Deb shook her head fast, nostrils flaring. “I saw those in Florida,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be reminded of that place.”
Cam couldn’t blame her. Just because they were on this ridiculous caper didn’t mean the situation with her mom’s hit-and-run had gone away.
Cam drove straight through a quarter mile of small businesses and homes until the road appeared to end at a tiny town parking lot. She could spy the Atlantic just beyond the dunes. She glanced at Deb but decided to postpone pointing out any more scenic views. Turning left, she drove slowly up Northern Boulevard until she reached the small building housing Mad Martha’s.
“What’s the side street?” Cam asked.
Deb checked the map on her phone. She glanced up and pointed. “This one. Turn left. Now.”
Cam yanked the wheel, counting her blessings that nobody had been tailgating her. The narrow street petered out almost immediately into a driveway paved with broken shells that were half covered with drifted sand. A three-story house in a silvered natural siding loomed on the left. The first floor was primarily pillars supporting a covered but empty parking area, with a small, closed-in area under the base of the house. Outdoor steps led up to a deck walkway that wrapped around to the back of the house. Only one house sat between this one and the quiet Basin beyond. She stopped the truck and pulled up the parking brake as the rain shower eased to nothing.
“No red car,” her mom said.
“So either Geneva is in the house alone or nobody’s on the premises. Did you bring the note?”
Deb nodded. “It’s in my bag. But I don’t think I’ll leave it if she isn’t here. It was true what I told the landlady. This isn’t something I want to leave a message about.” Her eyes had a tense set to them as she shoved open her door.
Cam turned off the ignition and climbed out, too. The thin cry of a gull sitting on the roof of a neighboring house mixed with the drone of a small plane overhead. The sun squinted through the moving clouds, blinked dim, and shone forth again. The high tide in the Basin sparkled in the midafternoon light from the west.
Deb took in a breath and squared her shoulders. “Let’s do it.” She climbed the steep steps to the main level and pressed the bell next to the door at the top.
Cam heard a peal inside from where she stood two steps down. No footsteps followed it, though, and no one pulled open the door. Deb knocked four times in quick succession. She gazed at the deck to her right.
“I bet it has a back door and a back deck. Or maybe she’s down at that little beach.” Deb gestured toward the water beyond the second house, where Cam could just make out a strip of sand.
“If she’s on a back deck, don’t you think she would have heard the bell? Let’s go, Mom. We can find her later.” Cam touched her mother’s elbow.
Deb whirled to face Cam. “Maybe you don’t understand how important this is to me.” Her harsh whisper stung. “You can wait here. Or in the truck. I’m going around to the back, and if she’s not there I’m going down to the beach.” She swallowed. “I need to do this.”
“Okay,” Cam said, but it was against her better judgment. “I’m right behind you.”
Cam followed Deb to where the deck turned the corner. Sure enough, the walkway widened to a porch, a back door, and another steep set of steps leading down. The deck was even higher off the ground here because the ground sloped away from the house toward the Basin. On the porch, four chairs were arrayed around a glass-topped table with a furled green umbrella. Thyme, rosemary, and oregano grew in several large earthenware pots. But no Geneva. Deb exchanged a look with Cam. She put her foot on the first step of the back stairs.
“Well, look who’s here.” Geneva appeared at the bottom of the stairway. A bright yellow sleeveless top showed off both her tanned arms and her pressed white Capris. Her stormy expression, curled lip and all, wasn’t as pleasant as her outfit. “The teller of tales herself. You’re ruined, Deb. I assume you know that.”
Chapter 33
What? Where had Geneva appeared from? She must have been out for a walk. Or had she hid when she heard Cam and Deb arrive?
Geneva started up the steps, moving with a dancer’s grace. “Damn cops had me at the station again this morning, thanks to you.” She kept coming, her jeweled flip-flops slapping against her heels.
Deb backed up to the deck. Cam took her mom’s hand and squeezed it.
Deb stood tall. “I had to come clean. I’ll deal with my past, and I came here to tell you that. What about you? Still using?” She linked her arm through Cam’s, effectively blocking the top of the stairs.
