Death with a Dark Red Rose

by Julia Buckley

  Grange’s sad expression was more frightening than anger would have been. He seemed resigned to the idea of killing us. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take a loss, Phil. Once I lock you all in here, we’re going to suffer an accident. The good news is that we’re insured. The bad news is that it will take some lives.”

  Belinda gasped; her green eyes filled with tears. That made me angry. I looked at Camilla, who was calmer than anyone else in the room. I frowned, sending her a question, and she nodded at me. Her look held some reassurance.

  Grange bent to pick up Doug’s gun, his eyes scanning all of us. He turned to Belinda. “Go and get everyone’s phone and bring them all back here.”

  Belinda stood and moved shakily across the room, and one by one we handed her our cell phones. She brought them back to Grange, who had pocketed Doug’s gun.

  “Why did you kill your wife?” I asked.

  Grange looked at me with mournful eyes. “Carmen was a good woman. Too good for me, and too good to keep my secrets.”

  Camilla, her eyes flashing, opened her mouth to speak, and Adam sent her a quelling look.

  Grange, still aiming his own gun at Belinda, who in turn still held all of the phones, said, “You go first.” He pointed at the hall. Belinda sent one regretful look toward Doug before she went out into the dim corridor. Grange backed out of the room. “I’m sorry,” he said again, as he shut the door. We could hear something sliding into place.

  “What sort of accident is he planning?” Doug asked Enderby.

  Enderby shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anything he can do with the machines—they all have fail-safes in case of danger. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking.”

  An image of Grange in the store came to me: the clerk telling him he had too much kerosene. “A fire,” I said.

  All eyes in the room went to me. “What?” Doug asked.

  “I saw him once at Sullivan’s. I didn’t know who he was, but he was buying a gallon of kerosene. He said he was going camping.”

  Adam stared Enderby down. “Is he likely to start a fire?”

  Enderby shrugged, clearly in shock.

  Camilla said, “Lena’s information makes it sound like he was going to start a fire anyway. He says he’s insured for it. He was buying supplies. His company must be in trouble. Burning us down with it is probably something he didn’t plan until today. Until Lena figured out that he was a murderer.” Her voice shook slightly, and Adam slid an arm around her waist.

  Doug’s eyes darkened with intensity. “Why does the door lock from the hall side?”

  Enderby shook his head with a helpless expression. “It doesn’t. He must have brought something.”

  “Then we can break it down,” Sam said. He lunged forward and slammed into the door; nothing happened. “Oh wow, that is solid,” Sam said. He turned back toward us. “Any other ideas, before this psychopath burns us alive?”

  Doug looked at Adam. “You didn’t happen to bring your gun?”

  Adam was mournful. “Camilla dissuaded me.”

  Camilla stepped forward, holding out her purse. “But then I changed my mind,” she said. “I decided to trust my husband’s instincts.” She handed the purse to Doug, who rummaged inside and retrieved Adam’s gun.

  “Thank you, Milla!” Doug said. “Bullets?”

  “There’s a box in there,” she said.

  Adam took her hand in a grateful gesture.

  Doug was busy with the gun. Then he said, “Everyone step back and cover your ears.” He aimed at the lock beneath the doorknob, firing once, twice. Then he tried the knob; the resistance seemed to be higher up on the door, so Doug shot there, once, twice. The door splintered and Doug kicked it open. He turned to us. “This hall is dark, and he has a gun. We can’t all go rushing out, or he could pick us off one by one. But I don’t want us to stay in here long, either, not if he’s planning to start a fire. Let me go down this hall; if I call out to you, you can come as far as the main hallway.”

  Phil raised his hand. “If he plans to start a fire, he’ll probably do it on the factory floor so that he can say one of the machines malfunctioned. We had a problem with one of them last week—he’ll do it there.”

  “Where’s the machine?” Doug asked.

  Phil went to a window overlooking the factory floor and pointed to the south corner.

  Doug nodded. “Stay here for a minute.”

