by Robena Grant
“And what do you think? That maybe the two things are connected?” Debbie asked quietly. “That maybe Ira murdered Juan?”
Jack nodded, and pulled into a parking space. “I like your plan. Let’s get to the boutique and casually chat with Wendy while you shop. What are you shopping for?”
“What? Oh yeah, so we’re both on the same page. Um, we’re looking for a birthday present for your mother.”
Jack shot her a quick look, and then glanced away. His mother’s birthday would have been next week, if she’d lived. Damn cancer. His heartbeat quickened at the memories of the emotional trauma of slow death. He tamped down on his thoughts, parked near the restaurants, and jumped out of the car. Every cell in his body went into hyper alert. Then he told himself to slow down, and act natural. He walked around, opened the car door, and reached for Debbie’s hand. “Let’s go shopping.”
****
“Wendy, I love this sweater.” Debbie held it up, and squinted as she read the label. “What’s the mix, does it have cashmere in it? I left my glasses at the spa.”
Wendy came out from behind the counter, and cast a quick glance behind her. The door to the back room was closed, and there was only one other customer in the store. Debbie knew that back door was usually closed. Betty was a stickler for that. It was a tiny storage-room-come-break-station for the employees, and always a bit messy. Betty ran a tight ship and couldn’t abide her wealthy clientele to see even a touch of disarray. Still, every fiber in her body told her Janelle could be held captive behind that door.
Jack was browsing a rack of blouses toward the front of the store. How to let him know her thoughts would be difficult. “I like this, Jack,” she said and held up the sweater.
He glanced up. “I’m not sure. Mom’s not a big sweater wearer. She likes silk blouses though. This here’s silk, isn’t it?” He held up a garish blouse with ruffles that formed a bib down the chest. Debbie tried not to shudder.
“It’s a silk mix,” Wendy said. “It’s not heavy.” The bell on the door tinkled. The other customer raised a hand in farewell. “No luck today, Wendy. Give my love to Betty.” Wendy nodded, and followed the woman to the door and said a few words to her.
Debbie grabbed that opportunity, looked at Jack and jerked her head toward the back room. He gave a slight nod of recognition.
“Your mother would love that blouse. Good find,” she said, as she approached him. She had her back to Wendy and widened her eyes, and gave another little tilt of her head. “She likes wild colors. We’re about the same size.”
Wendy came up to them and nodded, but she seemed even more nervous. She chewed at the cuticle on her forefinger but she’d glanced toward the back room several times. It took all of Debbie’s effort not to clamp both hands around the young woman’s scrawny neck and shake information out of her. She selected a slim black cotton sheath from the next rack, and turned toward Jack. “I’ll try this on. And I’ll model the blouse for you.”
Wendy started to walk back to the counter. “Stay with me, Wendy,” Debbie said, and grabbed her hand. “I’d love your opinion. You have such great taste in clothes.” She hid her true feelings about the large black, white, and royal blue flowery print of the long skirt she wore. The skirt wouldn’t be too bad, except Wendy combined it with a bright yellow top. And long, black and yellow beaded earrings.
“Thank you.”
“You can come into the dressing room with me,” Debbie said, holding the door open and almost pushing Wendy inside. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Besides, if I try on the black dress, it’s got a back zipper and I’ll need help with that.”
Wendy looked behind her for a second, but entered the dressing room.
“You know, his mother would look better in the black dress,” Debbie whispered, taking her time to undress.
“How old is she?” Wendy asked.
“Seventy-ish. Jack,” Debbie called out loudly. “Call out if anyone else comes into the store will you? We might be a few minutes.” She turned back to Wendy and smiled as she slipped into the dress. “Zipper me up please? His mother really shouldn’t wear the big splashy prints. She can’t carry them off like you can. But don’t tell Jack. He loves her the way she is.”
“This fits you perfectly,” Wendy said. “Turn around.”
Debbie saw her reflection in the mirror. “Mmmm. It’s expensive though. Two-fifty.”
She fingered the price tag and shrugged.
