"What are you doing?" Josh shouted, taking in the broken nightstand and the phone sprawled across the carpet. He rushed toward me. I expected to be shot or slammed with the butt of the gun at any second.
At that moment I felt curiously detached, as if I were watching the scene being played out in a movie. Somewhere inside, I knew I should be afraid but I'd put the emotion on hold. Instead, I noticed details. No sign of the gun on Josh. What had he done with it? Had he ditched it somewhere in an effort to hide his crimes, or was it simply tucked away in the back of his jeans?
"Josh, this position is killing me," I wailed. "I need someone to untie me." A sob escaped, a fine bit of acting, I thought.
Seeing me get emotional confused him.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, Charlie," he said, almost kindly. I wondered if the booze was wearing off or if he was having second thoughts about getting me involved.
"Could you just untie my hands? I can't stay bent over like this."
He bent to work on the cords around my left hand. I could see that the gun wasn't in his waistband. His not having a weapon strengthened my odds quite a bit.
"I'm gonna have to retie you, Charlie," he explained matter-of-factly, "but I'll let you sit up straight."
How kind.
The second my hand was free, I knew I had to make my move. I raked my nails across his face, then tipped the chair back and nailed him in the gut with my feet. It wasn't a strong hit but it took him by surprise, knocking him against the corner of the bed. He went over backward, landing hard on his neck, his legs in the air.
I didn't waste any time. I fumbled with my left hand to untie the cords around my right. Josh had the wind knocked out of him, but I knew he wasn't down for long. I felt like a pretzel twist, trying to reach across my body to work on the ropes while keeping my head raised to watch for Josh's next move.
He groaned, rolling to his side, his legs falling heavily to the floor. I scrambled to get the rope loose. I had a feeling he wouldn't get up in a good mood. My right hand and foot came free. As I directed both hands toward freeing the left foot I saw movement. Josh stood in front of me. Without thinking, I jabbed out with my right foot, catching him in the groin. Sorry, Josh, all's fair when defending your life.
He fell to the floor again, doubled in agony. I turned my attention again to my left leg and had it free in a few seconds. I scrambled to Josh's side, dragging the rope with me.
"Sorry about this," I said.
I wrapped the rope around his ankles, then pulled the end of it between his legs and bound his wrists. My knots were clumsy. I'd never pass the Girl Scout test now, but I hoped the rope would hold him awhile in his already weakened condition.
Pounding sounds from the front door brought me back to the bigger picture.
"Police! Open up!" they shouted.
"Come in!" I screamed.
The scene became a blur after that. Uniformed officers filled the house. Someone, thankfully, turned off the blaring television set. One man, the one who seemed in charge, congratulated me on subduing the suspect. I can't remember whether I acknowledged him or not.
I was sitting on the bed, examining my blistered wrists, when Kent Taylor walked in.
"We found the gun," he told me. "It was in his car."
"Was it the murder weapon?"
"We'll confirm that with ballistics tests, of course," he said, "but it's a nine millimeter."
"He admitted to me that he did them both," I told Taylor. "Of course, what he'll say in court is another thing. He also told me he'll get a good lawyer."
Kent shook his head in disgust. "Yeah, don't they all?"
He glanced around the room, taking in the cardboard boxes and folded bedding.
"What was going on here?" he asked.
"The child welfare people were making Josh move in with his aunt. I came over to help him pack. He kept telling me he wasn't going. Now, I guess he isn't."
"You want someone to take a look at those wrists?" he asked. "One of the men could drive you to the emergency room."
"Nah, that's okay. I'll doctor them myself when I get home." Suddenly, the idea of bundling up in my own quilt in my own bed was enormously appealing.
"I'll need a statement from you," Taylor said. At my expression, he added, "It can wait until tomorrow."
I shuffled through the house, making sure I hadn't left anything behind. I retrieved my purse from the kitchen and my jacket from the tatty recliner near the front door.
At home, I took a shower and put on my thick terry robe. I microwaved a cup of milk, added chocolate powder, and carried it to the living room. I smeared antibiotic ointment on my rope-burned wrists and wrapped them with a protective layer of gauze. I looked like an attempted suicide survivor.
It wasn't until I took the first sip of my hot chocolate that I realized I was a survivor. I could have very easily been Josh's next victim. My hands began to shake and I had to set the cup down. It was after one o'clock, but I knew I wouldn't sleep tonight.
At six o'clock Rusty woke me up by licking my fingers. In my exhaustion, I'd fallen asleep on the couch still bundled in my robe. My joints and muscles complained as I attempted to straighten them. I shuffled across the floor like a ninety-year-old to let Rusty out the kitchen door. I took two ibuprofen and crawled into my own bed wearing only my wrist bandages.
The phone rang at eight, startling me out of the best sleep I'd had in ages.
"Charlie, it's Stacy." Her voice was breathy, excited. "Carla just called me. Is it true that you found the real killer?"
