by Marta Perry
What was a bottle of Nina Blackburn’s prescription medication doing hidden in a box of books from Ralph’s bookshop? Allison straightened, holding the bag up to the light to see if she’d missed anything on the label. To try to think what it meant.
“So, you found it.” Allison spun at the sound of the voice. Tommy Blackburn emerged at the top of the attic stairs, looking at her, his face calm, his voice dispassionate. “After all the time I spent looking, you walk up here and find it. I always did have the worst luck in the world. But it looks like today, yours is even worse.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“TOMMY.” SHE TRIED to pin a smile on her face, tried to act as if everything was fine even as her mind twisted and turned, searching for answers. “You startled me. Were you looking for me?”
“Nice try.” Tommy had reached the top of the stairs, and he stood between her and the way out. “It won’t work. You’re too smart. Too independent. You’ll figure it out, if you haven’t already.”
It was pointless to try to convince him she didn’t understand. He’d killed Ralph to keep his secret. He wouldn’t stop now.
“You’ve been looking for this.” She held up the plastic bag. “Why? What did Ralph have to do with your wife’s tranquilizers?” Thoughts shifted like the changing patterns of a kaleidoscope. “Did you tamper with her medication? Is this the proof?”
She shook the bag, the capsules rattling, and saw his gaze fix on it with almost passionate eagerness.
“Give it to me.” He held out his hand. “Just toss it over to me. I’ll let you go if you do.”
Let her go? Not likely. Not when a word from her could unravel the whole net. She took a cautious step backward. Think, she commanded. He was between her and the stairs she’d come up, but there were three other stairwells. If she could get to one of those... Hope leaped, and with it a fierce determination to live.
She couldn’t just bolt, not without figuring out a path to the nearest stairwell. The attic was a warren of storage spaces, the hall that should lead to the next set of stairs might easily be blocked by boxes or odd pieces of furniture.
“Tell me first.” She put the bag behind her back, determined not to let go. “You tampered with your wife’s medicine. You wanted to be rid of her.”
She could almost see his thought processes. The urge to tell, maybe even to brag about his success, was strong. That was the key, she realized. Tommy had to feel successful, even at murder.
“I don’t believe it,” she said, risking a cautious glance behind her. “How could you get away with something like that? Murder takes brains. Planning.”
His ruddy face went even darker beneath his tan from all those hours on the golf course. “I planned it all. It was simple. Open a few of the capsules and insert triple the amount of medication. Then leave them in her room with a bottle of whiskey. I knew her. She wouldn’t be able to resist taking more than she should have and washing them down with the whiskey she wasn’t supposed to have. All I had to do was make sure I was with other people all day until I came in and found her, dead of an overdose.”
“But for all your planning, something went wrong.” Another glance gave her a mental map to take her toward the next exit.
“Ralph.” His face twisted. “Interfering old... No one should have come in the house that day. I had the normal pill bottle in my pocket. All I had to do was switch it for the tampered one when I found her.”
“Not such good planning, if Ralph could mess it up.” She edged sideways toward a clear space.
“When I got there, the bottle was gone. All I could do was leave the regular one and hope for the best. Once the verdict of accidental death came in, I thought I was in the clear.”
Ralph’s cache of money. It had come from Tommy. “Until Ralph started blackmailing you.”
Tommy muttered a few obscenities. “I couldn’t find out who it was. I had a couple of ideas, but they didn’t pan out. Then the day I brought the books in for the sale, the box spilled and a sales slip fell out, dated the day she died. Ralph, always catering to her because she had money, dropping books off for her as if he was some kind of traveling library. He’d taken the pills.”
“So you started getting into the building, looking for the bottle.” She frowned. “But some of the incidents with prowlers happened before you could have known about Ralph.”
He shrugged. “That was T.J., trying to please the old man. Good idea, too. If he’d bought the building, I’d have had a free hand to look for the bottle. So I figured I’d help it along.”
“You set the trap on the stairs the day of the sale.”
