Keely retreated another step and glanced over her shoulder. No place to go but into the water. She envisioned playing hide-and-seek under the pier with Damien standing over her and promptly dismissed that idea. She was a good swimmer, but not in the class of outdistancing a bullet.
When Damien gestured impatiently for her to join him, Keely protested, “You can’t force me to shoot a man!”
The goon laughed a thuggish laugh. “Sure he can. You hold the gun, he holds your hand and squeezes. Bang! We’ve got ourselves a dead rat.”
If she was going to die, it would be without blood on her hands. Keely shook her head. “No, I’d rather you killed me first.”
Damien turned the gun, which to Keely’s feverish eyes had enlarged to a mortar-sized weapon, from Jackson to Keely’s chest. “That can be arranged.”
His fists bruised from beating on the trunk lid, his throat raw from hollering, Max paused to rest. He was just about to resume his assault when he heard a faint whistle. The sound grew louder as the whistler approached the car.
Max opened his mouth to shout for help, but remembered the blow from behind just in time. Although he wasn’t a betting man, Max was willing to stake his life that Damien had brought along Thing One and Thing Two to keep from getting his own hands dirty.
The whistler approached, his shoes crunching on the pavement, a man on a mission. Jackson, Damien, or one of his goons.
Max crouched, gathering himself for a leap. Come on, buddy, open the trunk. Come on, creep. You whistle like you enjoy your work and I want to change your attitude.
A rattle of keys answered Max’s unspoken plea. The trunk lid abruptly rose with a hiss, letting in fresh night air and releasing Max, who shot out like a jack-in-the-box, his clenched fists colliding with his deliverer’s face.
The man fell backwards with a grunt of surprise, his hands clutching at Max’s throat. They fell together in an awkward embrace.
Luckily for Max, he was on top when they hit the concrete. The other man was not so fortunate, his head connecting with the unyielding surface with the dull thonk of ripe cantaloupe.
The grasping hands went limp and Max found himself sprawled atop of one of the toughs who’d played ring toss with the tires. The man lay motionless, his harsh breathing the only indication that he still lived.
Dizzy, Max levered himself up, discovering in the process of disentangling himself that the goon carried a gun concealed in a shoulder holster.
Max gingerly drew out the weapon and hefted it. He needed the gun, for bluff purposes if nothing else. Max had fired a gun for the first and last time when he shot Cousin Carlo in the arm with the BB gun he’d gotten for his twelfth birthday.
Glancing around, Max saw the silver salver lying near one of the limo’s rear tires. With the vague notion of using the platter as a shield, he snatched it up and straightened. Too abruptly.
The ground tilted, Max’s stomach imitated a diving roller coaster and he nearly went to his knees. The buzzing in his ears receded, however, as the thought of Keely in peril revived him like a bucket of cold water.
Max took a stumbling step forward.
Where was he going? Oh, yeah, the lakeside pavilion. Keely had gone to meet Jackson at the pavilion. A lamb hurrying into a jackal’s den. No time to summon help. He had to save her.
Naked except for his boxer shorts and shoes, Max broke into a staggering run, laden with his awkward shield and the unaccustomed weight of the gun.
Chapter 30
As Keely faced Damien, the pier seemed to shrink, isolating them on the narrow boards. Jackson had fallen silent, his head bowed in passive acceptance of his doom.
The action of water lapping against the pilings created an illusion of motion. Keely braced herself against an imaginary sway, determined not to die without a struggle.
“You won’t get away with this,” she said bravely.
Damien stared at her with the indifferent gaze of a man about to swat an irritating insect.
Time suspended, a thousand thoughts careened through Keely’s mind before snarling into a mental traffic jam. The lake sparkled, its opaque silvery depths tantalizingly offering the illusion of shelter. Keely wondered if by diving in she could evade a bullet in a deadly game of hide and seek.
Damien stared at her, his face expressionless. Keely balanced on the balls of her feet, anticipating the bite of metal into her flesh.
Their gazes locked. For an instant, Keely experienced a curious feeling of empathy, as though it were her finger tightening on the trigger. She realized, at that moment, no stronger bond existed than that between killer and victim in the moment before one exercised the ultimate act of power.
