by Bobbi Holmes
Without thought, Brian dove for the gun, taking hold of its barrel and ripping it from Walt’s hold.
“That was close,” Brian said in a rush, his breathing elevated. “It could have gone off again.”
Walt glanced over to Danielle and chuckled.
Walt and Antoine stood by the open doorway and watched as the two police officers led the handcuffed man from the house. Danielle trailed behind them as they took Baron to the patrol car. According to Brian, more officers were arriving shortly to process the scene. She wondered if they intended to dig the bullet from her banister, and if so, how much damage would they do?
Had Danielle not witnessed what happened next with her own eyes, she might have assumed the person who was telling the story had embellished the tale. Even after she witnessed it, she questioned what she had just seen.
Brian and Joe had reholstered their guns. Baron, whose wrists were now handcuffed in front of his body, was being led out to the patrol car by Joe, who clutched the arrested man’s forearm. Brian was trailing closely behind them when Heather Donovan came driving down the street. Pulling up along the sidewalk, her passenger window down, she was about to ask what was going on when Baron suddenly kicked out his foot in two sharp jabs, nailing Joe in the groin and then Brian, sending both officers bending at the waist in pain.
In the next instant, Baron literally dived into Heather’s vehicle, and before she had time to react or jump out of the running car, she found herself pressed painfully against the driver’s car door as Baron took control of the wheel and sped off—with Heather still trapped in the car, sandwiched between him and the car door.
After planting his right foot soundly on the gas pedal, Baron used his left foot to keep Heather’s feet from successfully making their way to the brake pedal. Unable to move her left arm, which remained firmly trapped between her own body and the car door, held in place by Baron’s weight, she used her right hand to ineffectively rail against Baron, attempting to push him away, but because of the angle and close proximity, her efforts had no impact. At one point she grabbed hold of his hair and tugged furiously, only to be met by a brutal side head butt.
Back at Marlow House, Joe and Brian managed to pull their guns from their holsters in spite of the sickening pain washing over them, but not before Heather’s car vanished down the street. Danielle was already on her phone, calling 911.
Darlene Gusarov’s spirit sat atop the ridge along Pilgrim’s Point, looking out to the ocean. At one time, she might have found the scene breathtaking—now she found it utterly boring.
“I need to get out of here,” Darlene groaned. She looked up to the sky and outstretched her arms. “Please! Give me a sign! There must be something I can do to redeem myself!”
She didn’t hear a crack of thunder, but she did hear sirens—and they were coming in her direction. Turning from the ocean, she looked down the highway and watched as a car barreled in her direction. Behind it, some distance away, were three police cars, their sirens on.
“Something’s going on,” Darlene said as she watched the quickly approaching vehicles.
A moment later, she stood in the middle of the highway. Darlene watched as the first car turned the bend and headed straight in her direction. It was then she noticed the woman flattened against the driver’s door, the palms of her hands pressed against the door’s window, as was her face, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked utterly terrified. The large man by her side had control of the wheel and seemed oblivious to the terror he was inflicting on the poor woman.
The vehicle was almost upon Darlene when the back tire blew, sending the car aimlessly zigzagging over the highway before heading for the bluff overlooking the ocean. Darlene had done it before, and she assumed she could do it again. Without hesitation she reached for the driver’s door. It flew open and, in the next moment, she grabbed hold of the terrified woman just moments before the car sailed off the side of the cliff.
Heather opened her eyes and found herself looking into the face of Darlene Gusarov. She had never met the woman, but she had seen her picture before, and she knew Darlene had been murdered at Pilgrim’s Point.
Reaching up to Darlene’s face, Heather smiled. “You’re Darlene Gusarov.”
“You can see me?”
“You saved my life,” Heather whispered.
In the next moment, the police cars arrived, sirens blaring.
Heather sat in the passenger side of Danielle’s car, which was now parked behind the ambulance along the side of the road at Pilgrim’s Point. Joe had just finished scolding Danielle for following the patrol cars, insisting she should have stayed back at Marlow House. Danielle, in turn, had just finished scolding Heather, who refused to get in the ambulance after the paramedics had looked her over and tended to her minor wounds. Police Chief MacDonald had arrived in the midst of Joe’s ranting and had intervened, telling him Danielle could stay, providing she and Heather remained in the vehicle and stayed out of their way.
Parked police cars, their sirens no longer blaring but their strobe lights still revolving, were scattered along the highway at Pilgrim’s Point. Currently, the responders’ attention was focused on the vehicle, which was now halfway down the hillside, teetering precariously while Baron Huxley—either dead or unconscious—slumped over its steering wheel.
“I hope my insurance company gets me a new car,” Heather grumbled. “When will my bad luck ever end?”
“I’m just glad you’re alive,” Danielle told her. “But I really think you should go to the hospital and get checked out.”
“Do you have any idea how much hospitals cost?”
“I’m sure your insurance will cover it. And if it won’t, I’ll help you.”
“Thanks, Danielle, that’s sweet. But the truth is, I hate hospitals. I’m fine. Thanks to Darlene Gusarov.”
