Twenty-Seven

Uh-oh. I’d expected something … but not this. I ignored how my heart began doing flip flops and my mind started screaming at me to run. That wouldn’t work.

No, I had to stay calm. Or at least as calm as possible. Otherwise—well, I didn’t want to think about otherwise.

Well, the good thing, I told myself as I willed myself not to shake, was that Silas’s appearance, in this manner, suggested that the cops had in fact been checking into him as the potential murderer.

The bad thing was that no matter what I might have anticipated from him due to my recent pushiness, it didn’t include this kind of reaction—at my shops, at this hour.

Well, Silas had certainly figured out a way to get my attention. Maybe he’d even been watching me and my shops and figured out the grocery delivery situation. So what now?

Yes, I’d solved murders before, and the killers generally seemed inclined to attempt to do away with the person—me—pointing at them as the major suspect. But I’d been resourceful enough to find ways to save myself.

This time?

That knife looked pretty lethal.

And I was thinking too much, without coming up with answers.

We were standing near the back of the counter where I’d been preparing Barkery treats. I had knives around, too. This was a kitchen, after all.

But I seldom sliced meat for our treats, though I did occasionally for liver biscuits. My knives were smaller than his.

And facing off against Silas with my own knife just sounded foolish.

“How did you get the idea to text me to say you had a grocery delivery?” I asked, forcing myself to sound calm.

“Your assistant Dinah isn’t the only one around here who does research.” Silas’s grin was nasty. “That’s part of a reporter’s job.”

Okay, I’d already figured that one out. But … what now? “You said you wanted to discuss something,” I said. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Oh, I think you know. You have one hell of an imagination, and also a very dishonest mouth.”

I’d considered Silas to be good-looking, or at least attractive enough to be a reporter who people would pay attention to, with his dark hair and interested eyes. But right now those eyes looked smug. They seemed to challenge me to move, to do something that would give him a reason to stab me right then.

“But if it was all my imagination and lying, why are you here?”

Okay, he could consider that a bit of a challenge, I guessed—since he took a step toward me, arm raised. I heard Biscuit barking in the Barkery and was glad she was safe, at least for now. But if Silas killed me, what would keep him from harming my dog, too?

“Because you pushed those detectives to intrude into my life and ask some nasty questions. And now you’re going to pay for it.”

“But if you’re totally innocent, and you gave them truthful answers, why not just let it all go?” Right. Once again, though, what could I do … ?

Then I got an idea. It was partly thanks to Silas’s earlier actions. I’d muted my phone, but I’d already programmed it so it was ready to place a call to Detective Wayne as soon as it was an acceptable hour of the morning.

For something like this, I didn’t need to wait for an acceptable hour.

“You’re really scaring me, and my legs are shaking,” I told Silas. “I’m going to lean against this counter now, for balance. I’m not going to pick up something or anything like that.” Not yet, at least.

When he didn’t object, I moved a little bit, which allowed me to swivel my hips—and reach into my pocket to press the front of my phone.

Was it calling Wayne? I couldn’t check to find out. But if it did, Wayne would be able to hear us without us being able to hear him. And that was thanks to Silas’s grocery delivery text, which had gotten me to turn the sound off. Thanks, I thought wryly.

If nothing else, I was slightly farther away from Silas now, since he remained at the end of the counter. I could smell my latest batch of carob dog treats, which were close to being fully baked, but at least I’d used the timer on the oven. Nevertheless, I turned to glance toward that oven.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Silas took a step toward me. “You’re against the counter now. Don’t wriggle around. And you want to hear the truth?” His tone now sounded furious. “I’ll tell you the truth, since you’re not going to survive to make any more allegations to your cop buddies.” He lifted the knife and began shifting it back and forth between his hands.

“Okay,” I said softly. “Please tell me.”

And please be listening, Wayne.

“Yes,” Silas said with an entirely evil smile on his face. “I’m the one who killed Henry—and his damned dogs were there, so that’s why they don’t like me.”

