They waited. The doorbell rang again. “I’m going to look out the windows and see who it is,” Karen whispered, and the bed lifted and cleared my face. I heard her pad across the floor to the window. “It’s Amy,” she said after a moment.
“Shit, what’s she doing back here?” Connie said.
“She just looked up and saw me,” Karen said. “I’ve got to go down and see what she wants.” Connie groaned as Karen put on her shoes and walked out of the room. “Get dressed,” she ordered from the hallway.
Connie cursed as he rolled around the bed, putting on his clothes. A minute later, Karen called from downstairs, “Con, Amy’s got car trouble. Come down and have a look.”
I silently cheered Amy as Connie got off the bed, shoved his feet into a pair of slippers, and left the room. A couple of minutes later, I heard them talking downstairs. Amy’s voice became high-pitched and insistent, Connie said something in a rumbling voice, the front door opened and shut, and everything was still.
I wiggled out from under the bed, checking that the gun was still in my pocket, and ran down the hallway to the top of the stairs. Bending in half, I peered through the glass panels on either side of the front door. The hood of Amy’s car was raised and Connie was leaning into the engine. I heard him shout something, and then the car’s engine roared into life. I sprinted down the stairs and ran for the front closet, all the while listening to Amy talking very loudly over the engine noise. I pulled open the closet door, jumped inside, and slammed it shut just as the front door opened again.
“Stupid broad. There was nothing wrong with her engine,” Connie muttered as he and Karen stepped inside. A horn tooted, and the car drove away.
“She’s nice, Con – just not too bright,” Karen said.
The door closed and everything was quiet in the hallway. After a minute, Connie said, “What say we go back upstairs, eh pussy cat?” Karen giggled. The two of them headed back down the hallway and climbed the stairs to the second floor. I heard their footsteps overhead, and then nothing. Easing the closet door open, I listened for a moment before slipping out. I tiptoed to the front door and paused. Sometimes the door had a pretty terrible squeak. Maybe I wouldn’t set off the squeak if I didn’t open the door very far?
I managed to open the door about a foot without any sound at all. Pressing my lips together, I inserted a shoulder into the space and tried to slip through. All went well until I got to my hips. I started inching the door open, squeezing my butt muscles together in hope of making it more compact. I was almost through, just a tiny bit more to go, when the damn door went “squeeeak.” I froze, holding my breath, waiting to hear if anyone noticed. All was well for about three seconds until Connie yelled, “Hey, who’s down there?”
That was enough for me. I threw the door open and bolted for the trees alongside the house. I knew that Karen and Connie had an excellent view of the front parking area from their bedroom windows, and I didn’t want them to see me running down the driveway. Once in the trees, I skidded on some damp leaves, grabbed hold of a branch to steady myself, and kept on running. My pant leg caught on a twig and I had to rip a hole in it to free myself, but I didn’t care. I was in full flight mode. I saw the bend in the driveway up ahead and burst out of the trees, running through the gravel. I spotted Amy’s car parked at the bottom of the drive. She was standing beside it with the driver’s door open. She jumped up and down as she saw me. My breath was rasping in my throat and I had a stitch in my side. She ran the rest of the way to meet me and gave me a big hug.
“I just about had a stroke when I saw you under that bed, Anna Nolan,” she cried, giving me a shake. Without waiting for a response, Amy grabbed me by the arm and pushed me into the car before darting around to the driver’s side and jumping in. She started up the car, spun her tires in the gravel, and skidded out onto the street without bothering to check for traffic. I slammed into the passenger door because I hadn’t managed to put on my seat belt yet. Fortunately, there wasn’t any oncoming traffic.
“Take it easy, Amy. Try not to kill us,” I complained, clicking my seat belt in place. I glanced over at her just in time to see a tear slide down her cheek.
“Amy, I am so sorry,” I said, feeling terrible. Her bottom lip started quivering. “Ah, Amy, please don’t be upset,” I said. “It’s all over now, and no one got caught. You were so fantastic, coming up with an excuse to get Connie and Karen out of the house. I hid in the front hall closet until they went back upstairs, and then I snuck out. We did it. And, guess what? I think I may have found the murder weapon.” I took the gun out of my pocket to show it to her again.
