“He won’t understand, Sara. He’ll be scared if you shoot that gun. He hasn’t had any training under fire. We don’t need him here, so why don’t you let me call Jasmine? She’s just down the hall and can take him for a walk.” I forced a smile. “He probably has to pee by now.”
She laughed easily. “Is that why you’re here, to rescue Sherlock? You shouldn’t have bothered. He’s my dog now, and he goes where I say.”
“God, Sara,” I said sadly, “don’t be so selfish. I fed him a bottle by hand four times a day for over two weeks. Don’t you think I want him to live? You have twelve hostages sitting in the right rear of this classroom, your husband and his teaching assistant up front, sitting on the floor and facing the wall. No one knows why you’re doing this.”
I gave the head count and their positions for Hank, who hopefully was hearing every word.
“I came here tonight to celebrate the end of my honeymoon. It’s supposed to last a year, but mine didn’t quite make it, did it, darling?”
I swear her voice sounded normal, just like casual conversation among friends. I felt chill bumps lightly scamper up my arms. This lady I didn’t know. I had no idea what this one was capable of. She was too quiet and composed.
Leon turned his head to his left and licked his lips.
“Sara, honey, you have to believe me. I’m not having an affair. I swear to you, I don’t care what Myra told you, it’s not true. Please, please listen. I love you.”
“Leon, dear, if you turn your head and speak one more time, I will make you eat this shotgun barrel. Didn’t I make this perfectly clear?”
Leon had sounded sincere to me, but I guess if I were in his shoes, I’d be striving for an Oscar performance also.
Leon turned, facing the wall, and I heard muted sobbing. I wondered if he was telling the truth and all the accusations were false. That would be a fine kettle of fish. I stole a glance at Norma Jean Tramore, who was sitting on the floor, to his right. Her eyes were closed and she looked frozen with shock. She wouldn’t be any help in this and I just prayed that she would remain as still as she was and not freak out.
“So,” I said, casually, “this is about something that someone named Myra told you? Is this Myra reliable? I don’t know about you, but I believed Leon, myself. He seems to love you very much.”
Now I could only pray that both of them would deny everything until we could get the shotgun out of her hands.
“Jo Beth, don’t tell me that you haven’t heard about Leon and Norma Jean and also about the baby.”
Something changed in her voice when she said the word “baby.” My heart beat a little faster and I sensed that this meeting was not going to end well.
Since Sara hadn’t moved the shotgun that rested across her legs, I glanced back at the hostages. I saw two men who could pose an immediate problem. They were gripping the small desks and eyeing each other.
I decided I better get the message to them loud and clear.
“No one in this room should move an inch,” I stressed, “until this dispute has been resolved. No, Sara, in answer to your question, I haven’t heard a word of gossip about you or your husband, Leon. What’s this about a baby? Surely you can’t believe this nonsense! Norma Jean’s husband has been dead less than six months. Who is this Myra, anyway?”
“She’s my best friend, Jo Beth. Myra Steelman? You know her and her husband, Norman. She said everyone in town knew but me and that she couldn’t keep it a secret any longer, that I had to be told.”
“Then why isn’t she here by your side, helping you correct the matter?”
I bit my lip. I sounded too confrontational. The last thing I wanted to do was to get her moving toward a quick solution.
“I didn’t tell her what I was going to do. It didn’t cross my mind to invite her to come with me.”
It may have been my imagination but she sounded just a tiny bit hesitant. I had to jump in with both feet.
“Well, deep down, I bet you don’t feel she’s your best friend, or you would have,” I asserted. I didn’t know where this was going; I was winging it. I had passed the hostage-negotiation seminar rooms when I was walking down the hallways of the GBI academy on the way to the dog-handler seminar rooms. I was now wishing I had sat in on a couple or three.
“Let’s let the hostages decide,” I offered suddenly. “You wanted an audience to hear your accusations or you would have let them leave. How about it, do you want me to poll them for their answers? Let’s see who they believe, your husband or your best friend. I bet they haven’t heard any rumors about you and Leon either!”
