Killer Listing (30 page)

She lifted one leg and then another, shuffling as if she wore shackles. Stumbling over a log she nearly fell, and the jarring motion made her cry out in pain.

“Shut up!” Janssen spat. “It’s your fucking fault! I didn’t even want to use the gun until the very end.”

Darby winced. The smell of blood was overwhelming. It gushed from her shoulder and over her elbow, making her forearm slick and wet. She tried to staunch the flow with her left hand and nearly keeled over from the effort.

“How did you know about the East Coast killings?” she panted.

“Let’s just say I have a friend on the force.”

Darby swooned. Jonas Briggs? He couldn’t be involved in this …

Peter Janssen chuckled. “It’s not your precious Briggs,” he said, as if reading her mind.

“Dave DiNunzio.”

“That’s right. I play poker with good old Lucky and he loves to be the one with a thrilling story. Of course he ‘disguises’ the details, but I know exactly which cases he’s talking about.”

Realization sunk in. “He worked on the Stuart police force. He knew all about the Kondo Killer.”

“You bet. Even that sicko’s little trophies.”

His triumphant smile penetrated Darby’s fog of pain. “You screwed up, you know,” she panted.

“What are you talking about?”

“You did the wrong finger.”

She tried again to put her hand over the spigot of blood that was the gunshot wound. “Why did you kill Candy?”

“Lucky told us he was about to question a witness who would shed some light on the murder. A famous call girl, he said. Of course I knew Candy Sutton was Kyle’s client, so his little attempt at confidentiality didn’t work with me.” He shifted his weight to his right foot. “I don’t know what she was going to tell DiNunzio, but I couldn’t take a chance.”

Creepy phone calls, Darby thought. Sam Wilson said Kyle was receiving phone calls from someone at her office. That someone had been Peter Janssen, not Marty Glickman. Perhaps Kyle had said the same thing—or more—to Candy.

Peter gave Darby a look that was regretful. “I’m not some crazy man, you know. I never wanted to kill you.”

Darby knew he was one of the most unbalanced people she’d ever met, and yet her survival depended on winning his trust.

“You don’t have to kill me! Cooperate with the police, let me go—that will work in your favor.”

“Darby,” he gave a pitying look. “I’ve carried out two premeditated killings, and pretty successfully too. No one is going to look favorably on me.” He shrugged. “No, I’m afraid I have to kill you and add one more piece to this confusing riddle.”

He pointed with the gun into the dusk. She looked down and nearly fainted. They were back at Genevieve’s grave.

_____

Kelly pointed her car toward Alligator Key and drove as fast as she dared. They’d called Darby’s phone and gotten no answer. Now, swerving to avoid a piece of tire in the road, she barked at Dave to try Helen Near. Dave complied, but again they were out of luck.

A moment later Kelly’s phone rang. “Put it on speaker and say hello.” She and Dave waited as the inquisitive sound of a female voice broke the tension.

“Hello, I just had a call from this number.”

Kelly introduced herself and prayed for an affirmative answer to her next question. “I’m looking for Darby,” she said. “May I speak to her?”

Helen’s response was not at all what Kelly wanted to hear.

“I’m not sure where she is,” Helen said. “She’s not answering her phone, and she’s late for a dinner party. She was meeting Alexandra Cameron on Alligator Key …” Suddenly the seriousness of Kelly’s call registered with the older woman. “Darby’s not in danger, is she?”

Kelly gripped the steering wheel more tightly and tried to make her voice calm. “We hope not. If you hear anything from her, please call me immediately.”

_____

Peter Janssen held the gun pointed at Darby, but his eyes seemed far away and unfocused. “You know the only person who ever listened to me? Who ever really, truly, cared about me?”

“Genevieve.” Darby was gasping with pain now, but determined not to give into it.

“That’s right.” He looked for a moment like he might break down. “She was a saint, that woman. Cookies every day after school. Hugs when I fell or when the other kids teased me. Wonderful stories every night about forest animals and talking trees …” His mood quickly changed. “Lie down,” he snapped. “Lie down on top of her.”

Darby hesitated. She was dead if she got on the ground, as dead as a fish in a barrel. “Peter, I beg of you,” she whispered. “Let’s work something out. You’re not a killer, not really.” She swooned and her legs buckled.

Instinctively he reached out and caught her. “Oh, yes I am,” he said, chuckling under his breath. “I’m—”

Darby used every ounce of strength she possessed to coil up her left leg and deliver a resounding kick to Janssen’s groin. It was a move she had practiced many a time at the Akido Academy back in San Diego.

