Dak lunged for our attacker’s arm, but my pup only tore the fabric on the man’s sleeve.
I scrambled for Kitty and screamed long and shrill, hoping it would attract someone’s attention. Quinn? A neighbor? Anyone.
I hadn’t expected to attract my mother, whose high pitched voice traveled down from the top of the stairs.
“Marcella? What’s going on? I just called 911.”
The figure—tall, dressed in black, and wearing a ski mask—stood over me with his arm raised to strike again. He froze momentarily, backing up when my mother’s high-powered LED lantern wobbled its beam down the stairs, illuminating his big, booted feet and hairy hands.
I noticed the blackjack in his hand and screamed again. “Quinn!”
I heard my mother coming down the stairs and sirens sounded in the distance. Our attacker said something in a language I didn’t understand, his voice guttural and filled with warning.
My mother called down from the top of the stairs. “I’m coming down, and I’ve got my husband’s .45 cocked and ready. Whoever’s there better get the hell out before I get down there. And I’m one helluva shot.”
Oh my God, she’s going to get herself killed. “Thelma, stop! Stay up there.”
In seconds, the figure ducked out the window.
“Mom? I mean, Thelma! Don’t come down until—”
The lights flickered back on and in seconds, Quinn appeared at my side, his sides heaving. Sweat prickled his brow. “I got him, Marcella.” He still held the bat clenched in his fingers and froze when he saw the shattered window. “Oh, God. There were two of them?” He spun around, searching the room. “Are you girls okay?”
Dak ran around with his nose to the ground, growling.
I turned to Kitty to check on her. “I’m okay, but the bastard hit her.”
Kitty’s eyes were closed, fresh blood trickled down her cheeks.
I reached for a pulse in her neck, fumbled for a few seconds, and found it. “Thank God, she’s alive.”
My mother, who insisted I call her Thelma, stood in her robe on the stairs, clutching my father’s gun, her hair in old-fashioned pin curls and her striped pajama bottoms pulled up high, almost to her ribs. Her jaw dropped to her chest. “My God, Marcella. Who is that?” She took a few steps toward Kitty. “Did she break our window? Did Quinn hit her with that bat?”
Quinn groaned and rummaged in the junk drawer. “Duct tape. I need duct tape.”
I watched him streak to the back room, brandishing his roll of tape, then turned to my mother. “No, there were two guys. Quinn got one. I’ll explain later. Keep an eye out for the cops, and stay with Kitty. Please?”
“Kitty?” She nodded and sagged into the rocker by the couch, the gun hanging loose in her fingers. “Okay.”
I jumped up and pointed to the .45. “Is it loaded?”
With a brief nod, she chuckled and tightened her grip on it. “Darn tootin’ it is.”
“Geez, Thelma. Be careful with that thing.”
I hurried after my husband, skidded to a stop at the entrance to the guestroom, and almost rammed into him. I put my arms around his waist and sidled up to peek from beneath his arm.
Quinn stood still in the doorway, hands hanging at his side. “He was right here. I clocked him good with the bat.”
I pushed past him and crouched down near the bed. A blue striped feather lay on the carpet, nearly hidden by the bedspread. I picked it up and stroked the edges with my fingers. “He must’ve dropped this.”
Quinn reached for it. “He could be from the rez. God, Marcella. This is not cool. Why would my people turn on Kitty? It’s not normal.”
I had the same thought, but had heard reports on the local news about a small group of thugs from the west who’d moved in and tried to capitalize on the local Seneca-run casinos. Maybe it was someone like that?
With a shiver of fear, I turned and looked back at Quinn. “You don’t think he’s going around front, do you?”
Quinn’s eyes widened and he spun around, beating me to the front room. Thankfully, all we saw was my mother rocking in the armchair and Kitty, out cold on the couch.
***
Half an hour later, two paramedics loaded Kitty onto a gurney, having cleaned and bound her wounds. I hovered nearby, trying not to get in the way. They’d introduced themselves as Amanda and Ed. Both were heavyset with red hair and pleasant personalities. I wondered if they were brother and sister.