“What I do is none of your business. Or your nosy daughter’s.” Geneva glared at Cam from two steps down. “In cozy with your little cop boyfriend? Feeding him stories?” She hitched a flashy black and white handbag farther up on her left shoulder. “Both of you have been.”
“Whoa,” Cam said. “Back off, Geneva. We haven’t been feeding Detective Pappas anything.” One more white lie. Oh well.
“Not what I heard.” Geneva tossed her ponytail onto her back. She narrowed her eyes at them.
“Why do you care, anyway?” Cam’s mom asked. “If you didn’t do anything wrong, you don’t have anything to worry about, do you?”
Geneva slid her right hand into her bag. “No, I don’t have anything to worry about.” She drew out a small gun with pink accents. She pointed it with both hands at Deb’s chest.
Deb gasped. Cam swore under her breath. The day went silent except for the thud of her heart in her throat.
“I’ve had it with both of you,” Geneva spat. “With the whole stinking state. All this stupid intrigue. That dumb Brazilian dying on us. Rudin dragging me up here from Florida with his little project.” She drew out and emphasized the last word.
“What project was that?” Cam asked, as if she didn’t already know the project was to kill Nicole.
“Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not pulling that trope of getting a bad guy to confess at the end of the book so the heroine can stall for time. I need you to get in the house,” Geneva demanded. “Now.” She gestured with the gun.
Cam scanned behind Geneva. Despite it being two-thirty on a sunny day, no one was out. The window shades were drawn in the house beyond, and their deck faced the Basin, too. Another short street ran beyond this house to the left, but nobody pushed a stroller or carried a kayak. The nearest yard was empty of playing children, and the rocking chair on a front porch was unoccupied. She and her mom weren’t going to get any help from strangers.
“What’s it going to solve if you shoot us?” Deb asked. Her voice quavered, but she kept her chin up.
Cam squeezed her mom’s arm and disentangled her own. She and Deb were going to need all the mobility they had.
“Who said I’m shooting you?” Geneva used a deadly sweet tone. “This is just my favorite persuasive device. Now go.” She pushed her gun-holding hand toward them.
Cam really, really didn’t want to turn her back on the weapon-holding Geneva. She was only a yard away from them. Cam wasn’t about to be locked in a deserted beach house, either.
Wheels crunched on the shells in the driveway and a horn tooted. Let that be Pete. Cam cast a quick glance down, and her heart sank to its knees. Rudin sat behind the wheel of the open red convertible, staring at them. And blocking Cam’s truck. Geneva glanced at him, too.
In one move Cam grabbed the post of the deck with her right hand. With a swipe of her left hand she whacked the gun out of Geneva’s hand. It clattered down the steps.
“Hey!” Geneva watched her weapon slide away.
Cam leaned back, keeping her hand gripping the post. She delivered a flat-footed kick to Geneva’s chest, pushing as she struck.
Geneva cried out. She crashed onto her back and fell down the wet steps backward. Gravity pulled her sliding and bumping off the balusters. She tried to grab for one but missed. When she hit the ground, her head clunked on the concrete pad. Her body crumpled. She fell silent.
Deb stared at Cam. “Now what?” she whispered.
“Let’s go.” Cam pointed at the front stairs.
Deb took one step and tripped, falling to her knees. Cam swore, extending her hand to her mom. Deb scrambled to her feet but tripped again.
Rudin yelled a curse at Cam as he jumped out of the car and ran to Geneva. He knelt at her head. “Gennie, darling! Wake up,” he urged. He pressed his fingers to her neck. A moment later he looked up at them, horror widening his eyes. “What did you do to her?” He scrambled for the gun. It had fallen on the ground to the side of the steps. He slipped in the sand and fell to his knees before he could grab it.
Cam grabbed a heavy earthenware flowerpot in both hands. She leaned over the railing and heaved it. She aimed at Rudin’s head, down where he sprawled on hands and knees. The pot missed its target. Instead it crashed and cracked on his hand as it reached for the gun. He cried out.
“Front stairs,” Cam said, pulling Deb along. They clattered down. “Convertible.” Cam had bet on Rudin having left the car running because he’d leaped out so quickly. But it was quiet. He must have turned it off. She swore and narrowed her eyes at her truck. She’d never be able to back out around the red car. “Run!”
