“I can see that,” I said. I was still at least twenty feet from the hallway.
“So tell me, dear.” She smiled her friendly, Jackie smile. “What tipped you off?”
“When you tried to frame Lauren. It was clever of you to text a message to Linnet’s phone and leave it in her car. You asked Peter to have someone drive the car back to the house, hoping that person would find the cell phone and read the message. But it made me wonder. Why a text? A voice message made more sense, but you couldn’t be sure of anyone hearing it. After all, you probably didn’t even know Linnet’s access code and chances were no one else would figure it out, either. I imagine it was easy to plant the foxglove at Lauren’s house during the funeral reception. But I couldn’t believe that Lauren was the killer. And then I remembered that Lauren is left-handed. The glove you used when you shot Gerald was right-handed. So I asked myself, who hated Lauren enough to frame her? And I thought of you the day of the luncheon. You sat at the table, twisting your earring and telling us of your dislike of Lauren.”
“So?”
“So you have pierced ears. Linnet didn’t. She wore clip-ons, expensive ones. The kind that Jackie would never own.” I held up the diamond clip-on earrings I had taken from Linnet’s jewelry case. “The body I found outside did not have pierced ears. I saw it. It was a smooth ear. There was no hole in it. That’s when I realized the body I found must have been Linnet’s. Was Lauren like Linnet? Is that why you hated her? Because she also married for money and not for love?”
She sneered. “Aren’t you clever today? Yes. I sent the text to Linnet’s cell. Lauren is no better than Linnet and she deserves to rot. And it all worked, too. Aside from you, everyone thinks that Lauren is the murderer and Linnet Westin is nothing more than a beastly snob. I’ll sell this place and move away. And no one will ever be the wiser.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t true,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I already called the police. Detective Stewart and his men should be here any minute.”
She laughed; it had a high-pitched resonance that made my skin crawl. “Oh, come now. You can’t possibly think I believe that.” I knew what she was going to say next. “Your face gives you away every time, my dear.
“Now what am I going to do with you?” she asked pleasantly, as she casually surveyed the room. “I can’t do anything here—I don’t want to risk leaving a trail. I’ll have to move your car and then when it’s dark, I’ll …” I slowly slid my foot toward the door again. She pointed the gun squarely at my chest. With deadly determination, she cocked the hammer. “I don’t think so, my dear. As much as I like you, I didn’t come this far just to get tripped up by a silly girl. Move this way. Downstairs, please. Slowly. And don’t be an idiot.”
Her eyes gleamed like blue steel and the hand that held the gun neither shook nor quivered. My feet backed away from both her and the gun on their own accord, reversing my earlier progress to the door. My mind was in a panic but not so much that I didn’t know my fate was sealed unless I did something, and fast. Jackie hadn’t told me all of this to let me go. She was going to kill me, just like she had killed Gerald and Linnet. Do something, I thought. Don’t just stand there! Move! The only problem was, I didn’t know
Lowering my head, I put my hand on my stomach and sagged against Linnet’s dressing table. “What are you doing?” Jackie asked suspiciously.
“I … I think I’m going to be sick.” I placed my hand on the table for support.
“Well, don’t,” she snapped.
“That’s what I’m working on.” I pawed at the table as though to keep myself upright. My hand snaked toward Linnet’s heavy metal jewelry box. I leaned my body forward, taking deep breaths. With a quick prayer, I grabbed the box and flung it at Jackie’s head.
She saw it coming and jerked backward, but not before the box grazed her. The impact sent a shower of diamond and pearl baubles through the air. “You bitch!” she screamed as she stumbled, clutching her cheek. Taking advantage of her imbalance, I shoved past her and scrambled for the stairs. She lost little time in taking up the chase, and I could hear her close behind me. At the base of the stairs she caught up with me, grabbed my ponytail, and yanked me backward. Her strength surprised me and I inwardly cursed the local senior fitness program. I spun around to strike her, only to have her claw at my eyes and face. Tears blurred my vision and I yelped in pain as I felt one of my earrings ripped out. I balled my hand into a fist and swung at her head, but she was faster, and had the advantage of sight. A blinding flash of light burst behind my eyes as she slammed the gun into my left temple. The floor swam up to me and I knew no more.
