What Doesn't Kill Her

by Christina Dodd

  Daniel put his hand over the wound, lifted his palm and stared at the blood. He looked up, she gazed into his eyes and she saw his soul. She saw the evil cruelty that permeated the Lykke family. The differences she saw settled the debate of nature versus nurture; viciousness was bred into their bones and had corrupted their hearts.

  Kellen whirled and ran back toward the oak cask, grabbed the wooden bucket and, when she turned back toward him, he was once again lifting the pistol in his bloody hand. She ran forward and swung the bucket by the handle, up and around in a wide circle. Discarded red wine blasted her, the floor, the walls. The heavy oak hit his wrist with a resounding thunk, not enough to crunch bones, but his hand flapped out and up, and he lost his grip on the pistol, it flew through the air and smacked the side of the stainless steel barrel.

  Kellen ducked reflexively, fearing the unsecured gun would discharge.

  But the Glock skidded away to hide under a cask.

  There. She felt a bone-deep satisfaction. That made things a little more even.

  He grabbed his wrist, staggered backward, stepped on another princess doll, did a clumsy dance to keep his balance. Then, before she could blink, he pulled a thin knife out of his sleeve.

  The son of a bitch had come prepared to fight, and like Gregory, Daniel was tall and long-armed.

  Damn men. They always had the unfair advantage, and took it, too.

  He lunged at her, blade outstretched.

  She retreated. The hose on her feet was beginning to shred. She had traction again. Thank God, because this gown dragged her down and the only way to fight this guy was—lifting her skirts high, she kicked at the hand holding the knife.

  The weight of the gown slowed her.

  Daniel anticipated the kick, moved aside and slashed.

  She swung in a circle and stumbled. Agony slithered up her leg. Blood, sticky and warm, slithered down from the gash in her ankle. She gasped, unsure how badly she was hurt, unsure if she could stand.

  “I’ve had to keep up my fighting skills to get parts,” the actor told her, and lunged with the point of the knife.

  He was right on target; Kellen thought she was dead, pierced through the heart by a knife wielded by the greedy pig who wore her dead husband’s face.

  The point of the knife stuck in the plastic stays of her corset. Stuck—and remained. Daniel couldn’t jerk it loose.

  His eyes bulged, disbelieving. He lost his grip on the hilt.

  Kellen lifted her skirts again, ready to kick.

  As she swung around, Daniel grabbed her train and spun her faster, farther, then jerked and pulled her feet out from under her.

  She fell hard, hitting the smooth concrete with a slam that jarred her from jaw to knee. Pain brought tears to her eyes, but she bent her elbow, slammed it up and blocked him as he leaped on her.

  He reached for her throat.

  From out of nowhere, an empty blank wine bottle appeared, swung, slammed into the side of his head.

  His eyes rolled back and he fell sideways, off Kellen and onto the floor.

  Rae. Rae held the bottle in one hand—and the Glock in the other. “Mommy, here!” She offered the pistol.

  Before Kellen could react, Dan came to life and lunged for it. He slapped Rae’s face, fast and furious, and ripped the pistol out of her hand. He moved so quickly she couldn’t react, this little girl who had never been deliberately hurt in her life. He turned the pistol on her, on Kellen’s daughter, cocked it and—

  Rae threw herself on the floor.

  Kellen pulled the knife out of the corset and stabbed him in a swift upward motion between the ribs.

  The point entered his heart. He jerked in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak.

  And as he died, the pistol shot blasted and echoed, back and forth across the blending shed.

  57

  The world went still, motionless, cool, dim, blank, gray. The only sound was the ringing in Kellen’s ears and the thunder of fear in her veins.

  Rae. Did Daniel kill Rae?

  “Mommy?” Rae’s voice was tiny. Her hand groped for Kellen’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  The world resumed spinning.

  The metal door to the shed slammed open, smacked the wall.

  A crowd of people stood silhouetted against the sun. Max, Arthur Waldberg, Birdie and Verona...

  Kellen yanked her hand off the hilt of the knife and shoved Dan’s inert weight off her.

