Deadly Influence

by Lakes, Lynde

  She’d lost the minuscule respect she had for Bud weeks ago, but maybe if she’d handled him better he would have followed through. She had to try harder, maybe use a little psychology. The only reason she would bother was for Meta’s sake. After all, he was extra protection for her when he bothered to hang around. Lisa realized before she’d finished the thought that she didn’t really believe it. Not with Dr. Hendricks’s words constantly eating at her—that the attempts on Meta’s life might’ve come from someone within the family. It was possible. Bud had started pressuring his grandmother to sell her property, and then there was his cavalier manner about her illness. Maybe the attempts on her life were to frighten her into selling.

  Meta insisted it wasn’t possible, but loved ones often wore blinders. For that reason, everyone close to Meta, especially Bud, bore watching.

  Lisa rechecked the downstairs doors and windows. Dinner was almost ready, and in a few minutes, when she took Meta’s meal up to her, she wanted to leave the entry level secure.

  She returned to the kitchen and removed the pan of golden brown corn muffins from the oven—one of Meta’s favorite treats—and warmed the thick vegetable soup she’d made the day before. The tantalizing aroma of freshly baked muffins took the edge off the aura of cold menace that had enveloped her since the incident with Gus, and she began to relax. Bud or no Bud, she would see to it that Meta had a pleasant evening.

  Lisa got out the fine Seyei china that Meta’s other grandson, Jay, had sent to her when he was stationed in Japan, added a Pink Perfection Camellia to Meta’s tray, made a tray for herself, and went upstairs.

  “Has Bud eaten already?” Meta’s voice carried disappointment.

  “He must’ve eaten out,” Lisa said, trying to make her tone light. Why did she bother to cover for Bud? She knew why, to make Meta feel better. She placed Meta’s tray over her lap and then seated herself in a chair near the window where she could see anyone approaching from the front.

  Meta shook her head. “Bud’s such a rebel. What the boy needs is a permanent job.”

  Boy. That fit Bud, all right. He was an overgrown muscle-bound child who lived off his grandmother like a bloodsucking leech.

  “Was there any mail?” Meta ran a finger gently around the rim of her cup, as though her touch could make it so.

  “Nothing from Jay today,” Lisa said. “Sorry.” She knew Meta thrived on his letters. She handed her the TV Guide and some junk mail.

  “I wish you could meet him.” Meta’s face glowed. “He’s a lieutenant in the Air Force. Made it all on his own.”

  If he’s so wonderful, why wasn’t he here when Meta needed him? And why no letters in over three weeks?

  Meta ate silently for awhile, lost in her thoughts, with a serene smile on her face.

  Lisa had read a few of Jay’s letters to Meta when she was too medicated to read them for herself. But they hadn’t revealed much except that he printed neatly. Actually, they were just short notes. Each had included private jokes Lisa didn’t understand, and Meta hadn’t tried to explain. She’d only laughed and said, “You had to be there.” He had always signed off, “Love ya, Jay.”

  Love—Lisa made a sound of disgust under her breath—the man didn’t know the meaning of the word. She picked up a double-sided frame that held photographs of Bud and Jay taken when they were in their teens. Bud was husky, and Jay was on the leaner side. “Both handsome young men,” Lisa said. “Anything more current of Jay?”

  Meta sighed. “I’ve asked him to send a recent picture, but he seems to be camera shy.”

  Lisa brought her chair closer to the bed, hoping that talking about Jay had put Meta in a receptive mood to listen to reason. “We need to discuss security again. I need to know everything about the comings and goings on the property, like who might drop by and the purpose of the visit. Howard’s been slipping in here when Bud’s gone. And that’s fine, but you have to let me know he’s coming and the purpose of the visit.”

  “I’ve gone along with all the security nonsense, but Howard is my gentleman friend, and friends shouldn’t have to sign in and out like criminals.”

  Meta lifted a stubborn chin.

  Lisa decided not to push it tonight. “What does Jay think about the attempts against your life and the attempted breakins?”

  Meta shrugged. “I’ve never written about my problems. He has enough to worry about. Like staying alive.”

  “But you must have told him about your stroke.”

