Murder Mansion

by M K Scott

A two-by-one-foot rectangle of plaster should have been very noticeable. The whiteness on the dark ground should have caught her eye. Taber slowly turned in a circle, then pointed to her car. “Let’s head to your car and we’ll start there. We’ll find where you fell and the footprint cast.”

  This technique worked well on crime dramas, but she didn’t see it working well for their situation. Maybe daylight would reveal what night hid. Might as well humor the man if she planned on staying here tonight. Her original idea didn’t appeal. Even with Jasper present, the idea of an overnight stay felt questionable, but she had a crime to solve.

  They reached her car. She stood waiting for a signal from Taber, who held the flashlight. Her cupped hand held up to her ear indicated she had heard Jasper barking before she sprinted off. As she jogged, she tried to remember where she fell when a tree root caught her toe, almost sending her to the ground. “Ow!” Great. Strengthening her voice, she called out. “Found it.”

  Taber reached her in a few steps. “Good reenactment.”

  Her nose crinkled, but she held back a retort. The light moved to the side where she initially saw the print, expecting there to be a plaster mold, hard enough to cut out of the ground. Instead, the light bounced over some specks of plaster, a broken wooden slat and a scraped-out hole in the ground.

  It was gone. “Someone stole the footprint!”

  Taber swore as he knelt to examine the area. “Made a clean job of it too. Scraped away any visible print.”

  Mentally she recreated the image in her head of an athletic tread design that narrowed to a small heel. “It was a high heel sneaker with a wedge heel. It was a large size too. That means the killer is a woman with a large foot and bad taste.”

  “You got all that from the print?” A grudging admiration came through the question.

  “Yes. What did you get?”

  Emotions shifted across his face as he looked over his shoulder at the surrounding houses. “I thought the print was a weird shape. The fact the criminal came back, grabbed the bag out of your house, probably watched us cast the impression and then stole it, proves she lives close by. Chloroforming your dog was just enough to get us to leave.”

  “That means she probably wasn’t trying to kill my dog.”

  “True.” Taber stood, but continued looking at the hole where the print had been. “Looks like the work of an amateur with so many mistakes.” He held up his hand when Donna sighed.

  “Impulse killers don’t think things through. They tend to react more. The fact you surprised someone with a bag containing chloroform isn’t good.” Taber’s eyes narrowed while his mouth formed an uncompromising line. Probably the face he used when handcuffing trash-talking felons.

  A neighbor-turned-killer just happened to be hanging out at her house with a backpack loaded with chloroform. It could be a simple retrieval mission. The cops missed the bag when combing the yard for clues. Of course, none of them went face first to the ground for a better look. “Do you think she wants to use the chloroform on me?”

  His face somehow grew sterner, if that were even possible. He turned, peering at the nearby houses. His hand rubbed over his face in what she termed the mulling-over action. “Actually no. How would she know you’d be coming back tonight?”

  The man had a point. “Okay. I can accept that. You believe there was a bag.” He nodded, so she continued talking, crossing her arms due to the cold wind and an uneasy feeling that accompanied the breeze. “She had to retrieve the bag, but the police never found it. It must have been hidden somewhere in the house. Loose floorboard, secret nook.”

  A branch snapped behind her. Just wind, it tended to snap the dead limbs. Another expense she hadn’t planned on, an arborist. No doubt, they didn’t come cheap.

  “That makes sense. For some reason, the murderer has some prior knowledge of the house. We’ll have to look into that angle. Tell me about the bag.” He touched her elbow and pointed toward the house.

  Her agreement took the form of walking toward the house as she spoke.

  “Ah, the bag. I didn’t see it for that long. The front was covered in sequins. The rest was pink. My first attempt to pick it up ended with me dropping it and breaking something inside.”

  “What?”

  She hadn’t taken the time to open it, figuring she’d already be guilty of tampering with evidence. “Now I know it was the chloroform, not wine and wine glasses as I initially thought.”

