by G G Collins
Thunder rumbled in the distance. A shudder ran down her back as she flipped on the light to the basement stairs. The supply room was the last room downstairs. She passed Jim’s office and then Donald’s. His door was closed, but there was a light on in his office. Not the overhead, but perhaps a lamp. He must be gone, there wasn’t a sound. Not even a clicking keyboard.
The room was well stocked: paper, art supplies, book catalogs, art work, ads and promotional materials were everywhere. The office supplies were on the right, behind the door. Jim’s paint-spattered overalls hung on the back of the door. The package of sticky notes was on a shelf near the floor. Taylor pulled one pant leg out of the way so she could reach an orange pad.
Odd thing, there was a brown paint smear on the leg. It was different from the other paint stains which were actually small flecks of color. The legs were clean except for this one long smudge. The color seemed familiar. It was the color of the building. Someone had gotten too close to the wet paint. How did they get it on the inside? If one had bumped against the wall the stain would have been on the outside of the trousers.
“Looking for something?”
Taylor nearly hit her head on a shelf when she jumped. Donald was standing in the doorway.
“You scared me half to death,” Taylor said and covered her chest with her hand to steady an out of control heart.
“Oh sorry.” It didn’t seem sincere. She thought for a moment he had actually tried to scare her.
“I’ve got some reports to work on, tax season is coming,” he said. “Would you care for a drink? Tea, coffee, soft drink? Our fridge is well-stocked. I was about to put on the kettle for tea myself.”
“Thank you, but I don’t care for anything right now. I came down for some sticky notes and now that I’ve got them I’ll go back to my office. I’ve got a blueline that needs to go out tonight.”
“You looked very interested in the overalls. Why?”
There was something about Donald that made her uncomfortable. Taylor thought perhaps all accountants were that way. A world full of numbers didn’t hold many people. Maybe he had trouble socializing and chose a profession that kept him away from other people. She decided to keep the paint on the overalls to herself until she could figure out why it bothered her.
“No. They were just in my way,” she said. “This room’s so crowded; it’s hard to find what I need.” She made to leave, but he seemed to be blocking her exit.
“Excuse me, Donald, but I do need to get back to work.”
“I really must insist that you have that drink with me.” His tone of voice had changed and it was harsh.
“Insist? I don’t understand.”
“Is it clear now?” Donald pulled a small gun from his jacket pocket.
“Donald, for heaven’s sake, is that a gun? Are you trying to frighten me?”
“Yes, on both counts.” His voice was dead serious.
Taylor knew what she was seeing, but was having a hard time believing it. A gun pointed at her was out of context in her life experience. It didn’t make sense.
“This way,” Donald said with a wave of his gun. “To my office.”
Taylor froze. All she could do was look at the gun.
“Please don’t make me ask you again.”
“Fine, I’ll have a drink with you,” she said flippantly, and marched to his office. For one moment she played with the idea of running up the stairs, but if he really meant to shoot her she wouldn’t have a chance. Better to play this out until Jim came back. She hoped he wouldn’t be long.
“Sit.”
Taylor did so, on the chair nearest the door. Donald returned the gun to his pocket. She watched in fascination as Donald placed his kettle on a hot plate and warmed the water.
“Please keep in mind Taylor, you can’t get away.” He patted the pocket.
Donald took two cups from his desk. How ironic that both cups had a happy face on the side. In each he dropped a tea bag. They were not the kind you buy in a grocery store, but the type you buy and fill yourself.
It bothered her that it had taken this long to realize Donald was the killer. And he was preparing to kill her too. It was so matter of fact, the way it came to her mind. Once she had been in a car accident. When she understood the car was about to hit her there was only one thought; it’s going to hit. Funny how complicated life is until you’re in danger; then it’s all so simple.
She thought what to do. Jim would be back at any moment. All she had to do was stall.
“How did you get the paint on Jim’s overalls?”