In a desperate attempt to postpone the inevitable, she made a last try at reason. “Flo’s death was a crime of passion. If you shoot me now, it’ll be cold-blooded murder—”
“Hey, boss!” The man guarding Jackson gestured at something near the pavilion.
Damien’s head snapped to the right. “What the—”
Keely looked, too, and her mouth fell open in disbelief at the sight of a man, his naked limbs whitewashed by the moonlight, plunging along the path. Dazzling light reflected from the shining oval he carried in one hand.
When the man staggered onto the pier, Keely recognized Max. Her heart leaped in her chest; she couldn’t believe the evidence of her eyes.
He stopped and bent double, his wheezing gasps for air clearly audible.
Damien muttered an oath. “I don’t believe it. What’s that thing he’s carrying, a shield? Who does that lunatic think he is, Don Quixote?”
“He must’ve got Eddie.” Nix sounded equally stunned.
Keely experienced a rush of emotion; tears welled up and rolled down her cheeks. No angel could have looked more wonderful than the mostly nude, puffing figure of Max, her would-be rescuer.
He’d come! He’d surmounted unknown obstacles to dash to her rescue! Mentally stepping back from the brink of death, Keely cudgeled her brain for a way of escape.
Damien raised his voice to a shout. “You’re a dead man, Summers.”
Max had gotten his ragged breathing under control. “Let Keely go! The police will be here any minute!”
“So? In another minute, I’ll be gone and you’ll be dead.” Damien waved the gun in a beckoning gesture. “Come here, Summers. You can watch your girlfriend die before I kill you.”
With Damien’s attention focused on Max, Keely rushed into impulsive action. With a rebel yell, she thrust forward the disconnected flash unit just as Damien turned in startled response. The flash exploded in his face and Keely launched herself toward his extended arm.
Her clawing fingers caught at the cold metal of the gun which bucked in her hands. Her body slammed into Damien’s, her momentum knocking him off balance.
Then she was free-falling, cartwheeling through the air, arms flailing until she smashed into the water’s unyielding embrace. The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs. Gulping a mouthful of lake water, Keely gagged and kicked until, her lungs burning, she broke the surface.
Coughing and choking, she pushed streaming hair out of her eyes. Beside her, the water suddenly erupted as a blurred form thrashed to the surface. At first Keely thought the other person in the water was Max but she recognized Damien’s contorted face as he went under again.
She stroked frantically away from him, the heavy material of her dress dragging at her legs. Where was Max? Had she managed to deflect the bullet meant for him?
Behind her, Keely heard more splashing and a frantic shout. “Help! Nix, help!”
Keely looked over her shoulder, shocked to discover that the panic-stricken cries were coming from the emotionless hood. Apparently, Damien’s survival skills didn’t include the ability to swim. At the moment, however, he was flailing enough to keep his head above water.
When Keely had put what she thought was a safe distance between herself and Damien, she rotated in the water to face the pier again, her desper
ate gaze searching for Max.
Then she saw him. He had closed to within a few feet of the goon and had one arm extended in a familiar posture. Treading water, Keely swiped another streaming strand of hair out of her eyes. She blinked in disbelief. Max had a gun and the drop on Damien’s muscle man.
Without turning his head, Max shouted, “Keely! Are you all right?”
“Yes!” she forced the word out between ragged gulps of air. “Be careful!”
Jackson broke free and bolted down the pier. Taking advantage of the diversion, the thug made a sudden movement and a gun appeared in his own hand, aimed at Max. But Nix’s posture indicated uncertainty—should he shoot Jackson or blow this crazy man away? He wavered, his attention distracted by his boss’s frantic howls and splashing.
Keely started swimming toward the pier with the unformed notion of somehow helping Max, but the gown’s heavy fabric tugged at her limbs. It took all of her flagging energy just to keep her head above water. Drawing a gasping breath, she sank beneath the surface, her hands fumbling at the zipper.
Just when it seemed as if her lungs would burst, the zipper gave, skimming down, and Keely lost no time in peeling the dress from her shoulders. With a powerful kick, she shot to the surface and greedily gulped air.
Using one hand, she shoved the hair out of her eyes and looked for Max, only to find that the scene on the pier had changed. In the moments while she had been submerged, other actors had made their entrance onto the moonlit stage.
