Jennifer opened her eyes, rolled over and picked up her cheeping phone. It was 7 a.m. Detective Sergeant Gillespie had texted to notify her that the team was assisting with the suspects round-up and he would be there to update her as soon as they’d completed the arrests.
It could be over.
Travis could be in custody by now.
With a light heart she took care of her morning chores and went downstairs. Warren’s parents would be coming in later in the day and she needed to catch up on her regular business. She wanted to focus all her attention on them. Today, the business of death carried on. Elaine would be back tomorrow; Marcia would be coming in around nine.
Yesterday had been full and joyous as Winter and her father-in-law bonded. Regina had called her back with more details: Winter and John talked for several hours. Winter had asked to leave the shelter today after a final meeting with Dr. Janssen and move back to Toronto. John had arranged for her to connect with her friend, the one who’d been her maid of honour. She was going to stay at his home, in Aaron’s old room, with a private duty nurse until she was ready to move on. Winter could not have had a better outcome. She and John needed each other.
Jennifer made coffee and went to her office. By 8:30 she’d taken care of the business side of her funeral homes. She unlocked the front door, poured herself another coffee, and sat quietly in the front office thinking about the details of Warren’s funeral. The liaison officer would be coming with Warren’s parents to discuss the police protocol for his funeral. She put her cup down and went to the prep room. Her throat clenched, eyes stinging with tears, as she looked at Warren lying on the prep table in his dress uniform. She did not approach the table; she stood at the door, her chest tight as she thought about her protection team. Each one had imprinted themselves on her life and she felt a rush of gratitude.
A few minutes before nine she quietly closed the prep room door and went back to the front office. She’d barely sat down before the front door opened. She rose, picked up her cup and walked into the lobby, thinking it was Marcia. A man stood just inside the door. He turned and locked it behind him.
“Hello Jennifer.”
She barely recognized him, although the sound of his voice sent a cold shiver down her spine.
“Hello Travis.” She was surprised at how calm she her voice sounded. Those were the first words she’d spoken to him since the day she took over the funeral home. Her funeral home. He had no right to set foot inside; he did not belong.
She studied him closely, feeling a little detached from the situation. She wasn’t afraid; she should be, he’d come here to kill her, of that she was certain.
He was disheveled and dirty. His hands and face were scratched and he looked like he hadn’t slept for a long time. He had several days’ growth of beard.
Marcia is on her way. I have to stop her from entering, she thought.
“Come Travis, there’s no one here but you and me. Let’s go to the lounge, I’ll make you coffee. We can talk.”
Surprisingly he complied and followed her into the lounge. He limped, unable to fully bear weight on his injured foot, the one she’d damaged hitting him with the rock.
Maybe if I can get him talking and distract him, when Marcia comes she’ll hear him and get away. Otherwise he’ll kill her too.
“What do you take in your coffee?” she asked as he sat down heavily, grimacing in pain. She placed her coffee cup on the counter and reached into the cupboard for a mug.
She’ll be here any second.
Jennifer’s senses heightened as tentacles of fear gripped her. She heard the key turn in the front door. She counted to three, giving Marcia time to step into the lobby, then brought her arm down, deliberately brushing against her mug, watching as it smashed on the floor.
She looked over at Travis sitting behind her. He was watching her every move, malevolence radiating from him.
“Darn, that was my favourite mug. Sorry Travis, I didn’t mean to startle you. Back to your coffee, what would you like in it?”
“Cream.”
She poured his coffee and took it to him.
“I’m just going to clean up this mess, the broom is in this cupboard. She walked over to the cupboard slowly, showed him the broom and swept up the remains of her cup. She used paper towels to clean up the spilled coffee. She did not want to make any sudden moves, afraid it might make him angrier.
She poured herself another coffee and sat down across from him. He didn’t speak. She studied him closely. This was the person who had controlled whether she could go out, who she could see, what she could do, when she could do it, all from a distance. He stared back at her, malice and hatred filling the air.
Her plan had worked, help was on the way; the front hall was silent. She needed him to talk. She tried not to think about the notes he’d written. Many times she’d rehearsed what she’d say if she saw him again. She wanted to tell him how evil he was, how she hated him. None of that was going to work now. It was time to release him from her judgment. She knew he was going to kill her, she could feel it. She spoke first.
“Are you hurt? Is there anything I can get you?”
He refused to answer and continued to stare at her. She held his gaze, fighting her fear as the seconds ticked by. An unexpected string of expletives exploded from him. She jolted, her shoulders twitching. He called her every foul name he could think of as he blamed her for destroying him. He told her in exact detail, how he was going to get his revenge. She cringed inwardly. She did not respond verbally or show any indication his outburst had affected her.
Hang on. Help is on the way.
“You think those notes were a joke?” He stopped suddenly.
Travis looked like he was close to passing out. It was as if the outburst had drained him. His face slackened. His eyes no longer focused on her.
She picked up her coffee and held the mug with both hands as she sipped it. She trembled, unsure what to do. She could throw her coffee at him and run, he might not catch up with his lame foot. She shifted her weight a little. He snapped upright.
“Don’t move Jennifer. Don’t even think about it.” Holding her gaze, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade. The snap of the blade as it was released from it’s sheath shattered the air around them.
Now!
In one swift movement she flung the full coffee cup at him, jumped to her feet and ran to the front door. Pulling her keys from her pocket, she opened the door, slammed it, and locked it behind her. It wouldn’t buy much time, but it might be enough.
Which way? she thought as she looked around wildly, heart pounding.
“Jennifer,” a low voice snapped. She turned and saw Officer Stuart. He yanked her around the corner and pushed her down next to the bushes. “Stay here. Don’t make a sound.”
Jennifer tugged his sleeve. “He’ll be out in a few seconds,” she whispered.
Stuart pulled out his gun.
As the funeral home door opened, Officer Stuart stepped around the corner. Jennifer heard sirens screech in the distance.
“Drop it,” Stuart commanded. The knife clattered to the sidewalk followed by the metallic snap of handcuffs. Travis didn’t say a word.
Jennifer leaned her head up against the bricks and closed her eyes, relief washing over her in waves. It was finally over.