No Mallets Intended

by Victoria Hamilton

  “Please don’t believe him,” Jaymie murmured, looking up into the brown eyes.

  A child appeared beneath the man’s elbow, blond curls drooped over an adorable elfin face. “Who are you?” she asked.

  She took a deep breath. “My name is Jaymie. What’s yours?” She tried to calm her trembling, but it didn’t help. She could hear Prentiss walk on the gravel path toward the porch. As long as she had been in her van, she had felt in control of her fate, but she couldn’t drive forever.

  “Jocelyn Eleanor Müller,” the child said, no hint of baby lisp, even though she looked about three.

  “What a pretty name!” Jaymie looked up into the man’s eyes. She lowered her voice again and said, “My name is Jaymie Leighton. I live in Queensville and I’m not his patient. He is a psychiatrist, it’s true, but . . .” She looked down at the child’s face and tried to find the right words. “But he’s a . . . a dangerous man.”

  “Jaymie, you need to come with me,” Prentiss said, his words measured, his voice closer and clearer in the frigid air. He mounted the steps, the wood creaking under his weight.

  The householder held her gaze for a long moment. He matched her low tone as he replied, “My name is Jakob Müller, and I believe you.” His words were comforting. “Hey, friend,” he said, raising his voice and putting his arm around Jaymie’s shoulder. “Why don’t you just take a seat on the porch. The lady is coming inside and we’ll sort this out.” Prentiss started to protest, but Jakob raised his voice and talked over him. “A few minutes more or less won’t make a difference.”

  He pulled her inside and shut the door, snicking the lock into place and leaning back against it. “Jocie, why don’t you go put the kettle on so we can make tea for our guest?”

  Jaymie, stunned by the turn of events, watched in surprise as the little girl toddled off. “Isn’t she a little young to be putting a kettle on?”

  “She is eight years old.” He eyed her; his tone had not been impolite, but there had been reproof.

  Jaymie kept her mouth shut. Eight? The child appeared the size of a three-year-old, but that was neither here nor there at this moment. She blinked rapidly, and the fog of fear began to lift as her rescuer gently took her arm and led her forward into a big open room with rustic log walls. To the left the ceiling lowered to create a kitchen space; Jocelyn was up on a stool and with deft movements put a kettle on a lit burner. It occurred to Jaymie suddenly that Jocelyn was a little person, compact but every bit her age, and perhaps, given the gravity of her manner, a little overly mature for eight.

  Taking a deep breath, her heart rate subsiding, Jaymie looked around and noted that the kitchen was decorated with antiques: an old rocking chair with a handmade quilt thrown over it, a trestle table with only a bowl of fall flowers as decoration, a pepper and coffee mill collection, which was gathered on a shelf over the old-fashioned stove. Rustic kitchen implements from many years ago hung from a pot rack over the trestle table alongside copper pots and cast-iron frying pans. If she had a few minutes she’d check it all out, but her gaze swung to the right, to an expansive family room with a gigantic stone fireplace and two chairs pulled up in front of the fire, lit on this chilly November evening. She shivered.

  He had been silent while she looked around, but now Jakob said, “You’re cold. Come sit by the fire. I would get the phone but the electricity is out—it won’t work without it—and my cell phone is dead right now. I was going to charge it up, but the electricity has been out for a while.”

  As he guided her to the fireside, Jaymie noticed for the first time that the only light in the place was from the fire and some lanterns hung from hooks on the supporting log posts dotted through the space. She sat down in a soft, comfortable chair that made her want to curl up and vegetate. But this was not home, and she was in danger.

  “What am I going to do?” she asked, more of herself than Jakob. Jaymie had thought her troubles were over, but now she was not only still in trouble, she had potentially put this man’s child and whomever else was here in danger.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said. His tone was assured and calm.

  The warmth started to seep into her. She was grateful that this once, she had not brought her little dog into danger, and that it was just her. She stared into the man’s long-lashed brown eyes, and then glanced back where his little daughter was efficiently getting out a teapot and filling it with hot water from the kettle. The child was adept, more than most kids even at eight.

