Twenty-Two

Outside, the March wind shredded clouds and bent tree branches. Their shadows danced—waltzed through the family room—with the furniture, the walls, the men.

My heart danced in my chest. Not a waltz. More like a quick-step. One that left me breathless.

I gasped for air. “Put down the gun, Bill.”

“Dammit, Ellison.” Given that Bill had a gun pointed at his chest, Anarchy ought not curse at me.

I took a breath. A deep one. “I mean it, Bill. Put down the gun.”

“Or what?” Bill was not taking me seriously.

“Or I’ll shoot you.” Somehow, I kept the tremble in my throat out of my voice.

“I wish you would have stayed in bed, Ellison.” Bill’s voice was tinged with regret.

Anarchy nodded as if he agreed.

“It didn’t have to be this way.” Bill shook his head sadly.

The shadows danced again and for an instant, Bill stood in the light, the expression on his face clear as day. He meant to kill us both. The gun in his hand was still pointed at Anarchy.

I closed my eyes for an instant. “Please, Bill. I don’t want to shoot you.”

“You won’t shoot.” He sounded so certain.

“Last chance,” I warned.

“If you were going to shoot me, you’d have done it by now.” Another man—this time a dangerous man—underestimating my resolve.

His mistake.

Bang!

Bill went down and his gun skittered across the floor.

Anarchy lunged for the fallen weapon.

I lunged for the light switch.

Bill didn’t lunge at all. Bill didn’t move.

Oh dear Lord. Why couldn’t I breathe? I’d shot countless targets. Even won medals. Shooting a person was different. My stomach heaved. Thank God I’d never had a chance to eat any pizza. I swallowed bile.

“Is he—?”

Anarchy scowled down at the man on the floor and the fast-growing pool of blood. “You shot him in the arm, Ellison. He’ll live.”

I pressed my hand against my mouth and leaned on the wall. I’d shot someone.

Bill groaned.

Anarchy strode across the room, grabbed the receiver from its cradle, and jabbed his finger into the dial.

Max stood at attention next to me, ready to lunge if Bill so much as moved.

Anarchy barked into the phone.

Bill groaned. Again.

Grace ran into the family room (she wore flannel pajamas). “Mom?”

“Everything’s all right, honey.”

She looked at Bill bleeding on the floor. Obviously I was lying.

“No. It’s not. You’re shaking.”

I was?

I held my free hand in front of me. It quivered like an Aspen leaf.

Grace glanced at Anarchy. “Come on, Mom. Sit down for a minute.” She led me to a chair and asked, “What happened?”

“Bill broke in—” he must have broken in. Surely Anarchy didn’t open the door for him “—and threatened Anarchy. I shot him. Everything’s all right, now.” And would be until I told Libba I shot her boyfriend.

“I think you’re in shock. Anarchy? Some help?”

No. No, no, no. I was not a damsel in distress. “I’m fine, Grace.”

She regarded me with doubt in her eyes. “Why did Bill threaten Anarchy?”

“Bill is the killer.”

“What?” Her brow wrinkled.

I nodded. “As near as I can tell, Bill had a lot at stake in getting the new convention hotel built on time. The businesses on 12th Street have been slow to move out. Bill thought he could get the strip clubs closed down sooner if there were enough murders associated with them.”

“He killed Jane’s friend?”

I nodded.

Grace stared long and hard at the man on the floor. “And he came here to kill Anarchy?”

Killing Anarchy hadn’t been his purpose—more of a bi-product. “He came here looking for Jane.”

Anarchy stopped barking and hung up the phone. He turned, looked at me, and his eyes widened.

Midnight silk. I should have gone with the flannel pajamas.

Or not.

He crossed the space between us in a heartbeat, knelt next to me, and took the gun from my hand. “Are you okay?”

I thought a moment. “No. But I will be.”

“There are more officers on their way.”

I didn’t fancy welcoming a bunch of police officers in my nightgown. “I’ll get dressed.” I pushed myself up and out of the chair and swished down the hall with Max and Grace at my heels.

Dressed meant jeans, a sweater, and loafers.

Then I made coffee. I even whispered to Mr. Coffee, “Two shootings in one day. It’s a good thing Mother is in Palm Springs.”

He offered me a sympathetic gurgle.

Ding dong.

I opened the door to Detective Peters. He looked like the call to my house had pulled him from bed. Stubble, wrinkled clothes, cranky expression. Of course, that was his usual appearance, so maybe he’d been sitting by the phone.

“What the hell happened here?” he demanded.

