As soon as Bear and I returned home from our morning walk, I fortified myself with some strong coffee before showering, styling my hair, applying sunscreen and make-up, and dressing in navy capris and a sleeveless, cotton blouse with an abstract brushstroke print design in different shades of blue on a white background. I’d made the button-down blouse the previous spring, and it was one of my favorites. I slipped on my tan thong sandals and grabbed my digital camera, which I deposited in my handbag. With a pat on the head to Bear, along with an admonition for him to be a good boy, I left through the door to the garage. I’d decided to drive to my suspect’s house, even though I could have walked, since it was only about a mile from my own home. I’d driven about half a block down the street when it occurred to me that maybe I should let someone know where I intended to go. I dug my smartphone out of my purse and sent Tracey a terse text message. She replied immediately urging me to wait and telling me that I shouldn’t go to the suspect’s house alone because it could be dangerous. I replied with a “don’t worry” before turning off my phone and returning it to my handbag. I had my plan, and I was going to see it through.
As I turned on Lily-of-the-Valley Lane, I felt hopeful that my little ruse would work. I’d find out in a few minutes, I thought, as I parked in front of my suspect’s house and hoisted my handbag onto my shoulder. I walked to the front door and rang the doorbell. I stood there for a while, knowing that the person inside was probably peering at me through the peephole and trying to decide whether or not to open the door. Finally, the door opened, and I was staring at the person I thought had killed Victor.
“Laurel?” she said, a puzzled look on her face.
“Hi, Eva,” I replied. “I’m working on a project, and I was hoping you might be able to help me.”
Eva didn’t look exactly thrilled as I advanced over the door sill without waiting for her to invite me to come into the house, but she stepped aside and allowed me to enter. Remembering that her husband Karl had said that Eva didn’t always let her own therapist into her home, I knew that I was probably lucky to make it that far. Eva didn’t invite me to sit down, nor did she offer me coffee, although she did close the front door. We both stood there awkwardly in the small foyer, Eva with an expectant look on her face.
“What do you want, Laurel?” she asked bluntly.
I went into my spiel then, explaining that I’d been asked to give a lecture about unusual costume jewelry to a local women’s group—a fabrication, but I had to come up with some plausible story so that Eva would let me come into her house—and that I needed some pictures of jewelry to illustrate my talk. I explained that I planned to give a PowerPoint presentation, just as I did in class when I was presenting project instructions. Eva raised her eyebrows, a skeptical look on her face, as I prattled on. I was beginning to fear that she might not want to cooperate. As an agoraphobic, she may have resented my invasion of her home—the only place where she felt safe.
“And so I was hoping that you’d let me take a photo of that unique brooch—the one with the two pistols crossed—that I saw you wearing in class last year,” I continued, as I pulled my digital camera from my bag.
“Well, I don’t know,” Eva said, hesitating.
“It’s such a stunning piece, and it’ll only take a few minutes to take a picture of it. I could even take a picture of you wearing it.”
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to be in the picture.”
“Then it’s okay if I take a picture of the brooch?”
“I guess so,” Eva said reluctantly.
“The light’s good in the living room. Maybe I could put it on the coffee table and use that as the background.” I repeated my earlier maneuver, stepping forward into the living room without Eva’s invitation.
“I don’t know, Laurel. I don’t think this is a very good idea.”
Uh, oh. I’d pushed too far, and now Eva was backtracking. Desperately I tried to think of a way to pacify her, but pleading seemed to be the only strategy left.
“Please, Eva,” I begged, “a picture of your brooch would really add a lot to my presentation, and I know that the ladies would really enjoy seeing your unique pin.”
“I don’t think so. I’d like you to leave now. You’re acting strange.”
Clearly, I’d overplayed my hand. Knowing that I might never have another chance to talk with Eva, I laid my cards on the table.
“All right, Eva. I’m leaving, but not before you tell me why you have that brooch.”
“I don’t know why you’d care, but someone gave it to me.” Eva said, looking confused. “It was a gift from Courtney.”