“Anna, put that away,” Amy shrieked. “I hate guns.”
“Okay, no problem. I’m sorry,” I apologized, shoving it back into my pocket. Only then did it occur to me that I had been handling the gun with my bare hands. I groaned and sank back into my seat, wanting to kick myself for being so stupid. I had panicked when I heard Connie coming down the hallway, and picked up the gun without thinking.
“What’s the matter, Anna?” Amy asked.
“Oh, Amy, I did something really stupid,” I said, glancing out the window.
“Oh no,” she whispered, turning to look at me with frightened eyes.
“No, nothing that bad. It’s just that I realized I’ve been holding the gun with my bare hands.”
Amy turned back to the road. “So, now you’ve got your fingerprints on the gun.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, “and maybe wiped Connie’s off, too. How could I have been so stupid? Everyone knows not to handle the evidence with your bare hands.”
Amy shrugged. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Anna. You must have been terrified, trapped in the bedroom with Connie. I know I would have been. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
I stared at Amy. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”
“Because there’s no way that Karen or Connie killed Jack.”
“What? How do you know that?”
“Because Karen told me what she and Connie were doing on the night Jack was murdered. They’ve been having problems, so Karen and Connie started seeing a marriage counsellor. They were with their counsellor in Calgary when Jack was killed.”
“Oh no. Just wonderful,” I groaned, closing my eyes in exasperation. “I can’t believe it. After all this trouble, there was no reason for me to search their house in the first place. All we had to do was have a heart to heart with Karen, and we would have known that they couldn’t have killed Jack.”
“Yup,” Amy said, still watching the road. “But now you have Connie’s gun.”
I stared at her, and then reached into my pocket for the gun. What the hell was I going to do with it? I couldn’t possibly give it to Tremaine now that I’d ruined the fingerprints. I was going to have to get it back to Connie somehow. But how? There was no way I was going to sneak back into their house again to replace it. Maybe I could just leave it on their doorstep in a brown paper bag? My mind reeled. How long would it take before Connie noticed it was missing?
Then a terrible thought occurred to me: what if Connie had gone for the gun just now when he thought that someone was breaking into the house? What if he had already discovered that it was missing? If that were the case, there was no possibility of returning the gun without his noticing.
I moaned. “Amy, I am so sorry. This is about the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t know what got into me. Normally, I’m a pretty cautious person, you know? Well, up until a week ago when Jack got killed. It’s as if Jack’s death released some sort of insanity from deep down within me. Breaking into the Primos’ house, kicking a police sergeant . . . .”
Amy looked at me, her eyebrows lifted. “You kicked Tremaine?”
“Yeah, never mind about that – that’s the least of my worries. You have just brought me to my senses, Amy. I promise that I’ll never do anything this crazy again. Look, let me try to make it up to you, okay? Are you hungry? I bet you haven’t had anything s
ince breakfast. Let me buy you lunch when we get back to Crane, okay? We’re almost there now.”
“I don’t think so, Anna. I’m too upset to eat,” she said, shaking her head.
“Please? Even if you can’t eat, how about a cup of coffee. Or a milkshake? The Diner makes great shakes.”
Amy sighed. “Well, alright, Anna. Karen and I were going to have lunch at the house before this whole thing blew up. I guess I could try to eat something.”
“That a girl. Let’s have some lunch,” I said as we drove into town. I tried for a positive spin on our little fiasco. “You know, Amy, when everything simmers down and the investigation is over, I bet we’ll laugh about this someday. As a matter of fact, when I think of the look on your face when you saw me under the bed, I could almost laugh now. It was pretty funny, wasn’t it?”
The look on her face warned me that I had gone too far. I shut my mouth, folded my arms over my chest, and kept quiet for the rest of the drive.
Chapter Fifteen
We were just in time to join the Saturday lunch crowd at The Diner. It had turned into a sunny spring day, and half a dozen motorcycles were parked out front. The Calgary motorcycle crowd liked to bike down on weekends whenever the weather was nice. Clive’s tractor, splattered with mud from ploughing, was parked in the prime spot just outside the door.