Danielle looked at Heather. “What do you mean?”
“I saw her.” Heather smiled. “She pulled me out of the car. She saved my life.”
“Wow. You sure it was her?”
Heather rolled her eyes. “Just who else would it be?”
Danielle, her hands on the steering wheel of the parked car, looked back to the responders by the cliff’s side. “You aren’t the first person she’s ripped out of a car before it went off the cliff. Who would have thought Darlene Gusarov would end up being some sort of guardian angel?”
“Do you think he’s dead?” Heather asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen his spirit, so maybe he’s still alive.”
“Why was this guy looking for Antoine Paul?”
“He killed him,” Danielle explained. “Antoine was doing some investigative reporting on Huxley when he fell in love with Huxley’s wife and they started having an affair. Huxley had them both killed. His wife and Antoine.”
Heather looked at Danielle with a frown. “I thought you said Antoine Paul was some sort of killer? I thought you said he strangled that woman.”
Danielle shook her head. “I was wrong. Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”
Heather leaned back in the car seat and gazed out the windshield just as a tow truck pulled up.
A few minutes later, the chief walked up to Danielle’s car and leaned into the open window. “He’s dead.”
“Baron’s dead? Are you sure?” Danielle asked.
“Looks like he hit his head when he went over the cliff.” The chief looked past Danielle to Heather. “You are one lucky lady, Heather.”
After the chief left, Heather slumped back in her seat again and said, “Yeah right, I am so darn lucky.”
“You are.”
Heather turned to Danielle. “Do you ever think about dying?”
Removing her hands from the steering wheel, Danielle turned to Heather. “I suppose everyone does.”
“It’s different for people like us.”
Danielle frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We know this isn’t the end. There’s something mor
e after this. Don’t you ever think about…I don’t know…just going now?”
“Going now? Are you talking about killing yourself?”
Heather leaned back against the passenger door and looked at Danielle. “When you say it that way, it sounds bad.”
“It is bad.”
Heather rolled her eyes. “Come on, Danielle, don’t you ever want to just move on and see what’s out there? I know your husband’s dead. Don’t you ever think about checking out and being with him again?”
“No. Not particularly,” Danielle said dryly.
“Okay. Perhaps that was a bad example. I remember now, he was fooling around, wasn’t he?”
When Danielle didn’t comment, Heather said, “How about this, what if someone you really cared about—someone you were drawn to—had died, wouldn’t you be tempted then?”
Danielle couldn’t help it, she immediately thought of Walt. She considered Heather’s suggestion a moment and then finally shook her head and said, “No. Even then, I wouldn’t consider it. Life is precious, Heather. While it’s comforting knowing this isn’t the end, that there is something else, I’ve no desire to jump ship prematurely.”
“Seriously? Even if the perfect man was waiting for you on the other side?”
Danielle smiled softly. “Not even then.”
Thirty-Nine
Taking a seat at the table in the interrogation room, Danielle looked over to the mirror and waved.
“Why did you do that?” Agent Thomas asked. He sat across the table from Danielle. They were alone in the room.
“Just saying hello to whoever’s on the other side of the mirror.” Danielle sat up straight in the chair, her hands folded together on the table before her.
With a frown, Thomas glanced from the mirror to Danielle.
“It’s a two-way mirror,” Danielle explained. “There’s a room on the other side where they can see in.”
“You’ve been in here before?”
Danielle leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out under the table. “A few times.”
“We found the skeletal remains in the cave you told Chief MacDonald about,” Agent Thomas told her.
“Have you told Antoine Paul’s sister?”
“We haven’t confirmed the identity yet. But if the dental records match, someone will be getting ahold of her. I still don’t understand how Huxley happened to tell you where they put the body.”
“Like I told the chief, Huxley intended to kill me, so I guess he felt he had nothing to lose,” Danielle lied.
“But he thought Antoine Paul was still alive?”
The story Danielle had given the chief to pass onto the FBI agents was the same one she had given Antoine’s sister.
“After he saw that composite drawing in the paper, he started wondering if Paul had somehow survived and made it out of that cave. And when Paul’s sister showed up in town and he saw me with her, his imagination started working overtime. He thought Antoine Paul was staying at Marlow House.”
“I still don’t understand, how is it he told you about how he’d murdered his wife—about how he had Paul killed?”
Danielle’s fingers fidgeted nervously. “He just sort of snapped. Antoine and Melissa were having an affair, but that’s not why he had them killed. He said love had nothing to do with it. It was about whatever Paul had discovered while investigating Huxley’s business.”
“Did he say if he killed Steve Klein?”
Danielle shook her head. “No.”
“How did it go?” Chris asked as Danielle climbed into his car in the Frederickport parking lot.
“I just lied to an FBI agent,” Danielle said as she slammed the door shut.
“What choice did you have?” Chris asked as he backed out of the parking space.
“I guess I didn’t have one.” Danielle put her seatbelt on.
“I told Walt I was taking you to lunch,” Chris told her as he pulled out into the street.
“What did Walt say to that?”
“He said I needed to take you someplace nice.”
“Yeah? Where are you going to take me?”
