The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (52 page)

Amanda yanked her arm free and tried to aim the gun at Kimball again, but he recovered and slammed her against the wall, his body holding her in place. Charley appeared behind him, wrapping an arm around…and through his neck. Again Kimball looked startled, but did not release his grip on Amanda. She squirmed but was pressed so tightly between him and the wall, she couldn't move. She hung on desperately to the gun, but he twisted her wrist until
her fingers loosened their grip. He
yanked the gun away from her.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Charley
futilely trying to grab the weapon
from Kimball.

Finally Kimball stepped away, shoved her against the wall and pointed the
revolver
toward her. "Now," he said. "Take off your jacket and hand it to me."

"Don't do it!" Charley exclaimed, still grappling for the gun. The only evidence that he had any effect was when Kimball shuddered and brushed that hand with the other as if brushing off a spider.

Charley was trying. She grudgingly gave him credit for that. But essentially she was alone in a tumble down cabin in the middle of nowhere with a murderer. Not exactly the way she had planned for the evening to go.

"What choice do I have?" Amanda asked of Charley, her words quiet and dispirited.

"None," Kimball responded. "The coat."

She hugged the jacket more closely. "Why? You've got the gun. Our deal is finished." She edged toward the door, hoping he'd let her go, hoping she could escape with her life and her recording. Though Kimball had not made a confession, surely she had enough to convince the cops to investigate him.

He moved with her, the gun still pointing toward her.

"Give me the jacket. As soon as I check the pockets, you can have it back."

Damn. She'd be lucky to get out of this with her life. It seemed there was no chance she'd get away with her recording.

Slowly she unzipped her jacket the rest of the way. Maybe she could
grab
the hammer.

And then what?

Gun trumps hammer. He could shoot her from across the room, while she had to get up close and personal in order to beat his brains out with a claw hammer.

Nevertheless, after slipping one arm out of the jacket, she reached inside with that hand and closed her fingers over the handle of the hammer. Moving quickly, she slid her other arm from the sleeve, yanked out the hammer and tossed the jacket into Kimball's face. The gun exploded, the bullet screaming past her head and slamming into the wall behind her.

She surged forward, throwing herself at Kimball, swinging the hammer toward the hand holding the gun. She struck him a glancing blow, not enough to crack a bone bu
t enough that he dropped the revolver
and cursed.

Her
jacket slid to the floor between them as he grabbed her with one arm. She swung the hammer wildly, trying to connect with some body part, any body part. But Kimball wrapped his arm around her neck and twisted her so her back was pressed against him.

"Lift the jacket with your foot," he growled, his mouth against her ear.

When she didn't respond immediately, he tightened his grip on her throat and Amanda felt herself choking.

"I'm trying!" Charley said, standing in front of her, his fingers of cold
air
on her neck telling her he was
doing all he could
to dislodge Kimball's choking arm.

Amanda slid her foot under the jacket and lifted it a couple of feet off the floor.

"Drop the damn hammer and get it."

Amanda reached down, snagging the jacket with the claw end of the hammer and lifting it.

Kimball took the
leather coat
. "Now drop the hammer." His arm tightened around her throat. She dropped the hammer. It fell to the floor with a thud of despair.

He fumbled with her jacket, feeling inside the pockets until he found the cell phone.

Lifting it with his free hand so both he and Amanda could see the recording icon, he laughed. "I knew it. I knew you'd do something dumb." He tossed it to the floor and ground his heel into it.

"Okay, smart bitch, now that you're not recording anything, you still want to know about Dianne?"

Amanda tried to squeak out that she could care less about Dianne at the moment, but Kimball squeezed her throat
so
tight she was unable to speak.

Charley paced back and forth in front of them. "Don't let him tell you. If he tells you, he'll have to kill you."

"Does anybody else know about the homeless man?"

"Tell him no!"

Amanda tried to shake her head, but her movement was constrained. "No," she croaked.

Kimball's grip relaxed a little.

"He's smiling!" Charley said. "That crazy man is smiling while he's killing you!"

"Killing that man was fun," Kimball said, the tone of his voice confirming that he was, indeed, smiling. "We were stoned. Yeah, Saint Dianne did drugs. She did anything I told her to, except she didn't want to kill that worthless old man. She freaked out on me that night. Then she got religion. Married that wimp
Carter
and convinced the whole town she was pure as the virgin snow."