Inside, Mary and Judy were busy hustling food with the motorcyclists taking up half the tables. Clive was sitting on a stool by the jukebox singing along to Elvis’ “Blue Suede Shoes,” getting lots of amused looks from the out-of-towners. There was one empty table left beside Mr. Andrews, and Amy and I seated ourselves there.
Judy hurried over as soon as she was free. She had teased her long, honey-blond hair, the colour kept fresh by Amy, into an updo. Judy liked to dress western, and today she had on a green plaid shirt, jeans, and embossed leather boots. She peered at us over her reading glasses.
“How’re you doing, Anna? How’s it going, Amy? What are you two having for lunch today?”
“Hi, Judy – haven’t had a chance to talk to you for a few weeks now. Busy day today,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s a beautiful day. Can’t wait to get out of here and go for a ride myself.” Frank and Judy had a handsome Harley which they used to tour the back country roads.
We placed our order and Judy hurried away. The jukebox finished playing and conversational levels returned to normal. I looked at Amy, who was staring fixedly across the room, doing her best to ignore me. I lay my hand over her folded ones on the table top.
“Are you angry with me, Amy?” I asked.
She glanced at me before dropping her eyes. “No, I guess not, Anna, but I’ve never been so scared in my life as when I found you under that bed this morning.”
I shrugged. “Let’s try to put that behind us, okay? At least we can check Connie off our suspects list. We’re making progress,” I said with a smile, hoping to jolly her along.
“What do you mean ‘suspects list?’ What progress?” Amy demanded, looking steamed. “I thought you said you were done with this. You promised not more than fifteen minutes ago that you were never going to do anything this crazy again – remember?”
I frowned. “Well, yes I did, but I didn’t say that I’m not interested in the case anymore. That’s my ex-husband who got killed, let’s not forget, and the police think I’m their prime suspect. I can’t just walk away from it, not yet.” Amy sighed and looked away. Judy brought our milkshakes and we sipped them in silence. Our hamburgers came, and the crowd thinned out as we ate. Mary took care of the customers lining up to pay their bills while Judy joined us at the table.
“Did you hear the latest news about Henry?” she asked, dropping into a chair and stretching out her legs with a grunt.
“No, what did you hear?” Amy asked, perking up a little.
Judy braced her elbows on the table and leaned toward us. “Well, Harold Gibbs eats his breakfast here every day even though he sold Henry the insurance policy for his restaurant, right?”
“Of course,” I responded. Business was business, but you shouldn’t let it interfere with your health.
“So, Gibbs was in here yesterday morning, and he told Frank what Henry plans to do with the insurance money. Henry is going to install a drive-through window in his restaurant.”
“No,” I uttered in amazement. “Why would he want to do that in a town this size?”
“Well, Henry claims that his business will increase threefold once people hear he’s got a fast food window. He thinks that the commuters will stop for breakfast on their way out of town and pick up supper on their way home. He says that the convenience of not having to get out of their cars will make a big difference to folks. He’s also counting on the bachelor farmers not wanting to cook their own supper after a hard day’s work.” Judy turned to Mr. Andrews. “Hey, Mr. Andrews, if you were still farming, would you use Henry’s fast-food window to pick up your supper?”
“Nope,” said Mr. Andrews without raising his head from his paper. “I wouldn’t drive two minutes out of my way to purchase Henry’s grub.”
“Hey Clive, how about you?” Judy shouted.
Clive swivelled round on his stool and planted his mud-encrusted boots on the floor, knocking little turds of dried mud onto the linoleum. “What’s that?” he yelled.
“Would you buy Henry’s food if he had a take-out window on the side of his restaurant?”