“Clever, wasn’t it? I was pretty sure I’d get either you or Ralph, and either way, I won.”
“What about my grandmother? Why did she have to die?”
Tommy looked surprised. “You can’t hang that on me. That was Ralph. I don’t suppose he intended her to die. He didn’t have the guts for that. But she found out he was blackmailing someone. Wanted him to come clean about it. Do the right thing. That was always Evelyn Standish’s motto. He claimed that they were arguing about it on the stairs when she got sick, dizzy. She fell, and he ran away. He was too much of a coward to finish her off.”
Do the right thing. Evelyn had tried, according to her beliefs, even when it had separated her from her only child. And only grandchild.
“If Ralph was such a coward, how did you get him into the building with you the night you killed him?”
“Offered him a big payoff.” Tommy moved toward her. She’d have to run for it, trust she could get far enough ahead to make it to the door. “Too bad that won’t work with you.”
She saw the change in his face, saw him lunge toward her as she spun. Caught a glimpse of shiny metal as he swung something. It connected with her head even as she dodged, and she tripped, fell, lay helpless, putting up her arms in a futile attempt to block another strike.
It didn’t come. Allison fought to focus, to find her balance, but she couldn’t. Tommy was little more than a blur as he tossed the golf club aside. He started toward her. The evidence, he’d get it—
Heard his steps going away, then nearly choked on the acrid smell of kerosene. She struggled to her hands and knees to see him strike a match and throw it. A tiny spark landed, then sprang up in a roar of flame. He wasn’t going to come after the pill bottle. He was going to burn it, and her with it.
“No.” She coughed, choking on the word. The flames caught, feasting greedily on the dry wood of the floor. Tommy’s footsteps, running back down the stairs. Flames, smoke—no one would see, no one would know she was here until it was too late.
No. Please, God, no.
The light from the window was feeble in comparison to the hot glare of the flames—the window that looked down on the workshop. If she could get to the window— She crawled a few precious feet before the smoke got her, choking her, keeping her from breathing. Her hand brushed the golf club, laying where Tommy had thrown it.
Fingers closed on the smooth shaft, already hot to the touch. Drag it, inch forward, head spinning, she wasn’t going to make it...
She had to. Had to break the window. Nick would see. Nick would help. Lift the club, aim for the window, swing. Hear the satisfying crash of glass.
The flames roared, consuming the added oxygen. But above the roar she heard voices shouting. Thankfulness swept through her. They’d get her out.
* * *
NICK FOLLOWED HIS father out of the workshop and locked the door behind them.
“Time we were getting home—” His words were interrupted by the crash of breaking glass. Startled, he looked up, following the sound, and his heart lurched into overdrive. One of the attic windows had broken, and smoke poured out.
He thrust his cell phone toward his father. “Call. I’ll check to see if everyone’
s out.”
Racing toward the closest door, Nick yanked his keys out as he ran. Allison, Sarah— No, not Sarah. He’d heard the sound of her buggy wheels when she’d pulled out. Emily had gone earlier—that left the upstairs. And Allison.
Thundering through the downstairs hall to the center stairs, he shouted, “Fire, fire! Get out!”
No response, and a glance showed him the quilt shop was dark and locked. Saving his breath for running, he charged up the steps. The offices were dark; everyone had left at five. But where was Allison?
Running toward her office, he shouted again. “Fire! Allison, where are you? Are you here?”
The door was unlocked. He charged in and was sent reeling back by the smoke billowing out of the open attic door. Open, and Allison nowhere in sight—was she up there?
Slashing furiously at his shirt with his penknife, he pulled a piece free and tied it over his mouth and nose, finally identifying the sound he heard above the crackle of flames and the pounding of his heart. The cat, shut in the carrier—Allison would never have left it behind. She must be upstairs, trapped.
Nick sucked in a deep breath and headed for the attic stairs just as his father ran into the room, a fire extinguisher under each arm. He thrust one at Nick.