A man was in the water with her, towing the now limp and silent Damien toward the pier. Max stood with his arms raised above his head; Nix had assumed a similar posture of surrender.
Keely dashed the water from her eyes and squinted at the demented tableau again. The jester, the bells on his cap jingling and his red tights appearing black in the moonlight, had exchanged his rattle for a gun.
Chapter 31
Gayla Gifford licked a crumb from the corner of her mouth. “What did you say these little tasties are called?”
“Destiny cakes.” Max squeezed Keely’s hand and they exchanged weary smiles.
“Very appropriate, considering Damien Franklin nearly met his fate in the water tonight.”
Gifford, Dawson, Max, and Keely were seated in the Pavilion’s kitchen near an open warming oven. Keely and Max were draped in matching oversized robes selected from the leftover costumes in the changing rooms. Anna Marie, her face ashen, kept patting her nephew’s free hand.
“We’ll get the film you took on the pier developed,” Gayla was saying. “A few snap-shots of Mr. Franklin with the gun in his hand will come in handy when it’s time for his trial.”
“As long as Courtney gets her pictures, I don’t care what happens to the rest of the roll.” Keely wondered how long it would take to bake the chill out of her bones.
Max slipped his arm around her shoulders and she cuddled close. She purred deep in her throat, feeling warmer already.
“Nothing like swallowing a little lake water to take the starch out of the most vicious criminal, right?” Gayla grinned at her partner. “Damien confessed to killing Flo and threw in a few details about his extortion scheme. Somehow he got this weird idea that Robo here might drop him back into the water if he didn’t cooperate.”
Dawson grunted through a mouthful of capon. Anna Marie, convinced the two detectives had saved her nephew’s life, had been pressing food on them since their arrival in the kitchen.
“I still don’t understand it,” Anna Marie complained. “Why did that brute want a videotape from a wedding reception?”
“Because it showed him inside the Postwaite home. No place for an ex-con without an invitation.” Gayla dusted crumbs from her hands. “Jackson had already applied for a job at Prestige Limos and he told us that as soon as he viewed the tape, he recognized Damien Franklin as the man talking to Flo Netherton. When he got hired on at Prestige, he decided to use the tape to squeeze Damien.”
“Big mistake.” Brian Dawson grinned. “Damien didn’t like getting the arm put on him. He was already ticked off at Ms. O’Brien because she wouldn’t turn over the tape. Now he was getting blackmailed over the robbery and Keely was telling the newspapers she had evidence to finger Flo’s murderer. When guys like Franklin are maneuvered into a corner, they come out fighting.”
Keely glanced at Detective Gifford. “I should have guessed that the jester was one of your men. Every time I turned around, he was right behind me.”
“That outfit kind of made an oxymoron of the phrase ‘plain clothes,’ didn’t it?” Gayla uttered another throaty chuckle. “Rudy says he’ll never forgive me for making him wear those tights. I told him his ass was in a sling for goofing up. He was supposed to keep an eye on you, but lost track when they dimmed the lights.”
Max scowled. “Some protection. Keely could have been killed!”
“We did our best, buddy. It ain’t easy, guarding somebody without being obvious about it. We didn’t want to scare off Franklin—not when Ms. O’Brien had obligingly offered herself as a target.” Brian accepted another plateful of peppermint rice with a beatific grin. The food seemed to have loosened his tongue. “But we cut it closer than we meant to—”
Max muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath. Brian plowed on, unperturbed. “After Rudy lost contact with Ms. O’Brien in the banquet hall, he searched the corridors until he stumbled into the kitchen. Mrs. Cinonni, here, told him that the two of you had gone into the parking lot. Rudy followed and found Eddie Bartolo lying by the limo, out like a light. He called for back-up.”
Gayla nibbled daintily on her third destiny cake. “We suspected Ron Franklin’s tactics of keeping the limousine field free from competition, but the son was new in the mix. After our conversation on Friday, I did some checking. Damien was out of circulation in prison in Indiana for the past four years on a grievous assault charge. He hit town a few months ago and met Flo when she interviewed his father.”
“Poor Flo.” Safe in the shelter of Max’s arm, Keely could feel sorrow for the other woman’s wasted life. “She was the ultimate victim of her own malice.”
