Fatal 5

by Karin Kaufman

  “Because Rose’s husband is dating the Grande Dame. And if he was involved in Rose’s death…if he was, I’ll…have to do something.”

  Recognition dawns on Thomas’ face. “You are not going to do anything if you uncover something significant. You are going to call the police.”

  “I’ll definitely call the police.” I don’t quantify at what point this will happen in my investigation.

  We finish our food quickly, then decide to go home for more coffee and chitchat. Thomas will never admit it, but he tends to leave hearty tips for waitresses who flirt with him. Rosemary picks up the receipt and smiles.

  Save that smile, chickie. I’m going to find out if you were in my woods.

  We return to our cars. On the way home, I kick myself for not encouraging Thomas about his job. Still, we both know it’s just a jumping-off point. He merely has to stay the course without blowing his top, then he can have enough clients to start his own firm.

  The drop-off turn into the driveway seems even more harrowing in the dark, as Thomas’ Volvo plunges over the edge before I turn in with the SUV. I hold my breath, imagining the side of the mountain sliding off into oblivion in our absence. Halfway down the hill, blue and red lights swirl into vision. Police? At Nikki Jo and Roger’s?

  Petey runs up to Thomas’ car, holding one of those lime-green Halloween glow sticks. Thomas parks and jumps out, and I pull in behind him. I step gingerly onto the paved drive, so I don’t squash Thor if he’s on the loose.

  Thomas grabs Petey by the shoulders—a rough gesture, but a protective one. “What’s going on?”

  Petey bounces around like a plane caught in turbulence. “Guess what? You’ll never guess. One of my traps worked!”

  12

  ~*~

  The first thing Pastor Cliff advised me to do was to keep a diary. He said I needed an outlet for my thoughts. I rummaged around until I found one of my father’s yellow writing pads, only partly used. I started writing on December first.

  Paul had been acting strangely for a couple of weeks. He was coming home early from work, asking questions about my days, as if I had something to do or somewhere to go. I didn’t even have a car.

  He made cryptic remarks that insinuated I was having an affair. But my lover and I hadn’t talked for a month, after I’d told him what I planned to do.

  Finally, it dawned on me. Paul had figured out the Pastor was coming over. I’d been careful to wash our mugs and plates after each visit. I’d even gone out with a snow shovel and smoothed out the tracks Cliff’s truck left on our driveway.

  Or maybe Paul had noticed something else…something more personal. He never slept in my room, though.

  I told Pastor Cliff, but he wasn’t concerned. “God will look after His own,” he told me.

  Cliff might’ve been a man of God, but it turns out he was wrong.

  ~*~

  “Traps? What traps?” Thomas turns from Petey to me.

  “I forgot to mention that Petey set up some booby traps in our woods. Just in case the stalker came back. I’m scared to ask, Petey—what did you catch?”

  “Come see!” He runs toward the house. Dad’s locked and loaded with some kind of assault rifle slung over his back. Thomas goes to talk with him and a thin police officer. Nikki Jo sweeps her arm my direction, as if magically transporting me to her side faster.

  She puts a shaky, French-manicured hand on my wrist. “Oh, honey. You just wouldn’t believe it. If it wasn’t for Petey, who knows what could’ve happened.”

  “Mom, what’s going on? What did Petey catch?”

  She takes my arm and pulls me toward our cottage. “You’ll have to see it to believe it.”

  Near the sparse trees in front of our house, three police officers stand in a group. They’re looking into some kind of pit. Apparently, digging pits is trapper Petey’s modus operandi.

  A bald guy in a tan shirt gets out of a truck with a metal cage in the back of it—animal control? The cops clear a path, and he steps to the edge of the hole. Nikki Jo points at him and covers her mouth with her hand. Everyone watches as he puts a black tube to his mouth, puffs his cheeks out, and blows.

  Something zips out of the tube. No way. That was some kind of—

  “Blowdart.” Thomas comes up behind me and rubs my back, as if he’s seen this a thousand times before.

  I yank forward, trying to control my voice as I wheel on him. “Thomas. No one has told me what’s going on in my yard.” Nikki Jo, Petey, and Thomas gape, unused to my wounded tone.