“I gather that your attempt to change your scent didn’t put them off in the slightest.” I tried to keep my tone somewhat sympathetic but doubted it came across that way.

“You noticed. I assumed a dog lady like you might, but I had to give it a try.”

Uncomfortable, I shifted slightly against the counter, but moved as little as possible and tried not to shake. “So why did you kill him?”

“Ah, I figured you’d want to know that. It goes back a long way.”

Silas then proceeded to tell me a story that addressed a lot of the questions currently hovering around Knobcone Heights. It turned out that he had been the one to murder Henry’s wife, Mayor Flora Schulzer, ten years ago. “See, I was a renowned reporter back then, too,” he explained. “But our dear mayor learned of some instances where I exaggerated negative facts about her and some fellow politicians to make a better story. She promised she would shout it to the world—and to my employers. Not a great reason to kill someone? Well, I thought it was, since it was my career on the line.”

And so Silas had been delighted, of course, when Mike Holpurn wound up confessing to Flora’s murder.

I had to ask. “Why would Holpurn confess to killing Flora when he didn’t do it?”

“I wondered about that too, so I looked into it a bit, and it seems the guy actually did have an affair with our mayor, though I’ve no idea why she would have gotten into bed with that stupid construction worker. But Holpurn had a girlfriend back then, and I think he was convinced that she was the one who did it, because of his affair. So, to protect his girlfriend, he took the fall and confessed. And before you ask, I have no idea what happened to the girlfriend, but she moved away as soon as Holpurn went to prison. So, when I learned that Holpurn was being paroled, I tried to research the situation again, including about the girlfriend, but whatever went on in court is apparently subject to a gag order. So if that’s in fact why Holpurn was paroled, I couldn’t find any details. I tried. Boy, did I try.”

“Okay,” I said. “I understand … I think. But all this time later, why did you kill Henry?”

That knife trick returned—left hand. Right hand. Left hand.

I tried to be unobtrusive as I looked around the kitchen again, trying to figure out how to run away, or what to grab to protect myself with … and knew I had very little hope.

What time was it? Nearing six o’clock? Dinah would arrive at six—but I didn’t want her in danger, too.

“Because,” Silas responded, “from the little I was able to learn, it seems that Henry was the source who put authorities onto the idea that Holpurn was protecting his girlfriend. Maybe he felt guilty about Holpurn’s incarceration. Maybe he was curious about the man and did some research into his possible motive, and when he found out about the girlfriend—whoever and wherever she is—he learned something that made him suspect Holpurn had confessed to a murder he didn’t commit.”

“I still don’t understand how the police had enough to parole him,” I said.

“With a gag order involved, who knows what went on in the courtroom?” Silas said. “But whatever happened, Henry still seemed hostile toward Holpurn—or at least Holpurn was hostile toward him. And now Henry was back in Knobcone Heights. To try to figure out what had actually happened, if Holpurn wasn’t the killer? Or maybe he had another reason, like nostalgia or whatever, and wanted to make sure his wife was never forgotten. Whatever his motive, just his being here, asking questions now that Mike Holpurn was free, reminding people … it would have opened up all those old questions again. I couldn’t have that going on.”

“I see.”

I supposed I did see. And I still pondered how I’d get out of this.

I couldn’t count on Wayne hearing us. And now, most of Silas’s story had been told. How much longer would he keep me alive?

I wasn’t about to ask, but I did address a related question. “You know,” I said, “if you kill me, the police will look at you as the prime suspect since I’ve been pointing fingers at you as Henry’s killer. You’d be the logical one for them to go after. But if you just let me go, I promise I’ll keep quiet about this, and if I’m asked, I’ll just tell the police I changed my mind about you, that I have no reason to believe you’ve harmed anyone.”

“Good idea,” Silas said, sticking his face closer to me and baring his teeth. “But we both know that wouldn’t work. So here’s what’s going to happen. Right now, I’m appearing on a TV newscast that’s supposedly live, and my good buddy Wilbur will ensure that no one finds out otherwise. Wilbur has been my backup in all this from the beginning—and has been generously compensated, by the way.”

