by J. D. Webb
The pistol was a Smith & Wesson. An unfamiliar brand. The only pistol Jim had shown her how to shoot was his Glock 22. How does this thing work? Crap, it seems heavy enough but I can’t even tell if it’s loaded. She tried to figure it out while being careful not to shoot herself. She flipped off the safety, though without firing the weapon she couldn’t be sure it would do her any good.
The back door banged shut.
“What the hell’s taking you so long? We need to get out of here.”
Oh no, he’s back. Trish dropped the gun on the desk and grabbed her bow and an arrow. Marciano appeared at the door.
“What the…” He grabbed the doorframe his eyes focused on the arrow pointed at his chest.
Trish put what she hoped was a menacing gaze on her face. “Don’t move or Boston won’t be the only one leaking on the floor.”
Marciano gave her a half-hearted smile and glanced at the inert form of his former bodyguard. “Seems you have me at a disadvantage. What now? Are you going to shoot me?”
“If you force me to, I will. I’m an excellent shot.”
“I can see that. I’m, um…leaving. I have everything I need.” He pulled the door shut and Trish heard the lock being turned.
Shit! Well, let him go. Let the cops take care of him. I’ve got to figure out how to get out of here. Then she heard Marciano stirring in the next room. She moved to the door and listened. He was opening drawers and cabinets looking for something. What the heck is he doing? I thought he was leaving.
The movement stopped. She didn’t hear the front door open and close. Why doesn’t he just leave? For two or three minutes she heard nothing. Then splashing in the hallway. Whoosh. Almost immediately she smelled smoke. The SOB is setting the place on fire.
The front door opened and slammed shut.
Even though she knew the den door was locked, Trish tried the knob. No movement. Damn. She hurried back to the desk for the gun. She took aim at the lock and fired. Splinters flew from the impact. Three more times bullets thudded into the door. Trish tried the knob again and felt some give. Come on. You’ve got to open. Smoke began seeping under the door.
Trish put three more shots into the frame around the latch. She tried the door again. The knob refused to turn at all. Frustrated she kicked the knob. It broke free. She rushed into the hall. Smoke burned her eyes and filled her nose. She dropped to the floor. Flames licked at her from both sides of the hall. With her free hand she tugged her blouse up over her face, breathing through the fabric. Awkwardly, with one hand as a balance, she crawled down the hall, pushing the pistol in front of her. The heat was unbearable; it singed the fine hairs on her arms.
When she reached the front door her heart sunk. Through the window she saw Marciano squatting in front of a pile of wood blocking her from the door. He looked up at Trish as flames escaped from the pile. A grin spread across his face.
Trish picked up the Smith & Wesson and aimed it at that face. The grin disappeared. So did Marciano. He scrambled down the porch steps and headed toward his car.
The fire was just behind Trish. The heat was seizing her back. She had to get outside. Grabbing the barrel of the gun, she pounded on the window next to the door. It took four blows before the window broke.
Marciano threw open the car door and jumped inside. Trish took aim and fired. She managed to hit the three tires she could see. Marciano looked back at her and revved up the Mercedes. Gravel flew from the front tires, the car lurched forward. Trish aimed at the driver and squeezed the trigger again. The gun clicked but nothing happened. Damn, out of bullets.
She could only watch as the Mercedes swerved down the road. Suddenly the car skidded to a stop. Three police cars, lights flashing, blocked the road. Marciano threw open the door and pounded the top of the car. He raised his hands and glared back at Trish.
Finally the window frame was clear of glass for her to climb out. Two officers rushed to help and lifted her out of the window. Mumbling what she hoped would be understood as thanks, Trish collapsed on the bank of the river several yards from the cabin. With a loud crack the cabin disintegrated in flames. She rubbed soothing water on her arms and washed her face. And thanked God she was alive.
THIRTY-NINE
The firemen were fighting a losing battle. Police and FBI agents gathered and marked evidence. One of the officers had given Trish a blanket, which did not keep her from shivering. Exhaustion was taking over. She had answered questions and given statements for the last hour. She had hoped to be driven home by now but that didn’t look promising any time soon.
Agent Cheever rocked back on his heels and cleared his throat. “Well, Mrs. Morgan, you’ve had quite an experience.”
“Cheever, you always seem to be able to sum things up, albeit after the fact. Do you think you might persuade someone to drive me home? I’m going to jump into a nice relaxing bath and get some sleep.”
Cheever looked around and shrugged. “Not right now. We have a few things to finish up. I don’t have any agents to spare right now.”
Bob Jenkins appeared at Cheever’s side. “Don’t fret yourself, old man. I’m taking the lady home right now. You have no objection, do you?”
Trish was never so glad to see anyone in her life. “Bob, how did you know…”
“I ferried one of Cheever’s agents up here just now. I’m ready to go back.” Jenkins reached down and helped Trish to her feet.
