“You found it too late.” He tipped over a ceramic vase, sending it tumbling to the carpet, where it rolled to his feet. He stepped on it, cracking it, then peered inside. “What a shame to ruin these nice things. You could simply give me the brooch, Ms. Knight.”
“How about if you answer my questions first, such as why a smart thief would hire bunglers like Bebe and Hudge?”
“I see you prefer to draw this out. Very well. We’ll play it your way.” His gaze swept the room. How long before he found my purse? “I didn’t hire the, as you called them, bunglers.” Kana moved around the room, looking under objects, pushing aside drapes. “My error was in trusting someone else to do a job for which he wasn’t qualified.”
Kana swept a potted orchid and two mirrored picture frames to the floor. “Fortunately, I do learn from my mistakes.”
From the corner of my eye, I could see Dad slowly moving his wheelchair backward, in the direction of my mom’s antique writing desk in the corner, beyond the sofa. It was a rolltop desk and the top was shut. Inside were tiny cubbyholes where Mom kept bills and miscellaneous items. The desk had a secret compartment. Was that where Dad kept his service revolver?
Trying not to sound as anxious as I felt, I said, “You’re referring to Tom Harding?”
Kana was eyeing my coat. “Mr. Harding was a disappointment.”
I moved to block his view. “Your plan was that Harding was supposed to receive the brooch and turn it over to you, right? Except that it went to me instead. So Harding hired Hudge and Bebe to get it back. And when they screwed that up for the third time, you killed one of them, then beat up Harding and left him to die.”
Kana held out his palms. “Beat him and dirty my hands? No, Ms. Knight, I prefer something cleaner.” He reached inside his suit coat and seconds later was holding his knife. His eyes glimmered with excitement as he ran the tip along the padded armrest of the crutch, watching my face as the rubber cushion split in half.
“You know Harding is alive, right?” I asked in a trembling voice.
Kana paused, his gaze registering a tiny flicker of doubt. Then, apparently finished with his demonstration, he folded the knife, slipped it back inside his pocket, and used the crutch to move me aside. Without saying a word, he hooked the crutch under my coat and pulled it toward him, dragging my purse with it. As he lifted the coat into the air, my purse fell to the floor. I flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Did Harding’s girlfriend leave the country because she thought you were coming after her next?” I asked, pressing on, as he pulled my cell phone from the coat pocket. “You know she flew to France, right? The authorities are tracking her down right now. She should have an interesting tale to tell them about you.”
“Ms. Haven is no longer a threat,” Kana said. He tossed the phone through the kitchen doorway, then dropped the crutch and began to pat down my coat, as though it had hidden compartments. My purse would be next.
With a racing heart, I used my shoe to move my purse closer to the sofa, hoping I could slide it underneath. “Just out of curiosity, would you mind telling me how you managed to get a weapon inside the county jail and stab Hudge in a room full of witnesses?”
“There were so many people in uniforms, no one noticed one more, nor do metal detectors register anything
My heart stopped as he leaned over to pick up my purse.
Suddenly, his attention was drawn to Dad. “Stop!” he cried, leaping over the end of the coffee table. He grabbed the handles on the back of the wheelchair and yanked Dad away from the writing desk. He reached inside and withdrew my mom’s old cell phone. “Did you think I wouldn’t see you?” he cried in a rage.
Dad pressed his mouth into a tight line.
Kana dropped the phone onto the carpet and ground his heel on it. “There! Pick it up if you want it, you old fool.” When Dad didn’t move, Kana kicked his chair. “I said pick it up!”
My heart was pounding so hard I felt faint, but I forced myself to say, “We don’t need a phone. The police know you’re here-my boyfriend alerted them. That’s why I’ve been stalling, Mr. Kana, so unless you want to be caught, you’d better forget the brooch and leave immediately.”
“Your boyfriend, Ms. Knight, has had a serious accident. I doubt he was able to tell the police anything.”
Oh, my God. Marco was in an accident. I stared at Kana in horror. He was watching me now, enjoying the shock that was surely written on my face, so I wasn’t about to ask him for details, but not knowing Marco’s condition was tearing me to pieces. Was that why Reilly had called? To tell me about the accident?
“He’s a liar,” Dad murmured. “Don’t believe him.”
“What did you say?” Kana demanded.
“I said you’re a liar,” Dad said more forcefully. “A liar and a coward who gets his kicks out of intimidating people he thinks are weaker than he is.”
“A
“Please,” I cried, “put the knife down, Mr. Kana. He didn’t mean it.” But Dad kept goading, as though Kana’s threat meant nothing to him.
“I’ve seen too many punks like you, Kana,” he said through compressed lips. “I-” Suddenly, Dad’s eyes grew huge and he gave a loud gasp. Kana jerked the knife away from his chin as Dad began to struggle for breath.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” I cried.
His face turned red, his eyes rolled back, and his head started to fall forward. He caught himself and snapped upright again. Was he having a stroke?
“What is he doing?” Kana asked sharply, stepping back.
“Sugar… low.” Dad gulped for air, as though he was about to pass out; then his eyelids fluttered and his head fell forward again.
Sugar low? What was he talking about?
Dad’s head jerked up, and he struggled to open his eyes. He gasped several times, then said in a raspy voice, “Forgot… to take… insulin.”
“You forgot your insulin?” I repeated in bewilderment. But he wasn’t diabetic. He couldn’t be thinking clearly. Or had he not told me he had diabetes?
I started toward him only to have Kana jab the knife at me. “Sit down! Over there!”
I watched from the far end of the sofa as Dad made a weak effort to point to the glass jar. “Candy.” His eyes closed, his mouth sagged open, and his head dropped forward. Drool leaked from his mouth.
Closing his knife and tucking it in his pocket, Kana lifted the glass jar and held it out in front of Dad. “Is this what you want?”
Dad roused himself and tried to stretch out his hand. “Candy. Hurry.”
Kana shook the jar. “Are you sure?”
Dad’s jaw was slack, his breathing more labored. “Please,” he whispered.
“Then come get them,” Kana taunted. He glanced behind him so he wouldn’t trip on the books, and in that split second, Dad cast me a look that explained everything. There wasn’t anything wrong with him. He had a plan!
“Come on, old man. Here they are,” Kana coaxed, shaking the jar.
Dad winced convincingly as he attempted to grip the wheels to move the chair forward.
“Not in your chair,” Kana sneered. “Get up! On your feet. What kind of a big man are you that you can’t get up and come get them?”
As Dad slumped over, I said, “Please, Mr. Kana. My dad’s about to go into diabetic shock. He could die unless he gets sugar into his system. You don’t want another murder on your hands, do you?”
“Hey, old man.” Kana jostled the wheelchair with his foot until Dad dragged his head up. “Pay attention.” Then Kana removed the lid, dug out a handful of hearts, and displayed them in his palm. “Are you willing to beg for these to save your life?”
Dad murmured something, his head sagging. I held my breath as Kana moved up close, until he was inches from Dad’s face. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”
“Please,” Dad rasped, “I beg you.”
“That’s more like it.” Kana held out his hand, offering him the candy.
I bit my lip as Dad lifted a trembling hand. What if he were forced to swallow them?
With a smug grin, Kana withdrew the candy. “Perhaps… I should eat them instead.” He tilted his head back
