Impulsive (43 page)

"Or more," Ty reminded him. "There have to be at
least two, don't there? One here, tinkering with Jess's brakes, and another in
New Jersey?"

"Not necessarily. He could have phoned in the tip from New
Jersey, and he could have hurried to the parking lot ahead of you and cut the
brake line on Jess's car. It only takes a minute."

Jess spoke up, her voice an octave higher than usual. "I'm
glad Agerter wasn't hurt more seriously, but that was a brand-new car! I
haven't even learned to use all the gadgets, yet!"

Corey and Gabe arrived, and they all sat down with Haggardy to
discuss various options and ramifications, the main objective to see that they
all survived until their enemy was caught. After taking so much time off work
while Gabe was recovering, Corey was reluctant to miss the upcoming fashion
show.

"It's not so much that I need the money, or the
exposure," she explained, "but my agency is already having fits that
I've cancelled so many appearances. They need to know they can rely on me.
Besides which, the proceeds from this show are being donated to a children's
charity. Also, if I'm in New York, apart from the Knights, I should be safe.
Shouldn't I? I really want to do this, if possible."

"Then I suggest you hire a personal bodyguard," Haggardy
recommended.

"I'll be her bodyguard," Gabe insisted. "We can
leave after Thursday's game, hop a direct flight from Chicago to New York, and
Corey will still have plenty of time to get ready for the show Saturday
night."

Haggardy frowned. "Thursday is Thanksgiving. The Knights have
a game scheduled?"

Ty nodded. "Against the Bears. After which, Jess and I intend
to go to Kentucky to spend the remainder of the holiday with my folks."

Haggardy mulled this over. "That might be for the best. Get
you out of town, out of the limelight, out of sight completely for a few days.
Hopefully, your stalker doesn't know where your family lives—and I am leaning
more toward the idea that there's only one assailant left out there now.
Meanwhile, until the game, I want you all to lie low and remain vigilant. No
unnecessary jaunts to the grocery or the video store. Stay in, lock your doors,
make yourselves as invisible as possible.

"On a brighter note," he continued, "we received
some interesting data from Miami while you were out of town. They've arrested
the man who killed Bambi Shultz. Turns out it was some guy she'd been dating
here in Columbus, one of those mafia-wannabe types. This Vince Penny fellow
followed her to Miami. Seems he wasn't too thrilled that Bambi still had the
hots for Ty, and decided to teach her a lesson."

"Boy, we were way off the mark on that one, weren't we?"
Jess remarked.

"In that aspect, yes, but Penny did confirm that Bambi was
the one who dosed your drink. She also talked him into making a hit on you a
while back. The things a guy won't do for a piece of... love, huh?"

Jess frowned. "You lost me, Haggardy."

"That drive-by shooting. Penny and some of his friends were
behind that, only they accidentally got Alan instead of you. After that goof
up, they backed off. Penny decided it wasn't worth messing with, since Bambi
was starting to show signs of having a roving eye."

"What about all the things that happened later?" Ty
asked. "Not to the rest of the team, but aimed at Jess. Her apartment getting
wrecked, the threats, her brakes?"

"Nope. They arrested Penny Thursday night. He was still in
Miami, taking a little vacation, as it were, when Jess's place was hit. And I doubt
his mobster buddies were involved. Why would they only take Jess's computer
discs? No, our guy is closer to home, someone affiliated with the team. Someone
right under our noses, who has a score to settle."

At this point, a patrolman motioned to Haggardy from across the
room. "Stay put a minute," Haggardy told them. "Let me see what
he wants; then I'll arrange for a squad car to follow you to your homes, just
to make sure you get there with no further mishaps."

Jess glanced wearily at her watch. It read nine-fifty, though it felt
more like midnight. "This day seems like it's lasted a week," she
sighed. "I'll be glad to see it end."

That was not to be—not just yet. Haggardy's expression was grim as
he returned to his desk. "Danvers phoned," he stated. "He was
trying to get hold of you, Jess. There's been some trouble at your godfather's
house."