Quinn answered questions and watched their progress while he swept up the glass and nailed sheets of plywood over the broken windows.
It was even colder inside now, as if the moist, hungry fog had invaded our home, just like the two thugs. I pulled my jacket closer, zipping the front. I didn’t turn on the electric baseboards, although I probably should have. Quinn and I tried to avoid touching the thermostat until the last possible moment in the fall. With the price of electricity, we spent a fortune on heat every season.
Dak had been in his element, trying to hop on everyone’s laps, snuffling their private parts, and licking them to death. Now he lay on the floor by my feet, finally tuckered out.
I answered questions from a local cop, an Officer Blake. I’d seen him around town on occasion. Slim, tan, and in his forties, he was all business. I wished we’d had our favorite policewoman, Officer Claire Runyon, who had helped investigate the murder of my best friend’s sister during the summer. But “Copper” as I’d affectionately dubbed her, had recently relocated to the Adirondacks, near Speculator, to be exact. We missed her, but I knew her reason for moving, and it was a good one.
Blake perched on the edge of my couch where Kitty had been, asking my mother the very same questions he’d just asked me. He scribbled in a small notebook, looking up occasionally. “Please start again, from the beginning.”
“I told you, Sonny. I didn’t see squat. Dag blammit, I didn’t get down here until it was all over.”
Blake buried his head in the notepad. “Got a permit for that, ma’am?”
“Of course I do. What do you think I am, a criminal?”
“No, ma’am. Just doing my job.”
“Well then get off your skinny butt and go chase those hoods, Skippy.” She huffed at him and pulled her robe tighter. “They can’t be far.”
Quinn’s mouth twitched. “Skippy” was Thelma’s pet name for every man she came in contact with, and when she used it on Quinn, he hated it.
Blake’s radio beeped. He answered it, frowned, and jumped to his feet. “Sorry, folks. We’re not well-staffed tonight. Got another call.”
Big surprise. Our little lake town was understaffed in all seasons except summer, when the visitors almost outnumbered the locals and they hired extra men to help in the department.
“Three-car accident, just up the hill.” Blake turned to Quinn, mumbled something about coming back as soon as he could, and headed for the door.
The ambulance attendants answered similar calls, speaking into their radios, and started to roll Kitty outside. Quinn and I followed them, shivering in the rain that fell in cold sheets against our skin. Quinn held Kitty’s hand and walked beside the gurney.
The patrol car’s lights flashed. It sped away down our one-lane lakeside road, siren blasting.
It wasn’t long before we heard the screech of tires and a crash. The siren wound down to a sick sound, a broken, slow-motion growl.
Chapter Three
Amanda and Ed froze just before loading Kitty into the back of the ambulance. The rain still fell hard, splashing in deep puddles and seeping under my hood. I couldn’t remember rain like this in years.
Ed turned and looked down the hill, where a fireball erupted and flamed. His eyes widened. “What the hell?”
Good question. Did Blake’s cop car hydroplane and hit a tree? Why else would an experienced lawman go off the road on familiar country roads with no traffic? Maybe he hit a deer?
Ed exchanged a quick glance with Amanda, and pushed the gurney toward us. “
Get her back in the house.” Both attendants jumped into the ambulance. Ed rolled down his window. “Listen. We’ll be back soon as we can. And we called for backup. Just keep her still. She’ll be okay.”
With hands on the wet steel bars, we wheeled Kitty back toward the house. I tried to cover her with my own raincoat, but it was useless. Her face and the sheets were already soaked. Hard pellets began to bounce off the ground.
Great. Just what we needed. Sleet.
Ed flipped on the ambulance light and headed for the accident. A few lights flicked on in neighboring houses, and a dog barked.
Both of the cottages flanking our house were empty, but the big Victorian home three houses down belonged to local journalist Dee Dee LeStrange and her husband. Because of the curving shoreline around the cove, I could see their property. Their front light snapped on and Bart, Dee Dee’s retired firefighter husband, stood on the porch with his rifle. Fingers of light started to filter across the lake, pale and filmy pink.
