by Donna Doyle
"Get away from me if you treasure your life," another voice shouted. That was clearly Pasqualini's.
Another voice. Molly Gertrude recognized it as Digby's. "Good Lord… he's got a gun."
A gun? Dear Lord, protect us all.
Digby's words were almost immediately followed by the sharp, dazzling crack of a gunshot. Molly Gertrude ducked instinctively. Dora put her hands in front of her face and dropped to the floor seeking cover, and Charmayne and the bridesmaids jumped up and grabbed each other by the hand while huddling for safety together in a corner of Molly Gertrude's living room.
Then, somebody cried out in anger.
There was a loud curse, and the sound of running feet… A struggle…
There was Digby's voice again. "Steady, now…," he yelled at the top his lungs.
Oh my, what is happening?
Then the kitchen door opened again. Molly hardly dared to look up, but when she heard Digby's reassuring words, she let out a sigh of relief and raised her head. "Safe. All is safe."
Digby stood in the door opening, his face red with excitement, and drops of sweat streaming down his forehead. He sported a boyish smile. "All is fine," he exclaimed. "Didn't expect such action, but Pasqualini had a gun and he shot at us."
"Is… Is Barnes all right?"
"Pasqualini missed. Barnes has got him handcuffed."
Seconds later JJ Barnes himself appeared, looking all smug as if he had just shot a bear. He dragged the handcuffed Pasqualini behind him. The man looked ashen grey as it seemed all the blood had drained from his face.
"He pulled a gun at us," JJ Barnes declared with obvious glee, "but we were too smart for him." Then he looked at Pasqualini with stony eyes and hissed, "You could have killed one of us. We are going to lock you up for a good, long while."
"I've got nothing to say," Pasqualini hissed.
"Fine," Barnes said. "We will get you to talk."
"But I've got a lot to say," Marilyn spoke up, and pointed an angry, trembling finger at the man. "Behold…," she said in icy tones, "…there's the man I used to smuggle drugs for."
The others seemed shocked.
"Pasqualini?" Dora mumbled while her eyes grew big and wide. "…He's a drug smuggler?"
"He is," Marilyn said. "For years already. He came to see me yesterday…," Marilyn continued, "…and told me the police had new evidence. He said, I needed to flee as they were on their way to throw me back in jail. Said he cared about me, and hated to see my pretty face behind bars again. He even had a train ticket for me all the way to Canada. But when he dropped me off at the train station, I began to doubt." Her voice cracked. "Why would the police arrest me again? I was just released from prison and had done nothing wrong. I have paid my dues." Tears now rolled over her cheeks and dripped on the carpet before her feet. "Pasqualini only wanted me gone because I know lots of stuff about him that the police would love to hear about," she sniffed. "He doesn't care about me, but I think he's just scared I will spill the beans on him." She chuckled through her tears. "I never implied him before, but I've had enough. And believe me, I know a lot about the kind of beans Pasqualini is dealing in."
She glared at the man. He refused to look back, but just stared at the carpet.
"So while I was waiting for the train, I called for help," Marilyn sobbed. "I am tired of running. I want to start a new life. No more crime for me."
"W-Who did you call?" Dora asked.
"I called her," Marilyn replied in between sobs, and pointed to Charmayne.
Dora narrowed her eyes and shifted her glance from Molly Gertrude to Charmayne and back again. Molly Gertrude just nodded as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
"You went to Charmayne?"
Marilyn gave her a short nod, but before she could answer, Charmayne spoke up. "Deborah is my best friend, but when she fell in love with Mr. Bloomsteyn I had my doubts right from the beginning." She glared at Bloomsteyn who still stood, scowling in the corner. "Sorry, Mr. Bloomsteyn, but I learned from Miss Grey to follow my hunches, and my hunches told me you were not to be trusted." She pressed her lips together. "I tried to talk about it with Deborah, but she did not want to hear it…She was too starry-eyed. So, I did some sleuthing myself, and I visited Marilyn in jail. After having talked to her… well, let me say, I knew enough…"
"Enough to…do… what?" Dora stammered.
