She grabbed the Exacto knife from me and freed my hands, then went to work on her ankles. I borrowed the knife to free my legs, then sliced through the tape on Bridget’s hands and feet.
“I’m worried about her,” I whispered to Gwen. Her forehead was clammy to the touch. “She’s been out a long time.”
“What do we do when she comes back down?” she asked.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “Let’s put the tape so that it looks like it’s still on. If only you are awake, she can’t get us up the stairs alone, and she doesn’t want to shoot us down here. If you’re the only one awake, you can offer to help her move us. When she puts the gun down to pick up someone’s legs or feet, say ‘clear’ and I’ll tackle her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” I said. “I’ll hold onto the knife. Did you happen to see anything else we can use as a weapon?”
“There are a bunch of boxes, but I didn’t exactly have a chance to go through them. There’s some laundry detergent by the washer and dryer.”
“Liquid, or powder?”
“Liquid,” she said.
“I just read something about detergent and eyes... it might be good to have around, just in case. Which direction?”
“To the left of the stairs,” she said.
I fumbled my way over, trying not to make too much noise, and located the washer. The detergent was a large plastic jug, about half-full. “Got it,” I whispered, and felt my way back to the area I’d come from. I loosened the lid and pushed it halfway behind a box; that way, it would be accessible, but not obvious to Martha when she turned the lights on.
All too soon, the door opened, and Martha’s heavy tread landed on the top riser. I gripped the Exacto knife in my hand and tried to look like I was still unconscious; I could see the light through my eyelids.
“They’re still out,” Gwen said as she neared the bottom of the steps. “You really got them.”
“Damn it,” she said. “I don’t have all night.” She paused, and I imagined she was weighing her options.
“You said you were going to have me carry them with you,” Gwen reminded her. And that’s when I realized the error I had made. For Gwen to help her, Martha would have to cut the tape from her hands. And when she went to cut the tape, she’d realize that Gwen was already free.
I opened my eyes a little bit. Martha was standing turned half away from me, considering my sister. I cut my eyes over to the detergent; it was within reach.
“All right,” she said. “I’ve got scissors down here somewhere.” As Martha turned and walked over toward the washer and dryer, I tried to figure out what to do. She still had the gun in her hand. But she couldn’t cut the tape off Gwen’s hands and still hold the gun, could she?
I hated to wait a second longer, but it seemed like the best chance I’d have. My heart pounded as she knelt down by Gwen, the gun in her hand.
“Let me see your hands,” she said. The scissors were in one hand, the gun in the other.
Gwen’s eyes darted to me.
I grunted, hoping to distract her, and opened my eyes wide. “What are you doing?” I asked.
She glanced over at me. “Good. At least one of you is awake.”
“Why don’t you put down the gun so you don’t accidentally shoot my niece?” I suggested.
“She’s going to die anyway.”
“I hope not, but if you do manage to pull it off, you don’t want a mess to clean up down here, do you? Forensics, and all.”
She grimaced, but looked like she was at least thinking about it. “You’re probably right,” she admitted, and put the gun down—but with her between it and me.
It was the only chance I was likely to have.
As Martha reached for Gwen, I launched myself across the cellar. At the same time, Gwen’s hands snaked out from behind her and clamped onto Martha’s wrists. But Martha was stronger than my niece.
“You little bitch,” she hissed. As I barreled into her, she wrenched her right hand free, and it darted toward the gun. Together, we landed on the concrete floor and rolled. There was an explosion from somewhere beneath me, and a searing pain slashed through my leg.
“Damn it!” she yelled, heaving herself on top of me. She pulled the hammer back on the gun and began moving it toward me. I grabbed her wrist, pushing her hand away from me.
“Gwen!” Bridget was waking up. “What’s going on?”
“Mom...” Gwen gasped. “Aunt Nat’s in trouble... help!”
