Penelope’s vision was getting blurry and she squinted as she looked around the shed. She couldn’t see any other way out. She had to get the doors open.
Exhaust continued to pump out the back of the MINI and the air felt as if it was getting thicker. Every breath made Penelope cough.
But she was darned if she was going to die in this shed without a struggle. As her Yankee grandmother always said, Parishes weren’t quitters.
Penelope tried to stiffen her spine, but she was finding it harder and harder to stand up straight and coughing continued to wrack her, doubling her over with intense spasms.
She felt herself beginning to panic and tried to take deep breaths to calm herself down but then realized that all she was doing was breathing in more noxious fumes.
If she could disable the car’s engine somehow, perhaps she would be able to shut it off. She popped open the hood and peered in dismay at the inside. She had no idea which part did what.
In a burst of anger, she slammed the hood shut.
Darn it, she wasn’t going to be Jemima’s third victim no matter what it took. There was no way she was going to allow Jemima to get away with murder.
Every problem has a solution even if you don’t like the solution, her grandmother used to say. She just had to think hard—harder than she ever had in her life. Maybe if she imagined what one of her characters would do in a position like this—she’d always been able to come up with an answer when they had to be rescued from a potentially deadly situation.
She was beginning to feel woozy when an idea came to her. It would take courage, but what did she have to lose?
She got back into the driver’s seat of the MINI, put her foot on the brake, and shifted the car into reverse. She said a short prayer that she was going to be successful, then removed her foot from the brake and transferred it to the gas.
The car shot backward and slammed into the shed doors, jolting Penelope’s very bones. But the doors held.
She drove forward and then reversed again, and this time she distinctly heard the sound of wood splintering.
The crash against the door sent a jolt of pain through Penelope’s head, but she wasn’t giving up now. She put her foot on the gas and floored it. The MINI shot backward and crashed into the doors. The lock gave way and the doors flew open.
Penelope put the car in park and stumbled out. She didn’t have the heart to look at the damage to the rear of her car. She shoved the now-splintered doors open, folded them back on either side of the shed, and got back in the MINI.
She prayed the car was still functional. She put it in reverse and carefully backed out of the shed. Her hands were shaking and her head was still fuzzy. She winced when she heard a high-pitched screech as the rear door of the MINI scraped against the side of the shed.
She managed to turn the MINI around and head back down the path toward the road. She could hear a scraping noise coming from underneath the car. It was probably her bumper dragging but this was no time to stop and look at it.
She had no idea where Ivy, Jemima, or Floyd were. Jemima had been about to leave and was probably already tucked up in a restaurant somewhere with Ethan, but she didn’t know about the other two. If they were still at the lodge, surely they heard the noise as she rammed the shed doors with her car.
She pressed down a bit harder on the gas pedal at the thought that Floyd might even now be coming after her. She had no doubt that this time he would finish the job he’d started.
Every rut in the lane jolted the MINI and sent a corresponding jolt of pain through Penelope’s head. All she could think about was getting her hands on some ibuprofen and a big glass of water. Her throat was dry and her mouth felt parched.
She heard a clang and looked in the rearview mirror to see the bumper of her MINI lying crumpled on the path.
Something else now appeared to be dragging behind the car. Penelope heard it scraping the ground and when she looked in the mirror again, she saw that she was etching a furrow in the dirt.
As long as she made it to the main road, she thought. It wasn’t particularly well traveled but surely someone would come by before too long.
She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to look. The Land Rover she’d seen parked outside Worthington’s shooting lodge was jouncing across the uneven terrain toward her.
She was almost to the road. Penelope increased her pressure on the gas pedal, and the MINI lurched forward, the scraping sound behind her increasing with the speed. She had to grit her teeth against the pain as she hit the numerous ruts and ridges in the path.
She didn’t dare look to see where the Land Rover was. The last time she’d checked, it had been close enough for her to see that Floyd was driving with Ivy in the passenger seat beside him.
The country road that led into Chumley and the high street was now only yards away. Penelope turned onto it and the sound coming from in back of the car now became a screech as whatever was hanging off dragged along the macadam. She suspected she was about to lose her entire muffler.
The dragging slowed her speed and it was barely any effort for the Land Rover to catch up to her. Floyd rammed the back of her car and she felt a shock travel from the base of her spine up to the top of her skull.
Penelope’s hands were clutched on the steering wheel so hard they were beginning to ache. Her face felt wet and she realized she was crying. Her nose was running, too. She was tempted to swipe at it but didn’t want to take her hands off the wheel.
A car was coming from the opposite direction. Penelope squinted into the distance. It looked like a police car. As it got closer, she recognized the blue-and-yellow checkerboard pattern of a patrol car. What if he just passed her by? She had to signal her distress somehow. Would her trailing muffler be enough to alert the cop to her plight?
Penelope decided she couldn’t let the patrol car go past her without doing something. She slowed down, quickly wrenched the wheel and angled the car so that it took up both of the narrow lanes, and slammed on the brakes.
