Splintered Bones (39 page)

He tumbled down beside me as Krystal managed to throw the Mercedes into reverse and back onto the driveway. Spinning gravel, she was gone.

Gasping for breath, I lay on the cement. Before I could attempt an escape, Mike began to stir. I knew I would surely die.

"Get up," he ordered as he climbed to his feet.

I tried rolling to my hands and knees, but he grabbed my arm and tugged me up to stand beside him. "You'll pay for this," he warned me.

I looked down the driveway in time to see my Mercedes turn right onto the highway. Krystal had escaped.

28

In my earlier examination of the dead animal room, I'd
missed the one piece of furniture that I now found myself sitting on, a straight-backed chair. Mike had tied me to it with enough knots to keep a seaman busy for an Atlantic voyage. I clearly did not have that long to live.

"I'm going to ask you one more time. Where're the insurance papers on that horse?" The barrel of his gun was cold against my cheek.

"Was he insured?" I wasn't certain if Mike knew that Avenger was still alive. The best I could do was hedge my answers, hoping he would give me a clue to what he knew.

"Answer me now," he demanded. His clean-cut looks were still intact, but he'd dropped all pretense of good manners. He leaned so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. "You're going to tell me, one way or the other."

"I don't know," I said for the tenth time. "I never saw any papers. I've been looking for them, too."

He spun away from me and paced the room. He checked his watch. "Simpson's been gone about ten minutes. It'll take her another ten to get into town. I don't have time for games."

I clearly saw the sand in the hourglass slipping away. And I did want to go home.

"The night Kemper died, he was trying to kill Avenger, wasn't he?" I asked, hoping to divert Mike.

"Kemper, that idiot, couldn't even kill a horse properly. He couldn't execute a simple plan without botching it. He was all big talk."

"Quit whining," I snapped, surprised that in the midst of my agony I would revert to the behavior of a Daddy's Girl. It was one of the first lessons Aunt LouLane had taught me: When outnumbered, assume authority and give an order. I'd seen it work in more than one ugly situation. Unfortunately, Mike didn't know the rules.

"You're just like Simpson, aren't you?" He glared at me. "She's got her country-girl act down to a T, but scratch the surface and there's Delta-bred bitch. She's not as smart as she thinks, though. She got careless and made it clear that she intended to dump me as soon as she made it to the big time. Right about then, she became more valuable dead than alive. All you Delta girls think the world can't exist without you. But you're wrong. Dead wrong."

My brain had finally started to work, and I added up the details of what he said. Krystal and Avenger shared one thing in common--to Mike, they were worth more dead than alive. "Insurance doesn't always pay on suicide," I pointed out to him.

"That's where you're wrong. You just have to know how to write the policy, and I'm an expert at it."

I understood it all, then. "You wrote the policy on Avenger, and you filed it in ..." I had to think. To avoid suspicion that as owner of the horse he would benefit from Avenger's death, he couldn't use his own name, so it had to be--"Krystal's name."

"Aren't you the teacher's pet? Except you're wrong. I wrote the policy under my real name. Mitchell Raybon. It was easy to change my name when Simpson changed hers. It was one of those togetherness things that women are so fond of."

I recognized the name only because I'd just spoken it to Cece. "You and Kemper were going to split the insurance money. You'd done it before, with LaCoco, when you torched a resort."

"You got the right answers, but I'd say your timing's a little off."

"I managed to get here in time to save Krystal, and she
will
get help. If you're going to escape, you'd better get moving right now." I could only hope he'd be content to leave me tied in a chair.

"You don't understand. I owe Tony a lot of money. He's been the primary backer of Krystal's career. Tony isn't what I'd call a sentimental man. He wants to be paid, and he wants it yesterday. He would have killed Kemper if someone hadn't gotten there first. If I don't come up with his money, he's going to kill me." The cold barrel of the gun pressed into the back of my neck just at the point that would leave me a quadriplegic. "Where's the policy on that horse?" He grinned wickedly. "And where's the horse and the kid?"

My mouth went dry. He knew Kip and Avenger were alive. "You've already tried to kill the horse twice, once with insulin and then by setting the barn fire. Maybe you should give it up and get out of here before Coleman arrives."

He walked around to face me. "I would have had the money from Krystal if you hadn't come along just a few minutes too soon. My plan was that you'd find her dead, and find me 'knocked out' in the bedroom. You would have been my perfect alibi. Since you screwed that, you're going to help me find the insurance policy."

I had a few cards up my sleeve. "You can't risk trying to collect on Avenger, even if you finally manage to kill him. The sheriff has contacted every insurance company in the nation. They'll never pay off. Take your losses and get out of here while you can."

He checked his watch. "True confessions are over, sweetheart. Tell me where the kid took the horse. I promise I can make you talk. It'll be a lot less painful if you just tell me what I want to know."

He came toward me, and I knew he'd do whatever it took to make me talk. Just his eyes made me want to tell him everything.

"Why are you obsessed with an insurance policy you can't collect on?" I had to either make him leave or keep him talking. I was completely unprepared for the slap.

Tied in the chair, I couldn't even attempt to defend myself. I blinked the tears out of my eyes and felt the blood begin to trickle from my nose. He'd gotten the other side of my face this time.

"Where's the damn policy? It's the only physical evidence that ties me to Kemper in any way, shape, or form. That's the only thing that can cause me trouble."

"What about Krystal? She's not going to look kindly on a man who tried to gas her to death and then strangle her."

Mike laughed. "You don't know how desperate Krystal is for her singing career. Any hint of bad publicity could crash all of her dreams. Right now, the worst I'm looking at is a domestic argument with my wife, a temperamental wannabe star." He shrugged. "At worst, I may be charged with attempted murder." He crouched down so his face was level with mine. "You're the flaw in my plan, Sarah Booth. You've been snooping and poking around in everyone's business, and now it's caught up with you. I know you know where that policy is. Carol Beth said you were out at the farm going through all the files. She said you took the policy."

