“It would only be a waste of time,” Tracy said. Reaching into her denim jacket, she withdrew a snub-nosed revolver.
Katie looked at the barrel, then back to Tracy’s cold brown eyes. Keep her talking, she told herself. “Then why don’t I tell Gerald.”
“What do you know?”
“Quite a lot, it turns out. You left Andy for Ronnie Hilton, but Ezra broke you up. He didn’t think you were good enough for his son.”
“He didn’t think anyone was good enough for Ronnie.”
“But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there?” Katie asked.
Tracy glowered at her.
“Ezra knew you were trouble, because you’d been in trouble years before.”
Tracy said nothing, her grip tightening on the revolver.
“It wasn’t only Andy who got caught for wrecking Ezra’s car. He had an accomplice. The person Andy tried to cover up for. The person who actually drove the car that night. The one who smashed it up.”
Tracy’s lips curled into a snarl. “How would you know?”
“I worked in the insurance business for years. I know how to get information on past driving offenses.”
Tracy still said nothing.
“You killed Peter Ashby, too, didn’t you?” Katie asked, playing for time. “You already had keys to Artisans Alley—you took them from Ezra the night you killed him.”
“Ashby saw me leave Artisans Alley the night Ezra died—he tried to blackmail me,” Tracy admitted. “We made a deal. I’d give him money for his silence. I was to pay him the first installment on Thursday.”
“What did you do, ask Ashby to Artisans Alley—lure him to his own booth, then push him over the balcony rail?” Katie asked.
“He put up quite a struggle,” Tracy admitted, amused, the gun still trained on them.
“You’re going to kill us anyway, why not tell us the real reason you killed Ezra,” Katie demanded.
Hatred twisted Tracy’s pretty face into a grimace. “That creepy old man came after my mother! He wanted her money to save Artisans Alley. He asked her to marry him! She wanted a companion—a replacement for Dad. She likes older men,” Tracy nearly spat. “She was actually going to give him the money. Money I earned. I turned that business around. It was my efforts on the Internet that finally turned a profit for Tea and Tasties. Mom had no right to promise Ezra my money, and I wasn’t about to let him have it.”
“So you killed him.” Not a question—a statement.
“I would’ve done anything to keep him away from my mother and our assets.”
“But Ezra wasn’t your first victim. It started with Ronnie, didn’t it?”
“If Ronnie hadn’t been preoccupied by our break-up, he wouldn’t have gotten killed by that falling limb. Just because I happened to be there doesn’t mean I was responsible. That old man ruined my life once. I wasn’t about to let him ruin it again.” Tracy waved the gun. “Put your hands up.”
Katie and Hilton obediently raised their hands.
“Ronnie’s ‘accident’ wasn’t pure happenstance, though, was it?” Katie asked.
Tracy raised an appraising eyebrow.
“Did Ezra suspect you had something to do with his son’s death? Did he accuse you of being responsible for what happened to Chad, too?”
Tracy said nothing.
“Did you kill my husband?” Katie tried again, louder.
“What is your appeal with men?” Tracy asked with a sneer. “All Chad would talk about was getting back with”—her voice dropped to a simper—“his dear sweet Katie.”
“You stole the painting that hangs in your office,” Katie cried. “Was that before or after you threw yourself at him?”
Tracy’s glare smoldered, but she didn’t bother to refute either statement.
“You weren’t interested in Chad anyway. You only wanted to make Andy jealous. You knew Chad was living at Artisans Alley. You made sure Andy saw you cross the parking lot to visit Chad.”
“What of it?”
“So why kill Chad? Because he didn’t fall for you?”
“Real men pay attention to me,” Tracy stated. “Chad wouldn’t. And he had to pay.”
“But why get rid of us?” Hilton asked, panicked.
Tracy moved farther into the living room, her back to the bookcase, forcing Katie and Hilton to step back.
“I don’t care about you,” Tracy grated. “But now Katie’s got what I want—and I won’t let her have it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Katie said, confused.
“Andy.”
“Are you crazy? I only met him a week ago.”
