Freezer I'll Shoot (A Vintage Kitchen Mystery)
Page 24
She leaned over to him and tried to take Hoppy, but he held tight. Her heart sank. “Is everything okay, Will?” she asked, focusing on keeping her tone even and her expression neutral.
He began to walk back toward the office, forcing her to follow, or strangle Hoppy.
“Will, let the poor dog go,” she said, her voice trembling. Darn; she had to keep it even, light . . . unsuspicious. “What’s up? I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“I just want to show you something, Jaymie.” He moved on toward the office, still carrying Hoppy. It was weird, because his manner didn’t seem panicked or rushed; he was just carrying the dog to his office, and Jaymie was trotting along as if she was the one on a leash, not Hoppy. The Yorkie-Poo began to squirm, and yipped when Will tightened his hold. The poor pup stared back at Jaymie over the man’s shoulder, pleading in his eyes.
“Will, let him go, please,” she said.
“You know, it’s funny. I just called your place . . . I wanted to talk to you. I was gonna ask you to come down here. Then I see you down on the dock! So I waited until Valetta was gone. She is such a snoop.”
At the door to the office, he entered and jerked on the leash, which made Jaymie tumble through the open door after him. What should she do? Risk strangling poor Hoppy? Bulldoze past Will out the door, leaving behind her insanely-courageous-but-small-as-a-teapot pup? No. She was not leaving Hoppy behind.
Okay, she’d been in tight spots before; she could talk her way out of this. She turned around slowly, and took Hoppy gently from Will’s arms. He locked the office door behind them. So, if she was going to run, she would need to quickly unlock the dead bolt. Bur first, she needed to distract him.
“What gives? I don’t understand what’s going on here, Will,” she said, determined to pretend ignorance, and to get out as quickly as possible. She injected a little peeved puzzlement in her voice . . . or at least she hoped that was what it sounded like. She was no actress. “You said you wanted to talk to me, or show me something; what is it?”
He watched her, his eyes the flat black of a shark’s. She’d never noticed that before, how vacant his eyes were sometimes. He had always donned the façade of the genial nice guy, the happy, helpful marina owner. But she couldn’t ponder that for too long, or it would show on her face.
He pointed to a map on the wall; it showed Heartbreak Island, and the two marinas, one on the Canadian side and the American side marina that he co-owned. “You see that?” he said, pointing to the one on the Canadian side.
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
She examined the map, though she already knew the answer. “It’s . . . it’s on the border, pretty much, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, on the Canadian side, but on the border, at the other end of the island. And do you know what Urban planned to do?”
She shook her head, bouncing Hoppy on her hip, trying to calm him. The little dog was trembling with tension.
“Sonuvabitch was gonna buy that marina, and build a matching one on the US side. That way the ferry would only have to make one stop on Heartbreak Island, and not two. Goldarn Canadian government is behind it, you gotta know that; makes it easier for everyone if the customs for both sides are in the same spot. Do you know what that was gonna do to me?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “That was going to put me out of business. I need that ferry traffic! Spence leases space,” he said, naming the owner-operator of the Ferry Queene, “and that’s the one thing that keeps us profitable.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, Will.” She hoped the guy wasn’t going to confess to her. In fact, she needed to talk now, to make him think he might still finagle a way out of the spot of trouble without another murder on his hands. “Well, Urban won’t be missed, will he?” she said, brightly, focusing on the man in front of her. “Do you know who killed him? C’mon, if you’ve figured it out, clue me in!”
“I might know,” he said slowly, watching her eyes. “But I’m nervous. What if I say something and the killer comes after me?” He pulled a faded blue curtain aside and looked out the window, then made sure the curtain fell into place again, concealing the outside world from the office, and the office from anyone on the dock.
Hoppy wriggled uneasily in Jaymie’s arms; he felt her tension. He knew exactly how she was feeling: scared to death, her stomach churning like an antacid commercial. “That’s what the police are for, to protect us honest citizens.”
