Jill shook her head, hunching her shoulders like a cornered animal.
Claire glanced at Ellen. An unspoken message of horror passed between them.
“Jill . . .” Ellen held out her hand.
Jill backed away, against the kitchen counter, still shaking her head. “No, no, I didn’t do it.”
“Yes, you did.” Claire felt even more certain now. “And you planned it beforehand.” She made an educated guess. “To avoid leaving fingerprints, you wore gloves. Didn’t you?”
Jill started to nod her head, then stopped herself. Her glance darted from Claire to Ellen and back.
“I’ll help you get through this, Jill,” Claire said. “Ellen will, too. We’re your friends.”
Jill’s mad stare burned into Claire. “You couldn’t let up, could you? That death threat should have stopped you, but you kept pushing.”
Claire replayed Jill’s words in her mind. All Jill had admitted to so far was the death threat. Claire had to find some way to get Jill to confess directly to the killing. She tensed, almost holding her breath. “You shot Enrique, didn’t you?”
“That asshole was the scum of the earth.” Jill ground out the words. “He preyed on innocent women.”
“So you killed him.”
Jill’s eyes blazed. “Yes, I killed him. And I’d do it again. He deserved to die, especially after what he did to me.”
Ellen held her hand over her mouth. Tears trickled down her cheek.
“But why frame Roger?” Claire asked.
Nervously, Jill licked her lips. “I had to pin it on someone. I thought I was doing you a favor. Ellen said you were unhappy in your marriage, that Roger was ignoring you, but you’d never leave on your own. So I made it easy for you.”
“How’d you know Enrique would be at my house?”
Jill grinned an unnaturally wide grin. “Ellen told me the day before. So I changed our lunch to brunch and—”
“That’s right,” Ellen gasped.
“And I left the table to call Roger at his office.” Jill’s voice took on a Hispanic accent. “I couldn’t mimic your voice, Claire, so I disguised mine. I’ve been listening to Condoleza for months.”
“And you counted on Enrique carrying a gun?” Claire found this hard to believe.
“I brought my own, but when I saw his gym bag in your hall, I decided using his was better.” Beads of sweat stood out on Jill’s forehead. She jerked her head back and forth, scanning the kitchen counter.
Is she trying to escape? “How’d you know about his gun?”
“I saw it in his open bag one day and asked him about it. He told me he always carried his gun in there. Probably because of his drug dealing.”
“I thought you didn’t know about that.” Ellen’s wide-eyed stare conveyed her surprise.
Jill whirled on Ellen. “I’m not stupid! All those secret meetings, sometimes two or three an hour. Even Enrique couldn’t be servicing that many women. It had to be drugs.”
“Then, after you shot Enrique, you dropped the gun in the hall and ran out the basement door.” Claire hoped Wilson was getting all this.
Jill slid farther from Ellen, along the kitchen counter, her fingernails scrabbling along the edge. “I heard Roger drive up. I didn’t realize I’d be cutting it so close. By sheer luck he was dumb enough to pick up the gun.”
Breathing heavily, Jill glanced at Ellen. “And lucky for me, Ellen’s nervous about break-ins and showed me where she keeps her gun.” Jill slid open the drawer next to her.
Ellen screamed, “Watch out, Claire!”
Jill yanked a small snub-nosed thirty-eight revolver out of the drawer. She aimed the barrel at Claire. Glancing sideways at Ellen, Jill held up her hand. “Don’t move.”
Claire backed up until she felt the edge of the kitchen table. Her chest ached as she fought the urge to scream, but she had the foresight to say, “Jill’s got a gun.”
Ellen looked puzzled. “I can see that. Put it down, Jill.”
Claire heard “Shit!” in her ear, then the loud clang of the van door being thrown open.
Sweat trickled down the sides of Jill’s plump face. “I won’t put it down.” She aimed the revolver at Claire’s head.
With a sinking feeling, Claire realized the bulletproof vest wouldn’t protect her against a headshot. She raised her trembling hands, stared at the gun barrel, and groped for words to stall Jill until the police arrived. “Stop and think, Jill. What good will shooting me do?”
