by ML Gamble
“But who hired them if it wasn’t my father?” she asked, unable to keep an edge of hope out of her voice.
“Your mother’s killer. Whoever it is—your father or anyone else—wouldn’t want you finding out about your mother for the same reason we just discussed. Your dad may be long gone, and the killer still lives here.”
Elizabeth frowned as Tommy Lee slowed down and quietly started up the alley behind the stately homes on Kings Landing. “What we’re forgetting is the Queen of Midnight tie-in, Tommy Lee. The murderer could have scared me off without dragging the Pageant into his threats. And now that we know Philip deAngelis is being threatened, it seems to me there’s a whole motive connected to that damn beauty contest that we’re missing.”
Tommy Lee parked the truck and sat staring down the alley. He felt like a schizophrenic. He was checking out the position of the cars parked along the road, noting the rusty van pulled up behind the Heywoods’ garage. It seemed sinister, but when he flashed the lights toward it, it was empty.
He called on all his intuition to search the shadows for suspicious movements, wondering with one side of his brain how best to approach Luvey’s house, while Elizabeth’s words were sparking all kinds of thoughts in the other half.
“Someone got away with murdering Marylynn Gibbs,” he said in a whisper. “Who would have wanted to kill your mother, and why, is the only motive that would explain this resurrected mayhem going on twenty years later.”
Elizabeth nodded. “If we could only find someone who knew my mother. Someone who can tell us who she was romantically involved with. Miss Lou was no help at all when we discussed all this last night. She’d never heard of Marylynn Gibbs. The only thing she could offer was that it was common knowledge India Heywood has always blamed Elaine Gibbs for India’s mother’s suicide.”
“Well, maybe Mrs. Heywood’s vendetta got transferred over to Marylynn.” Tommy Lee turned his brooding stare on Elizabeth. “And then maybe India found out about you—Marylynn’s child. If she’s a real psycho, just hearing you’re running against her daughter for Queen of Midnight could make her snap.”
Elizabeth pictured the sweet face of Rosellen Heywood, who struck her as lonesome and sad despite her pretty exterior, then flashed on the tense, outwardly cool India Heywood. Was the poor girl living with a lunatic for a mother? “Yes, Rosellen Heywood is an electee, Tommy Lee. But why would India Heywood kill my mother for something Elaine Gibbs did? My God, she was already married to the most prominent physician in town—what could she have been so afraid of?”
“That’s the big missing piece of the puzzle, kiddo. Motive. What could your mother have done to make India Heywood angry enough to have her risk everything?”
An answer nagged at Elizabeth’s mind, but she couldn’t focus on it. “This sounds like the Hatfields and McCoys,” she said in disgust “A feud like this is completely crazy!”
“Yeah, well, think about Othello. When jealousy masquerades as love, people kill and pretend they are justified. I saw it on the job too many times to deny it, Elizabeth. We always hurt the ones we love, I think the song goes.”
“That’s true,” she agreed softly, touching his face with her hand. She knew withdrawing from him last night at the cemetery had hurt him, but she wasn’t ready to explain to him how she felt. “But if you are right, then ‘love’ hasn’t got anything to do with it, to paraphrase another tune.”
Tommy Lee moved close and looked into Elizabeth’s face. He pressed her hand against his mouth, wanting nothing more than to ask her how she was handling everything. But it wasn’t the time. He truly was worried about what his dingbat ex-wife might have gotten herself involved in. “Wise and beautiful. You’re something, Elizabeth. But we’re going to have to put this brainstorming on hold for a little bit. I’ve got to check this thing out with Luvey.” Quietly he cracked open the truck’s door. “Stay here and wait. I’m going to find out if Luvey is even home.”
“Can’t I come with you?”
“No.” he closed the door and moved around the pickup to stand by her window. “If I’m not back out in five minutes, or if you see anything the least bit strange, you drive the truck directly to the police station and tell Chief Foley the whole thing.”
“The whole thing about Luvey calling you?”