His arm around her neck tightened again, and Amanda's fingers flew to her throat, trying to pry him loose.

"Be still. You wanted to know all this so badly, pay attention." But he did loosen his grip so she could breathe.  "I didn't care what she did. Things were fine until a couple of years ago when she got on a guilt trip. Wanted to confess her sins. Wanted to tell the world we killed somebody.
Take her punishment.
"

"What do you care?" Amanda croaked. "Your family owns the town."

"Sure, I could have kept it from ever going to court. But that bitch I'm married to would have freaked, and so would my old man. They're no saints, but they want everybody to think the whole family is. They sit there on their money like they own me. They'd never have supported me as governor if Saint Bitch had talked. So I shot her. And everything would have been fine if your worthless husband hadn't found this gun."

"I'll get help!" Charley shouted, and disappeared through the wall.

"Are you going to shoot me?" Amanda choked out.

"No. I don't want the two deaths linked. I've had more time to think and plan. You're going to be easy. Thanks to your habit of riding around town on that motorcycle, nobody's going to be surprised when you end up in a fatal crash, out riding the rough roads around the lake. Run the bike into the trees, throw you down beside it. A broken neck will just seem like part of the crash injuries, assuming they ever find your motorcycle or your body out here. This would have been a lot easier if you'd died the first time."

Anger blended with Amanda's fear. "You admit you jacked with my bike!"

"Your husband wasn't very smart. He told me you were taking a long trip. With my connections, it was easy to find out the details. Getting into your bike shop the night before was easy, almost as easy as getting into your apartment. I figured you'd be up in those mountains by the time you lost all the brake fluid and your tire came loose."

"But I didn't die! I'll bet that ticked you off, to have your plans ruined. I'm the loose end, aren't I? You thought I'd die and be blamed for Charley's murder, but I
'm still alive!
"

"Not for long. Yes, you would have been blamed for his death. You are being blamed. I wore motorcycle gear so everybody would think I was you. Then you came over, and that made it even better. Everything would have been perfect if you'd just died like you were supposed to. You'd be dead, Charley would be dead, you'd be blamed for his death, and I'd be home free."

He tightened his arm around her neck. Amanda couldn't breathe. She was going to die after all. She thought of her mother and her father, of Herbert and Irene, and she felt tears in her eyes at the thought of never seeing them again. Even worse, she'd soon be on the same plane as Charley. Surely if they were both dead, they would no longer be married.
That should as two deaths to part them.
Surely she wouldn't still be stuck with him forever.

Suddenly Charley came through the wall again, smiling, exultant. "Don't worry, Amanda! Your mother's here! And she's got a gun!"

Her mother? Out here? The oxygen deprivation must be getting to her. She couldn't conceive of her meticulous mother, every hair in place, wearing thousand dollar heels, tripping through the rough terrain carrying one of the guns she deplored. She
hoped she could
live just long enough to see that.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Charley peered at her mor
e closely. "Omigawd! He's going
to
kill
you
before she gets here
!" His cold fingers brushed her throat as he tried
ineffectually
to pry Kimball's arm from her neck. Blackness crept around the edges of her brain.

"Amanda! Lift your right foot and shove your heel against his knee!"

The blackness edged closer, making Charley's words only a muffled noise.

"Amanda!" he shouted. "Suck it up! Stop letting this creep have the upper hand! You never let me! You like him better than me?"

If that wasn't just like Charley. She was dying, and he was trying to start an argument.

"
Lift your right foot!
"
he repeated.
"
Shove your heel against his knee!
I'm not going to shut up until you do!"

Wearily Amanda lifted her right foot.

"Hard!" Charley demanded. "Push as hard as you can!"

Mouthy Charley. Amanda lifted her heel to Kimball's knee and pushed.

"Hard!"

One final push, and she'd give herself to the blackness, stop fighting it.

Abruptly the pressure around her neck released and somebody screamed. She fell to her knees, gasping and coughing. The screaming turned to cursing.

"Amanda! Over here! Get over here, away from the window!"

Amanda didn't want to go anywhere. Her throat hurt. She couldn't stop coughing.

Somebody pushed against her, grabbed her shoulder.

Couldn't be Charley. Had to be Kimball.

She jerked her shoulder away and rolled to the side.

"Good girl!" Charley applauded.

Good girl?
Like he was training a dog? She struggled to her feet and fell toward him. As soon as she got her strength back, she'd strangle him.