  We stared after him for a blank moment; not all of the evening’s events had sunk in.

  Adam stepped forward, his face calm. “Let’s get organized,” he said. “We’ll want to travel together and keep track of one another. No one gets left behind. Not to sound like a camp counselor, but everyone needs to find a buddy.”

  Sam took my hand, and Adam took Camilla’s. Phil Enderby looked at me and said, “You two can follow me; I know my way around this place.” He had managed to summon some courage; his chin lifted and he stood up behind the desk. “All right. We can do this. I still can’t believe Ed would actually—”

  We heard a gunshot ring out, and I moaned. We ran to the door, and Adam called softly down the hall. “Doug?”

  We waited a tense moment but heard nothing. Had Doug been shooting? Had Grange shot Belinda? The second possibility had me feeling faint with horror.

  Adam said, “Doug or Belinda might need us. We have to go.”

  Slowly, the five of us moved into the shadowy hall. Enderby walked in front; he led us to the end of the hall, then turned right.

  Camilla whispered, “Phil, how many staircases are there?”

  “Two,” Phil said. “One down there, by the conference room, and up here where you came in, near the elevator. That’s where we need to go; I think Ed would have taken the other one.”

  “Why didn’t Doug call to us?” I said. “I have a very bad feeling.”

  Sam held my hand. “Likely Doug didn’t want to expose his location. There’s safety in numbers. I’m guessing Grange won’t harm any of us. Because if even one of us got away, he would go down.”

  “Or he’ll want to harm all of us for the reason you just said.” When I heard my own grim voice in the dark hall it generated a burst of fear.

  Enderby said, “I’m sending the elevator down. That will signal that we’re already free and at large in the building. It should intimidate him.”

  “But it will also tell him our location. Do we want him to know?” Adam asked.

  We contemplated this; on the lower floor another gunshot rang out. A gray, dismal feeling grew inside me. I said, “Where are the phones in this place? We can call for help!”

  Enderby shook his head. “I tried the one on my desk; it was dead. He must have cut the line. I think he’s actually insane. This is nothing like the Ed I know.”

  Adam said, “I’m going down the stairs. We need to know who’s shooting and if anyone is hurt. Let me go first.” He darted through the stairway door before any of us could protest. Camilla stood looking after him, her face pained.

  “Someone should go down the other stairway,” I said. “We should divide and conquer. Sam?”

  “I’m with you,” he said.

  “Camilla, Phil, you follow Adam in a few minutes. He should be able to fill you in when you reach the bottom of the stairway.”

  Just as Sam and I were about to turn away, we heard a lurching, humming sound. The elevator was on, and coming up. “What do we do?” Phil yelled.

  “Stand on either side of the door, out of sight,” Camilla said, flattening herself against the wall. “If he steps out, we have time to jump on him and knock his gun out of his hand.”

  With little time to think, we did as she said. The rising elevator made a terrifying sound, and we shared a living nightmare in the dark hall, waiting for the opening of the doors that might bring Grange back into our midst.

  I stared d
own the dark, shadowy hallway of the mammoth building, a hall as silent as a crypt, and hoped that it wouldn’t become our tomb.

  The elevator stopped. Sam’s hand gripped mine. The doors opened; for a moment nothing happened. Then Adam’s voice said, “Don’t be afraid; it’s me. I’ve got Belinda, and she’s hurt.”

  We swarmed the elevator, relieved and eager to help. Belinda leaned against Adam, who was holding on to her arm; it was dripping blood. We helped them out onto the floor, and the elevator doors closed behind them.

  “I ran away from him,” she said. “I know he would have killed me soon, because I wasn’t locked up like the rest of you. I threw the phones in his face and ran. He shot me.” Her eyes were wide with shock.

  I took off my sweater and said, “Camilla, Sam, help me.” We tore the light garment into strips and began winding them around Belinda’s arm. She winced but submitted bravely to our ministrations. “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “This was my brilliant idea,” Belinda said, her teeth chattering. “To come here.” She giggled weirdly, clearly in shock.

