Interior Motives

by Ginny Aiken

  But as soon as my office clock read 5:45, I was gone. I raced to Tedd’s and arrived within a couple of minutes.

  Willa had told me earlier that Tedd’s last appointment ended at a quarter to five, and I know from experience that even though Willa leaves for class as soon as the last client walks out, Tedd stays until six or seven.

  I should have paid more attention to the unlocked back door. But I blame my distraction on my impatience. At least I didn’t barrel in like I normally would have; I was uncertain of Tedd’s welcome after all I’d said.

  My hesitation let me catch the murmur of words. I heard a man and a woman talking in the waiting room, and while I couldn’t catch their actual words, I got the general gist of their argument. The male voice broadcast his anger, demand, and persistence and cut off Tedd every time she spoke.

  Her voice remained even and soothing. But the little hairs on the back of my neck prickled up to attention. Something wasn’t copacetic here. I knew that professional voice; it’s the one she uses to keep her clients calm.

  Tedd was in danger. And because of the way my mind works, with every passing second I grew more certain of one thing: this was about Darlene Weikert.

  Should I turn around and get us help? That would leave Tedd alone with . . . Larry?

  Should I instead make my way closer to the waiting room, get a grip on the situation, and then help Tedd before Larry could hurt her? Could I do it alone?

  I thought of my cell phone. Under cover of a somewhat louder outburst, I hit the speed dial. When Dutch answered I stepped closer to Tedd and Larry. I prayed Dutch would hear the disagreement; Larry’s voice grew louder by the minute.

  When Dutch stopped barking his greeting but didn’t hang up, I figured he’d heard. I moved a tiny ways forward; set the phone down on the hall floor; prayed for strength, courage, and wisdom; and pushed myself tight against the wall. Inch by inch I drew closer to the waiting room, where Larry got madder by the second.

  When I finally took a peek into the room, what I saw shook me to the core. The impossible, incomprehensible, inconceivable unfolded before my eyes.

  It wasn’t Larry with Tedd in the waiting room.

  A very angry but very lucid Jacob Weikert held a gun to Tedd’s head. “Sign!” he yelled. “You can’t change what’s happened or what’s about to happen, so do what you know you have to do.”

  “Why did you pretend an illness like Alzheimer’s?” Tedd asked, her patience and serenity admirable even though her hands wore tight grey-duct-tape bracelets.

  He answered with a nasty laugh. “Because nobody expects anything of you, so you can finally do whatever you want. You’re just the dummy in the corner. And now that you know, sign!”

  “Why are you going to the trouble to make it look like I killed myself? Wouldn’t it be easier if it just looks as though someone broke in? A robbery or something?”

  “That doesn’t take care of Darlene. Enough with your questions. That’s all you ever do, ask, ask, ask! Sign the suicide letter so we can be done with this.”

  Tedd blanched, but she didn’t falter. “I’m curious about another thing,” she said. “Why did you hurt—kill—Darlene? She loved you.”

  “Don’t you ever stop with the questions? Will you sign if I answer this last one?” Once Tedd nodded, he said, “I got tired of Darlene holding the purse strings, so I figured out a way to make my own cash. Artsy junk from Central America sells great, and the HGH does even better. There’s a world of money to be made off sickos. Besides, it suits me to wind up a widower with a horrible disease. No one’s ever going to know what I did.”

  I’d heard enough. A long step brought me to within fifteen feet of the man. “I don’t think so, Jacob. I know, Tedd knows, and the PD now knows too.”

  I hoped.

  He spun toward me and gave me the break I needed. I raised my hands into position, spun two preparatory turns, and with my left foot smashed his gun hand.

  A bullet shattered a window.

  The gun flew across the room.

  Another shot erupted, and the bullet lodged into the wall.

  Jacob screamed.

  Adrenaline pumped through me. I focused on my opponent and, with the outside edge of my right hand, landed a blow a few inches to the right of his neck. The crunch was followed with Jacob’s inhuman cry. He fell to the ground, his right side now useless because of the broken collarbone. “Thank you, Father,” I murmured.

  “And thank you too, Tyler Colby, sensei extraordinaire.”

  “Impressive,” Tedd said.