  A moment of terrifying silence followed.

  Rae flung herself at Kellen. “Mommy, you saved my life!”

  Kellen wanted to laugh. Rae was so dramatic, making sure everyone understood exactly what had happened. At the same time...her little girl had almost died.

  If she had, Kellen would have died, too, of heartbreak and guilt.

  She hugged Rae, hugged her hard and burst into tears.

  “Mommy!” Rae touched her cheeks. “Why are you crying?” The child didn’t understand how close it had been.

  Kellen cried harder.

  Temo and Adrian came through the door at a run and skidded to a halt at the sight of a bride, a child, a corpse and an active messy fight scene. “Trust the captain to put the ding in wedding,” Temo said aloud.

  Arthur flung a canvas over Daniel’s body.

  Kellen looked up at Max, at Verona. “I never meant to kill someone in front of Rae!” The least of today’s dramas, but the most immediate.

  “He was a bad man. He hurt me!” Rae indignation radiated like heat from her little body. “He hit me!” She pointed at her bruised cheek.

  Max knelt beside them and oh so carefully, pulled them into his arms. “Kellen, I left you alone to save Rae and fight off a killer. So leave off the blame!”

  Still weeping, Kellen nodded.

  “We’re a family,” Max said softly to Kellen and Rae. “We stand together.”

  Verona Di Luca came to kneel on the ground by Rae and cradle her.

  Birdie knelt beside Kellen to hug and cry. In a moment, Temo and Adrian joined them. They were all here, together, her friends and her family. The groups melded and became one, crying, hugging, murmuring words of love and admiration. Somehow, Max, Kellen and Rae came together in the middle, and the emotions grew and swelled...

  As they at last subsided, Arthur Waldberg clapped his hands. “If we are to salvage this wedding, we must do it now.”

  People straightened up, wiped their noses, laughed a little, exclaimed a little more.

  Kellen stood and winced. That cut on her ankle was long and painful.

  “If I may?” Arthur examined it. “This isn’t deep. I can fix it.”

  “Are you a doctor now, too?” Verona asked tartly. “Or a seamstress?”

  Arthur pulled a tube out of the inner pocket of his suit coat. “In prison, for those accidental slices with a blade, we used superglue.”

  “Good idea to carry it with you for emergencies.” Birdie knelt beside Kellen and pulled the skin together while Arthur dabbed superglue on the wound.

  “How do you know these things?” Verona wrung her hands.

  “It will need real medical attention,” Arthur said, “but this officially qualifies as an emergency.”

  “That’s right.” Kellen winced as they worked on her. “I’m not letting this little injury stop my wedding. Not after all this fuss!”

  “But her pain. The possible infection!” Verona said.

  “Mother, there are doctors among the guests,” Max said. “We’ll have her checked out as soon as we’ve completed the vows.”

  “What about—?” Verona pointed at the canvas covered body.

  With an awesome calm, Arthur Waldberg said, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”

  “And of the Triple Goddess!” Rae said.

  “And of the Triple Godde
ss. In the meantime, you are currently—” he checked his watch “—eight minutes and fifty-two seconds late for your wedding, and your guests will be getting restless. So if I may?” He offered his hand to Kellen.

  In a daze, she took it. He pulled her to her feet—she was surprised to realize her knees were trembling—and led her to the sink. He turned on the water, held her hand under the faucet and used soap to wash it as if she was a child, incapable of taking care of herself.

  He might have had reason—she hadn’t noticed the blood that stained her skin and nails until it disappeared in a pink swirl down the drain.

  He took a small clean white towel from the waiting pile, wet it and carefully wiped her face clean. “There’s no saving your makeup,” he explained. “No problem. You’re beautiful without it. Still...” He looked around at the others, still immobile and staring. “Does anyone have lipstick?”

  Birdie jumped as if stung. “I do! I’ve got lipstick! Zio Federico gave it to me with strict instructions I was to keep it on me to refresh Kellen’s look.” She pulled the tube out of her pocket and with a shaking hand, offered it to Arthur.