  “They targeted you,” I said. “They somehow traced your e-mail to you and realized they could use it to their advantage.”

  “What was the other gunshot?” Sam asked.

  Adam said, “I think Doug has him cornered. At least I hope so. I didn’t get far before I found Belinda.”

  Phil had gone into an office and brought out a swivel chair; he helped Belinda lower herself into it. She was shaking but managed a brave smile. I had a sudden image of her coming around the corner at the cabin in Michigan, blond and pretty, holding a bouquet of leaves. And of Doug spinning her around, laughing up into her face.

  “We need to make a plan,” Adam said. “We need to get back downstairs.”

  Belinda shook her head. A piece of her blond hair, damp with sweat, was matted against her face. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the chair. “We can wait here. Just wait it out.”

  “Wait what out?” Camilla said, smoothing the lock of hair away from Belinda’s face.

  Belinda opened her eyes and looked at me. “Before I threw the phones at Grange, I dialed 911. I had the volume down, but I’m sure it went through.”

  “Oh thank God,” Enderby said. “I just want to go home and never come back here.”

  “We can’t wait. We have to go down,” Adam said.

  “Why?” Camilla asked him.

  “Because I smell smoke.”

  24

  She was free of the house. She had no plan but to run, to put distance between herself and the place that had been her prison. On the dark path that led to the road, she saw a silhouette moving rapidly toward her: a large, hulking, fast-moving body that would in moments collide with hers.

  —From Danger at Debenham Station, a work in progress

  ADAM WASN’T WRONG; a moment later the scent of smoke, thick and terrifying, carried to all of us. Enderby said, “Let me run down the stairs and see where he set it. I’ll come back.”

  He disappeared into the stairwell.

  Sam said, “I’m not sure that we can trust that man.”

  Camilla tucked against Adam’s side. “There’s always the chance that he will find nobility in a moment of crisis.”

  We all stared at one another, wrapped around Belinda in a protective circle. Our mouths moved when we talked, but the scene was dulled into a dreamlike reality, as though we were inhabiting the bodies of others to whom this was happening. And was it my imagination that the air was growing denser, foggier, around us?

  Enderby came bursting back through the door. “We can’t get through down there. We’ll have to use the other stairway, and we need to run. I don’t know how many fires he’s starting.”

  We moved rapidly down the dark hallway, pushing Belinda’s chair while she cradled her arm. I reached out and touched her good shoulder, wanting to give comfort. A loud crack sounded from the lower floor. “Was that a gunshot?” Sam asked.

  Another crack, and another. A battle was going on below us; we would be walking through the smoke into the unknown.

  There was a surreal silence in the hall as we moved toward our last option for escape. An occasional squeak from Belinda’s chair was the only sound that penetrated the darkness, the only thing that broke through the tension and fear.

  We reached the stairway next to the conference room. “Buddy up,” Adam said. “I’ve got Camilla.”

  “Sam, help Belinda,” I said. “I’ll be with Phil.”

  Phil Enderby took my hand in a fierce grip. His hand was warm and, despite everything, comforting. Sam lifted Belinda carefully and held her against his chest. She wrapped her right arm around his neck and held on.

  We all moved into the stairwell and made our careful way down the stairs, first to the landing, then to the floor. We could smell smoke more strongly now, but it didn’t seem to be seeping under the door.

  Phil edged forward. “To the right is the exit door. I think Sam should go first, with Belinda, once we determine whether anyone is by the door. I’m assuming your friend Doug has things under control.”

  Camilla nodded. “I think we can count on Doug. We’ll be right behind you, Sam.”

  Sam looked at me, and I nodded. Belinda was pale, and I feared she might faint. She slumped against Sam. “Okay. Someone open the door,” he said.

  Adam lunged forward and slung open the door; no intruders bulged out of the smoky room, but we also couldn’t see beyond the small area outside the door. A fire alarm was beeping insistently on the factory floor; it was jarring and disorienting. Sam and Belinda disappeared, plunging into the fog of the room.

