CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

We darted into Jimmy’s garage, nabbed his ladder and an old blanket I found by the workbench, wrapped the blanket around the ladder, and tied it to the roof of Daisy Bug. We didn’t assume for a minute that there’d be a ladder at the puppy mill, and there was no harm in borrowing the Skink’s. The note I’d left in the ladder’s place explained our actions along with a promise we’d return it in good shape. Wasn’t I the positive thinker!

Because the ladder was extra long, I undid my red scarf from my neck and braided it around the part sticking out over the back of the car, tying the ends into a pretty bow.

Max finished loading his stuff in the backseat, then straightened and gave me his deadpan face. “Do you have to fancy up everything?”

I looked at my handiwork and smiled. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a disease.”

I stuck out my tongue in fun, and we hopped in our seats and drove off with the scarf’s bow flapping in the wind.

Within minutes, I curved into the long driveway leading to the puppy mill and crawled to a stop under a canopy of tall pine trees near the low, one-story building.

We solemnly looked from the deserted structure to the small, corroded cages strewn across the property, neither one of us too eager to make the next move.

“Now what?” Max ventured, repeating the same question he’d asked twenty-four hours ago when we’d arrived at the jail in Norfolt.

I swallowed down the lump forcing its way up my throat. “We take the ladder and climb it to the roof.”

“Uh, correction,” he said. “You take the ladder and climb it to the roof.” He glanced down at his clothes. “I don’t want to ruin Jimmy’s jersey.”

“How selfless of you.” I yanked up my jacket zipper and clutched my bag. “Fine. I’ll climb it.”

“Thanks for offering.” He gave me an impish smile, and we hauled ourselves out of the car. “Of course, if Romero were here instead of at the Ritz-Carlton, he could be doing this himself.” He swung the car door shut. “But since he’s not, I’ll scout the area on ground.”

We waited until a helicopter flew by, then we unhitched the ladder, carried it to the building, and propped it against the wall. I freed my scarf and wrapped it around my neck while I surveyed the windows and doors of the puppy mill. Everything was securely boarded up, and an old strip of crime scene tape dangled from the door. No sense starting there.

Max, on the other hand, was tugging on the doorknob as if he’d cried “open sesame!” and been cheated entry.

“Max!” I whispered hoarsely from the ladder. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re trying to get into a locked building.”

He stopped wrenching on the door. “If you knew the answer to the question, why’d you ask?”

Oh Lord, give me strength. “I told you the place was boarded up. Now go inspect the area. Look for anything that might be used as evidence against Ziggy in Dooley’s murder. If I find the trap door is open, I’ll let you know.”

“Ten-four.” He trudged to the woods.

I hooked my bag over my back, gathered my nerves, and mounted the rungs of the ladder. I didn’t know if Max had stopped to realize we were technically breaking and entering, and if Romero found out, he’d throw the book at us. I, for one, wasn’t going to bring this up.

I was about to heave myself up onto the roof when a small plane unexpectedly roared overhead. I ducked. First a helicopter. Then a plane. It was all quiet on the western front until we showed up. Now all of a sudden, it was rush hour in Boston.

Focusing on the job at hand, I swung my leg onto the roof and pulled myself up. I dusted myself off and tiptoed over to the trap door. At least, it resembled a trap door in the photo. I knelt in front of it and tried to wiggle it loose. To no avail. There were no hinges and no handle. In point of fact, it wasn’t a door at all. It was simply a patched piece of metal bolted down to the roof. Damn.

I let out a sigh and looked around. Nothing else up here that would allow access into the building. I shimmied back down the ladder and was one foot from the ground when I sensed movement behind me. The air was still, but there was no mistaking the sounds of twigs snapping and dead leaves rustling.

I gulped, frozen in place, telling myself it was only a squirrel looking for food. Or a bird. Or Max. But the dread pelting my spine told me it was none of these.

“One more step, sweetheart, and you’re down.” The high-pitched voice was persuasive, commanding. “Come on. You can do it. Then turn around real slow.”

