The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (29 page)

Finally Charley returned. "Got in," he announced, sounding pleased.

"Great! What did you find?"

"Saw him and his wife sitting in the living room. They didn’t even have the television on."

"Gee, that's really helpful. An obvious sign of guilt. I'm out here putting my life in danger and getting bitten by mosquitos and who knows what other creatures so you can watch Kimball and his wife sitting in the living room not even watching television."

"That's not all I did. I looked through their closets and cabinets and everywhere I could reach."

"How did you do that? You can't open doors or drawers, can you?"

"No, but I can go inside things."

"So there's no privacy when you're around."

"Yep." He grinned as if pleased with himself.

"Stay out of my underwear drawer."

Charley agreed so readily she was certain he'd already checked out her underwear drawer and anything else of hers he could find.

"Did you see a gun?"

"No gun."

Amanda heaved a deep sigh. "That's it then. This was a complete waste of time. Let's get out
of
here."

"No! We're not done. I need to get upstairs, into the bedrooms, the attic, all the places in this big house where he could hide stuff. I need you to move closer."

"I don't want to move closer. I want to leave. Now."

"I don't think we can do that," Charley said, his gaze moving past her, over her shoulder, toward the driveway where they'd entered.

Over the thundering of her heart as it tried to beat out of her chest, the sound of her blood rushing past her ears, crickets chirping and mosquitos buzzing, Amanda noticed another sound. Tires on pavement.

She turned in horror to see a police car coming down the driveway. A spotlight flashed through the trees then burst across her face.

"Put your hands on your head and move into the open," said an electronically magnified voice.

"You are so screwed," Charley said, helpful as always.

Chapter Fourteen

Amanda lifted her arms above her head and ordered her feet to move forward, to carry her within reach of the police. Images of prison bars flashed before her eyes. Why had she ever listened to Charley?

Two uniformed officers got out of the patrol car, guns drawn and aimed at her.

"Stop right there!" the taller one ordered.

She stopped.

"Who are you?" the shorter one demanded.

Amanda opened her mouth to tell them her name, but discovered it was so dry, she couldn't speak.

"Put your hands behind your back," the second officer ordered, holstering his gun and approaching her with a pair of handcuffs.

Amanda lowered her arms, and the man slapped the cuffs onto her wrists. The
y were
heavy and cold. Though only her hands were trapped, she felt as if the metal encased her entire body, making it impossible to move, hard to breathe.

The front door of Kimball's house opened, and the mayor himself stepped out onto the wide porch. "Well, well," Kimball said. "I do believe that's Charley Randolph's widow come to visit." He walked down the steps toward her.

"You know her?" the officer standing beside the car, his gun still drawn, asked.

"I met her at the funeral yesterday. Charley Randolph's funeral. You remember Charley, don't you?" Damned man looked even more evil in his casual slacks and knit shirt, every hair in place, his eyes darker and more threatening than the night she'd just been hiding in.

"I remember," the officer said. "Always in some kind of trouble. Left town a couple of years ago. Wasn’t surprised somebody finally killed him. Probably a jealous husband. Beg pardon, ma'am."

"He hasn't got any room to talk," Charley protested. "Smoked my first joint with that guy back in the seventh grade. I could tell you some things about him!"

Amanda would have
told him to shut up
if her throat hadn't been
constricted
from fear.

"What are you doing at the mayor's house in the middle of the night?" demanded the cop standing beside her, the one who'd so eagerly slapped the handcuffs on her.

"Tell them you were taking a walk," Charley ordered.

"What?" she gasped. Great. The first word she was able to speak would make her sound like an idiot, talking to someone who wasn't there.

"The officer asked what you were doing at my house in the middle of the night," Kimball said. His expression as he approached her told her he had a pretty good idea what she was doing there.

"Taking a walk," she blurted.

He
lifted both eyebrows
in disbelief.

"Is that your motorcycle parked just outside the gate?" asked that same officer.

So much for the
taking a
walk
story.
For
an accomplished liar, Charley wasn't coming up with a very credible tale to keep her out of jail. She'd have bet he'd
do
a lot better if it was his butt on the line. "Yes," she choked out. "My motorcycle."

"You were riding in the moonlight and saw the gate. The open gate," Charley continued easily.

"I was riding in the moonlight and saw the gate, the open gate," she parroted. It wasn't a great story, but it was better than anything she could come up with at the moment.