This bit of information didn’t surprise me. In fact, it made perfect sense.
“Why did Courtney give you that particular brooch, Eva?” I asked.
“Oh, I was there when Diana won the brooch and a trophy at the Annie Oakley Shootout Competition several years ago.”
“But why give it to you? Why not Liz or one of Diana’s other friends? Was there a special reason?”
Eva shrugged. “Maybe because I earned it. I’d have won that competition myself if my gun hadn’t jammed during the final round.”
What Eva had just told me certainly confirmed my suspicions. Eva was a crack shot. Her neighbors had mentioned her habit of looking out the front window to keep track of what was happening in the neighborhood. She could easily have seen Kenny drop the gun into her trash can, retrieved it while her husband showered or slept, and taken the opportunity to shoot Victor. Victor knew Eva, so he wouldn’t have hesitated to open his door for her. However, I’d heard that agoraphobic Eva hadn’t left her house for more than a year. If that were true, I wouldn’t have considered Eva a suspect, but Tracey and I both thought we had seen her at a shopping center the day we picked up the supplies for Bessie’s party. If so, Eva had overcome her agoraphobia enough for a foray outside her house, and that bit of information clinched it as far as I was concerned. Eva had to be the killer, I believed.
Her motive? Strictly self-preservation. According to Luke, Victor planned to replace Hawkeye Haven’s current landscaping company, and Eva’s husband Karl stood to lose the lucrative contract. Unless I missed my guess, KM Landscaping—it had finally dawned on me that KM stood for Karl Meyer—had only one major client, Hawkeye Haven, and Victor was ready to cancel KM’s contract. If that happened, Eva, who was solely dependent on her husband, could lose her precious home. Even if she had ventured out a few times, she was still an agoraphobic, and her house remained her sanctuary.
I couldn’t stop myself from pressing forward.
“I guess it must have been an easy shot—close range and all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come off it, Eva. You shot Victor, didn’t you?”
“You’re crazy!” Eva’s voice trembled.
“Am I? You were protecting your own, weren’t you? That’s why you shot him.”
“No, no, no! Nothing you’re saying is true,” Eva shouted. “Get out of my house!”
“Hey, what’s going on here?” While Eva and I were mixing it up, Karl had come into the house so quietly that neither of us had heard him.
I’d been sure that Karl wouldn’t be home when I arrived, and I’d been right about that, but I’d also been sure that he’d be away from the house until at least early afternoon. I knew that he played golf with Cynthia’s husband Pete every Sunday and that, after the golf game, Cynthia joined the men for brunch at the buffet. Karl shouldn’t be home now, yet here he was. Eva hadn’t admitted anything, and now that Karl was on the scene, I figured that she never would.
Eva ran to Karl, who protectively put his arm around her. “She must be insane,” Eva moaned. “She accused me of shooting Victor.”
“Oh, she did, did she?” Karl said, looking at me quizzically.
“Laurel’s all mixed up. She said something about protecting my own. I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
“Just what are you talking about, Lau
rel?”
“Your wife killed Victor to save your contract with Hawkeye Haven.”
“What would you know about my contract?”
“I know that Victor was on the verge of cancelling it and hiring a different landscaping company.”
Karl glared at me, a calculating expression in his eyes. In a flash of insight, suddenly I realized I’d targeted the wrong spouse. Eva hadn’t shot Victor, but her husband Karl had. My new-found knowledge must have been written all over my face. Unfortunately, I wasn’t very good at hiding my feelings.
Karl took one look at me, and, in that instant, I knew that he’d realized I’d figured out that he was the murderer. I bolted toward the front door, but Karl intercepted me, gripping me firmly by the arms and pulling me back into the living room. Although I struggled, I couldn’t loosen Karl’s hold on me. Despite his rotund middle section, the man had muscles like steel.
Eva screamed while Karl tried to shush her.
“Karl, what are doing? Let her go!” she pleaded.
