Definitely Dead (An Empty Nest Mystery) (21 page)

“I’ll make a call,” said Leila.

“Like you did last time?” asked Suzette. “That worked out so well.”

“I’ll make sure he does it himself this time. He can do anything for a price.”

“We’ve already paid twenty grand,” said Maureen. “How much more is this going to cost us?”

“I don’t know,” said Leila. “I’m not his accountant.”

“I don’t think we have any other choice,” said Suzette. “Not after what’s happened today. Make the call.”

I listened as Leila explained the situation to someone on the other end of the phone. When she hung up, she told the others, “He said he can do it, but he wants forty.”

“Forty!” shrieked Maureen. “Are you kidding me?”

“You get what you pay for,” said Leila.

“You should pay for this yourself,” said Maureen. “Your
improvising
is costing us all another ten grand.”

“Fine,” said Leila. “And while I’m at it, I’ll pay to have him get rid of you.”

“Stop it!” said Suzette. “We’re all in this together.”

“One more thing,” said Leila. “He won’t be able to arrive for at least an hour. Maybe two. He’s in the middle of something.”

“Will she stay unconscious that long?” asked Suzette.

“She should be out for hours,” said Leila. “I gave her a double dose.”

I had no idea what she’d drugged me with, but it was probably a good thing I’d only had a few sips of the coffee. The clock on her mantle told me I’d been out for less than an hour, and with each passing minute the pain receded, and I felt more clearheaded.

“What do we do until he gets here?” asked Mary Louise.

“We can watch television,” said Leila. “My favorite soap is on in a few minutes.”

I heard the television turn on. The women continued talking, but their conversation competed with the noise of the television, and I could no longer make out what they said. I’d heard enough, anyway. Somehow I had to get out of that apartment before a hired killer came to drag me away.

I began squirming, trying to loosen my restraints without making any noise that might raise the suspicions of the women in the other room. They’d bound me with what felt like yarn. I couldn’t see to be sure. I suppose Leila didn’t have any rope or duct tape, and for that I sent up a thank-you to the heavens. If I continued to rub the yarn against the edge of the wood on the back of the chair, it should eventually fray enough to break easily.

As I worked, I thought about what I’d heard. At some point the four women must have realized they were all dating the same man. Once they began comparing notes, they figured out his con game and decided to teach him a lesson. But something had gone terribly wrong, and Not-Sid wound up dead. They then concocted intricate stories to cover their butts.

I felt the yarn start to give way and tugged, but just as I was about to free myself, I heard the distinctive clickity-clack of stilettos on a marble floor. I closed my eyes and slumped my head onto my chest.

“She’s still out cold,” Leila yelled. A moment later I heard the sound of dishes rattling around in the kitchen. I waited until she returned to the room with the television, then slipped my wrists from the yarn and began to untie my feet. Once free, I grabbed my purse and tiptoed out of the apartment.

The adrenaline rush that had carried me from the building to my car disappeared once I unlocked the driver’s side door, slid behind the wheel, and beeped the locks. I couldn’t even insert the key into the ignition. My limbs shook too violently. I began to hyperventilate and cry at the same time.

I don’t have time for this!
I double-fisted the steering wheel, closed my eyes, and forced myself to take slow, deep breaths while I counted each inhale and exhale. At the twentieth repetition I’d calmed down enough to place a call to Detective Menendez. Once again, I got her voice mail.

This time I left a more detailed message.
Stay calm
, I told myself, hoping my voice remained steady enough for my message to make sense. “Detective, this is Grace Elliott. I know who killed Sidney Mandelbaum.” I proceeded to tell her about my visit to Leila Raffelino, how she’d drugged me, and how I overheard her and the other three women planning my murder. “As soon as that soap opera is over, they’re going to realize I’ve escaped. Call me!”

I disconnected the call, threw the car into DRIVE and hightailed it out of the Dakota West visitors’ parking lot.

In the story of my life, I became the TSTL—the too stupid to live heroine. Any decent writer knows not to write a TSTL. I’d
never
write a TSTL. Why had I acted like one? Because it never occurred to me that four little old ladies could be cold-hearted killers.

I think I held my breath until I arrived home. I was never so happy to see Blake’s car parked in the driveway. I parked my car next to his, raced into the house, and ran into his arms.

“Gracie, what’s wrong?”

“Just hold me.” I started crying huge blubbering sobs as I held onto my husband for dear life.

“Gracie, you’re scaring me. What happened?”

I shook my head, unable to speak. Blake walked us both over to the sofa in the family room and sat us down. “Shh.” He rocked me in his arms, rubbing one hand up and down my back the way he used to calm Connor and Brooke when nightmares woke them. His other hand held my head against his shoulder as he whispered soothing words into my ear.

I don’t know how long we sat like that. Eventually, I ran out of both steam and tears and began hiccupping. “Can I let go to get you some water?” he asked.

I nodded. Blake released me, returning shortly with a glass of water. I sipped slowly.

“Were you in an accident?” He sat down beside me and held my free hand in both of his.

I shook my head.

“Are you hurt?”

I took a deep breath before I spoke. “It’s complicated.”

“Take your time.”

“Promise you won’t kill me.”

To his credit, Blake didn’t start yelling at me. He didn’t even give me
The Look
. I think I’d scared him too much. He simply nodded and said, “I promise.”

Once the hiccups subsided, I began. Slowly. Haltingly. Explaining Leila’s call. “She sounded upset about Not-Sid’s death. She invited me over.”

“And?”

I took a deep breath. I couldn’t meet my husband’s eyes. Instead, I stared at my lap and mumbled, “She drugged me.”

“What!” Blake sprang to his feet, yanking me with him. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

My eyes welled back up with tears. “Please sit down.”