I could barely move for the terror gripping me. Like a stick soldier, I clomped the last step off the ladder and tapped my foot on the ground.

“There you go,” the voice said. “Now turn around.”

Panic choked me from the inside out, and my heart was racing with fear. I slowly pivoted around and faced Ziggy ten feet away in his tattered London Fog, a haphazard sling around one arm, a gun aimed at my head with the other.

This was the first time I’d heard Ziggy speak in a normal tone. No whispering. No frenzied yelling. Plus, no fierce winds, plane engines, or other rackets interfering with his words. Ziggy was definitely a soprano. But why was he still here?

“We’re not going to have any accidents,” he said. “That means no helicopter rides, no snapping elastics, and nix the lethal perm rods. I’ll say what I need to say. Then I’m going to kill you.” He glanced from his gun back to me. “Got that?”

I swallowed dryly and nodded.

“Good. Now put your bag down.”

I slid my bag to my feet. My eyes never left his face, or his hair and the butcher job Phyllis had given him.

He narrowed his gaze on me, stepping a foot closer. “What’s got you so entranced?”

I tightened my lips, holding my tongue, but his lopsided haircut and high voice was unraveling me. “Nothing?”

“No…no. It’s something all right.” Instinctively, he patted his head. “I know what you’re gawking at. It’s my freakin’ haircut.”

“Okay.” I shrugged, astonishment taking over the fear. “It’s a little…off-center.”

“Off-center! It looks like I’ve been prepped for a lobotomy. That dumb broad who works for you even snipped my ear.” He bent the top of his ear down with the tip of his gun and showed me a bandage stuck on top. “I should’ve shot her when I had the chance.”

“It’s your own fault.” I stuck out my chest, not sure where the sudden bravery had come from. “What were you doing at the shop, anyway?”

“I needed a haircut and thought why not visit my favorite stylist.”

His compliment didn’t flatter me.

“Would’ve been the perfect opportunity to kill you, too, but when I found that dumb broad there instead, I decided why not? I wanted to spruce up my look anyway before I skipped town and started a new life.”

He shook his head in disgust. “But I can tell you, you’ve lost a customer. How can you employ such a failure? You should take a course on how to run a successful business.”

This wasn’t the first time someone had questioned my business acumen. But I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.

“Why are you doing this, Ziggy? The police know you killed Dooley. And they know I’m here. You might as well give up.”

“Ha! You’re a dirty little liar. I heard you and Pretty Boy talking before. I know that boyfriend of yours ain’t anywhere near here.”

Darn! Why hadn’t I been more careful? If I’d had any sense, I wouldn’t have tried to play the hero without some sort of backup. I instantly recalled my heated debate with Romero at the airport last night. Right. I was as good as being on my own. And Max was likely out in the back forty, scouting for mushrooms for his pizza.

“You’re not bringing me in again,” Ziggy hissed. “That clear? I’m going to ruin your life like you ruined mine.”

I didn’t know what he had in store for me, but my throat constricted, and my head spun from the thought of him disfiguring and torturing me. I’d escaped death last night by the grace of God. I wasn’t deluding myself into thinking I’d be granted any favors today.

We stared mutely at each other for an intense moment, and out of nowhere a tear rolled down my cheek, making room for another.

“Don’t give me any of that crying nonsense.” He shook his gun unsteadily in my direction. “Last time you tried that, I got an elastic in the eye. Plus, you ruined your makeup and stained my coat.” He swung his sooty sleeve in the air as proof. “I can put up with a lot of things, but looking at you with a black roadmap on your face is more than any human can handle.”

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of crying!” I swiped away the tears in anger and said a prayer for strength and protection.

My legs wobbled under me, and my stomach muscles tensed. I cast a look where I’d last seen Max disappear, hoping he’d have my back. Nothing. No movement. No Max. Forget the mushrooms. He was probably already home, playing Emeril Lagasse…or Rachael Ray.

Ziggy moved closer, his face unyielding. “As far as Dooley goes, he had it coming—the chicken. If he’d taken care of you like I’d asked, he’d still be here.”

