caterer’s trash bag.” Her chest started to heave, and I feared I might lose her to hysteria soon.
We’d reached the door, so I grabbed the frame, braced myself. “You didn’t kill him, Sylvia. He would have lived. Holt finished him off.”
I wasn’t certain of that, but I had a hunch that’s why he was so damn anxious to get me out of here.
Holt clamped his hand over my mouth, enough of a switch in our position that I was able to give him a wicked elbow to the gut. He buckled but regained his equilibrium quickly. One finger, however, slipped into my mouth, and I clamped down with all my might.
He hollered with pain and threw me off him. I landed on my butt, facing him.
“You bitch,” he said through clenched teeth, the Glock pointed at my heart.
“Leave her be,” said Sylvia. She’d stood and her hand wavered with the weight of the gun she’d been concealing since she sat down with me.
Like Laura Montgomery last night, she didn’t handle the weapon with the authority born of experience, so I couldn’t count on her to save my ass. That was my job.
Anyone who’s practiced with weapons knows a moving target is damn hard to hit. So I tucked and rolled, as if a fire was about to consume me. I must have made at least three rolls to reach her.
I heard Holt open fire.
Adrenaline sent my world into slow motion. I heard nothing after his gun went off. And felt nothing. I reached up and grabbed Sylvia’s gun. She didn’t resist, just fell to the floor and covered her head.
I pointed the gun at Holt, but saw he already had his hands raised in surrender. But not because of me. Laura Montgomery was standing behind him, and I guessed she had her own weapon tucked in his back.
But he still held the Glock and quick as a blink, he swung his free arm around and sent Laura flying. Not good.
So before he could get off a good a shot, I fired.
Holt dropped like bricks off a twenty-story building. He began writhing on the floor, holding his thigh, blood leaking through his fingers. No spurting, so I hadn’t nicked an artery. Before he could figure out he wasn’t hurt all that badly, I hurried over and picked up the gun he’d dropped and stuck it in my waistband. Two guns are always better than one.
Sylvia was still crouched on the floor, her arms covering her head, but when I said, “It’s all clear,” she unwound and started to get up.
And that’s when she saw Laura Montgomery.
Sylvia leaped over the balled-up, whimpering Holt and ran at Laura like she was attacking a blocking dummy.
They fell to the floor, and Sylvia managed to take off her shoe and wield it at Laura’s face.
Laura moved her head in time and the spike heel hit the floor with a sickening
Fortunately Laura’s gun had been knocked out of her hand, or she might have used it.
I stepped in to separate them, dragging a flailing Sylvia away. For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t crying. She was quivering with rage, the same rage that probably made her pick up that vase and smash it on her husband’s skull.
Laura got to her feet and called 911. Meanwhile, I shoved Sylvia into the chair and kept the gun trained on her. Holt had risen to a sitting position and had both hands pressed against his bloody leg. He said nothing, but Sylvia started rocking and repeating, “I didn’t kill him.” When Laura finished the call, she stood near the library entry, a silhouette in the shadows.
Five long minutes later I heard male voices shouting, “This room clear,” several times as they came closer. Then Henderson and another uniformed officer came rushing in, weapons drawn.
Henderson knew how to use his handcuffs almost as well as his mouth, and he had Sylvia restrained in a New York minute. The other cop called for an ambulance on the walkie-talkie pinned to his shoulder while he used plastic bracelets on Holt.
When Fielder showed up not long after, I realized we had a half-dozen guns in the room. A nice number when they’re all held by the good guys.
24
After I was questioned at the scene by several cops, I met up with Travis and Megan at the Seacliff Police Station. Fielder had gone to the hospital to question Holt, and Sylvia was transported to the county lockup after she bit Henderson in the arm. She’d tried and failed to get one last kick at Laura on the way out of the room and was now under extra security at the county facility. Bet she had a pretty pair of booties to wear in there.
Kate must have flown from Houston as soon as I called her, because she arrived at the station about the same time as Travis and Megan. They’d been more than a little freaked out when they’d arrived home to find Sylvia being led away in handcuffs, Holt on his way to the hospital and me with paper bags over my hands. That part was plain ridiculous. Everyone knew I’d shot that damn fool Holt.
I had plenty to answer for, what with the gunplay and the catfight, and so did Laura Montgomery, who had been whisked here to the station even before Travis and Megan had arrived. Henderson told me Laura would be held without bail in the small Seacliff jail until the Dallas cops arrived to take custody of her, probably tomorrow.
Megan and Travis had a million questions, but before I could answer even the first one, Quinn arrived and herded us all into her office.
“This has been a difficult time for you, Megan,” said Quinn once we were seated around the chief’s desk. “And it may not get much easier for a while.”
Megan still wore the sweaterdress I’d seen her in at the visitation, but strands of pale hair had come loose from the tie holding her ponytail and her eyes sagged with fatigue.
“Someone said my mother killed my father.” She shook her head, her voice filled with confusion and disbelief.
“That’s why we need to talk,” said Quinn. “You need the facts and not what someone said. Holt is talking, hoping to get a better deal when it comes round to plea bargain time. During the reception, McNabb says he was in the library checking out the wedding gifts when your mother and father came in.”
“And don’t think for a minute he was interested in toasters and blenders,” I said. “Probably looking for cash in the wedding cards.”
“I’m betting you’re right,” said Quinn. “Anyway, your parents were probably so consumed by their argument, they didn’t see him. Holt says he hid behind the drapes and got an earful. In his version, Mr. Beadford and Mrs. Beadford argued over Laura Montgomery’s appearance at the wedding—seems Mrs. Beadford knew about her husband’s affair with the woman way back when. But it was the news about you, Megan, that really got to her, so when your father turned to leave the room, your mother hit him with the vase.”
Megan’s eyes filled. Kate, who was sitting next to her, put an arm around her.
“So she killed him because of me?” Megan said. “I don’t understand.”
Travis, seated on her other side, shifted so he could look Megan in the eye. “Meg, there’s a lot you don’t know. And part of that is my fault.”
“We’ll deal with the guilt later,” said Kate. “First we should let the chief and Abby explain everything.”
“Yeah,” said Megan, still staring into Travis’s eyes. “I want to know everything.”
“It’s complicated,” I said. “But first, let’s get one thing straight. Your mother did not kill your father. She knocked him unconscious, but he wouldn’t have died from that injury.”
“I’m not feeling all warm and fuzzy over that news,” said Megan. “But go on. What did happen and why in hell am I to blame?”
Kate said, “You are not to blame for anything.”
Quinn said, “Let me give you McNabb’s version first—which is filled with self-serving lies, as far as I’m
