A Secondhand Murder

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “Except the murder charge. Don’t you care that he killed your mother? How can you support him knowing that?” I couldn’t believe that she loved him enough to ignore murder.

  She paused and then changed the direction of our conversation. “I’ll tell you what, Dwight, brother dear. You help me get rid of the body, and I’ll let you go. Deal?”

  Had I made a mistake by trusting Dwight? He looked relieved at her offer. Her offer? Then I got it. Eduardo didn’t kill Valerie. Constance did. Dwight had seen her leaving the store through the side door. What a fool I was.

  I moved away from Dwight and toward Constance. I could take the bitch. I knew I could. Then out came one of those ugly guns. It looked ludicrous in her manicured hand, but still deadly. Her finger on the trigger was steady.

  “Drop the gun, Constance.” Her father emerged from the feed room and walked toward us. I turned to look at him, hoping that he was also armed. I didn’t like guns, but right now I’d have given my little red Miata for one. I searched his hands. Nope. No gun. I’d have to fake it.

  “The three of us against you.” I might as well assume that Dwight was on our side, even though he hadn’t been much help so far.

  “You can only shoot one person, maybe two before one of us takes you down.” I hoped I was right. I wanted to be the individual left standing. I was anxious to wipe up the barn floor with her.

  “You’re not going to shoot your own father now, are you?” Leon held out his hands in a pleading gesture.

  She’d already stabbed her mother, but I saw no need to state the obvious.

  Without warning, she fired, hitting Dwight in the shoulder. She wasn’t a very good shot, although she seemed determined. She let go with a second round. Her father grabbed his leg. Both men fell to the floor. I dropped to my knees beside them. To Constance it must have looked as if I was trying to offer aid. Instead, I snagged the flashlight off the floor and hurled it at her. It missed but was enough of a distraction to throw her off balance. I tucked and rolled, knocking her feet out from under her. The gun flew out of her hand. She scrambled to her feet and ran out of the stable.

  A quick check of Leon and Dwight showed their wounds to be painful but not life-threatening. The shot had gone through Dwight’s shoulder but the opening wasn’t pumping blood, it was just leaking it onto the stable floor.

  “I’m fine,” said Leon. “Find my daughter before the cops do. You can talk her into giving herself up.”

  I flipped open my phone and called Frida.

  “Better get out to the stables again. There’s been a shooting here.”

  “Find her, Eve, before the cops do. I love her, no matter what she has done.” Leon moaned and held his leg.

  “Let me see that.” I removed his hand to examine the wound.

  “Go. Find her.” He shoved me away.

  I ran to the barn door and looked out across the paddock, now washed bright by moonlight. I could make out a figure fleeing toward the trees beyond the far fence. I ran after her. Once she reached the shelter of the trees, I’d lose her. After that, she could circle around and come back to the parking area, jump in her car and leave. My motive for finding her wasn’t quite the same as her father’s. The authorities would be on their way, and they could only ask questions if they advised her of her rights. With me, she had no rights, and I had a lot of questions for her.

  I stumbled on the uneven ground. Damn shoes. I should have worn sneakers tonight. Then I remembered. I didn’t own any. Constance would probably be faster. She was my height and younger. I removed my heels, my favorites—the ones with the slave sandal look in black alligator—and started to toss them away, but then I remembered that they had cost me a fortune. I was divorced now and on a tight budget. So instead of dropping them, I strapped the pumps together, then put on the steam and pounded across the paddock, wondering if that soft place back there had been soggy soil or something more horsie-processed.

  I prayed that the clouds wouldn’t move in to obscure the moon. I needed the light to see my prey and avoid placing my toes in nasty places.

  I was gaining on her. In fact, I was only a few feet behind when she entered the trees. The terrain there was rougher and my feet were taking a beating. I made a vow to invest in some more practical footwear, like the two-inch open-toed espadrilles I’d seen in Stein Mart the other day.