“I can’t go to prison. I just can’t.” Jill’s hand shook. She brought up her other hand to steady the gun.
Ellen inched toward Jill.
Keeping her gaze locked with Jill’s, Claire said, “Get out, Ellen. Now. She’ll go for you next.”
Claire tensed her legs, making ready to spring at Jill. Jill would shoot her no matter what, but maybe she could save Ellen.
Jill cocked the hammer. “Sorry, Claire.”
“No!” Ellen leapt forward, lunging for the gun.
Jill squeezed the trigger.
The loud report made Claire instinctively duck.
The bullet ripped through Ellen’s shoulder, then shattered the clock on the wall behind Claire.
With a groan, Ellen sagged against the counter. She fell face-up on the floor, her eyes rolling back in her head. Bright red blood flowed out of the exit wound and smeared the tiles.
Her reason conquered by raw anguish, Claire screamed.
Jill’s cry mingled with Claire’s, rising in a high-pitched keen. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She aimed at Claire again.
Propelled by guilt and rage, Claire lunged for Jill’s gun hand. She shoved it up in the air and held on.
Jill’s shot seemed to echo down the hallway. The bullet ripped into the kitchen ceiling, showering plaster flakes.
Clawing and kicking, Jill fought Claire like a goaded bear, trying to free her hand.
Claire’s arms throbbed, but she bit her lip and kept her hands clamped on Jill’s.
The front door crashed open. In a blur, Wilson rushed in, followed by his two officers, all with guns drawn.
Wilson dove into the women, knocking them down. He batted the pistol out of Jill’s hand then pinned her face down on the floor.
Gasping for breath, Claire struggled to her hands and knees.
One of the officers knelt beside Jill. He pulled her arms behind her, then snapped handcuffs on her wrists.
Jill thrashed and whimpered. Her eyes rolled back in her head, white and unseeing.
The other officer pulled out his radio. “Send an ambulance.” He knelt beside Ellen’s unconscious body and felt for a pulse in her neck as he recited the address.
Sobbing, Claire reached for Ellen. She saw her friend’s ashen face and the spreading pool of blood. Oh, God. She tried to save me. And after I accused her of murder.
“Don’t die, Ellen,” Claire whispered. “Please don’t die.”
Wilson called out, “All clear.”
Deb ran into the kitchen. She quickly grabbed two kitchen towels off the stove handle, knelt beside Ellen, and pressed one towel on the seeping entrance wound below Ellen’s collarbone. She slipped her hand with the other towel under Ellen’s shoulder.
Eyes tearing, Claire asked, “Will she live?”
Deb looked over, sympathy in her gaze. “I think so.” But she kept her hands tight against both sides of the wound.
Suddenly, Claire was pulled to her feet.
Roger engulfed her in a bear hug.
“When the cops leapt out of the van, we followed.” Deb nodded toward Roger. “He’s a little slower than the rest of us.”
“I’ve never felt so scared,” Roger whispered in Claire’s ear.
“We heard the gunshot right before we reached the front door, but it was locked.” Deb nodded toward the cop on the radio. “This guy shot the lock.”
Dawning realization hit Claire. “I thought that was the echo of Jill’s shot.”
“That’s w
hen Wilson rushed in to play the hero,” Deb said.
Wilson grinned. “Looked to me like you could have brought her down yourself, Mrs. Hanover.” He began reciting the Miranda rights to Jill.
Roger leaned back and held Claire’s face in both hands. “I thought she’d shot you. God, I feared I’d lost you.” He hugged her again.
“I thought so, too, when she aimed at my head.” Claire started to shake, and her knees buckled.
“Sit her on the bench,” Deb said.
Roger lowered Claire to the bench by the kitchen table and sat beside her, keeping a protective arm around her shoulders.
She took a deep breath. The dizziness passed for a moment.
“Adrenaline shock,” Deb said. “Perfectly normal.”
With his face scrunched with worry, Roger peered at Claire. “You okay?”
Even though she wasn’t sure, Claire said, “I’m fine.”
He squeezed her shoulder and raised her chin so that she could look directly into his eyes. “I love you, Claire.” He kissed her, a kiss filled with promises renewed—then ever so gently he pulled away.
