Same Time, Same Murder: A Gil and Claire Hunt Mystery

by Robert J. Randisi

  After twenty minutes to herself, Claire couldn’t ignore the grumbling coming from her stomach and went inside to put on a pot of coffee for Gil and brew a cup of tea for herself. If she remembered correctly, there should be some bread for toast.

  At home, she was always the first one to leave in the morning. As a treat, she thought she’d pamper Gil and take him his coffee today. As she started to leave the kitchen and enter the living room, she was so startled that she cried out and dropped the mug, which struck the kitchen floor and shattered.

  “Stand very still,” the woman said, pointing the gun at Claire’s head.

  Gil heard the commotion and shot out of bed. No matter how soundly he always slept, if someone—his kids when he was younger, and now Claire—shouted or called out, he woke immediately. He didn’t know what was going on, but he hit the floor running and didn’t stop until he got to the living room. When he saw Graciella Sanchez standing there with a gun, he jerked to a stop.

  At least he thought it was Graciella. The woman glaring at him was a much harder-looking version of the woman he’d last seen all those years ago in Omaha. Her hair was chopped short, her cheekbones seemed much more pronounced, and her eyes were dull.

  “Graciella?” he said.

  “Ah, bueno, you remember me, Mr. Hunt. I am very flattered.”

  Gil was acutely aware of the fact that her gun was not pointed at him, but at Claire, who was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, shoulders hunched. Her body language told him she was afraid, but her eyes were defiant.

  “Wha—what the hell—” Gil stammered, not yet fully awake.

  “I’ll give you a moment to get your bearings. So sorry to have spoiled your beauty sleep.” Graciella gestured with the gun. “This is probably a great shock.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  “I frightened you, Mrs. Hunt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I wanted you to know how it feels to be helpless,” she said. “When the police took me away, I told you that you would regret what you did to me. And I meant it.”

  Gil noticed she held the gun with much more confidence than she had years ago.

  “Graciella, listen—”

  “There will be time to talk later,” she said, cutting him off. “Mr. Hunt, please go now and unlock the front door. Your pretty wife wasn’t so kind as to open it for me like she did the other one.”

  “You were outside on the deck? Waiting to get in?” Claire asked, even more frightened.

  “I thought you’d never go back inside.” Graciella snickered. “But I could have gotten in without your help. I’ve learned a lot of important things in prison. A great many. Now, please, the front door.”

  “Graciella, take that gun off my wife. Point it at me, if it makes you feel safer,” Gil said.

  “No, no,” the woman said. “I’m pointing it exactly where I want to. Now don’t make me tell you again. Open the door!”

  Gil had to cross between Graciella and Claire. Briefly, he considered rushing her and trying to wrestle the gun away, but that would force the issue and someone would definitely get hurt. He reached the front door and opened it.

  “Wendell? What are you doing here?”

  Before Wendell could reply, Graciella shouted, “Come back to the center of the room. Wendell, mi vida, close the door and be sure to lock it behind you.”

  Gil looked at Wendell and the big man shrugged helplessly. He didn’t have a gun, and it seemed that somehow he had grown even larger over the years. Studying Wendell, Gil knew he had no chance of overpowering him. He turned and walked back to the living room, his mind racing, looking for a way out.

  Chapter 54

  “Get over there and stand by your wife,” Graciella ordered. Gil could feel her seething anger rippling toward him across the room.

  Claire had moved and now stood in the living room, her back to the open sliding doors leading to the deck.

  “I suppose you’re wondering why we came to visit you so unexpectedly?” she asked them.

  “I think I can guess,” Gil said. “Graciella—”

  “You will not speak to me, Mr. Hunt!” she snapped. “I have spent eight years waiting for this moment, planning how I would pay you both back for what you did to me.”

  “But we didn’t do anything,” Claire said. “We had no idea the police were following us that day.”

  “Ah, good,” Graciella said, “then you remember what you did.”