  He took some on his fingertips and blotted it on Kellen’s cheekbones, then skillfully blended it. “There. You don’t look quite so white. A pale bride is always lovely, of course, but you had taken the aspect to stricken.” He looked around. “Now you, Miss Rae.”

  “What am I thinking?” Verona stood, shooed Rae to her feet and over to the sink. “Come, Rae, we’ve got to clean you up. Quickly, now!”

  The scene, which had been quiet and weighed with intense emotions, changed, became one of bustle and haste.

  Verona scrubbed Rae’s hands and face, except where Daniel had hit her. There the swelling had turned dark red and was starting to bruise, and the look on Verona’s face boded ill for Daniel Lykke, should she ever meet him in the afterlife.

  Kellen supposed she wouldn’t; Verona wasn’t going the same place Daniel had gone.

  Arthur lifted Rae’s chin and examined her face. “As soon as we get close to the ceremony, we’ll get her a cold pack,” he told Verona. “She’ll be sore, but it will be gone in a week. You’ll see.”

  Rae was far less concerned than the adults and asked, “Can I have lipstick on my cheeks?”

  Using a light touch, Arthur accommodated her.

  “And on my lips?” Rae asked.

  Arthur fought a smile and took care of Rae.

  Max splashed water on his face, straightened his cuffs, ran his fingers through his hair and muttered about running in the heat and smelling manly at his own wedding.

  No one had a comb.

  Arthur apologized for that. “I do have kits assembled for any bridal emergency, but sadly I didn’t think to put one in the blending shed.”

  Birdie worked on Kellen’s hair, then burst out, “The veil! The ring! I left everything in the room!”

  In a soothing tone, Arthur said, “It’s being handled as we speak. All will be waiting for us at the back of the white tent—where we must arrive as soon as possible.”

  “But first...” Max knelt in front of his daughter who had been wiped and tweaked by her grandmother. “You look lovely. No one would ever know you were a superhero.”

  “I’m LightningBug!”

  “No one must ever know. No show-and-tell about this.” He gestured at the covered corpse.

  Rae didn’t even bother to look at it. “No one would believe me anyway.” She sounded annoyed about that.

  “Superhero pinkie promise.” Kellen held out her finger.

  Rae wrapped her pinkie around Kellen’s. “I promise.”

  Kellen smiled at Rae, at her daughter. The child was the best daughter ever, perfect, agreeable, kind, accepting, a fighter for good...

  Kellen’s consciousness faded, then she focused again. “We are one,” she whispered.

  “Are we ready?” Arthur opened the door, held it wide and made a shooing gesture.

  Max picked up Rae and ran into the bright sunlight and toward the wedding canopy.

  Kellen and Birdie followed. Temo and Adrian brought up the rear. Kellen glanced around to find Verona and saw her waiting while Arthur spoke to Mateo Courtemanche.

  Mateo Courtemanche, who had been waiting outside for them. He looked quite unlike the pleasant young man who waited tables and sold wines and instead appeared narrow-eyed and coldly efficient. Apparently Arthur had sent for him to deal with the body. Mateo’s résumé must include skills Kellen hadn’t imagined.

  But she wasn’t going to worry about that. She had other, more pressing matters. Like getting married.

  At the back of the tent where the wedding would take place, the side panels had been lowered to shield the wedding party from the waiting guests and to allow them to prepare in private.

  Inside the canopy, Kellen could hear the guests buzzing with speculation.

  Max put Rae on her feet. Arthur handed him a chemical cold pack, and Max pressed it to her cheek. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Sure!” Rae was remarkably unconcerned about her trauma and her bruise and intent on enjoying her role in the wedding.

  Verona caught up with them. “Arthur’s people found Takashi Tibodo.”

  “Takashi Tibodo!” Kellen hadn’t realized anyone else had been victimized. “What happened to him?”

