by Неизвестный
She gave me a sour look but waved for me to follow her into the kitchen. Ignoring her, I trudged to the sofa and flopped down on the cushions, moaning tiredly.
As soon as she left the living room, I started hunting around for the item I’d come to collect. I couldn’t tell Pam what I wanted, or she’d never let me out of the house with it. I searched high and low, even under the couch cushions, and came up empty. I returned to my floppy position on the couch when I heard her returning.
“You don’t look well,” she said. “Maybe you should sleep here tonight.”
“Good idea,” I said, sitting up and reaching for one of the mugs on her tray. “Which one is mine?”
“Take your pick,” she said. “They’re both decaf.”
I picked the one furthest from me and blew over it before taking a sip.
She sat on my father’s recliner, watching me steadily.
“What’s this theory you’ve been cooking up?” she asked.
I pulled out my phone and opened the photo of Logan before handing it over. “Do you recognize this guy? You said you saw a bearded man in the neighborhood.”
She held one hand to her throat and made a choking sound. “Yes. That’s him. That’s the man I saw. Who is he?”
“He’s a lawyer, and I believe he had Mr. Michaels’ house under surveillance. He was gathering evidence about the man’s thefts in preparation for a lawsuit. I believe he had cameras set up in one of the neighboring houses, maybe inside the attic across the street, behind that little circle window.”
Pam studied the photo, frowning. “Inside Elizabeth Biggs’ house? I don’t think so. She would have told me if something like that was going on.” She looked up at me, eyes wide. “What evidence do you have?”
I tapped the side of my temple. “All the evidence so far is up here, in my brain. But once I go to the police, they can issue warrants and get the rest.”
“Remarkable,” she said. “I’m very impressed. You are definitely your father’s daughter.”
I sat back on the sofa, rubbing my stomach and groaning. “And I have my father’s propensity for eating too many sweet and sour chicken balls at the Golden Wok.” I groaned again. “This heartburn is killing me. I already crunched some antacids in the car, but I guess all this detective work makes a person’s stomach acidic. Do you happen to have anything stronger?”
A smile spread across her face. “I might have something. But you should get into the tub, in a nice, hot bath. The water relaxes all your muscles while the heartburn pill goes to work on the rest.”
I looked at my phone, which was still in her hand. “Maybe I should phone Tony and get it over with. He’s going to be so annoyed, but he’ll be glad when he catches this killer.”
“We’ll all be glad,” Pam said. “It’s not that late. You go have that bath now, and I’ll try to remember which days I saw this horrible man in the neighborhood, and then we’ll call Tony with all the information.”
She got to her feet, grabbed my forearm with her free hand, and led me toward the floor’s main bathroom, which was the only washroom in the house with a tub.
“You’re so tense,” she said in a caring manner. “Let me take care of you this once. You poor dear. Growing up without a mother, taking whatever scraps of comfort you could from the weekly whore your father had running through here.”
“It wasn’t easy,” I said.
Pam turned on the water for the bath and adjusted the temperature for me.
“A nice bath makes everything better,” she said soothingly.
“Pam, I really hope things work out for you. I hope you get what you deserve.”
Without turning around to face me, she added scented bath oil to the water. “Don’t you worry about me, dear. Once I set my mind on something, I make it happen.”
Jeffrey walked into the bathroom and announced his presence with a meow. He jumped onto the counter, where he gathered his paws together neatly, wrapping them in his dark gray ribbon of a tail.
Pam said she’d be back in a few minutes with my antacid and left me to my bath.
Jeffrey watched the tub water rise with his bright green eyes. He let his eyelids droop, pretending he was relaxed, but he was faking it. The swirling water had him very concerned, but he was staying cool on the surface, just like me. Faking it.
I got undressed and climbed in. I settled back into the hot water. The soaker tub did have the perfect angles for relaxation.
Pam knocked on the door and came in with a glass of white wine. She held one hand along the side of her face to preserve my modesty.
“I’ve got your antacids here,” she said. “This is the kind you swallow. Don’t chew. And you should probably take both of them.”
“That drink doesn’t look like my tea,” I said.
She laughed. “I just opened this bottle to have a tipple while I pack my things. You must drink a glass. You can’t let me drink alone. Reach out your hand and I’ll give everything to you.”
“Hang on,” I said. “I’ve got shampoo in my eye. You can set the pills on the counter.”
“I’ll wait,” she said.
I turned the tap to cold and splashed water on my face. “It’s really stinging. This could take a while.”
She hesitated but finally did as I asked, setting the pills and wine on the counter next to Jeffrey. Then, instead of leaving, she started gathering up my clothes from the floor.
“Don’t take those,” I said.
“I’m starting up a load of laundry with these colors,” she said.
“But those don’t need washing. I just put them on before I came over.”
She said, “Now you’re being silly. You were wearing this outfit when you left here this morning. Remember, I have a keen eye for fashion.”
I nodded and let her take my clothes.
As soon as she left, Jeffrey caught my attention with a tail flick. He looked me right in the eyes as he used one paw to knock one of the two pills off the counter. The white pill sailed over the wastebasket and toilet and straight into my tub water, making a tiny plopping sound before sinking from sight. It was followed, mere seconds later, by the second one.
