Dearly Depotted (33 page)

I hit my brakes as an old Buick LeSabre pulled out in front of me, tires squealing, like teenaged boys out for a joyride. Then the car dropped down to a speed of fifteen miles an hour and I caught a glimpse of a bald head on the driver’s side and curly white hair on the passenger side. Clearly not teenagers. There was no one behind me. Why hadn’t he waited for me to pass? Why did that happen only when I was in a hurry?

At the corner the Buick rolled to a stop, then inched forward, stopped, then inched some more, as though the driver expected someone to dart out and hit him. The problem was, the only other car at the intersection was me, and I was
behind
him. I ground my teeth as the car crept along. I could have pushed him faster than he was going. At the next corner I turned left and took a longer route, but at least it got me around the snail. I came up to the stop sign just in time to see him sail past.

What next, a funeral procession?

I finally turned onto Grace’s block, then had to hunt for a parking space. The old homes on her street had one-car garages that faced an alley, so most people parked at the curb in front of their homes. I finally squeezed the Vette into an opening three houses away, then grabbed my purse and trotted up the sidewalk.

The door was unlocked, so I stepped inside and called, “Grace, I’m here.”

Her office door was shut, but I could hear her moving around inside. I put my purse on a chair near the door and looked around. There was a tube of clear vinyl lying in front of the TV, so I picked it up, uncurled it like a scroll, and peered through it.

“I see you found the magnifier,” I called.

The silence that greeted me lifted the hairs on the back of my neck. “Grace?” I called again. I rolled up the tube and started to lay it on the coffee table—then I froze. Beside a heavy crystal candy dish was a basket of muffins topped with a pink bow.

 

 

 

 

I
stared at the basket and my heart began to hammer. Sheila had been there. Sheila, who might have just killed a man.

I glanced at the office door and listened to the stillness behind it. The alarm in my head was so loud I could barely think. Had she done something to Grace?

I moved quietly, heading for the office. Suddenly the old floorboards creaked to my right, and I turned just as Sheila rushed at me, the plaster bust of Elvis raised above her head. There was no time to run, so I braced myself for the attack, and then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I saw Sheila’s mouth open and heard her cry of rage; then her face contorted as she brought the bust down. I scrambled out of her way, watching as the force of her swing pulled her to the carpet.

“You had to keep poking your nose into that murder,” she said, panting like an animal. “You had to go talk to that blockhead one last time. You had to make everything good for your precious Grace.”

My breath was coming in short bursts. “Sheila, talk to me,” I begged. “Tell me what happened at the banquet center. Did Gunther come after you again?”

“Yeah, thanks to you. But I told you I could take care of myself, didn’t I?” She came at me again, swinging the bust like a baseball bat.

I ducked behind the coffee table, flattening myself against the floor, cringing as wood splintered above me. The heavy legs pushed against my side, pinning me against the sofa and sending the basket of muffins and the crystal candy dish skittering off the end.

As she prepared to swing a third time, I shoved the table away and lunged for the dish, then scuttled beneath the tall end table and covered my head. She kicked the table with her foot, trying to tip it over and expose me. I grabbed one of the curved legs and held on tight.

“Sheila, stop!” I yelled as we wrestled for control of the table. “You’re only making things worse for yourself.” Across the room my cell phone rang, but I couldn’t think beyond that moment, beyond keeping myself alive.

With a gut-wrenching roar, Sheila yanked the table out of my hands. As it crashed against the wall I scrambled into the dining room, then sprang to my feet and held the heavy dish in front of me as though it were a shield.

“Never show fear,”
my father had told me. I tried it now. I was trembling so hard my teeth were chattering, but I managed to bluster, “Sheila, stop this craziness. Calm down and talk to me.”

She stood in the doorway between the living and dining rooms, her chest heaving, her lower lip curved down, exposing crooked bottom teeth. “Don’t ever call me crazy. That’s what Jack called me. ‘You’re crazy, Sheila. Why would I marry you?’ ”

“He was a jerk,” I blurted, trying to placate her. “A scumbag. You had every right to be angry with him.”

“Jack used me. He said we’d go to Mexico together, get married, and make a brand-new life for ourselves. All we needed was money, and that’s where I came in.” She swiped angry tears from her eyes. “I had a good position at the bank, Jack told me. It’d be a cinch to get money out of people’s savings accounts without anyone knowing. I did it, too. I got the money, and then I lost my job and had to take that shit work at the Garden of Eden. But I did everything he asked because I loved him. And then after he had the money, what did he tell me? He didn’t need me anymore. He had Melanie. She was gonna help him get all the money he’d ever need.”

I started edging toward the doorway. “What happened Monday night? Did you argue with Jack?”

Her upper lip curled back. “I caught him taking one of the waiter’s uniforms and I asked him what he wanted it for. He said it was because he wanted to talk to Melanie so they could make arrangements. He had his little plan to meet her in the gazebo.” She shook her head. “What a fool I was to think he cared about me.”

I tried to shoot a quick glance over my shoulder, to see how much distance was left between me and the front door. My heart sank as I realized I’d barely make it halfway across the living room before she caught me. “No one will blame you for being angry with him, Sheila.”

