Too Sweet to Die

by T. Doyle

  “Charlie, your husband’s been trying to get a hold of you,” Missy, our ward clerk waved to me. “He said it’s important.”

  I patted my pockets with ice cold fingers and realized I’d left my phone in my purse. “Did he say why?” Please, not the kids.

  Missy shook her head totally unaware I was a moment from full-blown panic. “No, just to call him.”

  I ran to the locker room and pulled out my purse, looked for my phone any text messages. My movements were jerky and uncoordinated. Joe left three text messages asking me to call and called five times.

  Please let the kids be safe.

  I dialed Joe and jogged back to the nurses’ station. “Joe, are the kids okay?” My voice cracked.

  Missy’s head whipped up, her eyes round.

  “Yes, they’re fine. Someone set fire to the cabin. I’m out here now. There’s nothing left.” He sounded calm, maybe a little detached.

  “Is Ray okay?” I asked.

  “Ray left at eight this morning. Tom said he had a car drive by at eight-thirty and they saw the smoke. The fire department got here before it spread to the neighbors.” I heard the sound of a car door opening and closing. “Babe, everything we worked on last night is gone.”

  “Ray still has the tablet and laptop,” I whispered. I wiped my sweaty hand across my shirt and held my chest, like I could physically massage my heart into beating slower.

  “Yeah. I talked to him after I couldn’t get you on the phone. He was on his way to meet Simms and Krakauer. He’s got a meeting with Hank Warrens, and said he’d be out at Sunnyview right after. Please don’t go anywhere without an escort.”

  “I promise.” I blew out a breath. “Do you want me to call the insurance company?”

  “No, I’ll do it. Did you get some coffee?” His tender voice soothed me.

  “Yes. I forgot my purse in my car, so I had to go out to get it. I’m sorry I missed your calls.” I stared down at my feet and realized I was wearing mismatched sneakers. They were both white, so I had that going for me. “I’m sorry I worried you.” Maybe I did need to end my caffeine addiction.

  “I’m relieved you’re okay. I’ll call you later. I love you.”

  “Love you, too.” I ended the call and realized I’d forgotten to tell him about the vending machine guy. I put my phone into my back pocket.

  “Is everything okay?” Missy asked.

  “There was a fire at our lake cabin. Nobody’s hurt, thank goodness.”

  Missy’s mouth rounded. “Are you kidding?”

  I shook my head, it felt wooden. “No.” Mrs. Almond’s call light buzzed. “I’ll get that.”

  The break-in at my house had to be related to the cabin fire. Was Peter looking for Oscar’s proof that he was connected to the adoptions? I hoped Grace Godwin was safe.

  At eleven, Tom showed up at my work. “You got a minute? It’s about the cabin.” He held his hat, his fingers inching along the brim.

  “Sure. Did you find anything?” I asked.

  Tom’s lips firmed and he glanced at Missy. I hoped that meant he had and couldn’t say in front of her.

  I nodded to Missy. “Text me if you need me.” I knocked on Marabel’s office door.

  “Come in,” Marabel called out.

  I pushed open the door. “Tom wanted to talk to me for a few minutes.”

  Tom stepped into Marabel’s office. “If it’s okay, can we talk in here?”

  Marabel nodded and stood.

  “No, you should stay.” Tom’s serious tone made my stomach clench.

  Marabel slowly eased back into her chair. Her expression was a mix of curious with concern.

  “Charlie’s cabin was burned down this morning. It was arson. Started in the kitchen. An accelerant, probably gasoline, was used.” Tom’s matter-of-fact description of events didn’t stop my body from rapidly ratcheting up to a nine on my freaked-out meter. I didn’t even know my body was capable of producing so much adrenaline in one day. “I think it would be best if Charlie stayed away from work for a few days.”

  Marabel popped out of her chair and hugged me tight. “What can I do?”

  My bottom lip trembled. “I need this to be over.” I looked for Tom, but he’d removed himself at the first sign of emotion.

  Marabel rubbed my back. “I know. They’ve got to be close to catching this guy.” She made those sweet soothing noises mothers made. “Do you want to stay at my place?”