As I stared at him in shock, he sat up straight, looking very pleased with himself. I reached into the water and groped around in search of the tablets, but the first one had already dissolved, and the second one melted under my touch.
I whispered to him, “Now what?”
He hooked his paw around the stem of the wine glass and gave it a nudge.
Shaking my head, I grabbed the wineglass before he ruined everything. I lifted the toilet seat, sloshed the wine into the water, and set the empty glass next to the tub. I settled down into the water to re-think my plan.
Fifteen minutes had passed when Pam returned, rapping softly on the door.
Groggily, I mumbled for her to come in. I couldn’t have stopped her since the handle for the room hadn’t been lockable for years. As kids, my sister and I had driven my father crazy with our indoor games, so he’d dismantled the interior locks on all the doors to cut down on door-kicking battles. Never before had I regretted my childhood antics more than now.
Pam came in, still with her hand at the side of her face to preserve my modesty. “You can borrow my bathrobe,” she said, setting a garishly-patterned monstrosity on a hook on the wall. “Feeling sleepy?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, closing my eyes. “Gimme a few minutes more in here with my eyes closed, then I’m going to crash in your guest room, if that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay,” she said sweetly.
I kept very still as she hovered over me. She wasn’t much bigger than me, and she was a lot older, but she had one huge advantage.
Pam was a stone-cold murderer.
She’d killed Murray Michaels, and if I didn’t do something, she was going to kill me next.
I breathed steadily, even though her close proximity made my skin crawl.
In hindsight, I s
houldn’t have taken off my clothes and gotten into the tub. It was too dangerous a risk, just to get a couple of sleeping pills to use as evidence. What I really wanted was Pam’s sketchbook, but I hadn’t found it in the living room and had hoped to buy myself more time.
She leaned in over me, her body a growing darkness I could sense, as well as see through my closed eyelids. Were those her hands coming toward my throat?
“Chicken balls,” I said sleepily, licking my lips. “Never again.”
She made a groaning sound as she backed away from the tub and finally left the bathroom.
My eyelids flew open.
I had to get out of there, empty-handed but alive.
The ceiling above me creaked. My heart pounded. It wasn’t just any old creak. I knew the creaks of that house, thanks to hours and hours of playing hide-and-seek with my sister and anyone else we could draw into our games.
The creak had come from directly overhead, from the squeaky floorboard that had once been in my childhood bedroom and was now in my father’s den, right in front of the safe, where he kept his gun. If Pam knew the combination, which wasn’t that difficult to guess, as he’d used his birthday, she could be retrieving the gun and loading it.
The creak sounded again overhead.
Just when I thought all I had to worry about was sleeping pills and strangling, the neighborhood killer had to go and get herself a gun.
Chapter 42
Leaving the plug in the drain, I slowly withdrew from the tub, making the smallest movements so I didn’t alert Pam with splashing sounds.
Pam had taken my clothes, so I grabbed the only thing available, which was her bathrobe, and slipped it on. I stood at the bathroom door, listening. Now what? My boots, purse, and phone were at the front of the house, but if she was in the living room with a gun, it would be safer for me to sneak out the back door then around to the front, where my car was parked on the street. It would be embarrassing to be seen running around in a housecoat but preferable to being shot dead in a housecoat.
As I reached for the door handle, I heard movement nearby.
She called out, “If you want more wine, it’s here in the kitchen. Come get some when you’re done in the tub.”
I tied the robe’s belt. She sounded so friendly, which I hadn’t anticipated. Was I wrong about everything? The story about Logan doing surveillance next door had been pure fiction on my part, a lie I’d told to test her, to push her into doing something to silence me. Now I was defenseless, trapped in the bathroom, and unsure what to do next. Had the floor upstairs really creaked? Did she have my father’s gun? Or was it all my overactive imagination?
Something scratched behind me. I turned to find Jeffrey swatting at the bathroom window, trying to catch a tiny bug. That gave me an idea.
I undid the latch and pushed the window open. Cool air rushed in, clearing my mind. The bathroom was on the ground floor, and the window wasn’t the most graceful way to leave the house, but I could do it.
I hated the idea of jumping into the snowy bushes below wearing nothing more than a bathrobe, and I hated the idea of doing so without evidence even more. What could I do? I really wanted Pam’s sketchbook. Where had I seen it last? I’d written a note on a blank sheet for Pam while she was on the phone, and she’d snatched it away and hid right here, in the bathroom.
I crouched down and opened the cupboard doors under the sink. The sight of the spiral binding made me squeal inwardly. Unfortunately, the book was a good twenty inches long, which was too bulky to hide within the bathrobe even if I did dare to sneak out past her. I leafed through the pages quickly, saw what I’d hoped to find, and tossed it out of the window. Jeffrey snapped to attention, eager to play the new game I’d just invented. He jumped out of the window after the book.
After another quick prayer, I did the same.