  The back porch light showed that Taber’s brow smoothed, but a few lines remained sketched out by sun and time. “I guess we know why there wasn’t a struggle. She surprised him and knocked him out with a saturated cloth.”

  Enough crime dramas featured victims incapacitated by a whiff of the sickly sweet liquid. “Yeah. That’s probably what happened. We know the killer was a woman with a big foot, which means she’s either tall or decent sized. She also wears high-heeled sneakers and carries a glittery backpack worthy of a twelve-year-old.”

  Taber had his foot on the porch step as he turned to look at her. “Don’t forget she has easy access to the house and apparently the ability to observe all the comings and goings, which means she has to live…”

  The whine of a bullet whipped by her face, grazing so close it left the acrid smell of powder behind. Before she could even react, Taber fell backward on the step with a grunt. The sound of footsteps running through the underbrush created an urge to follow and bring down the troublesome killer, but with what? A moan propelled her into action as she reached the wounded detective’s side. Her scarf served as a compress on the shoulder wound while she took his pulse. Racing, no surprise there. His skin was grayer than she liked, but that was to be expected too.

  “Take cover,” He grunted the words with effort. His breathing grew rougher.

  “I’m calling for help.” She ignored his headshake. Did the man expect her to leave him bleeding on the ground as she ran for cover? Her hand trembled as she reached for her cell phone. Luckily, she could thumb dial the three numbers while holding the compress in place.

  The operator came on the line. “State the nature of your emergency.”

  “Officer down. The shooter is still in the area. Ambulance and support needed.” She gave the house number automatically. The operator asked her to stay on the line.

  “Do you know the name of the officer?”

  “Detective Mark Taber.” She glanced at Mark to see how he was doing and the man rolled his eyes. He hissed under his breath, something about never hearing the end of this. Sirens wailed nearby, signaling that help was on its way. It should be enough to scare the murderous, high-heeled sneaker wearer for a little bit.

  The police arrived before the medics, peppering her with questions. Most she couldn’t answer. A few gave her suspicious glances when she mentioned the high-heeled sneaker wearer and chloroform. One older cop with a graying crew cut sniffed his disbelief at her answers. He acted as if he thought she’d been the one to take a pot shot at Mark.

  Seriously. She needed this now. All she did was try to find the murderer and now she’d be jailed for shooting an officer. “If I decided to shoot Taber, it would be a clean shot. I don’t do sloppy jobs.”

  “Donna. Stop.” Taber had pushed himself up in a half-reclining position and placed his hand over the compress she was still holding in place. “She was about eight inches from me. If she had a gun, I wouldn’t be talking to you now. I’m not even sure the shooter was aiming for me. Could have been aiming at Donna.”

  The accusatory officer folded his arms and agreed. “Yes. That makes sense.”

  What makes sense? she wanted to ask. Did it make sense she didn’t shoot Mark or the fact someone wanted to kill her? Probably the latter.

  Medics arrived and took over Taber’s care, hustling him into the back of an ambulance. No, they were not persuaded to let her ride along even if she was a nurse. A female officer, noting her agitation, stepped closer and spoke in a low whisper. “Memorial Hospital.”

 
That’s all she needed. She headed for her car, but Officer Gruff and Disbelieving stopped her by stepping in front of her. “Where are you going?”

  Would he keep her from sitting vigil on Mark, afraid she might hurt him? “Home. I told you what I know. You can get ahold of me if you want to ask me anything else. I’d just be in your way if I stayed.” Her lips pulled up into an inane simper that she momentarily hated herself for, but it did the job.

  He stepped to the side and waved her on. Good gravy, playing the silly female card did work. As she unlocked her car, she wrestled with both her indignation that the officer accepted her as a brainless nitwit and her worry over Mark. Buckled in, doors locked, she slowly reversed down the driveway, passing the flashing lights. As she pulled into the main street, she passed the few curious neighbors out on their porches in their hastily donned coats and robes. It felt like they were glaring at her, but that had to be her imagination. She wasn’t the one who brought all this ruckus and notoriety to the neighborhood. That honor belonged to another resident.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A car horn blared as she stole the right of way. “Get over it, you hesitated!” She knew the driver couldn’t hear her, which was probably just as well. Her metamorphosis into the type of rude driver she couldn’t stand wasn’t something she wanted to acknowledge.