“He likes you. Since our divorce, he told me he’d sworn off women. But he likes you. I saw the two of you in the pizza joint the night Ashby died, laughing, making eyes at each other. I’ve seen the way Andy looks at you—lusting after you.”
Katie had to restrain herself from laughing. “I helped him make pizzas because he was shorthanded. That’s all.”
“Liar!” Tracy brought the gun up in line with Katie’s chest. “If I can’t have him, I’m certainly not going to let you have him. So I called Ezra’s nephew and told him I was with the McKinlay Mill Town Development Association. I got him all worked up about how you were responsible for holding up the hotel deal, convinced him you were going to blow it for the whole town, knowing he’d confront you. I even told him he should get you on your own to talk.”
Katie shot a look at Gerald. “There is no McKinlay Mill Development Association.”
He shrugged. “How was I to know that?”
“I couldn’t believe it when Hilton actually showed up in Artisans Alley’s parking lot. I sat in my car and waited, then followed him straight here to you. Now I’ll arrange for a fitting end—for both of you.”
“What kind of end?” Katie asked, fear turning to panic.
“Murder-suicide. Everyone knows you two have practically been at each other’s throats. Dear sweet Rose has been telling half the town about it for days. Mom told me Hilton owes Ezra’s estate money he can’t pay back. Yes, I’ll make it look like he killed you—then himself.”
“My wife will never believe it,” Hilton said.
“It doesn’t matter. That clod of a detective investigating Ezra’s death will believe anything.”
Katie’s fingers began to tingle from lack of circulation. Her gaze strayed to movement behind Tracy.
Tracy glanced over her shoulder, then back to Katie. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.” Katie’s gaze returned to the gun.
Then, in a flash of fur, Della jumped from her perch on the bookcase, landing with claws sinking into Tracy’s scalp.
Tracy screamed, arms flailing as she swatted at the cat.
The gun fired into the ceiling. A shower of plaster and lath rained down on all of them.
Katie grabbed Hilton’s sleeve. “Come on!”
Scrambling into the kitchen, Katie yanked open the door and barreled through it as feline and human screams echoed from the living room.
More gunshots reverberated through the frame house, but Katie was already out the door, tripping down the wooden steps.
Tracy’s Chrysler Sebring blocked the end of the driveway.
There were no houses in sight; only barren fields surrounded the property.
There was only one place to hide.
Katie sprinted for the barn, which was just a silhouette against the cloudy sky.
“Gerald!” she hollered, looking back. Hilton shambled behind her, his left hand clutching his sagging right shoulder.
Katie fumbled to open the barn door’s hasp. The deputies must’ve cut off Ashby’s lock.
Hilton caught up, breathing hard. “She—she shot me.”
Katie yanked open the door, pushing Hilton inside. “Find a place to hide.” She slammed the heavy wood door behind her, found the inside bolt—and threw it.
Oh, swell—now they were trapped, she realized.
Tracy could shoot through the wooden barn, but Katie was willing to bet she hadn’t brought much ammunition. At least, she hoped so.
“What do we ... do now?” Hilton puffed, leaning against the back wall. His face was shiny with sweat and pale in the wan light.
“I don’t know. I left my cell phone in my purse on the kitchen counter, along with my car keys. I don’t suppose you have a phone?”
Hilton shook his head. “I had to give it up—couldn’t afford it.”
“Katie!” Tracy yelled. “You’re only making it harder on yourself.”
Think! Katie’s brain demanded.
Sudden light shone in through the barn’s dirty window. Katie risked a look. Tracy had switched on Katie’s car’s headlights. Katie ducked back, afraid Tracy might see her and take a potshot.
“You can’t wait in there all night,” Tracy taunted.
“Oh, yes, we can,” Hilton hollered.
Frantic, Katie glanced around the dim barn. There had to be something she could use against Tracy, but what? A gun had a longer range than the spades, shovels, and other gardening tools that hung neatly on the walls. And Katie couldn’t lob old bricks, cans, and bottles out the window. Ashby’s graveyard statuary stood on tables and on the concrete floor. Dropping a smiling cherub on Tracy would be a satisfying but an unlikely way out of their situation.
