Allie said nothing.
“You’ll let me know when she leaves?”
“Of course, Mother. Hug Dad for me.”
All in all, Allie felt that going to hell for lying was a small price to pay to keep her brother out of her house.
“You won’t go to hell for a lie like that, honey.”
“Why didn’t I just tell her I don’t want Len here? That’s what you would have done.”
“Sure I would have, if I wanted to fight with her for another ten years. No, I would have done what you did. You have to pick your battles, Allie. This one wasn’t worth fighting.”
“How do I know which ones are worth fighting?”
“You’ll know. You have to trust yourself. You will know.”
“Easy for you to say.” The sound of her own voice startled her. She shook her head. Too much time in the sun.
The phone rang again. She stormed back and snatched it up, certain it was Len calling to add his criticism to that of their mother. “What?” she answered curtly.
“Allison?”
Rupert Cornelius. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Mr. Cornelius, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Have I caught you at a bad time?”
Allie couldn’t imagine a good time for him to catch her. “No, not at all.” The lies got easier and easier.
He cleared his throat. “I returned from Orlando and heard you were at the office today. I wondered if there is something I can help you with.”
Allie closed her eyes. “No, nothing. I just wanted to take a look around.”
“Myrna mentioned that you invited her to lunch.”
Damn blabbermouth. She wasn’t sure how to respond. Exactly how much had Myrna told him? “Uh, I—”
“I understand you asked her about my stepmother.”
Allie was getting irritated now, at him as much as Myrna, but she tried to keep it out of her voice. “Yes, I did. I guess the talk with you made me wonder. The subject seemed painful to you, and I decided I would ask someone else. You know how you said you like to get to know your employees. I feel the same way about my employers. I hope you aren’t offended.”
He was. “I wish you’d have asked me directly. Myrna says a lot, but much of it isn’t accurate. I wouldn’t want you getting the wrong impression.”
“No, of course not.” She waited.
“I also got a call from Cord Arbutten this afternoon. He said you stopped by there.”
Allie felt like pounding her head against the wall. Could it get much worse? She didn’t know what the sheriff said to him, so she wasn’t sure what to say. “I took him a reprint of that picture I gave you. I thought he might like a copy since he’s in it.”
“That was your only reason for your visit?”
“Well, I also wanted to reintroduce myself to him. I figured I’d be seeing more of him when I worked for the paper.”
The line hummed. Finally, he spoke. “I suggest you come to me if you have any more questions.”
“Of course, Mr. Cornelius. Thank you for calling.” But he’d already hung up.
She noticed he hadn’t insisted that she call him Rupert this time. She leaned against the kitchen counter. She would have to hook up with a dentist quick if she didn’t quit grinding her teeth. She tried to force herself to relax, but she couldn’t. If Rupert was the killer, and he thought she suspected, she might be in danger. If Cord Arbutten had covered up a murder, she was in danger from him too. And Marc worried about Sheryl and Joe.
As she headed for the bedroom, she caught sight of the gun on the bookcase. Suddenly, she was glad she had it. Not that she would know how to use it, but maybe she could get someone to teach her. She didn’t want it laying around in plain view, though. She took it into the bedroom and put it away.
She didn’t hear from Marc until late that evening, and he called at the worst possible time.
About nine, Sheryl breezed in. She’d become such a frequent visitor that Allie felt as if what she told her mother was true. Allie was curled up on the couch in front of the TV, not watching anything, a book on her lap. Spook had his head buried against her side, but he made a dash for the bedroom when the front door opened.
Sheryl glanced in his direction. “Some watchdog,” she said, as she headed toward the kitchen. “I’m here for a cup of coffee. You really should lock your door. Anyone could walk in.”
“She just did,” Allie said, following her into the kitchen. “Don’t they have Dunkin’ Donuts in Cocoa Beach?”
“Costs money. I’m on a budget.” She filled her thermos with cold coffee from the pot.
“Yuk. At least let me make you some fresh.”
“No time,” she said, screwing the travel lid back on. “Crime doesn’t take coffee breaks.”
Allie snorted. She was spending way too much time around Sheryl. As she opened her mouth, her cell phone rang. Her eyes cut to her purse.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Sheryl asked.
“I was going to walk you to the door.”
“I know where it is. Go ahead. Answer it.”
Allie did, hoping Sheryl would take her coffee and leave. She didn’t.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Allie.”
“Hi. Where are you?”
“In West Palm Beach. I’ve found out a lot.”
“So have I.”
“Oh?”
Allie glanced at Sheryl standing a foot behind her.
“Is someone there with you?”
“Yes.”
“Who?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Not Cornelius.”
Allie shuddered. “No.”
“Odum?”
“No.”
“Levine, then.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to call you back later?”
“No, that’s OK.”
“You’re probably right. I don’t want to talk about it over the phone, anyway. Be careful until I get back, will you? Stay away from those people for a couple of days.”
She wouldn’t lie to him, so she cut the call short. “Call me when you get back,” she said and punched the off button.
“Was that Romeo?” Sheryl asked.
“Maybe.”
“Where is he?”
“Traveling.”