"At Tommy's?" she echoed. "What sort of trouble? Is
anyone hurt?"

"Your godmother was killed this evening, about half an hour
ago."

Jess gaped at him. "Anita? Dead? How?"

Ty immediately asked, "What about Tom? Had he made it home
from the airport yet? Has he been notified?"

"He was there," Haggardy said. "Physically, he's
fine, but I understand he's pretty much in a state of shock."

"What happened?" Corey queried.

"Danvers didn't know much, just that the officers at the
scene couldn't contact Jess, so they called him to see if he could locate her
for Nelson. I called down to the desk and got more information. Seems there was
a bomb hidden in a florist's box. You know, the long kind they use to deliver
roses? It went off when Jess's godmother and her nurse were opening it. Killed
both of them."

Jess shook her head in disbelief. "I don't understand. Why
would anyone want to kill Anita?"

"To hurt you?" Gabe suggested lamely.

"But she wasn't even my godmother," Jess protested.
"I loved her like one, but she only married Tommy about six years
ago."

"Could be Tom Nelson was the actual target," Haggardy
proposed thoughtfully. "It would fit the pattern, since he's one of the
team owners. He told the investigating officers that he found the box on the
front porch when he arrived home. He took it inside, handed it over to the
women, and headed straight for the bathroom. That's where he was when the
explosion took place in the kitchen."

"That doesn't add up," Ty commented. "Florists
don't normally deliver on Sundays. Even if they did, why wasn't the box already
in the house? Why was it still on the doorstep this late at night? Wasn't Tom
the least suspicious?"

Haggardy shrugged. "I guess not. Maybe he was too tired to
question it, or to make that connection. Could be he assumed someone stopped by
the house to visit and left it there when no one answered the door."

"But, someone is home with Anita all the time," Jess
refuted. "Why wouldn't they answer the door?"

"Maybe they didn't hear the bell," Gabe suggested.

Corey agreed. "If the dishwasher was going, or the vacuum, or
the nurse was helping Anita in the bathroom, they could easily have missed
hearing it."

"We're straying from the main point," Haggardy said,
"which is that someone wired the box with explosives and deposited it on
the Nelsons' porch to be found."

"And poor Anita and her nurse are dead," Jess finished,
fresh tears springing to her eyes. "I can't believe this! I just can't
believe it! Anita was the kindest, dearest woman. She wouldn't harm a moth if
it was eating the clothes off her back. And she was so talented. She was a
concert pianist, you know, before the Alzheimer's hit and she had to give it
up."

Haggardy's brow rose. "She had Alzheimer's?"

"What a crying shame," Gabe added. "Who would do
such a thing to a helpless, harmless woman?"

"A ruthless, craven killer, with no conscience
whatsoever," Ty concluded somberly.

Corey leaned from her seat to Jess's, to give her friend a consoling
hug. "If it's any comfort, Jess, think of her in God's hands now, with a
new and perfect body. In heaven, there is no sickness or sadness."

Ty stood, holding out his hand to Jess. "C'mon, babe. Let's go
home. I'll fix you a hot toddy and tuck you into bed."

Jess felt bad about not being able to spend more time with Tommy
before Anita's funeral late Wednesday afternoon, but everyone, including her
godfather, was adamant that she remain in the background as much as possible.
She did so primarily for Tommy, who claimed he would be prostrate with grief if
anything were to happen to her, too, especially on the heels of Anita's demise.

Thursday being a holiday, the funeral was held on Wednesday.
Despite having to rush the arrangements and burial, there were a sizable number
of mourners, some arriving from as far away as Vienna. In addition to family,
friends, neighbors, and Tom's business acquaintances, many were fellow
musicians who had known or performed with Anita throughout the years. They had
come to pay their respects, to applaud her one last time.

Following the grave-site service, Jess and Claudia approached Tom.
"We won't be coming to the dinner at the church," Jess told him
regretfully, taking his big cold hand in hers. "I'm sorry, Tommy. I wish
there was something I could do to make it better, easier. Are you going to be
okay?"