  “I couldn’t do that.” I opened the door, reached out and grabbed the back of Tom’s shirt and hauled him back into the room.

  He back-pedaled and closed the door behind him.

  Marabel handed me tissue.

  “Ray had security cameras facing our cabin,” I remembered aloud.

  “Yeah, I know. All we got is a picture of an SUV,” Tom said.

  “With a TapOut sticker on the back?” Marabel and I said in unison.

  He nodded slowly. “What’s up?”

  “He might be our vending machine guy. We think he’s the guy who planted the drugs in Evie’s room,” Marabel said.

  Tom whipped a notebook out and wrote.

  “Or maybe working with Eric. Maybe Eric swiped the drugs and sold them to him for resale?” My synapses fired and I jolted up onto my toes. “Ray and I saw the vending machine guy at the Salty Pickle, too. And one of Oscar’s pictures of the rental cars had a black SUV parked in front of the courthouse and it had a TapOut sticker.”

  Tom nodded and continued to scribble furiously.

  “Someone went into Evie’s room yesterday, kind of looked like him. Mr. Nelson is looking through the video to see if the SUV has been here before,” Marabel said.

  “Who or what company owns the vending machine?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t know. The general manager or Mr. Nelson might know,” Marabel said.

  Tom stuffed the notebook away. He pointed his pen at me. “Don’t leave here without Ray. When you get home, pack enough for two weeks.” He slid his pen into his breast pocket. “We’ll catch this guy. I promise, Charlie.” He gave me a chin nod. “I’m gonna talk to Mr. Nelson.”

  Marabel stared at me. “So… Two weeks.” She scrunched her nose. “Where will you go?”

  “Liz has a list of places.” I attempted an encouraging smile, but probably looked like I had gas. “I just never thought I’d really have to use them.”

  Marabel opened her arms and hugged me again. “You’ll be fine. Tom, Ray, Joe, and this whole town won’t let anything happen to you.”

  I stepped away. “Same could’ve been said about Oscar. Or Tyler.” I shrugged. “I’m sorry about the short notice and scheduling headache.”

  She waved me off. “This is the most unique excuse ever. Totally going into the Nursing Supervisor Quarterly report. I’ll find a floater for you today. If you can come back sooner, or need more time, text me.”

  “Thanks, I will.” I left Marabel in her office, grabbed my purse and headed to Jenny’s room.

  She wasn’t there. I headed to the cafeteria but got a text from Ray.

  Just got here. Why don’t you sneak out before Ma sees me.

  I replied. On my way.

  He’d double parked behind my Honda and rolled down his window as I approached.

  “I’ll follow you home. Don’t take any short cuts. Stick to major roads,” Ray used his cop voice.

  “Okay.” I tried to keep him behind me. I really did. The diesel Ford truck that pulled out from a dirt road rode my bumper and I lost sight of Ray.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  There was a lot of traffic for a Wednesday afternoon. I’d lost sight of Ray’s car, but continued driving with the flow of traffic, assuming he was behind the huge truck that crowded me. I turned into our neighborhood, and the truck continued on, but there was no sign of Ray. I pulled into the driveway and saw the white box sitting on the welcome mat by my front door. My yearbooks had arrived! I parked in the garage and closed the door behind me because that sensation of bei
ng watched prickled the hairs on the back of my neck.

  I tossed my purse onto the kitchen table and headed to the front door. To be safe, I looked out the dining room windows, making sure only the package sat on my front stoop. Copies of my mother’s high school yearbooks, and possibly the identity of my biological father was on the other side of the door.

  I inched the door open and scooped up the heavy, battered package. Out of the corner of my eye a black blur bounded toward me. I stepped back.

  The blur, a man in black track pants and hoodie, tackled me.

  The box slammed into my gut, making breathing something I really wish I could do.

  The man sprung upright, kicked the door closed, and pulled out a gun. “What is it?” he barked. He held a cell phone in his other hand and waved it at me.

  “What?” I slowly stood, my eyes on the gun. Silvery, and not a revolver, and that was where my gun expertise ended. I held the box in front of me like a shield. I figured four yearbooks, eight covers, maybe a thousand pieces of paper, plus there was the box and shipping materials. That should be enough to stop a bullet, right?