  Petey’s face reddens. “Sorry, Tess. It’s a bear in the trap. Like, a fully-grown, momma bear.”

  “What?” Bears have been lumbering around that close to my porch? The place I go to sit and relax? I’m pregnant, for the love of everything…

  Nikki Jo puts her arm around me, dark eyes suddenly lit with understanding. “Let’s go back to the big house. I’ll fix you one of those fancy expressos you like, with vanilla syrup and cream.” Even though I know it’s “espresso,” it sounds best when Nikki Jo says it her way.

  Thomas and Petey jog over to the floodlit trap. A patch of black fur moves. Something in my gut tells me not to look. It’s not mere pregnancy queasiness—it’s some kind of deep need to protect this baby from lumbering killers in the woods.

  “Okay, Mom, maybe I’ll sit with you a little while.”

  For the next hour or so, I snuggle under a quilt on the old velour couch in Nikki Jo’s den. Roger stores his gun, then joins us to watch cooking shows and drink strong coffee. By the time Thomas returns for me, I’ve repressed my shock enough to walk back to the cottage with him.

  Petey apologizes profusely for setting an effective bear-trap. I try to reassure him, although he’s going to have to do something about those traps. Who knows what other animals are lurking around here?

  All the way down the gravel path, I avoid looking at the now-vacated hole. Once we’re inside, I turn on every single light and pour a hot bath. For some reason, it irks me that Thomas doesn’t pour the bath for me. Sometimes I notice weird things like that—things my Prince Charming would have thought of without being asked.

  I’m just sinking into the water when Thomas knocks on the door. “Tess? Miranda’s on your cell phone.”

  Seriously? He picked up my cell?

  “One minute.” My pineapple-colored towel fails to cheer me like it usually does. That shot of yellow does wonders in our windowless bathroom.

  My soppy footprints mush into the rug as I wrap the towel around me and open the door. I ignore Thomas’ suggestive looks as he hands me the phone.

  “Miranda?”

  “Hello there. Sorry to call so late, but something told me you’d be awake.”

  How right she is. “No problem—what is it? Are we still on for tomorrow?”

  Miranda clears her throat. “Well, I was calling about that. Paul invited us over to his house. Would you be willing to come along? I know you weren’t too thrilled with him last time.”

  Did I hide my feelings so poorly? “Okay, but are you okay with that? I know you didn’t want to see Rose’s house again…”

  “I’ve been thinking on that. Rose is long gone, and it’s Paul’s house now. I should be able to handle it.”

  “Then of course I’ll go with you. What are the directions?”

  “Just come to The Haven at one—he’ll meet us here.”

  “It’s a plan.” I just wish it were my plan, not Paul’s.

  When I hang up, ready to scurry back into my warm bath, Thomas stops me at the door. He’s wearing his favorite four-leaf clover boxers and smiling like a deranged leprechaun.

  “My dear girl. Have I mentioned how lovely you looked tonight?”

  Wow. Such a deeply-pondered compliment. I push him aside. “I’m freezing. I need to get warmed up.”

  His dark eyes get serious. “Look, I came close to doing something stupid tonight to that florist. It could’ve messed up my career. So I appreciate your stepping in,
even though I hated it at the time.”

  Appreciation. An effective tactic. I ruffle his hair. “Do continue.”

  He traces my cheek. “You honestly have no idea how drop-dead gorgeous you are, do you? Your soft skin, the way you arch your eyebrow when you’re serious, and your perfect cupid’s bow…Axel’s not the only guy who’d probably knock my lights out to get to you for one second.”

  The whole day flashes past, from Axel’s greeting, to Rosemary’s swinging hips, to the blow-darted bear. Suddenly, I’m just glad to be standing next to my good-smelling, smooth-talking husband.

  I wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Date night isn’t over yet.”

  13

  ~*~

  The more Pastor Cliff wanted to talk things out, the more I clammed up. After telling him all my dark secrets, I had nothing left to give. Emptiness filled me, substantial and relentless, like a sandstone rockslide.