I felt a surge of sorrow for Dooley, dying nobly on my behalf. And since dying was at the forefront of my mind, I stared at the barrel of Ziggy’s gun, terrified his shaky grip would falter and he’d fire the thing prematurely.

I took another breath for courage, guessing my next remark wouldn’t gain me any brownie points. “Sure, he’d still be here—all set to go back to prison. I mean, what kind of moron asks a recently released convict to commit murder?” I was taking liberties left and right, but as long as I kept him talking, I had a chance to get myself out of this mess.

He spit on the ground by my feet. “A moron with a vision, that’s who. Dooley was free. I wasn’t. Telling him you were my girlfriend was a ploy to get him to hunt you down. We were buddies in prison. I thought he’d follow through. But I should’ve known better. You want anything done right in this world, you gotta do it yourself.”

Who would’ve thought Ziggy had such a strong work ethic?

“But to set the record straight, I didn’t kill Dooley. I would’ve, but someone got to him first.”

What? My mouth went dry at this bombshell, and for a second it seemed like my heart stopped beating. If Ziggy wasn’t Dooley’s murderer, then who was? I swallowed back in shock, and before I had a chance to speak, he gestured to the building.

“By the way,” he said, smirking, “good try, looking for an entrance to the puppy mill. Truth is, I never hid inside. Luther and I had made a survivalist shelter underground stocked with food and provisions in case we ever needed to lay low.” He motioned over his shoulder. “The trap door entrance was so well camouflaged, it obviously went unnoticed when the mill was closed and yesterday when the local yokels came looking for me.”

He chuckled. “Poor buggers. Probably still scratching their heads, wondering where I’ve gone.”

His evil stare moved from me to his gun. “They can search all they want. I have this for protection. Thank you, Two-Notes.”

I was still taking this all in, but I gulped at the mention of Candace’s grandpa’s name. “Two-Notes?”

He grinned. “Yeah. The old geezer arranged it for me. He still has connections to the outside.” He gave a slight nod. “Don’t let his appearance fool you. He’s in the slammer for a reason.”

I gave this a brief thought, my mind moving to Ziggy’s time in prison, then his escape, and finally the delivery to my door.

“Did Two-Notes also provide you with the dildo you left on my porch?”

He scrunched up his nose. “Huh?”

“You heard me. You delivered a dildo with a perm rod wrapped around it early yesterday morning.”

“Lady, where are you getting this stuff?”

My mouth felt like sandpaper. “You mean you didn’t deliver the dildo?”

“No, I did not.” He lifted his chin, insulted I would suggest such a thing. “Sure, I fancied up your salon window, but I wouldn’t touch one of those apparatuses with a ten-foot pole.”

The look in his eyes told me he wasn’t joking, and I believed him. Just because he’d been in jail for murder didn’t mean he was kinky. If Ziggy didn’t deliver the dildo—or kill Dooley—then who did?

I was back to the beginning of this nightmare, speculating who was responsible for scaring me senseless with this sick joke, when without warning, Ziggy tossed his gun to the forest floor.

“Hell, I don’t need a weapon. I’m going to enjoy killing you with my bare hands.”

He jumped and slammed me to the ground, wrapping my scarf around his knuckles. “This is for making me a bloody alto.” He tightened the scarf around my neck.

I squawked in fright. “You mean a soprano.” If I was going to die, I might as well die in the right.

He bared his teeth and pounded my head up and down until my hair flew out of its knot. “And this is for putting Luther and me behind bars.”

The air was getting sucked out of me, and I was afraid I was going to lose consciousness. He lifted me a foot off the ground by my jacket lapels and hammered me back down. A sharp sting struck me between the shoulders, and I moaned.

Ziggy barked in laughter, secure in the knowledge that this time he wasn’t going to lose.

We rolled around on the ground, jabbing and scratching each other, his weight crushing me. I clawed at dirt and leaves, flinging what I could scrape into his face, but it was futile. What didn’t reach his eyes sifted back down into mine. I flung my head from side to side, trying to grab something from my bag, but it was too far away.

