by Vicki Vass
Walking backwards to the elevator, they pressed the down button. CC tapped her foot with a growing sense of urgency. The 40-second wait for the elevator to speed from the first floor to the 95th seemed like hours. Anne held CC’s hand. Her eyes closed. She was breathing heavily. “What are we going to do? What about Betsy?”
Exiting the building, they headed to the street that led behind Michigan Avenue. CC had found a low-priced parking lot off of Lower Walker Drive. It was cheaper than parking in the adjacent parking garage off Michigan Avenue.
They walked down the stairs leading to the grimy parking lot. During the day, they had felt safe while they shopped but now the stores were closed and no one was out. It was a world of shadows and unfamiliar noises. They reached the bottom of the metal steps. CC grabbed Anne and whispered, “Quiet.” They could hear the click of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs behind them. “Run, Anne!” They ran down the narrow alley, avoiding the potholes. CC slipped and fell on her knees. Anne picked her up by the arm. They made it to the VW, jumped in and clicked all the door-lock buttons shut.
CC fumbled for her keys in her purse. She dropped them on the floor. She knelt down to find them. When she got up, she could see a large figure in the rearview mirror running with a limp toward the bus. The VW started with a poof. The engine cranked and then turned over. CC threw it in reverse almost hitting the dark figure who jumped out of their way.
“Hurry, CC! Drive!” Anne shouted, panting.
As CC squealed out of the parking lot, she could see headlights following behind her. She drove up the ramp leading to Michigan Avenue, doing 50 miles an hour. She flew through the red light, swerving onto the street, which was empty. She headed south. The little VW engine strained, pushing 55, 56 miles an hour. CC floored the pedal. Anne turned around in her seat looking out the back window watching the headlights getting closer. The big Ford F250 lights were bearing down on them. “Hurry, CC! He’s getting close!” Anne said, clutching her evening bag. She reached into it and pulled out her phone. She dialed Nigel. There was no answer, but she screamed into his voicemail, “”It’s Anne. We’re going be killed! We’re on Michigan Avenue. Please help us!”
She lost her signal. She tried dialing 911. “CC, I can’t get a signal.”
“Keep trying,” CC said as they reached the Michigan Avenue Bridge. The VW hit 70 miles per hour and that’s when the truck slammed into it, pushing the bus sideways and up and onto the railing.
The 1968 Volkswagen Bus teetered over the Michigan Avenue Bridge. On one side, certain death; on the other, really great shopping. Anne reached over the passenger seat and into the back to grab her bags. “That bag has my vintage Orrefors wine decanter,” she said. “I’ve spent years searching for it.”
“Anne, don’t move,” CC cautioned.
Anne ignored her friend, and the bus tipped closer to certain death than to shopping. She crawled to the back of the bus to save her day’s worth of finds. As she did, the bus teetered back towards the bridge, rising up slowly.
For once, CC couldn’t give her a hard time about going off her diet. This time it paid off. “Anne, stay where you are. Don’t move.” CC crawled back by Anne and the bus leveled out.
“What do we do now?”
“When I open the back window, we both have to crawl out at the same time,” CC said.
The Ford F250 idled in the middle of the street. The engine revved. And then the tires squealed and rammed into the rear of the bus. The bus slid, catching its back tires on the rails, the only thing keeping the bus from falling in the river. Anne and CC tumbled back into the front of the bus. CC crawled into the driver’s seat.
Anne looked up from the floor. “Look at my dress. It’s ruined.”
CC smiled. She loved her old friend. She reached down and helped her back into her seat.
“This is it. We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Anne said in a quivering voice.
CC didn’t answer and took her hand in hers. They both looked down into the cold dark of the Chicago River. Then the back window crashed in. An arm brandishing a gun came through the window. They could see the light blue of the quarter note tattoo shining in the moonlight.
Anne crawled up toward the back of the bus. Her skirt caught on the armrest, tearing.