“Ugh,” he breathed, crumbling to his knees in agony. “You—little—” he winced as he lifted the gun.

Whack! Darby delivered another blow, this one a snap kick, to his chin. His head jerked backward and he sagged to the ground, moaning. For a split second she thought of grabbing the gun, but Peter was on top if it and she dared not stay a moment more. Desperately trying to ignore the stabs of pain slicing through her whole right side, she moved as fast as she could around the graves and toward the woods.

Limping through the cemetery, her shoulder screaming in agony, Darby felt the safety of the pines embrace her wounded body. She forced herself to keep moving, to get as far as she could from Janssen and his deadly weapon. A rustle in the underbrush made her freeze. It was a small animal—a snake, or a possum—and Darby resumed her painful movements. The road dipped sharply downward and she stumbled, her shoulder wrenching with a force that made her gag. She paused, felt blackness around her vision, and sunk to her knees.

I can’t go on,
she realized.
I can’t go any further
.

She heard shouts and then a shot.
Someone else is here
, she thought.
They’ve wounded Janssen
. Footsteps in the fallen leaves caused her heart to leap with hope. Was she about to be rescued?

A moment later, Janssen was before her, his face a purple mask of rage.

“I tried to treat you with decency, and this is what I get,” he spat. “You’re no different than Kyle. You really don’t care.”

Darby was too weak to argue. She was about to die, she knew that, and part of her welcomed the release from her shoulder’s blaring symphony of pain.

He raised the gun to her head. “You can rot in the woods for all I care. You and your little police friend.” He took a breath. “Good bye, Darby Farr.”

The smell of pine was stronger than ever and Darby knew it would be the last scent she remembered.
Here it comes
, she thought, closing her eyes against her assassin’s sneering face.
Maybe I’ll see my parents and find out what happened to them. Maybe I’ll get to meet Kyle Cameron after all.

A gunshot rang out and Darby was slammed to the ground. She gasped and tried to breathe, but her lungs were collapsed like a pair of deflated party balloons. A huge heaviness was squeezing the life from her body. For just a second, her eyes flickered open.

In that instant, she stared into the vacant eyes of Peter Janssen. She opened her mouth in a long, silent scream.

Jonas Briggs knocked softly
on Darby’s hospital door. “Good morning. Are you up for a visit?” he asked.

She nodded weakly and tilted her head toward a chair. “Be my guest.”

He sank into it gratefully. “The doctor says you had a pretty good night and that your shoulder is looking better. How are you feeling?”

“Stronger and stronger.” It was true. Since arriving at Sarasota Hospital and getting some much needed Type O pumped back into her veins, Darby Farr was once again feeling like herself.

“What about your lungs? I heard one was collapsed.”

“It’s healing. The broken ribs are sore, but they’ll be okay.” She looked into his deeply lined face. “How about you?”

He sighed. “We lost Dave. I don’t know if you knew that.”

Darby shook her head. She remembered few details from her rescue the day before: Kelly McGee bounding up and somehow rolling Peter Janssen off her chest; the ambulance arriving and hustling her inside; the noise of the siren as she was raced toward Sarasota Hospital. “What happened?”

“When Kelly and Dave got to the cemetery they saw you running into the woods with Janssen in pursuit. Dave fired off a shot. Janssen returned fire and hit Dave in the head.”

Darby closed her eyes.

“Poor Dave.”

Briggs nodded. “Got a wife and kids. I’m hoping they’ll remember him as a hero.”

Darby was getting drowsy but she needed to know another detail. “It was Kelly who shot Janssen?”

“Yeah. Right on the money and just in time.” He paused. “She’s outside. She’d like to say hello if you’re up to it.”

Darby nodded and Briggs went to the door. A moment later the redheaded officer followed him to Darby’s side.

“You’re quite the survivor, Darby,” Kelly said quietly. “The doctors are impressed with your stamina.”

Darby gave a weak smile. “Thank you, Kelly. You saved my life.”

The young officer blushed. “Only because you managed to stay alive as long as you did.” She looked down at her hands. “It was Dave who remembered Pine Grove Cemetery. I guess Janssen mentioned it once at poker.” She wiped her eyes and glanced around the hospital room. “Can I do anything for you while you’re in here?”

Darby nodded. “Yes. I want you and Jonas to have dinner tonight—my treat.”

Kelly blushed a deeper shade. “I’m sure Detective Briggs is busy …”

“No, I’m free, but—” Briggs looked flustered. “We can wait until you’re out of here, then the three of us can go.”

“No. It’s all arranged. You’ve got a table at Luna for seven o’clock.”