“Hah! That’s a laugh,” he yelped, his voice echoing off the wood-grain paneling. He paced in a circle, glaring at the map as he passed it.
“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to edge toward the door.
“You can’t count on the cops, ever,” he said, whirling around and fixing her with a beady-eyed stare. “They don’t give a damn about the people, unless you’re wealthy. I tried to file a charge against Urban once, and they wouldn’t arrest him.”
“Arrest Urban? For what?”
“Jerk punched me in the nose once. Just ’cause I said something.”
“What did you say?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“Told him he was an asshole.”
“He had a bad temper; I saw it in action. He insulted Ruby; then Garnet punched him out. That was the very night he was killed, you know.” That was good . . . sympathy and another suspect offered on a silver platter.
“Yeah, I know that Garnet has a temper, too. I saw him and Urban argue a few times. Old Urb hated that the Redmonds are better sailors than him. It wasn’t the boat, it wasn’t the sail, even though Urb always blamed the equipment. Fact is, I even got Urban to accuse Garnet of buying foreign-made sails. I gave Sherm the hint, knowing the old gossip would tell Urban and that my partner would go after Garnet. I laughed when I heard about the fight at the Ice House!” He chuckled. “Urban always had an excuse, but the truth was, he was just crap at sailing. He had no feel for the water or the wind. His boy could captain the boat better than him, but he kept that kid scared to death.” He gave Jaymie a sly look, while he circled the room, locking windows.
Her stomach wrung itself into a knot. This was not going well so far. Her mind churned furiously, as she tried to figure out how to convince him she did not suspect him of the killing. “I always—” Her voice choked off. Darn. She cleared her throat and hugged Hoppy to her, inhaling his doggie scent. “I always wondered if Sammy had anything to do with his father’s death. You know, it’s so good to be able to talk to someone about this,” she said, sidling back toward the door. “I can’t figure it out. Who do you think did it, Will?”
“But you’ve been snooping around, little Miss Nancy Marple. And Ruby . . . Now, if she’d died, folks may have thought she killed Urban. Some people whispered they were having an affair.”
It was odd, this conversation, as if he were searching for someone to blame, but even though she had offered him up a couple of likely suspects, he kept probing. “I’m so glad she didn’t die,” Jaymie said. “I like them both. But Garnet, now . . . Maybe he killed Urban.”
He watched her. “Maybe. You know, Ruby and Garnet, they’re not who they seem.”
She swallowed. “What do you mean?” Her gaze flicked away, toward the door. It was close. Real close.
“I mean, they aren’t really Ruby and Garnet Redmond.”
“Who are they, then?” She paused, interested, in spite of her situation, in what he knew and how he knew it. When he didn’t answer, she said, “Look, Will, I’d love to chat some more, but I have to go. I really do.” She turned and moved quickly toward the door, reaching out for the dead bolt.
“Stop, now! You’re not fooling me for one second,” Will said, leaping across the room and shoving her out of the way. Hoppy fell to the floor with a wild yip of fear. He skittered under the desk and barked. “Shut up, mutt!” the man yelled. He lunged to a battered wooden desk, yanked open a drawer, pulled out a gun and
waved it around, as pens and paper clips clattered to the tile floor. “Shut that goddamn dog up, or I’ll do it for him!”
“Hoppy, quiet! Now!” Jaymie said, in her firm, no-nonsense tone. The little dog calmed, but growled and grumbled, ducking his head and watching Will from under the desk. There was no avoiding it now. Will had taken a step that proved he was not willing to let her go easily. But what did he plan to do next? She glanced at the open drawer and recognized the bag Ruby had been carrying the night before.
“What gives, Will?” she said, her voice throaty with fear, but not quavering.