"I don't have the policy. I never saw it." It didn't matter that I was actually telling the truth. It wasn't what Mike wanted to hear.

The gun barrel swung until it was pointing at my face.

"You won't get away with this." I spoke the television words with as much grit as I could muster.

"Maybe, maybe not, but you're going to start talking or I'm going to start shooting little bits of you off." I could see his finger slowly beginning to squeeze the trigger. The barrel eased to the right slightly until it was pointed at my ear. I'd never be able to wear matching earrings again.

"Okay, I know where the policy is." I had to come up with something. "The sheriff has it. He's had it all along. You're a dead man if you hurt me. When Coleman gets his hands on you, he'll make you suffer in ways you can't even imagine." Lying in the teeth of death is a peculiarly liberating act.

"I don't believe you." But he lowered the gun even as he spoke.

"It's over, Mike. There's no escaping. You'll only make it a lot worse on yourself if you hurt me." I sat up as tall as the ropes would allow. "I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life in prison as the sheriff's boy, and Coleman will see to it that every man in there has a shot at you." Tony LaCoco wasn't the only person who could steal lines from the movies.

He swallowed but held the gun steady.

I saw a chink and pressed harder. "Maybe you can make a case that Kemper's death was an accident. You didn't intend for him to fall under the horse." I wasn't going to bring up the tiny details of the insulin and the nippers. "The barn fire could have been an accident, too. J.B. Washington is recovering from the head wound. There's nothing here you can't put behind you."

He looked at me hard. "I didn't kill Kemper."

I didn't believe him, but I wanted to keep him talking. "If you didn't kill Kemper, who did?"

"Lee killed him. She confessed."

"Right." I couldn't help the skepticism.

"She must have. When I left the barn, Kemper was still alive. He'd stolen the insulin from the veterinarian's truck. We'd originally planned to electrocute Avenger. You know, the old wires in the nostrils. The insulin was a better idea. Kemper said he could handle it, so I left. The difference between me and Kemper is that he wanted to watch the horse die. For some reason, he hated that animal. I just wanted the money. Kemper was very much alive when I left him. Either Lee killed him, or the kid did it."

There was a slight noise from the front door, enough that Mike drew back from me and started toward it. He moved sideways, glancing from me to the open door.

"What was that?" he demanded.

I didn't say anything. The wrong word could tease his trigger finger into action, and I was still the target.

The sound came again, like a piece of furniture sliding over the polished floors.

"Who's there?" he yelled.

There was no answer, just the sliding sound again. Closer now, moving toward us.

"Stay away or I'll kill her," he yelled, bringing the gun barrel level with my head. From psychology I remembered that suicidal women who chose guns most often shot themselves in the chest. Vanity. They wanted an open casket. I didn't want a casket at all.

The noise stopped, replaced by the crash of glass.

"Who's out there?" Mike roared. His gaze shifted from me to the door in such rapid motion that I was terrified he'd accidentally squeeze the trigger.

The only answer was another crash of glass. My heart sank at the thought that Krystal had turned around and come back to try to help me. She hadn't had time to get to town, get help, and drive back out here. I rued my hardheadedness in not getting a cell phone and leaving it in the car. I'd been pigheaded and antitechnology, but I would change--if I got a chance.

Mike had slipped along the wall, and when he stuck his head out to see who was in the house, a plate sailed toward him, narrowly missing his head. It hit the wall and shattered.

"Damn you!" he yelled out the door, but his focus swung back to me. "No more time for games." He cocked the gun.

A vase flew through the door and landed right at my feet, shattering into a thousand pieces like a small explosion.

The gunshot that followed was strangely muted, more of a pop. Mike staggered, a frown crossing his face. He lurched forward, and his finger squeezed the trigger. The bullet tore into my arm. It was like being punched, but without any pain. It took a few seconds for the pain to arrive.

Before I could utter a scream, a lithe figure leaped through the doorway. There was the sound of another shot and Mike crumpled over, grabbing his gut. His brow was furrowed as he looked up at Carol Beth. She pointed a gun at him with complete aplomb. Somehow I'd missed the DG lesson on firearms.

"You shot me," he said, amazement evident in his voice.

"No kidding." She pulled the trigger again.

Mike staggered back and fell. He didn't move again.

"Carol Beth." I was astounded. "How did you get here?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, Sarah Booth." She walked over and looked at the gunshot wound in my arm. Blood was running down the length of my shirt, dripping onto the floor in a puddle that was getting much too large. "Too bad. Looks like he nicked an artery."

"Untie me," I said.

"You don't really look like you're in a position to give orders." She smiled, and flicked her mahogany ponytail off her shoulder. She was wearing her riding breeches, a white sleeveless shirt, and black boots with a spit-shined polish. She was awfully well turned out for a cold-blooded killer.

I was suddenly sick to my stomach and dizzy.

"If you bought a cell phone, Sarah Booth, you wouldn't have to go running all over the county. First the newspaper, then the dog groomer, then back to Dahlia House, then here. That's a lot of wasted time for me, waiting to get you alone. But it turned out best this way. Mike will take the blame." She bent closer to my bleeding arm. "I think you're going to bleed out. Too bad, I was looking forward to shooting you again."

She was holding a gun as black and ugly as the one Mike had been holding. Only I was no longer capable of witty repartee. I was bleeding to death.

"Why?" I had a full question to ask, but that was as much as I could say.

"Even in high school you were a nosy Nellie. I wouldn't exactly classify you as a top-rate investigator, but you know the old saying, even a blind hog finds an acorn every now and then. You were getting too close. Eventually you would have figured out that I killed Kemper."