  We ran into the scrub palmetto and were forced to zigzag our way through the palms. A clearing opened up ahead. Beyond the open area, the trees grew thicker, and the night grew blacker. Heavy clouds were blowing in on the wind and a storm seemed to be rolling toward us. It was now so dark that I lost sight of her. My flashlight would have come in handy right now, but it still lay on the barn floor.

  I stopped and listened but could hear nothing except the sound of the approaching thunder. A crack of lightning revealed Constance, standing to my side with something in her hand. Before I could identify the object, the darkness descended once more. Constance lunged at me, and I felt a sharp pain in my arm. A knife. She was holding a knife.

  “You’re not going to get away this time. Once I get that locket, I’m not just going to dump you in the swamp. I’m going to bury you in it. Eduardo should have sent me to handle the job, not some hit man.”

  What about my car? Were she and Eduardo responsible for that, too?

  I shoved her away and, to my surprise, she didn’t follow up her attack but, instead, fled deeper into the night, deeper into the palmetto, pines and cypress. I followed, aware now that she was capable of more than fleeing. She wanted me to follow. Then she’d turn and attack once more with her knife. I had only my Jimmy Choos to defend myself.

  Chapter 29

  The rolling clouds broke for a moment, and the pale moon shone through. Constance stood at the edge of a swampy area. She looked back at me, and I saw indecision on her face. Kill or flee? Her internal battle waged only for a moment; then she turned to face me, her intent clear. Her shoulders were hunched over as if she were an animal about to spring.

  “You might as well give up, Constance. I called the police and they’ll be here soon. Listen. I think I hear the sirens now.” We both froze. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but there was no other sound. Even the bullfrogs that had called from the swamp earlier were silent. We’d disturbed their evening’s conversation.

  The wind was at my back, traveling from the direction of the ranch into the woods and making the trees sway, then whip around as if stirred up in anger. As quickly as the moon had revealed Constance at the swamp’s edge, the clouds gathered, leaving a darkness so inky black that my own body was lost in it. I felt dizzy and reached out to steady myself. I moved toward the place where I thought Constance was waiting. If I couldn’t see her, then she couldn’t see me. A flash of lightning gave a bluish glow to the clearing where she’d been. Gone! Had the light revealed where I was?

  Something brushed my arm. Before she could wield the knife again, I struck out with the only weapon I had—the stiletto heel of my classy shoe. Then I ducked and rolled away from the attack and kept rolling into the brackish water of the swamp. The splash I made had probably given away my position so I worked my way along the shore. Wading hip deep in the opaque waters, I tried not to imagine all swamp things housed within.

  “I’ll find you no matter where you hide,” Constance said. “We found Dwight, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah, but you missed the first time. He took out one of Eduardo’s men, didn’t he?” I was guessing, but I felt like I was beginning to understand the details, as my mind and Constance’s threats provided the missing pieces.

  “He saw you exit the shop after the murder and you had to get rid of him to cover up your actions.” Realizing that she was probably following my voice, I moved farther along in the swamp.

  Another lightning flash. I looked up from my watery refuge to see her standing over me. I grabbed her foot, pulling her into the swamp.

  She screamed. “Get me out of here. Help. Help me.”
/>   The hysteria in her voice was genuine. Humans didn’t scare her, but what she envisioned in the swamp did. The images she conjured of what lurked in the dark waters were more vivid than mine. And more frightening, it seemed. She continued to flail around, her wet hair flying into her eyes, her cries echoing throughout the night.

  Her terror was contagious. My body felt drenched in adrenaline. Fear wrapped like a Boa constrictor around me, paralyzing my muscles, dulling my thoughts. If she would just shut up and stop all that yelling, maybe I could figure out how to extract us from this murky mess. I wanted out as much as she did, but for now I was marginally calmer. My advantage, I hoped.

  I dragged myself up the bank and onto drier land.

  “Don’t leave me.” Not her usual commanding tone, but a plea for help.

  “Where’s the knife? I’ll help you if you throw away the knife.”

