by Gayle Roper
I didn’t like cowering on the floor as he towered over me. It was bad enough he had a normal height and weight advantage, but I didn’t need to let him dominate me as he so clearly wanted to. I forced myself to my feet, holding my injured shoulder, fighting off lingering dizziness from the hit on the head. I was still in the closet, still his prisoner, but at least I was upright. “How do you know I found the diary?”
“I saw you.”
I heard once again the swish that had made me think of the sliding door and screen being moved. “You were inside when I got there.”
He nodded. “I went out the back and didn’t realize I’d dropped the diary until I got to my car. Then I hid behind the evergreens out back, waiting for you to leave.”
“You were there watching?” I felt creepy all over, like little spiders were crawling on me, all but my right arm, which felt numb. I thought you always felt when someone was watching you, but obviously you didn’t.
“I was there. I saw you come outside and pick up the book. I watched you put it in your purse when that nosy old lady next door came out. Then she chased you with that burglar bar.”
For a moment, the fury in his face abated and he actually smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so funny as you running from that old woman.” He threw back his head and laughed.
Happy to entertain you, I thought sourly. I took advantage of his looking away to try and assess my chances of getting past him and to the door. They weren’t very high.
He sobered quickly and stared at me. “And then you showed up to interview me.”
A thought flashed through my mind. “You walked me to my car to see what I drove, didn’t you? So you could blow it up.”
He stared at me, malevolence oozing from every pore. “The car wasn’t my target.”
Like I needed the reminder. “And the house. You fixed that, too, didn’t you?”
“I timed it to twenty seconds after you opened the door. Time for you to get inside, but not time for you to notice anything wrong.”
“But Whiskers got out and saved the day. He made me cautious. When I saw the broken glass and smelled the accelerant, I never really went inside.”
“Pity. It would have been easier on us both.”
I forced myself not to show him the terror that comment induced. “I thought killers used the same modus operandi all the time.”
“First, I’m not a killer.”
“What?”
“A killer plans and premeditates. Martha was an accident. And it was her fault.”
“It was her fault you hit her hard enough with a rock to kill her?”
“She was threatening me. She was going to tell about our relationship.”
“She was going to tell about the abuse.”
“It wasn’t abuse. She always asked for whatever she got.”
“Telling her mother about you asked for a broken tooth?”
“She was misrepresenting me to her mother. I did not deserve what she planned to do. She was going to tell Grassley and Jordan.”
Amazing to me how he excused himself and made Martha the one in the wrong. “So Martha might have been spontaneous.” If you counted having a murderous rock in hand at a deserted spot at a very early hour as spontaneous. “But trying to kill me was premeditated.”
“Self-defense,” he said, and it was obvious he’d convinced himself that was true.
“So,” I asked, trying to seem much braver than I felt, “what are you going to do with me this time?”
He gave a tight smile. “Throws them off, all the different methods.”
“Knife. Rock. Explosives. Baseball bat?”
He shrugged. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
He hadn’t even blinked at the word knife. Poor Valerie Gladstone.
“Everyone knows I’m here,” I said.
“Were here,” he corrected. “Annie heard me saying goodbye. You left a good ten minutes ago.”
Just like I’d thought. Lord, how do we trip him up?
I glanced at the window. From this angle all I could see was an apartment across the street and its curtains were pulled tight. But Main Street was down there one story and Main Street meant people and people meant help.
“Be right back,” Tony said suddenly and walked out of the room.
I ran to the window. It was tall, and I had to stretch to reach the latch to unlock the sash. I grabbed the window pulls and yanked. Pain shrieked up my right arm, and I realized that the window was too heavy to lift even if my arm had been strong.
If you can’t pull, push. I reached up and put my palms against the glass below the upper sash and shoved. Nothing. I pushed again, desperate. I felt the sash move. I readied myself for another push when an arm snaked about my waist and I was lifted off my feet.
“No, no, no,” Tony insisted. “Mustn’t draw any attention. Someone else might get hurt, you know.”
With a quick thrust of his hip and shove from his hand, he tossed me across the room. I landed against the bookshelves, each shelf digging into my back as I slid to the floor. Blinking against the shooting pain in my injured shoulder, I leaped to my feet.
“Don’t you touch me again!” Brave, empty words to a man once again swinging his baseball bat.
He moved another couple of steps toward me as I struggled to my feet.
“You can’t kill me with that bat.” Much to my disgust my voice was trembling. “You’ll get blood all over the office. It might not show on the walls, but it’ll definitely stain the rug.”
“I don’t plan to kill you with the bat, though it would give me great satisfaction to swing at you like I’d swing for the fences. All I plan to do is knock you out.”
“Just try it,” I challenged. “I won’t be taken unawares this time. But let’s just say you succeed. Then what?”
He glanced at the pillow he’d gotten from the chairs in the waiting area in the reception room. Once such a pillow had made me comfortable as I waited for that first interview.
“You’re going to knock me out, then smother me?” The man was seriously deranged.
He began moving toward me, slapping the bat against his palm. As he started around the desk, I started moving around it, too. Maybe we could play circle the desk until I came up with an idea to save myself, something short of flinging myself out a closed window thirty or so feet above concrete.
