Woke Up Dead

by Tina Wainscott

  “I’m hiring Sam as my investigator. I think that flower box was purposely dropped on me.”

  Sam wasn’t much help in convincing Armand of that. He merely lifted his shoulder and followed her into the house. “Hope you haven’t fumigated yet.”

  Armand caught up to Maxine as she took the stairs. “This is preposterous. Who would hurt you?”

  “That’s what I intend to find out.”

  The sun was on the far side of the house again, but she knew Sam would see the drips and the clean area since he knew what to look for. When she walked into the guest room, she stopped short. A man in coveralls was leaning out of the window.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, coming up behind him.

  The man wore a painter’s cap that covered a spray of black hair. “I removed the flower box in the next room and I’m patching where the brackets were. ‘Sat all right?”

  “You what?” She nudged him aside and leaned out of the window. The brackets were gone; there were white patches where the holes were. She leaned further out to look under the ledge, then at the ledge beneath Sally’s window. Her mouth dropped open. “They’re gone!”

  “Course, ma’am. That’s what I was supposed to do, ‘ccording to Mr. Santini.”

  “Did you clean beneath those ledges out there?”

  “No, just around the holes.”

  Sam slid through the window opening next to her. Her hand slid beneath the ledge, but caught no trace of anything sticky.

  “I don’t believe this.”

  Sam ran his hand along the path hers had taken. “Nothing sticky or otherwise.”

  “Can you at least see where this area has been wiped clean?”

  Sam studied the area. “Well, it does seem lighter, but that doesn’t prove anything. The guy said he wiped it off.” He shot her a look. “Maxine, are you sure you didn’t imagine those drops there?”

  “Whoever saw me from the greenhouse wiped them off.”

  From behind her she heard Armand say, “What a cozy picture you two make.” There was a definite snideness in his tone.

  She looked over at Sam. “Guess I’m off the hook,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting.

  “This doesn’t count. Someone has sabotaged the evidence.”

  They both started back through the window at the same time, bodies brushing. Sam paused, putting out his hand. “Ladies first.”

  With an exasperated noise, she pulled herself back inside. She enjoyed the view as Sam did the same.

  “Nothing there,” he said to Armand’s questioning gaze. “I think your wife-to-be needs to see a doctor.” He tapped his finger to his temple. “If you know what I mean.” Turning to Maxine, he said, “I’m outta here. Talk to my friend if you have any more revelations. Bye.”

  He and Romeo walked down the stairs, and a moment later she heard the door close. She turned to Armand. “I suppose you think I’m crazy, too.”

  “I don’t know what to think. You’ve acted so strange in the last day. I know the accident was frightening, but I’m not sure what to think about all these antics with your ex-husband.” Before she could take counter-tactics, her hands were imprisoned in Armand’s. “Do you really think someone is trying to hurt you?”

  Her forehead started throbbing slightly again. Maybe he was squeezing the blood up into her head. “All I know is that I’m afraid.”

  “What can I do to make you feel safe?”

  “Hire Sam to protect me.”

  “I don’t think he wants to protect you, or investigate for you.”

  She let out a long breath, looking at the hallway where Sam had retreated. “I’ve got to change his mind.”

  More dreams about stairs and Sam and puppets finally woke her up in the middle of the night. Maxine remained there, wondering if she’d heard something that had penetrated her consciousness. All she could hear was the soft, grinding noise Armand made in his sleep. His breath was pulsing against her shoulder, and both his arms were twined around her. Claustrophobia swept in on her. Was this what it was like to share a bed with a man? No, it would be different if she loved Armand.

  Very carefully she extricated herself and slipped from the bed. She could see him in the dim light from the bathroom, looking like a small child. When Armand groped, she pushed the pillow toward him, and he latched onto it like a baby. After pulling the top blanket off, she crept to the living room. Shadows pulsed in the darkness and the silence was so thick, it hummed in her ears. Hugging the bundle of blanket to her chest, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the new level of darkness.

  When she took a step toward the couch, she thought she heard another footstep a short distance away. Maxine froze, toes pressing down on the cold tile floor ready to launch her…but in what direction? Her pulse slammed against her throat. Silence thrummed again as she waited for another sound. She tried to imagine the layout of the living room, tried to place some of the shadows she saw as harmless pieces of furniture.

  After what seemed like hours, her heartbeat stilled to its normal rate again. She took another step. Heard another footstep. Who else would be sneaking around down here? Everything moved within the shadows her eyes created. She debated on screaming and bringing out the entire household, but held her tongue.

  Very slowly she took a step sideways, placing her foot down in increments. No other sound. She repeated the movement, not even breathing until her foot flattened. When her shoulder touched something flat, she turned to find the whites of two eyes glaring at her. A yelp escaped her lips before she could slap her hand over it. One of the puppets! Bending over in relief, she pressed her palm against her heart to still its rapid beating. The footsteps she’d heard must have been an echo of her own steps.

  “Bad puppet,” she whispered.

  Then a real hand clamped over her wrist.

  She jerked, bumping into the case that housed the puppet. Another hand clamped over her mouth.

