was well underway. Shortcake, whipped cream, and bowls of ruby-colored strawberries swam in their sweet juices, waiting to be ladled into bowls of biscuits and huge squares of white cake. Long tables stretched across the church lawn, filled with just about everybody in town. Marlene and Theresa were in the middle of the serving crew, making sure there was plenty of everything available for the crowd. Gracie sat with Kim, Amanda, Sara, and Duane. Kim was still recovering, but her much thinner, pale face had a look of determination and peace.
“I’ll be leaving for Philadelphia next Saturday with Amanda,” she said, putting her spoon on the white paper tablecloth. “It’s time to get out of Dodge and stay out. When the farm sale is finalized, I’m going to Virginia to live near my sister.”
“I can understand that,” Gracie replied. “What is everyone else doing?” She waved a hand toward the three adult children.
Duane spoke first. “I’m transferring to the University of Virginia. I agree with Mom. I need to get out of here too.”
“And he’ll bring his laundry home on weekends to check on me.” Kim smiled at her son.
“What about you two?” Gracie looked at Sara and Amanda.
“John and I will hang around here. We just bought a house last year,” Sara answered. “We’re thinking about starting a family,” she added, glancing at her mother.
“And I’m staying in Philly. I love my job at the publishing house, and Philly’s a great place to live. A little more metropolitan than Deer Creek,” Amanda said, smiling.
“Is Dean going to stick around?” Gracie asked, wondering how in the world he would ever pick up the pieces staying in Wyoming County.
“Only for Carla’s trial, which we will come back for,” Kim said bitterly. “He’s working out a deal to sell the farm to the Strykersville manager. With his share of the sale, I’m sure he’ll be able to make a new start.”
She nodded solemnly. Carla’s dream of living in the big house would most certainly come true in a whole new way. Gracie was grateful to be alive and doubly grateful that her friends were getting the chance to move on.
“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for saving my life, Gracie. The whole thing is still unbelievable.” Kim gingerly extricated herself from the table. Her slow and deliberate movements made it clear she was still healing physically. The emotional healing—she wasn’t sure if that ever ended. The two women hugged. Gracie watched the Jackson family stroll to the parking lot.
Roscoe and Allie were quick to take the Jacksons’ place across from her. Tom and Kelly followed right behind the couple, huge bowls of strawberries and shortcake in their hands. Roscoe actually had some color in his cheeks. Allie had a little glow about her, too. Gracie suppressed a grin and began eating the hunk of shortcake drowned in juicy strawberries.
Roscoe was eager to fill her in on the loose ends in the search for the Richters. They’d reappeared in Vermont. His first wife’s family had slapped Ben with a wrongful death action. Some new evidence had recently come to light about her “accident.” There were a few other legal woes pending, most notable of which was Mr. Richter’s disbarment. The Wyoming County DA was also working on indicting the Richters and the De Francos for their attempted murder of Roscoe.
“It
couldn’t happen to nicer people,” Gracie said between mouthfuls.
“And Roscoe found out that the Richters wanted the property because of gas.” Allie beamed, her large brown eyes batting at the embarrassed man.
“Gas?” Gracie put her spoon back in the bowl, looking puzzled and amused at Roscoe.
Tom chuckled. Kelly suppressed a giggle.
“Let me correct that—natural gas,” Roscoe amended, his cheeks stained with red. “A rather large deposit actually. Ms. Harkness found out and was trying work out an agreement with the Richters the night of Mr. Jackson’s demise. She said if they agreed to submit grant paperwork for a wind farm, she would ensure they received money to finance their land acquisitions, which would take care of their cash flow problem. No one ever intended for the wind farm to be built there. They were looking for quick cash from the grants, which would finance the fracking operation. Ms. Harkness would have received a generous cut of the profits for her assistance. It was an uneasy partnership at best, and fortunately, it’s been disbanded.”
“Chalk up one for the good guys,” Gracie snickered. “At least my tax dollars were saved on that deal.”
Roscoe sat up straighter on the bench, his chest puffed out importantly. “The other news is that The Sentinel has offered me a position as a reporter.”
“That’s great! Congratulations! You deserve it after all you went through to get the skinny on those slime balls.”
“Thank you, Grace. I’ve turned them down actually. There’s an opening for an investigative reporter on a lesser known publication where I’ll be able to pursue my study of extraterrestrial visitations.”
Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) Page 22