Chapter 36

 

“Are you going to shoot me?”

Though the line was cliché, it summed up my fear in a nutshell.

“No, I have something much more original in mind.” Sheila’s cunning smile made her a shoo-in for the role of Cruella de Vil in the Disney classic 101 Dalmatians.

I reviewed my options as Serenity Cove Estates vanished in the rearview mirror. I could stomp on the gas, veer off the highway, and probably hit a tree. Just my luck, I’d wind up deader ’n a doornail, while Sheila would be rescued by a cute EMT, and the pair would live happily ever after in the south of France. Plan B: I could try to fast-talk my way out of this, but I needed snappier dialog than “Are you going to shoot me?” Problem was I didn’t feel particularly snappy at the moment. Sheer terror has that effect on me. Plan C: Duh! I didn’t have a Plan C.

“Just drive.” Sheila casually flung my purse in the backseat, where it landed on the floor with a thud. “I’ll tell you where to turn.”

I shot her a sidelong glance. Sheila was much too calm for my liking. The woman had nerves as hard and cold as granite. Her gun hand was rock steady and remained leveled at my chest. Then lightning struck. Plan C came to me in a flash. I’d wait until we met a car coming in the opposite direction and swerve into oncoming traffic. The instant our cars collided, I’d jump out and yell for help. Problem with Plan C was it depended upon oncoming traffic. One of the perks of living in a rural area such as Serenity Cove was that there wasn’t any traffic. It used to be a running joke between Jim and me that if we ever encountered two or more cars at an intersection, we’d have to move.

“You know, don’t you, Kate, that you brought this whole situation on yourself?” Sheila said, her tone conversational.

My fault . . . ?

I stifled the urge to bop myself on the head and exclaim, “Gee, I could’ve had a V8,” but was afraid Sheila’d shoot me if I took my hands off the wheel. Was this another variation of Blame the Hapless Victim? Kel had tried the same tactic. Well, I refused to play the game. I needed all my energy to formulate Plan D.

“All you had to do was follow the breadcrumbs,” Sheila graciously explained for my slow-witted benefit. “The trail would have led straight to Kel Watson’s front step. But did you do that? No,” she answered before I could open my mouth. “You stubbornly refused to follow my lead. After listening to Rita brag how you solved a murder or two, I thought you’d achieved a certain level of credibility with the sheriff. I was certain that if I pointed you in Kel’s direction the sheriff would follow. But Wiggins regards you as pathetic. A nuisance. A rank amateur.”

Her words stung. “Did Sheriff Wiggins really say those things about me?” I asked in a small voice.

Impervious to my wounded pride, Sheila continued. “I’d all but painted a bull’s-eye on Kel’s back—but what did you do? You suspected my coworkers. I nearly laughed myself silly at the thought. Imagine thinking Todd Timmons smart enough to pull off a caper this complex. He’s almost as simpleminded as you. As for Roger, the man can barely get his head out of a book long enough to go to the bathroom, much less plot a homicide. Betsy would have been the most logical candidate. She’s the only one of the three with enough guts to off Vaughn. Too bad she was miles away when he ingested his fatal dose of honey.”

I had no idea where we were heading, but knew it was nowhere I wanted to go. Houses along this stretch of the road were nonexistent. State forest occupied both sides of the road with an occasional dirt fire road thrown in here and there. Take your pick; any of them would be the perfect spot for a murder—namely, mine.

“Turn here,” she ordered abruptly.

I swallowed hard. This road led to the Huguenot Cemetery—and the beehives.

“Do it, or you’ll be sorry. I’m an excellent marksman, and I’ll start with your left foot.”

With dread churning my stomach, I did as she commanded. Even though it was nearing the dinner hour, the days were noticeably longer as spring edged toward summer. At this time, most residents of Serenity Cove would be home with their loved ones. Soon they’d be eating pot roast or ordering gas station pizza. It was highly unlikely we’d encounter anyone idling down a dirt road in the middle of the woods. Panic showed its claws and dug in deep. My palms grew slick with sweat; my pulse hammered in my ears. I had things left undone and unsaid. I wished I’d been a better mother. More patient with my children’s well-meaning attempts to micromanage my life. Did the Babes know how much their friendship meant to me? I wanted to say the L word out loud to Bill and risk the consequences.

I slowed to a stop when I reached the fork in the road. I looked longingly toward the one leading to the Huguenot Cemetery. I regretted not being a better garden club soldier and pulling my share of weeds. Rita had wanted the cemetery to look special for the photographer from the Serenity Sentinel, and I had let her down. I wish I could tell her I was sorry.

“Quit stalling,” Sheila snapped. “Take the road on the left.”

The Buick continued down the rutted road. My only chance was once I stopped the car, I could distract her long enough to make a getaway. I’d read somewhere it was harder to hit a moving target. Maybe I’d run a zigzag pattern. Or did that only apply when being chased by an alligator? One thing I did know, though, at close range Sheila was certain to hit a vital organ.

“I’ve heard all about your unfortunate reaction to bee venom.” Sheila performed her Cruella impersonation again. “Pity you’ll be stung again so soon. Death from anaphylactic shock can be quite dramatic. You won’t suffer long. The onset should be within minutes.”

The idea of being stung by bees nearly paralyzed me. My throat was too dry to swallow. Cardiac arrest seemed imminent.

Judging by her expression, Cruella, er, Sheila seemed to relish my fear. “Left untreated, shock and death can occur anywhere from within a few minutes to an hour or more. First you’ll experience swelling of the tongue and face, especially the lips and around the eyes. Next your body breaks out in nasty red, itchy welts.”

I shivered convulsively at the picture her words painted.

