Since Plan A—escape—didn’t seem to be working, I decided to try Plan B: divert her attention. I figured that if I could get her talking, she might become distracted enough that I’d spot a way to revert to Plan A, and escape. Even if that didn’t quite work, I could still buy myself some time.
“It looks like you’ve got me cornered,” I said, hoping that would turn out to be a good conversation starter.
She tossed her head triumphantly. “I’m not the bimbo everything thinks I am.”
“I never thought that!”
“Sure you did. Everybody does, just the way they all assume I married Donny for his money.”
Right on both counts, I thought. But this wasn’t exactly the best time to play True Confessions.
“Actually, I’d say you’re a pretty smart cookie,” I told her. “So smart that you managed to kill Erin Walsh without anybody figuring it out.”
“I had no choice!” Darla insisted. “If she’d gone to the police, she would have ruined everything!” She laughed bitterly. “Do you believe that when my wimp of a husband realized she knew what was going on, he was ready to skip the country? Either that or hire the best damn defense attorney he could find to try to get him out of it.
“But I knew better than to leave our fate up to some stupid lawyer. And I certainly didn’t want to go live in some dumb country full of foreigners. My house is here, my friends are here . . . for heaven’s sake, all the best shopping is here!
“Don’t you see?” she continued, her voice becoming more and more high-pitched. “Everything was at risk! Do you really think that the reason I had these boobs installed and haven’t let myself eat more than twenty-five grams of carbs a day for more than two years is for my health? No way! I did it all so I could land myself a rich husband. And it worked! I wasn’t about to give all that up for a life of disgrace. The last thing I wanted was to see myself on the eleven o’clock news. Not when those TV cameras make everybody look at least ten pounds heavier!”
“Of course you didn’t want that!” I cried, doing my best to sound sympathetic. “And the plan you hatched was brilliant.”
She screwed up her face, as if she was thinking really, really hard. “It was, wasn’t it?” she finally said, her scowl melting into a smile.
“But how did you find out that Erin knew about Donny’s, uh, sideline? And how did you ever manage to commit the perfect crime?”
“It’s a long story,” she warned.
“That’s okay,” I assured her. “I’ve got time.” At least I hoped I did.
“Let’s see.” She took a deep breath, rolling her eyes upward as if trying to cheat off a crib sheet that she’d craftily hidden on the ceiling. “About three weeks ago, back when I thought everything was moving along as smooth as always, I stopped over at Ben and Erin’s to drop off something for Donny. A bunch of papers that had something to do with the store.” She sniffed impatiently. “Do I look like a UPS delivery guy?”
Not unless they’ve started arming them, I thought.
“Anyway,” she continued, “when I got to the house, I rang the bell a bunch of times, but nobody answered. I wasn’t about to make a second trip all the way to Bay Village, so I walked around back to see if there was somebody in the kitchen who could let me in. Erin was outside on the deck, talking on her cell phone.
“I stood there for a few seconds, just minding my own business, waiting for her to get off her frigging phone. I guess she didn’t realize I was there though. And I figured maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, since while I was waiting, I could overhear what she was saying. And it didn’t take me long to realize it was pretty interesting stuff.
“She was talking to somebody named Walter, and from what she said, I knew she’d figured out what Donny’s real business was. She told this Walter guy she was about to go to the authorities and spill her guts—and that she didn’t care what happened to Ben as a result.
“Well, as soon as I heard that, of course I knew I had to do something about it. I also knew I had to do it fast, since she sounded like she meant business. So I got her to invite Donny and me over to their house for dinner a couple of nights later. And I made a point of bringing a little something with me besides a nice French cabernet—a fat yellow scorpion, or whatever that disgusting creature is called.”
“They’re so dangerous!” I interjected, trying to sound impressed. “How did you manage to handle it?”
“I carried it around in this darling patent-leather clutch bag with a fourteen-carat gold clasp,” she informed me. “Kate Spade. It’s the kind of purse that goes with everything.
“Anyway,” she continued, “before we sat down to dinner, I told Erin I had to go to the little girls’ room.”
I was horrified by the thought that one of my favorite ploys had been used by such a despicable creature.
“But instead of going to that horribly decorated dungeon of a bathroom—have you seen it? It’s done in black and silver, like what were they thinking?—I sneaked into the master bedroom,” Darla went on. “Inside the closet, I found this ratty raincoat that Erin’s always wearing. Not only is it so last year, it’s actually fraying around the sleeves. Personally, I wouldn’t be caught dead in something like that.”
I thought of the sorry state of my underwear. I hoped I wasn’t about to be caught dead in it.
“I wasn’t sure if it was the best place to put my fat yellow friend,” Darla said breezily, “but before I had a chance to look for something else, I heard Erin coming. So I just slipped it into the pocket. Frankly, I was glad to be rid of the thing, since it totally gave me the creeps.
“When Erin showed up about two seconds later, I pretended I’d gotten lost. I even made a joke about how big her house was. I said it was almost as big as ours. She didn’t laugh. But aside from the fact that she never appreciated how clever I am, it didn’t take me long to realize that she figured out that something funny was going on, because as soon as the four of us sat down to dinner, she started talking about you, of all people.”