I pushed away with all my strength, but Martha was stronger, and her arm lowered toward me, turning the gun toward me. My leg was throbbing—I could feel a warm, spreading wetness through my jeans—and my whole body had started to shake. The gun came closer and closer. As I watched, her thumb pulled back the safety. “No!” I yelled.
It was inches from my face when something loomed up behind her. “Leave my sister alone, you witch!” Bridget bellowed. Martha jumped, startled, and her arm wavered. I pushed the gun away just as Bridget brought down a broken chair on Martha’s head.
***
“Are you okay?” Bridget asked, looking at my bloody leg, which was poking out from beneath Martha’s slack body. She was crushing the rest of me.
“Let’s get rid of the gun and make sure she’s out of commission first,” I said, pushing Martha off of me. I took a deep breath as she rolled to the side.
“Gwen, get the gun and aim it at her,” Bridget ordered. “I’m going to make a tourniquet.”
Gwen, looking pale beneath her bruises, did as her mother told her, and Bridget ripped off her cardigan and wrapped it tight around my thigh.
“That’s cashmere,” I objected. “It’ll ruin it.”
“I’ve got six more sweaters at home,” she replied. “I only have one of you.”
When she’d tied the sleeves into a knot, she bent down and examined my leg. “It doesn’t look like it went through the bone—you were lucky. It’s pretty dirty down here, though; you’re going to need to get that cleaned and stitched up.”
I looked down at my leg; with the tourniquet on, the bleeding had slowed. My whole body was quaking, though, and I felt light-headed. “Why don’t we get her tied up and call the police before we take on anything else?”
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m going up to get you a blanket. You’re in shock.”
She trundled up the stairs, leaving me alone with Gwen and the supine Martha.
“Thank God your mom woke up when she did,” I said. “It was about to go wrong fast.”
“I’m just so glad you figured out I was here,” Gwen told me. “How did you know?”
“You didn’t come home with Charlene,” I said. “And when I talked with Selene at Island Artists, I figured out what must have happened.”
“How did you know it was Martha?”
“The hairpins,” I said. “She’s the only person I know who uses hairpins. They were on the boat, and I found one up in Stacy’s room, too.”
“I still don’t understand why she did it,” she said.
“Because he’d hurt her daughter and profited at her expense,” I said. “And was trying to mess her life up again.”
“But the only thing you had to go on was hairpins?”
“That wasn’t the only thing. When Lizzie talked about the scary skunk lady, I figured it out; she’s got that white streak at the part.” I glanced over at the unconscious woman, her face slack and deceptively peaceful. “In her own way, she’s as protective of your daughter as your mom is.”
“And you,” my sister said as she came down the stairs with a stack of blankets. “I am so thankful that you figured out what happened. Without you, I wouldn’t even have a daughter.”
“And without you, I’d be a goner,” I replied.
“I called the police and found some duct tape on the kitchen table,” she said. “John didn’t pick up, but I left a message; I imagine he’ll get it soon and come this way. In the meantime, I figured we’d get her
trussed up while we wait for help.”
I shivered under two wool blankets, pain radiating up from my leg, as Gwen and her mother worked together to secure Martha’s hands and feet. I pulled the blanket back to take a look, then regretted it; I hoped I’d be able to walk when this was all over. Bridget glanced over at me when she was done. “You don’t look so good,” she told me.
My teeth chattered as I tried to answer.
“Gwen, sweetheart, go make your aunt some tea. I’ll keep an eye on Martha.”
“Okay, Mom,” she said, and headed up the stairs, leaving me alone with my sister.
She looked down at her feet and was quiet a moment. “I have an apology to make,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry I accused you of interfering and trying to replace me,” she said. “I saw the other paintings in the galleries on the mainland, and none of them were as... as special as Gwen’s. She does have a gift, and it wouldn’t be right for her not to use it.”
“No,” I said. “I thought about it, and decided may you have a point. I probably did say too much to her. And if it weren’t for my coming here, she wouldn’t have gotten into this mess.”