He leaned forward, letting himself touch her lips with a quick, hard kiss. He pulled away instantly, not willing to test her reception to him while all these traumas were weighing on her heart. Besides, he knew if he wasn’t back to her in five minutes, he might well be dead. “The whole thing about everything, Elizabeth. Now lock the doors and time me.” He looked at his wristwatch, then back into her huge blue eyes. “It’s 6:08. I want your butt out of here at 6:13. Got that?”
“Be careful,” she whispered.
He winked, and turned and slipped from sight.
Elizabeth craned her neck to the left as far as she could, but Tommy Lee’s tall figure had melted into the shrubbery around Luvey Rose’s garage. She saw no sign of anyone, but stared at the shadows, forcing herself to breathe shallow and slow.
She glanced at her watch. It was 6:09 a.m. exactly. A car engine echoed in the distance, then quieted. Elizabeth looked out the truck’s back window, but no vehicle had pulled into the alley, which ran the full five hundred yards behind the four houses on Kings Landing Road.
With a sigh, she pulled her coat tight around her and watched. A hollow tapping sound, like leather boots running on pavement, made her turn once again behind her, but she saw no one. As she strained to hear, the noise died out.
For a full minute she stared, thinking of Tommy Lee. She pictured him, with his leather jacket, scuffed cowboy boots, and impossibly handsome face. She willed him to reappear, to walk toward the truck and slide onto the seat beside her. She wanted to feel the warmth from his hard thigh against her fingertips. Wanted to kiss him again. Just wanted him.
She stared down at her watch. It read 6:12 a.m. One minute to go. But she couldn’t leave Tommy Lee. Without another thought, she slipped out of the truck and ran across the expanse of asphalt like a cat, congratulating herself for wearing sneakers, which made her steps silent. Flattening herself against the closed garage door, she walked slowly toward the bushes where she had last seen Tommy Lee. There was a gate behind them, standing ajar.
On tiptoe, Elizabeth slipped through the gate and found herself in a small courtyard behind Luvey’s house. The two-story house was designed like a small French chateau. It had a wrought-iron balcony on the second floor, and lovely tall windows. The courtyard was paved with antique brick and dotted with huge pots of shrubs, which were covered with tarps against the freezing December nights. At the edge of the courtyard, Elizabeth spied French doors. One was open, and a filmy ivory lace curtain drooped onto the brick.
Elizabeth glanced at the watch. It was 6:13 a.m. Where the devil was Tommy Lee? Her heart rate increased with each breath. Was she endangering Tommy Lee and his ex-wife by staying a second longer? Or did he need her help?
Her questions without answers spurred her to action. She dashed across the courtyard and paused. No noises came from the inside of Luvey’s house, save for the ticking of a huge clock on her mantel. Elizabeth stepped inside.
The living room was gracious and beautifully decorated in shades of green and mauve. The smell of evergreen was everywhere, and a dozen pots of poinsettias were huddled around the fireplace. She could picture the red-haired Luvey draped across the sofa, and an alarming image of Tommy Lee beside her popped into her brain. She chewed on her bottom lip and crossed the room. It led to a center hallway with a kitchen at one end, a small staircase at the other. Two rooms, both with walnut doors closed against her prying eyes, stood across from her.
If Luvey had household help, their quarters would most likely be on the other side of the kitchen. Should she go in there and try to rouse someone? Elizabeth pictured herself scaring the maid out of her wits and wondered how big a crime breaking and entering and scari
ng household help senseless was.
She stood straining to hear any sound of talking, but heard nothing. Elizabeth glanced at her wrist. It was 6:15 a.m.
A shot, fired in a room upstairs, ripped through the morning silence like thunder. Instinctively Elizabeth crouched down in the doorway, wildly looking behind her for a phone. She ran across the room and pulled it off the table.
No dial tone.
And it was then she saw the body. A man. He was dark-haired and small. His clothes were too big and he smelled like salt water and lemons. She felt the bile burning up her throat and she stepped back away from him. He was covered in blood, as was the side of the sofa he was slumped against, hidden from her initial view of the room.
Without a moment’s pause, Elizabeth was back on her feet and running upstairs. The door to the first room she came to was ajar.