  “You probably heard the news; a week or so ago I found the body of Theo Carson, a writer, at the historic home in Queensville.” She briefly told him the rest of the story, and what she now believed about Prentiss Dumpe and Dick Schuster working together.

  There was a knock at the door at the exact moment she finished, and Jakob crossed the floor toward the door, putting out one hand to keep his daughter at bay. She watched, her eyes wide, with a stillness uncommon in children. Jaymie followed and stood by his elbow.

  “I’m very sorry to intrude,” Prentiss said through the door. “But I’m freezing out here. Could I at least come in and warm up? We can talk this all over.” He paused for a moment, then said, “I don’t know what tales that girl, Jaymie, is spinning, but you must know . . .” He paused, then raised his voice and continued. “I don’t like to say it, Jaymie, but I must. Sir, the young woman is delusional and possibly violent. She has been unbalanced by recent events, and I’m afraid for her. I see you have a child; don’t be fooled by Miss Leighton’s semblance of a sane person. She could harm you both, and I couldn’t live with myself if that happened!”

  It was surreal and frightening how rational he sounded, and how irrational she must seem. Jakob did not meet her gaze, so she couldn’t tell if he was buying what Prentiss was selling. She heard the low thrum of another motor, which quickly cut. “Dick Schuster!” she exclaimed, shaking all over. “That’s his car. He’s in on it with Prentiss, just as I told you.”

  Jocelyn examined her with a calm, brown-eyed gaze so much like her father’s it made Jaymie blink. “Is he a bad man?” she asked.

  What should she say? Jaymie looked to Jakob, and he smiled slightly, a crooked, engaging expression.

  “Sweetie, why don’t you get your photo album out?” he said, instead of answering. “Maybe Jaymie would like to see some of your pictures, like the ones from Halloween.”

  Her eyes lit up. “I was a princess!” she said, with a bounce. “And I went to a party and I won for my costume!”

  Jaymie’s eyes filled with tears, and she took in a shaky breath. This place, this family . . . it was all so normal, and yet she had brought them this horribly abnormal visitation of danger. But the reassurance of Jakob’s composed demeanor gave her courage. Despite all obstacles, she would prevail. “I’d love to see the pictures!” she exclaimed.

  “Go get your photo album,” her father urged, and he gave Jocelyn a little push. She skipped off to some cupboards in the hall past the kitchen.

  “You have to believe me,” Jaymie repeated. “He’s dangerous.”

  He nodded. “You will just have to wait, Doctor,” Jakob said through the door. “Go back to your car if you’re cold, and I will tell you what I have decided soon enough.”

  He led her back to the fireside and pushed her gently down into the chair. He sat, too, but moved forward, leaning with his elbows on his knees so he could speak quietly. “I believe you; you don’t need to try to convince me. I’ve known men like him.” His mouth tightened in a grimace, but he didn’t say anything further about that. “If you say he’s a quack, I believe you.”

  “He’s worse than a quack, Jakob, he’s dangerous,” she said, grabbing his flannel-clad arm. “I meant every word I said. They talked about the murder in front of me, so they can’t afford to let me get out of here alive.” Saying it felt so melodramatic, but there was not a word that was not true. If not for one thi
ng, she would already be dead: Prentiss hadn’t counted on Jaymie being decisive.

  He covered her hand on his arm; she looked down at it, broad with brown hairs across the back, roughened by work. “It’s okay. We’ll take care of it together.” He stood and straightened. “We’ll hold them off and figure something out.”

  She was not alone in this, and her heart lightened. Jakob seemed to be one of those men who are good with animals and children and anyone scared; he oozed confidence and reassurance. Jocelyn skipped out, carrying a big scrapbook album.

  Jakob said, “Jaymie, why don’t you sit on the rug in front of the fire with Jocelyn so she can show you her scrapbook?”

  There was weight in his words. She examined his eyes; he didn’t intend to go out there, she hoped. The way Prentiss was talking he planned to make Jaymie look like the villain of the piece. He could do some serious damage and still claim that. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened to her. She shivered and said, “You’re not going to . . . to . . .” She stopped, afraid to say more.