  “When we realized who was really responsible for the kidnapping,” Verona said, “Arthur had a conference call with his people. Takashi didn’t answer his phone. Apparently, he had figured out Dan Matyasovitch was not what he claimed to be, so Dan knocked him unconscious and locked him in the supply closet behind the tasting room.”

  “Is Takashi going to be all right?” Birdie asked.

  “He’s apparently quite angry and insists he will be able to sing at the reception. He also says he can step into that dreadful man’s place and handle the music direction.”

  That dreadful man being Daniel Lykke, Kellen surmised.

  “Has somebody checked on Nils?” Kellen asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Nils.” Birdie mashed the antique veil on Kellen’s head.

  Verona stiffened and her expression became that of a stiff-necked schoolmarm. “He’s alive, which is more than he deserves.”

  “Concussion?” Kellen asked.

  “I really couldn’t say,” Verona answered. “One hopes.”

  Birdie stuck pins in the veil. “I hope these hold long enough to get you down the aisle. I’m a mechanic, not a hairdresser.”

  With smug assurance, Rae said, “None of this would have happened if I’d had a cell phone to call for help.”

  Something clicked in Kellen, some sense that this cell phone issue needed to be handled, and it needed to be handled now. She said, “That’s true. I was thinking of getting you a puppy as a friend and protector. But if you’d rather have a cell phone...” She let the sentence trail off and rearranged two hairpins that were sticking right into her scalp.

  “A puppy?” Rae froze. “I can have a puppy?”

  “No, no, no.” Kellen waved a dismissive hand. “You’re going to get a cell phone.”

  “What kind of puppy?” Rae moved like a robot to stand in front of her mother.

  “I thought we could go to the animal shelter and you could pick one out,” Kellen said casually. “But a cell phone is a good idea, too.”

  Rae wet her lips. “I’d rather have a puppy for...for companionship and to take care of me.”

  “A cell phone is a better idea. A puppy is a lot of work.” Kellen shook her head solemnly. “They have to be trained—”

  “I can train her!”

  “And fed and washed—”

  “I can feed and wash!”

  “And they’re always wanting to be loved and petted and played with.”

  “I can love and pet and—” Rae stopped, and
Kellen could almost see her mind working. “Wait a minute. I’m being manipulated.”

  The switch from eager little girl to smart almost adolescent was dizzying and carried a clear warning of the future. But Kellen told her the truth. “Yes, you are. Puppy or cell phone, those are your choices.”

  “Puppy!” Rae threw her arms in the air. “I get to have a puppy! I get a puppy!”

  Verona watched her granddaughter jump up and down and chant, and said sourly, “The only person who is going to wash this dog’s flea-bitten carcass is Grandma.”

  Kellen patted Verona’s arm. “It rains a lot here and it’s muddy. I’m sure I’ll get my chances.”

  Max pulled Kellen close. “My mother would never even discuss a dog for Rae. How did you pull that off?”

  “It’s a good idea. A dog will protect Rae and alert us of danger, and as for your mother—before, she didn’t realize there would ever come an occasion that Rae would need protection. Three weeks ago, it hadn’t occurred to us!”

  Max smiled at Kellen, smiled into her face as if she was the smartest, most beautiful woman in the world.

  “Go on!” Verona gave him a push. “There’s time for that later.”

  Max left, walking backward, still smiling at Kellen.

  Verona yanked and tweaked Kellen’s skirt. “I know you wanted purple and I resisted, but really. To go to these lengths to get purple on your white gown!”

  “What?” Kellen glanced down.

  Wine stains splattered her skirt in random patterns that started at the hem and faded as the material moved toward the waist. Here and there, a brown stain...blood. She craned her neck; her train looked as if it had been dragged through the wine—and in fact, it had. She laughed. “The bucket. I hit Daniel with the bucket and the wine sprayed everywhere!”

  “I’m sure it was all a ploy to make sure you got your way.” Verona’s mouth was pinched like a prune, as if she didn’t want to laugh.

  Kellen realized—Verona was trying to be funny. She wasn’t good at it, but she was trying.

  Then Verona frowned for real. “Why do you have a tear in your bodice?”