  “Neither one of us has been able to forget that day, Grace,” Gil said.

  “But you went on with your lives, no? You got married. You know, I looked for my wedding invitation, but it never came.” She grinned, her hand still holding the gun to Claire’s head. “No matter, ’cause I didn’t have a thing to wear.”

  “We tried to see you after you were arrested,” Claire said.

  “We called Detective Donovan, but he wouldn’t talk to us,” Gil added.

  Donovan had turned out to be a real piece of work. He had used Gil, followed him that last day, and then, after taking Graciella in, dropped off the face of the earth. All the news they could get came from newspapers and TV reports. Even Wendell wouldn’t have anything to do with them.

  “We heard your lawyer had to plea-bargain the charge down to manslaughter.”

  “He told me,” she said, “that they would not convict me if I said it was an accident. Accident, my ass. I told that man over and over that I never killed no one. But he wouldn’t listen to me—none of them would. I didn’t know what to do, so I agreed—and those fuckers sent me away for ten years.”

  “But, you’re out—”

  “Eight years,” she said, “good behavior. Once I learned how to play the game in prison, I became very well behaved. I also became very well educated. And look at me now,” she said with pride. “I am not meek, I am not frightened, and I do not depend on men. I make my own decisions.”

  “Like this one?” Gil asked. “Coming here, threatening us with a gun? This is what you decided?”

  “This is what I have planned for years,” she said. “I’ve seen it in my mind over and over again. I’m not here just to threaten you. Don’t you get it? I’m here to kill the two of you miserable liars.”

  “Wendell,” Gil said, “you can’t be going along with this.”

  “Gracie,” Wendell said, “you can’t just . . . shoot them in cold blood. This isn’t what we talked about doin’.”

  “‘We’? This is what I need to do, Wendell,” she said, “and that’s all that matters.”

  “But—”

  “Shut up!”

  Wendell shrank back from her biting tone, taking on the attitude of a whipped dog. Gil had known back in Omaha that Graciella was the dominant personality in their relationship, but now that she had obviously changed, she was not just dominant but overpowering, too. No, he and Claire weren’t going to be getting any help from Wendell.

  Gil got a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach as he thought of Graciella hurting Claire, and standing next to him, Claire was having the same thoughts. Like people in love are wont to do in a crisis, they were thinking only of each other, not themselves.

  Gil looked at Graciella and Wendell, remembering how Reagan had commented the night before that their story had actually been two love stories. It was obvious now one of those stories would not have a happy ending. If Graciella had ever loved Wendell, it was glaringly obvious that she no longer did. She only needed him to help get her revenge. Maybe, just maybe, Gil could get this across to Wendell. It was the only thing he could think to do, unless Claire chimed in with a better idea.

  “Wendell,” Gil said, “man, this is not right and you know it. We tried helping you, but we were victimized by Donovan and the police just like—”

  “Me!” Graciella screamed. A vein along her neck bulged and her face reddened. “How dare you compare your discomfort to my suffering! Did you and your precious wife go to jail? Did you spend night after night hoping for a miracle,
praying that somehow the truth would show itself and you’d get to go home?” She looked at Claire. “Have you changed as much as I have in the past eight years, Mrs. Hunt? Have you been forced to become less than human?”

  “Grac—” Claire began.

  “No.” For the first time, her grip wavered and the gun moved back and forth between Gil and Claire. “No more words. The only decision I have to make now is which of you I will shoot first.”

  “Me,” Gil said, mentally trying to send Claire a message to run when Graciella turned the gun on him.

  “Wendell,” Claire said, her eyes pleading with the big man, “you can’t let her do this. Please.” She didn’t want to give either one of them the satisfaction of seeing her cry, but she couldn’t hold back a sob caught in her throat. “You can’t let her hurt Gil; he was only kind to you.”

  Gil looked at Wendell, who stood with his shoulders slumped, a mournful look on his face.