“Come on.” Quinn’s expression was serious, almost anxious. “Let’s get her inside.”
He scanned the fence, bushes, and walkway on the way back to the house. When we’d almost made the side door, he stopped and stared into the woods behind the garage. “Cripes. Those bastards are still out there, Marcella. I just saw someone.”
Chills crept up my spine. With cold reason, probably born of the sick fear that filled me, I began to plan. “Take mom’s gun and get the van, but take out one of the back seats so we’ll have enough room. Back it all the way up to the door. We’ll put Kitty’s gurney inside.”
He nodded. “Good idea. I’m on it.”
“I’ll get Mom, Ruby, and Dak. I’ll throw a few things together and meet you out here in five minutes.”
“Don’t forget the oils. Bring all of them.”
“Of course.” I rolled my eyes as if he’d said not to forget the cell phone. My Young Living Essential Oils had become an integral part of our lives. We’d need them to help Kitty heal. I muttered under my breath, “Do you think I’m an idiot? I wouldn’t go anywhere without them. Geez.”
Quinn helped me maneuver Kitty back inside to keep her dry—or drier—then dashed outside with my father’s .45 steadied in one big, capable hand. I watched his turquoise eyes grow dark, his back firm, and his mouth settle in a resolute line. A part of me shivered with pride. And desire. Or maybe both.
***
Sirens still screamed from the hillsides. A few minutes later—just as we were ready to back out of the driveway and get the hell out of Dodge—another cop car approached and rolled to a stop beside us. The young man looked familiar, and I realized with a start that he was Officer Runyon’s younger partner, Montello. We’d met him over the summer when he’d been fresh out of the academy. Matter of fact, he’d tried to arrest us.
With his black slicker hood pulled over his face, he came to my window.
I rolled it down and stared at his serious young features. He couldn’t be older than twenty-four, maybe twenty-five. Just a kid. But I recognized him all right. “Officer Montello?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Hollister. Nasty night.”
I was impatient to get going, but pretended to have social graces. “Nice to see you again. Are you helping out with the accidents?”
“There’s only one accident, Mrs. Hollister. Officer Blake’s patrol car.”
So, no three-car pileup on the hill? What the hell? Had it been a ruse to get Officer Blake out of our house?
I stiffened. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah, almost bought the farm, but he rolled out of the car before it blew. Anyway, he wanted me to warn you. Said somebody messed with his patrol car.”
Quinn leaned forward. “Is that why he went off the road?”
“Absolutely. Said you should check your brakes before you drive your vehicle, sir.”
“What the hell, Skippy!” My mother screeched from the back seat.
I shot Quinn a terrified look.
Montello continued. “Also said you ought to get out of here if you can, after you check the van. We’ve got a call in for more help, but he’s afraid the guys who attacked your friend there,” he nodded to Kitty, “might still be around. Said you’d be safer at a hotel.”
Quinn spoke up again. “I just saw someone in the woods. Not long ago. Over there, behind the garage.”
Montello scanned the trees. “Thanks. We’ll check it out. It’s getting light now. Maybe it’ll scare them off.”
My mother whispered from the back seat. “I sure as hell hope so.”
Montello motioned with his flashlight. “Listen. Pull up here and let’s check out your brake lines.”
With a grateful smile, Quinn pulled up in front of the garage. Ten minutes later, we were on the road again. They’d found nothing.
We passed the still-smoking wreck that had been Blake’s car, where two sheriff’s cars idled with flashing lights. Slowly, we crept by it. When we were sure no one was following from our neighborhood, we headed north on West Lake Road.
Quinn’s phone rang before we had gone a mile.
“Honey? Will you get it for me?” he said.
Wondering who would call him at this ungodly hour, I reached for it. “Hello?” I heard breathing on the line, but they didn’t speak right away.
“Hello? This is Quinn’s wife, Marcella. Anybody there?”
A woman answered in an urgent whisper. “Please. Don’t let them hurt Kitty.”