He rummaged around in his desk, still, while waving the gun at her vaguely. He seemed disturbed, and mumbled, “Why can’t women just leave well enough alone? Never met a woman who could just . . . What is it? Am I difficult? I don’t think so. Not me.” He pounced on something and said, “Aha!” It was a pad of paper with what looked like a list on it.
“I hate dogs,” he said, squinting his eyes at Hoppy, who growled and bared his teeth from under the desk. He waved the gun at the dog, and Hoppy barked.
“Please, Will, don’t!” Jaymie said, her voice now trembling with fear and anxiety. “Don’t hurt Hoppy. He’s just scared. You’ve frightened him!”
“Oh, it’s all my fault, right? That’s what my wife always said. ‘Will, don’t shout! Will, don’t be so angry. Will, you’re hurting me!’” He mimicked a woman’s voice with a savage, sarcastic falsetto. “Well, she pushed me over the edge and now she’s paying.”
Jaymie’s breath started coming in quick huffs of air. Paying? How was she paying? Did she dare ask? “What do you mean?” She swallowed, her throat dry and a lump clogging it.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he sneered. “Just like all those stupid cop movies; you keep me talking, I spill the beans, and you cleverly figure a way out, right? But no, you and I are going to take a little walk, and you’re going to do something drastic. You’ve been involved in all these murder crimes lately. Little Miss Nosy. Well, now you’re going to go over the edge and commit one yourself. Gonna go crazy!” he yelled, waving his hands around in the air.
Hoppy barked frantically, then retreated and growled up at Will from under the desk. Jaymie’s stomach roiled, and she felt light-headed.
“That time of month, right?” Will said, pacing, his face getting red and sweat popping out in beads on his forehead. The sweat gleamed faintly in the sickly light of the overhead fluorescent lights. “Gonna get your crazy bitch hat on and come to my home and start to accuse me of doing things.” He shot Jaymie a crafty look. “Then you’re going to shoot my wife, and I’m gonna have to kill you, and explain it all to the cops. Self-defense! You’re a nut job, while I’m calm, cheerful, never-hurt-anyone Will. It was you all along.”
“Me?” she yelped. “They’re never going to believe that! Why would I have killed Urban?”
“You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, with that family of Daniel’s,” he said, eyeing her. “And dead bodies everywhere lately, right? Sent you over the edge.”
She knew right then that he was working out a story in his head, some explanation that he thought might work. But she latched on to something he had said earlier. “What’s wrong with your wife? Is she . . . Is she dead?”
“Not yet,” he said. “Didn’t I just say that you were going to kill her?”
“No one would ever believe I would kill someone.”
He looked conflicted, unsure. “Isn’t that what the relatives always say in the paper, though? ‘She was such a nice girl, never a day of trouble in her whole life.’”
“You know deep in your heart that it won’t work. No one is ever going to believe that I killed Urban, and it’s even more impossible that anyone would think I’d kill your wife, especially with a gun!” she said quickly. She could see the doubt etched on his forehead, and continued. “You’ll end up in prison for a triple homicide. If you turn yourself in now, you’ve got dozens of witnesses who would say what a despicable character Urban Dobrinskie was. You probably won’t even be arrested for his murder! Call it self-defense. He came at you; you had to stab him. I won’t say a thing. He was a nothing, a jerk, someone who bullied his son and wife so much they were afraid of him. And he was cheating on his wife, right? Everyone says so. In fact, don’t say anything at all! Anyone could have killed him.”
He sat down, tears coming to his eyes. “I can’t stop now. My wife . . .”
“She’s still alive,” Jaymie said. “If you let her go now, she might file charges, but you’ve never done anything wrong. You’ll get off with a suspended sentence, and your life can just go on.”
He shook his head, his expression one of a lost soul, someone who doesn’t understand how they got where they are. “I have to do this. My wife knows I killed Urban, and she’s going to go to the police.”
“You don’t have to do anything, Will. Let things play out. Or you could just leave on the ferry tonight, and be out of the state . . . out of the country before anyone knows you’re gone.”