He raised his eyebrows and studied her. She would not look away from his eyes. His usually soft, meekly veiled eyes had a dark and steely gaze now.
“I used them to climb in the window,” he said.
“What window?”
“Endicott’s window,” Donald said. “I had to leave it open because his office door needed to remain locked; and to retrieve the envelopes.”
“But why? The poison was on Jessica’s return envelope.”
“I applied the poison to all the envelopes, just to make certain he licked at least one of them. But in order to implicate Jessica I wanted the other envelopes out of his office. When I climbed up the painter’s ladder the second time, there was fresh paint on the wall.”
“You also killed Dominique?”
The water was boiling and Taylor watched him fill the cups. Steam rose from each as the basement was cool.
“That witch and her locked-room murder mystery,” Donald said. “I had to slow down the publication of her latest rag.”
He stirred each cup in turn.
“But she didn’t know anything. I read her manuscript. It wasn’t about Preston’s mur . . . murder.” Taylor didn’t know how much longer she could go on talking. It was all she could do to control her terror and have a polite conversation with a madman.
“I couldn’t take a chance you see. She had to go.”
“Why kill Preston in the first place? I don’t understand any of this.”
“Don’t you? You visited my mother. Yes, I knew you were there snooping. You saw the family photos. I don’t look like the rest of my family. My looks came from my father; old man Endicott.”
“Preston Endicott was your father? But that means . . .”
“That junior was my half-brother. You see, I knew you’d figure it out.”
“But why him?
“Because the money dear old Dad left us when he died was gone; eaten up with Mother’s maladies. I can’t even live on my own. The money always goes to medicine and hospital stays. With him gone, I could step in and claim the estate.”
“But Preston hadn’t taken Jessica out of his will, and she inherited most of the personal estate and the business,” Taylor said.
“She ruined everything. I tried to get her too.” He folded his hands on the desk. “Paid her a little visit. Poor thing was sick. I watched her leave the kitchen. She left the door unlocked. I turned on the burners. Thought that would take care of her.
“You just had to go running over there breaking out windows. Yes, I was watching. If you’d minded your own business, she’d have died in a house fire and I wouldn’t have another loose end.”
“Donald, no. The killing has to stop.”
“You’re nosy, do you know that? Messing in other people’s business, like you’re Miss Marple. You’ve read way too many of those mysteries. The heroine usually finds the bad guy and survives to tell about it, right?”
“Right,” Taylor said dreading what he might say next.
Where was Jim? How long had it been? It seemed like hours, but she thought probably only thirty minutes. But that was more than enough time get his car.
“I tried to scare you, but you don’t learn.”
“You shot out my window?” Taylor felt he was winding down and she didn’t want to face the end of his agenda.
“Enough talk,” Donald said. “I think I’ve answered all your questions. Now, drink th
is. Yours has a special ingredient. You’ll notice a slight bitter taste, but I’ve added sugar. It should be palatable.”
“How are you going to explain my death?” Taylor nearly choked on the words.
“Another horrible tragedy in the case. Everyone knew the detective warned you to be careful. As usual, you weren’t. Here you are again; alone. Where’s your bodyguard?”
“If you’re talking about Jim, he is on his way right now.” She fervently hoped that was the truth.
“My dear Taylor, surely you don’t expect me to believe that?”
Yes, she really hoped he would. She didn’t think she could carry on this horrible dialogue much longer. Jim, she willed her mind to reach him. Please get here in time.
Chapter 24
Jim wanted to get his car before the storm broke. The deep blue clouds obscured the peaks and spread toward the city. He watched the cotton candy cloud towers turn dark grey. The churning mass was almost black and downpours could be seen against the Jemez range.
Traffic was heavy on Cerrillos which wasn’t news. The cab was making little progress. Cerrillos Road was the first exit off of Interstate 25 from Albuquerque and had become Santa Fe’s motel row. It was a driver’s nightmare, full of signs, motels, businesses, intersections, driveways and enough traffic to challenge even a big city driver.