  “Oscar’s password.” He waved the gun.

  I studied his face: pug-nosed, ruddy complexion, and super-angry eyes. Like so angry that he was going to kill me no matter what happened. Peter Adkins didn’t look innocuous now.

  But one of my neighbors must have seen him tackle me and called the police. And Ray was right behind me. I needed to stall.

  He waved the gun again. “What.” He stepped closer.

  I clutched the box tighter.

  “Is.” He closed the distance between us.

  I stepped backward.

  “It.” He pointed the gun at my forehead.

  I kept the box between the gun and my heart and scrabbled backwards until I was in the dining room. “I don’t know.” I stood in front of the window, my butt pressed against the glass. Surely my neighbors would know my butt plastered against the window meant SOS and not an invitation to judge my cellulite.

  He waved the gun toward the me. “You got into his tablet. I saw the pictures you printed at the cabin. What was his password?”

  “The tablet password?” My voice trembled.

  “Yeah.” He glanced down at the screen.

  Stall. I wracked my brain for a logical password. The name of the judge that recognized out-of-state same-sex marriages as legal in 2014 popped into my brain. “Heyburn.”

  “What?” The guy cocked his head.

  “Heyburn. Judge Heyburn? H-E-Y-B-U-R-N.”

  He punched the letters into the cell phone. The gun wiggled in his hand.

  I took a step to the left. Could I escape before he realized I’d lied?

  He pulled the trigger.

  The deafening sound left me bewildered, and I found myself sitting on the floor, still clutching the yearbooks.

  A second pop, this time from the front door, and then the air was filled with the gunman’s wail. He fell to the floor, clutching his dark pants. Red bubbled onto his hands.

  Ray rushed toward him and kicked his gun across the room. “Charlie, are you hit?” His panicked voice called out.

  I held the box away from me and looked. “No. I’m…” Not okay. Not fine. Not shot. “I’m not hit.”

  Ray growled and the gunman screamed.

  “I’m at Joe and Charlie Sanders house, need police and an ambulance.” Ray sounded angry, but in control. “A gunman has been shot.” Ray rattled off my address and stuffed the phone in his back pocket. His gun still pointed at the screaming man.

  “It’s Peter Adkins.” My voice was quiet over the sound of my own heart beating.

  “Peter Adkins?” Ray kicked the man’s foot.

  “Who are you?” the gunman spat.

  I swallowed, knowing I should grab a towel to staunch the man’s bleeding but my legs didn’t want to stand just yet.

  Ray pressed his foot on the man’s wound. “Why are you here?”

  The man squealed and cried out, “Stop.”

  Ray took a step back.

  I heard sirens getting louder.

  I sucked in a deep breath, and yelped in pain. Apparently the bullet didn’t go through the boxes, but I may have cracked a rib. Or two. I panted and licked my dry lips.

  Car doors slammed outside and I was pretty sure someone parked on my lawn.

  “In here,” Ray called out. “Gunman is shot but not restrained.”

  “Coming in,” said an unfamiliar voice.

  An officer rushed in with his restraints ready. He hog-tied Peter and eyed Ray’s gun. “You can stand down now.”

  Ray slid the gun into a belt holster and sidled toward me. “You’re looking a little pale.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m gonna grab you something to drink. And a blanket.” Ray headed to the fridge.

  A blanket would be nice. The autumn air chilled the house and with the front door opened, my teeth chattered.

  “Ma’am,” a young officer knelt in front of me. “May I have your box?”

  I nodded.

  He tugged on the box but didn’t take it. “Let me help you,” he said kindly. He gently ran his hand from my forearm to my wrist and pried my fingers off the box.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I released my other hand.

  “Perfectly okay. You just sit here until the EMT’s have a chance to look you over.” He stood.

  I saw the front of the box and the round circle where the bullet entered. I looked down at my scrubs, proving to myself again that I wasn’t shot.

  My ribs hurt. My neck felt like I’d pulled a muscle. And it felt like the back of my head was bleeding. I pulled my hair out of the bun and massaged my head. A huge lump swelled on the back of my head, hot and tingly. I checked my fingers, but they were clean and dry.

