Mayhem Takes a Dare: The Second Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 2) (31 page)

“No.” Moira slipped her foot back into her shoe and stood up. “You’re friends with Mrs. Flaxton and Clay…and Mrs. Flaxton’s little minion, Marisa Adair. Not to mention the bouncy little blonde who draws your gaze like a magnet every time you’re in her orbit. You would not be a reliable witness.”

Althea held up her pen. She pushed the button on top.

Moira’s voice filled the room. “I did it for the thrill.”

Her perfect face twisted with hatred and fury. She reached beside her for her purse.

“Looking for this?” Clara shook Moira’s teal purse at her. “You’re not as good as you think you are, Moira. You thought an old lady was merely adjusting a blind.” 

Moira snatched the purse out of Clara's hands and furiously rooted in it.

“Or it could be you’re looking for this.” Clara brought up a gun. Her hand was rock steady.

Moira threw her purse at Clara. She ran for the stairs.

Clara sighted, taking careful aim.

Moira stumbled on the stairs just as Clara fired.

Her shot struck the wall precisely where Moira would have been had she not fallen.

Tossing away the gray wig, the lawman sprinted toward the stairs.

“Lieutenant Camden! Wait!”

Reluctantly, he pivoted toward her, his hand on the banister.

Althea urgently sprang from the couch. “Think! Why would she run upstairs and not outside? She must have explosives and more weapons upstairs! She’s going to blow up the building!”

“You ladies remain here and try to stay calm. I’ll handle this.” The lieutenant pounded up the stairs. “And Miss Clara, no more shooting!”

Clara lurched to her feet. “We have to get everyone out!”

“You’re right! But…” Althea took a few steps toward the stairs. “But we have to save that young man! If he dies, Marisa and Tara will both be very disappointed in us!”

“I’ll pull the fire alarm. That will get everyone out.” Surprisingly speedy given her girth, Clara shuffled to the fire lever. She pulled it. The building immediately filled with the raucous sound of the alarm and flashing lights.

Althea hit the stairs with Clara close behind her.

Doors opened in the hallway. Elderly residents nervously prairie dogged, with male and female heads popping out of doorways.

“Fire! Everyone out!” Althea ordered.

Clara authoritatively shooed everyone toward the stairs, as if they were children in her lunchroom.

Lieutenant Camden pounded his fist on a closed door.

People wandered out of the rooms and hesitantly milled around. “Is it a real fire or a drill?” asked Mrs. Kenton, her fuzzy pink robe the exact color of the pink curlers in her hair.

The lawman crashed into the door with his shoulder.

Althea hurried up to him. She frantically tugged at his arm. “If you crash through that door, it will explode!”

Mrs. Kenton hovered anxiously behind them. “Is that room on fire?” She waved her hands in the air.

Clara pushed the bleating woman toward the stars. “Mrs. Kenton! Get the hell out of the building!”

“Clara! I can’t leave without my research!”

Clara frowned. “Research?”

“I’ve spent the past twenty years investigating my daughter Mayla’s death! I have statements from her friends, witnesses, interviews with the police...I’ll burn with that before I give it up! And Mayla’s things! I cannot leave those behind!” The gentle face set in mulish lines.

Each stiff with determination, the two women stared at each other.

Clara’s bosom heaved. “You have to get out right now!”

Mrs. Kenton’s face crumpled. “My investigation! Mayla’s things, Clara! I can’t leave them!”

Clara threw her hands up. “All right! Come on, let’s get them and you the hell out of here!”

The lieutenant’s slight frame hit the door again. “Mrs. Flaxton! I asked you to wait downstairs!” he ground through clenched teeth.

Terrified, Althea shook the young man. “You heard her yourself. She’s a psychopath. She’s bent on escape. I bet she foresaw her need to make a quick getaway. She’s an explosives expert. She’s been a terrorist for hire. She won’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in her way, and she won’t care how many innocent bystanders die.”

Staggering under the weight of the large box in her arms, Clara gasped, “Althea’s right, Lieutenant!” Not waiting for an answer, Clara moved as fast as she could to the stairs, Mrs. Kenton close behind her.

Althea shook the young man. “Moira’s wired this building with explosives to slow down any pursuers. Call the bomb squad!”

His youthful face hardened. “I can handle her, Mrs. Flaxton. Now go back downstairs and stay out of the way.”

Althea looked around the crowded hallway for help. The residents were hurrying toward the stairs.

Clara pushed her way back to Althea, using her weight and her girth against the tide of elderly people. “I’ve got Mrs. Kenton headed out. Now I’ll get the rest of...”

Althea clawed desperately at her old friend. “He won’t listen to me, Clara! Moira has ensured this building will be nothing but cinders! We have to get him out of here!”