  “Gracie, baby . . .”

  “I told you to shut up, Wendell.”

  “I can’t. I’ve done everything you asked me to. I waited for you. I loved you all these years. I kept track of Mr. and Mrs. Hunt here. I found out where they’d be on the day you got out, and then I picked you up and brought you here to talk to them. That’s what you said, that you wanted to talk to them. But I didn’t bring you here to kill them. No way.”

  “Then you’re stupider than I told all my friends you were,” Graciella said. “What did you really think I wanted to do? Slap their little pasty wrists and say, ‘Shame on you bad people for sending me to prison’? Do you think an apology is good enough?”

  “Gracie, listen—”

  “You’re stupid and useless, Wendell.”

  Claire saw Wendell flinch, as if his precious Gracie had physically struck him.

  “When I finish with them, I’m finished with you.”

  “But you’ll be on the run,” Wendell said, obviously still concerned with her welfare.

  “I’ve made my plans, plans that do not include you.”

  Wendell’s chin fell onto his chest, and both Gil and Claire felt that their last chance—their only chance—had passed.

  “Gracie—” Gil said.

  “Basta! Enough! It’s time to get this done, and since you were the main offender, Mr. Hunt, your wife will feel the first bullet.”

  “No!” Gil shouted, leaping in front of Claire.

  “Gracie, no!” Wendell yelled, and jumped for Graciella.

  The big man slammed into the woman, knocking her to the floor. She maintained her hold on the automatic in her hand and, cursing Wendell out, struck at him with it.

  Gil turned quickly, taking advantage of the moment. He tackled Claire and pulled her out onto the deck, where they struck the rail together and went over.

  Chapter 55

  The drop onto the dirt forced air from Gil’s lungs, but he turned

  quickly to look for Claire and see if she was all right.

  “Gil!” she called.

  They grabbed each other. Gil had landed hard on his shoulder and now felt something warm running down his face.

  “You’re bleeding,” she said, touching his head.

  “How are you?” he managed to croak.

  “I banged my hip and elbow, but I’m okay.”

  “Come on,” he urged. “We have to run.”

  “But—” Claire began, only to be cut off by a horrible scream. From the sound of it, Graciella’s rage was being released not only at the couple but at Wendell, as well.

  “Come on!” He dragged her to her feet and they started running.

  Claire was still in her robe and slippers, which made it difficult to run over the rocky terrain, but Gil was in worse shape. Dressed only in lightweight pajamas, his feet were bare. The rocks had already cut into his soles several times.

  But they kept running.

  Graciella came out onto the deck and fired several shots at them.

  They had no idea where they were running to, and Gil finally halted their progress to take stock. They could hear boats out on Table Rock Lake but couldn’t see anyone from where they hid.

  “Listen, there are people not far from here. We have to make it to the main lodge or the marina,” he said.

  “Gil, she’s crazy.” Graciella was still screaming as she tried to find them. “Maybe she’ll run out of bullets.”

  “I doubt it. That’s an automatic she’s got. It could have as many as eighteen bullets in it. And she might have another clip with her.”

  He looked down then and saw his bloody footprints, and he suddenly became aware that in spite of the pain, his condition could work to their advantage.

  “Let’s split up,” he said.

  “What?” Are you crazy?”

  “One of us will make it and get help. The trails are marked well. Just keep heading for the lodge.”

  Claire looked at the ground and realized what he was planning. “Jesus, your poor feet. You’re leaving a trail; she’ll be able to follow you.”

  “Right, and if we’re together, she’ll be following both of us. You have to—”

  “Oh no,” she said, “you’re not getting rid of me, not after only seven years. We’re staying together.”

  “Claire, honey—”

  “Together!” she said, grabbing his arm. “Now let’s go. She’s getting closer.”

  They started running again. All the while, Graciella screamed their names and fired shots into the trees around them. Gil feared for Wendell’s safety as well as their own. The big man had saved their lives, but at what price?

