Wrong Number 2 (14 page)

At first all she saw was the beam of white from a flashlight.

As her eyes adjusted, a figure came into view. A dark raincoat. A sleeve moved. A gloved hand.

The hand held a silvery pistol.

The pistol was pointed at Farberson.

“Put down the saw, Stanley.” Deena recognized the voice. Then she saw Linda Morrison's stern face as the woman made her way down the stairs.

Oh, thank goodness!
Deena told herself.

Farberson turned away from Deena to face Linda Morrison. “What are
you
doing here?” he demanded, quickly getting over his surprise.

“Who is that?” Deena heard Chuck whisper to Jade.

“It's Linda,” Jade whispered back. “Linda Morrison!”

Linda stepped onto the basement floor. She motioned with the pistol. “Drop the saw,” she repeated. “And move away from my friends.”

Farberson kept the chain saw waist-high. “Your friends, huh?” he murmured. He lowered his gaze to her pistol. “That little gun doesn't scare me, Linda. I don't think you'd shoot me.”

“Try me,” she challenged.

Farberson squinted at her, thinking hard.

She moved steadily toward him, kicking empty cartons and garbage out of her path. “You're not going to hurt my friends,” she said softly.

Farberson turned uncertainly, then began to back up toward the opposite wall. “Linda—what's your problem?” he demanded. “I thought that you and I—”

She took another step toward him. “Put down the saw, Stanley. I'm not going to warn you again.”

Deena swallowed hard as she watched them. It was as if they were involved in some kind of weird dance. With every step she took forward, he took one back. He was still holding the chain saw with both hands. But the anger had faded from his face, replaced now by fear.

Thank goodness she came to save us, Deena thought. If she had come a few seconds later  . . .

But Deena realized she and Jade and Chuck weren't safe yet. First Linda Morrison had to do something about Farberson.

“I'm going to count to five,” Linda told him sternly. “If you don't drop the chain saw, I'll shoot you, Stanley.”

He snickered. “You're kidding, right? This is a joke. You can't be pals with these kids.” He took another step back, his eyes locked on the pistol in her hand.

“One,” she said.

He backed up another step, bumping a stack of cartons. “Let's get serious, okay, Linda? You and I—”

“Two,” she counted.

“Linda, please—” Now Farberson was begging.

“Three,” she answered, her voice hard and cold.

Is she really going to shoot him? Deena wondered, watching the tense scene without blinking, without breathing. Morrison had been in love with him. Would she really shoot him now?

“Let me explain—” Farberson pleaded, taking another step back.

“Time's running out, Stanley,” she replied calmly. “Four.”

“Linda—give me a break,” he muttered. “This is stupid. Let's you and I—”

“Five!” she shouted. She raised the gun.

“All right!” Farberson cried. “You win! I'll put it down!”

He swung the chain saw down.

But instead of lowering it to the floor, he gave the rope a hard jerk.

With a deafening roar, the saw whirred to life.

Morrison cried out angrily.

Farberson raised the grinding saw—and dove toward her.

Deena gasped as she saw Farberson stumble.

He fell over a carton.

The saw slipped out of his grasp and clattered onto the concrete floor.

He shot out his hands. His eyes wild.

He grabbed at air.

And fell onto the roaring saw.

The shrill whine of the cutting teeth drowned out Farberson's scream.

The whirring chain cut through his chest. Deena turned away sickened.

Then silence.

A heavy, cold silence.

“He's dead,” Linda Morrison murmured, standing over Farberson's body, sprawled facedown over the saw. “Stanley is dead.”

The horror is over, Deena thought gratefully. We're okay. We're going to be okay.

“I can't believe he's gone,” Morrison said, sighing.

“It—it was an accident,” Deena stammered. “We all know you didn't mean it to happen.”

Morrison stepped away from the body and turned to Deena. “No,” she said softly. “Not an accident.”

“Huh?” Deena glanced at Jade, who was still trembling, tears running down her cheeks.

“Not an accident,” Morrison repeated. “I planned to kill Stanley. That's why I came back. He just made it easier for me.”

She sighed and slapped the barrel of the gun against her gloved hand. Then she raised her eyes to Deena, Jade, and Chuck. “Now I just have to figure out what to do with you,” she said.

“I
'm afraid you've become a problem,” Linda Morrison said, frowning.

“You don't need to worry about us,” Chuck spoke up. “We saw what happened. Farberson fell. It was his own fault. A total accident.”

“Who's going to believe that?” Morrison snapped. “Besides, if he hadn't killed himself, I would have shot him—and he knew it.”

“But I thought you were so afraid of him,” Jade cried. “I thought you said he threatened you.”

“I was afraid of him,” Morrison replied. “I had good reason to be. He knew I wanted the money. And I knew he'd do anything to keep me from getting it.”

She began pacing back and forth. Deena stared hard
at her. She was wearing a stylish new raincoat. She had carefully made up her face and had a new hairdo.

“Wow. I get it,” Chuck declared. “You were the one who hit me on the head and took the money.”

“Congratulations,” Morrison replied sarcastically. “What a whiz kid.”

“You mean
you
have the money?” Jade asked.

