“It’s all a misunderstanding,” Barrett said before squeezing his eyes shut. “He was so damn frustrating.” When he opened his eyes, he was looking at his wife. “He shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I’m the only one who has that right.”
“Barrett . . .” Theresa clasped a hand over her mouth.
“I’m sorry.” Wild-eyed, he looked around the room as if seeking an escape. Dad was moving slowly down the stairs, while a few others were backing away, not wanting to get involved.
Rita stood from where she’d been sitting by the door. “You killed him!” She wagged a finger at him. “Shame on you, Barrett Drummand!”
“Maybe you should sit down,” I said. “It’s over.” I patted my pockets and cursed my luck. My cell was in my purse, which was in the office. “Someone, call the police.”
“I’m not going to jail.” It was spoken in a whisper, but I heard the heat in it.
“Barrett, be reasonable.”
Of course, reason had fled the moment he’d gone to Ted and Bettfast to kill Rick Wiseman.
With one last frantic look around the room, Barrett made his move. He was quicker than he looked. His elbow shot out and connected solidly with my gut, bending me double. He shoved me backward, causing me to fall into Joel, who was knocked back into his chair, with me landing in his lap.
It was all the opening Barrett needed.
He bolted for the door, pushing Rita aside as he went. She went sprawling, hitting the floor hard with her backside.
“Someone, stop him!” Dad shouted. He rushed over to me as I painfully worked my way to my feet. Joel’s arms were wrapped around me, holding on to me like he might a lover. It took me a moment to extract myself. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I sucked in a pained breath and did the one thing I loathed above all else.
I started running.
Now, I’m not a good runner. Even on my best days, I can only handle a few dozen steps before I’m winded. So, saying I ran might be stretching it, considering Barrett had knocked the wind right out of me before I’d even gotten started. At least I tried, which was more than I could say about the onlookers.
I lumbered my way to the door, Dad protesting behind me. I heard someone shouting for someone to call the police already, and vaguely wondered if anyone would actually stop recording us on their phone long enough to make that call. I didn’t find it likely.
I staggered out the front door, half the store hot on my trail. A quick scan showed me Barrett, already across the street. He whipped out his keys, thumbed the fob, and had his car door opened before I could even think about giving chase.
“Someone, stop him!” I wheezed, but to no avail. It was already too late.
With a roar, Barrett’s blue Honda flared to life. I planted my hands on my knees, praying Paul would come tearing around the corner and block him off before he escaped, but instead, it was the Honda engine that revved as Barrett shot out of his parking spot, barely missing an oncoming bus as he fought for control of the wheel.
And then he was gone, around the corner, and out of sight.
27
“I let him get away!” I paced back and forth in front of my family and friends, as distraught as I’d ever been. “I should have been faster. As soon as I figured out it was him, I should have done something to keep him from leaving. I could have had someone bar the door, or . . . or . . .”
“You shouldn’t keep blaming yourself, Buttercup,” Dad said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I paced out of it, not wanting to be comforted, not when there was still a killer on the loose thanks to me.
“You could have gotten hurt,” Vicki chimed in.
“I did get hurt!” Rita wailed, rubbing at her backside and elbow.
Nothing anyone could say would change my mind. I should have suspected Barrett long before now. All the evidence was there, if I’d really looked hard at it. I’d been too distracted by Harland’s return to the crime scene and Cameron’s sudden rise to success to pay much attention to the smaller things.
Then again, what did I really have on Barrett? Some scattered manuscript pages and a broken rubber band, all of which belonged to his wife? That wasn’t a smoking gun. It wasn’t even a pointy stick. Now that I knew Barrett was the killer, I could easily say I should have figured it out, but the evidence was so circumstantial, it was no wonder I’d overlooked it.
“I should have known,” I grumbled, unable to ease my own mind. This was the sort of puzzle I lived for, yet I’d screwed it up.
“It’s really not your fault,” Dad said for what had to be the twentieth time since Barrett escaped.
I sat down heavily. Had it really only happened a few minutes ago? Theresa was still crying in the corner, being comforted by Joel and Cameron. There were people who were still recording the proceedings so they could post the videos online later. He might have fled, but that didn’t mean he’d gotten far.
There was still time to fix this.
I shot to my feet and ran to the office without explanation. I went straight for my purse, yanked out my phone, and dialed.
“Krissy?” Paul sounded stressed. “I’m busy at the moment, so please tell me this is important.”
“It is.” I paused. “To me, at least.”
He sighed. “One of your employees called me. She said Barrett Drummand killed Rick Wiseman. Said you gave chase, but couldn’t stop him.”
“He got away.” I practically wailed it. “I did everything I could, but he got into his car and drove away.”
“That’s what she said.” It was his turn to pause. “Are you okay?”
“My pride is bruised, but I didn’t get hurt.” I considered telling him about Rita, but decided that was a story better saved for another time.
“I went to the Drummand residence. Barrett isn’t there. I doubt he’ll show either, but I left someone watching the place, just in case. I’m on the way to his workplace now, but I don’t think I’ll get lucky there, either. He’s probably heading straight out of town. I have people looking for him. We’ll get him.”