I couldn’t have made it any clearer. I didn’t want anyone to admit that they had heard anything. Sara, still slouched, swung her chair around and seemed to notice them for the first time.
“No,” she said softly, “I don’t think so.”
“Why not? They’ve heard everything that has been said in here.”
“I don’t want to hear them speak. I may have to shoot them later.”
“Shoot them?” I choked out.
“Lady, I need—”
One of the two I was worried about had half-risen out of his chair and begun talking. Sara had pivoted in her chair and clasped the gun to her chest. I stared at her trigger finger with morbid fascination. He shut up when she started moving and eased back into his seat. I was a good twelve feet away and still saw the sweat pop out on his forehead. She finally lowered the gun back into her lap.
“Can I let Jasmine take Sherlock for a walk? She’ll bring him right back.”
Sara looked at her dog. “Wanna go out?”
I hoped that if I could get her to release someone, I would have a chance to get some others out. I started with Sherlock because I thought he would be the easiest.
Sherlock popped up like toast and started what I call the wiggle dance, twisting his body in anticipation
I was hovering over him, releasing his leash from the chair, before I realized I had moved. I rubbed his silken ears.
“I’ll just walk him to the door.”
It was hard to turn my back on her. At the doorway, I opened it only wide enough for Sherlock to pass through and handed the lead to the right. It was grabbed forcibly from my fingers and I saw Hank in a blur, reaching for my wrist. I jerked backward and quickly slammed the door and turned the lock.
When I turned to face Sara, I saw her smile.
“You love Sherlock, don’t you?”
She sounded so normal that my heart soared.
“You bet.” I grinned back at her. “Now let’s do this right. As of now, I’m your best friend through thick or thin. We’re gonna get rid of the bunch of onlookers in the back. Sara, these people are not interested in your dilemma. They’re frightened and want to go home and eat supper. We just need the four of us here to get to the bottom of these rumors that your so-called friend Myra told you.”
She seemed to be listening, but hadn’t indicated whether my plan met with her approval or whether she might start pulling the trigger.
“Everyone stand up slowly and form a line, children first. Don’t speak and don’t run.”
I raised my arms like I was gathering a choir to its feet. The group rose dutifully and a boy about sixteen
started forward. One of the men I had had my eye on previously reached out and drew the kid to his side. They both started forward.
I wished to God that I knew the position of Sara’s shotgun at that moment. I was afraid to look at her; it might make her do something foolish. Believe me, if I’d had a gun at that moment I would have been tempted to pull the trigger myself, on either an over-protective papa or a craven man who wanted out of here as quickly as possible—take your pick.
I felt I had to gain control quickly.
“Step to the end of the line, mister. I said children first.”
“I’m going with him,” he blustered.
We all heard a deadly sound. It beats all to hell and back the sound of a rattler singing in
your ear. It was the quick ratchet of the shotgun as Sara primed the pump.
My heart stopped and I turned to face her. With twelve feet between us, she could cut down half of us with the first discharge. It didn’t matter if it was bird shot or double-aught buckshot. The pattern wouldn’t have time to spread in so short a distance.
“Do what Jo Beth said,” Sara stated calmly. The gun was up to her right shoulder. “Move to the rear of the line.”
The man stumbled backward, trying to put other bodies in her line of fire. I saw two more kids coming forward and beginning to form a line. I walked to the first boy and started the slow march to the door. I didn’t look back.
Unlocking and cracking the door a few inches, I stood directly behind it and used my right hand to locate a shoulder and guide it through the small opening. I concentrated on counting as they disappeared from my vision. I knew hands were pulling them to safety but I didn’t know whose.
I had hold of the seventh shoulder when I heard an irate whisper in my right ear.
“You saved the damn hound before you did us!”