Clara shoved her bulk between the young lieutenant and the door. “You’re thinking of Mrs. Peters as a harmless older lady. Underestimating her will get you killed!”

Clara had the element of surprise. Using her sturdy body and her weight advantage, she pushed Dreamus down the hallway, toward the head of the stairs. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, and she used the knowledge to push him as far as she could before he could recover.

Behind them, the apartment exploded, hurling heat and debris through the hallway. A wave of hot force hit them, and threw them to the head of the stairs. Clara covered both Althea and Lieutenant Camden with her bulk and pinned them to the floor with her weight.

Althea remained motionless, and tried to assess for damage. Her ears were ringing. Her only pain seemed to be associated with Clara’s weight on her body. She managed to squirm out from underneath Clara. “Is everyone OK?” She choked on the billowing black smoke. Roaring flames engulfed the far end of the hallway.

Clara heaved herself off the wiry man.

Althea saw smoke rising from Clara’s back. She jerked off her sweater, and used it to pat out the flames on Clara’s polyester smock.

Lieutenant Camden remained prone on the floor. He moaned.

“Did I squish the poor man?” asked Clara, her anxiety causing her voice to rise.

Althea bent over him.

The side of his head was bleeding profusely.

Althea held her sweater to his head, and caught something in her peripheral vision.

A jagged wooden stake protruded from his thigh.

“You’re taking me to your therapy office to kill me?” The night wind teased Marisa’s hair around her face, chilling the nervous perspiration coating her skin. “Won’t that prove your guilt?”

Macon swiped his card. “It’ll prove my innocence.” When the light glowed green, he shoved open the door. “Now, it’s time to play out the final scene in your colorful life, Marisa.”

The reception area was dark, and Barbara’s station was empty. Light spilled into the hallway from Macon’s lighted office. He led the way past the other two shut office doors, each dark at the bottom gap. No help there. As she approached Macon’s door, she desperately debated making her move.

“Look who’s here, Marisa, right next to your usual seat. Too bad we don’t have time for a session.”

In the doorway, Marisa staggered in surprise.

Her brother Mosely slowly raised his head from his chest. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken. With his skin stretched tightly over his bones, his head looked like a skull. His cheeks were covered with stubble, and his face was blotchy. His shaking hand grasped a Styrofoam cup. On the little table at his elbow, an open bottle of whiskey was half full.

“Mosely! How could you?”

Her brother smiled, his decayed teeth brown in the dim light. Black gaps marked the missing front teeth. “Marisa! Ha ha ha! Macon here asked me help him play a little trick on you!”

“A trick?” Marisa glanced at Macon.

He waved toward her chair, using his gun for emphasis. “Sit down, Marisa.” He turned toward Mosely. “Not quite just a fun practical joke. I also had to agree to pay him for his participation tonight. Too bad he didn’t ask for his money up front.” Macon laughed.

Mosely laughed with the therapist. “Marisa, you always think you’re so smart, just because you went to college and I didn’t. Macon said this would be a great way to prove I am just as smart as you are.”

Macon put his gun on the desk as he pulled another firearm from his pocket. “Thank you for giving me your gun earlier, Mosely. Your sister mentioned you had used it to shoot an ornery soft drink machine.”

Mosely carefully put the cup on the table and slapped his leg. “That sure was a hoot! I’m surprised she told you about it, since everything I do seems to embarrass my big sister.”

“You know, Mosely, when Marisa first starting coming to me for therapy, I actually thought she’d make a great partner.” He backed up to his desk, keeping his eyes on Marisa as he propped his behind on his desk.

“Partner?” Marisa choked. Why was she trying to carry on a conversation with him? Unless she could somehow catch him off guard and overpower him, she was convinced both she and Mosely were going to die.

He settled back on the desk top. “Yes, partners. The only problem was when you hit the road to recovery. Once you started to get sober and go to your twelve-step meetings, you definitely became less interesting to me.”

“Marisa and her twelve-step programs,” Mosely groaned. “What a downer!”

Macon cocked his head.

Marisa found herself listening as well. She thought she heard a stealthy sound.

Macon shrugged. He smiled at her, causing the corners of his eyes to crease in pseudo good humor. “Just the building settling.” He held the gun directly on her. “Stand up. I’m going to shoot you and then your brother is going to turn the gun on himself. That will ensure his fingerprints on the gun and nitrate on his hand.”

Reluctantly, Marisa stood up.
I’ll have to watch his every movement for my chance. Once it comes, I won’t get another one.

Macon’s words seemed to penetrate Mosely’s fog. “Now wait just a minute! No way am I going to let you hurt my sister!”