Uncertain of how much time Jack would need, she stalled, twirling a couple of times. It was getting harder to remain calm and go through the charade, and her heart was pumping hard in her chest and her face was damp with nervousness. But she had to keep going.
She laughed. “He can afford it. He’s looking to buy the property next to Zeke Cabrera’s farm.”
Wendy’s eyes brightened. “You don’t say. That’s a pricey piece of real estate.”
“I know. And he’s my boyfriend,” Debbie said. Then she laughed. “Maybe we’ll take both. I’d like the dress. His mother can have the blouse. If I model the dress, I’ll bet he’ll buy it for me. Stay here. I’ll do my sashay thing and be right back.” She winked, twirled one more time. “I’ll do anything to help out Betty, and her business. Oh, and how’s your dad doing? Is he helping sort things out?”
“What?” Wendy blinked several times and her skin looked pale.
“Your dad,” Debbie said, and stopped, she rested her hand on the top of the louvered Dutch-door on the dressing room. “I thought I saw him here.”
“No. No. He doesn’t come to the desert. Ever.” She shrugged, turned her back to Debbie and straightened the blouse on the hanger. “He hates the desert communities. He lives in Mexico…Mazatlan.”
“Oh.” Debbie shrugged. “It must have been a customer.”
“Yeah…a customer,” Wendy said, nodding her head and letting her earrings jangle.
Debbie went out into the boutique, and did a few twirls in the black dress. Jack appeared frustrated and she thought it was the whole “guys going shopping thing” but he seemed to be indicating with his head. Like maybe they had to get out of there. Wendy came out of the dressing room before Debbie could make sense of the silent messages Jack was giving her.
“Deb, can you get dressed?” Jack said, and looked at his watch.
“Sure. Give me one minute.”
“We need to go. I forgot I have an appointment with the real estate agent.”
Debbie hurried back inside the changing room. She could hear Jack explaining to Wendy that she should hold both items, and they’d be back later. But they really had to run. When she came back into the main room, he hustled her outside so fast her feet barely touched ground.
“What?” she asked, once they were out of hearing range.
“She’s in there. I’m sure.”
“Who?”
“Janelle. I think she’s being held in that back room, but it’s locked. I called out her name, softly, and I heard a noise, like feet stamping.”
“Oh god, oh—”
“Hold it together. I need backup in case the dude comes back, or if he’s booby trapped the door. Is there another way into the boutique, like you have at the spa?”
“Yes, yes, it…I…ah…but it opens into the alley.” She felt like she was about to cry, but stood a moment shaking the fingers of both hands. She pulled in a deep breath, and concentrated. “If Ira is on his way to the spa, or on his way back out and he uses my back entrance, he’d see us. If he uses my front entrance, he wouldn’t see us but can we risk that?”
“Yeah.” Jack stood for a moment rubbing at his jaw. “Windows?”
“I’m sure there are, but I don’t know if one would open directly into that back room. I’d have to go out back and take a look, and map it out. Damn. Damn. Damn.” She rubbed both hands at the side of her head. “I can’t think straight.”
“You’re doing great.” Jack wrapped his arms tight around her and pressed her head to his chest. “It’s o
kay.” He dialed Dave’s number and brought him up to date. “I’m going back in,” he said to Dave. “I’ll say I changed my mind and want to purchase those items now. I’m willing to risk tying up a shop owner’s daughter, and breaking into a locked room, because I’m sure I’m right.”
He kissed the top of her head, and Debbie felt the warmth of his breath on the side of her face as he talked to Dave.
“Okay. Okay. Got you. You guys will get my back, if I’m wrong. Meanwhile you stay where you are, and get your guys positioned to catch that bastard when he leaves the spa.”
He laughed, and Debbie trembled, barely able to breathe.
“Do you think it’s wise?” she asked, looking up at him and searching his face. “What if Wendy calls Ira on a cell phone and says we were there?”
“I’ll be fine.” Jack put the phone back in his pocket.
“He might stop what he’s doing and run back over, and he has a gun.”