  “I don’t know. I lost it. Help me. I think something’s got my foot.” She began to cry—great gulping sobs punctuated with wails of fear.

  “It’s probably a water plant.”

  The roar of a bull alligator sounded from somewhere too close by.

  Oh, boy. Now we’d done it. We had invaded a bull’s mating hole.

  I prepared to run, but Constance was still floundering around in the water, too frightened to coordinate her movements.

  I couldn’t leave her. Or could I? The wind increased and made the palm fronds overhead thrash against one another. A flash of lightning revealed a stirring out in the deeper water. Thunder followed and then another lightning bolt. The object swam toward Constance. She froze, staring in the direction of the approaching reptile.

  “Move, Constance. Get the hell out of the water.”

  She continued to stare, apparently transfixed by the slow, undulating movement of the creature.

  Oh, crap. Now I’d have to go back in there and pull her out.

  I waded into the pool once more and reached out for her, but she was too far away. I wasn’t venturing any farther into the water. I would play hero, but only if I didn’t get myself killed in the process. The gliding of the animal continued, unbroken, toward us.

  “I need something you can grab. A tree limb or something. You’re too far for me to reach. Can’t you move a little?”

  “Do something. It’s getting closer.”

  “You do something. Like walk out of there.”

  “I don’t want to stir and make him mad.”

  “He’s already mad at us for disturbing his romantic night. Now get your butt out of there.”

  Flashes of lightning illuminated the area for a moment; then the blackness descended again. Light, dark. Light, dark. Like a strobe signaling disaster.

  “Oh, hell. Grab this.”

  I held my precious sandals toward her. They provided the extra reach we needed. She grabbed onto one of them and I pulled, tugging her toward the shore. Constance fell face down into the water, and I reeled her in like a catch on a twelve-pound test line.

  “Now get up and run,” I said once we were out of the swamp.

  She let go of my shoes and brought up her hand to push her hair back off her face. The other hand held the knife, which she raised toward me. Enough with the aggression; it was really getting old. I whacked her with my shoes.

  “You don’t want to run, fine, but I do.”

  She grabbed for my shoes as if to pull me toward her. I let them go and took off for the safety of the ranch.

  When I exited the trees, I crashed into something. Or someone. I realized it was a person when whoever it was shined a flashlight into my face. I slapped it away.

  “Eve, are you okay?” asked Frida.

  “Oh, you. Thank God.”

  “Where’s Constance? Her father told me she ran off with you in hot pursuit.”

  “She’s back there somewhere, with a knife. I think an alligator’s after her.”

  We started back into the wooded area, toward the swamp, lightning striking around us and thunder roaring in our ears. The wind had increased in velocity and was bending the trees almost in half.

  “It’s not safe in here. One of these palms could come down on us,” Frida said.

  “We have to find Constance. She’s the killer. She murdered her mother.”

  “I know. Dwight recounted me the whole story before we loaded him into the ambulance. He saw her run out the back door of your shop, toss the jacket and gloves in the trash and jump into her car, which was parked at the end of the alley. I’d sure like to get her to admit to the killing. I just don’t understand her motive.”

  “That’s the very question I’d like to ask her, but we won’t have the chance if she ends up in the belly of a gator.”

  When we got to the swamp, Frida directed her light to the edge of the water. Under a large mossy oak tree sat Constance with her back propped against the trunk and her hair hanging in her face. She was so limp she looked like a wet rag doll. Her eyes were closed, and she was whimpering, muttering to herself, her words indistinct from this distance.

  We came nearer.

  “Be careful. I think that big gator’s around here somewhere,” I said.

  Constance’s words were clearer now. “I just wanted her to stop pawning all the family riches. They were mine. Mine. All that money gone. Then she took the jewels, too. I’m not a bad girl. I just wanted what I had coming to me. Go away. Go away. I’ll be good.”

  I turned toward Frida. “Do you think she’s trying to bargain with the gator?”

  Frida played her light onto the water in front of the tree.

