In the Event of My Death

by Carlene Thompson

  Twenty

  1

  Laurel hustled the dogs inside as quickly as possible, locked the door, slid the lock panel down on the dog door, then checked every door and window in the house. Finally she inspected each dog carefully. Neither had bite marks but Alex whimpered when she ran her hand over his left hip. No blood, just pain. He’d been kicked, she thought. Some big animals kicked, but nothing that resembled what she’d seen in the woods. It was a person.

  As she tossed newspaper in the fireplace as kindling for her single log, she wondered what the presence of the person meant. At the very least it was meant to frighten her. At the worst? It had been coming toward her. What if the dogs hadn’t run outside?

  They sat on the floor beside her in front of the fireplace. “Where did all this bravery come from?” she asked them. They looked anxiously into her face. They were breathing heavily, frightened, but they’d still come to her rescue. She would never have believed it. “I’m very proud of you,” she told them. “But if anything else happens, you let me take care of myself, okay?”

  But could she have taken care of herself? She was weaponless and she had no fighting skills. The person who had killed Angie and Denise had been armed, strong, and vicious.

  A few days ago she would have immediately called Kurt. Now she wouldn’t think of asking for his help. Still, there might be evidence outside. Footprints. Blood. She had to call the police.

  In twenty minutes two deputies arrived. Laurel was glad Kurt wasn’t one of them. She explained what happened. They looked at her skeptically and she could tell they thought she’d panicked at the sight of some small animal. Then she told them about the funeral wreath, pointed out the red heart spray-painted on her door, and showed them the piece of white bloodstained cotton April had brought back. “Don’t try to tell me a groundhog was wearing white cotton,” she said to the youngest, cockiest deputy named Williams, whom she knew Kurt didn’t like. “Thinks he knows everything,” Kurt had complained. Laurel agreed. Williams literally swaggered and talked to her as if she were a fool. Thank goodness his partner had more sense. He searched the area and reported back to her that there were a few footprints in the snow although the dogs had churned up a lot of it. “The footprints disappear in the woods, Miss Damron. There are a lot of evergreens back there that protected the ground from the snow.”

  “Would you guess the ones you saw to be a man’s or a woman’s prints?” Laurel asked.

  “About a size eight,” Williams said with authority. “A woman.”

  The other deputy looked exasperated. “We’re not sure of the exact shoe size. I’d guess larger than eight. Could be a man or a woman in boots.”

  “Or a woman with big feet,” Williams put in. “Look, Miss Damron, it was probably just a prankster but you got spooked because of the murder lately. Just keep your doors locked and relax. You’ll be fine.”

  Laurel didn’t appreciate being dismissed so lightly. Maybe it was because the police got so many false alarms, but they couldn’t ignore the fact that a woman had been murdered two days ago. Perhaps that was the trouble. Maybe women who lived alone had been calling in over every noise, real or imagined.

  Still, after they left, Laurel couldn’t stop thinking about the incident. She looked again at the piece of white cotton. Audra said the “ghost” that had come into her room wore white. Was this nut actually dressing up to scare people? Audra was one thing. She was eight. But had someone donned a white robe and come crouching toward her, a thirty-year-old woman? Yes. And who would do that?

  The first name that popped into her head was Genevra Howard. It was so easy to imagine a woman recently released from a mental institution wearing a white robe, pretending to be or imagining herself to be a ghost. It was something right out of Jane Eyre. But not as absurd as it might seem at first considering the circumstances.

  Laurel wanted to find out if Genevra Howard had been at the Lewis sisters’ all evening, but what excuse could she use? Oh, hell, what did it matter? she thought after turning over several possibilities. This was too important to sit around wasting time figuring out how to be diplomatic.

  She looked up the Lewis sisters’ number in the phone directory. In a moment the phone was ringing before a fragile voice said, “Hello?”

  “Miss Adelaide?”

  “No, Miss Hannah.”

  “Oh, Miss Hannah, hello. This is Laurel Damron.”