  “I can chop and kick with the best of them, but I’m sorry I didn’t figure out whodunit before Jacob did this to you.” I pulled off my backpack purse and extracted my embroidery scissors from the bottom of that portable pit. “These are killer, you know? I use them all the time.”

  She rubbed her wrists once I’d snipped through the tape. “And never for counted cross-stitch either.”

  “Preach it, sister, preach it!”

  I turned to Jacob, who was moaning where he’d fallen.

  I turned back to Tedd. “Any more of that duct tape?”

  She stood and headed for the couch. I blocked her way. “Go back and sit. Tell me where to find the universal fix all. Our misguided Sir Lawrence Olivier didn’t terrorize me. What a waste of talent. Think what Jacob might have become if he’d auditioned for a movie or two instead of concocting this insane plot to kill his wife.”

  The front door burst open. “Hands up. I got a gun!”

  Tedd and I gaped at a female who’d hijacked Bella’s voice, whose face was unrecognizable beneath black greasepaint smears, whose body’s generous rolls were stuffed into familiar black leggings and a turtleneck top.

  I really, really didn’t want it to be her. “Bella?”

  “You okay, Haley girl? Did I get here in time?”

  “In time for what? To be dragged off to the loony bin? What were you thinking, woman? Put that gun down before you hurt yourself or anyone else.”

  Bella’s blue eyes peered out from the sea of shiny black goo. “In the first place,” she said in a haughty tone, “I’m da bomber with a gun—that’s hip talk for really, really good. And in the second place, what you see here is my authentic reproduction imitation pistol from the Virtual University of Possum Bend, Connecticut. That’s my alma’s mortar. The gun’s to help you fake out the bad guys while you wait for cops to show up. It doesn’t shoot or anything. Isn’t that clever?”

  Somehow a showdown with a killer, armed with a not-a-gun gun, didn’t strike me as all that smart. But who am I to say?

  And before I did say anything, I noticed Jacob’s attempts to rise. “No, you don’t, buddy.”

  “Oh boy,” Bella said. “He’s the bad guy? And he thinks he’s gonna split? No way, Jose!”

  She marched straight to Jacob, shoved him facedown, and then parked her abundant behind on the back of his knees. “Let’s see him try and get away now.”

  Jacob yowled at the audacious affront.

  “Are you okay?” Dutch yelled from the open front door. Even though the threat to Tedd and me was under control—or under Bella, to be more precise—relief swept through me. “A little late this time, Builder Boy. Of course I’m okay. So are Tedd and Bella.”

  He glanced at Wilmont’s pet detective. “Why’s she here?”

  Bella gave him the evil eye. “What do you think? I came to save Haley. I’m the calgary—”

  “Cavalry,” I said automatically.

  “Whatever. I followed her so I could come to her rescue and bring up the rear. Can’t you see I’m overpowering the perp?”

  Dutch’s eyes widened. “Is that . . . ?”

  “Allow me to introduce Jacob Weikert,” I said, “wife killer, con artist, drug smuggler, fraud expert, Oscar-worthy actor, and all-around creep.”

  The creep made a series of noises I couldn’t translate. He also bucked, but Bella gave a whoop and smacked one of his legs with her faux gun.

&
nbsp; “Did you call Lila?” I asked Dutch.

  “The minute I figured out what was coming down.”

  “She’s taking her sweet time, then.”

  “Who’s taking her sweet time?” the detective asked. “And what happened here?”

  I gestured for Tedd to explain, and Dutch came to stand at my side. “Thanks,” I murmured. Then the shivers began for real.

  “I should have been here with you.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “You want to take back that ‘I’m okay’ you fed me?”

  My chattering teeth made it hard to get the words out, but I persevered. “How about I say I was okay when I answered?”

  He slipped behind me, wrapped both arms around me, and pulled me close. I took a shuddery breath and leaned back against him, glad for his solid bulk, his gentle strength, his care and compassion, his presence at my side.

  Was I in trouble or what?

  “I’ll buy that, but it is kind of a letdown. I figured I’d pluck you from the jaws of death again, do my knight-onthe-white-horse act, swoop you up, and cart you out of harm’s way.”