  Meta sighed and toyed with her spoon. “The man is building a career, making something of himself. He’s working for a promotion and an overseas assignment.”

  Lisa shook her head. “You should have told him. He has a right to know. And maybe he could get away for a short visit.”

  “The timing wasn’t right.”

  “Timing.” Lisa’s voice rose. “We’re talking about your life. And you didn’t even give him the chance to be here for you when you need him. No career is worth that.”

  “Jay’s is. To me, anyway.” Meta’s voice had a tone of finality to it. Apparently, her grandson’s career meant more to her than her own life.

  Lisa knew then that she was fighting a losing battle. Thank God she’d at least sold Meta on beefing up security. However, until everything was operational, all she had was her wits to keep the willful silver-haired lady alive.

  An uneasy chill settled over her as she thought of her run-in with Gus. She was tempted to tell Meta that he was out of jail and hanging around the neighborhood again. But if she told her tonight, the worry might keep her awake, and Meta needed sleep to regain her strength.

  The sharp ring of the telephone startled Lisa. “I thought Bud turned your ringer off.”

  “I turned it back on.” Meta lifted her chin. “I’m well enough to take my own calls now.”

  “But it might be…”

  Meta disregarded her concerns with a wave of her hand. “Hello,” she said tentatively.

  Lisa put her head close to Meta’s so she could hear—just in case it was one of those calls.

  “Meta,” a man with a husky voice whispered, “Meta… is this you?” The voice deepened, wavered, becoming more chilling. “Tonight you join your precious cat.” Meta gasped.

  Lisa grabbed the receiver, slammed it down, and turned the ringer off again. “Bud was right. You don’t need this torment.”

  Meta’s face paled. “That was Gulliver’s killer.” Her voice trembled.

  “I know,” Lisa said, hardly able to speak past the lump in her throat. “I’m so sorry.” To distract them both from their sorrow, she rambled on. “Tomorrow, the security company is installing a listening and call-tracing device. They were supposed to be installed today, but the equipment the security company ordered didn’t arrive.” Meta’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she held her chin high. “Bud said your phone gadgets are an invasion of his privacy.”

  Sure, Lisa thought, he worried more about the police discovering his calls to bookies than he was about Meta.

  “We’d better report the call,” Meta said. Her uneasy look touched Lisa’s heart. Lisa agreed and quickly handled it, but she knew that the police wouldn’t do any more than they had in the past. She wished her buddy Martin was in town. The tall, reliable, redheaded cop would at least swing by a couple of times during his shift.

  As she hung up, she felt Meta watching her face. “They aren’t coming, are they?” Meta said as Lisa put the receiver back into the cradle.

  “Yes, they’re coming. They’ll take the report and cruise the area. Otherwise, they won’t do much.” Lisa forced a smile. “That’s why you have me.” She touched Meta’s wrinkled, bruised hand. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  “Bud will hate the police coming by again,” Meta said.

  Tough, Lisa thought. She knew he hated cops and didn’t want them hanging around, probably afraid they’d snoop into his dealings. It even upset him when Sergeant Martin dropped by to chat. “He’s a big boy,” Lisa said. �
�He’ll have to learn to live with it.”

  Within fifteen minutes the police came, took the report without enthusiasm, and left. By then it was almost nine, and Lisa gave Meta her evening dose of medicine. “If you need anything, just call out,” Lisa said, straightening the bedding. “I’ll be back in later to check on you.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She looked tired, but her color was good. She would be up and around any day now if she got sufficient rest. Lisa impulsively kissed Meta’s cheek and then quickly returned to her own room.

  Before undressing, she glanced across the street. Gus’s motorcycle was still there. Her earlier run in with him bothered her more than she cared to admit. It wouldn’t surprise her if he was the one behind the telephone threats and the attempted breakins. The pretend cowboy’s unforgettable image flashed through her mind again. Of course, she hadn’t discarded the Stetson-wearing voyeur in the black van as a strong suspect.