I struggled and screeched, hoping my squirming would bump Ziggy off me. He might think he was the victim here, but I had news for him. Life hadn’t been rosy for me since the perm-rod fiasco. I’d lost customers, self-esteem, and I’d felt more vulnerable to harm with every hour since his escape.

Somewhere in the pit of my stomach, a swarm of injustice erupted for the real victims. A murderer had taken Dooley’s life. A murderer had stolen Jimmy’s beloved cousin from him. Ziggy might not have been the one who’d pulled the trigger, but deep down I knew he was responsible. Not to mention I was about to lose my life if I didn’t snap to action. I’d had enough of Ziggy Stoaks. I wasn’t going to live under his curse anymore.

He slapped me across the face, and out of reflex, I slapped him back. Then I bit through his sling into his arm.

“Ahhhhh!” His eyes blazed with fury. “That’s it! Take your last breath!” He squeezed my throat and gave my head another whack.

A thick fog surrounded my mind, and I was a beat away from spiraling into oblivion.

From a distance, I heard someone approaching, screaming like Tarzan swinging on a jungle vine.

The figure came up suddenly behind Ziggy and hurled white gunk on his head. Next thing I knew, a warped metal cage was rammed down on top of the white stuff and pushed down past his shoulders.

I blinked and forced myself to focus on my apparent hero.

Max!

A yeasty smell wafted my way, and I realized the goop Max had dumped on Ziggy was pizza dough. Buried underneath it, Ziggy tried to shriek, but all that came out was a muffled fuff.

He rolled off me, arms pinned to his sides. Trapped in the small cage, he struggled to his feet and staggered around in circles.

I gasped for air and scrambled away, too shaky to stand yet too alarmed to stay where I was.

Suddenly, we heard a soft gunshot, and Ziggy crashed backward, the cage rattling as it hit the ground.

I screamed in shock and looked around for the shooter, my mouth drooling from where I’d been slapped, my mind fighting to stay strong. Quivering all over, I gaped at my newfound hero, hoping he’d spring into action.

Max looked from Ziggy to me. His gaze rolled up to the top of his eyelids, and a second later, he fainted.

No!

I grabbed my bag and got my footing, a heightened fear rocking me. I was going to be targeted next. Before I could take another step, a silhouette came out of the woods.

I shook my head and wiped my eyes, focusing on the woman in a beige coat who looked vaguely familiar. She was holding a gun with a silencer on the end, and she had mousy brown hair and a forgettable face. Probably why I was having a hard time placing her.

She sneezed and rubbed her nose, then blinked several times like she had something in her eyes. Wouldn’t have surprised me with all the dirt flying around. She took a deep breath and shuffled over until she was three feet away. The gun was firmly in hand, pointed at my chest.

“I should introduce myself.” She sneezed again, and I noticed her eyes were red, irritated. “Gwen Scarpoli, M.D.”

I was trying hard to concentrate on her words, but my mind was still foggy from the beating I’d taken, and I think I was in the throes of a panic attack because I’d lost track of my heartbeat.

“You’re that troublesome hairdresser Ziggy was obsessed over.”

I remained quiet, not certain where this was heading or what her M.D. stood for. Managing Director? Medical Doctor? Master’s Postgraduate Degree? Or maybe she was a bartender, and this was code for More Drinks.

“I’m the physician who mended Ziggy after you maimed him with that ridiculous perm rod. I’m also the resident doctor at Rivers View.”

Of course. The correctional center, yesterday. She was the woman in the white lab coat, standing at the wall behind Luther, seemingly uninterested in our conversation. Yet her brief remark to him showed she was more interested than she’d let on.

I tried not to look startled at placing her, but I doubted I was successful. I took a shallow breath, forcing myself to stay calm.

“Aha. So you recall seeing me during visitation yesterday.” She leaned forward. “Think harder. Surely you remember seeing me again later.”