“What are we going to do?” Hilton hissed, crouched next to a trough-like sink with a hose connected to its faucet. Underneath sat a bulky machine.
A glimmer of hope raced through Katie. She peeked out the window, looking for Tracy.
Tracy fired.
A window shattered.
Katie ducked the flying shards of glass, and dashed across the barn to the sink.
“Think about it, Tracy,” Katie yelled, connecting the end of the hose to the rectangular machine. “You kill us and there’ll be questions. Davenport isn’t as dumb as he looks—he’ll link you to us.”
“I’ll take that chance, bitch!”
“What are you doing?” Hilton grated, his face drawn, his fingers slick with blood.
“Trying to save our necks.” Katie fumbled to plug in the machine’s power cord into a wall socket. “Keep her talking.”
“Uh . . . I’m gonna sue you, young woman,” Hilton stammered. “For ... uh . . . grievous bodily harm.”
Katie rolled her eyes but continued to work. “Keep talking—we’ve got to lure her in here.”
“Are you crazy?” Hilton demanded. “She’ll kill us!”
Katie duckwalked across the floor to the barn door, pulled back the heavy bolt, pushing the door open a crack.
“Come on out, Katie,” Tracy called. “It’ll be easier if you do this my way.”
“You’ll have to drag us out,” Katie yelled, rushing back to the sink. She turned on the water. The hose grew rigid.
“I’ll burn you out!” Tracy threatened.
Hilton’s eyes widened in panic. “I told you!”
Katie uncoiled the hose. “She’s bluffing. She’d need an accelerant.”
“There’re three cars out there full of gasoline,” Hilton hissed. “All she’s got to do is park one of them against the barn and shoot the gas tank. And then—boom—we’re fried!”
Momentary panic ripped through Katie. Presumably Hilton’s keys were in his coat pocket, and Tracy wouldn’t sacrifice her Sebring and implicate herself. But what about Katie’s keys? She’d left them in the house.
“She’s bluffing,” Katie said again.
“Katie!” Tracy hollered.
“Go to hell!” Katie shouted, hitting the button, powering up the machine. A rumbling growl drowned out the heartbeat thumping in Katie’s ears.
An engine roared to life. The nearest car was her own—Tracy did have her keys!
Light and shadows shifted as the car rolled forward.
“She’s gonna crash through the wall!” Hilton yelled.
But the car didn’t crash. Instead the barn was doused in blackness.
Katie jumped to her feet, heading for the broken window, yanking the heavy box and hose behind her. Looking out, she saw that the car’s front bumper touched the barn.
Tracy opened the car door—stepped out, turned, and aimed her gun at the gas tank.
Katie broke another, lower pane, shoved the plastic-and-metal three-foot wand through the jagged opening, and pressed the trigger handle. Her hands jerked as a geyser of water exploded from the pressure washer, the force knocking Tracy flat on the ground.
“Gerald! Get out there, get the gun away from her!”
“I can’t—my arm is numb!” he cried.
“Then get over here and keep her pinned on the ground!”
Hilton struggled to his feet, staggered as he made his way across the dark barn.
“Lean against the wall for support,” Katie ordered, thrusting the power washer’s handle into his sticky hand, folding his trembling fingers around it. “Don’t faint on me!”
Hilton nodded, swaying, his breaths quick and shallow.
Katie dashed for the barn door, threw it open, and ran across the rain-slick grass toward Tracy. She dived for the gun still clutched in Tracy’s outstretched hand. Hilton caught her with a jet of freezing water, knocking her down, leaving her gasping for breath.
A car pulled up at the end of the drive, stopping behind the Sebring.
“Hey!” a male voice called.
Tracy staggered to her knees. The water caught her in the back, slamming her facedown into the muddy ground once again.
Katie threw herself on Tracy, grappling for the gun. They rolled over and over, needles of icy water drilling into them.
“Hey, stop!” yelled the familiar voice.