“It’s my fault,” I said, the pity party still in full swing. “I let him get away.”
“Now, Krissy,” Paul said, sounding a lot like my dad. “You did what you could—more than you should have done, really. I don’t know how you figured out he was involved, and honestly, I don’t think I want to know. I just”—he coughed, cleared his throat—“I’m glad you solved it.”
Wait. Was that a compliment? From a cop who’d spent the last few days telling me to stay out of the investigation?
I knew it shouldn’t have mattered, especially since Barrett was on the run, but that one little compliment had me just about dancing in place. I felt vindicated, even if in the end, the suspect was currently still out there, a free man.
“Please find him,” I said, trying to hide the pleasure in my voice. “He needs to face justice.”
“I will.” A horn honked, and I heard an engine rev, though I couldn’t tell if it was Paul’s car or not. “I’ve got to go. Buchannan is on his way there. Tell everyone to stay put so he can get their statements. And Krissy . . .”
“Yes?” As sweet as could be.
“Please, stay there. I don’t want you going after this guy, okay?”
“Sure thing.” I wasn’t in the least bit shocked that my fingers had somehow crossed on their own as I said it.
I hung up and took a moment to compose myself before I left the office. The glow from Paul’s compliment had already worn off, and I was back to being a near nervous wreck. I smoothed down my hair, took a deep, calming breath, and then headed back out into the dining area to find that a good number of the guests had already left. Buchannan wasn’t going to be happy about that, but there was nothing to be done about the departed.
But I could still do something about the people here.
“Lena, would you watch the door, please?” I asked before raising my voice to be heard over the murmur of the crowd. “The p
olice are on their way and will want to talk to everyone. Sit tight until they get here. We’ll still be serving coffee and cookies while you wait.” I motioned toward where Jeff stood in a corner behind the counter.
A grumble worked its way through the crowd, but at least no one made as if to leave. Lena took her spot by the door and flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED. She crossed her arms and tried to look imposing, which would have been cute, if the situation hadn’t been so dire.
I tried not to think about how the latest disaster might affect business as I crossed the room to join my Dad. Would people keep coming here if murderers kept popping up? I know I would be hesitant.
“Are you feeling better?” Dad asked, as I came to a stop next to him.
“I am.” I smiled at him to prove it. “A policeman is on his way here. The cops don’t have Barrett in custody yet, but they’re looking.”
“I can’t believe he could have killed Mr. Wiseman,” Rita said. I hadn’t noticed she’d moved to sit in the chair next to Dad. She was holding her arm as if it were broken, though the skin wasn’t even red anymore. “I’ve known Barrett for a long time.” She shook her head sadly. “It’s a shame. A real shame.”
Across the room, Theresa stood. Only Joel was with her now. I debated on whether or not to leave her be. She’d just received what had to be the shock of her life, learning her husband was a murderer. Cameron was watching her from a nearby chair, but made no move to go near her.
I felt bad about it, but I started her way. There was no guarantee Paul would find Barrett on his own. If anyone knew where he might go to hide, his wife would.
“Hi, Mrs. Drummand,” I said, gently. I nodded my head toward one of the tables, looking squarely at Joel. He smiled, bowed his head, and then joined Cameron.
“Theresa,” she said. “Call me Theresa. I . . . I don’t know if I can bear that name anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Theresa.” I led her away from listening ears and sat her down at an empty table. She looked lost and shaky. I was afraid she might faint, or worse, break into hysterics, if left standing on her own. “How are you holding up?”
She looked up, mousy eyes wide. “How do you think? I just found out my husband killed a man. He could have killed me next. He . . . Barrett was never nice to me, but he made me feel better about myself.” Her hand went reflexively to her hair and brushed it forward so it hid most of her face. She glanced around and shrank within herself even more when she realized nearly everyone in the room was watching us.
“Do you know where your husband might have gone?” I asked, getting straight to the point. The faster this was over with, the quicker she could move on.
Theresa shook her head. “I don’t know him anymore. I don’t think I ever did. How could he have done such a horrible thing?”
I had no answer for her.
“He wasn’t a happy man,” she said. “But he tried to treat me right, in his own way. He never hit me.” She looked into my eyes, begging me to believe her. “He just squeezed hard sometimes. I don’t think he realized he was doing it. He mostly just talked down to me when I screwed up, made sure I understood how I’d failed.”
“That’s abuse, too,” I said.
Her shoulders rose and fell in a weak shrug. “I suppose.” She sniffed and wiped at her nose. “All Barrett ever wanted was to be a writer. It was what drew me to him in the first place. It was the most important thing in his life. I think he would have left me if he ever thought I’d get in the way of his dream”—a brief pause before finishing—“our dream.”
There was nothing I could say that would make any of this any better for her, which I so desperately wanted to do. So, instead of speaking, I hugged her. Theresa stiffened at first, as if she wasn’t used to being touched in a gentle way. But then she softened and leaned into me. Her entire body trembled as she whispered “Thank you” into my ear.
I held her for a good long minute before leaving her to sort through her emotions. I truly hoped I wasn’t the first person ever to show her affection, though by the way she acted, I was afraid I might have been.