Pain shot through her chest at the thought of the danger for both this man and her daughter. Jack had said he’d put his life on the line for Janelle. He was being true to that word now. Dear God, please let her be in there. Let her be alive. Let Jack save her.
He squeezed her hard for a second, and then released her. “Bring the car around to the main exit street, that one,” he said, pointing to the one way street that ran through the mall. “Stay inside, motor running, and sit low.”
He started to lope away, his long legs creating distance between them as he headed back toward the boutique. Debbie shivered, feeling the loss of security. Jack looked over his shoulder at her, his handsome face grim, and she saw him slip the gun from his shoulder holster. He indicated she should move. Then he slipped the gun into his jacket pocket.
Chapter Eighteen
Debbie put the key in the ignition, and turned it. Her hands shook, and she took a few deep breaths to center herself. There was no time for fear or panic now. She had to keep a clear head, and open airways.
The pulse in her neck did a little skip when she realized that to get to the front entrance of the boutique she’d have to drive past the alley. She put the car’s front windows down and drove slowly, stopping to an almost crawl to stare down the alley at the dark gray back entrances to the buildings. A driver behind her honked his horn, and she waved him forward. Everything was still. About to continue on to the main street she saw Ira, hunched over and slowly weaving his way in and out of the parked cars that belonged to the employees and owners of the stores.
She gasped as she leaned forward for a closer look. He carried a large royal blue rectangle, the color bright against the mainly white and silver parked vehicles, and the dull gray tarmac of the alley. It must be the cushion from her bench. In a few minutes she knew he would have to run across the expanse of the alley, and into the rear entrance of the boutique.
With a quick step on the gas, she drove around the corner and parked where Jack had told her to park, wondering all the while about the blue cushion. She pulled on the handbrake, leaving the engine running. Memories of a recent package from the same company, one she’d never bothered to open, filled her thoughts. A single gunshot sounded: the crack of it holding her breath suspended for a moment, until she realized for sure what it was. Her heart almost stopped. Oh, dear god no. Her hands were clammy, and she slid them up and down on the steering wheel. Jack had said to stay in the car. To hell with that!
****
“Open the door to the back room,” Jack said to Wendy.
She gave him an insolent stare. “I can’t do that.”
He held the gun steady and pointed it at her temple. “Remember I’m a perfect shot.”
“I don’t…I don’t have the key,” Wendy said.
Good, he was making her nervous. He stepped closer, and she began to tremble. While he didn’t want to rough her up, he didn’t have much time to lose on being nice. And he couldn’t figure out if she was lying. Jack grabbed her hand, and twisted it up behind her back.
“Hey,” she yelled.
“If you won’t play along, suit yourself,” he said.
“It’s…it’s locked from the inside. The only way in, and out, is through the back door in the alley.”
Jack shoved his knee behind hers, and pushed her up against the wall outside the door. To hell with nice, the woman was an accomplice. Then he shot the lock off. Wendy jumped, and whimpered at the blast, but he ignored her cries, and tightened his grip on her wrist. He kicked the door inward and shoved Wendy inside ahead of him. Janelle sat strapped to a chair, a gag in her mouth. She stared at him, her eyes moving fast from scared, to wide and grateful.
“Untie her,” Jack said to Wendy, and kept the gun pointed at her.
He pulled the broken door over, and closed it as best he could, and shoved another chair in front of it. Then he positioned himself between the chair, where Wendy was untying Janelle, and the back door, in case Wendy decided to make a run for it.
“The gag first. Get that off her.”
When the gag came off, Janelle closed her eyes for a second. “Thank you, Jack,” she said and her voice sounded dry, hoarse.
He nodded. “Get her some water,” he said to Wendy, and gestured toward the sink where a half-filled coffee pot stood on the other side of a small draining board. Wendy filled a cup with water, and hurried back to Janelle. Jack tore his eyes away from the coffee, and was about to give the order to untie the restraints when he saw Janelle’s eyes widen with fear.