I landed in the snowy bushes, scratching my legs and shredding my dignity. My robe gaped open, and there I was, mostly naked in the snow, for anyone to see. Nobody screamed, so I had to assume I hadn’t been spotted by a neighbor… yet. I pulled the robe shut, gave the belt a quick tying, and grabbed both the book and Jeffrey.
I walked quickly between the two houses. To say my bare feet were uncomfortable on the crunchy, cold snow would be an understatement. After a minute, though, the ice numbed them, and walking wasn’t too painful, thanks to my elevated temperature from the hot bath plus the adrenaline.
I ran up the steps to the neighbor’s house and rang the doorbell. Nobody came. I rang it a few more times. No answer. A pile of mail and flyers sat by the door. The family was out of town. I looked up and down the quiet, dark street. It was late, and the nearest homes were all dark.
Jeffrey meowed that he was bored with this game and wanted to be set down. He jumped from my arms and raced away, running toward my car.
“Good idea,” I whispered.
I shoved Pam’s sketchbook under the neighbor’s pile of mail and ran after him, toward the car. I didn’t have my purse or my keys, but I didn’t need them. The fancy, expensive car I’d been embarrassed about driving in town was now my salvation, with its luxurious keyless entry. I’d never used the feature, but in theory I could open the door and start the engine by punching in a code.
I crouched down by the driver’s side door, so the keypad was at eye level, and so I couldn’t be seen if Pam noticed I was missing from the bathroom and popped her head out of the front door.
What was the code? I hadn’t used it since I’d bought the car a couple of years earlier. The guy at the dealership suggested the name of a child or a pet. I didn’t have either, but as I recalled the conversation at the car dealership, I remembered making the salesman laugh when I made my selection.
I punched in the code: JEFFREY BLUE.
The door unlocked, and the engine purred as it came to life. My code was the name I’d given to my childhood imaginary friend. Now I just had to grab the cat I’d named after him.
I whisper-yelled, “Jeffrey. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”
Movement on the porch caught my eye. Jeffrey was at the front door, done with our game and ready to go inside again.
The curtains on the living room window were drawn, but shadows shifted as Pam moved around inside the house. It was only a matter of time before she opened the door. Ignoring all my self-preservation warning bells, I cinched the bathrobe tighter and walked in a crouch toward the porch, where the silly cat was sitting.
The door swung open, and there was Pam.
“Stormy Day!” she sputtered. “What the devil are you doing outside in the middle of the night, in my bathrobe?”
She was backlit, the front of her face only dimly lit by the street lamps, but I could see her expression contorting as she worked through what was happening. Here I was, awake, which meant her sleeping pills hadn’t worked.
“Pam, you’re going to laugh at this. I fell asleep in the tub, so I opened the window to get some fresh air, and the cat jumped out. I heard something outside, and I was worried a dog had cornered him, so I went out to rescue him. Silly me, right?”
She wasn’t laughing. “Stormy, get inside before you catch your death of cold.”
Obeying her, I walked up the steps slowly. Her posture changed, and suddenly she was a monster standing in the doorway of her lair, commanding me to come in so she could kill me.
I stopped and took a step backward.
“Actually,” I said. “Since I’m already outside, I’ll go run an errand. Can you believe I left the stove on at my duplex? I won’t be long.”
Coldly, she said, “At least get some shoes.” She slowly backed up, toward the hallway table and my purse. She kept one hand behind her back the whole time. I caught a glimpse of her hidden hand in the hall mirror, and the glint of something metallic.
My heart pounded louder than my thoughts. I held still, my face neutral. She didn’t know that I’d seen the gun. She didn’t know how much I knew.
“That wine was great,” I said. �
��I’ve got a nice bottle at the duplex that I’ll grab when I’m there. I’ll come right back and pop it open while I help you pack.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” she said. “Come inside and lie down on the sofa. You need some rest. I’ll take care of you.”
She sounded so convincing, so caring. I wanted to believe her, but I couldn’t.
She said, “Don’t be scared. Come inside and let me take care of you, the way a mother would.”
“Pam, did you do Leo Jenkins’ window display at Masquerade?”
She tilted her head to the side. “Of course I did. Why do you ask?”
“Why didn’t you go in again and change it for him? I was there today, and he said he had to change it himself. Are you avoiding him? Or are you avoiding standing inside a display window, handling a snowman somewhere the whole town can see you? Is there a reason you don’t want anyone to make a connection between you and professional-looking snowmen?”
She slumped against the side of the doorframe as though tired. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been busy,” she said.
“Busy trying to set my father up for killing his neighbor?”
She let out a laugh that sounded like a fender collapsing. “You certainly do have a wild imagination,” she said.
I continued, “You were planning to be long gone by the time the snow melted in the spring and the body showed up. You were going to watch from a safe distance while the police turned my father’s life upside down. That was your revenge for him breaking your heart.”
She made a tsk-tsk sound. “He didn’t deserve me, anyway. Neither do you.”
“What about Murray Michaels?” I asked. “Did he deserve to be drugged with your sleeping pills and then strangled to death? What did he ever do to you, Pam? Did he steal your newspaper one time too many? Was that a good enough reason for you to kill him?”