Mayhem Takes a Dare: The Second Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 2) (30 page)

Clay Napier. She was sure the dapper, handsome man was in love with Althea. So many things about him puzzled her. His cool head in a crisis. His ability to physically defend himself. The whispers of his mysterious past.

Now she’d never get the chance to do what she’d left undone.

Marisa opened her email, and Macon moved to stand behind her. “Don’t try anything cute. I’m watching your every move.”

Her heart sank and she felt tears in her eyes. Verna. She was pinning her hopes on a nosy old woman who liked to peek in her kitchen window and eavesdrop on conversations.

“Type in the email address of the police station. I’ll read it to you.”

Marisa straightened her shoulders. If she was going to get out of this, her only hope was herself. She’d have to watch for the chance to rush him, and try and knock the gun out of his hand.

“Write that Sarah suspected you and Jake were running the child pornography ring.”

Marisa obediently typed.

“Very good,” approved Macon when she hit the send button. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a sheaf of small photographs. “Now, put these in your pockets. We’re going for a little ride.”

 Seated in front of her typewriter, Althea glanced at the clock. She had some time to work on her story, and perhaps it would take her mind off everything.

Clay
…she resolutely pushed him from her mind. As her fingers flew across the keys, she filled the blank paper in her typewriter with images from her busy brain.

Cross to Bear

By Seretha Ranier

Part Five: Conclusion

As Tina bumped her car onto the dirt turnoff, she wondered what she was doing. Had she lost her mind when she’d crossed what she thought of as the Redneck Border between the modern city of Louisville and the backwoods town of her upbringing? She got out and stood next to her car. The moon was high in the night sky, with the tall trees shrouded in darkness. She walked from the car to the road, wishing there were streetlights or she’d brought a flashlight. The sounds of the crickets were loud in the underbrush, and were accompanied by the lower bass of the bullfrogs. When an owl added its mournful call to the concert, she jumped.

Tina walked to the site of her brother’s fatal accident. In the moonlight, the apex of the cross pointed toward the night sky. The figure dressed as her brother looked eerily real, the arms spread the width of the cross and the ankles demurely together at the base. Tina squinted. Were there shining black pools where the eyes should be?

When a dark figure whirled toward her, Tina screamed.

Gloved black hands grasped her shoulders. “Sshh, Tina, it’s me. Chris.”

Tina broke free of the clutching fingers. “Chris? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Stay here. I’m making the roads safer by getting rid of this cross.” He pivoted to the cross, and picked up a shovel. “I always put whatever I find around the cross on the person’s grave. That’s where it belongs, anyway. There aren’t any souls hanging around these roadside monuments.”

“You’re the Roadside Cross Ninja!”

He hefted the shovel. “One of those roadside crosses led to my sister’s death. Now, I have to do what I can to prevent any other tragedies. Grab that beer your dad left. I’ve almost got this cross—”

The heavy wood crashed to the ground.

Chris pulled cutting pliers from the pocket of his thick black pants. “I’ll cut the mannequin loose. I’ve never had to drag a mannequin to a cemetery.” He bent over the still plastic figure.

Flapping wings over their heads made them both look up. “Two crows,” Tina said in relief, the small bodies inky in the dim moonlight.

“Ow!” Chris yelped and crashed to the ground.

Tina ran unsteadily through the high grass to Chris’ writhing body. A long, dark object was coiled around his throat. “Chris! What is it? Is that a snake around your neck?” She grabbed it and pulled at it. “That feels like an arm!”

A crow flew at the object, as if to dislodge it.

“The mannequin has me!” Chris thrashed, trying to throw it off him.

A second crow joined the first one, and pecked viciously at the figure’s head.

The first crow raised its beak and cawed. As if response, a swarm of fireflies filled the clearing.

In the yellowish glow from the tiny bodies, the mannequin slowly raised its bald head. The head seemed asymmetrical, as if it had been squashed on one side. It turned, and the malevolent onyx glitter of the eyes fell on Tina.

The crow cawed again, and its mate joined it. The raucous cries echoed among the mist-shrouded trees.

The skittering sound of hundreds of flapping wings filled the air. Still trying to pull Chris away from the enraged mannequin, Tina looked up at the sky. The moon was completely blocked by the swirling bodies of crows. The black flock converged on the figures on the ground. Slowly, the group rose, the mannequin dangling from the immense flock. The arm was still locked firmly around Chris’ neck.