I took a closer look at her face. Hold on. “I crashed into you at Kuruc’s.” When I was fleeing for the parking lot in search of my attacker. She must’ve left the prison after we’d vamoosed and followed us into town.

“Very good. I knew you were a sharp one.”

A subtle whiff of hand cream floated by my nose, the same hand cream I’d used to fire at the maniac in Kuruc’s. My gaze slid over to Ziggy, the so-called maniac. He was motionless on the ground, the bottom half of his London Fog sticking out from inside the cage. I swept my gaze back to Gwen. Um. Also in a London Fog. Were these matching His and Hers? Or was everyone getting deals lately on trench coats? I frowned. And Ziggy was at least twelve feet away. Why was I smelling my gingerbread-scented hand cream with him over there?

I was momentarily confused by this and searched my memory for what I could recall from the shooting. What stood out most was the high voice of my attacker. Ziggy’s soprano voice.

Gwen wheezed, bringing me back to the present. “What the hell is that you’re wearing? It’s playing havoc with my allergies.”

She sneezed for a third time, and suddenly it hit me. The gunman at Kuruc’s sneezed at me from under the paper bag. That was right before I’d fired the hand cream. Oh no! Here I’d been pinning the shooting on Ziggy, not only because of the high-pitched voice, but because I’d wanted to believe it was him. But it was Gwen! “You were the shooter!”

My heart leaped to my throat, and alarm bells clanged in my ears. I tried not to fix my stare on the gun in her hand, silencer and all. But it was identical to the one that had been aimed at me at Kuruc’s. It had to be the same gun.

I expected her to make another wisecrack about my snappy intellect, but she was too busy sniffling and rubbing her nose. This gave me time to figure things out.

Gwen must’ve dodged out of the deli, pocketed the gun, thrown the crumpled bag in the Dumpster, and returned to the front in time to see me exit the front door. Since onlookers had started gathering, I hadn’t noticed what she’d worn when I’d bumped into her. But it had to be the trench coat. She’d taken a chance I wouldn’t spot it. And she was right. “Why’d you do it?” I asked. “Why target me in a store?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a hard one to pin down. Flitting from one place to another. You think it was easy for me to enter that deli and threaten you?”

Inside, I was hyperventilating, and my heart felt like it was going to break out of my chest. On the outside, I fought to appear in control. “You seemed pretty sure of yourself.”

“What I was sure of was that you’d thought it was Ziggy. Guess I was right.”

She took a long, arduous sniff. “Bad enough I choked on that hand cream of yours, but your perfume is more than I can take. What do you do, bathe in the stuff?”

I did, because I loved the scent, but I kept that to myself. “Maybe I should step back so it doesn’t bother you.”

She waved the gun in my face. “Stay right where you are.”

Her voice was strong, but she was distracted by her runny nose and inflamed eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, sighed in exasperation, then centered on me again. “Ziggy never would’ve escaped if it hadn’t been for my help. We’d become rather…close and were going to run away together. If only the dolt hadn’t become fixated on killing Dooley and hunting you down.” She scowled at Ziggy’s still body. “Once he was free, he told me to get lost. Said he didn’t need me anymore.”

“Men.” I wasn’t trying to buddy up to her, but I knew the feelings she was experiencing.

“Yeah. Right? While he was tracing you, I was trailing him.” She leered down at him. “Jackass. He didn’t realize I was one step ahead of him.”

I heard her words, but I struggled to understand what she meant by them.

She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. Meanwhile, I pleaded with God to help me put the pieces together, help me discover a window into Gwen’s mind.

Suddenly, I recalled my conversation with Dom at Lumber Mart. He’d seen a white car rolling down my street yesterday morning. A white car with a logo on the door. A plumber, he’d thought, or an electrician.

I squinted at Gwen, adding this up. I bet anything she was the woman driving the car, and the car belonged to Rivers View Correctional Center. Their logo was water flowing through jail bars. I’d seen it myself yesterday when we’d arrived at the prison gate.