“I’ll get her.” Nick swung the fire extinguisher into position. “Get that blasted cat of hers out of here or she won’t forgive either of us.”
Dad snorted and reached for the carrier gate. “Cat knows enough to get out.” He swung the gate wide, and an orange blur streaked toward the hall. “Let’s go.”
No point in arguing. It might take both of them. Nick advanced up the stairs, spraying the foam ahead of him. No need to ask about the fire company, either. They’d be on their way, along with half the town, most likely.
The smoke was thicker at the top. Coughing, he peered into it, trying to identify something, anything. “Allison!” He managed to shout her name, strained his ears for an answer. Behind him, Dad sprayed the flames furiously.
The window. She must have broken the window. She had to be in that direction, through the worst of the flames. He tapped his father’s shoulder and pointed. Dad nodded. They advanced together. If the extinguishers failed... They wouldn’t. They couldn’t.
Coughing, choking, stumbling now, he pushed on, eyes watering. Stumbled again, and knew it was Allison. He dropped to his knees, pulling her against him. Staggered to his feet again, holding her. Dad grabbed his extinguisher, trying to spray both of them at the same time as he beat his way back toward the stairs. Nick caught the back of his shirt and stumbled blindly after him.
Two firemen in gear emerged from the stairwell, grabbed them and bundled them all down the steps. He could hear someone shouting orders as they were helped out of the office into the clearer air of the hall. Allison—he let himself look at her. Beneath the black soot her skin was deathly pale, and his heart stopped. If he lost her...
She moved. Turned her face into his shoulder, murmuring something, and began to cough.
“It’s all right.” Strength poured back into him, and he headed down the stairs. “Don’t try to talk. The paramedics will take care of you.”
“Nick.” Her lips moved against his shirt. “I knew you’d come.”
Her eyes closed, but it was all right. She was breathing. He headed for the front door, met by the paramedic team who hustled them both outside.
A few minutes later they were both on the grass next to the emergency truck. Oxygen was bringing the color back to Allison’s face, and Mike Callahan was dressing his hands. Funny that he hadn’t even noticed the burns until it was all over. He propped his arms on his knees, submitting to the bandaging and a certain amount of ribbing—man’s protection from showing his feelings at the danger to an old buddy.
Allison pushed herself to her elbows. “Hector. What about Hector?”
A passing firefighter pulled off his mask, revealing Aaron King’s face. “Is that the orange cat? Mrs. Anderson has him. He came shooting out of the building raising a ruckus just as we pulled up.”
“There, he’s okay.” Nick patted Allison’s shoulder awkwardly with his bandaged hand. “Just relax.”
She shook her head. “It was Tommy. You have to tell Mac. It was Tommy. He killed Ralph because Ralph was blackmailing him.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out a small plastic bag. “Over this.” She paused for a cough. “Proof he doctored his wife’s medicine.”
“Tommy Blackburn.” For a moment he couldn’t believe it, but then it all started to click into place. Tommy, with his constant womanizing and his desire for money. “He started the fire?”
“He thought the evidence was in the building, and he was getting panicky, I think. He was going to burn it, and the evidence with it.”
“And you.” He took her hand clumsily in his.
“I got in his way.” Allison looked down at his hand, and tears spilled on to her cheeks. “Your poor hands.”
“It’s nothing. Mike just wanted to practice his bandaging.”
Mike, who’d been eavesdropping shamelessly, broke in. “I think it’s time we took the both of you to the hospital to be checked out.”
“Not until we tell Mac,” Allison rasped. “He can’t let Tommy get away.”
“It’s okay,” Nick said, soothing her. “You go on to the ER and get checked out. I’ll speak to Mac, and I’ll meet you there.”
Her eyes searched his face for a moment, and then she nodded.
Mike grabbed his elbow and hauled him to his feet. “You’re even worse than your dad,” he grumbled. “I thought we’d never get him transported. I finally had to threaten to put him on the phone with your mother. She was on her way to the hospital, and she said if he wasn’t there when she arrived, she’d come down and haul him in herself. She said to say she’d see you and Allison there.”