I wasn’t prepared for him to launch himself across the desk and grab my wrist. I screamed without thought and began flailing wildly as I struggled to escape. He tightened his grip and began to twist my arm.
“No!” I grabbed the first thing that came to hand, the M. Anthony Compton name plaque. I swung indiscriminately at his arm, at his body extended over the desk, whacking him again and again. With a growl he released my wrist and hauled himself across the desk. I backed away until I was up against the file cabinet.
I still had the nameplate in my hand, but he had both longer arms and a baseball bat.
“Dear God, help!”
“Nobody’s going to help you, sweetheart,” Tony said, his face scarily devoid of all expression, even anger. He took one slow step, then another, the bat resting on his shoulder. I pressed into the wall, wishing I could push through it into the adjoining room.
As I glanced with longing at the window, I saw white out of the corner of my eye. I spun and grabbed one of Tony’s precious Cal Ripkin baseballs. I drew back my left arm and threw it at the window with everything I had.
The glass shattered as the ball sailed through. As I began to scream and scream and scream, I prayed the glass didn’t fall on anyone or the ball bean anyone. Then I grabbed the second ball and threw it at Tony, who stood staring in disbelief at the shattered window.
I wanted to hit him in the side of the head and maybe knock him unconscious, but at the last second he turned to me and the ball got him square in the nose. He bellowed in pain as blood spurted. He grabbed his face and went to his knees.
I ran forward and
grabbed the forgotten bat and threw it into the closet. I bent and snatched my mini recorder from its resting place beside the leg of Tony’s desk where I’d left it when everything fell out of my bag.
Gripping it tightly, I raced into the reception room and reached for the office doorknob just as the door burst open. I found myself running into Curt’s open arms as he and Mr. Weldon burst into the office. Behind them, William Poole lumbered up the stairs.
TWENTY-SEVEN
That evening as Curt and I drove to Jolene and Reilly’s for a late dinner, I wanted to tell him something that had been in the back of my head ever since I saw Tony swing that bat at me. I’d just needed some time for the thought to percolate through the exhilaration of survival and the business of making statements.
I took a breath, but before I could say anything, he grabbed my hand and, eyes still on the road, said, “I’ve been thinking about something, sweetheart.”
I knew from his tone that whatever it was was serious. I braced myself.
“When I heard you screaming and thought I might lose you—” He swallowed. “The possibility still makes me break into a cold sweat.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, my voice wary.
He gave a brief smile. “Anyway, it hit me how stupid I was being about where we were going to live. Anywhere with you would be wonderful, if nerve-racking upon occasion.”
I squeezed his hand. “I was—”
“No,” he interrupted. “Let me finish.” He took a deep breath and swallowed. “I think it would be nice if we lived in Pittsburgh. You’ll enjoy your family and you were right. I can paint anywhere. While you were talking to William, I called the West Carolina Art Institute and told them I wasn’t interested.”
I stared at him. “You didn’t!” I felt the tears gather. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me!”
He turned and gave me a quick grin. “I can love you wherever we live and you’re what counts. When I thought I might lose you, I realized that if I really loved you, I’d want you to be happy.”
“Even if you’re not?”
“But that’s what I realized. It’s you, not the place and not the job.”
“I love you.” I lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “But we can’t live in Pittsburgh.”
He shot me a quick glance. “Why not?”
“While you were in the men’s room at the police station, I called Mr. Henrey and told him no to the Chronicle’s offer. When I thought Tony might do me in, I realized that wherever I was, if I was with you, that’s what counted and if you wanted to live in North Carolina, so did I.”
We pulled up in front of Jo’s and Curt turned off the motor. He turned to me and we just looked at each other.
“‘The Gift of the Magi,’” I said. “Carlyle-Kramer style.”
We were enjoying a pretty scorching kiss when there was a knock on my window.
“Save it for later,” Jo called. “We’re waiting for you.”
I knew I was still blushing when we walked into her lovely home. Reilly was standing in the entry hall.
“I told her to wait,” he said, “but she insisted on rushing out.” He looked at his wife with affectionate exasperation. “You know Jolene.”
“Come on into the living room and sit for a few minutes,” Jo said, leading the way.
I was looking over my shoulder, grinning at Curt as we entered the room, and was completely surprised when several people yelled, “Surprise!”
I jumped and stared at the roomful of friends. Maddie and Doug. Dawn and Mac, Mac looking like a weight had been rolled off his back. Edie and her husband, Tom. Mr. and Mrs. Weldon. Even Larry the sports guy and his wife, Lori. And in front of the love seat was a great pile of gifts.
“It’s a his and hers shower.” Jo showed us to our seats.
“Do we still get dinner?” Curt asked.
“After the presents,” she said. “In the meantime, nibble on the hors d’oeuvres.”
Quite frankly, I love presents, so I had a great time opening my half. Curt seemed both embarrassed and pleased to open his—mostly unexciting things like tools.
As I looked around the room at these people who had become so dear to me, I wondered how I could have thought to leave them. I leaned to Curt and whispered that thought.