She and Deb sprinted up the driveway for Northern Boulevard. They’d almost reached Mad Martha’s when a crack sounded. Deb took two more staggering steps and fell forward, crashing onto her right shoulder.
“Mom!”
Chapter 34
Deb lay on her right side on the ground, her eyes squeezed shut, her face the color of sand, her skin damp with sweat.
Cam squatted. “Mommy,” she pleaded in a shrill whisper. “Look at me.” Cam’s heart was going to explode in a minute.
Another shot zinged by and thudded into the back wall of the restaurant. Deb’s eyes flew open, staring at Cam.
“We have to get out of here,” Cam’s voice rasped, urging. “At least around the corner of the building. Where were you hit?”
“My shoulder.” Deb extended her left hand. “Help me up.”
Cam glanced behind her. She couldn’t see Rudin. “Okay, but stay low.” She took a deep breath. She had to be strong for Mom. She leaned back and pulled her mom up to a squatting position, too. “Ready?”
Deb gave a faint nod. Cam kept hold of her hand as they scurried forward a few yards and around the corner of the restaurant to the front. Mad Martha’s was open only for breakfast and lunch, but Cam beat on the door, anyway. Maybe someone was inside cleaning up. Nobody answered. Deb sank to sitting, her back against the door. She grabbed her right shoulder with her left hand as she slumped, chin on chest. Cam panted, her throat thick, her mouth dry. She had to get help.
As a siren keened in the distance, a gray car approached from the south. Cam ran to the street and waved her arms.
A silver-haired man opened the door of the house across the street. “Do you need help?”
“Yes!” Cam shouted. “Call nine-one-one. My mom’s been shot and there’s a guy with a gun back there. And another woman is hurt.”
The man pulled a phone out of his pocket and tapped it. The car came closer. A sob escaped Cam’s lips when she saw it was Pete’s old Saab. With a burst of speed it crossed over and pulled to a screeching stop in front of Cam.
“Cam,” Pete called as he jumped out. He hurried toward her. “Are you all right?” His face was drawn with worry.
The siren grew louder. Cam nodded fast. “Mom was shot.” She pointed to Deb. “Rudin’s behind us somewhere with a gun. I pushed Geneva down the stairs when she threatened us.”
His expression turned to frustration tinged with anger. “I can’t believe you,” he muttered, even as he pulled out his phone, tapped one key, and tersely outlined the situation. “Armed suspect. Two women critically injured. At Mad Martha’s on Plum Island. Northern Boulevard.” He disconnected and stared at Cam.
“I’m sorry,” Cam said. “Mom was determined to go on her own, and I couldn’t let her do that. At least I told you where we were going.”
“One team is already on the way. More are coming. Help me get your mom into my car. Then both of you are out of here. I mean it.”
“Fine by me.”
Pete hurried to Deb, Cam at his heels. Pete squatted in front of Deb, whose good hand had fallen into her lap. “Ma’am, I need you to . . .” When she didn’t open her eyes, he peered at her, gently patting her cheek. He felt her neck and pushed to standing. “She’s unconscious.”
“But she’s alive, isn’t she?”
“Yes. Damn it, Cam, now you’re both in danger with a live shooter in the vicinity. We’ll have to wait to move her until an ambulance gets here.”
A Newbury squad car roared up. Two officers leaped out.
“You stay right here with her,” Pete ordered Cam. “Please.”
“Okay.” Cam sat next to Deb. She took her mom’s left hand in hers and stroked it. “You’re going to be all right, Mom,” she murmured over and over. “Everything’s going to be all right.” Cam’s throat was thick and her hand shook. She felt as if she was about to dissolve into tears, too, but she couldn’t let herself. That wouldn’t help anything, particularly not her mother.
Pete strode to the officers and conferred with them in voices too low for Cam to hear. Two other cruisers arrived, sirens blaring, lights strobing. Pete hurried back to Cam and squatted in front of her.
“Tell me about the gun. And how this all happened, but as fast as you can.”