  Cliff knew the Bible like it was his best friend. He had a verse for every issue I mentioned. One of the hardest things was when he told me I couldn’t forsake assembling with other Christians. I tried to explain the impossibility of it all.

  “There’s no way on earth Paul will let me go to church. You’re the only Christian fellowship I can have now—you have to accept that.”

  Cliff frowned. “You can’t grow if you’re not challenged, Rose. The whole church body has to work together. I can’t fill that huge void in your life. You need to stand up to him in this area.”

  “But what if he beats me for it? So far it’s only been a punch or smack here and there. Who’s going to stop him if he gets really angry? And don’t tell me ’God,’ Cliff. God didn’t stop those first hits.”

  The way Cliff looked at me, with no hatred or vengeance in those green eyes, you’d think he was some kind of peace-loving monk. But his answer flew in the face of this misperception.

  “Who will stop him? You will, Rose. You’re far from cowardly.”

  He sat in my favorite chair, a golden brocade-covered wingback. I swear the light from heaven lit his red hair aflame. In reality, the sun was just bearing down through my living room window.

  It was a revelation. I wasn’t helpless—even before I put my plan into effect. I could try to make my life work.

  I jumped up and hugged Cliff, and his eyes met mine. Recognition shot through both of us, and I dropped my arms.

  Another complication.

  ~*~

  We linger over bagels and cream cheese before Thomas leaves for work. He’s more alert this morning, and winks at me no less than five times. Once I kiss him goodbye, I jump on the stationary bike, determined to burn off my excess energy. I need to get rid of any hostility, so I can be kind, no matter how obnoxious Paul acts.

  A cramp hits my stomach mid-stride. Maybe Nikki Jo was right when she told me to take it easy on the exercise while I’m pregnant. Even with last night’s protective feelings toward the baby, it’s so hard to believe I’m going to be a mother.

  Before walking out the door, I put on a hearty coating of my favorite crimson lipstick. It somehow makes me feel more powerful. Mr. Paul Campbell might look skinny and harmless, but I don’t trust him or his motivations with Miranda.

  My knife clips easily onto my chinos’ slant pocket. As I settle into the SUV driver’s seat, the empty bear-pit draws my attention. No flip-out knife would’ve protected me from that. What if I’d been alone on the porch when that bear wandered up?

  I shove it out of my mind. What ifs drive people mad. I’ve worked my way through lots of them, like What if I’d been a boy? Would Dad have stuck around? What if I’d gone to a local college? Would Mom have stayed away from the pills?

  The important what ifs are the ones I can do something about. Like what if Paul’s a murderer? What if Rosemary’s lying?

  By the time I pull into The Haven, I’m mentally pumped up. Miranda rolls her wheelchair off the front porch ramp, down the sidewalk to meet me. She’s beaming.

  “We have so much catching up to do, girlie! Paul will be here soon.”

  The wind picks up, rattling the dead leaves. I wheel Miranda back up to the sheltered porch, where she tucks a small fleece blanket over her thin legs. Doc Cole strides out the front door, obviously in a hurry.

  He turns to us. “Tess! Good to see you. Miranda, I’ll be checking in same time next week. Keep the excitement minimal.”

  As he runs to his car, I note his straight-leg dress pants. I want to get some of those for Thomas. I turn to Miranda, who’s also focused on the Good Doctor, an inscrutable look on her face.

  “And what’s Doc Cole talking about? Excitement? Did you get another note?”

  “Nothing like that, sweetie. That’s what I wanted to tell you. Paul proposed to me yesterday. I…just wanted to share it with you in person.”

  I swallow several times, vainly trying to wet my dry throat. “And you accepted?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Miranda smiles, highlighting her still-striking bone structure and shining eyes.

  What would Russell want me to do? What would her first and beloved husband think of this engagement? Should I say something? Or feign excitement, despite my numerous misgivings?

  “Wow!” It’s all I can manage.

  Miranda watches the parking lot, no doubt waiting for her fiancé. The charming knight, ready to sweep the handicapped elderly woman off her feet…

  “I need to ask a couple of questions,” I say.

  Miranda squeezes my hand. “Go right ahead.”