“I was just thinking the same thing.” He tore the paper off what proved to be a pair of red boxers with white hearts all over. While everyone hooted, he said, “We’re Amhearst through and through, sweetheart.”
“Me, too? I’m no longer an outlander?”
“You’re an in-lander, if there is such a word.”
I let the joy of the evening wash over me, dissipating the lingering horror of my afternoon. Things didn’t get much better than this.
As all of us were walking to the dinner table, Mr. Weldon sidled up to me. “Merry, I’m so glad you are all right! I kept waiting for you to come out of Compton’s office to tell you I figured out who was saying those terrible things about Mac Carnuccio.”
I knew now that he’d gotten so worried about how long I was with Tony Compton that he called Curt, who called William. It turned out that William, having figured out the MAC, was already suspicious of Tony, and had been talking with the Harrisburg police about the death of Valerie Gladstone. Curt and William rushed to the office building and arrived just as the ball sailed through the window, landing on the roof of William’s patrol car, making a nice dent.
My screams had sent them rushing up the steps.
Standing now in Jo’s dining room, Mr. Weldon paused and glanced at Mac, talking with Dawn and the Reeders. “It was Compton who fed me all that stuff, but he was so clever about it. He’d stop me to ask about new lightbulbs or his name on the door and before he left, he’d drop a little something like, ‘It must be unnerving to the town to have someone suspected in a crime as the editor of the paper’ or ‘I heard at the courthouse that the police have a diary with the name Mac in it. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’”
“I’m not surprised, Mr. Weldon. He was trying to turn attention away from himself.”
He shook his head. “Well, I’m ashamed I fell for it. You didn’t. You were a true friend.”
“Well, I know Mac better than you do and I knew he was involved with Dawn. There was no way he was still seeing Martha. Then, too, we’ve been praying for him to become a Christian.”
Mr. Weldon glanced at his wife, busy talking with Jolene. “Mother says we should apologize.”
“I think that would be wonderful,” I said. “I think offering forgiveness would be good for him right now.”
Mr. Weldon nodded and went to get his wife. Together they approached Mac and Dawn. I wished I could hear the conversation, but I saw Mac reach out and shake Mr. Weldon’s hand, so I assumed it had gone well.
Dinner was wonderful and the conversation lively, much of it centering around my adventures of the afternoon. Mr. Weldon turned scarlet when everyone made a big thing of his calls to Curt and William.
When it was time to leave, Mac helped Curt carry our gifts to the car. I thanked Jo and Reilly and walked out with Dawn.
“I have news for you, Mac,” I said.
“Good news?” He looked at me skeptically, undoubtedly thinking of my Chronicle offer.
“I think so. I turned the Chronicle down.”
“Yes!” He pumped the air. “That’s my girl!” He gave me a hug.
“You won’t be moving?” Dawn asked.
Curt and I looked at each other and grinned. We shook our heads. And I found I was very satisfied with the thought of staying in Amhearst. This was where we belonged, where our friends were, where our lives were.
“We’ve got news, too,” Dawn said. She looked at Mac.
He looked embarrassed but he said, “I thought more about what you accused me of, Merry.”
“What I accused you of?” Wait a minute. I was one of the ones who didn’t accuse him.
“I’m not talking about t
he Martha thing. I’m talking about what I was saying about God and about Jesus’ death when I refused to accept the salvation and forgiveness they offered. I’m believing in God for the forgiveness He offers in Jesus.”
“Yes!” I threw myself at Mac and hugged him hard. Then I grabbed Dawn.
With this happy news, the week went into over-drive. A new wedding gown arrived all the way from England and Leslie had it ready for me by Friday afternoon. Our rehearsal dinner was great fun and the wedding went off without a hitch, something that surprised me as much as anyone, given the chaos of the previous week.
Saturday night was all I’d dreamed and on Sunday Curt and I flew to Seattle. From there we drove to Olympic National Park where we stayed in a little cabin on a cliff overlooking the Pacific and a beach filled with the trunks of trees washed out to sea and thrown back to collect in stacks higher than our heads.
Monday morning we woke up to look out over the ocean from our bed. We bunched up our pillows and cuddled, watching seagulls dive and soar.
“Happy, sweetheart?” Curt asked.
I smiled into his chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more foolish question.”
“I take it that’s a yes?” His arm tightened around me.
“A big yes.”
And it was. I had enjoyed the fun and excitement of the wedding and all its associated hoopla, but what I was really looking forward to was our marriage.
“You know,” I said as I watched the high tide dash itself upon the countless trunks on the beach, “anyone can have a wedding. A wedding is just an event. An important one, granted, but just an event. A marriage is a life. It only takes money to have a wedding. It takes guts and courage and commitment to have a marriage.”
“Well, I know you’ve got more than your share of those things,” my husband whispered in my ear. “Makes me think we’ve got the future all sewed up.”
I raised up on an elbow and looked at him, all rumpled, his beard shadow dark on his face, his breath less than fresh. “If loving were all it took, we’d be guaranteed a happy life, wouldn’t we?”