I turned and looked into the drawn features of Estelle Cully, who just this morning had booted me out of her boutique. Just this morning? It now seemed eons ago.
“Hurry up before I change my mind,” I said through gritted teeth as I put my hand in the small of her back and pushed. I received satisfaction from her surprised yelp as she was almost pulled off her feet by unseen hands.
When the twelfth person was out and I was bringing my arm inside to secure the lock, the door was bumped and I flung out a hand to steady myself. I was grabbed and went sailing out in the hall like I was on greased skids. I sprawled on my hands and knees before more hands pulled me erect and started hustling me around the corner.
“Let me go. I can get them out of there. Turn me loose!”
I was struggling with whoever was holding me. Since I could see Hank in front of me, I appealed to him.
“Let me go back. Please, Hank. I can talk her out, I know I can.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t get anyone killed. I should be arresting you for obstruction. If you don’t shut up and behave, that is exactly what will happen.”
Agent Fray of GIB was holding me in an iron grip. I looked back at him and glared.
“Take your hands off me now,you son of a bitch!”
Both arms were released. I saw that Lieutenant J.C. Sirmans was the other culprit. He gave me an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.”
I ignored both of them, and again appealed to Hank.
“Please, Hank?”
“Can’t do it, Jo Beth. It’s Fray’s case now. She still has two hostages in there. Thanks for getting all the others out. They owe you their lives, every one of them.”
“I don’t even know who half of them were,” I replied plaintively. “I wasn’t watching their faces. I just wanted them all out.”
I turned to Fray. “You better pray that all three walk out of there, because if even one gets hurt, I’ll make you pay, Fray. That’s a promise.”
“That’s a lot of crap,” he said. “You don’t know if you could’ve—”
The blast seemed to roll down the hall, gathering momentum in its path and blowing past us. Hank’s eyes met mine in consternation, and we stood, breathless, staring at each other in shock. The second explosion seemed muted because our ears were still ringing and deadened from the first. We hadn’t moved when the final sound we were dreading pounded against our senses.
6
“Looking for Someone to Blame”
August 24, Saturday, 8:30 A.M.
Balsa City mourned the death of three of its citizens. The paper had banner headlines and lots of editorials and sidebars about their senseless deaths. Fred Stoker, the editor of the Dunston County Daily Times,must have worked all night. One story speculated that Sara was of unsound mind when she killed her husband, his assistant, and herself.
That wasn’t such a hot bit of news. Everyone who kills has to be temporarily out of his or her mind to commit such an act. Fred was treading lightly over the grimmer aspects, such as why she blew them and herself away. He has a philosophy of protecting the surviving family members from unnecessary grief.
I called. I knew that even if he hadn’t had a wink of sleep all night, he would still be manning the phone. The paper and its readers are his life.
“Hi, Fred, it’s Jo Beth. You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?”
“Twenty years ago I wouldn’t have blinked over losing a whole night’s sleep. At sixty-six, it will take me three days to recover. I plan to nap by the phone all day. I would have called you earlier, but I was afraid that you might be sleeping late this morning.”
“Fred, I’m mad at that pig from GIB. I guess you’ve heard the story by now.”
“I heard it last night almost as it was happening. Aggie was on the cell phone and I was typing her copy directly into Bessie.”
“Bessie?”
“Had a milk cow named Bessie that I had to milk twice a day, back when I was a callow youth. She was ornery, prone to having sensitive teats, and tried to kick my backside over the stall on many occasions. My computer reminds me of her, hence the name.”
“I’m surprised that you admit to having difficulties operating one. I thought I was the only klutz in town.”
“Jo Beth, everyone who has ever fingered a computer keyboard has had difficulty with them. The ones who won’t admit it are lying. It’s like the new owner of a sports car who goes back to the dealer complaining that he isn’t getting the fabulous savings on his gas mileage that other owners are achieving. The dealer tells him to do like the successful owners do. When he asks what, the dealer says, ‘Lie.’”
