Sink Trap

by Evans, Christy

  I wondered if there had been more than the bag we found. It was possible there were other things, either in the walls or stashed in one of the crates or boxes that were in storage.

  Rachel seemed to be working herself up, building her justification for taking the next step.

  Which, I was very much afraid, would be firing a bullet in my direction.

  Rick apparently had the same thought. He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and steadied the gun, the barrel pointing toward the floor.

  “It was an accident,” Rick said, back on the defensive. “We only meant to scare her into signing a note for another loan, giving us the money we needed. I took that stupid old brooch and told her she could have it back when she signed the note. We still planned to pay it back, not like we were trying to rob her or anything. But she kept telling us we had to go to the police, had to give ourselves up. Like we’d done something really bad. I threw the brooch in the sink. Just so she would know we were serious. Rachel told her to sign but she wouldn’t. She said she was going to the police if we didn’t, and then she started to walk out.” He patted his wife’s shoulder, pulling her against his chest as though to comfort her.

  I relaxed a fraction. For the first time since they had entered the room, the gun was no longer pointed directly at me.

  I wasn’t ready to move, but now I at least had a chance.

  “We were just trying to stop her.” His voice was choked with regret, though whether over the shooting of Miss Tepper or over getting caught, I wasn’t sure.

  I was voting for getting caught. He didn’t seem like the type of guy to have much compassion for anyone that wasn’t him.

  “We worked too hard to get where we were,” Rachel said, as though that justified everything they had done. “Did you know I put Rick through law school?”

  The abrupt change of subject reminded me of one of Sue’s roller-coaster conversations.

  If Sue was a homicidal maniac, holding me at gunpoint.

  I hoped Sue was taking good care of the dogs. If I didn’t get out of here, she was going to inherit a couple Airedales instead of getting that Great Dane she’d been thinking about.

  The thought that I might never see Daisy and Buddha again tore at my heart. The two of them had helped me through the roughest time of my life, and I owed them a lot.

  No way were they going to be left orphans. And no way was I going to let myself get taken out by someone who whined as much as these two losers.

  The time had come to choose my battle.

  I judged the distance between me and the Gladstones. They were several feet away, but I was already standing. I had never tried any martial arts moves in steel-toed boots, but I was about to find out if I could.

  I couldn’t move directly toward them. All either one of them would have to do was raise the gun and fire. At close range, moving toward the gun—like I said, you could get seriously dead.

  I tensed, and mentally chose my spot, aiming for the wall a few feet beyond Rick Gladstone.

  Go time.

  I bounced once and tumbled toward Rick. He jumped and pulled at the gun, but by the time he managed to swing it around toward me, I was behind him. I landed awkwardly in the heavy boots and bounced off the wall.

  My shoulder thudded into the door of the one toilet stall and it swung wildly, metal clanging against metal. The noise reverberated off the tile and concrete of the bathroom, sending echoes vibrating through the room.

  Rachel screamed. She relinquished control of the gun to Rick and clapped her hands over her ears.

  I landed in a crouch and launched myself at Rick’s knees.

  He had the gun, and that made him my main target.

  I blocked out the sound of Rachel’s screams.

  Knees are a vulnerable spot when your opponent is standing. I focused on Rick. On his knees.

  I saw the gun in his hand as I slid into Rick’s legs.

  One boot, the steel toe a weapon in its own right, smashed into his left knee and he went down.

  I heard the deep boom of a gunshot next to my ear and felt a streak of searing heat tear across the back of my neck.

  A tile shattered a few feet away, sending sharp slivers of broken ceramic flying. I felt the sting of the tiny shards cutting into my arms and face.

  I saw the gun clatter away, knocked from Rick’s hand by the force of his fall.

  He moved to crawl after it. His face contorted in agony, and I felt a guilty stab of satisfaction.

  There was something near my eye, and I reached up to wipe it off. I pulled my hand away covered with blood from the cuts on my face.

  I scrambled after the gun. I knew the cuts were superficial, but there were a lot of them, each one bleeding just enough to leave a red smear on anything I touched.

  I grabbed the gun with slick fingers, fumbling madly for a button of some kind. I knew some guns had a safety that would prevent them from firing, and I sincerely did not want that gun to fire again.

  Rachel Gladstone smashed down on top of me.

  “You hurt my Rick!” she screamed. Her fingernails raked my arms as she grappled for the gun.

  “Your Rick was trying to shoot me!” I screamed back.

  Rachel grabbed me by the hair, pulling with all her might.

  I twisted and turned her hold against her, forcing her hand back until the pain was too much and she let go.

  The gun clattered away and I scuttled after it.

  Rick was still moving, his face twisting with each motion.

  I skirted around him, trying to reach the gun, to keep it away from both of them.

  Rachel grabbed my ankles and tried to pull me back. I kicked her squarely in the face, and was rewarded with the crack of a broken nose.

  I turned around knowing that sound meant she was out of action, at least for a while. Unfortunately, I found the gun once again pointed at my chest.

  Rick, his face a mask of pain and anger, held the weapon steady.

  The rest of the world dropped away, and there was only the two of us. And the gun.