“Then you’ll wheeze and gasp for air. Finally your blood pressure will drop. You’ll lose consciousness, lapse into a coma, and die.” Her voice was clinical and detached as she described the gruesome symptoms.

I moistened my lips with the tip of my tongue. “Friends will never believe I was stupid enough to come out here knowing what happened last time.”

Sheila shrugged, nonplussed. “Who knows why people do things? For a while, I imagine your poor judgment will be gossiped about over coffee or in line at the drugstore. Eventually life moves on. People cease wondering and get on with it. Enough chitchat,” she said, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “Stop near the hives.”

Even from a distance I could see bees swarming around the boxes, or supers or whatever the darn things were called. Given my druthers, I’d rather take my chances with a bullet than try to outrun a swarm of angry bees. My brain scrambled for a means of escape. Did I have my EpiPen handy? Good news: Yes, I did have it with me. It was in my purse, probably in the nether region fraternizing with tubes of lipstick and ballpoint pens. Bad news: My purse was on the floor of the backseat where Sheila had tossed it. I doubted whether she’d delay my execution while I retrieved it and rummaged through the contents for my lifesaving dose of medication.

“You’ll never get away with this, Sheila.” I resorted to another slick cliché, but any cliché in a storm, right? If I got out of this alive, I vowed to give up clichés forever. I’d stop watching the classic-movie channel and switch to the Food Network.

“We’ll see about that. Now start walking!”

I opened the car and cautiously stepped out. My hand was on the door handle when I heard a familiar voice.

“Kate . . . ? That you?”

Turning, I spied Rita’s Honda Accord ten feet behind me. My knees sagged with relief. And then the adrenaline kicked in. The drama inside the Buick had been so intense I hadn’t realized we were being followed. From the surprised look on Sheila’s face, she hadn’t been aware of it either. This wasn’t the time, however, to question Providence. It was the time for action. I sprinted for the safety of the Honda as if the hounds from hell nipped at my heels.

“Hurry, Kate,” I thought I heard Polly holler. “Get in the frickin’ car before you get stung.”

The back door of the Honda swung open, and I tumbled inside. When I clumsily righted myself, I found myself surrounded by Babes. Rita was at the wheel, Connie Sue riding shotgun. Polly and Gloria, and now myself, occupied the rear. Was I hallucinating? Had I died and gone to heaven? Were the Babes angels in disguise? “What the . . . ?” I mumbled.

Rita squinted through the windshield. “Was that Sheila in the car with you?”

“We have to stop her,” I panted. “She killed Vaughn—and almost killed me.”

As all of us watched, Sheila climbed over the console of the Buick and into the driver’s seat. Any second now, she’d hook a U-turn and make a run for the border.

“Cut her off,” I screamed in Rita’s ear. “Don’t let her get away.”

“Hang on!” Rita set her jaw. “High time she gets what’s coming to her.”

Connie Sue rolled her window down a crack and let out a rebel yell that could be heard clear to Augusta. Not to be outdone, Gloria cranked down her window partway and began pelting the Buick with any object she could lay her hands on. Water bottles, sneakers, garden trowels sailed through the air, hitting their target with uncanny accuracy.

The loud cry and all the pelting must have had an unsettling effect on Sheila because she jerked the wheel hard to the right. Rita gunned the motor and took after her in hot pursuit. Leaning over the seat, I grabbed hold of the steering wheel and charted a collision course. To avoid a direct hit, Sheila made another sharp turn and this time clipped the corner of a stack of supers. Hives flew upward, then landed with a crash on the hood of the Buick, which had come to a precipitous halt. Rita, always quick-witted, shoved the Honda into reverse and backed down the road.

We sat for a moment in stunned silence and let the dust settle. Sheila sat slumped behind the wheel, a nasty gash on her forehead from hitting the windshield. No sympathy from me. That’s what she deserved for not fastening her seat belt. Honey dripped over the Buick in thick, syrupy rivulets. Bees were everywhere. The queen and her cohorts were none too happy about losing the fruits of their labors. They swarmed over the car in a dark angry cloud. Sheila would have to have a death wish to leave the safety of the Buick.

“Well, that got the blood pumping,” Polly chortled.

I let out a giggle comprised of tension and relief. “Doesn’t look like Sheila’s going anywhere soon.”

“Guess you could say we foiled a honey of a killer,” Rita said, and we groaned at the pun.

“Thank you, guys, I owe you my life,” I said, tearing up now that the adrenaline rush was fading.

“As it turns out, Kate,” Rita said, “it’s a good thing you never found time to do the weeding for the garden club.”

Gloria searched for her sneaker; then her expression cleared, apparently remembering she’d used it for ammunition. “Rita called and asked if we’d do it for you.”

Polly nodded eagerly. “We agreed that if we all pitched in, it wouldn’t take us long. So here we are.”

“Connie Sue’s the one who spotted your car heading in the opposite direction. We decided to see what you were up to.”

“Lucky for me you did. Sheila almost got away with Kate-icide.” I sniffed back tears. “Does anyone have a cell phone I can use?”

Polly handed me one studded with rhinestones. “Here, use mine.”

I tried to make the afternoon dispatcher at the sheriff’s office understand that we had a killer—and we had bees. In spite of repeated explanations, she seemed fixated that we’d been attacked by killer bees. At any rate, she promised to send assistance.

I leaned back in the Honda, wedged securely between Polly and Gloria, and felt my body relax and my mind drift. Wouldn’t my children be proud to learn their mother had brought yet another criminal to justice? Nah, I decided. They’d probably freak out. To be on the safe side, though, when Steven comes to visit I’ll ask his help to fill out the Living Will and Power of Attorney he’d sent.