ILL-TIMED ENTANGLEMENTS (The Kate Huntington mystery series #2) (34 page)

“What’s this, Joe?” Lindstrom asked. “A little chloroform? Just in case you need some.”

“Don’t know what yer talkin’ ’bout,” Joe mumbled.

Lindstrom was unimpressed by the denial. He pulled out his cell to check on the officers who were executing the search warrant at Fielding’s apartment. Hopefully they would find something that would solidly tie Fielding to the old people’s deaths. Then he could close both of these miserable cases today.

“Hey, Joe,” Rose called out, as the uniformed officer led his prisoner away. “I’m Guatemalan, asshole!”

A
s Rob walked toward his great aunt’s apartment, his heart was still beating a bit rapidly from his encounter with the supposedly boring Murphys.

After Mr. Murphy had announced that he was about to kill him, Mrs. Murphy had laughed. “Don’t mind Fred. He has a twisted sense of humor.”

“Dry, my dear,” Murphy had said, a deadpan expression on his face. “Not twisted, just dry.” Silently, Rob had agreed with his wife.

They had then admitted that Jeff Morgan was their brother-in-law. He had been married to Mrs. Murphy’s older sister, who had died in an automobile accident over thirty years ago. He had never remarried, and the Murphys had helped him raise his two children. It was on Jeff’s recommendation that they had come to The Villages when they had retired. He had told them what a nice place it was.

Rob had probed gently about Jeff’s mood and the possibility that he had committed suicide. According to Mrs. Murphy, he had seemed down lately, but he was a devout Catholic and would have considered suicide a mortal sin.

“Nitrate poisoning would be a strange way to commit suicide,” Fred Murphy had pointed out. Apparently Detective Lindstrom had already told them about the doctored beer.

“Now drinking too much
would
be Jeff’s reaction if something were depressing him,” Mrs. Murphy had added. She had also informed him that Jeff did not have a heart condition.

Both had denied any recent access to chloroform and had seemed confused by the question.

They had also seemed genuinely fond of their brother-in-law, and horrified by his murder. Rob hadn’t sensed anything off about them other than Fred’s rather sick sense of humor. His gut told him neither of them were killers.

Rob was fitting his key into the lock on Aunt Betty’s door, when Kate and Rose rounded the corner. “What’s up?” he said, as they drew closer.

Kate was grinning from ear to ear. “It’s all over, Rob. It was Joe Fielding, the maintenance man. Lindstrom has him in custody.”

It took a second for her words to register. The nightmare was over. Rob grabbed Kate and gave her a big hug. “Hallelujah! We can all go home now.” Then he grabbed Rose, much to her dismay, and gave her a big hug as well.

“Time to round up the troops,” Kate said brightly. She couldn’t wait to get home and hold her sweet little girl.
Edie, I’ll be there soon,
she thought, pulling out her cell to call Skip.

As the phone rang in her ear, she was wondering if her attraction to the man would hold up once she was back home, busy with childcare and getting ready to return to her job. When voicemail kicked in, she didn’t bother to leave a message.

“Come on, Rose. Help me find Skip.”

•   •   •

Skip ignored the phone vibrating in his pocket as he watched Morris. The old man had leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands on either side of his head. He was looking down at the floor as he started shaking his head. “Jeff was gonna die anyway, but it’s a damn shame someone took him out before his time.”

A moment ago his grief had seemed genuine but now something was off.

Morris looked up before Skip could completely wipe the suspicion off his face. They locked eyes for a moment. Then Skip noticed something in his peripheral vision. He glanced across the room. Hanging on a hook near the door was a black windbreaker and ski mask.

He was leaning forward on the enveloping sofa to get to his pistol as he quickly looked back at Morris. There was a gun in the old man’s hand.

“Don’t move, young fella,” Morris said, rising to his feet and backing away across the room. “Keep yer hands where I can see ’em and stand up real slow.”

Skip lowered his hands to the edge of the sofa to start to push to a stand. Hoping to distract the old man so he could get to his .38, he said, “Why’d you do it, Mr. Morris? Why’d you kill those two women, and your own friend?”