  It was becoming increasingly difficult for Gil to keep going with his feet so badly cut. “Wait, wait,” he finally said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Sweetie, I just can’t keep up. You have to go on without me.”

  “Here, take my slippers,” Claire said desperately.

  “They won’t fit. And then we’ll both be banged up.”

  “Take off your shirt,” she said. “We’ll tear it and wrap your feet.”

  He took her tear-stained face in his hands and thought she had never looked more beautiful. “Please, just go get help.”

  “I can’t . . . I just can’t. Gil, don’t ask me to leave—”

  Then they heard a scream.

  And a single shot.

  Then silence.

  They waited, listening for her crazed screaming to start up again. But it didn’t.

  “What happened?” Claire asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  They continued waiting.

  “Do you think she stopped?”

  “She must have,” he replied, “but why?”

  They were both crouched down, and now they sat on the ground. They were sweaty, grimy, and bloody, but grateful for the chance to catch their breath.

  And then another scream, but this one anguished, and it came from a man.

  Chapter 56

  In the ensuing silence, they took time to tear Gil’s pajama top into strips and wrap his feet.

  “Can you walk?” Claire asked.

  “I’ll have to. Try to find me something to use, a big branch—”

  “Just lean on me,” she said.

  They started making their way back. The closer they got to the cabin, the louder the sound of sobbing became.

  “I wonder what happened,” Claire said. “Graciella wouldn’t just stop chasing us.”

  “Maybe we’re crazy to be going back the way we came.”

  But they continued, not knowing where else to go, and finally the sobbing became loud enough for them to pinpoint its origin. When they reached the source, they found Wendell at the base of a steep hill, sitting on the ground, holding Graciella in his arms.

  “Oh God,” Claire said.

  They staggered down the hill, coming to a standstill, then dropping to the ground themselves.

  Graciella was covered in blood. The gun lay next to her.

  “Oh my God, Wendell. What
happened?” Gil asked.

  “My poor baby. My sweet, sweet girl,” the big man said over and over as he rocked her.

  “I’ll go call for a doctor,” Claire said. She was turning to run back to the cabin, when Wendell spoke.

  “No need. She’s gone.”

  “How?” they asked in unison.

  “She came to the top of this hill. I was chasin’ her, shoutin’ for her to stop. She didn’t figure on it bein’ so steep, and she fell.”

  “And the gun went off?” Gil asked. “Is that what happened, Wendell?”

  The man just shook his head.

  “Claire,” Gil said, keeping his voice low, “get the gun.”

  Warily, Claire moved closer to Wendell and Graciella, reaching for the weapon. But she needn’t have been so careful. Wendell was oblivious to everything around him except for the dead woman in his arms. Claire grabbed the gun and crawled back to Gil.

  They sat with Wendell for several minutes. He fell silent after a while. The three of them were so quiet, they could hear the birds in the trees and horses far off in the stables.

  “Wendell,” Gil said, but the big man did not look up. “Wendell, did she do it? Did she kill Robin Westerly?”

  Finally, he looked up at them, his face streaked with tears and dirt. Just as she had been chasing them, he had obviously been running after her. There was a long gash across his bald head, where she must have struck him with the gun.

  “No,” he said. “She didn’t kill him.”

  Despite the fact that they both had been put through hell that morning, they felt sorry for him . . . and for Graciella. Donovan had screwed her over by taking the easy way out. He had used Gil and Claire as the bait to put her under arrest. She’d taken the advice of her lawyer and ended up in jail. And because of her past, she was unable to return the love of the only person who treated her well.

  “Wendell,” Gil said, “I’m sorry.”

  With his big hand, Wendell reached into one of Graciella’s pockets, removed something, and tossed it to Gil. It struck Gil in the chest, then fell into his lap. It was a pin in the shape of a blue fedora.