Jim thought the light at Cordova Road would never change in their favor. It was an intersection to be especially careful in because the New Mexico School for the Deaf was nearby.
Once past the Fairview Cemetery, evening commuters mixed with arriving tourists in a car jam of colossal proportions. Sporadic horns blasted when tempers flared as the bumper-to-bumper creep continued. By the time the cab inched its way past the Indian School, the congestion on St. Michael’s Drive had eased.
“Ever been to Greer Garson Theatre?” The cabby asked from the rear view mirror, mistaking Jim for a visitor. He was relaxing with his right arm stretched out across the seat back.
“Many times,” Jim said.
“That Greer Garson,” the taxi driver continued completely ignoring Jim’s reply. “She was some dame. Saw all her movies. Mrs. Miniver, 1942, was some flick. She got the Oscar for that one.”
Jim groaned. Terrific: a trivia expert. He wasn’t around in 1942, hadn’t seen the movie and didn’t want to. But mostly, he didn’t want to talk with this man. He wanted to get his Jeep, yesterday already, but certainly before the rain made it even more difficult to drive. As if to remind him, thunder assaulted his eardrums once again.
“That was close!” the cabby said.
“Can you go any faster?” Jim asked.
“Not and stay within the law.”
Since when did speed limits bother cab drivers? Jim tried to sit back and relax, but something besides the delay was bothering him. He wished Taylor had come along with him. He should have known better than to think he could run this errand within thirty minutes at this time of day.
“This the right place?” the driver asked.
“This is it!” Jim shoved some money at him and bounded from the cab.
“Car’s ‘bout ready,” a mechanic in a blue jumpsuit told Jim, wiping his hands on a rag.
“I’m in a hurry. Will it be long?”
“Nah. Few minutes.”
Why had they called and said it was ready if it wasn’t?
Why hadn’t he insisted Taylor come along? He didn’t like Sanchez. Okay, he was a bit jealous of him because of Taylor’s apparent infatuation. But he had Taylor’s best interest at heart when he asked her to stay with someone at all times.
The clouds had moved in overhead and he was certain he could not get back before it opened up. Thunder rumbled close by and one jagged lighting strike cracked open the clouds.
Jim dialed Taylor’s phone to let her know he was delayed. It went to voice mail. He left a message, followed it with a text. Why wasn’t she answering?
“Kid’s bringing it around now,” the mechanic yelled. “You gonna pay for this today?”
Jim stood at the counter while the statement was completed by the mechanic, totaled by the bookkeeper, entered into a computer, printed and finally placed in front of him. He scrawled his name on the credit card receipt and hurried to the 4-wheel.
“Oh no!” He slapped the seat in frustration. “I’ll never get left in this traffic.”
He couldn’t explain his feeling of apprehension. Not one to put much stock in things like intuition, he didn’t like the anxiety that kept nudging him.
With tires screeching, he turned right and made a dangerous lane change, bumped over the median, followed by an illegal U-turn. He heard a couple of angry horns from drivers he narrowly missed. In a minute, they’d be mad at someone else.
The storm broke with hail and driving rain as he pulled back into the sea of cars on Cerrillos. The quarter-size hail was soft as a snow cone and splattered on his windshield. But hail was the least of his problems. The rain was a torrent and he could barely see even with the wipers working feverishly. He slowed the Jeep to a crawl and inched behind the car in front of him. Before he could get through the intersection the light turned red.
“What else?” Jim, not known for his patience under normal circumstances, was beginning to lose control of his thoughts. It must be the storm, he’d never liked them. When the light went green the cars leading the pack drove like it was a sunny, dry day across flooded streets, splashing water over the curb. When traffic again stopped, he was the second car in line.
“Not again.”
Jim was tempted to buck over another curb just to keep moving, but resisted the impulse.
