“Two.” He said it coldly.
“So you administer the first dose here in the office and then send the second home with them?”
He shook his head. “Far too imprecise. The timing is still critical. But here’s always a way to get them in here for that second followup appointment.”
“And you’ve been traveling to France to get these?”
His eyes narrowed; his mouth formed a firm straight line. “Not always.” The clipped words signaled the end of the conversation.
The gun pointed stiffly at me again. I tried to make eye contact with Phillips, but he was geared into a spot somewhere about the middle of me. I realized with a shock that he was taking aim, squeezing the trigger firmly.
I dove.
My elbows jolted against the carpet in the leg space beneath the desk, taking skin off as I skidded. Shattering glass tinkled against the desk top as one of the framed pictures disintegrated. Through the open crawl space, I could see Phillips’s legs. His feet took a couple of tentative steps, as though he were trying to decide whether the had hit me or not. In a minute, he would come close enough to verify it and I’d bet money that he’d have the gun trained on me. And I was a prisoner of the desk. I gathered my legs up under me, positioning myself to spring.
When I hit Evan Phillips’s legs with my full weight he fell backward, landing on his butt. The second gunshot went up, knocking plaster dust from the ceiling. My ears rang as the explosion rebounded throughout the small room.
I scrambled to my hands and knees, scanning the area for the pistol. Phillips had the wind knocked out of him. He stared at the ceiling where fine particles of dust still floated through the air. The gun wasn’t in either of his hands. Not on the floor. I didn’t wait around.
I half crawled, half ran for the linen closet. Thumping sounds behind me told me that he was getting up. I had to assume he had the gun in possession once again.
The closet. Which door was it? My head felt hollow, the gunshot sound still ringing through it. I risked a look backward. The soles of his shoes were visible through the half-open door. Obviously, he was searching the floor for the weapon. I had only seconds to get away.
No way I’d make it through the front door and to my car in time. I ducked into the small closet, groping in the dark for my bag. I yanked at the zipper and felt for my pistol. It was loaded, I knew, and I forced my mind to slow down enough to remember the steps to chamber a round and flip the safety off.
Should I wait for Phillips or should I be the aggressor? Get myself cornered or face the decision to shoot first? Darkness would be an ally. I opted for the closet.
The tiny room was dark except for the shaft of gray light coming through the doorway. I pressed my back against the shelves away from the light and took a deep breath, willing my arms to become steady.
Phillips was coming down the hall, none too quietly. I heard him muttering under his breath as he checked each of the examining rooms. His shadow interrupted the slice of light in my hiding place. It went on by. My hands shook. The shadow came back.
He must have realized that the closet door shouldn’t be open.
“You in here, Miss Parker?” he wheedled. “Crouching in the corner? Shaking in your boots?”
I took a steadying breath, raised the gun. Would I have the nerve to actually kill him?
“I’ve still got my weapon, you know,” he teased. “I’m gonna find you.” The door edged slowly open.
I aimed for the spot where I thought his heart would be. If he had one.
He spotted me.
The picture went into slow motion.
His gun swung to point at me. A dozen thoughts sped through my brain. Take a breath, aim. Got for the heart? I shifted my aim slightly, toward his shoulder instead. Held steady, squeezed the trigger.
His eyes widened in horror as my shot took him by surprise. His gun skittered to the floor. He fell backward into the hall. I picked up his gun and pointed both weapons at him. I wasn’t sure whether I’d hit him or merely surprised the hell out of him.
The light in the hall was fading fast.
“Get up,” I ordered.
He moaned and gripped his right shoulder with his left hand. The hand came away bloody.
“Get up,” I repeated.
He pushed himself into a sitting position against the far wall, still holding the shoulder. Blood darkened a saucer-sized area of his sleeve. I walked slowly toward him, never letting the guns waver.
“Get to your feet,” I said. “Now. We’re going out to the reception desk and you’re going to call 911.”
“Fine with me,” he grunted. “Let’s get the police here, where they’ll find that you’ve broken into my offices and shot me. I caught you trying to steal drugs and you pulled a gun on me. With your prior attempt to break in here, this ought to clench it.”
The hesitation must have registered on my face. He found a new surge of energy and rose to his feet.