Dom connecting water and bars to a plumber had merit. The electrician connection was less clear. But electricians worked with wire, and the prison was surrounded with barbed wire fencing. It was a bit of a leap, but the mind did funny things when looking for answers.

I hugged my bag to my side, things finally starting to click. “You were the one who placed that dildo on my porch.” Ziggy had told the truth. He’d never touched that apparatus.

She nodded, stuffing the tissue in her pocket. “Complete with perm rod, don’t forget. Exactly how I’d found it snaked around Ziggy’s scrotum.”

Seemed I wasn’t the only person who’d been up close and personal with Ziggy’s bangers.

“I drove down your street several times after coming to your door. Didn’t want any critters looking for nuts to scamper away with the goods.”

She grinned at her joke, then glared back at Ziggy. “If the fool wanted to ditch me, why not plant something that would incriminate him? If nothing else, a dildo on your porch after Ziggy’s escape would do the job and grab that sexy cop’s attention.”

This was true. We’d all thought Ziggy was the sender of the dildo. There was nothing concrete to believe anything else. The sexy-cop remark had me puzzled, though.

“You know Romero?”

She gave a slight shrug. “Cops aren’t strangers to prisons. Plus, Ziggy had told me stuff that Dooley had shared when he’d been following you. We’d even laughed about his clever plan to get revenge on you. When he mentioned Romero’s name, I knew I’d seen the detective at Norfolt before.”

My heart was pummeling in my chest, and a sick feeling churned in my stomach. But I had to ask the next question.

“Why did you kill Dooley?”

Her nose had started running again, and she gave it an angry swipe. “I went in search of Dooley after Ziggy’s escape. Since Ziggy had dumped me, I was hoping Dooley would know where to find him. But the little guy said he knew nothing. He even threatened to go to the police if we hurt you.”

She gave an insane laugh. “Can you believe some people? He had no weapon, no muscle, yet he thought he could scare me with his measly threat.”

Pieces of her hair had fallen into her eyes from laughing. She raked the ends behind her ear and gestured back at Ziggy. “If the dildo delivery wasn’t enough to incriminate that rotten fink, Dooley’s murder was.”

Poor Dooley. Seemed like everyone wanted him dead.

Her gaze became fixed on her gun. “Two-Notes may have arranged a weapon for Ziggy, but I keep this baby in my car.” She muttered with venom in her voice. “You’d think working in a prison you’d feel safe. Ha!”

She darted another vile look at Ziggy lying motionless on the ground. A lone tear seeped onto her bottom lid. It clung there fiercely as if it refused to roll down her cheek, refused to give credence that she’d cared for Ziggy. “Now that it’s all in the open, I need to say goodbye to this buffoon.”

Her voice turned remorseful. “Sadly, I’ll have to kill all three of you in the process. But I can’t afford to let Ziggy live. He’s too much of a threat. And your death, well, would seem the reason he’s dead. Don’t worry. I’ll make it look like you all got shot fighting over Ziggy’s gun.”

Worry! I was way beyond worried.

She scratched her head miserably, swinging her gaze from Ziggy to Max to me. “It’s the best idea. Only, the story will go that the sorry bastard lost his gun and stole mine from my car. His rampage started with murdering Dooley, then continued at Kuruc’s, and ended with all three of you being killed. Don’t you love when a plan comes together?”

The sick feeling in my stomach rose to my throat. This unassuming doctor who’d made the mistake of getting involved with a convict was going to end my life. And Max’s. This was it. I was about to meet my maker.

Max was out cold, and a sprout of blood trickled from under Ziggy and the cage.

I bent over to cough, the pain in my throat from being choked taking a backseat to the terror before me. Stay with it, Valentine. You can’t lose consciousness. The forest swayed in and out, and my head felt woozy, but I had to do something. Max had just saved my life. It was my turn to save his.

Think, for Pete’s sake. You’re a beautician. Use it!

Right. I straightened and mopped a mix of sweat and dirt off my forehead with my scarf. Here goes nothing.