  “What are you doing sneaking around out here?” James’s voice hissed in the blackness that throbbed in time to her own runaway heart.

  She jerked her hand away from him, angry and afraid at the same time. “I am not sneaking around. I came out here to sleep on the couch again.”

  Silence. Had she imagined the whole episode? Not likely. When he finally spoke, his voice made her jump again.

  “I think you’re using that as an excuse.”

  For avoiding sleeping with his father, yes. “What are you talking about?”

  He leaned closer, and even though she couldn’t see anything but a large, dark shadow in front of her, she could feel his body heat. She smelled something in his breath that went beyond the sweet tang of the Coke.

  “You’re scavenging for hidden treasure, a safe maybe. Forget it. There’s nothing here.”

  “Leave me alone. I just want to get some sleep.”

  James lingered for a moment before snorting something that sounded a bit like a laugh. “You’re so transparent.”

  “And you’re afraid of me.” She wasn’t going to mention that the feeling was mutual.

  He moved closer again, leaning right into her face. “Why would I be afraid of you? I’m bigger than you. Meaner than you, too.”

  She took a step back, crossing her arms in front of her to create a barrier with the blanket. “You’re afraid your father’s going to give me more than he’s given you. You’re afraid to lose to me.”

  “I’ve known women like you, women who try to take what they can without giving anything in return. I’m smart enough to toss them out when I’m tired of them. My father isn’t that smart, but you didn’t count on me, did you?” He pinched her chin between his fingers. “It isn’t a done deal yet, lady. Not until I say it’s done.”

  Before she could shove his hand away, he disappeared into the darkness the same way he’d come. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since the puppet encounter. She stood there for a long time, not sure of the silence anymore. Finally, fatigue won over her fright, and she felt
her way to the couch. Mental pictures of James sneaking down with a knife didn’t present the kind of thoughts she wanted to go to sleep with. Tugging the blanket around her, she slid behind the couch after pulling it away from the wall a bit.

  Instead of James haunting her nightmares, Sam invaded her sleep. She had dreams of telling Sam the truth, and he kept saying, ‘I’m outta here.’ Maybe she was making a mistake by not telling him the truth. She felt she was making the right decision in burying Jennie, but seeing the pain in Sam’s eyes made her wonder. She needed to talk to someone about this, someone who could tell her she wasn’t doing the wrong thing. That person was not in this house. Obviously that person wasn’t Sam. In her small world of friends, that left only one person: Gabrielle, her former roommate.

  Voices pulled her thoughts to her surroundings, and Maxine opened her eyes to find blissful light instead of that horrid darkness where evil lurked. She could tell it was only just getting light outside. She tried to identify the people behind the voices.

  “I think she’s playing this whole accident up,” James said from another room.

  “You don’t think anyone dropped that flower box on her, do you?” Sally asked.

  “Of course not. She just wants Dad’s sympathy. And it’s working. He’s already talking about moving up the wedding.”

  “Moving it up? Why?”

  “He thinks the upcoming wedding is putting a strain on her. I think he’s afraid she’s going to back away.”

  “You think you’ll talk Daddy into making her sign the prenup before then?”

  Maxine heard the voices coming closer.

  “I’d better,” James said in a grim tone of voice. “I’m heading into the city early to take care of some paperwork.”

  “I’ll go with you. I’ve got a few things to take care of, too, and then we can grab lunch.”

  Their steps took them out the front door, and Maxine finally let out the breath she’d been holding. James was calling the accident just that, but she had a feeling he knew that it wasn’t.

  Armand was talking about moving the wedding up? Oh, geez. She glanced down at the ring on her finger. It looked so wrong there, but she had to keep up the charade for while longer. Then she’d give it back to Armand. She quickly extricated herself from her place and went into the bedroom to get dressed before Armand woke.

  She was in the closet looking through the rack of clothes when a high-pitched voice startled her into a yelp.

  “You’re not thinkin’ of runnin’ away, are you?”

  That wicked little puppet leaned around the corner, its eerie grin moving realistically up and down with its words.

  “Good grief, Armand, you scared me. Get out of here!” She tossed a shirt in its direction, but it ducked out of the way.

  “I’m not Armand. He’s still sleeping. So you can tell me. Mr. Wiggles is your friend, remember?”

  Mr. Wiggles was giving her the creeps. She stalked to the doorway and found Armand ducked around the corner. He jumped when she appeared so suddenly, giving her a sheepish look. “Mr. Wiggles wanted to talk to you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to talk to Mr. Wiggles, okay? Nothing personal.”

  He was taking it very personal indeed. He set the dummy on the edge of the bed. “Why are you getting up so early? You always used to sleep in with me. And where did you go in the middle of the night?”

  “I can’t sleep at night, and I don’t want to wake you with my tossing and turning, that’s all.” This was not going to be easy. She had two injured men in her life, but Sam was the only one in her heart. “So I went out into the living room. I’m not the only one who gets up early around here. Sally and James get up earlier than I do, I think.”