  There’s no polite way to phrase it. “I know this may seem nosy, but it’s important. How much money did Rose leave you?”

  “Let me study on it a minute.” Miranda looks to the gray sky, ticking off numbers on her fingers. “Hm. All in all, I’d say it’s about five hundred. Yes, about five hundred thousand.”

  Enough to change someone’s life. “You said it is that much? Have you spent any of it?”

  This is why I love Miranda—she doesn’t say, “Well, aren’t you curious?” She trusts I’m going somewhere important with this.

  “I used some of it for Rose’s funeral—Paul couldn’t cover it. But other than that, no. I didn’t need it. My Russell worked hard all his life, and he made sure I was well taken care of.”

  I play a hunch. “Doc Cole’s an interesting guy. He’s not married, is he?”

  Miranda shakes her head. “No. But he’s made a good living. He did move to Arizona for a while, after Rose—” She shoots me a guilty look and stops.

  “Those two were involved, weren’t they? I was pretty sure of that,” I say. “You can tell just talking to him. Did Paul know?”

  “No. And Rose didn't talk about it. But watching Bartholomew at the dinner table—that man was smitten. Hush up!” She puts a hand on my arm as Paul parks his car—an old two-tone Ford Aerostar van. I had no idea those were still on the road.

  Something Miranda said simmers in the back of my mind, but I have to focus on the task at hand—getting through the day with a smile on my face. A smile for my best friend’s fiancé.

  Paul’s tightly-belted jeans slide up his thin torso, showing off his white sport socks. He offers me his hand, but doesn’t quite look me in the eye. “Howdy, Miss Tess, guess you’ve heard our news?”

  “Yes indeed.” Since I can’t think of anything nice to add, I wheel Miranda down the sidewalk.

  “Oh, no—allow me.” In a forced show of chivalry, Paul takes the handles and steers her toward his hot ride.

  I firmly remind myself that appearances mean nothing. The man is poor—he can’t help that. His wife left him with nothing but his house, which is probably in horrible shape if he has no income for upkeep. Didn’t Paul get some kind of retirement package? Does he work at all now? Has Miranda asked herself any of these questions? What kind of life is she stepping—

  “Tess? Could you help me?” Miranda rescues me from my black thoughts, holding my arm and trying to stand on her wobbly legs.

  I grab her arou
nd the waist. “Of course.” Paul’s left us to our own devices on the passenger side. Maybe he thinks it’s too personal to hoist Miranda’s frail body into the van. The passenger seat looks about five feet high as I try to manipulate the Grande Dame into it while keeping her dignity intact.

  Paul keeps his eyes averted as Miranda straightens her pants before hooking her seatbelt. Maybe he’s not so bad. Maybe Rose really did commit suicide and it had nothing to do with him.

  It seems more likely her suicide was connected with the Doctor, since they were having an affair. My niggling thought surges to the forefront. Miranda said Doc Cole went to Arizona after Rose’s death.

  Miranda’s warning note came from Arizona. It would’ve been easy enough for him to have a friend mail it.

  Maybe the Good Doctor hated Paul. At the library, Doc Cole came to me with questions about Paul…or was he planting suspicions?

  “And so I thought, what better time to be married than New Year’s Day?” Miranda turns sideways to observe me, her body barely larger than a skinny eleven-year old’s. If this van had airbags, Miranda’s probably wouldn’t activate.

  New Year’s Day. I have only three months to figure out if the warning note was a threat to Miranda or Paul. One of my favorite verses from youth group springs to mind—something about being wise as a serpent and innocent as a dove. I observe my beautiful, handicapped friend, smiling to herself in the front seat.

  If anyone lays a hand on Miranda Michaels, this viper is going to strike.

  14

  ~*~

  I mixed the ground cloves and cinnamon into Paul’s favorite gingerbread. He loved spicy foods. But I was making this gingerbread for Cliff.

  As I pressed the batter into the pan, I visualized him. The red stubble over his lip. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. His rough-hewn muscles, so different from Paul’s thin, wiry build.

  But it was the light that drew me to him. He was lit from within. Every word he said meant something. I’d never talked with Paul like that. Or even with Bartholomew.