  While she mused about the fake cowboy, Lisa did her second workout for the day. This one was short. She always completed her major daily session the first thing in the morning to rev up her physical strength and activate the mental agility she needed for her job. This shorter one was to reduce the tension humming through her body. After completing her routine, which included karate kicks and lunges, Lisa took a quick shower, put on her sea green pajamas with a matching bed jacket, and stretched out on top of her bed. Tonight, her evening exercises hadn’t helped. She shifted about, unable to relax.

  Her gaze traced the border of the beveled, gold-inlaid ceiling, while her persistent thoughts turned to the man in the van. He could be a collector for one of Bud’s loan sharks. It wouldn’t be the first time one of those guys came around. Or maybe he was a burglar, casing the place. After the attempted breakin, she was ready to suspect the latter. The more she thought about the fake cowboy, the more concerned she became. The disguise, the drawl, and the many unknowns about the man made him a top suspect. He could easily be the one responsible for all Meta’s troubles. Darn, Martin would pick a time like this to go to Needles to bring back a prisoner. He’d be back late tomorrow, but that didn’t do her any good tonight. She liked knowing he was close by. Thanks to Chief Burnes, Martin was the only one willing to stick his neck out for her.

  Although the Internal Crime Division had found her innocent of the warehouse theft charges, Burnes sensed that she was holding something back. By not telling what she learned about her dirty partner during the bust, she had been unable to satisfy the suspicions of police corruption without implicating him. She didn’t keep silent for Richards. If he hadn’t died in that alley, she would have turned him in without a qualm. However, for his widow and five children, she had allowed him a hero’s death. Burnes’s lingering doubts about her made the other officers nervous. None of them wanted a partner they couldn’t trust. It was impossible to stay on the force after that, and she resigned.

  It would be easy to feel sorry for herself, having given up the career she loved for a damned dirty cop like Richards. But, when she thought of the widow and five children who depended upon their dad’s death benefits to eat and keep a roof over their heads, benefits they would have lost if he was proven a bad cop, she knew she’d done the right thing. She opened the drawer next to her bed to assure herself that her 9mm Beretta automatic revolver was where she’d left it. She checked the safety and then closed the drawer. Perhaps she was overreacting. Then she thought of Gus, the phone call, and the man in the van. The guy in the van could have been a county tax appraiser updating his records. But if so, why didn’t he just tell her that?

  Lisa clasped her hands behind her head and thought about Meta. Up to now, she’d always avoided getting too close to a client. But this time she couldn’t help herself. Meta was the grandmother she’d always wanted. She always felt she’d missed something by not knowing her real grandmother. But caring this much was dangerous—it made her tense and prone to act too quickly. And she needed a cool head in her work.

  Lisa stiffened at the scraping noise. Then there was only dead silence. She listened intently, not even daring to breathe.

  A sound of breaking glass came from Meta’s bedroom. Lisa grabbed her loaded Beretta from the nightstand drawer and raced down the hall. Her heart beat wildly as she burst into Meta’s room. Only moonlight from the window and a sliver of light from the hallway gave substance to the shadowy form forcing a pillow down on Meta’s face.

  Lisa aimed, but couldn’t fire. She was unable to determine where the darkly clad man ended and Meta began. She tucked her gun into her pocket, charged forward, and got him in a chokehold. He swore and let go of the pillow. Before she could knock him away from Meta, he whirled and knocked her against the wall. She lost her balance and fell against the doorjamb. Ignoring the pain that shot through her shoulder, she scrambled to her feet. He came at her. She kicked out and caught him in the side of his kneecap. He staggered backward, but didn’t go down.

  Glass crunched and Lisa knew he’d stepped on pieces of broken window. Meta flailed about, gasping for air. Thank God! She was alive.

  The man drew a gun. It glinted in the moonlight. Lisa pulled Meta from the bed, down behind the love seat.

  A single blast of gunfire tore through the room. Lisa drew her gun from her pocket and returned fire. The man cursed, and then he escaped out the window.

  A loud thud and the sound of garbage cans banging about came from the direction of the rear balcony. Evidently, the man had circled the second floor and dropped off the rear balcony into the garbage cans. She raced to the rear of the house with gun drawn and peered down into the yard. Nothing moved, not leaf or tree limb. The man had disappeared into the shadows. Fine bodyguard she was! Someone had almost killed Meta, and she’d let him get away.