She heard a noise and looked in back of her in time to see Floyd yank the steering wheel and drive the Land Rover off the road and into the adjacent field.
The patrol car’s brakes squealed and the smell of burning rubber filled the air as the officer came to a stop inches from Penelope’s MINI. His face was red with fury as he opened his door and got out.
“What on earth do you mean by stopping your car like that?” Puffs of vapor clouded from his mouth as he spoke.
Penelope fumbled for the door handle. It took all of her waning strength to push the door open. She felt her legs tremble as soon as her feet hit the ground and she carefully slid from the seat and stood up. She swayed slightly and put out a hand to steady herself.
“Blimey.” The cop rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “What’s happened to you, lass? Have you had an accident?”
Penelope opened her mouth but at first no words came out, but then all of a sudden they spilled out, tumbling over one another until she was convinced that she sounded like a lunatic.
The policeman held up a hand. “Whoa, slow down, lass. You say someone was chasing you? In their car?”
Penelope started to nod but the movement set off a wave of pain.
“Yes. They were trying to kill me.”
A change came over the policeman’s face—a wary look of disbelief. “Kill you, you say?”
Penelope could tell he was now convinced she was crazy. She had to get him to believe her.
She pointed toward the field adjacent to the road where the only sign of the Land Rover was a rapidly settling cloud of dust.
“Yes. The man and woman in that Land Rover that cut across the field there. They were trying to kill me.”
“I see.” The cop stroked his chin. “I think we’d better get you to hospital.” He pointed at her. “Get th
at head of yours taken care of. That looks nasty.”
Penelope had caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror at one point. There was dried blood on her forehead and cheeks and matted in her hair. No wonder the policeman thought she was daft.
“But you have to go after them.” Once again, Penelope pointed across the field and into the distance. “You have to stop them. They tried to kill me.” She didn’t know what she wanted to do more—stomp her foot or burst into tears.
“Yes, yes,” the cop said soothingly. “I’ll be taking care of that. Just as soon as I get you to hospital. That’s a nasty-looking lump on your head. No wonder you’re imagining things.”
“I’m not imagining it.” This time Penelope did stamp her foot. She pointed at the cell phone on the policeman’s belt. “Call Detective Maguire. He’ll tell you.”
A look of doubt spread across the man’s face. His hand inched toward his cell phone.
“Go ahead.” Penelope pointed at the phone. “Call him.” She lifted her chin and glared at the policeman.
TWENTY-FOUR
The policeman had Penelope sit in his patrol car while he dialed his cell phone. She didn’t know who he’d called, but moments later another patrol car arrived and a tall, earnest-looking cop with slightly stooped shoulders jumped out. A few minutes after that, there was a rumble in the distance and a tow truck rattled down the lane and into view.
Penelope turned around and watched as a man in a baseball cap bustled around hooking a chain to the front of the MINI.
Shock was beginning to set in and Penelope started to shiver, just a bit at first but then so violently her teeth clattered together.
The policeman reached out and turned the dial on the heater.
“We’ll soon get you nice and warm,” he said as he steered the patrol car down the lane toward the high street.
Penelope leaned back against the headrest and savored the warmth washing over her. She began to doze and didn’t wake up until they were pulling in front of a multistory building with a sign out front that read Chumley-on-Stoke Hospital with an arrow pointing to an automatic door with the letters A&E over it.
“Here we are,” the cop said, pulling on the emergency brake. “We’ll have you fixed up in a tick. I’ve called ahead and they’re waiting for us.”
Even before he finished talking, a woman in blue scrubs came out the door, pushing an empty wheelchair.
“Here you go, love,” she said as she helped Penelope into it.
Penelope started to protest as they went through the automatic door, but the nurse just tut-tutted and assured her that everything was going to be fine.
The next thing Penelope knew, she was lying on a gurney, wearing a hospital gown, and a young female doctor was asking her questions.
Penelope explained about being hit over the head and then being exposed to carbon monoxide. The doctor looked startled briefly but then quickly resumed her professional countenance. A nurse appeared to take a blood draw and then Pen was whisked away for a CAT scan.
Finally, Pen was wheeled back to her cubicle and moments later the doctor reappeared.
She pulled a flashlight out of her pocket, shone it in each of Penelope’s eyes, and then had her follow the pinprick of light with her gaze.
She smiled at Pen. “We’re still waiting on the results of the blood tests but you appear to have a slight concussion.” She examined Penelope’s head. “We’re going to have to get that stitched up too,” she said briskly. “It’s not a terrible cut but head wounds do bleed so. I’ll be right back to take care of it.”
She left the room and Penelope looked around. It wasn’t much more than a cubicle with all sorts of equipment hanging from the walls. There was a television mounted high up in the corner, but she didn’t have the energy to turn it on.
She was closing her eyes when she sensed a presence in the doorway. The doctor, no doubt, back with her sewing kit.
When she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see Maguire standing there, his face creased with concern. He gulped when he saw Penelope.
“The constable told me what happened,” he said, reaching Penelope’s bedside in two strides. “You look terrible,” he said and grinned.
Penelope grinned back. “You should see the other guy.”