Her face took on a crafty look. “That’s right. They won’t blame me, because no one’s gonna know I talked to him.” She lifted the hem of her black T-shirt. Tucked into the waistband of her jeans was the plastic video case. Then she heaved the bust at me and ran for the kitchen, as if she’d decided to flee rather than try to kill me.

I took off after her and grabbed her around the waist just before she reached the back door. We both went down hard on the tile floor, with Sheila shrieking and twisting like a captured animal. I pushed her flat on her stomach and used my weight to hold her down, pressing one knee into her spine between her shoulder blades, twisting one of her arms behind her back, and using my other hand to keep her head turned to the side, her cheek against the tile.

“You killed Jack to keep him from leaving with Melanie, didn’t you?” I said, breathing hard, exerting pressure on her arm as she struggling to get loose. “You followed him to the gazebo and hit him.” I pushed her arm up farther, making her moan in pain.

“Yes! I hit him,” she spat back. “But I didn’t mean to kill him. I begged him not to leave with Melanie. I reminded him of our plans, then he laughed and called me crazy. Me! I looked down at my hand and there was that big marble pestle in it, so I hit him. I couldn’t help myself.”

She slapped a palm against the floor. “He deserved it. The bastard lied through his teeth. He never intended to take me with him. It was her he wanted—that mousy Melanie. He was only using me, just like every man uses me—taking everything I have then spitting me out like a piece of rotten meat.”

Huge sobs shook her body. “I didn’t want to kill Jack. I loved him. Why didn’t he love me back?”

“What happened between you and Gunther today, Sheila?”

She sniffled. “I went out to the center to settle things between us. Like you said, I couldn’t let him get away with pushing me around. So I got one of the knives and tucked it in my jeans, then I asked him to step out the back door with me. I told him if he ever touched me again, I’d kill him. He thought that was funny. And then the blockhead shoved me—hard—up against the garbage bin. That’s when something clicked in my head, and suddenly the knife was in my hand.”

She went limp beneath me, crying hard. “I’m not a murderer. I didn’t mean to kill anyone, and I didn’t want to hurt you,” she wept. “You and Grace and Lottie—you were my friends.”

I released her arm and took the plastic case from her waistband. “You have to turn yourself in to the police, Sheila. It will go better for you if you voluntarily give yourself up. I’ll even help you find a good lawyer.”

She nodded, one cheek against the floor. “Thanks,” she said in a whisper.

I waited a moment to make sure the fight had left her, then I stood up and she immediately curled into a fetal position. I was weak from struggling and drained of emotion, but more than that, I was terrified that Sheila had done something to Grace. It was all I could do to make my trembling legs carry me to Grace’s office.

Grace was lying on her side on the carpet beside her desk, papers scattered all around her. Her face was a sickly gray, her body too still. Blood trickled down her left temple from a gash in her head. She moaned but seemed unaware of her surroundings. I knelt beside her and felt for a pulse in her neck. It fluttered unsteadily beneath my fingertips.

With my heart in my throat, I reached for her desk phone and pressed 911. Grace moaned again, so I blurted the address, asked for an ambulance, and knelt beside her, whispering a prayer. I blinked tears out of my eyes. Why hadn’t I looked in the office right away? What if Grace died because of my delay? “Come on, Grace,” I said, rubbing her wrists, patting her face. “Open your eyes. Let me know you’re all right. I don’t want to lose you. Remember what you always tell me. When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”

Her eyes moved beneath crepey lids. I held my breath as her eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened. Her gaze sought mine and her lips tried to form words. I leaned my ear near her mouth.

“Sheila—did it.”

“I know, Grace. I know. Help is coming. Just stay with me.”

I saw the relief in her eyes and I couldn’t help bending to hug her. As I straightened I heard a noise behind me and turned.

Sheila stood above us, her face wet with tears, the little Elvis saber in her hand. She yanked off the sheath, exposing the long, sharp blade. “I can’t go to prison,” she said in a trembling voice. Then she raised the dagger.

 

 

 

 

“N
o!” I cried as her arm swung down. I had a split second to dodge the blow, but I was afraid it would strike Grace. As the sharp point rushed toward my face, I grabbed Sheila’s arm, catching her wrist with both hands. I pulled down on her arm with all my strength, throwing her off balance. She tumbled to the floor and I fell over her, a tangle of arms and legs as we struggled for the dagger.

Her fury gave her greater strength. She sprang to her feet and came at me again, but this time she was too quick for me. This time I could only cross my arms over my head to protect myself.

Suddenly a door crashed open in the outer room. Startled, Sheila swung around, giving me time to pull back my foot and kick her in the knee. As she sagged, Marco charged into the office and grabbed her, pinning her arms down and wrestling the saber out of her hands. Heavy footsteps and more shouts sounded outside, and then Reilly and his squad poured through the doorway.

I could hear Sheila ranting as they led her away, but I was focused on Grace, who’d lost consciousness again. Marco crouched beside me and we waited anxiously until Reilly came to say the ambulance had arrived.

Marco helped me to my feet so we could get out of their way. I hovered in the doorway, watching the EMTs check her, then followed when they carried her to the ambulance on a stretcher. “I’m going with her,” I told Marco and climbed in.