  “Rachel was right about you. You’re way more trouble than you’re worth,” he said.

  I sent a silent apology to Daisy and Buddha and Sue. At least they would have each other. I thought for an instant of Wade, and whether we would really have been a thing.

  And of my mother. She didn’t understand me, but she loved me, and I wouldn’t have the chance to tell her I loved her, too.

  I couldn’t focus on the gun any longer. I couldn’t focus on anything. My ears still rang from the noise of the shot in the small room.

  I closed my eyes, and exhaustion flowed over me. No matter how hard I fought, it was over. And I knew it.

  I heard a distant voice yell, “Drop the weapon.”

  “I don’t have a weapon,” I whispered, without opening my eyes.

  I wished I did. Then maybe Rick wouldn’t be able to shoot me.

  As I heard footsteps rushing toward us, it still didn’t occur to me that I wasn’t dead.

  chapter 23

  “ I still say you should be in the hospital,” my mother said as she fussed with the blanket I’d tossed aside.

  She folded it carefully, and draped it artfully across the arm of the sofa.

  “Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can get for you?” she asked. For about the hundredth time.

  “Really, Mom, I’m okay.”

  I smiled up at her. I really was okay—even though I had scratches and nicks on my arms, face, and neck from the broken tile, and a second-degree burn across the back of my neck.

  My hearing had quickly returned to normal, though, and I had never felt better in my life. Which, it seemed, I was going to be allowed to continue living.

  Mom fussed a few minutes longer, then relented.

  “Call me if you need anything, Georgiana. You know”—she didn’t look at me and her voice dropped to little more than a whisper—“you could come and stay with me, if you’d like.”

>   I actually considered her offer.

  “No, Mom. But thanks. You need your space, just like I need mine. We’d be at each other’s throats within an hour.”

  She grinned at me—not the usual Sandra cool smile, but an amused twitch of her mouth—and nodded. “Probably right. But you call if you need me, okay?”

  “I will. But I’ll be fine. Sue’s due any minute with the dogs, and Wade’s bringing pizza.”

  The momentary truce ended and a look of horror crossed my mother’s face. “Do you think you’re up to having those rambunctious dogs around while you’re recovering?”

  “They’re pretty mellow, Mom. And I’m not an invalid.”

  Her arched eyebrow told me she didn’t agree, but she was learning not to argue with me. Especially when I was right.

  Mom left and I leaned back, carefully arranging a pillow behind me so that nothing touched my neck. Dr. Cox had warned me I might have to sleep on my stomach for a few days while the burn healed.

  I couldn’t explain to her that I needed to be home with the dogs. That they had been what gave me the determination to fight back when Rick and Rachel held that gun on me.

  But as much as I loved Daisy and Buddha, I knew I needed more than a couple Airedales in my life. My mother was part of what I needed, and I didn’t have the words to explain it to her right now.

  More than anything, though, I wanted to know what happened.

  Sheriff Mitchell had refused to talk to me when I came to, insisting I go with the paramedics and get checked out.

  When I’d finished with Dr. Cox, I tried to go to the sheriff’s office. A knot of reporters waited at the front door, so I parked around back and called Deputy Carruthers.

  Carruthers was polite, but he flatly refused to let me in the back door. “The sheriff said the doctor told you to go home and rest. He’ll talk to you when he’s through processing the Gladstones. And it isn’t worth my job to let you in.” I could hear the grin in his voice as he spoke the last sentence.

  I gave up and headed home, where I found Mother’s Escalade parked at the curb and Mother waiting to fuss over me.

  Now that she was gone, I was anxious to see Sue and Wade. Maybe they could fill me in.

  Wade, Sue, Daisy, and Buddha showed up together. Sue had the dogs on their leashes, freshly bathed and combed, and Wade carried a couple of extra-large Gari baldi’s boxes.

  “Don’t let them out back,” I told Sue as she took the dogs off their leashes. “I haven’t had a chance to take care of that mud, and I can’t afford to have you bathe them again today.”

  Sue nodded. She tossed them a green treat and they settled in their beds. It had been a big day for them and they were ready for a snooze.

  Wade came and sat next to me, taking my hands in his. “I owe you an apology, Georgie. I should have taken you seriously when you came to me with your suspicions. The worst part is, I wanted to believe you. I never liked the Gladstones much. But I was afraid that was coloring my judgment, so instead I continued to give them the benefit of the doubt long past the point I should have.”

  “And I wanted to believe it was Gregory, because of his relationship with my mother.” I shrugged. “We were both wrong.”

  Sue brought plates and napkins from the kitchen, and we dug into the pizza.

  “Aren’t two extra-large a bit much for three people?” I asked before taking a big bite of pepperoni.

  “Barry and Paula may drop by,” Sue said.

  “And Fred Mitchell,” Wade added. “He wanted to talk to you. He said the reporters had them surrounded and there was no way he wanted you in the middle of that.”

  “What about the Gladstones? Where are they?” I never wanted to see either of them again, but I needed reassurance they were behind bars.