Claire smiled. “I love you, too.” Then the room spun and went black.
TWENTY-THREE:
NEW BEGINNINGS
As Claire paced the lobby of the hospital, she glanced at her watch. “It’s been two hours since Ellen got out of surgery. How long does it take to come out of the anesthesia?”
Roger glanced up from the Newsweek he’d been thumbing through. “I don’t know. Sit down.” He scooped up the lopsided pile of magazines he’d already scanned, clearing the seat cushion beside him. “The doctor said the surgery on her shoulder was successful, didn’t he? The important thing is, she’s alive.”
Deb returned from the front desk. “They said Ellen’s awake and we can see her. They warned she’ll be groggy, though.”
“Let’s go.” Claire grabbed the gift basket she’d thrown together, piled with potpourri, flavored waters, chocolates, and romance paperbacks. She headed for the elevators, then an attack of the jitters swept over her. She rubbed her sweaty palms on her sleeves. “Oh, God. Ellen probably hates me after all the terrible accusations I made. How am I going to apologize?”
Roger put his arm around her. “Just be yourself and tell her the truth.”
“That’s good advice, Mr. Hanover.” Marvin Bradshaw, the Gazette reporter, walked up behind Roger. He peered around Roger’s shoulder at Claire. “I understand you caught Enrique Romero’s real killer, Mrs. Hanover.”
Roger wheeled on the reporter. “You again. Get away from—”
“Roger, wait. He’s just doing his job.”
Bradshaw tilted his head at Claire, his gaze showing surprise. “I appreciate your understanding. I’d like to get the whole story for our readers. A front-page headline would be a good way to clear your name, Mr. Hanover.” While he spoke, he pulled a pad of paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket.
Roger glowered at Bradshaw.
Claire shook Roger’s arm to get his attention. “He’s right.”
“He’s right?” Roger stared at her.
“You were all over the front page when the police arrested you. The only way to erase that impression in people’s minds is to get the proof of your innocence on the front page, too.”
She turned to Bradshaw. “I need to visit my friend now, but we’ll talk to you after that. Can you wait?”
“For this story, sure.”
Deb pushed the elevator button. The three of them filed onto the elevator, leaving Bradshaw scribbling notes.
When they arrived at the door to Ellen’s hospital room, Claire stopped and pulled a tissue from her purse. Nervously, she crumpled it until she had a wad clenched tight in her fist.
Roger gave her a little nudge. “Go on.”
Deb smiled. “We’ll wait here.”
Gingerly, Claire stepped into Ellen’s room. The odor of antiseptic and alcohol crinkled her nose.
Ellen lay on a raised hospital bed, an I.V. tube snaking down to her arm from a clear bag suspended on a rack next to the bed. Her disheveled hair lay spread out on the pillow behind her. Without her makeup, and with her skin so pale, she looked older. The word “frail” popped into Claire’s mind, one she’d never used to describe Ellen before.
When Ellen saw her, she held out her good arm, the one with the I.V.
Claire put the basket on the bed-stand then gave Ellen a gentle hug, careful not to jostle her bandaged shoulder. “Oh, Ellen, I’m so sorry.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Damn, I wasn’t going to cry.”
Ellen’s lips curled. “Getting shot was my own dumb fault. I shouldn’t have jumped in front of Jill. How was I to know you were wearing a bulletproof vest?”
“Who told you about the vest?”
“Detective Wilson, when I first woke up. I was too groggy to give him much of a statement, so he’s coming back.”
She glanced at the gift basket. “Is that one of your ‘Hospital Hedonist’ baskets? It’s almost worth getting shot for one of those.”
“It can’t even begin to make up for what you did for me, and . . .” Claire swallowed. “I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“For accusing you of killing Enrique, for even believing you could do such a thing.”
A faraway, sad look came into Ellen’s eyes. “I wouldn’t have thought Jill could do such a thing, either.”
“Neither would I.” Claire clasped Ellen’s hand. “Contrary to what Wilson said, you saved my life. Jill was aiming at my head.”
“I still can’t believe she was ready to shoot you. You are, or were, one of her best friends.”