“Pearl Cove.”
“Really? For lunch?” Danielle grinned.
“You could have been killed yesterday.”
Danielle leaned back in the seat and gazed out the side window. “Walt wouldn’t let that happen.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Chris muttered under his breath.
“Heather said something strange to me yesterday.”
Chris arched his brow. “When doesn’t Heather say something strange?”
“She asked me if I ever considered—ending it.”
Hands firmly on the steering wheel, Chris glanced over to Danielle. “Ending it? Are you talking about suicide?”
“Yes. But I guess in Heather’s mind, it isn’t ending it exactly, more like prematurely moving onto the next level.”
Chris shook his head. “It really bothers me that her mind runs in that direction.”
“After I told her no, I never had considered something like that, she then asked me, what if the perfect man was waiting for me on the other side.”
Chris didn’t reply. Instead, he clutched the steering wheel tighter as he drove down the road.
Still looking out the side window, Danielle said, “I told her not even then. Of course, is there really such a thing as the perfect man?”
Chris had just ordered dessert when Danielle noticed Beverly Klein enter the restaurant. She was with three young adults—two males and one female.
“There’s Steve’s wife,” Danielle whispered.
Chris looked over to the entrance. “Who’s she with?”
“I bet that’s her daughter and son. The funeral’s tomorrow, so I’m sure they’re in town.”
“And the other guy?” Chris asked.
“Well, I imagine the guy holding hands with the girl is the daughter’s boyfriend.”
“You’re a regular Nancy Drew.” Chris chuckled.
“Just as long as you don’t call me Jessica.” Danielle stood up.
“Jessica?” Chris frowned.
“Jessica Fletcher. Much older amateur detective.” Danielle tossed her napkin onto the table.
“Where are you going?”
“I want to go say hello.” She paused and then looked down at Chris. “Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe she hasn’t heard about Huxley yet. He was friends with her husband.”
“She just looked this way and waved. You have to go say hello now. Anyway, don’t the cops think he killed her husband?”
Danielle smiled weakly at Chris, suddenly regretting jumping to her feet and attracting Beverly’s attention.
A few minutes later, Beverly was introducing Danielle to her daughter, son, and daughter’s boyfriend. After the introductions, Beverly pulled Danielle to the side and whispered, “Baron Huxley killed Steve.”
“I guess that means you know about the accident yesterday.”
Beverly nodded. “Right before we left the house to come here, Chief MacDonald stopped by. Apparently the FBI has been investigating Baron’s business for some time. Chief MacDonald told me the FBI was about to approach Steve to convince him to testify against Baron.”
“They have proof? That he killed Steve?”
“They know Baron killed his wife and some reporter who was investigating his business, so they believe he was also responsible for Steve’s death, considering he’s the one who gave Steve the tamales. He had a motive. Steve’s testimony could have sent Baron away for the rest of his life.”
“I’m so sorry, Beverly.”
“The chief also showed me the reporter’s picture; I recognized him.”
“Antoine Paul?”
“That’s what he said his name was.”
“You say you recognized him. Had you met him before?” Danielle asked.
“Sort of. Once I ran into Melissa and she was with him. She told me he was her cousin.”
“Her cousin?” Daniel
le muttered under her breath.
“The strange thing, I hadn’t thought about that man since Melissa introduced him to me, and then the other day—that composite drawing in the newspaper of the person who had been looking into windows—it looked just like him. I thought it looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. And then the chief showed me Antoine Paul’s photograph, and I remembered. Isn’t it bizarre, that the peeping tom would bear such a striking resemblance to this person Baron had killed?”
“Umm…yeah…”
Beverly shook her head as if she couldn’t quite grasp the coincidence. She then glanced over to her son and daughter. “This has been so hard on them. On all of us.”
“So it’s official, Huxley killed Steve Klein?” Chris asked before taking his first bite of chocolate cake. The plate sat between him and Danielle.
Danielle reached over and speared a hunk of cake. “I suppose.”
After popping the bite of cake in her mouth, Danielle looked over at Chris and smiled. “This is good.”
“Not as good as yours. But pretty good.” Chris scooped up another forkful.
“I wonder if Huxley has moved on. Don’t imagine Darlene would appreciate him hanging around and muscling in on her haunt.” Danielle chuckled.
“You didn’t see him?”
Danielle shook her head. “Neither did Heather.”
“What about Antoine and Hillary?” Chris asked. “You think they’re really gone?”
Danielle set her fork down on her napkin and then picked up her glass of tea and took a sip. After setting the glass back on the table, she looked over at Chris. “I’m pretty sure they are. They both said goodbye. Hillary left first. Antoine left last night.”
“What about solving all those murders?”
Danielle let out a sigh. “When Hillary was still alive, I was sort of hoping she’d help solve the murders. But with both her and Antoine gone, that’s not going to be happening.”
“It’s probably for the best. Playing Nancy Drew can be dangerous.”
Picking up her fork again, Danielle helped herself to more cake. “I did tell the chief he might want to take a closer look at Hillary’s books—her descriptions of the killers. See if any of them match any persons of interests in the real crimes.”