Chapter Four
I put the phone on speaker. “Who is this?”
The woman on the other end of the phone sounded as if she’d been crying for days. “I’m…a friend. I gave Kitty Quinn’s address. Did she make it there?”
Who at the reservation had our address? My husband hadn’t been there since before our marriage, eight years earlier. I answered cautiously and tried not to sound judgmental. “Yes. She made it here, but someone followed her. They just broke into our home and attacked us.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry. Is she okay?”
I looked back at the figure on the gurney. “She’ll need medical attention. I think she’s in a coma or something. We’re on our way to the hospital right now.”
The woman wept into the phone for a few seconds, then collected herself. “Don’t go there! I just overheard him tell his guys to watch the emergency rooms near you.”
I was silent.
“Quinn’s wife? Did you hear me?”
“I did. Sorry. Who are these people?”
She sounded hysterical now. “They want her dead! Please, take her far away. Don’t tell anyone.” She paused, whispering hurriedly into the phone. “I have to go.”
“Can I call you back later?”
“No! They’ll trace it to you. Please. I have to go. Oh, God. He’s back.”
She hung up abruptly. Quinn frowned. Before I could ask him who at the reservation could possibly have our address, my mother’s voice pierced my ears.
“I couldn’t hear a dag blam thing with all the rain on the roof. Who was that? And where are we going, Skippy?”
We hadn’t had time to discuss it, but I knew exactly where we were going.
Quinn smiled, in spite of the Skippy thing. “Tall Pines. No one will find Kitty there.”
Ruby’s sweet voice chirped from the back. “Tall Pines! Tall Pines! Gimme cookies!”
Thelma pouted. “You know I hate camping, Marcella. I’m not a roughing-it kind of gal.” Her voice sounded tired now, and I felt a tug of sympathy for her. She’d had a tough time the past year, what with losing my stepfather to cancer and all. She needed a break, even if our Tall Pines cabin wasn’t exactly “roughing it.”
I turned to face her. “Quinn and I thought you might rather stay with Fran like you did last time. Would that be okay?”
Relief flooded her face. She ran a hand through her short white hair and reached for her purse. “Oh, good idea. Let me call her.”
&nbs
p; After a brief conversation with her best friend, my mother arranged to stay with her. She began applying her orange lipstick and sprayed on her favorite Chanel No. 5 perfume. The women had been pals since high school, but Thelma would rather die than show up at Fran’s house without her “face” on. I wasn’t surprised she was worried more about her appearance than about the poor girl beside her. She hadn’t asked again about Kitty, and acted as if she weren’t even there. In hindsight, I think she was in denial about the whole thing.
Fran lived just off Main Street in Honeoye, a small village near the north end of Honeoye Lake, one of the eleven Finger Lakes of western New York. They’d both be safe and happy together, just like teenagers at an extended pajama party, and we wouldn’t have to put up with Thelma complaining about the cold toilet seat in the cabin, or the lack of cable TV.
Besides, if the thugs who were chasing Kitty came after us, I’d rather have my mother in a whole different county.
Thelma promised not to mention Tall Pines to anyone, especially Fran, who loved to gossip. She even made up an elaborate story about us going on a long-planned cruise. I held back telling her that the lies with the most detail were often the ones we got caught on.
When Quinn pulled into Fran’s driveway, I unbuckled my seatbelt and checked on Kitty. Dak woke up and licked me all over, wagging his tail like a furry metronome, then circled and flopped on my lap while I examined Quinn’s cousin. She lay on the cot, eyes still closed, but breathing evenly. I checked her pulse, which seemed steady, and tucked the dry blanket over her damp clothes. I couldn’t wait to change her out of them, but with those bastards looking for her, we didn’t dare take the time to stop. There would be no hospitals for Kitty today.
***
It was almost eight a.m. when we pulled onto the New York State Thruway, heading east toward Albany. Except for one stop at Dunkin Donuts to grab some breakfast sandwiches and coffee to go, we had driven straight up Route 390 with no detours.
Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set Page 50