  Unlike the mess the gunman was making. Peter owed me a new rug.

  Ray returned with a glass of iced tea and blanket from the couch. He sat down next to me. “Hey, Nurse Ratchet, don’t get all shocky on me, okay?”

  “I hit my head.” I took the iced tea and sipped it. “Call Tom.”

  “Relax, I’ve got this.” Ray tucked the blanket around me.

  The EMT’s arrived and attended to the yowling gunman first.

  “Where did you hit your head?” Ray asked, staring at my pupils.

  I rubbed the growing lump. “I think when he shot me, I fell against the wall and smacked it.” An EMT popped up, reminding me of a prairie dog, and knelt beside me. Bright lights, questions about presidents and what I had for breakfast followed.

  Joe’s voice broke through the air. “I’ve got her. I’ll take her to the Emergency Room.” Joe knelt and then helped me stand. Ray moved to my other side and the guys hustled me out the front door and to Joe’s car.

  “Lock up when you leave,” Joe called to an officer and then slid into the car.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  My dining room table overflowed with family and food. Two lasagnas and a huge salad graced the center of the table, along with two loaves of garlic bread. Four kitchen chairs had been added, turning our table into a fourteen-seater. Momma Sanders sat at the head of the table. To her left sat Liz and Ian, Mike and Anisa, Angela, Joe’s youngest sister, and her husband Christopher. Joe sat at the other end, across from his mom. I sat next to him, followed by Ray and Kristi, Jess, Emily–Joe’s second youngest sister, and my father-in-law, Chuck. The living room held eight squealing cousins, with Drew and Sara in charge.

  Angela’s son, Paul, came into the dining room and snagged two pieces of garlic bread.

  “Not that I’m complaining, because it was a miracle, but why did you order yearbooks from 1962?” Liz asked.

  Joe squeezed my thigh and sent me a look. I didn’t have to say anything. But this house was filled with my real family, and I knew they wouldn’t tell my father.

  “When Jess was in AP Bio, she had a project on blood typing.” I swallowed and stared at the half-eaten lasagna on my plate. “M
y father is not my biological father.”

  “I knew it!” Jess pumped her fist. She lowered her hand. “Sorry. I mean, I suspected.”

  “Really?” Paul asked.

  “Why?” Joe asked Jess.

  “He’s got a wicked widow’s peak, and you don’t. Plus, you look a little like your mom, but nothing like your siblings.” Jess looked around the table. “I mean, people I’ve never met before are like, ‘You’re a Sanders, aren’t you?’”

  “We are a good-looking bunch,” my father-in-law said.

  “Very true,” Jess said and added a smile. “Plus, I don’t know, there’s just a weird vibe whenever we visit.”

  “That could be because I asked my mom about it and she admitted he’s not my father but then begged me not to say anything,” I admitted.

  Momma Sanders made disapproving noises.

  Paul cleared his throat. “Do you want to find him? Your biological father?”

  Angela ran her hand up Paul’s arm and squeezed his shoulder.

  “I do. I’ve asked Ray to help me find him. After all this, I realized that there is a man out there who may want to know that he has three amazing grandchildren. Who knows, maybe I have more siblings.” I offered a small smile. “I thought I’d start with my mom’s old boyfriends, since I was conceived around her tenth high school reunion.”

  A round of ‘Oh’s’ cascaded around the room. Paul looked confused.

  “I’ll explain later, buddy.” Christopher patted his back.

  Paul nodded to Jess. “Don’t bother, I’ll ask Jess later.”

  Angela sent a warning look toward Jess.

  Jess mimed locking her lips, but then winked at Paul.

  “We’re going to have to order another set of books.” Joe leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I want to bronze those.”

  The house phone rang. Jess hopped up to answer it.

  Joe held up a glass of wine. “Charlie Sanders, you scared the crap out of the people you love. Do you promise to never get involved in a murder again?”

  I raised my glass with one hand and crossed my heart with the other. “Promise.”

  Jess poked her head into the room, her hand covering the mouthpiece. “Mom? Greta Van Susteren wants to know if you’ll do an interview?”