The police professionals looked at each other in surprise.

“Well—” Briggs began.

Darby closed her eyes. “I’m going to take a very long and restful nap now. You two take off, okay?” She waited until they had tiptoed out of the room and closed her door before she allowed herself to smile.

_____

Jack Cameron consulted the guest list his sister had drawn up for the following day’s luncheon in honor of Darby Farr. “What about Tag Gunnerson and the buyer for St. Andrew’s Isle?”

“Good idea. Why don’t I call Helen and see who else should be included?”

They were perched on a plump couch in Mitzi’s study at Casa Cameron. Two glasses of lemonade and a plate of snickerdoodles—courtesy of Carlotta—waited on a nearby table.

Jack reached for a cookie and bit into it. “Marco is figuring out the food. Between what he brings and what Carlotta makes, we should be in good shape.” He gave Alexandra a concerned look. “You’re sure she’ll be out of the hospital, right?”

“That’s what her doctor said.” The realtor’s speedy recovery was truly amazing. With everything Darby Farr had sustained at the hands of Peter Janssen—bullet wound, broken ribs, a broken cheek bone, and a collapsed lung—she was due to come home from the hospital the following day. “It’s because she’s young, and in such good shape,” Alexandra surmised. “Unlike some people I know who are starting to get a little paunch because they don’t exercise and eat too many snickerdoodles.”

“Hey!” Jack Cameron took a pillow from the couch and tossed it at his sister. “I resemble that?!”

She tossed the pillow back as Mitzi Cameron entered the room. “Children, children!” she laughed, happy to see the two siblings smiling once more. “You’ll get lemonade all over the rug.” She rolled over to the couch. “Need any help?”

“I think we’re all set,” Alexandra answered. “Just make sure Helen brings Darby over.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Mitzi said. “Helen can’t wait.”

_____

Helen was Darby’s only other visitor that afternoon. Wearing her trademark golf shirt and slim navy pants, she marched in and went straight to Darby’s bedside.

“You are looking ten times better, my friend,” she announced. “Rested and relaxed. How’s the pain?”

“Much better. I’m not quite ready to go sell any houses, but I’m getting there.”

“Don’t you worry, you’re selling St. Andrew’s Isle without even showing up! We are passing papers in the morning. I’ll have your commission check when I pick you up at eleven.” She put a small duffle bag on a chair. “Clean clothes. Hope you like what I picked out.”

“That’s great.” Darby thought of ET and the loan she had promised him. Now he would have the money to help out his family.

“Pretty bouquet,” Helen commented, looking at a huge bunch of pink roses, white lily-of-the-valley, and stephanotis. “Mind if I look?” She reached in to read the card and frowned.

“Marty Glickman! That figures.” Her tone softened. “He must feel terrible knowing that Peter was the one who murdered Kyle. All that anger, for all those years, simmering just below the surface. And to think it was St. Andrew’s Isle that set him off.”

Darby sat up a little and winced. “He resented Kyle before she went to work at Barnaby’s, and having her work there all those years ate away at him. You’re right, Helen, losing that listing was the last straw.”

Helen took a peek at another bouquet. “Hydrangea. Now there’s a pricey flower.” She pulled the card out of its envelope. “The Office of the Lieutenant Governor of Florida. Huh. That was nice.”

Darby gave a small smile. “According to Jonas Briggs, Chellie Howe was very relieved to know the killer’s identity.”

“Do you think she suspected her husband?”

“I don’t know. Could be.”

Helen put her hands on her hips. “I’m taking off. You get some rest and I’ll be here to spring you tomorrow at eleven, okay?”

“Sounds great. Thanks for the clothes. I trust I’ll look presentable.”

“Thank heavens.” She gave a fond smile. “See you in the morning. No more adventures for a while.”

_____

Kelly McGee ordered Luna’s snapper paella on Jonas’ recommendation and enjoyed every bite. Even more enjoyable was the way the police detective seemed to grow more and more relaxed, right before her eyes, as she told him stories of a Philadelphia childhood shared with four brothers, three of whom were also cops. First, they’d discussed the shootout at Pine Grove in all of its horrific detail. Kelly had needed to process the event and Briggs was a willing and concerned listener. Then the talk had turned light, and laughter had replaced their shared sadness over Dave DiNunzio’s death.

Now Jonas Briggs regarded her over his glass of Rioja. “How old are you, anyway?”

Kelly felt a flush in her cheeks. How many times had she wished for this exact moment? She looked at him square in the face with determination in her eyes. “Don’t worry, Detective Briggs. I think you’ll find I’m just the right age.”