  “Why, hello, Miss Damron. Adelaide and I have so been enjoying our wreath. Thank you again.”

  “You’re very welcome. And please call me Laurel. Miss Hannah, I’m going to ask something that may strike you as none of my business, but I have a good reason for asking. Has Genevra been home all evening?”

  There were several beats of silence and Laurel thought Miss Hannah was indeed going to say it was none of her business. Instead the woman said, “When Adelaide and I rose this morning, Genevra was gone. Clothes, toiletries, everything.”

  “Oh. But I thought she was going to stay around and try to befriend Mary.”

  “So did we, dear. We just don’t understand.”

  “Did she leave a note saying where she was going?”

  “No. She has a little apartment near…well, where she was staying before.” The mental hospital, Laurel thought. “We’ve called but there’s no answer. She’s had plenty of time to get back…”

  “I’m sure you’ll hear from her soon, Miss Hannah.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Oh, yes. She was probably just overwhelmed with being out in the world. She might even have been afraid of running into Zeke.”

  Anyone who knew Laurel well would have heard the insincerity in her voice, but Miss Hannah said hopefully, “Why, I hadn’t even thought of that! I’m sure that’s all it was—a little case of nerves. She’s been through so much. Oh, Laurel, you’ve made me feel much better.”

  “I’m glad. I hate to be rude, but I really have to go now.”

  “But why did you wonder if Genevra had been here all evening?”

  “Good-bye, Miss Hannah. Merry Christmas.”

  She hung up before the woman could ask any more questions and she had to tell more lies. The truth was she didn’t believe for a moment Genevra was on her way back to Pennsylvania. She thought the woman had been in her backyard less than two hours ago.

  Laurel paced restlessly around the house, flipping on the television but not paying much attention to the national news. World problems seemed so unreal when she was in immediate danger herself. She knew she wouldn’t get any sleep tonight. Day after tomorrow Damron Floral would close for Christmas. She wished it were closed tomorrow. Of course as the manager she had the power to close whenever she wanted, but Denise’s visitation would be tomorrow night and she had a lot of orders to fill. Orders to fill. How businesslike she sounded, but thinking about making floral arrangements was better than thinking of going to the funeral visitation of another friend, another one who would rest in a closed coffin because she’d been mutilated by a maniac.

  Laurel leaned forward and put her head in her hands. Good Lord, what was happening? Faith’s death was an accident but the repercussions had already destroyed two women. Two good women. How many more would be claimed before this madness ended?

  The phone rang. Now what? she thought. Had word of her prowler filtered back to Kurt? Her mother? Miss Hannah?

  She was totally unprepared for the raspy, sexless voice on the other end. “Your friend Crystal needs you. She’s in trouble. Deadly trouble.” The line went dead.

  Laurel sat dumbfounded for a moment holding the receiver. Who in the name of God was that? Was it a prank?

  Quickly she looked at the notepad beside her phone and dialed Crystal’s number. Three rings. Six rings. Twelve rings. She hung up. What should she do? Sit here safe and cozy and tell herself it was a cruel joke, or risk going to Crystal’s funeral next week?

  She called the police. “Williams here,” the crisp voice said.

  Oh, great, s
he thought. The smartass. She took a deep breath and told him what had just happened.

  “Having an exciting evening, aren’t you, Miss Damron?” he commented with ill-concealed humor.

  “This is serious,” she snapped. “I can’t get an answer on the phone at Crystal’s house.”

  “Well, now, isn’t it just possible she went out for the evening?”

  “Possible but unlikely. Are you going out there or not?”

  He sighed. “I think this is just a practical joke,” he said. And you’re a hysterical fool, Laurel could feel him thinking. “But if it’ll make you feel better, we’ll take a run past there in a little while.”

  “In a little while!” Laurel said loudly. “Crystal could be in trouble now!”

  “Just calm down, Miss Damron. I told you we’ll check it out and we will.”