“Guess we know where we rank on the totem pole,” he said. He jostled Mike’s elbow. “Get Allison taken in. I’ll be back in a minute. Do you know where Mac is?”
Mike gestured. “Other side of the building.”
Nick set off, a little surprised that his legs seemed to be obeying his orders, maybe propelled by the fury that pumped through him. Tommy had tried to kill Allison. He wasn’t going to walk away from this, no matter how important the Blackburns thought they were.
He got a jolt when he rounded the building. Mac was there, all right. He was listening to Tommy, who was waving his arms emphatically. Nick moved closer, silent on the grass.
“...tried to reach her, but the flames were just too bad. Goodness knows what she thought she was doing up there. I’m just as sorry as can be I couldn’t save her.”
Mac’s eyes met Nick’s over Tommy’s shoulder. “I think you’re mistaken, Tommy.” Mac rested his hand on his holstered weapon. “Allison didn’t die in the fire.”
“Didn’t—” Tommy goggled at him.
“No thanks to you.” Nick grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. It took all the control he could muster to keep from planting his fist, burned or not, in the man’s face. “We got her out. She’s okay, and she’s talking. We know you started the fire.”
Tommy paled, but he glared back at Nick. “That’s crazy. If she said that, she must be delirious from smoke inhalation. She probably started it herself, hoping to collect something on the insurance.”
Gritting his teeth, Nick managed not to swing. Instead, he held out the plastic bag to Mac. “There’s the motive for it all. Ralph was blackmailing him over that medicine bottle of his wife’s. I don’t know what it all means yet, but an analysis of those pills will probably tell you.”
Mac took the bag, looking down at the pill vial. In that instant he was distracted. Tommy bolted. Nick, reading the intent in his eyes, threw a punch that landed him on the ground. Nearly landed Nick on the ground, to
o, with the pain in his burned hand, but it was worth it. Mac leaned over Tommy, snapping handcuffs on him with scant ceremony, and hauled him to his feet.
“You couldn’t let me do it,” Mac complained. Then he began to read Tommy his rights in front of an interested group of onlookers.
* * *
ALLISON LEANED BACK against the pillow, mustering her strength for another argument. “There’s no reason for me to stay in the hospital.” A spasm of coughing interrupted, weakening her argument.
“Hush, now.” Sarah smoothed the covers over her as if she were a child. “You’re better off here, just in case you need something in the night.”
“That’s right.” Ellen proffered a glass of water, bending the straw so she didn’t have to raise her head. “You just take it easy. Tomorrow is time enough to face the world.”
“You don’t want photographers snapping a picture of you the way you look right now,” Mac said, with a lamentable want of tact. His father elbowed him. “I mean...”
Nick gave him a shove. “You mean you’re an idiot.” He looked around, frowning. “And there’s way too many people in this room.”
Allison was aware of Ellen and Sarah exchanging glances. “Come along now.” Ellen’s tone was brisk. “Go get some coffee or do something useful, why don’t you?” She smiled at Allison, touching her hand. “Jamie is in the waiting room. He wants to tell you good-night. I’ll bring him in a bit, if I can get the nurse to look the other way.”
Before Allison could speak, Ellen had shooed her husband and younger son out the door, with Sarah following, leaving her alone with Nick.
“I didn’t get to thank your dad.” She raised herself up on her elbows.
Nick pushed her back gently. “You’ll have time for that later. Anyway, he doesn’t want any thanks.”
Her mind seemed to be getting back into gear. “But what about Blackburn House? And what happened with Tommy? Did Mac arrest him?” A thought struck with force enough to knock her flat. “His prosecution won’t all depend on me, will it?”
Her heart was suddenly pounding, and she felt as if she couldn’t get her breath. If she was the only witness against him, what were the chances Tommy could be convicted in a town used to thinking the Blackburns could do no wrong?