His face twisted into anger. “You’d all just love that, wouldn’t you? Convenient for my wife, convenient for you, convenient for the cops! Well, I won’t make it easy for anyone.”
She’d set him off. Damn! He paced, and grumbled, while Hoppy growled at him from under the desk. “Calm down, Will, it’s okay!” she said.
He turned, slowly, his expression thunderous. “Don’t ever tell me to calm down!”
Oops. “Okay, Will, calm . . . Uh, it’s okay!”
“No, it’s not okay. We’re getting out of here and I’m getting this show on the road. I’ve made up my mind.”
It was dark out. What time was it? How long had she been in the office? The last ferry ran at ten o’clock, and if it arrived, she could maybe get someone’s attention, if the timing was just right. He glanced up over her head, and waved the gun at her.
“You sit right where you are,” he said, “and don’t make a sound. You make any noise and I’ll pop you.” He flicked the light off.
What was going on? All she could hear in the dark silence was her own heart pounding. Then she got it; he had been looking at the clock. She could hear the jolly toot that meant the last ferry was disembarking at the dock. Voices floated on the night air, cheerful shouts of “Night, Spence” to the ferry operator. Then the thrum of the ferry motor as it chugged away to the Canadian side, Johnsonville. Her last hope was gone.
A few minutes later, Will flicked the light back on. “And now we’re going to put my little plan into action. I’ll tell you how it’s going to go. You are going to hold on to the leash of that little monster, and we’re going to walk to my house. You’re going to be slightly ahead of me, and this little number,” he said, caressing the short stock of his gun, “will be in your back. Move, and I’ll shoot. I don’t have much to lose now, so you can bet I’ll do it. March!” he said.
“I don’t know the way to your house,” she said, rising, grabbing Hoppy’s leash, and moving toward the door.
“Just start; I’ll tell you.”
“But what if we meet someone we know?”
He paused. She shouldn’t have said anything. He might just put her back in the office and tie her up until later that night. Darn it! But he was too antsy to wait. “We won’t meet anyone. It’s too late and too early.”
She knew what he meant. Folks who walked down by the river to walk their dogs or watch the sunset would be gone, and those who would go for a walk to cool off and sober up from the bar wouldn’t be out yet. She complied with his directions to head out, toward the cement steps that threaded up through a wooded glade to a lonely spot on the dirt road that circled the island. He and his wife lived in a winterized cottage at the end of the road, just beyond the top of the steps, he told her. It had to be the lonely cottage she had often seen from the ferry, the one perched atop the highest point on the island.
“What’s wrong with that mutt?” Will muttered.
“He’s tired. He’s only got three legs, Will. I’ll have to carry him, at least up the steps.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said. “But hurry up about it!”
She bent over to pick up Hoppy, and looked backward down the dizzying stretch of steps, lined by an old wrought iron railing on one side. How could she use the stairs to her advantage? Did she dare take a chance? It was an awful risk, but Will was behind her; if she could give him a shove backward without losing her own balance, then he would tumble all the way down to the bottom, maybe knock himself out.
“Get moving!” he yelled, and she felt the gun barrel nudge her backbone.
If she dithered about it forever, she’d lose her chance. She began to mount, step by step. Thirty or so steps to the top. When should she do it? When she was near the top, she decided, so she could push him down the stairs, and jump up the last couple of steps. Her heart was pounding, not just from fear, but from the long stairs climb. She could hear Will panting behind her, too. He was as out of shape as she was, it seemed, neither one of them good at such a long flight of stairs.
“So you killed Urban. You must have planned it carefully,” she said, “to have thought of stealing the wheelbarrow the night before from my backyard.”
“Clever, right? I was gonna bury Urban in your leaching bed. I figured you’d all be asleep, but no, you and your damned dog had to be awake, and up. Had to change plans quick. That’s why I tried to make it seem like Garnet was the one shouting.”