by Joanne Fluke
"I don't have a clue. All I know is that I never want to go through another day like today. I'm still locked out of The Cookie Jar, I found another body, one of my oldest friends lied to me, and I struck out on a murder case for the first time. I'm on a losing streak, Andrea. We'd better put back these files and leave before we get busted for breaking and entering."
"Just sit here and rest. I'll do it." Andrea picked up a stack of files and returned them to the file cabinet. When she came back for a second armful, she looked puzzled. "You said a friend lied to you. Which friend?"
"Greg Canfield. He said he tripled his money day-trading, but he lied. I just found out that the company he said he invested in went bankrupt."
"I wonder why he lied about it." Andrea thought for a moment and then she snapped her fingers. "You used to date him, didn't you?"
"I didn't date anyone."
"Yes, you did. I know you had a date for the senior prom."
"That was a setup," Hannah answered truthfully, even though the memory still stung a bit. "Dad promised Cliff Shuman a summer job if he took me to the prom. You were the one with all the dates, even back then."
"But Greg used to come to the house all the time. I remember that."
"That's true, but we weren't dating. Greg and I were just really good friends."
"Do you think you would have dated him if his parents hadn't moved?"
You bet! Hannah wanted to say, but she thought better of it. She tried for a casual tone and said, "Maybe. I liked him and I think he liked me, too."
"Then that's probably why he lied to you. He didn't want to admit he failed, so he made up that story to impress you."
"Maybe. I called to ask him about it, but he wasn't home." Hannah picked up another stack of files and handed them to her sister. "Mrs. Canfield's really upset. She thinks Greg's going through a personal crisis, and she's worried about him."
'What makes her think that?"
"Greg told her he'd be staying with her temporarily, just until Annette found a house in Colorado, but some legal papers came for him from a family law firm in Denver. Mrs. Canfield thinks that they were divorce papers."
"She's probably right. I met Annette and she didn't strike me as the type to stick around when the money got tight."
"I know. I guess Greg just wasn't successful enough for her."
"But he was," Andrea objected. "His store was making money. I know that for a fact."
"Then Greg didn't go broke?"
'No. His store had record sales in December. One of his clerks told me that they outsold all the other stores in the mall. That's why I don't understand why Greg lost his lease. It just doesn't make sense."
"Why not?"
"Because the mall charges rent, but they also take a small percentage of the profits from each store. Why would the mall refuse to renew Greg's lease if his store was making extra money for them?"
"I don't know," Hannah said and she began to frown. "That's like cutting off your nose to spite your face, unless . . ."
"Unless what?"
"Unless the mall manager had bigger fish to fry. Didn't Rhea Robinson tell us that Connie Mac wouldn't sign a lease in a mall with a competing store?"
"Yes, but Greg's store was an import business."
"Didn't you tell me that you bought a cookie jar at Greg's closeout sale?"
"I bought two. They were half price. And I bought a set of everyday dishes, too. They're really cute, Hannah. They've got blue cornflowers around the border."
"So Greg carried a lot of kitchen things?"
"Yes, he did. He had glassware, and flatware, and. . ." Andrea stopped speaking and she drew in her breath sharply. "I see where you're going and I think you're right. I'm going to look for the lease that Connie Mac signed."
It took a few moments, but Andrea found the right file folder. She handed it to Hannah and they flipped through it together.
"I'll take the lease," Andrea offered, pulling the legal document out of the file. "I'm more familiar with leases than you are. You look at the correspondence."
They worked in silence for several minutes. The only sound was the rustle of pages turning. Finally Andrea handed the lease back to Hannah. "There's nothing about competing stores in here. It's all standard boilerplate."
"But this isn't," Hannah said, holding up a sheaf of pages that were stapled together at the corner. "Here's a letter that Alan wrote to the mall manager. It says that Connie Mac agrees to open one of her kitchen boutiques at the mall, but there's a condition. She wants the mall manager to cancel Greg's lease when it comes up for renewal and give his space to her kitchen boutique."
"And the mall manager agreed?"