Karl shook his head. “No, she knows too much. I have to think.” He tightened his grip on me, pinning my arms behind my back so that I couldn’t move. Slowly, he began dragging me toward the kitchen. Eva followed in our wake, her eyes wide with shock at her husband’s reckless behavior.
“What do you mean—she knows too much?” Eva croaked, still not fully comprehending the significance of Karl’s uncharacteristic actions.
“Shh, shh, shh, Eva.” Karl said, not answering her question. “Leave us alone. I’ll take care of this.”
“He shot Victor, Eva!” I yelled. “Help me! Make him let go of me!” I wiggled in Karl’s vice-like grip, but I couldn’t break free.
“Karl? No, he wouldn’t do that.”
“Then why’s he acting this way, Eva?” I asked.
“Shut up!” Karl shouted. “Don’t listen to her, Eva. You said yourself that she was all mixed up.”
Her eyes darting back and forth from her husband to me, Eva finally had a light-bulb moment, and she began wailing loudly.
“Eva, stop that right now,” Karl commanded. “I can’t think when you’re making that infernal racket.”
Abruptly Eva stopped keening and lapsed into racking sobs, instead.
“Karl, let go of me. You’ll be in even more trouble than you already are, if you don’t,” I said, trying to sound reasonable.
“How can I be in more trouble?” Karl growled. “I killed Victor. That’s a murder rap.” He paused, sighing. “I did the community a favor. I should be getting a medal for offing Victor, instead of––”
“You haven’t been convicted yet,” I said desperately.
“Oh, yeah, fat chance I’d get off with that new boyfriend of yours on the case,” he scoffed.
“He doesn’t know what you did,” I said truthfully. “I won’t tell him,” I lied.
“I’ll make sure you don’t. It’s too bad that the DIY Diva has to take a dive,” Swiftly, Karl pushed me toward the gleaming stainless steel kitchen range, pinning me against it with his body while he reached for a large knife that protruded from the butcher block on the mottled black granite counter. In one quick movement, he snatched the knife from the block and brought its edge to my neck with his right hand while he circled my neck with his left arm. I didn’t know whether he intended to choke me or slit my throat, but, in either case, it wasn’t looking good.
Terrified, I fought back the only way I could. I sank my teeth into Karl’s forearm and bit him with all the force I could muster, wishing I had the power of Bear’s strong jaws in my own.
“Yeow!” he yelled and promptly ripped the edge of the knife he held along the right side of my neck. I howled in pain as blood trickled from my wound, down my neck, and onto my beautiful blue brushstroke blouse, but there was no time to worry about my ruined handiwork now. He pressed the knife blade to my throat.
Karl had decided to kill me, too.
“Eva, help me!” I pleaded, but she just stared at Karl and me through her tears, a blank look on her face.
“Hey, Karl, you forgot to close your garage door,” a masculine voice called as the door between the kitchen and the garage swung open. Karl turned, dragging me with him, the knife still at my throat, to face the intruder.
Cynthia’s husband Pete’s mouth dropped open as he stopped short in the doorway and took in the scene in the kitchen. Immediately, he held out his arm to prevent Cynthia from entering the house. I could see both Cynthia and Amy right behind Pete at the door. For a second, nobody spoke. We were all frozen in place like a DVD that had been paused.
“What the hell!” Pete exclaimed.
“He killed Victor, and now he wants to kill me,” I sobbed.
“Put that knife down, Karl,” Pete said.
“No way. Back out of here, Pete. I’ll cut her throat if you don’t.”
His threat was too much for me. My knees buckled, my head spun, and my body went limp. Pete’s appearance had surprised Karl enough that he’d loosened his grip on me slightly. I slipped right out of Karl’s grasp and landed on the tile floor of the kitchen, cracking my head hard as I landed.
Then darkness engulfed me.
When I woke up, I could see Amy kneeling beside me as a young man in a firefighter’s uniform worked to immobilize my head. Light-headed and confused, I couldn’t remember immediately where I was. Looking down at me with concern, Pete and Cynthia stood behind Amy. Another firefighter was wheeling a gurney into the kitchen while a couple of uniformed police officers were trying to talk to a weeping Eva. Then it all came back to me.