“Gracie, you need to be checked out.”

“Later.”

Blake released me. I fell back onto the sofa. He perched on the edge of the cushion, his body angled toward me. “Go on.”

I related the rest of the events to him. “I don’t think Leila realized I’d only taken a few sips of coffee before I passed out. That’s why I woke up so soon.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t kill you. Did you hear her mention what she used to doctor the coffee?”

“No, just that she gave me a double dose.”

Blake stood again. “Now we’re going to the hospital, Gracie.”

I didn’t argue with him. The hospital seemed a far safer place than staying at home waiting for a killer to show up.

~*~

Three hours later—most of the time spent cooling our heels, first in the emergency waiting room, then in an examining room—a doctor pronounced me healthy. Whatever Leila had used to lace my coffee hadn’t done any permanent damage.

Detective Menendez marched into the examining room as soon as the doctor left. She must have been waiting in the hall. “What part of keep your nose out of my investigation didn’t you understand, Mrs. Elliott?”

I blurted out the first lame excuse that came to mind. “She called me! Besides, you didn’t answer your phone this morning.”

“So because I was testifying in a court case, you decided to play Miss Marple again?”

“I think my wife has finally learned her lesson,” said Blake.

Menendez glared at me. “I certainly hope so.”

“I have. Cross my heart.” I emphasized my words by drawing a cross with my index finger over my hospital gown.

“And hope to die?”

Which had almost happened. I shuddered. “That, too.”

She nodded. “When you’re up to it, I’ll need you to come in to give a statement.”

“What about Leila, Mary Louise, Suzette, and Maureen?”

“Behind bars for now.”

“And the guy they hired to kill me?”

“We haven’t been able to determine who he is. Raffelino lawyered up. She’s not talking.”

EIGHTEEN

“So I’ve got some Mafia hit man after me?” I started hyperventilating.

Blake wrapped his arm around my shoulders to keep me from tumbling off the examination table. “Steady, sweetheart. Take slow, deep breaths.”

I shuddered through each one. Eventually my breathing normalized, but my anxiety level remained high. How had everything gone so terribly wrong? All I’d wanted to do was earn enough money to keep us from being forced to move to an apartment above an auto repair shop in Newark.

Well, I certainly didn’t have to worry about that anymore. Pretty soon I’d be sleeping with the fishes, and Blake could live comfortably on the proceeds from my life insurance policy. Unless the hit man targeted him, too. At that thought I began hyperventilating again.

Menendez pulled a deep frown; her eyebrows knit together. “No one mentioned anything about the Mafia, Mrs. Elliott.”

I squeezed Blake’s hand and forced out a few more shaky calming breaths, mentally counting as I slowly inhaled and exhaled before I spoke. “Mary Louise said Leila has family connections. That’s how they got someone to take care of Not-Sid. You and I both know in New Jersey
family connections
can only mean one thing.”

“You watch too much TV, Mrs. Elliott.”

“Do I? If that weren’t the case, Leila would cut a deal for a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

When Menendez made no attempt to refute my statement, my panic grew exponentially. Tears cascaded down my cheeks. I buried my face in my hands and wailed, “Oh God! I don’t want to die.”

“We’re going to keep you safe while we hunt down this guy,” she said.

“How?” asked Blake.

“I’m assigning a detail to protect your wife.”

Why did that do absolutely nothing to quell my fear? Because every violent TV and movie scene I’d ever watched now bombarded my brain. If I survived this hit man, I was switching my entertainment viewing to nothing but giant yellow birds and purple dinosaurs. Maybe the occasional romcom. And I was definitely giving up on the idea of writing mystery or romantic suspense. Living the real deal was enough to scare me straight back into the loving arms of the romance genre.

~*~

Two policemen camped out in a squad car in front of our house the remainder of the day, replaced by another team overnight. I couldn’t sleep, but I pretended to. Beside me, Blake did likewise. Since nothing ever keeps my husband from his Z’s, I knew he had to be scared out of his mind. I’m sure he knew I was awake just as I knew he was, but we didn’t speak. Voicing our fears would only make them more real.

Throughout the night my mind raced with all sorts of scenarios involving a hit man silently breaking in through a window at the back of the house and murdering me in my bed. How would cops sitting in front of the house know what was going on at the back of the house?

Or he might break into a neighbor’s house and target me with a high-powered sniper rifle. To thwart such an attempt I decided to keep all the blinds drawn at all times. I didn’t think a hit man would be stupid enough to spray our house with bullets, hoping to hit his target.

But what if he planted a bomb? Or tossed a Molotov cocktail through a window? Or…or…or….The possibilities were endless, and I was driving myself crazy by silently dwelling on them.

I expected to feel like a zombie the next morning, but fear and anxiety acted like an intravenous caffeine drip. By seven a.m. I’d also downed three cups of coffee.

I was about to pour a fourth cup when Blake stopped me. “You’re wired enough, Gracie. I don’t want to find you bouncing off the walls when I get home.”

“Bouncing is good. It means I’ll still be alive.”

Blake sighed. “I really don’t want to leave you alone today.”

“I know, but you have to.” Tuesdays were Blake’s longest day of teaching. “Besides, you can’t blow off a meeting you scheduled with the dean weeks ago.”

“He’d understand.”

“That would require too much explanation. I don’t want the entire university knowing what’s going on, do you?”

He sighed again. “Look who’s being the logical one now.”

“You should be glad some of your left-brained logic has finally rubbed off on me after all these years.” Too bad it had taken a hit man to bring me to my senses. I was officially swearing off all right-brained/harebrained ideas for the remainder of my life—assuming I survived long enough to have a remainder of my life.