"Oh, yes. Alan drew up a four-page contract. The mall manager signed it, and so did Connie Mac and Alan."
"So Connie Mac and Alan put Greg out of business?"
"I'm no lawyer, but it sure looks that way to me."
Andrea thought about that for a moment, and then she reached for Hannah's notebook. "Do you want me to add Greg to our suspect list and write down what we've learned?"
"Definitely. People have killed for less. I don't believe Greg would murder anybody, but I have to check it out. I promised Mrs. Canfield that I'd come down for coffee when I got home and I'm going to take this letter with me. If Greg's there, I'll ask him about. . ."
Hannah stopped speaking abruptly and Andrea glanced up at her. "What?"
"I heard something. Douse your flashlight. Quick!"
Andrea clicked off her flashlight and so did Hannah. The room was plunged into near-darkness. The only illumination came from a distant streetlight that glowed faintly through the window.
"What did you hear?" Andrea asked.
"A car. I think it drove around the building and parked in back."
Both sisters listened intently. All was quiet for almost a minute, and then they heard the faint sound of a door clanging closed.
"The stairwell door," Hannah said, reaching in her pocket for the keys to her truck and dropping them into Andrea's purse. "I just put my keys in your purse. Take it and crawl under the desk."
"Why?"
"Because it could be someone from the sheriff's department. I'll stick with my original story about how Janie sent me out here to pick up something. Maybe I can convince them to call her to confirm it, but they might haul me in to the station for questioning, anyway. If that happens, just wait until they're gone and drive my truck back to the inn."
"But I can back up your story. It's probably someone I know, and they'll believe me."
Hannah grabbed her sister's arm. "No, Andrea. Get under the desk. Please!"
"But why?"
"Because maybe it's not a deputy."
"Oh," Andrea said, and she sounded a little sick. "Do you think it could be the . . . the killer?"
"If it is, there's no way he's going to get you. Get under there, Andrea. Now!"
"But with two of us, we'll have him outnumbered. I won't let you face him alone."
"Get under there now, and don't make a sound!" Hannah ordered, pulling her sister around the desk.
"But I can help you. Why should I hide under the desk like a coward?"
"Because I won't let you jeopardize the life of my new niece or nephew," Hannah declared, shoving her sister under the desk and rolling the desk chair back into place.
"But I'm not. . ."
"Just shut up and do what I say!" Hannah hissed, interrupting her sister's denial. .'Believe me, Andrea. If I say you're pregnant, you're pregnant!"
-31-
Hannah's heart was racing as she slipped out of the back! room. She moved quickly, hurrying down the center aisle toward the display windows at the front of the store. The lighting inside the boutique was dim, but someone passing by the windows could still glance in and spot her. Rather than take that risk, she ducked down behind a display of fine china.
The mall was so quiet, she could hear the faint sound of approaching footsteps. Hannah hoped that it was just
another store owner, intending to restock his shelves before the doors opened on Monday, but she didn't hold out much hope. Since it was almost eleven on a Sunday night, that was about as unlikely as Moishe suddenly sprouting wings and zooming off into the wild blue yonder.
The sound of the footsteps was increasing in volume as the person approached, clunking against the decorative tiles that lined the floor of the mall. Hannah was convinced that they belonged to a man. The stride was positive and energetic, and no effort was taken to step softly. Perhaps she was doing women a disservice by even thinking it, but Hannah doubted that any woman alone, entering a deserted mall this late at night, would tread so boldly.
Her heart in her throat, Hannah willed the stranger to walk on by, but the sound ceased abruptly in front of the door. She risked a glance, peeking up over a platter that probably cost more than she earned in a week, and she gasped as she recognized the person standing in front of Connie Mac's Kitchen Boutique.
It was Greg Canfield. Relief washed over Hannah in a giant wave. Greg was all right. All her dire thoughts had turned out to be baseless. She was just getting to her feet, preparing to call out and offer to let Greg in, when she had an unsettling thought. What was Greg doing out here on a Sunday night? And how had he gotten in?