  “But when…oh, never mind,” Laurel said in frustration. “Please get there as soon as you can.”

  Which given his attitude could be an hour. And what do I do in the meantime?

  She checked her purse for the canister of Mace. “This doesn’t look too threatening,” she muttered. She went to the kitchen and searched the drawers for the largest butcher knife she could find. She held it up, feeling like the teenage heroine in a horror movie. Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween. “I swear I’m going to buy a gun and learn how to use it,” she said aloud. “It’s ridiculous for a woman living alone to be so damned defenseless.”

  Armed with her knife and her Mace, she pulled on her coat and looked at the dogs. No, she wouldn’t take them. They’d saved her earlier this evening, but she’d been terrified for them. That concern might distract her tonight, when she needed to be alert. “You two stay here,” she said as they looked at her expectantly. “Hopefully I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

  As she drove through the snow toward Crystal’s house, she wondered if Crystal had it in her to fight back if attacked. She’d always seemed so gentle, so childlike. Long ago Laurel had thought they’d been aptly named. Crystal was as fragile as fine glass. Inside, Laurel was as tough as the plant for which she’d been named—the mountain laurel with its heavy, hard wood.

  When she finally reached the narrow road that led to Crystal’s house, Laurel noticed a white Lexus parked by the side, just off the pavement. It appeared to be empty. Maybe someone had car trouble, she thought. But the closest house from which to make a call was Crystal’s.

  She pulled slowly into Crystal’s driveway. There sat her little red Volkswagen. Lights burned in the house. Laurel turned her engine off and sat for a moment. Had the call been a ruse to get her here? Was she being incredibly reckless? Yes. So what would she do?

  She blew the horn. If Crystal came to the door safe and sound, she would know the call was a prank, talk to Crystal for a few minutes, then scuttle back home, knowing Deputy Williams would be laughing at her when he finally made his way out here to check on Crystal for himself.

  But Crystal didn’t come to the door. Laurel blew the horn again. Her eyes fixed on the door, she waited anxiously. Nothing. Oh, God, what now?

  “Now you take up your weapons and go in,” she said aloud. “I hope Crystal appreciates this because I am scared to death.”

  She opened the car door and ran to the front door of the house. She started to pound on it, but realized if Crystal were in any shape to answer, she would have come when Laurel honked the horn. The knob turned easily in her hand. An unlocked door, not a good sign. She stepped into the living room. “Crystal?” Quiet. The smell of strong, bitter coffee wafted from the kitchen. Laurel went in and saw perhaps an eighth of an inch of black gunk in the bottom of the pot. She turned it off.

  Laurel made a quick tour of the house. There were no signs of a struggle. The only thing out of place was an expensive black cashmere coat lying on the couch. It certainly wasn’t Crystal’s.

  “I should just go home,” Laurel muttered when she caught a flash of light through a living room window. The garage light. What on earth would Crystal be doing in the garage on a cold night like this?

  The garage was an uncomfortable distance from the house. The path to it was lined with trees. Laurel wanted to walk out there about as much as she wanted to walk over hot coals. But she wouldn’t have any peace of mind until she knew Crystal was safe.

  Holding the butcher knife and the Mace, feeling like an idiot but also so frightened she was trembling, she went back outside, leaving the door to the house open. Snow fell on her face and her bare head, the dampness making her hair curl tighter. She walked slowly along the path. The wind had picked up. Tree branches groaned above her head. She’d forgotten to put on boots and snow came over the tops of her shoes.

  Laurel was halfway to the garage when she heard a branch above her head cracking. She looked up and saw the narrow branch falling. She ran, her feet sliding on the path. The branch crashed to the ground behind her. She looked back, then toppled over something lying on the path. She screamed as she went down but still remembered to toss the knife to the side so she wouldn’t fall on top of it. She landed on knees and hands and whipped around, grappling wildly for the knife even before she looked at what she’d fallen over. Her hand closed over the wooden handle. She tried to scramble to her feet, but she slipped on the snow and fell again, this time landing against the mound. It was motionless.