Charmayne pressed her lips together. "I confronted Deborah with all the evidence I had gathered. She still wasn't sure. She still believed Bloomsteyn dearly loved her. I suggested she would make him sign a legal document stating he would not even get a single penny. 'Just let him prove his love for you, by signing,' I told her."
Molly Gertrude cleared her throat and chimed in, "Right, and that's when there was that fight, the one that was witnessed by the gardener, Gregory Goldenrod."
Dora rubbed her lips with her fingers. "But… but… we still don't know where Deborah is. She is stillmissing."
"Not really," Molly Gertrude chuckled. She grabbed a brass cowbell the size of a coffee mug, that was standing nearby on a side table, and shook it around. To the casual pedestrian out on the street it must have sounded as if dinner was ready, but in Molly's house, at this instant, nobody cared about food. Not even her Lemon Curd Cookies were touched.
"A bell?" Dora wrinkled her nose. "Why?"
A minute later her question was answered. The door to the hall opened, and… Deborah Smythe stepped in
She was very much alive, healthy and whole.
Bloomsteyn's mouth hung open as she stared at his fiancée. "D-Deborah…," he mumbled, "… where did you spring from?"
Deborah turned around and faced Bloomsteyn. For a moment, those present feared she would slap Bloomsteyn in the face, but she did not. Instead she snarled, "I hit you once, Bernard… I think I made myself clear on that night. It's over between us. Totally over."
Bloomsteyn's face dropped and he looked as lost as a little boy in Bloomingdale's without his mother.
"But… eh," Dora asked, while she pulled on her pony tail, "…Where have you been these days, Mrs. Smythe?"
Deborah looked around the circle and then walked over to Charmayne and gave her a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Thank you, my dear friend. If it wasn't for you, I would have been hoodwinked for sure." She pressed her lips together, let out a sigh, and then spoke, "I was at Charmayne's place. She convinced me to flee the scene, and suggested I would stay hidden until things would be sorted out, and the marriage was officially off.
As long as Bernard and Pasqualini were still calling the shots, I actually feared for my life." A shiver went through her body. "Only God knows what these folks are capable of." She lowered herself on a vacant seat and continued. "After I confronted Bernard with my legal document, that night when Gregory Goldenrod heard us fighting, and Bernard refused to sign, he threatened to kill me. I think he really meant it, and I finally saw him for who he really was. It was a terrible scene that night, but then, when I saw my chances, I escaped."
"And… you emptied your own safe in the process?" Dora asked.
Deborah nodded. "Bernard was beside himself and was fuming with rage. I literally feared for my life, but when he went down to the basement to grab a bottle of whiskey, I called Charmayne, snatched a few items of clothing out of my closet, and the contents of my safe… I don't think I've ever been as scared as that night."
Charmayne placed her arm on Deborah's shoulder and the woman began to cry softly. "Thank you so much, Charmayne," she lisped, while she grabbed Charmayne's hand and cast her a thankful smile. But then her face hardened as she stared again at the place where Bloomsteyn was standing and it appeared she was about to hurl more insults at the man. But instead of angry shouts, only a soft yelp came out, and her eyes widened. "H-h-he is g-gone," she stammered. "Bernard is… gone."
All eyes flew towards the corner where Bloomsteyn had been only a minute earlier.
The place was empty.
The bird had flown.
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"What the—" JJ Barnes cried out, and cast an accusing look at Digby. "Couldn't you watch our prisoner better," he scowled. "Go man… run. The crook can't be very far away."
Digby blushed and scratched his head. Then he threw open the door and disappeared. Seconds later everyone in Molly Gertrude's living room heard the outside door.
12
All is well that ends well
Bloomsteyn was cunning.
He was smart, and he knew it.
As soon as Deborah had walked in the door and had glared at him, he knew the gig was up and he had been planning his exit.
He needed to get out of this room rather fast and his mind had begun to churn and rattle as he calculated his chances.
JJ Barnes wouldn't do anything. That man had to guard Pasqualini.
And that was a good thing. He could be thankful Pasqualini was caught. The idiot had even fired a gun at a policeman. What a glorious moment for him, as Pasqualini would be locked up for a good, long while, and he would not have to pay the man his debts. If he played his cards well he would at least keep his freedom.