“She’s where she belongs, Natalie,” Bridget said. “At least for now. And I’m glad she has you looking after her.”
“She’s got both of us,” I told her, feeling a warmth toward my sister I’d always longed for. “I never wanted to replace you. I couldn’t if I tried.”
Bridget gave me a smile, her face looking softer than I’d ever seen it. “Thanks, Nitwit.”
I rolled my eyes. “Really? Do you really want me to start calling you Bossyboots again?”
She laughed. “Considering the last few days, I can’t complain if you do.” She came over and hugged me while Gwen looked on, openmouthed.
“I’m going to have to get kidnapped more often,” she said.
“Please don’t,” I said quickly.
“Absolutely not,” Bridget chimed in. “What happened, anyway?”
Gwen sighed. “I thought it might be Jenna, so I made the mistake of asking Martha about her daughter, and whether she was still into the captain when he came back to the island. It’s funny... all I did was ask about it, and she invited me for tea to talk more about it. As soon as we got here, she started questioning me hard... and then she must have decided I was a threat.” She shivered, looking down at the prone woman. “I think she’s not quite right.”
“Since she was about to kill all three of us, I have to agree with you,” I said.
“It’s sad, though,” she told me. “Bridges really did mess up her daughter’s life. She was really only trying to look out for her. He came back and stirred things up for no good reason.”
“Why did he come back, anyway?” Bridget asked.
“I think he was carrying a torch for Lorraine,” I said. “Now that he’d built a business, he was trying to lure her back.”
“I’ll bet he used the proceeds of that tiara to fund it,” Bridget said.
“We’ll probably never know,” I said. “I do know he wasn’t a very nice man, though. He did some whaling after he left the island, and is part-owner of a Japanese whaling boat.”
“How did you find that out?”
“Stacy was investigating,” I said. “That’s why I thought Martina was the murderer. The only thing that didn’t make sense, though, was leaving all that info in Stacy’s room; the bad press couldn’t have been good for a nature tour company.”
“So you think Martha went through her room?”
“I think she was making sure Stacy didn’t have any notes pointing to her or her daughter as the killer,” I said. “Stacy was starting to ask questions and make connections. She must have said something that spooked her.”
“She was pretty easily spooked,” Gwen said. “If she hadn’t started going berserk on me, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it.” She frowned. “I feel bad for Jenna. She’s not had good luck.”
“No, she hasn’t,” I agreed. As I spoke, there was a hammering on the door upstairs.
“The reinforcements have arrived,” Bridget said, and headed up the stairs.
“Aunt Nat,” Gwen said, staring at me when she disappeared. “What happened?”
“I think she realized we both love you,” I said. “And that it’s not an either-or proposition.”
“And she even thinks I’m in the right place,” Gwen said. “Think it’ll last?”
“We’ll see when the adrenaline wears off,” I told her, “but I’m hopeful.”
“What about my engagement?”
I grinned at her. “Let’s take one thing at a time, shall we?” As I answered, John’s voice floated down the stairs to me... a moment later, he was hurtling down them, bringing a whiff of his woodsy, masculine scent. His tanned face looked pale. “Oh, my God... Nat, you’re covered in blood.”
“It’s only a flesh wound,” I said.
“A flesh wound that could have hit an artery,” he said. “We need to get you to the hospital.” He investigated the wound, sucking in his breath, and then pulled me up into his arms, burying his face in my hair. “You’ve got to stop doing this.”
“I was trying to save Gwen,” I said.
After a long moment, he released me gently and then looked over at Martha. “Why is she tied up?”
“She’s the one who did in the captain,” I said. “And Stacy.”
“And almost you,” he said, then turned to Gwen. “You’ve had a bad day, too; looks like we need to get both of you to the hospital.”
“I’m fine,” she said, touching her bruised face.
“What happened?”