“What are you doing?” CC yelled.
Anne climbed over the bags and boxes, clinging to the side of the VW, reaching for any hold she could grasp. She slipped a bit and then caught a hand again, pulling herself up with all her remaining strength. Taking the Orrefors vase out of the box, she dangled, holding on one with hand and with the other smashed the gun out of his hand. The vase shattered, sending shards of crystal deep into his arm. He screamed.
Then he stuck his head into the window, Anne reached around to push him away. He stuck his head in again and his ponytail caught on the jagged glass, snapping his head back. He yelled, “You just won’t die! Jenkins couldn’t kill you at the falls or in the alley. You made me kill Jenkins. Now I have to kill you!”
Anne reached around the van looking for a weapon. She saw the gun lodged against the side panel at the same time Roger did. She couldn’t reach it and she was losing her hold, starting to slide back. Roger pushed his way through the window, his ponytail starting to tear. His fingers inches away from the revolver. Anne looked down and saw her large orange Prada bag. She grabbed it and felt around inside. She touched the soft eagle feather. She pulled it out and stabbed Roger, the roadie, in the eye with the pointed quill. He screamed and fell backward onto the pavement, leaving his ponytail dangling from the jagged glass. He rolled on the ground in agonizing pain.
“Anne, we have to get out of here,” CC said as the VW groaned and squealed, metal scraping against metal. She pulled herself up toward Anne. She unlatched the window that swung out.
“Anne, you have to move a little,” CC said as they both tried to exit the window at the same time.
“CC, I’m stuck. I’m not going to fit.”
CC glanced behind Anne and noticed that she was holding her large orange Prada bag along with several shopping bags. “What are you doing? Let go of the bags.”
“My bags!”
“Anne, you have to let go of the bags. You’re not going to fit through the window with those bags. You have to let it go.”
At Anne’s panicked look, CC touched her cheek and in a calm, quiet voice said, “Anne, just let it go.”
Anne thought about it and realized CC was right. She pushed through the window, making one last grab, pulled the large orange Prada bag to safety. She held it up triumphantly. They heard the death rattle of the VW as the tires gave way, sending it plunging toward the Chicago River. Their last glimpse of the bus before it entered its watery grave was the bumper sticker that read, “The Spoon Sisters.”
Anne and CC lay on the cool cement of the Michigan Avenue bridge walkway as the fire department and police arrived. Roger, the roadie, rolled on the ground, grabbing his face. Blood dripped from his eye.
The EMTs put him into the waiting ambulance. Another EMT walked over and put blankets on both Anne and CC. He took their vitals. “Are you ladies, okay?”
They both shook their heads, still breathing hard. Nigel rushed up to them. “Anne, are you all right? What happened? I came as soon as I got your message.”
He knelt down. Anne put her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “Nigel, I was so scared.” She told him the story about Blue Note Records, the Colonel and Steven. Nigel relayed the story to his commander who sent a squad to the Signature Room to arrest Steven.
Chapter Forty-six
After finishing breakfast, CC sat down at the table to blog, “Dear Friends, I’m sorry it’s been a while since I’ve written.”
Anne sat next to her picking at the plate of Danish. She deserved an additional treat after her ordeal. Her one more day off her diet had turned into another one more day.
“So much has happened. I’ve attached the Chicago Tribune article that I wrote.
It’s my first byline in a major newspaper,” she wrote, smiling. “It tells about the bridge and the Blue Note murders, all of our recent ordeals,” CC continued typing. A chat window opened on her screen with a shrill noise. It was Betsy. “Hi Betsy,” CC said.
“Hi, Betsy.” Anne stood in the background, peering over CC’s shoulder.
“Where are you?” CC asked.
“I’m at O’Hare. I’m heading to Paris. I’m going to be gone for a while. I wanted to say goodbye.” Betsy paused, pushing her Fendi sunglasses up onto her forehead.
“I’m so sorry everything turned out like it did,” CC said.