“You could walk away and start a new life.” I treaded slowly, stuffing down the queasiness. “You don’t need Ziggy. You’re a beautiful woman. Surely, you have other love interests.”

Her dreary eyes popped open. “Me? Beautiful? The only reason Ziggy was interested in me was because he’d been planning this escape for a long time. I see that now. He knew I was his ticket out.” She tightened her thin, unadorned lips. “I could’ve lost my job over that son-of-a-bitch.”

I winced at her hateful words toward Ziggy. “Let me help you. I could give you a makeover, and you could start fresh.”

“A makeover? For me? I don’t know. I’m so plain. My name should’ve been Jane. Dr. Plain Jane.” She lowered her gun. “My nose is pointy. My eyes are beady.” She tugged at her stringy hair. “And this is the best my hair has ever looked, and you can see how bad that is.”

I pulled my own hair from my wrecked bun off my forehead. “You’re not so plain, and everyone has at least one beautiful feature.”

Everything went silent around us as she gazed into my eyes, brows raised like she’d never considered this before. “Really? What’s my one beautiful feature?”

I was afraid she was going to ask this. I studied her hard, giving her a hopeful smile. “Your eyes are…and your nose is…and your hair has…” Oh boy. How much time did I have before she shot me dead?

Wait! An idea hit me. “It all starts with good posture.”

“Huh?”

“You know. You’ve got to walk the walk.” I didn’t know where I was going with this, but I had her attention, so I kept prattling. “When you came out of that forest, you were hunched over, dragging your feet, like the world was sitting on your shoulders.”

She glanced at the forest and back at me. “It has felt like I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.”

“See? You’re a respected doctor. What kind of professional skulks around with her head down? You need to walk with purpose. Head up, shoulders back. Like you own it.”

“Like I own it.” She stared pensively into space.

“Yes! That attitude will go much further than a mere makeover. A woman walking with purpose is more attractive than someone shuffling around, staring at her navel. Let me show you what I mean.”

I fixed my bun, flung my scarf out of my way, and despite the pain racking my body, I sashayed forward like I was on the Paris catwalk. Then I did a beautiful pivot, not sure how my legs were supporting me when they were quaking in my boots. “Your turn. Keep your head high, shoulders back, bum tucked under.”

She bit her lip, counted silently on her fingers, then took a deep breath, and stomped toward me like a Patriots offensive lineman.

Good grief.

“That’s it! You’re a natural.” A wee fib never hurt anyone. And if she wasn’t fixed on killing me, I’d have helped her perfect her walk.

I rooted around in my bag, ignoring my heartbeat that was booming in my ears. “I’ve got just the thing that will improve that strut.”

Interested, she leaned in, stretching her neck to see what I had.

“Aha! Found it.” I elbowed her in the throat, whipped out my perfume, and sprayed it in her face.

“Aaaaah!” She dropped the gun, falling knees to the ground, clawing at her eyes. “It’s burning! I can’t see!”

It was a dirty trick, but I wasn’t here to make friends with Dr. Plain Jane. I trussed her up with my scarf like a Christmas turkey. Then I scrounged in my bag for a water and, out of pity, poured a dab in each of her eyes. She whimpered a thank-you and hung her head in shame.

In the distance, I heard sirens peal. I calmed my beating heart and kicked the gun at my feet in Max’s direction, grazing his hand.

“Aah!” He squealed so high I thought the voice was coming from Ziggy.

My eyes widened. “You were awake?”

“Someone had to call the cops!” He sat up. “You did such a fine job with the beauty advice, she didn’t even notice me. Bravo!”

I smiled at Max, suddenly recalling the first homicide I’d stumbled onto. I’d been inexperienced, incompetent, and scared of my own shadow. Now look at me. I was standing over a murderer whom I’d apprehended with a beauty product and my own scarf. I felt triumphant and a little bit pleased. I would’ve feigned a fists-on-hips Wonder-Woman pose, but I settled for glancing back at Gwen and taking a long, satisfied breath. I had done a fine job. And Romero wasn’t even here to see me in action.