Macon raised the gun and pointed it at Marisa.

“Hell, no!” Mosely unsteadily lurched from his chair and angled his body between Marisa and Macon.

An explosion shattered the air as Mosely plowed into Marisa. As they toppled to the ground, Marisa dimly heard, as if from a long distance, “Marisa!”

Was that Alex’s voice? Or was she imagining things? Her ears were ringing so loudly, she couldn’t tell. Marisa thought,
why am I on the floor?
Her brother’s weight was pinning her down. She pushed at him. “Mosely, get off me! I have to stop Macon!”

A familiar barking reached her ears. “Punky? What the hell?”

She managed to turn her head and look up as Alex’s wiry form burst in, Punky barking hysterically at his feet. At his elbow, Verna stretched a restraining hand toward her dog as he leaped for Marisa’s ankles.

“Alex! He has a gun!” She watched from the floor as Alex cannoned into Macon, and they crashed to the floor behind Macon’s desk.

Marisa tried to push Punky away from her ankles as he nipped at them. She managed to roll from beneath her brother. She raised herself to her hands and knees and bent over his still form. Blood flowed from his chest. His eyes were open, the confused, questioning green eyes of their childhood. “Marisa, are you OK?”

She pressed her hands on his chest as hard as she could to staunch the bleeding. “Mosely, you saved my life.”

“Of course I did, Marisa. You’re my sister.”

“Mosely, hang on, we’ll get an ambulance here! Alex, call 911!”

Another form flew past her and joined the tussle behind the desk.

“I’m calling 911, Marisa!” As Verna moved away, Punky’s barking sounded further away.

“You’re under arrest!” The uniformed police officer’s harsh tones recited Macon’s rights.

“You’re making a mistake! I’m a respected and licensed therapist! These people broke into my office and tried to kill me!”

“Save it for your lawyer. That’s Wanda Bra Woman and her sidekick, what’s his name.”

Marisa looked up.

His hand on the enraged therapist’s shoulder, the officer winked at her. “I’m Officer Daviess. Do you remember me? I was there when Cam hauled all of you to the station after the mob incident a few months ago at the wrestling match. I’m a big fan.” The round face brightened. “Can I get your autograph once I’ve got this guy stowed away?”

“Now I’m not only what’s his name, but I’m the sidekick.” Alex knelt next to Marisa and squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, Mosely, you’re a hero, man!”

“Me, a hero? Who would have thought it?” He turned his head and frowned. “Marisa. I am so sorry for everything.” His eyes closed.

Marisa pressed her forehead against his. “It’s OK, Mose. I love you.”

“How can you love me after everything I’ve done, Marisa?”

“I hate what you’ve done, Mosely, but I never stopped loving you.”

Mosely’s thin hand groped for hers. “Marisa, I stole the quarters out of Mom’s commemorative map of the fifty states. I pried the quarters out and took them. When she asked me about it, I said I didn’t do it. When she said I was the only one who could have done it, as well as taken her missing knick knacks, I said I didn’t remember.”

Marisa clutched his hand.

“Mom said she believed me, Marisa. She always believes me.” The green eyes opened. “One good thing about dying is it’ll free me from the drinking. I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing that will ever cure me.” The eyes drifted closed as if they were too heavy to remain open.

Daviess hauled Macon toward the door. The therapist glared down at her, his face twisted in hatred. “Hey, Marisa. You’re the big sister. You should have saved that boy. This is all your fault.”

Marisa pressed Alex’s hands to her brother’s bleeding chest. She rose to face Macon. “Macon. Kiss my ass.” She doubled her fist and hit him squarely in the nose. Blood rained down his face and onto his shirt.

“Oopsie.” Officer Daviess marched Macon to the door. “Clumsy suspect tripped and hit his nose on the desk.”

“Marisa, you bitch!” His voice muffled by his hands on his bleeding nose, Macon snarled down at her. “I’m going to get you! Just wait!”

The officer shook the screaming Macon as he hauled him out of the room. “That’s Miss Bitch to you.”

Marisa knelt by Alex and helped him stem the blood gushing from her brother’s chest. She bit her lip to keep from groaning. “Are you in pain, Mosely? Just hold on!”

The head on the floor moved dreamily from side to side. “No pain at all. I used the whiskey to wash down a couple of oxycodone tabs before you got here.”

Marisa forced herself not to yell at her brother.

“Hey, Marisa,” Mosely coughed. “Help me smoke a cigarette right quick. They’re so unreasonable about smoking in emergency rooms. And grab that bottle. It’s still half full.”

In spite of her resolution, a thin scream escaped Marisa’s set mouth.