Hannah ducked back down and thought about it for a second. Greg had kept his keys to the back door of the mall. That much was clear. And she'd told Mrs. Canfield that she was coming out to the mall. Perhaps Greg had driven out here wanting to talk to her about the losses he'd taken in the stock market and the fact that Annette was divorcing him. Hannah had almost convinced herself that this was the case when she heard a sound that shot holes in her newly formed theory.
That sound was a key in the lock, turning the tumblers. It was followed by a click, and then Hannah heard the heavy glass door opening. Greg must have kept the key to his store, and no one had bothered to change the locks when Connie Mac's Kitchen Boutique had taken over the space.
Hannah moved slightly and peeked out again, this time from behind a serving bowl. Greg was relocking the door behind him. But why would he do that? And why hadn't he called out to her if he'd guessed she was here?
Greg bent over to pick something up, and Hannah almost gasped out loud when she saw that it was a baseball bat. Had Greg come out to the boutique to vandalize the store that had put him out of business?
Like lightning, an image popped into Hannah's mind ' one that made her shiver. It was Connie Mac's skull, crushed by an object that Doc Knight had thought was a baseball bat. Alan Carpenter's skull had also been crushed in the very same way. And there had been a splinter from a baseball bat in Norman's ski cap.
As Hannah watched, Greg began to walk up the aisle, holding the bat like a club. He paused near the center of the store, and an awful smile crossed his face. It was the smile of someone who'd slipped off the edge into madness, a cross between a grin and a leer, which made Hannah's mouth go suddenly dry and her heart pound frantically in her chest. She'd never thought to see a smile like that on the face of one of her friends. But she had to stop thinking of Greg as a friend. He was the killer. He'd injured Norman and murdered Connie Mac and Alan.
The chilling smile seemed frozen on Greg's face as he started forward again. He was humming something under his breath, and as Hannah listened, he began to chant a phrase in a high-pitched, childish voice. "Come out, Hannah. Come out, come out, wherever you are."
There was a singsong lilt to Greg's voice that made Hannah's blood run cold. Greg was insane, dangerously insane.
"Red Rover, Red Rover, send Hannah over," Greg called out. And then he laughed, an eerie sort of giggle. "You're it, Hannah. I'm going to tag you. You can't get in free this time."
Hannah swallowed hard. All the games they'd played in the vacant lot at the end of the block were mixed up together in Greg's deranged mind. But this was no game. Greg had come out here with the intention of making her his next victim.
"I know where you're hiding. You can't fool me, Hannah Banana." Greg moved forward again, toward the back of the store. "You're in the office. I saw your flashlight and I'm going to get you."
Hannah gasped. Andrea was in the office. She couldn't let Greg go back there! With an inventiveness born of desperation, Hannah scuttled to the next display table, the one that held the heavy crystal vase that Andrea had admired. She grabbed it and pegged it toward the far wall as hard as she could. The expensive vase shattered with a satisfying crash, and Greg whirled around toward the spot where the vase had landed. "So that's where you are, you naughty girl! Clumsy Hannah. Now see what you've done?"
Greg stalked past the display table where Hannah was hiding. She held her breath, preparing to run, but he didn't stop. He was wiggling the bat, the same way a power hitter might wiggle it before he hit a homerun, as he strode toward the place he thought she was hiding.
Hannah knew she had to warn her sister to stay hidden. Greg didn't know that Andrea was here, and if she stayed under the desk, she'd be safe. Hannah took a deep breath and called out at the top of her lungs. "You can't catch me, Greg Canfield!"
The moment the words had left her mouth, Hannah crouched low and scooted toward another display table. Greg whirled toward the place she'd been, but Hannah was already across the aisle, crouched low behind a table holding a silver service.
"Where are you, Hannah? Come out, come out!" Greg stalked forward, his bat at the ready.
"Why did you murder them, Greg?" Hannah asked.
Greg turned again toward the sound of her voice, but Hannah had moved behind another display table. She had to keep calling out and moving, leading Greg away from Andrea.