“Nobody seemed to be home and their car wasn’t there. We were on the second-floor deck. Geneva appeared from somewhere and started coming up the steep back steps. She pulled a small gun out of her purse.”
“Small like this, or this?” Pete placed his palms about eight inches apart, then six.
“The second. Rudin drove in and blocked my truck. When Geneva looked at him, I whacked the gun out of her hand and kicked her down the stairs, which were wet and slippery.”
“You did?” His eyes flew wide open.
“Yep. Her head hit the ground pretty hard. She didn’t move after she landed.”
“Does Rudin have a weapon, too?”
“Not that I saw. He rushed over to Geneva. He acted like she might have already been dead. Then he tried to grab her gun. I dropped a heavy flowerpot from the deck onto his hand. Mom and I ran for the street. That’s when he shot her.”
“Any more shots?”
“One more, into the back of the restaurant. No more after that.”
An officer let a German shepherd out of the back of police SUV marked CANINE UNIT. He held the leashed dog close to his side, but Cam was briefly glad her mother was unconscious. Having her fear of dogs rise up again would be too much.
“Too many possibilities.” Pete frowned. “Stay right here until the ambulance arrives.”
He stood and rejoined the group of officers, which now included Ivan and Ruth. Ruth wore a bulky black vest and a helmet, making her already imposing figure even more so. Ivan was similarly outfitted.
At some sign from Pete, a couple of officers headed for the short street on the other side of Mad Martha’s. Ruth and another officer pulled out weapons and moved carefully toward the rental house, sticking close to the restaurant until they vanished around the side. The canine officer followed. Pete pulled a vest and helmet out of his car and secured them. He drew his own gun and followed Ruth. Cam sent him and Ruth a silent message to be careful, to come back alive.
Two officers moved cruisers with their lights flashing to block off the road in either direction. Ivan followed Pete carrying a bullhorn. A moment later his amplified voice announced, “Rudin Brunelle, this is the police. Lay down any weapon and come out with your hands on your head. I repeat, come out now with your hands on your head.”
Chapter 35
Cam glanced at her phone one more time. It was six o’clock and still no message from Pete. She’d ridden in the Newbury Fire and Rescue vehicle carrying her mom off the island t
o the hospital in Newburyport. A very nice nurse had let her sit in the ER bay until they’d wheeled Deb away to surgery. Her mom, in a hospital gown, was hooked up to an IV and various monitors. She’d remained pale. And she hadn’t woken up. One nurse had told Cam not to worry, but how could she help it? And where was her father? She’d called him as soon as she reached the hospital. That had been more than an hour ago and he’d said he’d come right over.
Cam paced from one side of the hospital’s surgical waiting room to the other. The room was blessedly empty. Rain beat against the second-floor windows, and wind stirred the tops of the trees outside.
As soon as she walked in she’d pressed the Off button on the television mounted on the wall. The last thing she needed was the blare of inane reporters. Wait. It was six now. Maybe she could catch the local news. She pressed the On button and waited through a couple of national stories and a few commercials. A well-known Boston reporter appeared on-screen, an older woman with perfectly styled streaked silver hair and a red jacket.
“Breaking news from Plum Island this afternoon,” the reporter announced in a dramatic voice. “Police have apprehended a Miami, Florida, couple suspected in a recent North Shore murder. The female, Geneva Flores, is in critical condition from an injury sustained in the event. She is under police watch at the local hospital, and the male, Rudin Brunelle, is in police custody.”
The event. The event of Cam kicking Geneva down the stairs. She shuddered, remembering the sound of Geneva’s head hitting the pavement at the foot of the steps, Rudin’s cry when the heavy pot hit his hand, the shot hitting her mom. Cam’s efforts to hurt Geneva and Rudin had been in self-defense, sure, but . . .
Footage of a motionless Geneva bundled on a wheeled stretcher flashed on the screen. It was followed by Ruth protecting a handcuffed Rudin’s head as she ushered him into the back seat of a cruiser. The reporter went on. “The Coast Guard assisted with a dramatic capture in the Plum Island Basin, where Brunelle attempted to escape by kayak this afternoon.”
Mulch Ado about Murder Page 21