  “They always have. They’re more like twins, even though they’re four years apart.” He glanced at the puppet, then back at her. “Maxine, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  “I can’t,” she blurted out. She didn’t want to talk about moving up their wedding date. If she skirted the conversation, she wouldn’t have to reject him when he asked. “I have some running around to do today. You know, wedding stuff,” she added because she felt compelled to for some reason. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I made an appointment with a doctor to take a look at my forehead.” She’d made an appointment with her old doctor. “And I have an old friend to look up. Gabrielle.”

  He looked more like a little boy as he shrugged. “All right, I guess. I’ll probably go into the city, too.” He perked up. “Can I give you a ride in? You can drop me off and take the car?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t know how long I’ll be. I’ll see you later.”

  She stopped in the utility room on the way out, where Aida was loading sheets into a large washing machine. After the usual morning greeting, she asked, “Aida, what time was it when you heard the crash of the flower box?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. About one-thirty, I think.”

  “Do you know who was here? In the house, I mean.”

  Aida knitted her pale eyebrows together. “No one but me. I was back here at the time.”

  “Could someone have come home without you knowing it?”

  “I suppose. Can’t hear too much back here, and I was busy for a couple of hours, like I am every week. As far as I know, you and I were the only ones here. Mr. Santini was called in for that meeting. James and Sally were already in the city.”

  Maxine nodded. “All right. Thanks.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she left the house. Maybe there was some way to make Armand break off their engagement. His ego would be preserved, and she’d feel a lot better about the whole thing. Yeah, that was it. She’d stay out late and not give him an explanation. He’d tell her she was selfish and thoughtless and say they were through. Maxine was almost giddy with the thought. Then she’d talk Sam into keeping his agency; then she’d make him fall in love with her. And not necessarily in that order.

  Sam dropped another two books in the box he’d started before Maxine had barged in and dragged him out to that god-awful white prison. He was having a hard time figuring her out lately. After talking to her maybe a dozen times over the last five years, he couldn’t get rid of her now.

  She’d been so broken up about his closing down the shop. He could still see the disappointment in her face years ago when he’d told her he wanted to open his own investigative agency. Now she was trying to get him to keep it open. He’d thought she wanted it kept open so she could hire him, but he had a feeling it went deeper than that. If he didn’t know her better, he’d think she really cared. Maxine seldom cared about anything that didn’t help her. See, even his intuition was dull these days. No way could he keep the agency open.

  He finally finished with the box and started on another one. Jennie’s desk was going to be the hardest. His throat clogged up just thinking about it. Why was this sadness so debilitating? She had been part of his work life for four years, yes. She had also been his friend. Since her death, he hadn’t been all that interested in life anymore. Even when he wasn’t thinking about her, his heart still felt heavy.

  Now Maxine had stormed into his life again. She’d held him, tried to comfort him. He couldn’t understand it at all. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. She was overreacting, though something in his gut told him otherwise. Which proved that he couldn’t trust his gut anymore.

  “Hi, Sam,” Maxine’s voice said from the doorway.

  He dropped his head for a moment before looking up, hoping he was just conjuring up her voice with his thoughts. “You again,” he said when he saw that wasn’t the case.

  She closed the door behind her. “How are you?”

  “How do I look?” he asked from his position on the floor, hoping to get his irritation across.

  She just stared at him, several emotions running across her expression. Her throat convulsed in a nervous swallow. “You look thin, actually. Are you eating enough?”

  Sam stood up and
walked over to her, sticking his hands in his pockets. He opened his mouth to give her a wise crack answer, but stopped before a word emerged. Her eyes were filled with real concern, and it made his stomach twist. “I’m okay.” He nodded toward her forehead. “You have a smaller bandage now.”

  She touched the bandage beneath her red hair. “You noticed? Well, I keep forgetting what a great detective you are.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “I seem to remember you having a different opinion of my choice of career. So, what did the doctor say?”

  “He said it was nearly healed, a miraculous recovery. Hardly even a scar.” She looked down at the box he’d been filling. “You’re still packing up.”

  “Yes. I thought you weren’t going to bug me anymore. Are you backing out of our deal?”

  “But the evidence was tampered with. That didn’t count.”

  “You always were a liar, Maxine. Or a conniver.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, as though she’d never been called a liar before. He knew she had because he’d called her that a few times during and after their marriage. “I’m not conniving you, Sam. Or lying to you. I need your help, but if you’re not going to help me, I’ll conduct the investigation on my own.”

  He laughed. “Because you’re such an expert.”

  “I worked for—” Her eyes widened. “I worked it all out in my head. I’m going to talk to the people at Temptations, the club James manages, and see if he has an alibi. I think he’s the one behind it. But I didn’t come here about that. Sam, I can’t let you do this.” She gestured to his office.

  “That’s pretty obvious. You keep interrupting me. Well, I’m not running off to look at some window again. Or anything else.”

  “Sam, this is your dream. You can’t work for some other guy. Not after all these years of being your own boss. You’ll have to keep certain hours. You’ll be making money for someone else. You’ll have someone looking over your shoulder, telling you what to do. You won’t get that spark in your eyes when you’re on a lead.” Her fists were balled up at her sides. “You won’t get to wear your disguises anymore.”