“Yeah, sounds about right,” I replied. “What are we gonna do about Fray? He is the biggest screwup I’ve had the misfortune to meet. We’re gonna have to do something that will get him transferred.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have a Siberia that we could have him exiled to. We both love this area, but Waycross is about the end of the line. You can’t send him to a smaller station, or a less significant one. He’s here already.”
“Then we’ll have to get him fired. He has to go.”
“I think that he would be hard to con. He has no imagination. A man who doesn’t dream doesn’t fall easily for a bag of tricks.”
“Give me an example.”
“Well, I wasn’t thinking on it, but the old standby comes to mind.”
“Which is?” I prompted.
“We find out when Fray is going to spend a night in one of our motels. We take our town drunk, Fred, get him tanked and drive him by the hospital so a nurse can shave every hair from his body, then drop him in Fray’s bed, naked as a jaybird.
“We’d have to slip a Mickey in Fray’s coffee—I understand he doesn’t drink—and tuck Fred in bed with Fray. Leave two empty scotch bottles, apply lipstick on the appropriate areas, and remove all clothing from the room.
“Then we hand Aggie her camera and a tip that a wanted felon is in the room. She can convince two of Balsa City’s finest to break in without a search warrant. Voilà! Agent Fray doesn’t work here anymore.”
“God, Fred, I had no idea you were so devious; it’s perfect! My only objection would be treating our resident drunk, Fred, that way. I like him.”
“So do I. Fred would volunteer for the duty if you explained. Fray ran into him last summer and got him thirty days in the city lockup, where the average temperature in the cells is a hundred and ten degrees at three P.M. I try to watch over Fred. He’s my namesake.”
“He’s named after you?”
“Yep. Fred’s mother was so happy that I wrote a story about her winning the Bible in Sunday school and spelled her name correctly, she named her firstborn son Fred. He looks much older but must be around thirty-seven now.”
“What was his mother’s name?”
“Calladittywah.”
“I’ll take your word for it. What h
appened after Jasmine, Susan, and J.C. wrestled me out of there last night?”
“I was told Fray was very unhappy with you kicking him on his shins. Seems you got him twice, before the others got you away from him. He was threatening to have you arrested for a while, but Hank finally got him calmed down. Hank had to write up the reports, and Fray just copied the highlights into his. I hope I’m still around when Hank gets enough of him.”
“Fray will never get to Hank, he’s too professional. Had you heard the rumors about Leon and Norma Jean and that she was pregnant?”
“Between Aggie and me, we know everything that goes on in this town. I had an interesting phone call this morning from someone who hadn’t heard the rumor until last night. It was Norma Jean’s younger sister, May Ann. Do you know her?”
“Yes, she married a guy from Mercer.”
“May Ann was almost hysterical with grief, and when she heard the rumor about her sister being pregnant, she said she had to tell everyone that it was a lie. Poor thing, she wanted me to run a story in the newspaper that said it wasn’t true. I had to tell her I couldn’t do it, and she was ready to spit in my eye.”
“How could she be so sure that Norma Jean wasn’t pregnant?”
“Because last Thursday Norma Jean called her and asked her if she could come over and take care of her because she was having a bad day with the vapors.”
“Vapors?” I didn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Jo Beth, I’m mod. I’m hip. I’m cool. I’m also a Southern gentleman who still finds it awkward discussing ladies’ bodily functions with a woman half my age.”
“Menstrual cramps?”
“Correct. May Ann put her to bed, produced pillows, made hot cups of tea, kept the hot-water bottles full of hot water, and made her as comfortable as possible. She said she hated to leave her, but that Norma Jean sent her home in time for her to cook her husband’s supper.”
“So Norma Jean wasn’t pregnant,” I repeated dully.
“That’s my assumption.”
“If she wasn’t pregnant, maybe she wasn’t having an affair with Leon. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?”
A Bloodhound to Die for Page 4