  Jakob shook his head slightly, and she relaxed.

  “I will never put my child or myself at risk unnecessarily. Now . . . sit. Let my daughter show you her scrapbook. Warm yourself by the fire.”

  Jaymie slipped down to the rug in front of the fire and felt the warmth bathe her face. Her mind raced. What could she do? Prentiss and Schuster couldn’t kill her in front of this man and his child, right? Every possible solution she could think of seemed to lead down a dangerous road. Normally when she was in a desperate situation she didn’t have time to think, and maybe that was a blessing, because her fears were inventing dangers. What if Prentiss blocked the doors and set the house on fire? No one would ever know what had happened. It would just be one of those things . . . a family that had a fire and lanterns going because of a power outage, and it got out of control.

  Jocelyn carried her scrapbook over, then plopped down on the floor, her little legs splayed out. Jakob was near the door listening; he had the same stillness about him as his daughter, a rare calm energy.

  Jaymie sat cross-legged in front of Jocelyn. It had not escaped her notice that by sitting down on the rug she and the little girl were concealed from the door by the big easy chairs. The child opened the scrapbook and proceeded to point out pictures and explain who and what they featured. Jocelyn was in tumbling classes, it appeared from the photos, and took music lessons. But though Jaymie tried to pay attention, this was no time to be caught unawares.

  Her nerves were humming, and she was conscious of her host’s movements, even though for a big man, he moved quietly. Jakob checked all the windows to be sure they were locked, then went to the door. “Doctor, are you still there?” There was no answer. Jakob looked over at Jaymie and put his finger to his lips.

  Above them the sound of glass breaking made Jaymie start up in fear. She exchanged a look with Jakob, then said, brightly, “Jocelyn, you know what I’d really like to do? I love to play hide-and-seek.” She thought that if the child were concealed she could not be a target. “How about you find some place to hide down here, and I’ll count to a hundred and come find you, okay?”

  “That is a good idea,” Jakob said, sending her a warm smile.

  Jocelyn jumped up, willing, it seemed, to interrupt her scrapbook explanations for an impromptu game. She trotted off, and Jaymie could hear her crawl into one of the hall closets. Perfect. Jakob had already picked up a heavy pepper mill from his collection, and he hefted it in his hand.

  There was a sound upstairs, a heavy thump. That exact moment lights came on, the television in the corner blinked to life with a cackle of kids’ show noise and a clock radio somewhere blipped on with an alt rock song and a beeping alarm.

  “Thank goodness!” Jaymie cried. Jakob grabbed the telephone handset and tossed it to her. She dialed 911, as her host waited at the bottom of the stairs, listening to a thumping sound from upstairs.

  “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?” came a calm female voice over the telephone.

  “I need police! A man is threatening me. I’m trapped in a house, and he’s broken in upstairs.”

  “Your location, please?”

  “Uh . . . I’m not sure of the address!”

  “Tell them Müller Christmas Tree Farm on Pine Ridge Road!” Jakob said.

  Jaymie repeated what he said, unnerved by the sounds she was hearing, a commotion on the stairs. Dick Schuster, disheveled and panting, lunged down the stairs at Jakob, joined by Prentiss, who hopped down the last steps and dashed around the two tumbling men toward Jaymie.

  “Why did you make this so complicated?” he grunted, grabbing her arm and tugging her toward the door. The telephone clattered out of her hands and onto the wood floor. “Now we’ll have to make this convoluted, a home invasion, and you, left for dead somewhere, probably by the same nasty criminals.”

  That threat galvanized her; Prentiss Dumpe was not going to hurt this father and daughter. As he tried to pin her arms behind her back Jaymie twisted, her arm twisting, too, pain shooting through it. But it gave her room to make a fist and she punched Prentiss in the ear with her free hand. She could hear Dick Schuster struggling with Jakob. The fellow was smaller than Jakob, but desperate and shrieking with anger.