The torrents of water suddenly ceased, and a sneakered foot clamped down on Tracy’s outstretched hand.
Frigid, muddy water dribbled down Katie’s chin as she looked up into Andy Rust’s face. He smiled. “I thought you might need my help,” he said. “But it looks like I was wrong.”
Twenty-four
“And you just showed up?” Detective Davenport asked, incredulous. Why did he look so disappointed?
Andy nodded, folding his arms across his beefy chest. “I saw Hilton pull out of the Victoria Square parking lot right after Katie. He turned right just like she did. Then I saw Tracy head out after them. It didn’t feel right, but I kept working. Then the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me. I was married to Tracy for three years. I know how nasty she can be.”
Still huddled under a scratchy wool blanket she’d found in Ezra’s linen closet, Katie squinted up at Andy, grateful he’d been concerned for her welfare.
“I knew Katie had gone to feed Ezra’s cat,” Andy continued, “and it didn’t feel right when those two followed her. So, I left one of the boys in charge of my shop and jumped in my car to see if I could catch up with them.”
“How far behind were you?” Davenport asked.
“Five—maybe ten minutes,” he said.
“And what did you find?”
Andy grinned, glancing over at Katie. “That Mrs. Bonner is quite capable of taking care of herself.”
It had taken almost an hour for Davenport to show up at the scene, but Deputy Schuler had gotten things well in hand. He’d shown up before the ambulance arrived, taking custody of Tracy. Suffering from blood loss, Hilton had been taken to the nearest hospital in Rochester, although the paramedics didn’t seem to think he was in any immediate danger.
Davenport glared at Tracy. “What’s your side of the story?”
Huddled under a matching wool blanket, Tracy glowered at the Detective. “I’m not saying a word until I have a lawyer present.”
Davenport nodded at Tracy. “Get her out of here.”
Deputy Schuler stepped forward and pulled a hand-cuffed Tracy to her feet. “Come on. There’s a nice warm cell, complete with dry clothes, just waiting for you in the Monroe County lockup.” He pushed Tracy toward the kitchen, where two uniformed
deputies waited to escort her to the Sheriff’s Office cruiser parked in the front yard.
Once they were out of earshot, Davenport spoke again. “It looks like Mrs. Nash was right about Ashby. I made inquiries yesterday, and just this afternoon got a report from the Cleveland PD. Seems Mr. Ashby was wanted for desecrating cemeteries in more than one county in Ohio, and he had a string of aliases as long as his arm, only he wasn’t very clever. He was also called Ashly, Ashland, Ashburger—and probably a lot more. It won’t be hard backtracking his movements.”
“Surely he couldn’t have made a living just selling copies of his cemetery art,” Katie said.
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Davenport continued. “He had a website advertising his wares. We’ll be talking to PayPal to find out just how many sales he’s made in the last year or so, and we’ll be impounding everything in the barn out back.”
“You’re welcome to it,” Katie said, and shivered. She studied the detective’s face. She’d originally thought the dull look in his eyes came from disinterest in his work, but now she could see it was something that had been reflected in her own eyes after Chad’s death: loss. She wanted to say something, to apologize, to offer her condolences, but thought better of it. He might not be happy that Deputy Schuler had even mentioned his wife’s death. So instead she said, “I’m cold.” Her damp clothes were still plastered against her like a clammy second skin. The only part of her that wasn’t frozen was where the purring cat sat curled on her lap. Katie scratched the fur around Della’s ears. The little tabby seemed none the worse for wear after her tussle with Tracy. “Can we go home now?”
“We?” Davenport asked, looking at Andy with a jaundiced eye.
“Della and me. She saved our lives when she jumped from her perch on the bookshelves and onto Tracy,” Katie said. Della purred even louder at the praise.
“I suppose I’ve got everything I need for now,” Davenport said. “But you and Mr. Rust will both need to sign statements in the morning,”
“I’d be glad to,” Andy said, and winked at Katie.
Katie put Della on the floor and stood, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders.
“What do you think Ashby used the power washer for?” Andy asked.
A Crafty Killing Page 25