“I shot an intruder.”

“An armed intruder?”

“Yes.”

Detective Peters’ habitual scowl deepened. It would have pleased him greatly to charge me with assault. Since Bill was armed, shooting him was self-defense.

“Everyone is in the family room,” I said.

He knew the way.

I planted myself in the kitchen in close proximity to Mr. Coffee.

A string of policemen paraded through my kitchen. I offered all of them coffee.

None of them accepted.

More for me. I gripped the handle of my mug and waited.

Grace waited with me. “I have a question.”

“Shoot.” I winced. “Poor choice of words. What’s your question?”

“Mr. Petteway wanted to stop you from talking to his wife’s divorce attorney, right?”

“Right.”

“What were you going to say?”

No. No, no, no. No way was I telling Grace about the happenings in the passenger seat of the Mercedes. “I don’t think it matters now.”

She stared at me. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“No.” I smiled at her. “I’m not.”

She didn’t argue. She yawned.

“You should go to bed, honey.”

Grace shook her head. “I don’t want to leave you.”

My heart swelled with love. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“You go on to bed. This is the boring part.” I knew from experience. “They’ll be tromping through here for hours.” I sipped my coffee. “Besides, it’ll be hell getting up for school tomorrow if you don’t get some sleep.”

“School?”

“Tomorrow is Monday.” I looked at the wall clock. “Today is Monday.”

Grace, God love her, rolled her eyes. If ever there was indicator for all being well in a teenager’s life…“Fine.” A huff not a word. She stomped over to the base of the staircase. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you, too.” More than anything.

She disappeared up the stairs and I sipped my coffee.

I gave my statement to a uniformed officer.

I drank more coffee.

The police led Bill away in handcuffs.

I drank more coffee.

I gave my statement to Detective Peters and confirmed my gun was my gun.

I drank more coffee.

The house emptied.

I drank a glass of water.

“You’re still up.” Anarchy’s voice soothed my over-caffeinated nerves.

“I am.” I’d been waiting for him.

“I’m going to the station. The captain wants a report.”

I nodded. “Will I see you later?”

His grin was like dawn breaking on a dark winter’s morning. “Count on it.”

  

“Mrs. Russell, I’m sorry to disturb you.” Aggie stood in the door to my bedroom with a cup of coffee in her hand.

I struggled to sit. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

“Noon?”

“Your mother has called six times.”

“She has?”

Aggie hurried across the room and handed me the coffee.

I closed grateful fingers around the mug and took my first sip. Heaven.

I’d dragged myself out of bed to get Grace off to school then immediately crawled back into bed. Without coffee. Hours ago.

“Six times?” I’d unplugged the phone in my bedroom after I waved Grace good-bye. I hadn’t heard a single ring.

Aggie nodded. “What happened here this weekend? I knew I shouldn’t have gone away with Mac.”

I told her everything. Ray’s dying in the driveway. Bruce shooting Mrs. Hamilton. Me shooting Bill.

“I missed a lot.” Her voice was dry, as if a lot was an understatement.

“Lucky you.”

Brnng, brnng. The sound was far away.

“I guess I should plug in my phone.” I made no move to do so.

“You take it easy. Drink your coffee. After the weekend you’ve had, the least I can do is run interference.” She disappeared into the hallway and the ringing stopped.

Six calls? Mother must be on the warpath.

I leaned back against the pillows and drank my coffee. In peace. Mother and her warpath were in California.

Tap, tap.

“Come in.”

“Those six calls.” Some of Aggie’s bounce had bounced away.

“Yes?”

“The first three were early this morning. Then there was a break and I took three more.”

I didn’t like where this was headed. “She’s on a plane isn’t she?”

Aggie nodded. “That was your father. He’s picking her up at the airport shortly after one.”

“Her head is going to explode. In front of me. And after her head explodes, she’s going to make sure mine does too.”

“I’ll fix you brunch. You’ll feel better once you’ve had something to eat.”

I’d feel better if Mother was still safely in Palm Springs. Although, it was a good sign that she’d called Daddy to pick her up.

By the time Mother and Daddy arrived, I’d been fortified with three additional cups of coffee, two slices of Aggie’s cinnamon crumble coffee cake, and a heaping plate of eggs and bacon.

I felt almost human.

Mother blew into my kitchen like an F5 tornado. “Explain yourself.”

I’d grown up on the edge of the plains. I knew what do in case of tornado. Take cover, let the storm blow, and, when it was over, clean up the debris. That had been my life-long plan for dealing with Mother. Not today.