  There was a sudden screech of pain, and Jaymie, still flailing at Prentiss, who was crying out at the blows being rained down on him, saw a wondrous sight: Jocie had a mop in her hand and she was whaling away at Dick Schuster with all the might in her little body. She was hitting her father, too, but Dick was so confused and terrorized that he covered his head with both hands, releasing Jakob, who knocked him out with a well-placed kick and came to Jaymie’s aid.

  As he grabbed Prentiss from behind, pinioning both arms behind his back, Jaymie heard the welcome wail of sirens. Blinking light filled the cabin, flashing through the uncurtained kitchen window and across the log walls. A megaphone screamed to life, a loud voice commanding them all to come out with their hands up. Gladly Jaymie complied, as did Jakob, frog-marching Prentiss in front of him.

  A half hour of confusion followed as the Michigan State Police took over the scene. Jaymie had a lot of explaining to do, and Jakob almost got himself into trouble when he protested at how his little girl was being spoken to. But in the end Prentiss and a still-unconscious Schuster were taken away. Courtesy of an MSP officer who let her use his phone, Jaymie spoke to Chief Ledbetter and found out the alarm company had alerted them to the “break-in” at the historic house. They then put that together with her panicked cell phone call as she drove away from the scene, traced Jaymie’s cell phone GPS to the cabin and alerted state troopers, who were just then getting her confused and garbled 911 call. It had all happened much more quickly than it seemed, the whole episode taking just a little over a half hour.

  Finally Jaymie sat, drinking a cup of tea in a chair by the fireplace, as Jakob came back from putting his overexcited daughter to bed. He slumped down in the matching chair.

  “Are you all right?” Jaymie asked, hands wrapped around the mug.

  “That was awful,” he said, shoving his big hands into his unruly mass of dark hair. “I was so afraid for my little Jocie, and then she turns into the heroine of the day. She could have been hurt so easily.” His voice broke and he shuddered.

  A Michigan trooper approached and cleared her throat. “Ma’am,” she said to Jaymie, “we need you to come with us to headquarters. Chief Ledbetter of the Queensville force is going to meet us there so we can sort things out and settle jurisdictional issues.”

  Jaymie jumped up and Jakob rose, too. He walked them to the door. They had already settled that Jakob would go to the state police headquarters the next day to give a formal statement, since he had flatly refused to do more that night than give them his informal statement.

  “I hope Jocelyn will be okay,” Jaymie said, turning and looking up into Jakob’s
weary face. She wanted to touch his scruffy cheek, to thank him for his help, to say how grateful she was, but she wasn’t sure how. “I’m so sorry I intruded on you like that, but I was frightened and didn’t know where to go.”

  “You came to the right place,” he said, squeezing her arm.

  And then she had to go. She looked back over her shoulder and saw him standing in the doorway, scruffing his chin and watching, his gaze thoughtful. He waved, and she wished she could run back to the cabin and curl up in front of the fire again.

  Twenty-five

  AFTER A CONFUSING conversation that went long into the night at the Michigan State Police satellite station, Chief Ledbetter was actually the one who drove Jaymie home, telling her she was too tired and it was too late, and he’d make sure she got her van back the next day. She sat in her back lane in his car and stared at her home. It had been a horrendously long day. Home looked odd to her, as if she had been away on a long trip and come back to find everything altered.

  “I’m not sure why I feel so . . . so strange.”

  “You’ve been through a lot these last few months, Jaymie,” he said, moving slightly to rest his paunch more comfortably behind the steering wheel. “I always tell new recruits to expect to change more in the first few months of police work than they ever will. Nothing alters you like a firsthand view of crimes.”

  Jaymie stared up at her house. “Chief, I have something I need to tell you, something important that I should have told you a while ago. I didn’t because it was someone else’s story, and I felt she should be telling you.”

  “Does it have to do with Cynthia Turbridge and the bloody sweater?”

  She looked over at him, his profile reminiscent of Hitchcock’s, the double chin, the plump cheeks. “Actually, yes. How did you know about it?”

  “Mrs. Turbridge came to the station last evening and had me called in. Said she’d only talk to me. Told me everything about her little blackout evening, and told me you knew, but that she had sworn you to secrecy.” He looked over at her. “Would have helped if you’d told me.”