“When’s he getting back?”
“A couple of days.”
Sheryl flashed her a grin. “Good, I’ll sleep tonight.”
As Sheryl started for the door, Allie remembered. “Sheryl, when you get time, will you show me how to shoot a gun?”
Sheryl stopped and turned, her face wary. “Why do you want to know? Who’s threatening you?”
“No one is threatening me. Except my mother, and I don’t want to shoot her.”
“Liar,” she said, but she seemed to relax a bit. “Where’s the gun?”
Allie went into the bedroom and retrieved the gun from the nightstand drawer. When she turned, she ran into Sheryl’s chest.
“Keeping it pretty close, aren’t you?”
“Talk about close.” Allie pushed her backward.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re afraid of?”
Allie thought about it. “No.”
“Jesus.” Sheryl took the gun. “OK. It’s a Glock.”
“What does that mean?”
“The name of the manufacturer. Police weapon of choice. Popular with criminals too. Has an internal safety. Pretty much point and shoot. I can show you how to load it. Where do you keep your ammunition?”
Allie looked at her blankly. Sheryl shook her head. She popped the cylinder, checking the magazine. “OK, it’s loaded. Don’t shoot anyone. We’ll get into the finer points when I have more time.”
Allie took the gun. “I know. Crime doesn’t take coffee breaks.”
Sheryl grinned. “That was pretty lame, wasn’t it?”
“Nothing pretty about it,” Allie said, leading her to the front door.
*
The next day, Allie took Sheryl’s advice. She tidied up the house. Then, she spent the rest of the day living like the idle rich. She and Spook took a long walk on the pleasantly deserted beach. They headed south, away from Port Canaveral and the jetty. High-rise condos seemed to be springing up everywhere. Before, when she walked the beach, she heard only the waves lapping at the shore, gulls calling from overhead, but now it was air hammers and cranes and the occasional wolf whistle. She ignored it all, refusing to acknowledge the serpent in her little strip of paradise.
Spook wasn’t one of those dogs who pulled you this way and that, the way she’d seen other leashed dogs do. He trotted along contentedly at her side, his little legs doing triple time to keep up with Allie’s long strides. Once in a while, she stopped to examine a shell before tossing it back in the water. The day felt benign; the threat she’d sensed the night before seemed silly in the light of day.
Sheryl called to say they’d meet her at Merritt Square at six. Her orders continued. Park in front of Books-a-Million. Don’t be late. They planned to catch an early movie and then grab dinner. Allie’s personal plan included grilling Joe during dinner.
She decided the occasion called for dressy jeans and a sweater, since the nights were still chilly. She chose a pair of pink jeans Sheryl talked her into buying—Barbie jeans, Allie called them—and a white sweater trimmed with the same pink. She’d feared the outfit would make her look washed out, but Sheryl dragged her in the dressing room to try it on. Once again, she was right. The white sweater made Allie look a little bigger around, which wasn’t bad since she had yet to put back much of her pre-Garrison weight, and the pink made her skin look bright and healthy. Not that her skin needed much help looking bright tonight. In fact, it glowed like neon during a blackout. She toned it down a bit with matte foundation and laughed at the thought of blush. Twisting her hair into a ponytail, she called herself ready. She didn’t want to look too attractive because she still hoped that something would click between Sheryl and Joe, despite her aunt’s dire warning that Joe would break Sheryl’s heart.
Sheryl and Joe were sitting in his truck watching the parking lot when she drove up. When Sheryl stepped out of the truck, Allie caught her breath. Her friend looked seriously hot. She wore a pair of short black Lycra overalls that zipped up the front and hugged every curve on her body, with a tiny chain belt that held her cell phone and some kind of radio. Her long, tanned legs ended in a pair of sexy, strappy sandals. Under the coveralls, she wore a red knit top with a plunging neckline, and probably nothing else, exposing enough cleavage to promise more. Her hair was piled atop her head, held as if by magic and a couple of red barrettes. Allie didn’t see how Joe could resist her. She almost couldn’t, and girls weren’t her thing.
Sheryl enjoyed her reaction. “Ready?” she asked, her voice smug.
Once inside the theater, Sheryl maneuvered Joe between them, and Allie didn’t miss how she “accidentally” brushed her leg against his half a dozen times during the movie. Every time Sheryl leaned over to tell Allie something, she turned slightly so her right breast pressed into his arm. The man would have to be made of stone not to react, but if he did, she must have missed it. He seemed engrossed in the movie, although she saw him almost smile a time or two.
The movie was a shoot ’em up action, ideally suited for two cops. Allie didn’t see much of it; she was too busy watching Sheryl operate.
They got giant pretzels after the show. Sheryl and Joe were arguing about where to have dinner. Sheryl favored Italian food, while Joe leaned toward barbecue. Game for either, Allie reached down to tighten the buckle on her sandal, as Joe leaned toward her to say something. The next thing she knew, she lay on her face on the pavement.
“Joe,” Sheryl screamed.
Joe was on his knees beside Allie. At first, she thought he was checking to make sure she was all right. Then, she saw the blood streaming down his face.