When I awoke, my legs and arms were bound with some sort of clothesline and a rag was jammed into my mouth. The left side of my head was on fire and my right leg ached. Frantically, I struggled against the ropes, but to no avail. The gag in my mouth cut my air intake to a mere trickle and my throat spasmodically retched, trying to force it out. Waves of panic overtook me. Then I did what I always do in stressful situations. I started counting.
By the time I hit 325, my breathing had calmed down and my pounding heart no longer sounded like a jackhammer in my ears. I was lying on a smooth cement floor, apparently in the basement. From the way my body felt, Jackie must have sent me tumbling head over ass down the stairs. At first, it seemed pitch-black around me, but slowly my eyes adjusted. A quick inventory wasn’t encouraging. In one corner of the basement there appeared to be a few discarded painting supplies. In the other, white cardboard boxes were precariously stacked on an old kitchen table. Luggage and a dirty mop took up the third corner. The fourth corner was bare except for a few cobwebs and dead flies. Across from me stood a hatchway to the outside, a large metal padlock hanging from the latch.
I decided to start with the boxes—they might contain something sharp that I could use to saw at the ropes. I rolled myself over toward the table, whimpering in pain as my leg dragged with each turn. Finally, I was able to pull myself up to my knees. I was upright, but my head was spinning and my leg was throbbing. The room swayed and I feared I might pass out again, but thankfully everything came back into focus. Straining my eyes, I peered at the boxes on the table. They were sealed and, according to the neat lettering printed on each one, held nothing more than old sheets and towels.
Time for Plan B, I thought, as I dragged myself like a wounded crab in the direction of the painting supplies. Here, my efforts were more rewarding. On one of the paint trays lay a painting razor blade, one side covered with a protective plastic coating. With my hands tied behind my back, I backed into the supplies and blindly groped for the razor. Once I had it, I jabbed at the thick ropes. I was glad that at least my left hand was tied over my right, so I could hold the blade. My movements were clumsy and weak, and the razor fell from my uncooperative fingers twice, but it finally sliced through my bonds and the ropes loosened and slid from around my wrists. Yanking the rag out of my mouth, I greedily sucked in the damp air before I started sawing at the clothesline around my ankles.
When that fell to the floor, I collapsed back onto the ground. My arms felt like rubber and my legs felt even worse. Any attempt to put weight on my right leg made me see stars. Other than the door at the top of the stairs, the only way out of the basement was through the padlocked hatchway. My only hope was going up the stairs and trying the door, but in my current condition those stairs might as well have been Mount Everest. Nevertheless, I rolled over and crawled to the bottom. My progress, one step at a time, was slow and painful, but finally I was on the top step. I grabbed the knob. It was locked. I pulled myself up and switched on the light. A bulb at the bottom of the stairs blazed forth and I blinked several times at the sudden brightness.
I saw a large metal flashlight hanging from a hook on the wall by the door. I grabbed it and sank onto the top step before I eased back down the stairs. At the bottom, I reached up and twisted the bulb out of its socket. The inky darkness was claustrophobic, but at least when Jackie returned, she wouldn’t have light to guide her. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Clicking on the flashlight, I searched every inch of the basement. I found nothing, and my efforts to smash the lock on the hatchway were futile. A razor and a flashlight were all I could muster to defend myself against a gun. I would just have to make do and ambush her as best I could. I lay back down on the floor where Jackie had left me and waited.
After what seemed a dark eternity, I thought I could hear her moving around upstairs. I don’t know how long I had lain there—it seemed like hours. The pains in my leg and my head were draining my energy. Eventually, the house fell silent. I struggled to remain awake, but my eyes grew heavy. The next thing I knew there was a hand on my shoulder. Disoriented, I jerked awake, my heart pounding. This was my only chance. I rolled over and slammed the flashlight as hard as I could into Jackie’s head. She fell back with a thud.
My flashlight did the job, all right, but I stared in horror at the crumpled form that lay beside me. It was