  “What gator? I only see an old rotted log there. Boy, you transplanted northern gals sure are wimps.”

  “Did she freely admit her motive for killing her mother? Or was that technically a gator-induced confession, obtained under duress and before you Mirandized her?” I was riding in Frida’s cruiser, finally heading home. The rain had stopped and the lights were making rainbow streaks in the oily puddles on the roadway.

  “I wasn’t trying to question her. Were you?” Frida offered a small smile of satisfaction.

  “Nope.” I relaxed against my seat. I smelled like swamp, was feeling bone-tired, and dreaded the scolding I was going to get from the gang once they figured out what I had done. When we pulled up in front of my house, it was ablaze with lights. There were cars parked curbside that I could identify as belonging to Alex, Madeleine, Nappi, Rob and—oh boy, I was in trouble now—Grandy and Max.

  “Is the early edition of the paper out yet?” I asked.

  “No. Why? Do you want to see if the story’s in there already?”

  “No. I want to find out who put the notice of a party at my house in it.”

  “I only called Madeleine,” said Frida.

  I walked into a room filled with silence and accusing eyes.

  “I can explain everything.”

  Tears began to roll down Grandy’s bruised face. “We only want to know that you’re okay.” The others nodded in agreement and soon I was enveloped in a group hug that went on so long I was barely able to breathe.

  “Hey. Let go. I was fine until I came in here and somebody decided to crush my ribs.”

  “Your arm is bleeding,” said Alex.

  “Constance. She likes knives. The cut’s not deep. I washed the gash at the ranch and Frida had a first aid kit in the cruiser.”

  “She’s fine,” said Grandy.

  I shot her an accusatory look. “What are you doing here? Out of the hospital? Out of bed?”

  “I came to find out where the locket was.”

  I looked at her in shock. “That damn locket—”

  “Right. It’s more trouble than it’s worth. I’m giving it back to the family. To Constance.”

  I turned to Frida. “You didn’t tell Madeleine when you called?”

  “I did.”

  “It’ll be waiting for Constance when she gets out of prison. Something to remember us by.” Grandy seemed pleased with her decision. “I’m so tired o
f having to defend my ownership. Its significance is long past.”

  “Aw, shit.”

  “You don’t approve?” asked Grandy.

  “No, that’s not it. It’s just … I left my Jimmy Choos out in the swamp.”

  A cup of hot chocolate in my hand helped me forget about the shoes, at least for the moment. And everyone was eager to hear the truth about Valerie’s murder, so storytelling served as another distraction.

  “Apparently Dwight saw Constance sneak out of the shop. When he confronted her, she claimed self-defense, saying that her mother had taken a knife from their kitchen, brought it with her to the shop and attacked her in the dressing room. Dwight didn’t believe it, but he went along with the story. At least for a while. Then he decided to ask for money in exchange for his silence.”

  “What did Valerie do with the money she got from pawning the family jewels?” asked Madeleine.

  “She bought into Eduardo’s drug scheme. Right?” I turned to Frida for confirmation. She nodded.

  “Someone, probably Constance, disguised herself in order to sneak back into my shop. She was worried that the cops would search their house, only to find the knife that she had taken from home missing from the set.”

  Frida jumped in. “She had noticed the set in the store, so she decided to buy them, but when she found the store empty and you in the bathroom, she took a look around and spotted the knife from the set in your shop on the floor. She got lucky and took it, then convinced Dwight to put it in the Sanders’ kitchen to make it seem like one wasn’t missing. I think that was the night that some of you visited the house.” Frida’s accusing glance traveled the room, landing on Grandy, Alex, Madeleine, Jerry, and finally coming to rest on Nappi.

  “Why would Dwight do that?” asked Madeleine.

  “I think Eduardo talked him into it. He can be very persuasive.” I flashed back to the scene in the stables when Spelling and Randolph had seemed unable to say no to any of Eduardo’s commands.

  “Eduardo and Constance were worried that you were coming too close to the truth when you accused Dwight of killing his stepmother,” Frida said.