Philip deAngelis was slumped in a chair, his eyes open, his breathing shallow. Luvey Rose lay on the floor at his feet, the pink nightgown she wore spattered with her own blood. Elizabeth kneeled beside her and pressed on the woman’s wrist with her fingers.
There was no pulse, and Elizabeth knew without a doubt that she was dead.
“Tommy Lee!” Elizabeth called out, her voice aching with fear. “Tommy Lee!”
Across the room the balcony door was ajar. Elizabeth walked toward it, feeling both numb and alert, and more scared than she had ever imagined a person might feel and still breathe.
She knew he was there. And he was. Tommy Lee was sprawled on his back, his eyes closed, a tiny rivulet of blood running from his scalp onto his forehead where he had been struck by something heavy enough to knock him out.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, falling to her knees. She grabbed his hand, but he didn’t wrap his fingers around her wrist as she prayed that he would. She reached frantically for his neck. There was no pulse. She called upon the three years of elementary CPR training she had taken as a teacher, tilted his head back, made sure there was no obstruction and began to blow. With each breath, she knew in her heart that she had fallen in love with Tommy Lee McCall, and would not let him die.
“Elizabeth!” a male voice called from the door, nearly scaring her out of what wits she had remaining.
She moved her hands to Tommy Lee’s chest, placing one on top of the other for her compressions. Clay Willow, the handyman, stood in the doorway. His face was ashen and he looked ill with fright.
“Do you know CPR?”
“Yes, I do. Are you hurt?” the man rasped. He’d been running and was panting.
She had no time to explain, or ask him how he came to be where he was. “I’m fine. Come help me.”
Clay hurried to her. “How long has he not been breathing?” the handyman asked, his voice oddly calm, his question precise.
“I don’t know. Probably only two or three minutes.” Elizabeth was crying. Her arms were shaking. She felt like she wanted to scream. “Wake up, Tommy Lee,” she cried as Clay blew into the silent lungs and she pushed with every ounce of strength she had. “Damn it, you can’t die!”
Tommy Lee took a shallow breath, then groaned. “Oh, thank you,” Elizabeth cried out, hugging her face against his chest. He took another breath and moved, groaning again as if he were in the midst of a terrible nightmare.
“Elizabeth, run down the street and get Dr. Heywood. And have them call for an ambulance and the police.”
She pulled herself into a sitting position and stared at the man who had appeared like a ghost. “What are you doing here, Clay?”
“I followed you when you left this morning,” he said simply, his pale blue eyes full of concern. “Now go, hurry. I’ll stay with Mr. McCall.” He turned from her and took Tommy Lee’s pulse, throwing a blanket over the ex-cop’s long legs.
Nodding, she struggled to her feet and raced from the room. She chose the front door and ran down the steep incline of Luvey’s driveway to the street, past Paris Prince’s mansion and up the walkway to the Heywoods’. Breathless, she pounded on the front door and rang the bell ten times frantically, calling out, “Please, Dr. Heywood. Someone open the door, we need help!”
India’s maid threw open the door. Behind her, Rosellen Heywood stood with a look of abject fright on her face. Her hair was dripping from the shower. Both women were dressed in nightclothes.
“Please call the police, Rosellen. But first get your father. Luvey Rose has been murdered and Philip deAngelis attacked!”
“God in heaven!” the maid shouted, then ran off screaming toward the kitchen, “Dr. Heywood, Dr. Heywood! Come quick!”
Rosellen began to cry. “But what are you doing here, Elizabeth? I don’t understand. Were you just at Luvey’s?”
“Rosellen! What in the world—” India Heywood’s voice floated down to Elizabeth and she looked up. India was standing on the stairway. She was fully dressed in black pants and sweater, black boots and gloves, as if she were going out.
Or had just come in. Elizabeth thought back to the sound of leather boots on the pavement. Had India just come from that brutal scene at Luvey’s?
Elizabeth began to tremble harder now, and felt herself shrinking back from the woman. India’s hair was mussed, and her eyes were wild. “Elizabeth, what’s happened?” she demanded.