“What’a ya think this is? Some plot for some dumb movie,” the old man sneered while keeping his eyes riveted on Skip’s hands. “And this is the part where ya stall by tryin’ to keep me talkin’. Yer gonna die anyhow so least I can do is tell ya why I did it, right?”

“Something like that,” Skip said, as he gradually tucked his feet further back against the sofa, gathering himself to spring up. But he realized his center of gravity was too low. There was no way he could get to his feet in one smooth, fast move.

Morris narrowed his eyes at him. “I told ya ta get up nice and slow. Do it now, or I’ll blow ya away.”

Skip did as he was told. “You’re going to find it hard to explain firing that thing at me. People all over the building will come running when they hear it.”

“Yeah, but whether I can explain that away or not, ye’ll still be dead, now woncha?” Morris sneered again.

Skip decided to change back to his first tactic, while watching for an opening to lunge and grab the man’s gun. He could get to his own pistol now, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to draw and fire it before Morris shot him.

“So you’re not going to tell me why you did it? At least satisfy my curiosity before you blow me away.”

“Okay, I’ll tell ya, in one sentence,” Morris said, while rummaging blindly with one hand in the top drawer of a chest behind him. He never took his eyes off Skip, but eventually he found what he was looking for by touch.

“The bitch turned me down, twice. I asked her out and she said no, even though she’d been flirtin’ with me for months. And that nosy Frieda bitch was goin’ ’round tellin’ anybody who’d listen that Doris had done that.”

Skip actually counted three sentences in there, but he wasn’t about to quibble. Morris suddenly threw something at him. “Catch!”

Stifling his first instinct to duck instead, Skip clumsily grabbed at the flying object. It was a roll of duct tape.

“Lean over and wrap some of that ’round your ankles, and I’m watchin’ so make sure it’s good and tight.”

“What about your friend?” Skip asked, as he leaned over. He pretended that he was having trouble teasing the end of the tape loose, while he weighed his options. If he dropped to the floor as he drew his gun, would he be able to get off a shot in time, before Morris could? He was a dead man if he let this guy tie him up. Skip glanced up through the hair hanging over his face.

The old man’s gaze and hand were both steady. “He was gonna die anyway, so I figured I was doin’ him a favor,” Morris said. “Watched Sally waste away for months. Ain’t no way ta end a good life. Instead he went out feelin’ no pain, just havin’ a few beers with a friend… What’s takin’ ya so long? Wrap that ’round your ankles!”

Skip started to comply, leaving as much slack as he dared. When Morris came closer to tie his hands he should have a good opportunity to overpower the man.

“Thought he was already gone when I left his place,” Morris continued, his voice sad. “But he musta woke up and come lookin’ fer me. And fell over the railin’.”

Then he cackled. “That threw the cops off real good… Now, slap a piece of that tape over yer mouth, ’cause I’m sick an’ tired of talkin’ to ya.”

The doorbell rang, making them both jump. Skip brought his head up too quickly and almost lost his balance.

Kate’s muffled voice said, “Mr. Morris, sorry to disturb you but we’re looking for Mr. Canfield.” Skip didn’t dare make a sound to alert Kate of his predicament, for fear Morris might shoot her through the door.

“He ain’t here. Go away!” the old man yelled, glancing briefly toward the door.

Skip made his move. Lunging forward with his upper body, he knocked the gun out of the man’s hand. It hit the floor and slid under the skirt of the chair.

With his feet hobbled, Skip knew he wouldn’t be able to stop his momentum. He went over like a felled tree. His plan was to twist around so he could land on his side and roll while he retrieved his gun.

But he knocked over a small table and china knickknacks went flying. As he hit the floor, his head smacked against the edge of the tabletop. Skip fought desperately not to lose consciousness as his vision blurred. Trying to locate his adversary, he looked up just in time to see his own gun butt coming toward his face.

Then darkness descended.

S
tanding outside Mr. Morris’s door, Kate and Rose became concerned when they heard a crashing noise inside, followed by a loud thud and several grunts. “Mr. Morris, are you okay?” Kate called through the door.

“I said, go away. Can’t a man have no peace ’round here,” the old man wheezed, out of breath.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Mr. Morris?” Kate called out again. “It sounded like you fell.”

“Goddamn it! Go away and leave me alone!”