He spun around and saw a glimpse of the open back door, and a dark silhouette, as Ira’s gun smashed against his forehead. His body slumped but he righted it, and grabbed a chair and tossed it just as Ira fired but missed. He had blood trickling into his eyes, and they watered in pain from the blow. He held the second chair like a shield, and jerked the door open with one foot. He held his gun steady, but there was no way he’d risk firing again with Janelle situated between him and Ira. He stumbled backward into the boutique.
Ira was on him in a second. Jack got off one shot and Ira cursed, as he gave a hefty kick to the older man’s gut. They wrestled, and Jack took a blow to his wrist as Ira kicked the gun out of his hand. Then there was a kick to his kidney area, and his body splayed out across the hardwood floor, sliding backward. He gripped onto the iron leg of a nearby clothing rack and pulled himself along the floor, beneath the racks of dresses.
Damn. He looked up from his supine position. Ira sneered and placed a heavy foot on his chest; he aimed the gun and removed his foot. Jack watched Ira’s trigger finger, and rolled and howled as the gun fired. By rolling at the right moment, the bullet had glanced off his protective vest and actually gone into the hardwood floor, and he’d fallen back on the wound. The impact took the wind out of him because of the close proximity, and it wasn’t hard to lie still and fake lifelessness. The front doorbell jangled.
He heard Ira’s receding footsteps. Good, he hadn’t stayed to check his handiwork. Or, fire off any more rounds. Jack took in a couple of deep breaths and listened to Ira shout orders for Wendy to get Janelle in the van. He rolled to his side, and after a second or two, he crawled toward his gun. The room seemed to spin, and everything went from hazy brown and fuzzy around the edges to jet black, and he wrapped his fingers around the cold metal and gripped tight, as a huge, dark, cavernous space devoured him.
****
Debbie ran hard toward the boutique. There’d been more gunshots. There was no sign of Jack backing out the door with Janelle safe in his grasp. Ira had to be working alone. She stared up at the rooftops, and then behind her. If he had snipers on the roof he wouldn’t have needed to cover his tracks or protect himself by running between the cars. And the snipers would have picked her off by now, for sure. And the local cops hadn’t arrived yet. Damn.
Ira probably still had Janelle in the room that Betty used as an employee break room. But who was firing at whom, Jack and Wendy, or Jack and Ira? Wendy hadn’t left the boutique. Did she have a gun? Either way, she’d seen Ira
heading for the boutique. It would be two against one. Time to even things up, but hell she had no weapon but surprise. And the ability to barter and give Ira what he wanted. And when she went back to the spa to retrieve the spare cushion cover, the thing Ira needed but did not have, she was putting that pistol Rachel had given her into her purse. Just in case this didn’t go the way she hoped.
Another gunshot rang out, and Debbie rushed to the front door of the boutique. She stood to one side and peered in. There was nobody in the front of the store. Then she saw Jack’s feet sticking out beneath a rack of clothing. She ducked low, and eased into the room, the damn front doorbells jangling, and tried to stop her panic from overtaking her. Blood ran down the side of Jack’s face and pooled onto the floor. She had no idea if he was dead or alive, but she couldn’t stop now. The door to the break room hung from one flimsy hinge. She ran toward it but the room beyond, was empty.
Debbie’s heart sank. There were a couple of upended chairs. The door to the alley stood ajar. She gave Jack one last glance feeling torn between helping him, and saving her daughter. She ran for the back door. There was nothing to be seen, no cars moved, no squeal of tires. Her eyes filled with tears when she realized she’d failed. She had no idea what getaway vehicle Ira had used. She dialed Dave’s number.
“Dave, Ira and Wendy have escaped the boutique. I think Janelle was held there. Jack is hurt or dead. I’m going after Ira.”
“No. Stay where you are. And don’t touch anything,” Dave yelled. “I’ve got this covered.”
Debbie’s hand shook as she shut off the phone. Could she trust them? Her car was out front. Three squad cars careened down the street, and lights blazed. Sirens sounded behind her, and she knew some cop cars had gone behind the building and were coming down the alley, and probably from both directions. She could see Joe running across from the pizzeria. He must have called 911. She dropped to the floor beside Jack, and felt for a pulse.