“I didn’t want to go downstairs, so she pushed me,” Gwen said. “She gave Aunt Nat a few good kicks in the ribs, too.”
Now that she mentioned it, I was feeling a little sore around the ribs when I moved; the pain in my leg had made me forget about that.
“The police are on their way. I asked them to send a paramedic, too,” he said, and glanced over at Martha again. “Is she responsible for Stacy, too?”
“That’s what she told us,” I said, suddenly feeling very tired. “I’ll give you the details later; for now, I’m just going to close my eyes.”
“Natalie...”
I didn’t hear the rest of what he said, because I either passed out or fell asleep.
***
“I am definitely not a fan of crutches... particularly not at low tide,” I complained to John the next day as I clambered off the mail boat attempted to make my way up the gangway to the pier. I’d spent the night at the hospital on Mount Desert Island—the bullet, thankfully, had passed an inch away from an artery and had done mainly superficial damage—and had just been released from the hospital an hour ago. Making my way up the steep gangway felt a little like climbing Mt. Everest, and I was thankful that John was behind me in case I lost my balance.
“It’s better than the alternative,” he reminded me as he reached out to steady me. “And just think how fun the stairs will be when we get home.”
Home. “I almost forgot Smudge... who took care of her last night?”
“Catherine did,” he told me as I took another wobbly swing-step up the gangway. “She’s doing better, and Biscuit is starting to warm to her. She likes the workshop; she’s got a sunny spot by the west window where she likes to doze and keep me company.”
“Still no word on who her owner is?”
“Nothing yet,” he said. “That’s one unsolved mystery.”
“There she is!” I looked up to see Charlene, who was hurrying down the pier to greet me. She was looking like her cheery self again, with her caramel-colored hair coiffed and a sparkly red top. “John called and told me you got shot! How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” I told her.
“I’ll make a batch of chicken soup,” she said.
“Does it work for gunshot wounds?”
“We’ll find out,” my
friend said as I lurched to the top of the gangway, breathing heavily. “You’re awesome, by the way... thanks to you, they’ve dropped charges and they’re letting Alex out today.” She beamed. “I can’t thank you enough. I’m headed over in a few hours to pick him up at the police station. I knew he didn’t do it!”
“I’m glad it all got figured out,” I said, feeling my thigh twinge from the effort to make it up the gangway. I looked down; the bandage was across the outside of my thigh. John called the place the bullet had gouged my new racing stripe, but I was afraid it wasn’t going to be pretty. Oh, well. At least I was alive... and so was Gwen. I looked back up at Charlene. “How’s Jenna doing, have you heard?”
“She’s upset, but not as surprised as you’d think,” Charlene told me as I stumped across the pier past Spurrell’s Lobster Pound. A piece of yellow legal paper with “CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE” scrawled on it was taped to the door.
“Maybe she’ll take over the place,” I said. “On the plus side, her mother can hardly complain about her daughter’s legal fees anymore.”
Bridget and Gwen were waiting next to the van at the end of the pier. Both of them threw themselves at me and embraced me in a three-way hug. “I’m so glad you’re going to be okay,” Bridget said as she released me. “What did they say?”
“Take it easy, keep it clean, and check back in a week,” I told her. “Thank goodness I’ve got help,” I said, smiling at Gwen.
“I owe you big time,” she said.
“And so do I,” said Bridget, who gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s get you back to the inn so you can rest.”
It was a short ride, and I was glad to be sitting down. Catherine and Murray were in the kitchen waiting for me when they helped me through the door a few minutes later.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Better for us than you,” Catherine said. I would normally bristle at the presence of Murray Selfridge in my kitchen, but he was beaming at my mother-in-law so fondly I couldn’t complain. “We do have some good news, though.”
“What?”
“My dear Murray has hired an attorney to prevent the resort,” she said.
“If I can’t do it, why should they?” he asked.
Whale of a Crime (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries Book 7) Page 20