"They took everything!" Greg surprised Hannah by answering her. "Annette left. me when she found out about Redlines, and it was all Connie Mac and Alan's fault!"
"Did they deserve to die?" Hannah asked, scooting to an other position the moment the question had left her mouth.
"They did a bad thing. I had to punish them." Greg's voice had grown softer, and Hannah wasn't sure whether that made him more dangerous or less dangerous. "You understand, don't you, Hannah? They deserved the ultimate punishment."
"Do I deserve to die?" Hannah asked, moving crab-fashion to another counter.
"I'm sorry I have to kill you, Hannah, but I don't have a choice. The minute Grandma told me you'd gone to the mall, I knew you were going to find out. And I can't let you tell anyone what I did."
"They'll find out." Hannah moved again, crouching low.
"No, they won't. They'll think it's the ghost. They're so stupid, they believe in ghosts!" Greg laughed again as he moved in Hannah's direction. And then he started to chant, "Starlight, moonlight, hope to see the ghost tonight. Starlight, moonlight. . ." Greg stopped and gave another chilling laugh. "Remember that, Hannah? Remember the game we used to play? You were always the ghost. Now I'm the ghost and I get to scare you!"
Greg's back was turned and this was her chance. Hannah inched her way to the display of cast-iron skillets. She reached up and grabbed the biggest one, the same size Grandma Ingrid had used to fry chicken, and ducked back down again. And then she called out again to the madman who'd once been her friend. "I never thought you'd hurt me, Greg."
"I won't hurt you," Greg responded, moving toward the display of cast-iron cookware. "You deserve it for sticking your nose in where it didn't belong, but you won't feel a thing. Remember how good I am with a bat? I never miss the ball. I didn't hurt them, either. I made sure of that. I'm not a bad person."
As Greg lunged for the spot where he thought she was hiding, Hannah darted to the counter directly behind him and stood up. But before she could swing the heavy spider, Andrea popped up from the counter directly in front of Greg. She was holding a fire extinguisher in her hand, and as Hannah watched in total shock, her sister pulled the handle and foam spewed out, directly into Greg's face.
The next few seconds passed with what seemed like the speed of lightning. Greg hollered and dropped the bat
, reaching up instinctively to cover his eyes. And while he was momentarily incapacitated, Hannah swung the frying pan, connecting solidly with his head. Greg didn't even whimper. He just crashed to the floor like a bale of hay that had been thrown down from the back of a truck. On his way down, he took out a Thanksgiving serving platter and several champagne glasses with silver rims, but Hannah didn't give a second thought to the damage. She just stepped over her former friend to hug her sister tightly.
"I did good, huh?" Andrea asked, looking a bit shocked at her own bravery.
"You were great," Hannah said, not about to spoil the moment by correcting her sister's grammar. "I think he's out cold, but I'll sit on him to make sure he doesn't try to get up again. You'd better call the sheriff's station."
"They're already on the way and they've got Greg's whole confession on tape. I held up my cell phone so the dispatcher could hear, and she patched the call through to Mike and Bill."
"Good for you!" Hannah declared, plunking herself down on Greg's back. She was careful to keep the frying pan at the ready, just in case. "Flip on the lights and see if you can find something we can use to tie him up."
After Andrea had raced off to the front counter, Hannah reached down and took Greg's wrist. His pulse felt steady, and now that the lights were on, she could see no sign of blood. She'd swung the frying pan as hard as she could, but she'd been a lot gentler on Greg that he'd been on Connie Mac and Alan.
Andrea came back at a run and handed Hannah a roll of red satin gift ribbon. The words "Connie Mac's Kitchen Boutique" were stamped along the length of the roll in gold. "How about this? It was all I could find."
"It'll do,' Hannah told her, not missing the irony as she bound Greg's hands and feet with an unending reminder of the store that had replaced his. Then she stood up and stared down at Greg. She thought she'd known him, but she hadn't. People could change a lot in twenty years. And Greg hadn't known her, either. He'd assumed that once he called out for her, she'd simply present herself like a lamb to the slaughter.