“Me?” I squawked.
“That’s right,” Darla insisted. “Before she’d even served that yucky cold potato soup that everybody pretends is such a big deal, she started yapping away about her old pal Jessie Popper. She said that she’d heard that somebody Ben and her had gone to vet school with—that’s you—had done this really amazing job of investigating a few murders. She said it was something you’d done on your own, for fun or something. She kept saying you were really good at it too. That absolutely nothing gets past you. From the way she was talking—and the funny looks she kept giving me—I knew she knew that I knew what she knew.” She stopped and scrunched up her face. “Did you follow that?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” I told her.
“After all that, of course I was anxious to know if the yellow scorpion had worked its magic and gotten rid of that busybody. I couldn’t resist finding out. So the next morning, I got up really early to do a stakeout. That’s what they call it when you sit outside somebody’s house to see if they’re wearing a completely out-of-style raincoat with a poison scorpion in the pocket, right?”
“I believe that’s the correct term,” I said, even though my mouth was dry.
“I got there early, because I knew she had a long commute and so she probably left the house before the sun comes up. I didn’t have to wait long before I saw her come out of the house. She was wearing the raincoat, all right. She was also talking on her cell phone, which made me kind of nervous. I mean, I couldn’t imagine who she’d be calling at that hour.”
Me, I thought grimly.
“But she got in the car and started driving, acting as if nothing was wrong even though there was this thing in her coat pocket. So naturally I followed her. Everything seemed normal, until she’d driven a few miles. All of a sudden, she started driving erotically.”
“Uh, I think you mean erratically,” I corrected her.
“Isn’t that what I said?” she asked, l
ooking surprised. “Anyway, I figured the reason she was driving crazy was that the scorpion was biting her over and over again.”
Stinging her, I thought. But I figured I’d already corrected the woman who was holding a gun on me enough times.
“Finally, when we’d reached Pohasset, she turned down a residential street, probably to keep from having an accident. She stopped the car practically in the middle of the road. I hoped that meant she’d finally bit the dust. You know, that the scorpion’s poison had killed her. Instead, when I got out of my car to check, she was still alive. In fact, she was staring right at me.”
Darla sighed. “At that point, I realized that the stupid scorpion was useless. It’s like the old saying goes, if you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.” With a shrug, Darla added, “So I opened the car door and strangled her to death.
“It was still pretty early, so nobody was around. I just got back in my car and drove away.” Smiling proudly, she said, “How’s that? Like you said, I committed the perfect crime, didn’t I?”
“You certainly did,” I replied mechanically. “You’re an absolute genius.”
“You know it. I don’t think the cops are ever going to figure it out. Donny can keep his profitable little business going, and I can keep on enjoying those profits. And in just a few more years, that annoying daughter of his will be going off to college.”
With a little shrug, she concluded, “Which is why I have to take you out of the picture.”
“But this has nothing to do with me!” I insisted. “It’s not as if I’m going to tell anybody.”
Darla snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I trust you. Remember, Erin told me herself how you go around solving crimes all the time. The last thing I need is you turning me in for killing her—and turning in Donny for importing a few animals that some tree-huggers put on some stupid list.”
“I have no intention of doing that,” I insisted. “You have my word.” Once again I took a step forward, figuring that gaining even a few feet would at least get me that much closer to the door.
“Hold on there!” she cried, pointing the gun at me with renewed fervor.
“You’re not really going to shoot me, are you?” I tried to sound friendly, as well as a little surprised. After all, we’d been having such a nice little chat.
“I have to,” she replied. “You know too much.” She thought for a few seconds, then added, “In fact, you know everything.”
Right, I thought. Because you just told me.
I did some quick thinking. “I understand completely, Darla. But you’re too smart to shoot me in here, right?”
My question clearly caught her off guard. She lowered the gun an inch or so, which I took as a sign that she was weakening. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“First of all, because those two guys outside will know exactly what happened.”
“I can trust Paul and Fred,” she said. But the way her voice wavered told me she wasn’t quite sure how much. “Besides, I sent them away. I told them to get us all coffee. Decaf, since it’s so late.”
“That was clever,” I said. “But you’ll still have a major problem: a body to dispose of.” My body, I thought, trying not to dwell on the image of me lying among the crates. And the snakes. “You’ll also have bloodstains and . . . and fingerprints and other kinds of evidence, all in this enclosed space.”
The way her face clouded told me that what I was saying made sense to her.
“You’d be much better off doing it outside,” I told her. “In fact, I know the perfect spot.”
I felt as if I was trying to come up with the best place for my pal Darla and me to go shoe shopping.
“There are a couple of huge Dumpsters outside,” I went on. “They’re in the back corner of the parking lot.” I wondered if I should add that one of them was really smelly, then figured she wouldn’t necessarily see that as a plus. “The Dumpster company will probably be picking them up soon, which means everything inside them will just vanish, never to be seen again.”
“I see your point,” she said.
At least something’s going right for me, I thought.
She pondered my idea for a few seconds, then took a step sideways and hit a big plastic button on the wall. The garage door immediately started to open.