Tina grabbed Chris’ hips, and pulled as hard as she could. She screamed at the determined figure. “Martin! Let him go! You took enough away from me, you’re not getting him, too!”

Finally, after a few seconds or an eternity, Tina felt the figure release the squirming man. Tina and Chris fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. As Chris drew in choked breaths, Tina looked up. The flock of birds whirled away, the enraged mannequin twisting impotently in their grasp.

Althea gathered together the pages of the story. In the assisted living center office, she placed the sheets in the fax machine. She keyed in the numbers she knew by heart, and waited while the sheets were pulled through the machine one at a time.

The young woman at the desk smiled at her through a swing of unevenly chopped black hair. “Mrs. Flaxton, if you typed those on a computer, you could email them anywhere you wished.”

Althea laughed. “I just can’t embrace the electronic age, Penny.”

Penny shrugged her heavy shoulders under her orange smock. “If you change your mind, I’ll be happy to help you, Mrs. Flaxton.” She rose and picked up a crumpled newspaper from the counter. “Would you like the newspaper? Wally always reads it during his morning break from his security guard duties, and he’s finished with it.”

Clutching the newspaper, Althea glided through the hallway to the common area. She curled up on the couch. As the clock on the wall ticked, she frowned and folded open the newspaper at the crossword puzzle. A six-letter word for a female monster with snakes in place of hair. First letter M, last letter A. Althea carefully wrote Moiria in the six boxes. She laughed at herself as she wrote in the extra “i.”

The common area of the assisted living center was quiet. Clara sat in her usual chair, at a right angle to the couch where Althea curled up in the full skirts of her navy blue dress. At the other end of the couch, an elderly man snoozed.

High heels tapped across the tiled foyer.

Clara turned her head. She called out, “Hello, Mrs. Peters.”

The tapping stopped. “Clara.” The normally trilling tones were distinctly unenthused.

“Mrs...Ranier. I mean, Mrs. Flaxton,” Moira purred.

Althea looked up from the paper on her lap.

“Mrs. Peters, you look extremely pleased with yourself,” Clara commented.

Moira’s face was flushed with excitement. Her green eyes sparkled. Her sundress was a glorious shade of teal, leaving her shoulders bare. She danced over to them on her matching high-heeled, strappy sandals, her hips swinging.

Moira executed an exuberant pirouette. “It’s a wonderful summer night.” The gloating green gaze slid to Althea’s expressionless face. “For those of us free to enjoy it, that is.” The scarlet lips widened in a smug smile. “I suppose now you don’t have to worry about telling Clay your big, deep, dark secret. Perhaps I’ve done you a favor after all.”

Althea’s hand clenched the paper.

Moira moved directly in front of Althea. “What an interesting little friend you have there on the couch with you.” Her tone was exactly as if she’d found a dead rodent moldering next to Althea. “It certainly didn’t take you long to replace Clay. I must admit, I did think you could do better.”

The old man slumped next to Althea was dressed in lime green knit pants. His yellow-and-white-checked shirt was neatly tucked in. The waistband was hiked up to the bottom of the shirt pocket. The gray head of messy curls was bent forward, the chin resting on the barely rising chest.

Her face stiff, Althea forced herself to smile. “Mr. Johnson normally holes up in his room. He ventures out on occasion to the sitting room. However, once he’s here, he generally falls sound asleep on the couch.”

Moira’s lip curled. “Ewwww. There’s drool on his chin.”

She settled on the couch arm next to Althea. She cocked her head. “I honestly don’t know what my husband sees in you. A retired little anemic schoolteacher.” She tossed her head, causing her long red hair to cascade around her bare shoulders. “They say once a man finds the love of his life and loses her, he will then seek the opposite. He had me…fun, exciting, absolutely fearless. Now he has you…drab, insipid, boring.”

Althea forced herself to relax. “Perhaps he sees me as honest, loving, and faithful. As you said, he must be seeking the opposite of yourself.”

Moira’s chest swelled in outrage.

Althea allowed herself a tiny smile. “In spite of the plastered on makeup, I see your eye is turning some interesting colors…oh, dear, yellow does clash with your skin tone.”

Moira’s face hardened. “You’re very proud of yourself for catching me off guard. Had I been ready for you, I’d have killed you with my bare hands.”