“Mother, please, it’s too terrible,” Rosellen cried out, her anguished voice bouncing off the walls and echoing in Elizabeth’s ears. Inside her head, she heard a woman screaming, saw a woman lying in a pool of blood, heard footsteps and breaking glass and a child crying in terror. A door slammed at the back of the house and Elizabeth could not have said if it was in her mind or in the actual present. She wondered if her memories had finally driven her mad.
“Tommy Lee McCall is hurt. Luvey was killed. Philip deAngelis is unconscious. We need an ambulance. The police…” Elizabeth said in a wavering voice. The room was spinning around her as she fought to remain conscious. She had to get back to Tommy Lee, but she suddenly felt her legs go out from under her as she sagged onto the black-and-white marble floor.
“Philip deAngelis is seriously hurt?” India questioned. “We’ll have to have another tally of the Queen of Midnight votes!”
Chapter Twelve
“The operation is a very tricky one,” Dr. Bennett Heywood continued. “The bullet fragment has worked out of the muscle, and is dangerously close to penetrating Mr. McCall’s left lung. We have waited several hours, and we can’t leave it there any longer.”
Elizabeth was numb with worry. She had not seen Tommy Lee, except through the window of his room, since they had ridden to the hospital in the back of an ambulance.
She cleared her throat. “Is there any sign of permanent damage from the blow he received, Dr. Heywood?”
“None that we can see, Miss Monette. He’s responded to our brief questions, shows no brain swelling, and the fracture has no interior bleeding.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You did an excellent job with your CPR.”
“I had help. I hope you told Mr. Willow the same thing.”
“Who?” the doctor asked, a quizzical look on his face.
“Clay Willow. He works for my parents. Wasn’t he with Tommy Lee when you got there?”
“No. No, but the paramedics were already on the scene when I arrived.” Dr. Heywood glanced at his watch, then nodded to Dr. Katherine Smiths. “Well, now, if any of you have any more questions, I’m sure Dr. Smiths can help. I’m due in surgery. My daughter is running that office for me, so I best not destroy her schedule. Keep a good thought, everyone,” he ordered, then rushed down the hall.
“Miss Monette, can you come with me?” Dr. Smiths asked, motioning for Elizabeth to follow her into Tommy Lee’s hospital room.
Elizabeth gave Miss Lou’s hand a squeeze and hugged the judge. She smiled at Frank Foley. The four of them had kept vigil outside Tommy Lee’s hospital room for the past day. Twenty hours of hell.
She followed the doctor into the dark isolation ward, her heartbeat pounding in her head. Dr. Smith
s held out scrubs, gloves and a mask for Elizabeth, and helped her pull them on.
On the opposite side of the room, Tommy Lee lay on his side, propped up with pillows, tubes in his arm and taped over his nose. Part of his head was shaved and bandaged, giving his handsome profile a dangerous look. Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears but she straightened her back and gently took his hand in both of hers.
“He’s awake,” Dr. Smiths said in a hushed voice. “They’ve given him his meds, but he’ll be awake for a few more minutes.” She winked and gave Elizabeth’s arm a pat. “He asked for you a hundred times even though we told him he couldn’t see anyone before we operate because of the risk of infection. He just kept asking, though. Stubborn mule.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied.
Dr. Smiths patted her shoulder and left them alone. Elizabeth squeezed Tommy Lee’s hand. “Hey, mister. How you feeling?”
“Like day-old roadkill,” he said, struggling to open his eyes. He squinted at her getup. “Is that you under all that, Elizabeth?”
“It’s me. They don’t want me breathing on you and making you sick before they operate. How do I look?”
He squeezed her fingers and smiled. “Like a Queen. I hear you saved my life after that bastard took my head off with that shotgun butt.”
“Right. And now I own you. Isn’t that how it goes in some cultures?” She flushed at her own bold remark, but just hearing his voice had a druglike effect on her. It was all she could do not to lie down beside him and hug him, she was so glad to see him alive.
“Look, I need to talk to you. I don’t want you to argue with me, I want you to answer my questions and listen. Okay?”
“I really don’t think you should be thinking about anything stressful, Tommy Lee. Wait until after the operation.”
“I’ve got a lot of things to say. And I might not be around to say them after the operation, Elizabeth.” He squeezed her hand more tightly.