“She was a snake who bit her own tail and died from the venom,” Anna Marie said tartly. She leaned around Max to glare at Keely. “As for you, young woman, that was a very foolish thing you did. You almost got my Maxie killed out there.”
“I’m sorry—” Keely began, but she was immediately interrupted.
“Pish, tush!” The older woman dusted her hands together. “Sorry doesn’t scramble eggs! But I’m going to forgive you, Keely, and welcome you to the family. That’s the kind of woman I am.”
Max gave his aunt a roguish smile. “I knew you’d come around, Anna Marie. But I haven’t proposed yet.”
“You’d better.” Anna Marie snorted. “After all, you’ve both seen each other practically naked!”
Keely laughed helplessly. She and Max must have been quite a sight standing on the pier, Max wearing only boxer shorts and goose bumps and Keely in her sodden, lacy briefs and bra. She chuckled again, out of pure relief, and snuggled her cheek against Max’s chest.
Anna Marie wasn’t finished. “So what are you two going to do next?”
Max grinned and kissed the top of Keely’s head. “Get married.”
“Any fool can see that, Max. But how are you going to support a wife? You’ve made it abundantly clear that you can’t wait to get out of my catering kitchen.”
“That’s the problem, Anna Marie. It’s your kitchen and always will be. I’d like to open another restaurant, maybe name it after the bravest gal in the world. Keely’s Place.”
Gayla leaned forward, the gold stars dangling from her ears swinging rapidly. “That was a pretty gutsy plan, Ms. O’Brien. Gutsy but stupid. I admit you improvised very well out there under stress.”
“If I had it to do over again, I’d probably think twice,” Keely admitted. “I have a lot more empathy for the goats that hunters stake out as bait.”
Br
ian Dawson chuckled, a low plate rattling rumble. “How does it feel to be nearly devoured by a tiger?”
Max took advantage of Keely’s distraction to kiss her again. Their mouths clung together for the space of a heartbeat, parted reluctantly.
Keely, flushed and breathless, grinned at the massive police detective. “How does it feel? I’ll let you know after the honeymoon.”
Epilogue
The music swelled. A murmur of anticipation spread through the pews as the guests rose and turned with expectant smiles. Mimi straightened the twists of silk forming the shoulder straps of Keely’s bridal gown. The pearled bodice flowed seamlessly into a delicate silk skirt which fell in folds to the carpet. “You look gorgeous, honey,” Mimi whispered. The two women embraced.
Then the designer stepped back with a soft exclamation of dismay. “Now your headpiece is mussed up.” With deft fingers, she rearranged the lustrous pearls threaded through Keely’s upswept hair.
Keely paused in the doorway leading to the sanctuary and the photographer facing her winked. “Say cheese!” he hissed and snapped her picture when she smiled.
She began the long walk down the aisle alone. Her gown, a simple, elegant design which bared her shoulders and flowed over her hips, whispered softly as she moved. She saw her mother peering at her, Moira’s drawn face and shredded lipstick a silent testimony to her need for a drink.
At the moment, at least, Moira was sober, the most wonderful gift she could give her daughter on her wedding day. Whether she remained that way was Moira’s choice. Keely had finally accepted her mother.
Gliding along, Keely glimpsed familiar faces in the crowd, brides whose special day she’d captured on film. Taffy Landon and her goofy but sweet Candyland extravaganza. Hazel Detwhiler whose “hepcats” theme and dynamic swing band had kept guests dancing and jiving for nearly five hours.
Today the church was packed with Max’s horde of relatives, but Keely didn’t feel abandoned. No one could after being hugged and kissed continually during the seemingly endless introductions. Max’s family members ranged from his very Italian grandmother, to brawny Uncle Tony who ran background checks to the angelic Baby Addonna. Their welcome had been sincere; the sight of so many loving faces caused Keely’s breath to catch in her throat. Keely also felt bathed in the warmth of a sweet memory. When going over the guest list, she’d pointed out the discrepancy in the size of their respective families. Max had grinned and pulled her into his arms. “We’ll share,” he’d said cheerfully. “Half of them approve of you more than they do me, anyway.”
Wedding Chimes, Assorted Crimes Page 30