“Pardon me?” My tone was polite, even sweet.

“What has been going on in this house?” she demanded.

“I’m so glad you arrived safely. It’s nice to see you. Would you care for coffee?” I stood and entered Mr. Coffee’s comforting orbit. “Daddy? Coffee?”

“Ellison!”

“That’s a no? Daddy?”

“I’d love a cup, Elli.”

“Of course, Daddy.” I pulled a cup from the cupboard and filled it for my father. Then I refilled my own.

Mother gnashed her teeth and clutched the side of her head. Like Grendel. “Ellison!”

“Yes, Mother?” My voice was mild.

She gave me the look. The one meant to turn me to stone. “Was someone murdered in your front yard?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded, still pleasant.

“Were two people shot in your family room? In separate instances? On the same day?”

I cocked my head. “It sounds so awful when you say it that way.”

“Did that detective spend the night at your house?”

“That is none of your affair.”

Mother’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out. She couldn’t have been more shocked if I’d slapped her.

I was not going to discuss Anarchy with Mother. Not under any circumstances. “You’re sure you don’t want coffee?”

“I’m sure.” Good thing her glare couldn’t actually melt flesh off bones.

I resumed my seat. “It’s so nice to see you and Daddy together.”

Mother blinked. She wasn’t done talking about Anarchy.

I was. “Daddy missed you.”

Mother blinked again.

“I missed you, too.” It was true. For all her sound and fury, Mother was the one I wanted in my corner when the going got tough. I sipped my coffee. “How about we all just forgive each other? Water under the bridge? All’s well that ends well?”

Mother’s gaze was stony. Her face was stony.

“To err is human, to forgive, divine.”

The stone façade crumbled. A bit. “I can’t leave town for a day without disaster striking.”

“Believe me, Mother. You couldn’t have stopped this disaster.” But she could have added color commentary. She would have added color commentary. “The real disaster is the rift in our family.” I leveled a stare at her over the rim of my coffee cup. “It’s time to move forward.”

For a moment no one moved. No one except Max. He yawned.

Mother glanced at Daddy and her expression softened. “You might be right.”

I nearly fell off my stool.

She reached up on her tip-toes and kissed Daddy’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Harrington. I don’t know what got into me.”

A two-hundred-mile-per-hour wind.

The stress Daddy had been carrying on his shoulders all week slid right off. He straightened. His eyes twinkled. “I’m glad you’re home, Frannie.”

Mother smiled.

I’d done it. I’d faced down a tornado and won. This called for a celebration. I refilled my coffee cup.

  

Ding dong.

I hurried to the front door, pausing to smooth my hair before closing my fingers around the handle.

Deep breath.

I pulled the door open.

Anarchy stood on the other side holding a pizza box. “Combo, right? It’s Minsky’s. Grace says that’s your favorite.”

My stomach rumbled and my mouth watered. That pizza smelled like heaven. Heaven I’d been denied last night. At that moment, there was nothing I wanted more than a slice of pizza—not even coffee.

Anarchy stepped inside and dropped a kiss on my cheek. His eyes searched mine. “Feeling better?”

“Much. How’s Jane?”

“At home with her grandmother.”

“Madame Reyna? Where was she?” I’d forgotten to worry about Madame Reyna.

“Apparently she had a premonition and went to stay with a neighbor.”

Maybe she really was psychic. “I’m glad she’s okay.” I should have worried for her.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” He stared down at me. A woman could drown in the depths of his coffee brown eyes.

I swallowed (gulped). “Let’s take that to the kitchen before it gets cold.” We took a few steps. “I’ll get us some plates. Maybe some wine.” A thought stopped me dead in my tracks. “What about Bill? What will happen to him?”

“He confessed to five murders. He’ll be going away for the rest of his life.” Again Anarchy’s eyes searched my face. “You didn’t seem surprised to see him.”

“I wasn’t.”

“How did you know?”

“I believed Rocky and I figured it had to be Bill or Wright and, frankly, one hotel deal going south didn’t seem like it would matter to Wright.”

We walked the rest of the way to the kitchen with Max at our heels (pizza). I didn’t blame him. The scent was tantalizing. My stomach growled.

“I’ve been thinking.” Anarchy dropped the Minsky’s box on the counter.

“About?” I reached up into the cupboard and grabbed two plates.

“You saved me.”

“I did, didn’t I?” I put the plates on the counter.

“I didn’t thank you.”

“You didn’t.”

He pulled me into his arms. “Thank you.” He kissed me then. Turns out, there was something I wanted more than pizza.