The women wouldn't dare to stop him either. The silly old lady was too old to raise even a finger, and the other women would be too scared to stand in his way. They could scream of course, which could prove problematic.
But really, the one to look out for was that young fellow, Digby.
But the man seemed young and inexperienced and what was even better, he was distracted by all he just heard. His jaw hung open as he listened to Deborah's stupid sob story.
He had noticed when Deborah walked in, the door had not properly closed. It was open on a crack…
Just his luck.
Ever so sneakily he moved closer to the door, inch by inch.
While he moved closer to freedom he heard Deborah's wailing voice at the fringes of his consciousness. "I was so scared… I was fearing for my life." Come on, woman… keep whining, keep whining. I am almost there. Greenacre Manor was lost, but he still had his life, and his freedom was worth anything.
Nobody paid him any attention…
He clawed his fingers around the door and pushed it open a bit more. Oh God… no creak, please.Bloomsteyn was not a praying man, far from it, but at this moment it just felt right to ask the Almighty for help. No creak. Thank God.
Then he was in the hallway.
Run, Bernard, run.
In two giant steps, he was at the front door and opened it as quietly as possible.
He was out.
He jumped off the steps while blinking against the light of the sun.
It had worked. He was free. He had been too smart for these idiots, and it wasn't God that had helped him either. He did not need God. He was quite capable of taking care of himself.
But he wasn't safe yet. He still had to run.
Soon he reached the end of the street, and to his great relief he spotted a big yellow Mercedes taxi that was just driving up. No time to lose.
He jumped off the pavement, and blocked the car with his body while wildly waving his arms. "Taxi," he roared. "I need a taxi."
The taxi came to a stop. The driver rolled down his window and a friendly fellow from Indian descent stuck out his head. He was of small stature and treated Bloomsteyn on a warm, oriental smile. "Buster's Safe Speeding at your service, Sir," the man said in a rather high, heavily accented voice, "My name is Gopal Gupta, and I aim to please. Where will the journey lead us today?"
"Man, am I glad to see you," Bloomsteyn cackled. "Get me out of here, quick." He yanked the back door open and literally jumped in. Gopal Gupta raised his brows. "You must be in a hurry, Sir."
"I am," Bloomsteyn yelled at him. "Drive man… Drive."
Gupta scratched his head. "Do you have a destination, Sir? Miss Marmelotte's maybe, or Sun Yun Fen's holiday resort? The swimming pool… I can drive you anywhere."
"Drive!" Bloomsteyn roared, but as he screamed out the words, the thought came to him that this idiot wasn't going to move an inch until he had an actual address. He had to give the man something. Anything.
"Mozart Avenue," he spouted out. It was the only thing that came to mind. Mozart Avenue was a small back road that housed Calmhaven's only old folk’s home, and Bloomsteyn had put up his mother there years ago.
Gopal Gupta pressed his lips together. "Never heard of it," he turned around and gave Bloomsteyn another one of his gracious smiles. "But no worries," he mumbled confidently. "My boss gave me a GPS." He scratched his head again. "Except… I don't really know how it works." He opened his glove compartment, pulled out the GPS device and swung it victoriously around before Bloomsteyn's nose.
The man was now seething with rage.
"You know how this works?" Gupta asked. "I meant to ask my boss, but I never did…"
Bloomsteyn was ready to plant his fist in Gopal Gupta's face. All the muscles in his arms tensed and he got ready. But then, before he could do anything, someone pulled the backdoor open, and grabbed his shoulders.
Digby had found him.
"Get offme," Bloomsteyn screamed, trying to kick Digby with his legs and arms. But Digby, being young and well-trained knew how to quickly push the man down, and within seconds he had Bloomsteyn in an iron grip.
"Let me go, you nincompoop," Bloomsteyn cried, his voice hoarse from exertion.
"I've got other plans for you, Bloomsteyn," Digby shouted back. "Keep your energy. You may say your two-cents worth from behind bars."
Gopal Gupta raised both of his arms in desperation. "There's no need for a fight. I can drive both of you, and Buster's Safe Speeding has more cars available." But seconds later when he saw how his client landed on the pavement, right next to his taxi, he seemed to realize nobody was going to ride with him. Mozart Avenue seemed a long way off. "I guess…" he mumbled, "… nobody wants a ride?"