“Oh,” I groaned. “My head hurts!”
“It’s okay, Laurel. You’re going to be okay,” Amy assured me.
“What happened to Karl?” I asked, suddenly afraid that he’d come back to get me.
“When you passed out, he ran out the front door and took off in his car,” Pete said. “But don’t worry. The cops are after him. He won’t get far.”
“That’s good,” I murmured and promptly fainted again.
***
When I woke up the next time, I was lying on a bed in the emergency room of the Center City Regional Hospital, the same hospital where I’d visited Bessie the week before. My head throbbed, the stab wound on my neck hurt, and I felt nauseated. I drifted in and out of consciousness, dimly aware of doctors and nurses milling about. Tracey, Wes, Cynthia, Pete, and Amy all came in and out of the emergency room cubicle, one at a time.
Eventually, I awoke in a different room, and a nurse told me that I’d been admitted to the hospital because I had a mild concussion and that my doctor would be in to see me later. She asked if I wanted some company in the meantime, and I nodded. A few seconds later, Tracey popped in and hugged me tightly.
“Lo-lo, thank goodness, you’re going to be all right! Do you remember what happened?”
“Um, hmmm. Karl killed Victor, Trace,” I said. “I thought Eva was the killer.”
“That was a crazy thing you did, going over to their house to confront Eva. I got worried when you didn’t pick up after I tried to call you back. I was having breakfast with that awful client of mine and my team, and I knew it would take me forever to get back to Hawkeye Haven, but I was so worried about you that I called everybody I could think of. I managed to reach Cynthia and Amy, and I tried to reach Wes—I didn’t have his number, but Amy still had his card, so she gave me the number—but when I called him, my call went straight to Wes’s voice mail.”
“You saved my life, Tracey.” I said gratefully. “I’d be a goner if you hadn’t called the neighbors to come check on me.”
“I left the restaurant right after I called them, but—wouldn’t you know it?—there’d been an accident on the Interstate, and I was stuck in traffic for an hour. By the time I arrived on my street, they were loading you into an ambulance.”
Thinking about my close call made me shudder.
“Wes wants to see you, Laurel. Should I tell him to come in now?”
&n
bsp; “I must look awful,” I protested. Not only did I look awful, but I was also afraid that Wes would feel compelled to give me a lecture.
“He saw you in the ER, so don’t worry about that. I think you should let him come in now. He’s really worried about you.”
“Well, okay, I’d better put on some make-up and fix my hair.”
“You’re not going to the prom, girl.” Brushing a strand of hair from my forehead, Tracey looked closely at me and relented. “But okay, we can do a little something here. Hold on, Amy has your handbag. I’ll go get it.”
My reflection in the small mirror that the hospital provided confirmed my fears that I looked frightful. My disheveled hair, my pale-as-a-ghost face, and the large bandage taped to my neck didn’t help matters at all. Tracey had to help me put my make-up on because my hands shook when I tried to apply my mascara and eyeliner.
“There, that’s better,” Tracey declared as she swiped some gloss on my lips. “I’ll get Wes.”
As the handsome detective entered the drab hospital room, my stomach flip-flopped, whether in happiness to see him or fear that he’d admonish me, I wasn’t sure. Without a word, he lowered the railing on the hospital bed, sat down next to me, and gathered me in his arms. With my head on his chest, I wept, completely ruining the make-up that Tracey had so carefully applied and smearing mascara all over Wes’s shirt. I stammered a teary apology as I struggled to pull myself together.
“Shhh, you crazy woman,” he said as he rocked me in his arms. “You’re safe now.”
He ran his fingers through my hair, and I yelped in pain. The tender moment had passed, and I braced myself for the inevitable lecture that would follow.
Chapter 20
But it didn’t come.
“I’m sorry,” Wes said, as he jerked his hand away. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. That’s quite a knot you have there.”
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