“That’s right,” he said, “we’ll just get the police over here as quickly as we can.” He switched on a light and began to drag himself toward the double doors.
Steve Bradley stood there with two deputies behind him and three pistols pointed toward us.
“Thank goodness you’re here!” Phillips and I both said it at once.
Chapter 29
“Put the guns down and move to the side,” Bradley ordered.
Phillips jumped to interrupt. “Chief, she broke . . .”
“Can it, doctor. We’ll talk to you later.” Bradley stooped down to pick up the pistols I’d laid on the floor. The two deputies were still keeping Phillips and me in their sights.
I looked at Bradley quizzically. On the face of it, with me holding two pistols and Evan Phillips bleeding, I should have been the one in trouble.
I was.
The deputies herded us out to separate patrol cars for the five minute ride to the station. The female office, Luellen, took me into Bradley’s office.
“Can I get you some water or something?” she asked. “The chief wants you to wait in here till he gets back. We put the other guy in the interrogation room.”
I slumped onto a hard wooden chair beside the desk. With the adrenaline gone, my muscles had lost their will to support my frame.
“Yes, water would be nice,” I told Luellen.
She didn’t leave me alone but turned to a sideboard and poured water from a thermal pitcher into a clean glass.
“Where’s my purse?” I asked.
“Chief Bradley stayed behind to check out the evidence at the scene,” she told me. “I’m sure he’ll find it and bring it back.”
I wondered if he would find the incriminating pills. Had Phillips destroyed them before he came after me with the gun? Officer Luellen picked up a clipboard and asked questions, to which I mumbled responses. My head hurt and I didn’t want to come up with answers. I laid my head on my folded arms on the desk. My eyelids began to feel heavy.
“Well, here’s your bag.” A thump on the desk startled me out of a brief nap. “You can go anytime.”
Bradley stood above me, his tired eyes drooping at the corners.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Well, you were right about that guy,” he said. “We got the evidence.”
My head was up now, alert. “Well?” I prodded.
“Doctor Fisher came by here earlier. He basically confirmed what you’d told me. He said you came by the office this afternoon and questioned him about the two Doctor Phillips’s. At first he didn’t believe it but he did some checking. Looked in a couple of the patient files.”
“I tried that. Couldn’t read a thing.”
He crossed behind the desk and flopped heavily in his chair.
“Well, I guess those docs can read each other’s writing, even though no one else can. Evidently, Phillips didn’t put his crimes in writing, he’s not that stupid, but he used a few key phrases in each suspicious case, and that told Fisher what he needed to know.
He found a couple of baggies with these little white pills in them in Phillips’s desk. He brought me one of them.”
I touched the little bag he held up. It was identical to the one I’d found. I told him about my encounter with the doctor.
“Why didn’t you just come here and tell me?” he asked.
My energy returned. “Didn’t I already try that?’ I demanded. “Didn’t I come here with my suspicions and you basically blew me off?”
At least he had the grace to look embarrassed. He nodded concedingly. “You’re right, I should have listened.”
“I mean, once my car was sabotaged at Mary’s that night, didn’t that tell you that someone was worried? That I getting close to someone around here?’ My adrenaline source had rejuvenated itself. “Who did that job on my car anyway?”
“Okay, okay. Calm down. I said you could go. Rod Phillips did the car damage and broke into your motel room, and it looks like both of them were in on the RU 486 plot. I’m not sure what crimes we’ll charge them with exactly, but we have them. You can go back home to that man of yours.”
Drake. Suddenly I wished he was waiting at home for me. A partner to go home to would be nice. My partner. Ron. He would have received my cryptic message on the office answering machine and was probably driving himself crazy wondering about me right now.
Someone had driven my Jeep to the station for me. It waited outside. The sun was completely down now and the sky had turned to a deep turquoise blue, clear and smooth as a stone. Darkness would come gradually and fully within the hour. I breathed deeply of the clean soft air, letting it soothe my soul.
Mary McDonald’s lights glowed a soft welcome. I pulled slowly into the drive and shut off the ignition. Cicadas chirped somewhere within the woods and an owl hoo’d softly. Something caught in my throat as Rusty bounded out to greet me.
“Hey, we were getting a little worried,” Mary greeted, following closely behind Rusty. She wrapped her arms around me as I stepped from the car. “You look toasted.”
