Once home, Nell couldn’t stop thinking about Jill and Jim. Something wasn’t right there. Jim came off to her as almost sleazy and Jill bought it completely. She wondered what his alibi was. She needed to break it and let the police know the truth.
Nell rooted around in the fridge to find something. She warmed up a small portion of spicy shrimp pasta in the microwave and made a salad. Stressed or not, she vowed to eat more healthfully.
Her mind was so preoccupied thinking about the Hansons, she sat down at the table in the kitchen to eat. No TV. There wasn’t room in her brain for a pretend murder when she was absorbed in a real life one.
When she finished, Nell took the boys outside for a little game of fetch. George and Newman tired out a lot sooner than they used to when they were younger. Nell was reminded that old age was getting to all of them.
She spent the rest of the night going through her recipe card boxes, recipe books, stacks of recipes she had cut out of magazines and those copied from the internet. She made a pile of the recipes she had tinkered with so much that they were almost a completely different formula. The addition of peppers, celery, carrots and other veggies to some of her more calorie laden entrees was bringing the fat content down. She was trying to make small modifications that would be beneficial for taste and health. Nell planned to make alterations like these in more of her recipes. She was considering putting some of her reworked recipes on her blog, along with the restaurant reviews. Just an idea for now.
Nell had gone the entire night without turning on the TV, but did so now so she could view the 10:00 news. She was curious to see if there was an update on the Crivitz murder. But nothing was mentioned.
What is the matter with the cops? Why don’t they believe me? I know Jim Hanson is the murderer, no matter what alibi he fabricated.
She let the boys out for last pee of the night. Treats were dispensed and they went to bed. I have to think of some way to prove Hanson murdered those women. But how? Nell hoped thinking about this wasn’t going to keep her up all night. She needed a good night’s sleep.
What was that?
A strange noise startled her awake. She waited, but didn’t hear it again. The boys were still sleeping. Were her nerves so raw she was making up sounds to scare herself? No, she was positive she heard something.
Crunch.
There it was again. It sounded like glass breaking outside. Nell grabbed the phone. She thought someone was fooling around with one of the windows. Maybe in the garage. She quickly punched in 9-1-1.
As soon as the operator answered, Nell whispered, “This is Nell Bailey at 924 Adams Street here in Bayshore. Someone is breaking into my house. Please come as fast as you can.”
She was asked to repeat her location and assured that someone would be right there, and to stay on the line.
For whatever reason when she and Drew built the house, they didn’t have locks put on interior doors. If they had, she could lock her bedroom door and wait for the police. Instead, she silently got out of bed. She would pick up the boys, go out the sliding glass door in her bedroom, and run across the yard to the neighbors to wait for the police.
Just as she quietly bent to pick up George, she heard footsteps in the kitchen. She straightened without touching him. Someone was already inside. The house had a partially open concept with only the living room between the bedroom and kitchen. Her bedroom door was open. Darn!
Nell was counting on the police arriving soon as the station was not that far from her house. Why didn’t I install a security system when I thought of it?
Nell quickly soothed George as he turned and stretched. She crept to the wall on the side of the bedroom door where she wouldn’t be seen immediately if someone came in the room. Maybe she could hit the intruder with something as he came through the door. But even in the dark, she knew she didn’t have anything to use except the phone still in her hand.
A flashlight beam was moving around in the living room, heading into the bedroom. The intruder was too close; she had to do something. Nell gathered all of her courage and charged out of her room, into the living room, and turned on the light. This is crazy!
Nell saw a small figure about the size of Benita. No, this is all wrong. It can’t be Benita!
“You! What are you doing in Nell’s house?” the unknown person bellowed.
A woman’s voice, and she was small, dressed in black with a ski mask on her face. Nell knew she’d heard that voice before. The woman was brandishing a long barbeque skewer.
She had to think fast. “I’m house-sitting for her while she’s on vacation.”
“On vacation? I just saw you two this afternoon,” sputtered the woman. “What’s going on here?”
It must be Jill Hanson. “What are you doing in Nell’s house, Jill?”
Jill took off the mask, waved the skewer and snarled, “I have a little present for that lying slut. She thinks she can take my husband and my recipes? Never. Looks to me like you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like those other two women. That’s unfortunate—for you! No one will stop me.”
“Let’s take a minute to talk this over. You don’t want to hurt me. I’m an innocent by-stander in all this.” Jill started to walk closer to Nell, who then shrieked, “George!”
That made Jill pause. “You have a man in there?”
Nell heard George and Newmie jump down from the bed. They came out to stand beside her and started to bark as if their lives depended on it.
“Puppies? You’re armed with puppies?” Jill started to laugh.
George curled his lip at that and barked as ferociously as Nell had ever heard him. Jill continued chuckling and jokingly thrust the skewer like it was an epée.
Nell was not amused. While Jill was having her fun, Nell pondered how to get the upper hand. If she could just get Jill on the floor, she then could sit on her. She must weigh almost twice as much as Jill did. If Nell could take the skewer away and get her down, Nell knew she could hold her until the police arrived.
Why aren’t they here yet?
Good ole’ George. He must have sensed danger. He charged right up to Jill and bit her leg. Good boy, George.
Jill yelped and tried to hit George with the skewer, but Nell could never allow that to happen. She made her move. Setting down the phone, Nell grabbed the boxed set of Julia Child’s “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” from the coffee table and with all of her considerable weight behind it, slammed it down on Jill’s itty bitty head. Served her right for trying to skewer her little Schnauzer.
Jill fell down and Nell was able to wrestle the skewer from her. In pulling so hard, Nell landed on the couch. Both boys were snarling and on top of Jill when Nell managed to get up and point the skewer at Jill to keep her on the floor. She heard the siren and saw the flashing lights through the window as the squad car came down her driveway. She made sure Jill was still down as she opened the front door.
“Mrs. Bailey, are you alright?”
“No, Paul. I’m terrified!” Nell dropped the skewer on the floor in a loud clunk. “Thank God you’re here. That woman planned to kill me!”
Looking at the floor they could see Jill inching toward the sliding glass doors on her stomach to make an escape. The dogs were nipping at her and slowing her progress.
“Grab her, Chuck!” Paul yelled.
The other officer then stopped Jill in her tracks, pulleded her up and read her rights to her.
“Everything is alright now, Mrs. Bailey,” Paul soothed. “We’ve got her.”
Paul helped Nell to a chair and then checked each room of the house and found the window broken in the garage. That was definitely her point of entry.
“Mrs. Bailey, we will need a statement from you,” Paul urged.
“This all happened so fast. It’s just a blur.” Nell gave him a short statement, but she didn’t really have her thoughts together.
Jill had completely clammed up. They loaded her in the car and Nell promised to come down to the station the next day for a full statement. Nell picked her phone up from where she had set it when she grabbed the cookbook. The operator was still on the line.
“I hope you recorded all that,” Nell sighed breathlessly.
“We’ve got it, Mrs. Bailey.”
It’s over. It’s finally over.