Holidays Can Be Murder: A Charlie Parker Christmas Mystery (11 page)

I grabbed the kitchen phone and dialed 911, laid the receiver on the counter, and screamed as I headed for the back door leading to the yard. I hoped the operator wouldn’t talk to the empty phone too long before she sent help to this address. I peeked out the glass panes at the top of the door. No sign of Wilbur.

Then I heard the front door creak open.

15

The front door closed with a stealthy click as I fumbled with the locks on the back door. Finally. I yanked it open. A siren screamed through the house as the burglar alarm went off.

Wilbur had obviously set the alarm as soon as he came in, hoping to catch me if I tried to escape. He appeared at the kitchen door as I raced onto the back patio. I headed toward my own house and belatedly remembered that my purse and keys were sitting beside the sofa on the floor in his living room.

“Looking for this?” he taunted from his back door. My purse dangled from his fingers. In his other hand he carried a claw hammer.

Shit.

He sprinted across the patio. I raced away, trying to stay beyond his reach.

Think, Charlie, think
. Where could I go? I thought of Elsa’s, my safe haven for much of my life, but knew I’d never make it. He’d easily be upon me before she could shuffle to her door to answer my knocks. Besides, I would never put her life in danger too. No, it had to be somewhere else. I headed down the street, opting to leave the relative quiet of our neighborhood for busy Central Avenue. It was six blocks away, but at least there would be traffic and people. Somewhere in the distance a siren wafted lightly on the wind.

Two blocks later, I was beginning to regret my recent lack of exercise. I made a hasty New Years resolution, the same one I’d probably made last year at this time. My legs burned and the air in my lungs felt like fire. Wilbur was keeping a surprisingly good pace for someone who looked like he never did anything more physical than punch buttons on a calculator. He was no more than fifty feet behind me.

Ahead, a cross street bisected my path and I prayed there would be no oncoming traffic because I wasn’t going to have the luxury of stopping to take a look. Wilbur was closing quickly. My feet pounded on the sidewalk, my breath rushed in and out with a sound like a charging bull, and somewhere—much nearer than before—the siren entered my consciousness. The cross street was about thirty feet ahead of me. I made a snap decision. Just before I came to the intersection, I spun to my right and cut across the yard on the corner.

Wilbur’s momentum carried him straight toward the street. The oncoming police car, with lights and siren wailing, was only going about thirty. His body smashed into the driver’s-side fender and it flung him through the air and into the yard on the opposite corner from where I ran. I caught a glimpse of all this just before I collided with a huge blue spruce tree and found myself stabbed in the face with a thousand needles.

16

The mess wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d envisioned. My face felt like a pincushion and looked like I had a delicate rash for about a week. Wilbur was lucky, too. His injuries consisted of a concussion and a broken leg, both of which were treated with one night’s observation in the hospital before he was released to the custody of the Albuquerque Police Department.

Judy came home as soon as I told the authorities of Wilbur’s confession. She looked a whole lot better after a shower and good night’s sleep at home. We spent several afternoons talking at my kitchen table. She’d decided to move back to her hometown. It turned out that Wilbur wasn’t the only one who suffered intimidation at the hands of an oppressor. While Wilbur had taken his mother’s belittling for years, he’d dished out much of the same to Judy. From my own experience, watching his personality go from docile to almost manic in a few moments, I could believe it.

Kent Taylor probably suffered the worst from the whole ordeal. It just about killed him to admit that he’d jumped to much too quick a conclusion about the perp in this case and that he should have conducted a more thorough investigation.

Drake and I are doing great—missing Catherine a little because she really was a good houseguest over the holidays—but happy to have our space back to ourselves.