“I nearly was,” I said tiredly. “I need to make a couple of calls.”
“Sure, sure. You come right in and let me make you a cup of tea.”
I dialed Ron’s number first.
“Where the hell are you?” He nearly shouted the words.
“Hey! Don’t give me any shit right now.” I breathed deeply and started over. “Ron, sorry, I’m fine. I’m in Valle Escondido and I’ll be home in a couple of hours. I’ll explain everything.”
Drake’s phone rang four times before he picked up.
“Hi, sweetheart, I’ve been thinking about you. Did you get my message?” His voice was deep and sweet and soothing.
“No, I haven’t been home for a couple of days.” I explained briefly, but decided I’d save the worst of it for later, after I’d put my thoughts together.
“Well, you take care of yourself,” he said. “Make sure you eat your vegetables.”
I smiled as we said goodbye.
“Here’s your tea,” Mary said. “You ought to take a hot bath and get to bed early.”
Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to be home I wanted my own bed and I wanted my life to settle back into its old routine.
“I think I’ll drive back tonight,” I told Mary as we sipped our tea. “It’s still early. I’ll be home by ten.”
Hadn’t I said something similar to myself a couple of nights ago? Before I’d attempted the foolish break-in at the clinic. Before I’d discovered the horrible truth about Evan and Rodney Phillips.
The clock said nine thirty-seven when I pulled into my driveway. Rusty bounded out of the car, Happy to be home. I carried my small bag and purse inside. The house felt like a strange place. I’d spent so little time there in recent weeks. I dumped my clothes in the hamper and bustled about watering houseplants and catching a few cobwebs with the duster.
There was one loose end I should take care of. It could be done in the morning at the office, but I was extremely tempted to take a couple of days off before going back.
I dialed Sally’s number while I reached into the freezer for a carton of chocolate ice cream I’d left there over a week ago. She answered just as I was scooping the first spoonful into my mouth.
“Charlie? What is it?”
I filled her in on my findings in Valle Escondido.
“You might want to call Laura and let her know,” I said. There was silence at the other end of the line as I devoured another spoonful of chocolate. “Sally? You okay?”
“It’s just so horrible,” she whispered. “I can’t believe a doctor would do such a thing.”
“I know. Sick behavior.” I waited through a minute of silence on her end. “Sally? Listen, you aren’t in any danger like that. You’re going to be fine. Your baby is going to be fine.”
We talked a few more minutes, until I felt reassured that she would be okay. I had eaten about half the ice cream and knew I’d better quit. I hung up the phone and headed for the kitchen. Rusty waited, reminding me that he had not had his dinner yet.
“Can you just wait till I put the ice cream away?” I teased.
I opened the freezer and set the carton back. Then I noticed the small blue box. Sitting on top of a package of green beans. Eat your vegetables, Drake had said. My breathing quickened.
The velveteen was cool with frost. I slowly raised the hinged lid. A tiny slip of paper fell into my hand.
Put this on whenever you’re ready. I’ll be waiting.
The diamond glittered like an exquisitely shaped ice crystal.
Books
by Connie Shelton
The Charlie Parker Series
Deadly Gamble
Vacations Can Be Murder
Partnerships Can Be Murder
Small Towns Can Be Murder
Memories Can Be Murder
Honeymoons Can Be Murder
Reunions Can Be Murder
Competition Can Be Murder
Balloons Can Be Murder
Obsessions Can Be Murder
Gossip Can Be Murder
Stardom Can Be Murder
Holidays Can Be Murder - a Christmas novella
The Samantha Sweet Series
Sweet Masterpiece
Sweet’s Sweets
Sweet Holidays (December 2011)
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Small Towns Can Be Murder
Published by Secret Staircase Books, an imprint of
Columbine Publishing Group
PO Box 416, Angel Fire, NM 87710
Copyright © 1998 Connie Shelton
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure the accuracy and completeness of information contained in this book we assume no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies, omissions, or any inconsistency herein. Any slights of people, places or organizations are unintentional.
Book layout and design by Secret Staircase Books
Cover image © Tormod Rossavik
Cover background image © cekur
Also published in trade paperback
First trade paperback edition: July 2010
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Small Towns Can Be Murder Page 19