Chapter 20
Allie heard another scream. Hers.
Sheryl managed to get her shirt off and to press against Joe’s head, yelling, “Officer down! Officer needs assistance!” into the radio she’d ripped off her belt.
People ran toward them. Allie couldn’t catch her breath. She didn’t know she was crying until she felt the tears drip on her sweater. There was dirt, too, from the asphalt and blood everywhere.
Sheryl leaned Joe against a car tire and crawled to Allie. She gave her a quick onceover, pronounced her unhurt, and crawled back to Joe.
Sheryl was crying, too, Allie realized. That scared her more than anything did. She was shielding Joe with her body and talking to him. Allie heard bits and pieces. “Don’t you dare die, Joe Odum, or I’ll kill you. Please, honey. Hang on. Help’s on the way.” Joe seemed to be conscious.
A police cruiser screamed into the parking lot. It skidded to a halt a few feet from the crowd. Two officers jumped out. Sheryl said something to them, and they started moving the crowd back.
An ambulance and two more police cars arrived. Once the paramedics determined that everyone would live, the officers fanned out in the lot looking for the shooter. It didn’t occur to her until that moment that they might be in further danger. She crawled closer to Sheryl and Joe for safety. Putting herself closer to the victim probably wasn’t the best idea, but she wasn’t thinking very clearly.
A part of her brain registered that someone shot Joe. Another part vehemently denied it. Things like that didn’t happen in her world. She began to shake. It wasn’t like in the movies; it was ugly and dirty and chaotic.
Sheryl came over and threw an arm around Allie’s shoulder. “He’ll be OK. Come on. We’ll follow the ambulance to the hospital.”
Allie allowed herself to be led to Joe’s truck. “I got his keys,” Sheryl said, noting Allie look of confusion.
A half-naked Sheryl caused a lot of excitement in the emergency room until someone thought to bring her a scrub shirt to wear over her overalls. Allie felt as if she was swimming under water. She couldn’t get a clear handle on what had happened. One minute, they were walking out to their cars, laughing and talking, and the next, she was face down on the pavement, and Joe had blood all over his face. Who would want to shoot Joe? If she hadn’t leaned down to tighten her sandal, the bullet might have hit her.
They talk in books about your blood running cold, but until that day, Allie always thought it merely an expression. Now, she knew. Ice pumped through her veins. She started shivering and couldn’t stop.
Sheryl wore a path in the floor, pacing back and forth. She would come out to make certain Allie hadn’t collapsed on the floor. Then, she’d head back to the nether regions where they’d wheeled Joe. No one else came in or out. Apparently, police officers got special privileges. On one of her trips out, she got someone to bring Allie a thin blanket. It did nothing to warm her, but it gave her something to twist in her hands. That’s when she realized her hands were scraped raw from where she’d fallen and the knees torn out of her jeans. They were bloody, but she didn’t know with whose blood.
Allie felt like crying, but she held herself in check. She looked around, struggling to hang on to whatever shreds of normalcy the room offered. They were in the same emergency room she’d been in before—Cape Canaveral Hospital. She was getting to be a regular. The thought made her start shaking again. There were three officers hanging around the waiting room
looking uncomfortable. Sheryl stopped to talk to them each time she came out, maybe to give them a progress report.
She heard a commotion at the double doors that led into the emergency room, and Joe pushed through. Half his head and part of his face were swathed in gauze. A nurse with a wheelchair followed close behind.
“I wasn’t shot in the leg, for God’s sake,” Allie heard him growl. His fellow officers were laughing behind their hands. Even Sheryl grinned, although Allie thought her eyes looked a little brighter than normal. Allie stood, as Joe headed toward her.
“Are you all right?” he asked. She could feel rage vibrating off him.
Allie nodded, biting her lip to keep from crying. “I’m fine. Do you have any idea who…?” She waved a hand toward his head.
His rage seemed to multiply tenfold. She could see the muscle in his jaw rippling like a live thing. “No, but I intend to find out.”
Allie didn’t know if he meant to say more, but Sheryl came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I need to get you home before that pill kicks in. You’re too heavy to carry inside.”
He glanced over his shoulder. For a minute, Allie feared he would brush her concern away, but instead his face softened. “OK,” he said. “Sure.” Maybe more had happened in that parking lot than Joe getting shot.
Sheryl dragged her gaze from Joe to Allie. “Do you mind if Barry and Erin take you to your car?” she asked, motioning at two of the officers standing a short distance away. “I want to get Joe home. They wanted to keep him overnight, but butthead here refused.”
“Sure.”
“Do you feel all right to drive? If not, they can take you home, and we can pick up your car tomorrow.”
Allie didn’t want to tell her that she wasn’t going back to that parking lot tomorrow. She didn’t even want to go tonight, but she wanted her car. Besides, she’d have a police escort. “I’m fine.”
Sheryl spent a while charging the officers with Allie’s safety, which Allie thought they tolerated reasonably well. Finally, Joe took Sheryl’s hand and pulled her away. If Allie hadn’t been so emotionally exhausted, she might have been happy for them.
Live Ringer Page 23