Cheever looked perplexed. “Um, I guess that’s okay. Where will you be in case we need you?”
“At the bed and breakfast.” Trish gave him a steely stare. “But you won’t need me tonight. I’ll be resting.”
They walked to Bob’s squad car.
“That was so nice of you, Officer.”
“Officer? What happened to just Bob?”
Trish smiled. “Well, I guess under the circumstances, Bob would be okay.”
Trish stumbled. Bob reached out and caught her. “Steady there. Hold my arm. Don’t want our star witness to get hurt after all she’s been through.”
“Thanks, Bob.” His arm surrounded her with warmth and strength. She finally felt comfortable.
* * * *
The long ride back was filled with conversation. Trish opened up to Bob more than she ever had intended. He seemed interested in everything she said. She was tired, but buoyed by the release of tension she enjoyed having a conversation with someone who treated her with respect. That had been a rare happening in her married life. It was refreshing.
“Now that this part of your life is over, what are your plans?” Bob’s eyes seldom left the road, but now he searched her face.
“I’m not sure. I’ve got some ideas, but they’re sketchy. A lot of things depend on my health and finding out if I passed my bar exam.”
“Oh, I’m sure you passed. You’re smart. There’s no way you failed. I know it.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I wish I was that sure.”
“Would it be okay if I took you to dinner some night? I enjoy talking to you.”
Trish leaned back in her seat. She studied Bob and then nodded. “I’d like that.”
They didn’t run out of things to talk about all the way to the bed and breakfast. Bob walked her to the door and helped her with the key.
“Good night, Bob. Thanks again for the ride. And for everything.”
“You’re more than welcome. Good night, Trish.” She turned to go in and Bob gently touched her shoulders. “I’m so glad you were able to get away. I was worried. There was nothing I could do. If something had happened, I’d never have forgiven myself.”
“You couldn’t do anything. I was lucky—that’s all.”
“All right, if that’s the way you feel. Anyway, to see you huddled in that blanket, scared and maybe injured, just made my heart break. I’m glad you’re here and well, I’m real happy.” Then he kissed her on the forehead and went down the steps two at a time.
He sped off and Trish looked at the kitchen window. Bev’s
face was plastered against the pane. She smiled and winked.
Trish blushed and hurried inside. She could still feel Bob’s lips touching her forehead. It felt right.
EPILOGUE
Jim’s funeral was both somber and surreal. Rain poured off the umbrella borrowed from the funeral home. Trish stood among a small crowd, ruing wearing heels and regretting the curtness to her mother-in-law. Jim’s mother had openly blamed Trish for this whole mess, but it did not excuse Trish’s retort. She had lost her cool.
This does nothing to quell my hatred of funerals. They’re bad enough, but when it rains, they’re miserable. Why didn’t she feel sad? She had loved Jim, at least at first.
The funeral was somber because of Jim’s murder but surreal since Trish could not rid her mind that the unhappy days had far outnumbered the happy ones. Thankfully, the verbal abuse and ugliness of her life was in the past. It also marked the beginning of her new life. And, she thought with pride, lawyer could now be fixed onto her résumé. She had received the letter that same day affirming that she’d passed the bar exam.
Other than Jim’s mom, the family tolerated her. She was relieved when they opted to ride in a separate car. Only Jim’s younger brother Ron seemed genuine in his sympathy. He gave her hand a squeeze and told her to call him anytime. Early in their marriage, the two brothers had often reminisced by exchanging hilarious childhood stories. Those were the days when the marriage had been strong. What a sad turn of events when Jim’s dad died and Jim had begun to work for that company. His personality changed, and he had become someone Trish didn’t know. At times more like someone she didn’t want to know.
The entire staff of Spitzer, Walters, Walters, & Sloan made an appearance, except for the late Mr. Spitzer. Walters and Walters bumped into each other trying to be at the head of the firm’s procession. A mutual cease-fire took place as they settled for side-by-side. Charity latched onto one of the pallbearers and chatted away like they were old friends. They probably would be soon.
When Trish submitted her resignation, Mr. Sloan had been surprisingly speechless. Then, uncharacteristically, he patted her shoulder and wished Trish the best. He mumbled something about being sad to see her go and left fumbling for his handkerchief, a touching moment that meant a lot to her.
Trish wandered back to the hearse through the oak trees, trying to ignore the rainwater sliding down her back. Her life was in a state of flux. Between jobs, preparing for a move, regretting leaving her best friend and yet tasting the excitement of new opportunities and challenges. She was free from the stress of the last two years, and although she had a bout of radiation treatments coming up, her doctors were optimistic.