I looked toward Cameron, mostly so I wouldn’t break down into tears thinking about Theresa. Looking at him reminded me of what he was to all of the authors here. An idea slowly started forming in my head.
When Barrett killed Rick, he must have taken his novel with him. I believed Joel and Theresa when they said he’d left it outside the door at the bed-and-breakfast. He must have tried to grab Theresa’s novel at the same time, but the rubber band had broken, and in his rush to gather her manuscript, he’d scattered the pages. Knowing time was short, he was forced to leave her novel behind.
But he hadn’t left his own. He could have printed off another copy, but it was his life’s work, the one thing he believed defined him. There was no way he was going to leave it in a dead man’s possession.
And now, Cameron had it.
I hurried over to where he sat. “Do you have Barrett’s manuscript with you here?” I asked, scouring the area for a briefcase or a box of papers telling me it was. There was nothing.
“It’s back in my hotel room with the others,” he said. “They’re too heavy to carry constantly.”
“Does Barrett know where they are?” I asked.
“He asked about it when we talked. So, yeah.”
My mind raced. Would he take such a risk? The novel was his life. The police were at his house, so he couldn’t go get it off his computer. If he didn’t save it to the cloud or have his laptop with him, then the only copy would be the one sitting in Cameron’s hotel room this very moment. Would he abandon it now when everything else was crumbling around him?
It seemed like a long shot, but it was all I had.
I bolted for the back room, ignoring the questions that flew my way. I snatched up my phone again and dialed.
“Paul!” I nearly shouted it when he answered. “Where are you?”
“Looking for Barrett Drummand,” he said. “Why?” He knew I was onto something, because he’d turned on his serious police officer voice.
“I think I might know where he’s gone.”
“Where?”
“The hotel.” I frowned. Did that place even have a name?
“The one out on Parish?”
“That’s the one!” I said, relieved I wouldn’t have to explain it to him. “I think he went there to look for his manuscript. He knows it’s there, but I don’t think he knows which room.” Heck, I wasn’t even sure if he knew which hotel, though I didn’t think there were very many in Pine Hills for him to search.
There was a pause. “I’m heading there now, but I’m clear across town.”
It would take Paul far too long to get all the way to the hotel, even if he raced full speed. And who knew when Buchannan would arrive? Barrett could be long gone before either of them ever came anywhere close to the hotel.
But Death by Coffee was a whole lot closer, and I was already here.
“I’ve got to go.”
I hung up and shoved my phone deep into my purse. Paul was going to kill me, but I couldn’t risk letting Barrett escape. There was a good chance he’d already been in and out of the hotel room—if he’d even gone there in the first place—and I was wasting my time.
But if there was even the slightest possibility he might still be there, I couldn’t let the opportunity pass.
My phone rang in the depths of my purse as I snatched up my keys. I pointedly ignored it, deciding to leave my entire purse in the office, instead of taking it with me. It would give me an excuse for not answering what would inevitably be Paul’s warning call.
I hurried out into the dining area, where Dad stood, doing his best to comfort Rita, who was milking her “injury” for all it was worth. You’d have thought Barrett had shot her with all the whining she was doing.
“We’ve got to go,” I said, barely pausing as I grabbed Dad by the arm and dragged him toward the door. Normally, I might have gone alone, but I figured having someone
who could take Barrett one-on-one would be better than me trying to go it alone and getting my butt kicked.
“Where are we going?” Dad asked, allowing me to lead him away.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want anyone overhearing and telling Buchannan when he got there.
Thinking of the grumpy policeman made me walk that much faster. If he showed up before I was out of sight, he’d surely stop me and handcuff me to a chair. Then Barrett would get away, and knowing my luck, the blame would somehow fall onto me.
Lena pushed the door open for me and whispered, “Good luck,” before taking up her post once more.
“Thanks,” I muttered. I was pretty sure I was going to need all the luck I could get.
28
“Maybe we should let the police handle it,” Dad said, clutching at the dashboard as I took a turn a little too fast.
“They’ll be too slow.” I bit down on my lower lip and cringed as a squirrel started running toward the road. It thought better of it, and I zoomed past safely. I eased off the gas a little, knowing I’d never forgive myself if I ran over any animal, pet or not.
Dad sat back in his seat, but kept his hands braced, just in case I suddenly decided to speed up again. “Do you mind telling me where we’re going?”
“The hotel,” I said, slowing even further as we came upon a red light. I looked both ways, and seeing no one coming, shot through it. “Theresa said Barrett only cares about his writing, and the only accessible copy of his life’s work is currently sitting in Cameron’s hotel room.” Or, at least, I hoped it still was. Barrett had a pretty good head start on us. I was hoping he hadn’t thought about his manuscript right away, and was just now arriving. Either that, or he’d gone to his house first, and was currently sitting safely in police custody.
“Do you really think he’d risk it?” Dad asked. “He could always write the book again if it means so much to him.”
“Don’t talk like that.” I paid him a quick glance before gluing my eyes to the road. If Barrett wasn’t going to turn himself in, and he didn’t go to the hotel for his novel, then there was no chance I was going to catch him.
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