  Drawing a deep breath, Laurel fought down her rampaging terror. She’d been floundering for at least a minute and the mound had remained perfectly still. Her heart pounding, she reached out and touched it. A plaid coat. Crystal’s plaid coat.

  Tentatively she put her hand on what she now realized was a shoulder. She rolled over the body. Beneath matted brownish hair was the crushed, bloody face of a woman.

  “Crystal!” she screamed. “Oh, God, I was too late!”

  2

  Laurel clambered to her feet and stumbled sobbing back to the house. She slammed the door behind her, locked it, and ran for the phone. By now she knew the number of police headquarters by heart. “Williams here.”

  “Good God, are you still there?” Laurel shouted.

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Laurel Damron. I called you an hour ago and asked you to check on Crystal Landis—”

  “Now, Miss Damron, we’re pretty busy tonight,” he said in a patronizing tone. “I told you we’d take a spin by there as soon as we could.”

  “She’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “She’s dead, dammit! I came to her house because I knew you wouldn’t and she’s dead…beaten to death,” Laurel choked. “Is Kurt Rider there?”

  Williams sounded slightly flustered. “I don’t think so…no.”

  “Well, get him. I should have called him in the first place. He would have done his job. Oh, God…”

  “Calm down, Miss Damron. We’ll be right there.”

  Laurel hung up then looked at the receiver. It was smeared with blood. She held up her hands. Blood all over them. She didn’t remember touching the battered face, but it could have been on the coat. That ugly plaid coat Laurel thought looked like a horse blanket. She wished she could see Crystal walking into the store in her ugly coat again.

  Still crying, occasionally hiccuping from the emotion and shock, Laurel went into the kitchen and turned on the faucet. There was no bar soap—only dishwashing liquid. She soaped, rinsed, soaped again, paying special attention to her nails. Anything to keep her mind off what had just happened.

  What if she’d come immediately after the phone call? Was Crystal already dead, or could she have prevented the murder? How? With her Mace? Her butcher knife? Why hadn’t she called Kurt? Simple pride. Pride that might have cost Crystal her life.

  Laurel turned off the water and reached for a towel. As she slowly dried her hands, she heard a noise at the front door. A click, as if the lock were opening, then a faint groan of hinges that needed oil.

  She froze. It wasn’t the police. They couldn’t have gotten here this fast. Besides, they
would have arrived with much more fanfare. Cold air wafted in from the living room. The door closed.

  Laurel stepped to the kitchen table and picked up the butcher knife. She moved soundlessly to the living room, her breath coming so hard and fast she was afraid she might faint.

  In the glow of the lamplight she saw a woman staring in puzzlement at the black cashmere coat on the couch. She looked up and Laurel stifled a scream.

  It was Crystal.

  3

  Crystal’s eyes batted wide. “Good Lord, Laurel, what’s wrong?”

  Laurel dropped the knife. “You’re alive!”

  Crystal’s horrified gaze flew to the knife on the floor. Then she looked back at Laurel and said in a thin, wary voice, “Of course I’m alive. What made you think I wasn’t?”

  Laurel rushed to her and enfolded her in a hug. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see anyone. It was so awful…”

  She pulled back. Crystal was here, alive and healthy, but someone lay beaten to death on the path.

  “Laurel, what is going on?” Crystal demanded.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Next door, baby-sitting.”

  “Alone, at night, after Denise—”

  “The little Grant girl is terribly sick. They had to take her to the emergency room. The baby was asleep and the Grants asked if I could come over and watch him. I just slipped over…it’s so close, Laurel, and it was an emergency.”

  “That’s why your car is in the driveway.”

  “Yes. I told you they’re right next door.” Crystal frowned. “Laurel, why did you think I was dead? And how did you get in here? I’m sure I locked the door.”

  “The door wasn’t locked. Crystal, sit down.”

  “You’ve got bad news,” Crystal said in alarm.