  “They were a little beat-up,” Wade said. “Don’t suppose you’d care to explain that, would you?” He waited, and when I didn’t answer, he went on. “Didn’t think so. Anyway, the paramedics checked them over and released them to the sheriff. He booked them here, but he had to transfer Rachel into Portland. No place to hold a female prisoner here.”

  “That’s because they need a woman on the force. And after what you did to the Gladstones, I’ll bet he’d hire you, Georgie,” Sue teased, then burst out laughing. “Deputy Georgie! Boy, if you thought your mom had trouble with you as a plumber . . .” She collapsed into a fit of laughter.

  There was a knock at the front door and Sue jumped up to answer it. She returned a few seconds later with Sheriff Mitchell right behind her.

  “How are you doing, Miss Neverall?” he asked politely.

  “Fine, Sheriff. And it’s Georgie. Grab a seat and a piece of pizza. You might as well get comfortable, because I expect the full story.”

  Sheriff Mitchell chuckled and settled into a chair. He accepted a plate from Sue and sniffed appreciatively. “Garibaldi’s?”

  “Yes, but you have to sing for your supper.”

  He took a bite, chewed, and swallowed before he pulled out his notebook and recorder and started asking questions.

  No one had heard the story of what happened in the warehouse before, and I could see astonishment on Sue’s face, and consternation on Wade’s, as I recounted the story for the sheriff and his recorder.

  “And that’s when I heard someone say, ‘Drop your weapon,’ but I didn’t have a weapon to drop,” I said.

  “That was me,” Sheriff Mitchell said. “Thanks to your friends here”—he indicated Wade and Sue—“we arrived in time.”

  “Like the cavalry riding to the rescue,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood. Wade, I could see, didn’t appreciate my feeble attempt at humor.

  I had to ask, though I was sure I knew the answer to my question. “And they,” I said softly, “killed Martha Tepper.”

  “No question,” Sheriff Mitchell said. “As soon as we took them into custody, they started pointing the finger at each other. So much for sticking together. They claim they were just trying to frighten her, so she wouldn’t turn them in. And they were angry because she wouldn’t give them any more money. Rachel shot her, and Rick hid the body. He told us where and I have a crew out there now, recovering her remains.” He shook his head, as though trying to dislodge the image.

  “But how did you guys”—I looked at Wade and Sue—“manage to convince the sheriff?”

  “The dogs,” said Sue.

  “The diary,” said Wade.

  “You didn’t pick up the dogs when you said you would,” Sue said. “When I couldn’t reach you, I called Wade.”

  “I’d been thinking about what you said.” Wade picked up the story. “I went to Second Chances and managed to talk Janis Breckweth into showing me the diary.” He grinned at me. “I finally had to tell her I was your boyfriend, since you seemed to be the only person she trusted. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was Martha’s, and I convinced her to let me take it to the sheriff.”

  Mitchell gave me a rare smile. “When we realized you were out there alone, I went out to check. Fortunately, I brought a few friends with me.”

  epilogue

  We buried Martha Tepper a week later, in the family plot on a hill overlooking Pine Ridge.

  As I looked around the faces of the crowd, I realized Pine Ridge was where I belonged. I had made the right choice in moving back, in spite of everything that had happened over the last few weeks.

  I saw my mother reach for Gregory’s hand as they stood at the graveside, and I realized how difficult this must be for her. She hadn’t attended a funeral since we buried my father. We might never have an ideal relationship, but we both deserved the opportunity to try.

  Standing between Wade and Sue, I began to feel the faint stirrings of trust, something I thought was dead forever.

  Barry and Paula stood in for Miss Tepper’s family, and Paula spoke lovingly of her dear friend. I wished I had known her better, and I felt a stab of regret that I would never have that chance.

  After the service, as the
crowd dwindled, I made my way to Paula’s side.

  “That was lovely,” I said.

  Paula nodded. “I’m really going to miss her.” Her eyes were moist but she smiled faintly, as though she had a happy secret.

  “Did you hear about the will?” she asked.

  I shook my head. I knew the sheriff had found a will along with the diary Janis had rescued from the house, but beyond that, I hadn’t heard anything.

  “She left a generous bequest to the library, and one to Homes for Hope.

  “The rest of it she left to Janis.”

  I smiled.

  top ten tools for most home repairs

  by georgiana neverall

  I’ve learned the hard way to be prepared. My life spins out of control without the proper tools in hand. So here are the stripped-down basics I can’t live without.

  Some of these common tools are known by the name of the company that produces them (see Nos. 4, 5, 6, and 10).

  1. Tape measure.

  2. Hacksaw.

  3. Rubber mallet.

  4. Adjustable wrench (called by the brand name Crescent ).

  5. Slip-joint pliers (called by the brand name Channel-lock ).

  6. Locking-jaw pliers (called by the brand name Vise-Grip ).

  7. Plumber’s snake or auger.

  8. Toilet plunger.

  9. Sink plunger.

  10. Screwdrivers—flat blade (common) and Phillips, in an assortment of sizes. A multi-tip driver offers the convenience of an assortment in a compact space (such as the Nebo products).

  One final note: If I ever find a tool (a legal one!) that will help me deal with my mother, I’m adding it to the list.