He pulled out his cell phone, placed it on the passenger seat and called Taylor on speaker. It was against the law in Santa Fe to use a cell phone while driving and he didn’t want to add a police stop to his list of frustrations.
The only answer was her voice mail.
“Taylor. It’s Jim. Call me. Hung up in traffic.”
The cars thinned out as he reached downtown. Most folks were going the other way. He bypassed the office parking lot and opted for the sidewalk in front of the building. No one was likely to ticket him. They’d have to get wet to do it. Jim held his jacket over his head as he ran up the steps. There he shivered under the portal while he searched for his key card. When he reached for the door, it opened at his touch. The pit in his stomach seemed to swallow him whole. He’d checked the door twice before he left. It had been locked.
Inside, the office was dark with the exception of the light that always burned on Candi’s desk. A soft glow penetrated the gloom of the basement stairwell. Why was a light on down there? He’d turned them off earlier.
Stepping softly, Jim descended, straining to hear any sounds. He recognized Taylor’s voice first.
“Jim will be here any moment.”
Something about her voice made him hesitate to call out to her.
* * *
“Is that lily of the valley in the tea?” Taylor stood and pointed at the cup he pushed toward her.
“It is. Have some,” Donald said with a slight smile.
“Where did you get it? I didn’t see any growing at your house.”
“I harvested some I found in the neighborhood, dried and hid it. I’m good at hiding things. No one suspects a dull, boring accountant of anything.”
She considered distracting him so she could switch the cups. They both looked alike with their smiling faces. She took a step forward as if to take the proffered cup, tripped over her own feet and dropped the note pads. Several went tumbling toward Donald. Instinctively he reached to retrieve them, caught himself and stopped.
“Nice try,” he said. Donald watched her intently. She’d blown her only opportunity.
Jim watched from the dark shadows of the stairwell. The hall light was on and Donald’s desk lamp was lit. He assumed Donald was in his office with Taylor, but he could see only her back. She dropped something and picked it up. Something was off. He waited.
<
br /> Taylor wished she dared to scream. She was convinced he would shoot the moment she opened her mouth. No one would hear her anyway. They would have to be right outside the window to pick up a scream in this storm. Even if someone was outside they’d be in a big hurry to get out of the rain. No, it would have to be real loud, like Jessica’s deafening alarm.
Instead she said, “For a guy clever enough to plan a locked-room murder, this tea party is quite clumsy.”
“My methods are none of your concern,” Donald said with steel in his voice. “Drink it or I will shoot you and be done with this.”
If only the security system was set she could move back a few steps and cross the eye of the motion detector. The alarm would make a racket that would bring the police. She’d thought it silly when Jessica installed a separate system in the basement, but she would have given a lot at that moment to have it blasting. But it wasn’t set, and the keypad was at the base of the steps. She glanced in the direction of the stairwell and noticed someone standing there in the shadows.
It was Jim!
She felt relief spread over her, but he continued to stand there. Why didn’t he save her or at least call the police? He wasn’t yet aware of the jeopardy she was facing.
Taylor stretched her arms behind her and pointed one index finger in the direction of the motion detector placed high on the wall.
Jim watched as Taylor backed up a couple of steps and seemed to point at something near the ceiling. The passageway through the basement was lined with his and Donald’s office on one side and several metal storage cabinets, a table and old stacked files. A couple of nondescript pictures hung from the wall.
“Taylor,” Donald said. “I’m waiting. There is no way out. Drink it.” He pushed the cup across the table.
In a last desperate move she did the hand trick again, and then punched her finger against her back with the hope it looked like someone coding a keypad. She glanced at Jim.
“Donald, I don’t want to drink the poison.” She said it loud and clear. Jim had to hear her.
“Oh lordy,” Jim muttered. His gut instinct had been right. Taylor was in trouble. But what was the pointing about? He looked at the wall on his left again, but this time scanned all the way to the ceiling. The only thing above the cabinets was the motion detector.