“I see.” I tried not to sound despondent that he had an alibi set up. I needed to keep my fear to myself. “But the police will want another logical suspect, and who would want me dead besides you?”

“Well, your dear assistant Dinah may hate you for allowing her to remain a suspect in Henry’s murder—which of course isn’t a surprise, because in my scenario, she’s the killer. And now she wants revenge for your betrayal. So she’s going to kill you when she arrives in a few minutes, or so it will appear. Yes, I know her schedule, and everyone’s at your shops. Just like with your grocery delivery. I’ve done my research.” Silas drew the word out, clearly making fun of Dinah. “And then Dinah’s going to flee—courtesy of me. Of course, she won’t survive much longer.”

Oh heavens. I knew Silas was evil, mentally deranged, and even worse. I couldn’t really protect myself. How was I going to save Dinah?

A buzzing startled me. Silas, too. “What the hell’s that?” he demanded.

“The oven, saying that the biscuits inside are done. I can go turn it off, or it’ll turn itself off in a minute.”

“No, go do it. But don’t try anything stupid.”

I just walked the few steps to the oven and turned the timer off. I opened the door just a little to let the heat out, so that, hopefully, the biscuits wouldn’t burn. But even if they did, who’d notice now?

After I’d closed the oven door, I turned back toward Silas and just stood there.

Was it time? Was I somehow going to have to find a way to ward off lethal knife stabs?

How?

“Look,” I said, “you might not like the scenario I suggested, but what would satisfy you enough to not kill me, or Dinah either?”

If he did kill us, would the police accept his alibi—or realize what had really happened? And would Wilbur go along with this murder, too, and continue to cover for his boss? I had no reason, unfortunately, to assume otherwise, especially if Wilbur got paid for it.

What time was it now? I assumed it was almost six. I wished there was some way I could warn Dinah to stay away.

I hadn’t forgotten my attempted call to Wayne. With any luck, he’d heard some or all of what was going on. But even if he had, would I survive until he got here, even if he was on his way now?

At least maybe he would tell Dinah not to come in …

The back door began to open. “Stay out of here, Dinah!” I screamed, even as Silas leaped toward me, his right hand, holding the knife, extended.

“Drop it!” came a very welcome, well-known male voice.

I glanced that way and saw not only Wayne but Bridget and a couple of uniformed cops, too, entering the kitchen, guns drawn and aimed at Silas.

At least Dinah would be safe, I thought as Silas continued toward me. “Bitch!” he yelled, raising his arm to stab me.

A couple of guns were fired. Blood spurted from Silas’s arm and the knife clattered to the floor.

I had never imagined I’d feel glad about having to clean blood out of my kitchen—but remaining alive was a wonderful trade-off. There might also be holes in the wall to deal with.

Yes, worth it.

Silas was shouting and moaning, but I paid no attention to what he said.

I simply stood there, still breathing, as I watched the uniformed cops take him into custody.

Then I was joined by both Wayne and Bridget. “Thank you, thank you,” I said.

“We heard it all, thanks to you,” Bridget said.

I thanked the heavens that my phone idea had worked. And, in some ways, I thanked Silas for bringing it all to a head.

“Yep, you’ve done it again—solved another murder,” Wayne said. “Maybe we should consider hiring you.”

“No, thank you,” I responded emotionally. Then—“Is Dinah all right?”

“She’s outside. We told her to stay there till we got things resolved in here, which I think they are now.”

The cops walked Silas out the door. I assumed they’d deal with his wounds as they should, taking him to the hospital before throwing him in jail.

I wanted him to survive, after all, to be tried for Henry and Flora’s murders—and his murder attempt on me.

The next moment, Dinah ran inside and came right over to me. She glanced at the blood-streaked wall, then gave me a hug. “Are you okay, Carrie?”

“I am now,” I said.