Maguire’s expression became serious. “Tell me what happened.” He pulled the visitor’s chair over and sat down. He took Penelope’s hand.
Penelope explained about Ivy and how she’d come to the conclusion that Ivy had killed Cissie Winterbourne.
“But I was wrong. Ivy was merely an accomplice with an ax to grind. She sent her cousin Floyd to kidnap me and when I got there, Jemima was waiting.”
“Jemima?” Maguire sat up straighter in his chair. “Why?”
Penelope explained about Cissie and Ethan and the past that Cissie and Jemima shared.
“Ivy needed money. And besides, as I said, she had her own bone to pick with Cissie. She was more than willing to lend Jemima her apron the night of the ball and to later take it out and toss it on the bonfire.”
Maguire raised his eyebrows. “What about Tobias?”
“Jemima was afraid he might have seen her with Cissie that night so she decided he needed to be eliminated.”
Maguire sighed. “I have to confess that I originally agreed with the constable that the bump you’d gotten on the head must have had you imagining things. But this makes sense.” He got up abruptly. “I need to send some men after Ivy and Floyd. I’ll interview Jemima myself.” He started toward the door but then stopped and turned around. “I hate to leave you here all alone.”
Penelope shooed him out the door. “Go on. I’ll be fine. I can always call Mabel or Figgy or my sister.”
Maguire didn’t look totally convinced, but he left and Penelope could hear him hurrying down the hall.
* * *
* * *
Figgy came to pick Penelope up when the doctors in the A&E were finally convinced she was fit enough to go home.
“You will have someone with you, I hope,” the nurse said as she gave Penelope a sheet of instructions. “You have a concussion so you need to be alert for these signs.” She tapped a bulleted list on the paper in Penelope’s hand. “If your symptoms worsen, you’ll need to come back to hospital.” She glared sternly at Penelope.
Penelope promised to do as she was told and was relieved when the nurse left, drawing the curtain in back of her, and Penelope could change out of the hospital gown and into her own clothes.
There was a bloodstain on the neck of her sweater and she shivered when she saw it. The horror of what had happened washed over her anew and she had to sit down for a moment while she fought back the tears pricking her eyelids.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” Figgy popped through the door. “Whoa.” She came to a halt. “What on earth happened? You said you’d had an accident and needed stitches. I assumed you fell or something. You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”
“I’ll explain later,” Pen said. “All I want now is to get out of here.”
“Righto. My car is outside. Can you walk? Should I get you a wheelchair?”
“I can walk,” Pen said, slowly standing up. “I think.” She swayed slightly. “Can I take your arm?”
Penelope linked her arm through Figgy’s and they made their way out of the examining room and down the hall. Penelope took a deep breath when they got outside, hoping to get the antiseptic hospital smell out of her lungs.
Figgy carefully tucked Penelope into the front seat of the car and then went around to the driver’s side.
“You’d best drive rather slowly,” Pen said, wincing slightly as Figgy’s front tire hit a pothole in the parking lot.
“Will do.” Figgy reached over and patted Penelope’s hand. “Do you mind if we make a quick stop at the Open Book? I seem to hav
e left my phone behind.” Figgy clicked on her blinker. “Besides, Mabel wants to see with her own eyes that you’re okay.”
They rode down the high street slowly. Gladys was standing outside the Pig in a Poke, locking the front door. She waved as they went by.
Figgy pulled up in front of the Open Book. “Wait and I’ll come round and help you out,” she said as she put the car in park and turned off the engine.
“Well I never!” Mabel exclaimed when Penelope walked through the front door. “You go and sit down. Figgy will make us a cup of tea and then you can tell us all about it.”
Pen didn’t argue and sank into one of the slipcovered armchairs, grateful for its soft embrace. Mabel kept looking at her as if to reassure herself that Penelope was all right.
“Here we go.” Figgy wheeled over the tea cart. Penelope noticed a tray of tea sandwiches on the bottom shelf and realized she was starving. “Here’s a nice cuppa for you,” she said, handing Penelope a cup of tea.
“I hope you put plenty of sugar in that,” Mabel said, pointing to Penelope’s cup.
“Potted shrimp and cucumber and watercress,” Figgy said as she handed Penelope a plate of the dainty sandwiches.
Penelope drank her cup of tea, downed several sandwiches in record time, and sighed with satisfaction. She felt her energy slowly returning.
“Now you’re getting some color in your face,” Mabel said with satisfaction. “You had us quite worried, you know.”
“Are you up to telling us what happened?”
“How did you ever figure out that it was Jemima?” Mabel said when Penelope had finished talking.
“I didn’t really. Jemima admitted it although I suppose I might have gotten there myself eventually.”
“What about the MINI?” Figgy said.
“They’ve towed it to Digby’s garage, but it’s not looking good,” Pen said. “It seems the frame could be bent—whatever that means.”
“Well, thank heavens for that,” Mabel said, throwing her arms in the air. “You’ve had more than your share of near misses. You’ll be much safer on foot.”
A Fatal Footnote Page 23