Digby looked up at Gupta and shook his head. "No ride today, Mister." Then he handcuffed Bloomsteyn, and motioned with his hands that Gopal Gupta was to move on. Gupta narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "Strange country, America," he mumbled. "In all my years as a Rickshaw driver, I never saw anything like it."
Seconds later, he revved his engine and drove off.
Bloomsteyn cursed. His ride to freedom had failed, and he knew it. There was only prison to look forward too.
"That was quite something," Dora said as she shook her head. "I am exhausted."
"Tell me about it," Molly Gertrude answered. "We shouldn't have too many of such days. I don't think my old body can handle it very well anymore."
Everyone had left Molly Gertrude's house, and only Dora had stayed back to help Molly Gertrude with the cleanup.
JJ Barnes, having caught two crooks, was extremely pleased with his accomplishments, and had immediately agreed to a full interview with the Calmhaven Clarion. The journalist, a young inexperienced fellow, had given him the promise that next to the article, there would be a nice action shot of JJ Barnes, holding the two crooks. After the shot had been taken, Digby was commissioned to drive both men, Antonio Pasqualini and Bernard Bloomsteyn, to the holding cell while they would await their trial. Much investigative work was still needed to build a proper case against both men, but with Deborah and Marilyn's aid, nobody doubted that the two fellows would be ending up behind bars for a good long while.
"Well," Dora sighed, "I suppose that all is well that ends well, although I feel sorry for Marilyn. Imagine, just coming out of jail, and already she is faced again with her life of crime."
"She's going to be fine," Molly Gertrude chirped. "She will tell everything she knows about Pasqualini and Bloomsteyn, but when that is done, I believe she wants to go look for her father.”
"Her father? The one that painted that pretty picture of the deer?"
Molly Gertrude nodded. "Yes, the one who pictured her as Bambi. She said, she needs a complete break with her past and her father loves her. He seems to be living in Canada, and she still has the train ticket Pasqualini bought her."
&nbs
p; Molly Gertrude's words cheered Dora. "Well, that's good to hear. And what's going to happen to Greenacre Manor?"
Molly Gertrude tilted her head. "I am not sure yet. Deborah told me there's a banker in Boulder Valley who wants to live in a more peaceful area. He offered to buy it from Bloomsteyn at the time, but Bloomsteyn refused. But now that Bloomsteyn has been arrested, and since he can't pay the taxes, this man may very well come to Calmhaven."
"A banker?"
"That's right. Deborah seems quite keen on meeting the man."
"Oh no," Dora shook her head. "Not again."
Molly Gertrude chuckled. "Don't worry, Dora. If he turns out to be bad company we can always call on Charmayne, or kidnap Deborah ourselves, if we have to."
Dora heaved a sigh of relief. It was true. All was well that ended well… except, there was one last thing that bothered her. She hated to bring it up, but she could not hold back any longer. "And… what about the wedding feast, Miss Molly… You never cancelled it. Tomorrow night everyone arrives, including the Shocking Blue Jeans… We will just have to turn them all around, but we will still have to pay them. It's going to cost the Cozy Bridal Office a fortune. I told you long ago we should cancel the activities. Now it's too late."
Molly Gertrude shook her head. "Not at all, Dora. It's not too late, in fact, it's only the beginning. I talked it over with Deborah and she wants the party to happen anyway. Get ready for the best party Calmhaven has seen in years."
Dora frowned. "How's that?"
"Do you really think after all we did for this case, that Deborah Smythe would leave us with the bill? She’s already told me that the party is on as planned. Food, music, artists… everything. Only, it won't be a marriage party, but a free for all celebration party in honor of life, love and true happiness.”
Dora's eyes widened. "Really? And Deborah pays for it all?"
"Everything, Dora, from the smallest bag of peanuts to the live show of the Shocking Blue Jeans." Molly chuckled. "Come to think of it, if I have a good night's sleep, I may try a little line dancing myself after all. And…," she glanced at Dora with a soft smile, "… Digby will be there too."