“Jill’s reasoning was twisted. How could she think that killing a man in my bedroom was doing me a favor?”
Ellen pursed her lips. “Maybe she thought that. Or maybe she just said it. She could have been jealous of you, you know.”
“Jealous?”
“Yes. Enrique didn’t want her, but he wanted you. Maybe killing him in front of you was a form of revenge.”
“Oh, God, that’s too awful to imagine. I don’t want to believe that of her.”
With a sigh, Ellen said, “Neither do I.” Feebly, she patted Claire’s arm. “I’ve been doing some thinking. You were on the right trail. You knew the killer was Jill or me. If you hadn’t come to my place to accuse me, Jill wouldn’t have confessed. So you did the right thing.”
“Still, I’ll never forgive myself for thinking you were a murderer.”
“Well, I forgive you. But you owe me big time.” Ellen held a finger to her chin. Her eyes twinkled. “A day of shopping should do it. That is, once I get out of here.”
“First we’ll look for a new kitchen clock.” Claire warmed to the topic. She loved shopping, especially with Ellen. “Then we’ll go to your favorite shop, the Silent Woman. I see a new silk flower arrangement.”
Roger walked in with Deb. He grinned at Ellen. “The silent woman? That doesn’t sound like you.”
Ellen let out a weak laugh, then said, “It doesn’t, does it?”
“And I’ll throw in lunch at the Ritz Grill,” Claire said. “You can’t let me off that easy.”
Ellen winked at Roger. “That’s me. Easy.”
“Until then, I’ll come by every day to see you.” Claire frowned. “Are you in much pain?”
“They’ve got me doped up pretty well. I’ve seen some pretty colors and had some interesting dreams. Maybe I should contact Travis when I get out.”
“Good God, I hope you’re kidding.” Noting Ellen’s sly grin, Claire smiled.
Deb rounded the bed to stand on Ellen’s other side. She scanned the dressing on Ellen’s shoulder. “Looks like they patched you up well. What did the docs say?”
“No permanent damage. The wound should heal in a few weeks, then I start physical therapy.”
Roger grasped Ellen’s hand. “I’ll be forever in your debt. If not for you, Claire may not have been here today.”
He put his other arm around Claire.
Ellen looked from one to the other and her face softened. “You two have made up, haven’t you?”
Claire gazed into Roger’s eyes. “We’ve started.”
Roger nodded then glanced down at Ellen. “You call me, you hear, anytime you need anything. A man’s help around the house, whatever. I’ll patch up your kitchen ceiling for you.”
The sound of a throat clearing made Claire turn toward the door.
With a sheepish expression on his face, Dave Kessler stood there. He held a vase that contained a dozen long-stemmed red roses. “I’d like to take that job, if I may.”
He carried the roses to the bed-stand then looked down at Ellen. Finally, he said softly, “How are you?”
Ellen swallowed hard. “I’ve been better.”
An awkward silence followed.
“Looks like it’s time for us to go.” Claire signaled Deb with a nod toward the door.
Roger clasped Dave’s hand. “Take care of her. She’s a special woman.”
“I know.” Dave glanced at Ellen. “I know.”
Claire bent down to hug Ellen and whispered in her ear, “Give him a chance. He still loves you.”
Then Claire left, pushing Roger out in front of her.
Deb waited for them in the hall. “Was that Ellen’s ex-husband?”
Claire glanced back in the room and saw Dave leaning down to grasp Ellen’s hand. “Hopefully not ex much longer. C’mon, let’s give them some privacy.”
As they walked down the corridor toward the elevator, Detective Wilson approached. “Looks like you came from Ellen Kessler’s room. Is she lucid?”
Claire placed her hand on his arm to stop him. “Yes, but she has a very important visitor. Can you give them a few minutes alone?”
“Sure.” He looked at Roger. “The D.A. is filing the papers to drop all charges against you. You’re a free man.”
“Congratulations, Roger.” Deb clapped him on the back.
“It’s all due to Claire,” he said.
Excited, Claire hugged him. “Now you can go to Ned and get your job back.”
A Real Basket Case Page 24