Murder Is Binding

'It'll wear down the battery. Besides, if you can't see you're in a closet, you can't be claustrophobic.'

'Do you have to keep reminding me!'

'Shhh!'

Footsteps creaked along the hardwood floor, paused. Tricia thought about Angelica's perfume. Could Mike have caught the scent?

Panic started to grow within her as the seconds ticked by and she heard nothing else. Then, the footsteps moved away, probably heading for the living room. Could Mike be searching for them or had he just gone looking for another empty cardboard box?

Angelica began making small squeaking noises again and Tricia pressed a hand over her mouth once more. But the sounds of anguish were also beginning to tear at her soul and she found herself putting her other arm around her sister's shoulder in hopes of comforting her. Hot tears rolled over Tricia's fingers and Angelica began to tremble. 'Not too much longer. You're doing great,' she lied.

To prove her wrong, Angelica's knees went rubbery and she started to slide. Tricia struggled to hold her upright, but ended up on the closet floor beside her. Angelica drew her knees to her chest, crossed her arms over them, and rested her head on her hands, her stifled sobs bringing stinging tears to Tricia's eyes. Never had she inflicted such suffering on another human being, and yet she didn't open the door, didn't dare risk their being found.

The footsteps came closer again, then headed down the hall and faded.

Long minutes passed.

The air in the closet seemed to grow staler. Finally Tricia could stand it no longer and reached for the handle, opening the door a crack. Fresh air rushed in, and Angelica hiccupped.

'Shhh!' But this time Tricia's aim was to soothe, not rebuke.

Time crawled. Except for their breathing, no sounds broke the absolute silence.

Eventually Tricia poked her head around the door, listening.

Nothing.

More minutes passed.

Finally Tricia pulled herself up, muscles stiff from their confinement.

Angelica didn't move.

Tricia slipped out of her loafers, crept down the hall, saw no light coming from beneath the door that led to the kitchen. She padded into the dining room, peeked around at the crack around the door to the kitchen. It was dark, silent, and once again empty.

With more speed than agility, she headed back down the hall.

'It's okay, they're gone. You can come on out,' she called, but still Angelica didn't move.

Tricia stepped back into her shoes, bent down, and fumbled for the flashlight, which was still on the closet floor. She switched it on and trained the light on her sister's inert form. 'Ange. Ange!' She shook her sister's shoulder.

Angelica lifted her head, blinked red-rimmed eyes. 'I think I fell asleep,' she said, her voice tiny.

Tricia helped her to stand, threw her arms around Angelica. 'I owe you big-time, big sister.'

'Can we go now? I think I need a really strong drink.'

'You're not the only one. Come on.'

Linking arms, Tricia steadied Angelica as they made their way back to the kitchen. She pointed the flashlight at the cabinet, which was now devoid of books. 'Looks like Deirdre took the lot.'

'She can have them.'

Tricia ran the flashlight's beam across the kitchen counter. 'Hey, look.' The mortar and pestle hadn't been put away, but the cocoa container was gone.

Angelica upended the bottle of chardonnay, watching as a single drop fell into her empty stemmed glass. 'Got anything else to drink?'

'I think you've had enough,' Tricia said, dipping another slice of baguette into herb-laced olive oil. She closed her eyes, leaned back, and let the bread lay on her tongue, savoring the spices of Tuscany.

On the way back from Grace's house, they'd diverted to Milford and a Shaw's grocery store where, despite being an emotional wreck, Angelica had been only too willing to toss together a grocery basket of comfort foods featuring bread, artesian cheeses, fresh fruit, and a couple of bottles of wine. Returning to Haven't Got a Clue, the sisters settled on the sumptuous sectional in Tricia's living room, with mellow jazz on the CD player, a purring cat, and a desire to totally pig out.

Tricia cut herself another slab of St. Agur, a French blue cheese so buttery and mild it made her think of running away from home to forever milk contented cows in lush mountain meadows. She savored the flavor again, closing her eyes and reveling in it-only to open them again to see Angelica's vacant gaze had wandered out the darkened windows that overlooked Main Street beyond.

'Don't think about it,' Tricia said.

Angelica shook herself, cleared her throat. 'Think about what?'

Tricia didn't have to say. 'I'm so sorry, Ange. I had no idea you had a problem with-' The words hung like a wet blanket at a birthday party.

'How could you? I mean, it's not like we were ever close.' Angelica's eyes grew moist. 'Until maybe… now?'

'What happened with us? Why didn't we ever talk? Why couldn't we ever be close?'

Angelica sighed. 'I was five when you were born. That's a lifetime to a little girl. I was the star, the loved one. The sun rose and set on me, and then you came along-an intruder, something to tear Mother's and Daddy's love from me.'

'But I didn't.'

'Of course you didn't. I told you, I was the star. And you were this little mousy thing only too happy to stand in my shadow.'

Tricia bit her tongue, struggling to hold on to the warm feelings she'd experienced toward her sister, afraid it had all been for nothing.

'Too bad Mother and Daddy didn't just smack my bottom and tell me to get over it. Think of the years we've wasted.' She held up her glass, with only a drop or two of wine at its bottom.

'Where did your claustrophobia come from?'

Angelica sighed. 'I was locked in a closet when you'd just started to walk.'

Tricia's stomach roiled. 'I couldn't have locked you in there.'

'Of course you didn't. You were just a baby, fussy and sick that day. I was annoyed you were getting all the attention. So I…kind of…pinched you, made you cry, only I didn't know Grandmother was watching. She threatened to send me to an orphan home. To escape her wrath I fled to Mother's bedroom closet and shut the door-only I couldn't get it open again. They didn't find me for hours and hours, and by then I was a basket case, sure they'd forgotten me and that I'd never be loved again. I've hated small, closed-in spaces ever since. Didn't you ever wonder why I never fly anywhere?'

'I did…' But not very hard, Tricia admitted to herself. 'How can you drive?'

'When I'm behind the wheel, I'm in control. In other situations…let's say I just don't do as well.' She let out a breath. 'There, now it's in the open. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you.'

'I'm sorry to have made you go through it all again tonight.'

Angelica's lower lip sagged. 'Thank you. Let's try not to have a repeat performance.' She sniffed and sank back into the sofa cushions. 'And can we please change the subject? Like what's going on with Mike Harris and Deirdre Gleason?'

Tricia, too, was glad to leave the night's events behind them. 'I still say that Mike had the motive and opportunity to kill Doris.'

'Or do you only believe that now because he's proved himself to be a lying, cheating son?'

Tricia shook her head, wouldn't back down.

'Okay, give me his motive,' Angelica said mechanically, lounging against a stack of pillows.

'Stealing that rare cookbook.'

'Give me the opportunity.'