Althea raised a calm brow. “You’re very good at killing, aren’t you? You had no compunction blowing up your friends and co-workers thirty years ago. You were a terrorist for hire. At least I can understand the religious fanatics. They act according to their beliefs. You sold your expertise with explosives to the highest bidder. You’re a cold-hearted bitch, addicted to excitement and danger.”

Moira’s delighted laugh slithered down Althea’s spine.

“How absolutely thrilling! Clay broke his vow of secrecy for you! He told you all about his years as a...government worker.” Moira trailed a long, red fingernail down Althea’s arm.

Althea shivered in revulsion.

Moira smirked. “The man you call Clay married me because he loved me. He was so besotted with me, it was positively embarrassing.”

Althea resisted the urge to smack Moira with her newspaper. She made herself relax and smile. “You’re beautiful, Moira. Your skin is pulled so tight over your cheekbones it can’t possibly wrinkle. Your hair is carefully colored that wondrous shade of red, like the sun sinking into the ocean. Your eyes are like green emeralds. You’re painfully beautiful to look at, but what happens if anyone tries to touch you on the inside?”

Althea pulled her arm away from Moira’s caressing fingers. “I believe you’re cold as a glacier beneath that red-hot exterior. If anyone tries to touch it, he will be frozen by it. Like a child sticking his tongue to a cold metal pole, he will try to pull away from you without losing several layers of skin. Nothing good is gained by touching you. Frostbite, freezer burn, lost fingers or toes. You are hell, Moira. And hell isn’t hot, it’s frozen, just as you are. Clay loved you thirty years ago, until you froze his love and it splintered into a million tiny shards of ice.”

Moira’s teeth clenched. A muscle twitched in her jaw. “Nonsense. Clay was too soft-hearted. He simply couldn’t deal with my need for an exciting lifestyle.” She crossed her legs and swung her foot, deftly balancing her shoe on her toes. “You’re mistaken about one thing, though. I didn’t blow up the government agency where we worked for only money.” Moira leaned closer. “I did it for the thrill.”

“You killed for the thrill of it.” Clara was incredulous.

Althea braced her thin shoulders. “And you killed Mrs. Craft.”

Moira clapped her hands. “Finally! I didn’t think you’d ever get it! I was beginning to wonder if your reputation as an amateur detective was very much inflated.”

“After we’d left the police station and returned here, you overheard Clay and me discussing the murder of the dancer,. You decided to try and tie that murder in with the one here at the assisted living center. You thought if you could frame Clay for a murder here, the police would automatically suspect Clay of the dancer’s murder.”

Moira inspected her long, scarlet nails. “How utterly fascinating. You do have a vivid imagination.”

“However, you were missing one important thing. A dead body.”

Moira yawned and idly jiggled her shoe on her toes.

“You had to act fast. You stole one of Clay’s suits from his room while he and I were still discussing the events of the evening. You put it on, along with a gray wig. You saw Mrs. Craft sitting on the deserted patio. You waited for the arrival of one of the staff, so that ‘Clay’ could be seen by a witness. You stabbed Mrs. Craft, and hid the suit in Clay’s closet.”

Clara interjected, “You left a note on the body, implicating Clay Napier. Unfortunately for you, I took it from the crime scene.” She casually pulled herself up from her chair, adjusted the blind, and moved back to her seat.

Moira tapped her chin with a brilliant nail. “Let me get this straight. I killed Mrs. Craft. And now, your boyfriend will go to prison for it.” She applauded. “Very good, Mrs. Flaxton. You’re absolutely correct. You’ve solved your little puzzle. I stabbed Mrs. Craft and I framed Clay for the murder. Unfortunately, no one will believe you.”

Clara clenched the arms of her chair. “You won’t get away with this. We’ll go to the police and they’ll arrest you. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”

Moira laughed so hard she nearly fell off the arm of the couch. “Oh, dear. You’ll go to the police. How droll.” She abruptly stopped laughing. “The girlfriend of the accused.” She looked at Clara. “A broken down old woman.” Finally, her gaze moved to the figure on the other end of the couch. “An old man drooling in his sleep.”

The old man raised his head. He blinked and smacked his lips. He pulled himself up from the couch and removed the gray wig.

Moira gasped.

“I think they’ll believe the word of a police lieutenant.”