  Jay had just returned to his watch point across the street from the mansion when he heard gunshots. He ran toward the house and climbed the porch steps three at a time. He tried his key. Damn new locks! He kicked the door and it burst open.

  Lisa stood outside Meta’s bedroom at the head of the stairs as the front door splintered and gave. She flicked off the stairway lights and ran back into the bedroom. Meta sat on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily. Footsteps pounded on the stairs, coming closer and closer.

  “Meta, he’s back!” She gripped Meta’s arm, got her to her feet, and shoved her into the closet. “Don’t make a sound. Your life depends upon it.”

  Lisa quietly closed the closet door and drew her gun. Before she could take cover, the intruder barged into the darkened room and tackled her. She went down hard on the carpet, flat on her back, with him looming over her. He was big with wide shoulders. His features were frightening angles and shadows. Lisa gripped her gun tighter, her finger on the trigger, ready to squeeze. She aimed at his head. “Back off… or you’re dead!”

  He rolled, taking her with him, knocking the gun from her hand into the darkness of the room.

  She felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. She knew several effective ways of disabling a man, even one as powerful as this one. She kneed him in the groin. He doubled over and groaned in pain. She broke free, rolled away, sprang to her feet, and darted into the darkened hallway. She had to draw him away from Meta, then get to her own bedroom and retrieve her backup gun. He was right behind her. Her heart pounded. He grabbed her arm and spun her around. She kicked hard. He dodged and blocked it. She kicked again. However, for every karate kick, he had an equally effective block. The man knew his business.

  Lisa feigned a lunge. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down to the floor. Inhaling his feral male scent, she struggled and thrashed around, but it was impossible to break free. He was too strong.

  He yanked her to her feet with one arm and switched on the stairway lights. Stark brightness flooded over them. She looked up into raging dark brown eyes and felt their full force. They were the eyes of a man capable of doing whatever he needed to do to take her down. She kicked. He blocked. Lisa had the uneasy feeling that he knew her
every move before she made it.

  His steel-like fingers dug into her wrist. She tried again to jerk free. “Who the hell are you?” she asked.

  With a raking look, he took in her silk pajamas and torn bed jacket.

  “Come back to finish the job?” she said with calmness that surprised her.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” His eyes narrowed. The brute was at least a head taller than she was, and everything about him—his size, his deadly voice, and the look in his eyes—told her he was dangerous. She had to keep him away from Meta.

  With all the calm she could muster, she gave him a once-over. Curly black hair, strong, defined features. Dark and dangerous was her quick assessment. Then, upon closer inspection, she recognized him—those powerful shoulders, that firm jaw, the fuller lower lip, that hint of a cleft chin, and that deep voice. He was the man in the van!

  He searched her face with such searing intensity that she wanted to look away. But she didn’t. His eyes were troubled, confused. This was her chance. She went limp for a moment, and when he relaxed his grip she broke free. He grabbed for her and they went down, scuffling.

  Meta eased out of her hiding place in the pitch-black closet into the moonlit bedroom.

  She was shaky and frightened, but Lisa needed her help. They weren’t dealing with just threats anymore. It was clear that someone wanted her dead. And if it hadn’t been for Lisa, he might have succeeded.

  The bumping noises against the walls and railing told Meta that Lisa was struggling with the intruder on the stairway landing. Their heavy breathing revealed they were both putting up a strong fight.

  Meta grabbed the telephone and dialed 911. In a strong whisper she said, “It’s an emergency! A man tried to kill me. Now he’s struggling with my nurse.” Meta quickly gave her address and then said, “Please hurry!”

  From past experience, she knew the police wouldn’t arrive in time. It was up to her to save Lisa. She felt around the carpet near the head of the bed, searching for her glasses. She heard Lisa cry out. There was no more time to search. Meta trailed her fingers over the desk, feeling for something to use as a weapon. It had to be heavy or sharp… a bookend or a letter opener. Meta’s bare toe touched cold steel. She pushed at it. The hardness and shape told her it was a gun. She hadn’t handled a gun in years. Nevertheless, as she picked it up, it felt right in her hand.