  Her examination revealed Mark’s wound had clotted even though the bullet rested deep in his shoulder. No exit wound. The fact that Mark was coherent said something, not sure what. Could be he had a high pain tolerance, or it wasn’t the first time he’d been shot. The possibility had her squirming in her bucket seat as she eased into the hospital parking lot. First Jasper, now Mark. The killer had a lot to answer for in her book. The Tollhouses were not a family to just let things be. Okay, correction, she wasn’t someone to just let things be.

  When one of Daniel’s previous gal pals sued him for child support, Donna was the one who forced the paternity test, not her brother or even his ineffectual lawyer. Turned out the twins had two different fathers with neither being her brother. It was worthy of a tabloid talk show. That brush with fatherhood slowed her brother down and made him a bit more discriminating about his female companionship. Although, he would have supported the kids no questions asked, taken them to the park and attended their school functions. Overall, he would have been a decent father, which was probably the reasoning behind the legal maneuver. All the same, family took care of their own.

  Why was she rushing to the hospital? Mark wasn’t family. He’d be in emergency room triage by now. Might even stay there for an hour or two depending on how heavy the workload was tonight. Only close family would be allowed in. Did he even have family around here? All she knew was he wasn’t married. No way she could bluff her way in as his wife. The man would be coherent enough to insist he didn’t have a wife. He did have a sister, though.

  After parking the car, she half-jogged to the lobby and through the swinging doors to the emergency room since the receptionist wasn’t at her desk. A nurse immediately stopped her and gave her a stare down.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” The woman fisted her hands balled and placed them on her hips.

  Donna, familiar with the move since she had used it numerous times herself, experienced no intimidation. “I’m going to my brother, Detective Mark Taber. He was shot in the line of duty.” She didn’t have to force the slight breathiness that accompanied her statement.

  “Oh, the cop.” The nurse relaxed her arms and her face followed suit.

  Donna corrected her, “Detective,” and earned a glare for it. The man worked hard for the title. He should at least get to use it. Plenty of physicians got miffed when not addressed as doctor.

  The nurse turned and she followed, mentally vowing to keep her mouth shut. She’d been working on that all week without success.

  Curtains separated the various examining areas. It was the sign of an older, poorer hospital. Why hadn’t they taken him to her own hospital, which had better facilities? Her lips twisted as she regarded the curtains. Could be the police insurance was only honored at this hospital, or it was the closest. Probably the latter.

  The nurse announced in a strong voice that carried just the slightest edge of skepticism, “Your sister is here.”

  The hospital bed folded near the top, allowing Mark to sit in an upright position. His shirt was off and a thick white bandage wrapped around his shoulder. A magazine rested across his lap and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. His mouth dropped open at the announcement. Donna waved behind the nurse’s back, hoping to get his attention.

  “Eileen is here,” he said the words slowly. “I could always count on my older sister being there for me.”

  Her eyes narrowed because she was fairly sure he’d put an extra emphasis on the word older. His acceptance of her identity switch was all she needed as she swung around the nurse and pulled up a chair. Plenty of people claiming to be a relative had faked her out before. The only way you truly knew was if a patient refused to see them. That could happen with actual relations too.

  “Sister,” Mark said, the corners of his mouth twitching a little as he held back a smile, “so good of you to come.”

  Seated in the chair, she reached for his free hand, the one without an IV catheter in it. Her fingers curled around it automatically, squeezing it, assuring herself he was still alive. A slight beep indicated his heart and blood pressure were monitored. As it should be. A casual glance at the leads attached to his body confirmed that protocol was being followed.

  “Should I assume now since I’m helpless on my back, you’re checking out my masculine charms?”