Heather fell into step with Trish trying to avoid treading on any plot markers. “I’m so sorry things with you and Jim didn’t work out but, I’ve got to tell you, you deserve better. Gonna be hell to work in that place without you. Why couldn’t you find a job in Chicago?”
“Wasn’t in the cards. I’m going to miss you, too. Listen, I don’t want you to shoot anyone after I leave.”
Heather grinned. “Only if they deserve it. Wow, that could be a lot of people. Guess I better watch myself. And you watch yourself, too, you hear? Keep in touch and look out. You never know when I might just bop over to D. C. and invite myself to stay with you.”
“That’s a deal. I’d love it.” They embraced and Trish heard Heather sniffle. “Look, I still have a week before I leave to find a place to live. Let’s do it up right. Give me a call tomorrow.”
“You got it. Look out, Chicago.” Heather, with a bright pink umbrella held high, walked up to Max and slipped her arm into his. She looked back at Trish and winked. “Hey, I just thought, if we get into trouble you can represent us.”
Trish yelled back, “It’ll be on the house.”
When she arrived at the hearse, Bev stood next to the limo dabbing her eyes. She blew into the handkerchief. “You know everything works out in God’s plan. I think He has great things in store for you. Just follow your heart and you’ll be fine. Remember, I’m just a phone call away if you ever need anyone to talk to.”
Trish squeezed Bev’s hand. “I truly appreciate that. I’m going to miss you.”
“Shucks, don’t make me cry anymore. Oh, Bob was looking for you a while ago. Did he find you?”
“He did. He wanted to tell me they found out what Marciano was after. Those files were his Cayman Island bank records. Almost five hundred million deposited in hundreds of accounts. Jim had encoded the numbers but the FBI broke the code and will recover the money.”
“Good news for sure.”
“Yes, really. They said the code was a simple one and amateurishly done. They believe Jim did it that way on purpose so the money wouldn’t be lost. Makes me feel a little better. Jim wasn’t a saint by any means but he had a spark of something good in him. That’s what I saw when we first met.”
“Don’t you forget, you’re a good judge of character.” Bev’s bright blue eyes twinkled; a smile softened her wrinkled face. “Take Bob for instance.”
Trish laughed. “I get the picture, Bev. Looks like Bob and I will be working within minutes of each other. I’m interning at a firm in Washington.”
“How marvelous. I hadn’t heard where you would be. Bob’s going to be very pleased.”
“I just found out about it this morning. Had my application in for almost six months.”
“What’d I tell you about a plan?” Bev nudged Trish with an elbow. “Bob’s a great person. Give him a chance.” Bev walked slowly down the rock path.
Yes, Bob is a good person. Maybe I will give him a chance.
“You’re smiling. Are you thinking about me?” Bob appeared beside her and opened the limousine door.
Trish knew her neck and face were flushing the color of cinnamon candy. “Just thinking about the next chapter of my life.”
“What do you have planned?”
“A new job at a Washington law firm.”
He smiled. “Washington D. C.?”
“Yes, D.C.”
“I hope you’ll find time for an old friend.”
She grinned and climbed inside. “You’re not so old.”
Bob leaned in and said, “Careful, counselor. I might take that as encouragement.”
Counselor. That sounds wonderful.
Maybe it was a hint. Maybe it was more than a hint. After all, secrets and deception and greed were in the past. Thank God.
The future didn’t have a single smudge on it.
ABOUT AUTHOR J.D. WEBB
J. D. (Dave) Webb resides in Illinois with his wife (42 years in Dec 2009 and counting) and their toy poodle, Ginger, losing all family votes 2 to 1. Dave served in the Security Service of the Air Force as a Chinese linguist and weather analyst in Viet Nam and the Philippines prior to spending 25 years in corporate management. A company
purge promoted him to cobbler and he owned a shoe repair and sales shop for 11 years. During those careers he wrote short stories and suppressed an urge to write a novel. After making a conscious decision to live at the poverty level, his novels began forcing their way out.
Since becoming a full time author in 2002, Dave has garnered several awards. A short story called The Key to Christmas placed third in the 2006 La Belle Lettre literary contest. His first novel Shepherd’s Pie won a publisher’s Golden Wings Award for excellence in writing. His second novel Moon Over Chicago was a top ten finisher in the 2008 Preditors and Editors Poll in the mystery category and was a finalist in the prestigious 2008 Eppie awards by the Electronic Publishing Internet Connection. He is also the Owner and Moderator of the Publishing and Promoting Yahoo group with over 900 international members.
Short stories are available through:
The Key to Christmas (Amazon Shorts)
Stuck in Valhalla (sniplits)
Revenge Anthology II (L&L Dreamspell coming soon)
www.jdwebb.com
Shepherd’s Pie
Moon Over Chica
go
Her Name Is Mommy
Smudge