“I have it right here,” Morrison said, patting the pocket of her raincoat. “I also have a plane ticket for someplace warm and far, far away.”

“But—but how did you know I'd find the money upstairs?” Chuck demanded, sounding very confused. “How did you know I was here?”

“Believe me,” Morrison confided, “you were the
last
person I expected to find. For months I searched this dump. But I couldn't find the money. Then I heard this afternoon that Stanley was released from prison. I knew he'd come here like a shot to get his money.

“So I drove here to wait for him,” Morrison continued. “My plan was to hide, wait for Stanley to get the money, then take it from him. But I found
you
here instead!” She pointed at Chuck with the pistol. “You already found the money.” She chuckled. “My lucky day, I guess.”

“You hit Chuck and took the money,” Jade said. “So why'd you come back here?”

“To kill Stanley, of course,” Morrison replied casually. “I didn't want to spend the rest of my life worrying that he might find me.”

“But why?” Deena started.

“Enough talk,” Morrison snapped. “I have an unpleasant errand to do now.”

She turned, shining her flashlight over the walls and the cluttered floor. “Perfect,” she murmured. She crossed to the other side of the basement and began gathering up some of the old rags scattered across the floor.

“What are you doing?” Deena asked, feeling a chill down her back.

“Getting some kindling together,” Morrison replied casually. “I want a nice, bright fire. And old rags burn so well.”

She placed the rags in a pile on the workbench, then crossed the room for more rags from the trash on the floor.

When she had a tall pile of rags, she picked up Farberson's gasoline can. Then she raised it and began to sprinkle gasoline over the rags.

“No!” Deena shrieked. “Let us go! We won't tell anyone! We won't—”

“You can trust us,” Chuck said with conviction. “We have no reason to tell anyone. You don't have to set a fire. By the time someone finds us, you'll be far away.”

For a moment Linda seemed to consider Chuck's words. Then she went back to pouring gasoline on the rags. “Sorry,” she told them. “I don't feel like taking chances.”

Deena leaned toward Jade. “Keep her talking,” she whispered. “Maybe we can stall her.”

“Did you know about the money all along?” Jade asked. “I mean, last year, before Farberson killed his wife?”

Linda snickered. “Did I know?” she exclaimed. “The whole thing was my idea. Remember, I was the bookkeeper at Stanley's restaurant. I got him to steal money from the restaurant and then I got him to kill his wife.” She shook her head. “He was stupid. He did everything I told him.”

I don't believe this, Deena thought. Linda Morrison was actually responsible for everything that had happened last year.

“I'm sorry, kids,” Morrison said. “But it's show time.”

“Wait—please!” Deena begged.

“There won't be much left for the police to find,” Morrison said, ignoring Deena's plea. “But there should be enough to make it look as if Stanley tied you up and then had an unfortunate accident with the chain saw.”

She reached into her raincoat pocket—and pulled out a lighter.

D
eena watched, frozen in horror, as Linda Morrison fumbled around on Farberson's worktable, searching for something.

What is she looking for? Deena wondered, unable to stop her body from trembling.

Morrison found what she had been searching for. She picked up a short stub of a candle, about an inch long. She stepped away from the rags and lit the candle. Then she gently set the candle stub down on the table in the center of the gas-soaked rags.

“Please—” Deena begged. “Please don't do this!”

And then Chuck and Jade were pleading too. All three of them begging desperately, watching the candle's flickering glow.

Linda Morrison acted as if she didn't hear their
pleas. “When this candle burns down,” she announced, “it will set the gasoline on fire. There's so much junk in this basement that the whole place ought to go up like a torch.”

“Please! Please don't!” Deena begged, sobbing.

“You won't suffer long,” Morrison replied coldly.

She quickly made her way up the stairs and closed the door behind her.

They were alone now. Alone in the dark, except for the lone dancing candle flame.

Deena stared at the flame as if it were the center of the entire world. Its flickering light made the rags piled around it appear to be moving. The smell of gasoline hovered heavily in the air.

“We—we're going to burn to death!” Jade sobbed.

“Stop it, Jade!” Chuck ordered. “We're not dead yet. Let's think!”

“Think? There's no time to think!” Deena cried. “The candle is only an inch tall. As soon as it burns down, this whole place will burn like crazy!”

“Think,” Chuck repeated. “Think. Think.”

“I—I have an idea,” Jade stammered. Maybe one of us can wiggle over there, stand up somehow, and blow out the candle.”

Deena studied the distance across the basement. With their ankles tied together and their hands bound behind their backs, it could take hours to wriggle to the worktable. By that time  . . .

“Too dangerous,” Chuck said sharply. “There's too
much chance of knocking the candle over and setting the rags on fire.”

“Can we wriggle up the stairs?” Deena wondered out loud.

“I—I don't think so,” Jade replied in a shaky voice. “It's so far and—”

“Wait!” Chuck cried. “I see something.”

He struggled away from the wall, scooting toward the center of the room.

Squinting hard, Deena saw what he was after—a twisted piece of metal. She felt the excitement of hope as Chuck backed up to the metal. He grabbed it in one hand and awkwardly began sawing it against the rope around his wrists.