Tom nodded, patting her hand. "I'll make it, Jessie girl.
Somehow. It's just... why did this have to happen now? I mean... with the
holidays coming up. It's so damned hard!" His eyes filled with tears.
"I was going to start my Christmas shopping this weekend. Look for
something really special for her."

Claudia stepped forward. "Tom, you shouldn't be alone right
now. I've been through this. I know. Why don't you drive up to my house
tomorrow, have dinner with John and me? We can watch the game together on
television."

"It's good of you to ask me, but I doubt I'd be good
company." Tom sighed. "I'd rather be by myself, but I suppose you're
right about not spending the day holed up in the house by myself. I can't bear
to go anywhere near the kitchen, where... where..." He took a moment to
compose himself. "If I don't take my nephew up on his invitation, I'll
probably grab a bite to eat at a restaurant somewhere. Or... might wander down
to the soup kitchen and volunteer some time, like I used to do. Remind myself
that others are hurting, too, and in worse need than I am."

"That sounds like a fine idea," Claudia agreed.
"But if you change your mind, just call. God knows, there will be enough
food, and hardly anyone to eat it, what with Jess in Chicago."

"I'll wave to you, Mom," Jess promised, "and to
you, Tommy. I know you won't be attending the game, but you will be watching
it, won't you?"

The rest of the team had flown out Wednesday morning, after paying
their respects at the funeral home. Tom had voiced his appreciation, and wished
them well at the game. He'd assured Danvers and the other coaches that he
didn't expect them or the players to attend Anita's funeral. They needed to get
to Chicago and prepare for the big Thanksgiving game. Only Ty and Jess had
remained behind to attend the services. Jess, out of love and regard for Anita
and Tom, would have had it no other way, and Ty was not about to go to Chicago
without her.

At first, they had planned on catching a late flight on a regular
airline, but holiday travel had the seats all booked. They were considering
driving to Chicago, a six- to seven-hour trip, when Keith Forsyth had offered
to fly them there on his private jet. The business executive had all but
insisted. "I won't have any use for it until Monday, at the
earliest," he'd assured them. "My wife has a big family weekend
planned."

"What about your pilot?" Ty had asked. "Doesn't he
have holiday plans, too?"

"I'm sure he does, but his folks live in Evanston. So you
see? He'll be going that direction anyway. You might just as well tag
along."

To avoid the worst of the air traffic, the pilot wanted to leave
at six o'clock Thursday morning, which would get them into Chicago around
seven-thirty or so. Kickoff was at twelve-thirty, so even allotting for any
unforeseen delay, they would arrive with hours to spare before the game.

Jess was still half-asleep as she and Ty boarded the smart little
silver jet. "Ugh! The sun's not even up yet," she complained. "I
hate going back to Eastern Standard Time in the winter."

Overhearing her comment from his place in the cockpit, the pilot
called back cheerfully. "You'll see a spectacular sunrise as soon as we
get off the ground. A bird's-eye view. There's nothing like it on a clear,
crisp morning like this. As soon as we're airborne and leveled out, feel free
to unbuckle your seat belts and help yourselves to breakfast. There's a fresh
pot of coffee in the galley, juice in the fridge, and cinnamon rolls in the
microwave. That should tide you over until we hit Chicago."

"Maybe," Jess muttered past a yawn. "If I don't
sleep the whole way."

The plane was small, but plush. In place of the usual rows of
seats, there was a casual arrangement of swivel chairs and tables. The chairs
resembled those in Ty's breakfast nook, except they were bolted down. The
galley, rather than being partitioned off, was more of a semicircular, bar-type
setting, similar to that in the Miami mansion they had rented. Though compact,
it seemed to include all the amenities. Even the rest room, which Jess peeked
into before strapping herself into her seat, was more than the standard airline
hole-in-the-wall. This one had a closet, an actual vanity, and a shower stall.