“Me too,” Betsy said, showing an expressionless face. She paused, trying to think of something to say. “I have to go. They’re boarding my plane.” Betsy pressed off and disappeared.
“You think Betsy will be okay?” Anne asked.
“Betsy’s always fine,” CC said.
“You notice she was wearing the cashmere trench coat from Burberry. I don’t even think it’s available here yet. She’s probably going to all the runway shows.” Anne pictured herself strolling on the Champs-Ėlysées, arms loaded with one-of-a-kind designer originals and enjoying pastries at a sidewalk café. “Mmm, petit fours.” She eyed the Danish again with disdain. It was the lesser cousin of the French pastry. “I wish I could fly off on a whim and go to Paris,” she said, biting off a piece of the cheese sweet roll.
Not answering, CC returned to her blog; her fans were waiting. Anne looked around for her phone to check her eBay watch list. “CC, have you seen my phone?” Anne dug into her large orange Prada bag. She pulled out an envelope. It had the Cherokee casino logo on it.
“What’s that?” CC asked.
“I forgot about this. John Blackbear gave it to me.” Anne turned it over. “Maybe it’s a gift card for a free stay at the casino. That would be fun.”
CC continued writing.
Anne ripped open the envelope. The check read, “Pay to the order of Anne Hillstrom, $250,000.”
“CC, how do you feel about Paris?” Anne asked.
THE END
RECIPES
CC’s Frittata
Cream
Eggs
Vegetables, such as onions, mushrooms, sautéed
Salt
Pepper
Beat eggs and slowly add heavy cream. Add vegetables of your choosing. You can also add any meat or cheese. Add salt and pepper to taste. Dash of ghost pepper optional. Place in cast iron skillet. Bake in oven at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Serve with sliced strawberries and fresh mint leaves.
CC’s Shrimp Scampi
1 pound shrimp, peeled and deveined
fresh minced garlic
Olive oil
Lemon juice
Basil
Splash of vermouth
Sautee shrimp in fresh garlic, olive oil. Add splash of lemon juice. Garnish with basil. Just before finished, add splash of vermouth. Drizzle olive oil, salt, pepper and parmesan on romaine. Grill until edges are crispy. Place romaine on plate, add shrimp. Sprinkle with feta. Add a slice of watermelon. Optional blueberry vinaigrette
Hot Brown
Slices of turkey, roast beef
Toast
Cream, cheddar cheese
Parmesan
Tomato
Bacon
Melt cheddar cheese with cream and butter until a smooth consistency. Top toast with slices of roast beef and turkey. Place cheddar cheese mixture on top. Add slice of bacon and tomato. Sprinkle with parmesan. Grill until crispy.
CC’s Pain Perdu
Five eggs
½ cup white sugar
½ cup milk
Orange liqueur
Orange zest
Beat eggs, sugar and milk until frothy. Add orange liqueur and orange zest. Cut bread into twelve slices. Soak the bread slices in the egg mixture for 2 minutes on each side. Melt butter in griddle and heat to medium. Cook bread slices in griddle for 2 minutes on each side or until they are golden brown. Drizzle warm maple syrup on top. Garnish with fresh orange slice.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
With a passion for shopping, Vicki Vass drew on her experiences as an antique hunter to tell the story of her real-life friends Anne and CC. This book is the second in their series. The first was entitled MURDER BY THE SPOONFUL.
Vicki Vass has written more than 1,400 articles for The Chicago Tribune as well as Women’s World, The Daily Herald and Home & Away. Her science fiction novel, The Lexicon, was inspired by her journeys in the jungle of Sudan, Africa, while writing about the ongoing civil war for World Relief.
She lives outside Chicago, with her writer, musician, husband Brian, their 20-year old son Tony, kittens Pixel and Terra, Australian shepherd Bandit, seven koi and Gary the turtle.
This book is fiction. All characters, events, and organizations portrayed in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2015 by Vicki Vass
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
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