_____

Darby was showered and dressed when Helen arrived promptly at eleven. “Your Mr. Kobayashi is now the proud owner of St. Andrew’s Isle,” she announced. “He’s ecstatic. Kept smiling and making these adorable little bows at everyone. Tag’s thrilled, too—he’s ready to take off for Arizona and help his sister and nephew.” She grinned. “The only one who didn’t seem pleased was Bernie Schultz.”

“Why is that?” Darby let Helen help her into a wheelchair for her discharge from the hospital. “Won’t he be heading to Arizona with Tag?”

“Turns out our friend Bernie hates the desert.”

“What about Justin Fleischman?”

“Funny you should ask. I’m thinking he could come and work for me at Near & Farr.”

“No more retirement?”

Helen grinned. “Not when there are deals like the one we just made.” She clapped her hands. “Speaking of deals … guess what? Tag invited me out to Arizona to play golf with him once he’s settled.” She gave one of her booming laughs. “Can you believe it? I’m going to play my best game ever, I can just feel it.”

Darby smiled as Helen pushed her down the corridor and out the automatic doors. The humid air hit her like a wall, but Darby didn’t mind. She was happy to be out of the hospital and moving on.

Helen’s Lexus was waiting and she unlocked and opened the door. “Let me help you. Are you still very sore?”

“Much better. I’m taking over-the-counter pain medicine, and it seems to be working fine.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Helen closed the door and hustled to her side of the vehicle. “Because I’m taking you somewhere special for lunch.”

Darby smiled at her friend. “What a good idea. I’m starved.”

_____

The curving drive of Casa Cameron was lined with cars parked all alongside the magnificent old oaks, and Darby turned to Helen with an incredulous look. “I don’t know this many Floridians, do I?”

Helen laughed. “You’d be surprised. There are a lot of folks who want to thank you and wish you well.” She pulled up in front of the massive front door and Harold hustled out, his face ruddy and kind.

“Ms. Farr. It’s wonderful to see you. Let me be of assistance.”

Darby allowed the butler to escort her into the grand entry hall of Casa Cameron and its opulent, cream-colored living room. Dozens of people had gathered, all of whom burst into applause at her entrance.

Jack Cameron was by her side instantly. “Darby, welcome,” he said. “Have a seat.”

Gratefully, she sank into a comfortable armchair in front of the marble fireplace. She glanced up at the portrait of Mitzi Cameron, smiling its coy little grin as always.

Alexandra Cameron, dressed in a white linen sheath dress, appeared and gave her a gentle hug. “Thank you for bringing closure to my brother’s pain,” she whispered. “It isn’t going to be easy, but at least he knows the truth.” Her gray eyes lingered on Darby’s. “I want you to know, my feelings for Kyle were mixed, but I never wished her any harm.”

“I know.” Darby heard the hum of a motor and looked up as Mitzi Cameron approached, a drink in her hand.

“I’m using my new wheels to bring you a Mojito,” she said. “Helen says it’s your favorite. Mind if I sit next to you? You are, after all, the guest of honor.”

Darby looked at the elderly beauty who had suffered so much. “It would be an honor.” She took a sip of the Mojito and smiled. “Delicious.”

A small dog scampered through the guests’ legs, stopping at Mitzi’s wheelchair and wagging his tail with a passion. “Who are you?” she asked with a silvery laugh.

Darby looked closely at the little dog. “Fang?” He spun in a circle as if confirming her question.

“That’s right.” Jonas Briggs and Kelly McGee appeared at Darby’s side. “I’m afraid I couldn’t let this little guy go to the pound.” He gave a sheepish grin.

“He’s got Buddy, too,” Kelly said, looking up at Briggs’ rugged face. She turned back to Darby, her cheeks a warm pink. “I tell you, he’s a softie.”

Mitzi Cameron laughed again. “I remember that fish. Does he still live in that beautiful crystal bowl?”

Jonas nodded. “Yes. Until Jack wants it back …”

“Keep it,” Jack said, coming up with a plate of food for Darby. “I’m glad the little guy has a good home.” He smiled and handed her a prettily patterned piece of china. “Okay, despite the array of lunch choices here, Marco insisted that I bring you this.”

Darby looked down. It was a miniature-sized grouper sandwich. “Perfect!” she said. “It’s just what I wanted.” She took a bite and grinned. “Please thank Marco for me.”

“Done.” Jack Cameron looked around. “Don’t get yourself all tuckered out, okay? We just wanted to show you how much we appreciate everything you’ve done for the Cameron family.” He took a deep breath. “Including Kyle.”