“Nope. Can’t get my tractor through a take-out. Tried it once at a Dairy Queen. I wanted a crème-de-menthe milk shake, but I couldn’t make it through their little drive-through. Had to park in the lot and walk inside. Once I got to the counter, they told me they don’t make crème-de-menthe milkshakes. Imagine that. I could get banana or strawberry, but they couldn’t make me a mint milkshake. You’d think that people would prefer a mint milkshake to banana, now wouldn’t you?” We all shook our heads at people’s strange preferences in dairy beverages. “So, no,” Clive continued, “I wouldn’t use Henry’s take-out window. What take-out window?”
Judy waved her arm at him in dismissal. He shrugged and swivelled back to his slice of lemon meringue pie. Judy said, “Pretty bizarre, eh ladies? Well, Henry always did have some strange notions of what would go over in this town. It doesn’t bother Frank any. He’s sure that people aren’t going to eat Henry’s cooking no matter how fast they can get it. So how are things with you, Anna? Anything new in your husband’s murder investigation?”
I glanced at Amy, trying to warn her to keep quiet about our recent break-in. “I haven’t heard anything, Judy. Have you seen Sergeant Tremaine lately?”
“Nope, not since the beginning of the week, although I’m sure he’s busy questioning everyone he can think of. I guess he’ll come up with the murderer sooner or later. Frank says he’s pretty sharp, even though he seems a bit young to be heading up a murder investigation.”
“I guess so,” I said, and Amy nodded. When we didn’t contribute anything else, Judy rose from our table, looking a little miffed by our reticence.
“Well, I’ll leave you ladies to finish your meals in peace. Wouldn’t want you to get indigestion from talking about anything distasteful,” she sniffed.
“Okay, nice talking with you Judy. Say ‘hi’ to Frank for me,” I replied. Judy stomped away, obviously not happy with me.
Amy put down her fork and bent to pick her purse up off the floor. “I’ve got customers I have to see this afternoon, Anna, so I’ve got to go,” she murmured.
“Me, too. I’ve got laundry that needs doing,” I said, but I didn’t want to leave her with unhappy feelings still between us. “Hey, Amy, you were a really big help today,” I said. “You found out about the Primos’ marriage counselling and you helped me to escape from their house without getting caught. If it hadn’t been for you, I might be in jail right now with Tremaine throwing away the keys. Believe me, I’m very grateful. I hope you’re not upset with me.”
“I’m not really upset, Anna.
I just don’t want anyone to get hurt or in trouble over this,” she replied, pushing back her chair. “But I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late for my 1 PMappointment. Call me later this week and we’ll talk. And thanks for lunch.”
“Bye,” I called as she hurried out of the restaurant. Feeling that things were better between Amy and me, I paid the bill, said goodbye to Mary and Judy, and went home. Wendy whined when I got there, and I decided that I had been neglecting her. Time to take her for a good, long romp. Gathering up her leash and a couple of plastic bags for the inevitable clean-up, I headed out the door with Wendy dancing beside me. At least my dog still loved me.
I hesitated before heading out Wistler Road again, but it was a favourite walk of Wendy’s and I wasn’t going to let my squeamishness deprive her of her pleasure. We set off out of town, and Wendy disappeared into bushes bursting with tender green leaves. The air was dry and smelt of newly-cut grass.
Strolling after Wendy, I thought about what I had learned in the week since Jack’s death. I knew that he had spent part of the afternoon and evening of his last day with Amy, leaving her just before 6:30 “on business.” Amy had interpreted that to mean that he was going to see another woman, but if so, whom? I knew that the woman wasn’t Karen Quill, since she had been at a counselling session in Calgary with Connie.
The coroner’s report said that Jack had been shot in the chest with a .45 calibre bullet between 6 and 9 PM, and that his body had been moved after his death. The coroner had also confirmed that there had been no evidence of sexual activity prior to Jack’s death. I had discussed that detail with Amy, who said that Jack had showered after they had been together. That put the kibosh on Amy’s theory that Jack had left her to be with another woman, unless the other woman had shot him before they could have sex. Perhaps he had actually gone to a business meeting, but that was hard to believe. What kind of business would Jack be involved with? He had an agent and an accountant to look after him, and I had never known him to be interested in anything other than acting and women.
Framed For Murder (An Anna Nolan Mystery) Page 12