Kate shrugged and started to turn away from the door, but that elusive, nagging thought was back. She had the sense that there was something important she needed to remember.

They heard other muffled noises coming from inside the apartment. Kate put her ear to the door. “Sounds like he’s dragging stuff around in there,” she whispered to Rose.

“I got a bad feeling all of a sudden,” Rose whispered back. Kate tried the knob, but of course the door was locked. Her instincts were agreeing with Rose’s.

“Stay here. I’m getting Mrs. Carroll to let us in,” Kate said and raced for the fire stairs.

•   •   •

Henry Morris had finished wrapping tape around the man’s wrists and had dragged him into the gap between the back of the sofa and the bookshelves that lined one wall of his living room. Ignoring the vibrating cell phone that kept purring in the guy’s pocket, Morris knelt down and tried to find a pulse in the man’s muscular neck.

Well, now
, he thought when he couldn’t find one.
Might just have saved me a bullet.

“Now the question is how the hell to get ya outta here,” he muttered. He thought about his old Buick. Only got thirteen miles to the gallon but it had a nice big trunk. “Gotta wait for dark. When everybody’s asleep I can probably get ya out to the car. Gotta take ya far, far away from here,” he said to the body behind his sofa.

But where to take the body? If he just dumped it somewhere nearby, it wouldn’t take long for the cops to link this guy back to The Villages. He needed to buy some time.

Roundtop Mountain!
He and Sally had skied there in the winters, in their younger years. It was only an hour away and this was off season. Nobody’d be around in the middle of the night. Take him up there. Rip the tape off and dump him off a cliff. Be weeks before he was found. And his head injuries would be blamed on the fall.

And by that time, I’ll be packed up and long gone. Hell nobody’ll even think twice. I’ll just be another chicken shit runnin’ from the killer.
He cackled a little under his breath at the irony.

But could he drag this guy out of the building without making a bunch of noise?
If not, just havta dump him over the railing and then get the hell outa here tonight.
He’d hate to have to leave Sally’s stuff behind, though.

Another knock on his door.
Damn, don’t these people never give up.
As he struggled to get up off his knees, his elbow came precariously close to the lamp on the table at the end of the sofa.

“Go away!” he yelled at the door.

Mrs. Carroll put a hand to her throbbing temple and turned to the woman who had literally dragged her away from her interview with a potential new resident, claiming someone was in dire straits inside their apartment. “It doesn’t sound like he’s hurt to me,” she was saying angrily when they heard a crash.

Mrs. Carroll winced. “Mr. Morris?” she called out tentatively. There was no answer. She wrung her hands, hesitant to use her master key. But if the resident was in trouble… She wrung her hands again. The hangover was making it hard to think.

“Look, something is going on in there that isn’t good…,” Kate started to say, then stopped, eyes wide as she saw Rose pull her gun out. For a second, she thought her friend was going to shoot the woman to get the key.

“Open the damn door,” Rose barked at the director. “Or I blow off the lock.”

•   •   •

Mac had finally tracked down the Petersons and had asked his questions without learning anything useful. He was entering Betty’s building while listening to the frantic message Kate had left on his voicemail earlier. Alarm shot through him at her words, “Mac, you and Rose are in danger! Joe’s the killer…”

He heard Rose’s raised voice coming from the second level. He couldn’t make out the words but she sounded pissed. He took off up the fire stairs, two steps at a time. Racing around the upper walkway, he pulled up short when he reached the three women in front of Morris’s door. “What’s going on?” he hissed.

“We’re not sure,” Kate said in a low voice. “But Skip might be in there and we’ve heard several crashes and other strange noises. Morris won’t open up.”

“I said, open the door!” Rose was gritting her teeth, trying to resist the temptation to turn her gun on this wimpy woman. Trembling, Mrs. Carroll tried without success to insert her master key in the lock.

Kate snatched it from her and unlocked the door. Rose stepped in front of her, gun still in her hand, and shoved the door open.

Mac pushed past Kate as well. She took two steps into the room. Mrs. Carroll stayed in the doorway, wringing her hands.

Morris was standing in the middle of his living room, arms stretched out at his sides, open palms toward them. “What the hell is this, Nazi Germany? You can’t just storm in here! Mrs. Carroll, I’ll have your job.”