  Camilla took Adam’s hand. “Lena, follow us,” she said.

  “Right behind you,” I told her. She and Adam disappeared as well.

  I turned to Phil Enderby and studied his sweaty face.

  “I feel like we should check on your cop friend,” he said. “Do we dare?”

  “I think we should, yes,” I said. I hadn’t wanted to tell the group, but I’d been concerned about the gunshots, and about the fact that Belinda hadn’t seen Doug on the factory level.

  We stepped out of the stairwell and I said, “Doug?”

  There was no answer. I turned to Enderby, and he frowned.

  He pointed toward the exit wall. “I suppose we should—” He spun completely around at the same time that I heard another shot ring out, and then he was on the ground.

  “Oh my God. Phil? Phil, are you okay?” I knelt beside him, my eyes stinging with smoke, trying to determine whether he was alive. “Phil?” I whispered, fearing whatever evil presence lurked within shooting range.

  Phil was not conscious; I found his wrist and thought I detected warmth, and a pulse, but I didn’t know what to do. If I left him here, he would die of smoke inhalation or worse. And where was Doug?

  Blinking away tears, I grabbed Phil’s hands and began to drag him toward the exit, but it was slow going, and I was finding it harder and harder to breathe. I heard Sam’s voice calling to me, and farther away, Camilla’s. The high pitch of her cries was blending weirdly with the fire alarm.

  “Stay where you are!” I shouted to them. I jumped up, trying to catch a glimpse of the door, and the next moment Ed Grange loomed out of the smoke like a demon, half of his face covered in blood.

  “Well, hello,” he said, raising his gun and pointing it at me.

  My scream was choked out by smoke and a dry throat, and I braced myself for the impact, the pain, as a shot sounded, but Grange winced, then buckled, as though he had turned to water, and then he pitched forward and fell on his face a few feet from Phil Enderby.

  “Oh God,” I croaked. “Doug?”

  Doug appeared then, alive but gray and sick-looking. “Lena! Is everyone all right?”

  “Belinda’s shot in the arm. Sam got
her out.”

  “Dammit.” He coughed and wiped at his eyes.

  “We have to get Phil out of here.”

  He dove in and grabbed Phil’s right arm. “Yes. I’ll pull this arm. You pull—” Then Doug dropped to his knees, his eyes wide. “Lena—the smoke—”

  Yes. It had swirled around us, hot and toxic, and the short distance to the door seemed too much now; I couldn’t even call to my friends, who were probably not twenty feet away. I thought I heard sirens, voices, but they were too far now, distant in time and space and consciousness . . .

  I reached for Doug’s hand but missed and toppled forward, worrying that the cement floor would feel hard but then feeling nothing at all . . .

  25

  His hand was warm in hers. “It will be all right,” he said as he led her to the train that would take them both home; and despite everything that had occurred before this moment, she believed him.

  —From Danger at Debenham Station, a work in progress

  FOR A FOGGY time, I was not aware; I gradually became conscious of sounds, which became voices, which shouted my name. “Lena? Can you hear me? Lena?”

  I opened my eyes, hot and stinging, and at first I could see nothing. “I’m blind,” I said, panic-stricken. Then a liquid feeling on my eyes, and something cool pressed onto my eyelids. A time in shock, when I was conscious of hands lifting me, moving me, but not really engaging with those around me.

  Later, someone said, “Lena?”

  I opened my eyes, and this time I saw light and shapes. “Who’s there?” I said, stiffening defensively.

  A face appeared above mine. Cliff, concerned and rumpled. “Hey, kid.”

  “Where am I?”

  “In the hospital. You slept all night, like a little princess. I’m keeping watch over you while they tend to the other cases. Good thing they had a light load last night, because we brought three gunshot wounds and multiple smoke inhalation cases, then some minor trauma victims—that’s your whole Scooby-Doo gang.”