  Her eyes shot up from the leads to his laughing eyes. “Brother, I’m shocked you’d say such a thing.” A perusal glance did note he had a hairy chest, not a waxer like so many modern men. She preferred men being themselves as opposed to emulating some fashion model, not that there were all that many men in her life. Focus, Donna, bullet wound.

  She angled her head toward his arm. “Bullet still there?”

  “Of course.” His hand pulled from her grasp to touch the bandage, wincing when he did. “Hurts too. Already took some X-rays. A lot of times they leave the bullet in, especially in combat situations.”

  The desire to examine the wound clawed at her, but Mark’s sister would never do such a thing. “Bullet’s evidence.”

  Mark nodded. He started to push up his slipping eyeglasses but whipped them off instead. “I said as much to the ER doctor. The surgeon that will remove it is home sleeping as you should be.”

  “Maybe so.” The illuminated hour hand on her watch pointed to eleven. She’d expected it to be much later with everything that had happened tonight. On a typical night she’d be changed into her nightgown, in bed and reading her latest murder mystery. No nightgown, but definitely a murder mystery that she and Mark were both living. Reality tended to be more messy and dangerous than reading about it.

  The nurse peeked back in and mentioned as she held the curtain open for two orderlies that a room was ready. She glanced at Donna, who remained seated by Taber. “Visiting hours are way past over. You can return tomorrow at 8 a.m.”

  The bum’s rush, she recognized it. She stood, reluctant to leave the obviously tired man. Besides, she had no clue what he had on under the covers. The man deserved some privacy. “Okay,” she spoke, trying for compliance. “What time is surgery?”

  “Seven.” The nurse volunteered the information without thought. Why wouldn’t she? A sister would want to know.

  She reached across the bed and touched Mark’s cheek. “I’ll be back.”

  His facial muscles showed some slackness, evidence that a painkiller or muscle relaxer had been administered, probably both. “I know,” he mumbled the words before his eyelids closed.

  Walking away was difficult, but she had no reason to stay. It wouldn’t do her any good to stand guard by his bed. Maybe someone should. A call to the police department wouldn’t b
e out of line. She had the phone in her hand even before she hit the parking lot. Her first call was to work.

  “Emergency. I won’t be in tomorrow.”

  The answering service did not pry into the nature of her emergency, which was good. She wasn’t explaining. Her job was to call the head nurse for a replacement, but the head nurse was her. The phone dinged in her hand. “Of course.” A brief glance revealed the answering service number.

  A few minutes later she convinced her fellow nurse, Shannon, to take her shift since it was her off day and she needed the extra money for her son’s tuition. Call it taking advantage of a single mother, but she knew her go-to people when it came to extra shifts. The digital dashboard clock read 11:22, too late to call Daniel, but she punched the two for speed dial anyhow. He’d be upset if he heard about the shooting from someone else.

  Maria answered the phone with a suspicious, “Hello?”

  Oh, it sounded like some former companions hadn’t got the memo Daniel was married or didn’t care. “It’s me, Donna.”

  A sigh greeted her, then a friendlier greeting came across the airwaves. “Sorry, I should have known. Got a drunken bootie call last week. The woman couldn’t even tell she wasn’t talking to Daniel. It, ah…”

  “Made you slap the snot out of my brother.” She didn’t always understand why Maria was still uncertain of her brother’s loyalty. After all, he married her, but she didn’t really have time to shore up her sister-in-law’s self-confidence. “Is Daniel awake?”

  Not that it mattered, she’d have Maria wake him up.

  “Yes, he’s sitting beside me watching some vintage football game.” The tone of her voice expressed her bafflement at her husband’s behavior.

  Her brother’s voice sounded in her ear. “What’s up?”

  “A lot.” She went through the short version from someone hanging out at the house, scanty details of the middle and ending with Taber getting shot and going into surgery in the morning.

  There was a lot of angry breathing on the other end of the phone, but Donna kept going, not allowing her brother a word in edgewise. If she stopped, she might cry. That was for other people, the weak, the overly sensitive and those who just needed the sympathetic attention.