"You wanted to see where the driveway led."

"I wanted to see where the driveway led."

"Then you saw the house."

"Then you saw…I saw the house."

"So you stopped to spy on me?" Kimball asked.

"You twisted your ankle," Charley said, "and you were resting for a few minutes. Stepped in a hole. He'd better be careful you don’t sue him." Charley was getting better, more fluent with his story. Maybe he couldn't tell lies anymore, but apparently there was nothing to stop him from making up lies for someone else to tell.

"I…stepped in a hole and twisted my ankle. I was just resting for a few minutes."

Kimball studied her, his sinister gaze raking her from perspiration-covered brow to uninjured ankles safely encased in motorcycle boots. He smiled, and his smile, full of control and power and absolutely no scruples, was the scariest thing she'd seen all night. "Your ankle seems to have healed quite nicely."

"Yes," she said. "It's better. Much better."

"It's okay, officers," he said, never taking his eyes off her. "You can remove the handcuffs. Mrs. Randolph was obviously out for a stroll to try to escape the depression of losing her husband. I'm not going to press charges. Thank you for coming out."

"You sure, Mayor?" the officer with the gun asked. "Maybe we ought to take her down to the station." He sounded disappointed, cheated out of what was probably the only arrest he'd had a chance at all week. Maybe all year.

"I'm sure, Ted. Mrs. Randolph, why don't you come inside, and my wife will get you something for your ankle."

Even as Amanda felt the steel shackles fall away from her wrists, she felt tighter, heavier, invisible ones wrap around her chest.
Go inside his house
? Let his wife get something for her ankle? A knife, maybe? Or a
chain
saw? Hiding in the dark had been scary enough; she wasn't about to go inside that house.

"All right, Mayor. But if you have any more problems, just give us a call. Be sure and close that gate behind us. You don't want any more trespassers tonight."

The officers got back into their car and continued around the circle drive, eventually heading away from the house.

Amanda shivered. Suddenly she wanted to call them back. She'd be better off going to jail than stuck here alone with this man.

"Now, Mrs. Randolph," he said, any pretense of a smile disappearing from his shadowed face, "let's talk about what really happened tonight. So you say the gate was already open when you happened by?"

She nodded, the movement jerky and uncertain.

"That's very interesting. The alarm on that gate went off about ten minutes ago, and when I looked at the video from the gate camera, I saw you walking through."

"Damn!" Charley exclaimed. "An alarm and a video camera! I should have thought of that."

"Yes, you should have," she muttered.

"What?" Kimball asked, taken aback at her response.

Amanda shook her head.

"You're confused. The pain," Charley suggested. "The pain of that twisted ankle is awful. It's making you crazy, and it was his hole you stepped in. This could be a lawsuit. Tell him that!"

Amanda ignored him. "Sorry I bothered you. Bye." She turned to leave, but Kimball placed a hand on her shoulder. Amanda halted in mid-step. His hand felt as heavy and metallic as those cuffs had a few minutes ago. Was she going to be murdered here in the mayor's front yard? Or would he haul her inside and let his wife help him? A bonding activity for their marriage.

"You're leaving so soon?" he asked, his voice low, sleek and scary. "But you just got here. Oh, that's right, you were standing around outside for about ten minutes, weren't you? Still, that's not long. And you couldn't have seen anything because I pulled the drapes as soon as the alarm went off. So why don't you stay awhile and let's have that talk you asked for this morning."

"Run, Amanda!" Charley ordered. Great advice. If only Kimball's hand on her shoulder wasn't holding her firmly in place.

Slowly she turned toward him, and he dropped his hand. He was smiling again, aware he was in control and she was terrified.

"What—" The word came out a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. "What do you want to talk about?"

"You're the one who wanted to meet with me and talk. You're the one who approached me at the courthouse and then came to my house. Why don't you tell me what you want to talk about?"

The tall front door of his house opened a few inches. "Is everything all right, Roland?" came a quiet female voice. In the moonlight Amanda could see a small, blonde woman.

"Everything's fine, Catherine. Charley Randolph's widow was out walking and got lost. I'll be inside in a few minutes."

The woman disappeared back into the house, closing the door behind her. It seemed Kimball had his wife under control, too.

At least it appeared Amanda wasn't going to be expected to go in that house. And surely he wasn't going to murder her if he had told his wife she was there. Maybe she had a chance to mak
e it out of this alive
.