“Okay,” she said, gesturing toward the opening with her gun. “Outside. And no screaming.”
“There’s no one around to hear me anyway,” I pointed out as I headed outside.
“I almost forgot—put your hands on your head!” she demanded.
I complied, fully aware that Darla was just a few steps behind me. So was her gun.
And then, as I was just a couple of feet away from the doorway, I heard a familiar voice command, “Go get ’er!”
It was followed by the most beautiful sound in the world.
A snarl.
Not Darla’s either. This snarl was much deeper and more heartfelt than even a woman with a chest made of silicon would be capable of producing. In fact, it was a sound that could only be made by a muscular German shepherd who’s really ticked off.
I watched Skittles leap out of the darkness, thrust her mighty paws against Darla’s balloonlike chest, and clamp her powerful jaws around the very arm the woman was using to fend the animal off.
Darla let out a shriek as she tumbled to the ground, causing her wraparound dress to unwrap in a most unladylike manner. As she fell, she let go of the gun, which slid a good five or six feet across the ground.
I glanced up and saw Trooper Kieran O’Malley standing over Darla, holding a gun of his own.
“Skittles, heel!” Kieran commanded, his voice almost as deep as Skittles’s growl.
The dog released Darla’s arm from its jaws, then dutifully retreated to her master’s side.
“Watch!” Kieran commanded.
Skittles dropped her butt to the floor and sat perfectly still, her steely gaze fixed on the woman sprawled across the ground. As for Darla, she lay pretty still herself. Her eye makeup had smeared, making her look like a raccoon with a serious hangover. Her pantyhose had a huge rip at the knee, and the spiky heel on one of her shoes had broken off.
At the moment, the trophy wife didn’t exactly look like anything anyone would want to put on display.
With Skittles still looking on, her muscles tensed in case she was once again called into action, Kieran snapped a pair of handcuffs on Darla. I studied her for a few seconds, trying to imagine how she would look in an orange jumpsuit.
As Kieran helped her up off the ground, I breathlessly exclaimed, “Talk about perfect timing! Another few seconds and—well, I’m not even going to think about it.”
He nodded. “I was parked down the street, just like we planned, when your cell phone number showed up on my caller ID. Even though I knew it was your call for help, it still took me a couple of minutes to figure out where you were. This place is huge. You have Skittles to thank for that.”
“I can’t thank either of you enough,” I told him sincerely. “I owe you. You, too, Skittles.”
“Glad we could help—although I’m kind of curious about what you were doing all alone at a deserted storage facility this late at night.”
“I promise to tell you the whole story,” I said. “How about coming over to dinner at my place? Skittles is invited too.”
“That sounds great. And, uh, maybe you could invite Suzanne over too.” Kieran’s tone was casual, but I could see the anxious look in his eyes. “Speaking of Suzanne, I don’t suppose you’ve talked to her lately, have you?”
Before I had a chance to answer, he mumbled, “I sure miss her.”
“I have a feeling she might be willing to give you a second chance,” I said.
Glancing at his partner, who had just saved my life, I added, “I think she’ll be willing to give Skittles another chance too.”
Chapter 18
“Man, as we know him, is a poor creature; he is halfway between an ape and a god and
he is travelling in the right direction.”
—Dean Inge
There’s nothing like a June wedding,” Betty said with a wistful sigh, pulling back the cream-colored lace curtain and gazing outside.
I joined her at the window, carefully lifting the skirt of my long white dress as I crossed the room. Three floors below, on the green velvet lawn, a dozen rows of folding chairs fanned out from a wooden archway. The graceful structure was draped with gauzy white fabric and festooned with colorful wildflowers. Off to one side stood a large white tent that shielded the round tables draped in white linen, the stack of presents, and the three-tiered cake from the late-afternoon sun. I had to admit that while Dorothy wasn’t likely to be named Mother-in-Law of the Year anytime soon, she’d done a great job as a wedding planner.
The guests who had already arrived wandered around the estate, no doubt oohing and aahing over the gardens and grounds surrounding the charming house that 150 years earlier had been home to a prosperous sea captain. A couple of months earlier, when I’d come out to Long Island’s North Fork to decide whether or not this site would make a good spot for my wedding, I’d done some serious oohing and aahing myself.
I’d known immediately that this was where I wanted my wedding to take place. The fact that it was available on such short notice sealed the deal.
At the moment, however, I wished I were anywhere but here. My stomach was in knots and my head buzzed as if I’d chugged half a gallon of espresso for breakfast.
Relax! I scolded myself. Of course you’re nervous. This is a big day. One of the biggest, right up there with graduating from college and vet school, buying my clinic-on-wheels, letting Suzanne talk me into a bikini wax . . .
Fortunately, Betty chose that moment to take my hand and give it a squeeze. “It’s going to be a perfect day, Jessica,” she said. “You couldn’t have asked for better weather.”
“As long as those rain clouds don’t come back,” Dorothy grumbled. “When I woke up this morning and looked out the window, I figured we’d all end up wearing waterproof ponchos at the ceremony.”
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