  I looked him in the eye. Mischief sparkled there. “Tell you what, Builder Boy. You keep your handy-dandy little phone charged all the time, and I’ll call you in to save the day the next time I need you.”

  He shook his head. “You’re a piece of work, you know?”

  “And you’re a pain—over and over again. But who’s counting?”

  “We’re heading out now,” Lila said. “But be prepared. I’ll have questions for you after I get him booked.”

  “I’m ready,” I said.

  She smiled. “When aren’t you?”

  As Chris Thomas walked past Lila, his hand a manacle on Jacob’s arm, he looked back to Dutch and me. “When she should see what’s right before her nose. I know I’m out of the game, but I do hope you wind up the winner, Haley. Be happy.”

  I blushed and tried to escape Dutch’s embrace. I got nowhere.

  Bella tucked her faux pistol into the elastic waistband of her leggings. “Yeah, fine. So I got to sit on the jerk. How come you didn’t call me, Haley? I’m the one with the license to grill—the crook, that is. That’s what we in the business call putting the bad guys on the hot seat.”

  I felt Dutch’s silent laughter against my back and struggled to keep mine inside. “Ah . . . well, you see . . . oh yeah! I just hit the button that calls the last number dialed, and it turned out to be Dutch.”

  She narrowed her blue eyes. “You sure?”

  Dutch and I nodded.

  Tedd grinned.

  Bella shrugged. “I’m still bummed. I missed all the fun trying to find a parking spot.” She turned to Tedd. “Did you see how full your lot is tonight? What’s up with that? Is someone having a twofer sale?”

  Tedd tried to look serious and, for the most part, succeeded. “Not exactly, Bella. Tonight’s the monthly meeting of the Wilmont Rock Hound Club. Those are their cars.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Rock hound? Never heard of that dog breed. What do they look like? Do they get along with cats? Think the Balis would like one? Or maybe Midas wants a pal.”

  That did it. We laughed until I cried. Tedd hurried off to the bathroom down the hall, her giggles tinged with a touch of hysteria—our extreme responses understandable after what we’d just gone through. Dutch stopped and started, each time his chuckles heartier than before.

  Bella? She just glared.

  “Where’s the joke? What’s so funny?”

  That sent Dutch into another fit of laughter, so it fell on me to explain. “Rock hounds aren’t dogs. They’re people who’re into stones. They collect them, identify them—kind of like stamps, only heavier and probably dirtier too.”

  “That’s it?” Her disappointment showed through the war paint.

  Tedd walked back into the room. “That’s not all.” She held out a wad of tissues. I took some to wipe my eyes, but the woman under the black goo didn’t even notice my shrink’s offering.

  Tedd went on. “Yes, they do collect regular rocks, but most of them collect gems. Anything from diamonds to garnets to sapphires and tanzanite too. You should see some of their finds.”

  Bella tipped her head to a side. “That’s kinda cool . . . I think. I could use some new jewelry. Maybe I’ll get on over there and check ’em out for myself.”

  Before I could stop her rush toward disaster, she was gone. I winced. “Oh, pity those poor innocent geologists and gemologists next door. Hurricane Bella’s on her way.”

  Tedd grinned. “Pity the PD when they realize she’s the rock hounds’ cat burglar . . . or maybe she’d say ‘cat bungler.’ But she’s not that bad, Haley. I hope I’m still that lively and alert when I’m her age. And remember what I told you. A December romance would take care of a lot of Bella’s quirkier traits. So how have your matchmaking efforts been?”

  Dutch laughed again.

  I spun and poked a finger into his chest. “Not a word, Merrill. Not a word.”

  “What’s the problem?” Tedd asked.

  Dutch hummed the Fiddler on the Roof tune and raised his hands in surrender, wicked glee all over his face. “Matchmaker, here, doesn’t have to do much to fix Bella up. There’s romance in our favorite pet detective’s future. And Haley’s part of that future. Smokey the Bear has to watch out for our Bella. You can set off a forest fire with the sparks between her and Reverend Hale.”

  Tedd’s alarm rivaled my horror.

  “Yup,” Dutch added. “Haley’s future is rosy, all right. She gets Bella for a stepmom and even the Balis for stepcats.” I stomped out the back door and down to the parking lot, turned the key in the Honda’s ignition, and went home to bed. My nightmares were ripe. They featured Bella, the Balis, litter boxes, and me.

  And to think I’d entertained the momentary delusion of a date with the jerk.

  No way. No how.

  Not in a million years.

  Dutch Merrill was nothing more than a pain. A necessary evil on the path to my career success. But that was all.

  So why did I feel so bummed out?

  Epilogue

  I got over my snit soon enough. I’d been at Tedd’s, steaming the creases out of the custom curtains, when a call from the clinic summoned me to Cissy’s bedside. Her condition had deteriorated without warning. Dutch took one look at my teary face, confiscated the Honda keys, and got us there in minutes and in one piece.

  We arrived in time for me to hold Cissy’s hand, join her in prayer, and then see her draw her last breath, a peaceful smile on her lips.

  Dutch knelt at my side, his arm around my shoulders. I cried, my tears half sad, half grateful. “What a difference a few weeks and a meeting with the Father makes,” I finally said.

  “Meaning . . . ?”

  “That when I first met her, if you’ll remember, she wanted the HGH to be the fountain of youth because she was so scared of death. Today she went home to the Lord in peace—she was even smiling. God’s still in the miracle business.”

  “And I’ll bet you had everything to do with helping that miracle along.”

  “All I did was tell her what I know and then pray for her. I wish I could help miracles happen. I’m afraid I need a big one right about now.”

  A frown drew his brows together. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing with me. But you saw my dad. Something’s not right there. And I’m scared . . .”

  His gaze scoured my face. “Alzheimer’s.”

  A new flood fell from my eyes. “In a nutshell. He’s become so forgetful lately . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything.” He gave me a squeeze. “Get him to a doctor. You can even ask Tedd for a referral. I bet she knows a number of good specialists.”

  I blinked. “Why didn’t I think of that? I made an appointment with Doc Cowan, but a referral from Tedd makes a lot of sense.”

  “You’re too close, Haley. He’s your father, and you only want to see good things.” He slipped
a finger under my chin. “No matter what happens, I just want you to know I’m here for you. You can lean on me anytime. I’ll be right behind you. All you have to do is reach out.”

  My stomach flipped, and my heart took flight. But then I unfurled a net of common sense to catch it and bring it back to my control. I couldn’t give the emotion of the moment the upper hand.

  “Thanks.” I covered his fingers with mine. “I mean it, Dutch. I do appreciate your offer.” I stood. “But we’d better call a nurse. They need to see to Cissy.”

  “I think,” he said as he drew to his full height, “God’s seen to Cissy by now. Let’s go see to your dad.”

  We left the clinic hand in hand.

  A week later I looked in my full-length mirror and didn’t recognize the woman there. After years of plain T-shirts and soft, casual long skirts, I’d taken the leap and gone shopping. The results looked good.

  I looked good.

  The ivory silk blouse’s lines paid homage to the classic tailored men’s shirt. But its extra-wide, decorative lapels and the fabric’s rich buttery sheen were nothing short of feminine glam. The wide V opening at the neck showcased my mother’s beautiful strand of pearls to perfection.

  But that wasn’t the most remarkable part of my outfit. My skirt—short for me—skimmed the knees, its yummy caramel color made more beautiful by the drape of the whisper-fine cashmere. And for a touch of the unexpected, I’d added a ribbon belt that closed in a flirty bow and tails. The color? The exact same shade as Dutch’s green eyes.

  Why?

  Because I’m crazy.

  Insane. Stark raving nuts.

  And because I was waiting for Builder Boy to pick me up for our date. Our first date—the first, as he said, of many, many more to come.

  Butterflies? Yeah right. My gut lurched and bucked at the 757s crash-landing in there. And he expected me to eat?

  Then the doorbell rang, and I had no more time to beat myself up. I went to dinner with Dutch, not at a certain Thai restaurant either. He took me to the most elegant place I’d ever seen—even in one of my much-loved vintage films. The menu was a single crisp sheet of translucent parchment with only five entrée selections. But what selections they were!