I mumbled that it was true, and suggested she meet me at the office in an hour. I closed my eyes, determined to get just ten more minutes. When the phone rang again forty-five minutes had passed.
Kent Taylor wanted to know what time I'd come down to give my statement. My heart jumped when I realized that I needed to be at the office in fifteen minutes. I told Kent I'd come downtown right after that. I pulled on clean jeans and a short sleeved cotton sweater and brushed my hair. The wrist bandages really stood out, so I swapped the sweater for one with long sleeves.
Stacy was waiting when I arrived at the office at five after nine. Her skin glowed again, her eyes sparkled.
"Have the police made it official yet?" I asked.
"Detective Taylor confirmed Carla's call right after I talked to you," she said. "Yes, it's official. Of course, now Brad's talking about filing suit for false arrest, but I'm just glad to have it over."
Of course. The good lawyer.
I filled her in briefly on last night's culmination of the search. I also informed her that I'd be sending a final bill for services. She didn't seem to mind.
"So, what now?" I asked.
She shuffled a little, knowing I was referring to her marital problems and the "deep" soul searching she'd done recently. Finally she said, "I don't know, Charlie. Brad's been very supportive these last few days. Maybe it will all work out anyway."
Yeah, maybe. How many years had she been telling herself that? I kept my mouth shut. She was a big girl. She'd decide for herself how much longer she could take his abuse. She left a few minutes later.
Kent Taylor was fairly accommodating, as police testimony goes. I gave my statement, most of which he'd already put together.
"There's one other thing I still haven't entirely resolved," I told him. "Who slashed my tire outside Penguin's Bar, and who followed me home last Friday night? I'm fairly sure I know who was behind it, but I'm not sure why." I told him about Tompkins and his big financial losses with Detweiller.
"Charles Tompkins is an investment banker, isn't he? He probably just wanted to hush it up about his own unwise money management. I'm sure it was nothing personal toward you." he said. "You can press charges on the tire slashing," he continued, shuffling the papers together inside the Detweiller file. "As for being followed home, you don't have any proof of that, do you? And no harm was done."
It was about what I expected from him. I told him not to worry a
bout the tire. I left feeling a little down. I was poised to turn out of the downtown police station parking lot, when a thought hit me. I had to make one more visit to Larry Burke.
The red sports car was backing out of his driveway when I arrived. I sped ahead to cut him off, honking wildly.
"What the hell. . .?" Burke jumped from his car, ready for a fight.
"Just a couple of quick questions, Larry." I huffed the words out as I ran up the driveway.
"What questions? I thought you were done with this."
"I'm just curious. Charles Tompkins had won big on a horse called Bet The Farm. Two days later Gary headed for Vegas, with you. Gary didn't skip out; he came back. But where's the money? Tompkins never got it."
Burke's perfectly capped teeth gleamed as he smiled. "This is rich, babe, I'll tell you."
I let the unwanted familiarity slide past.
"Old Gary did get greedy. He wanted to keep that money. Said Tompkins was a jerk who didn't need more than he already had. See, Gary had a real attitude about those people at that snooty country club. Couldn't believe they could have all the shit they had, and still want more."
"So he decided to keep a chunk of it for himself."
"Sure. Was Tompkins gonna make a big stink about it? And lose his reputation as an investment banker? Hell, a hundred grand sounds like a lot to you and me, but that guy takes home three times that much every year."
So, what meant more to him, a one-time jackpot or keeping the cushy job? I had a pretty good idea.
I filled in the blank. "So, Gary took the money to Vegas and the two of you blew it having the time of your lives."
He chuckled. "Actually, no. He had some other money, about five grand."
From the sale of Stacy's watch.
"We spent that. He took that whole hundred grand from the other deal and set up some kind of trust fund for his kid."
"What!"
"Yeah, had a lawyer do it up and all. I think the kid's supposed to get it when he turns twenty-one."
How ironic. A few more years and Josh would have been rich on his own. Now, I felt sure an investigation would take place into all Detweiller's business. As a convicted felon, Josh couldn't inherit, and if they dug deep enough they'd find out the money really belonged to Tompkins. His career would probably be ruined, but he'd get the hundred thousand. Of course, if Josh were never convicted...
Three days later I was sitting in my office, tying up loose ends. Stacy's final billing had gone out and I was now back on track with my tax returns, feeling better because I would get everything filed on time. I'd resolved not to worry about the outcome of Josh's trial. The little bit of press coverage I'd heard on the case only served to make me angry. It appeared that Josh had indeed gotten himself a good lawyer.
My travel agent sent my plane tickets and hotel confirmation for my vacation to Kauai. Six weeks away and believe me, I'm counting the days.
Get another Connie Shelton book—FREE! Click here to find out how
What’s up next for Charlie Parker?
She’s off to Kauai but work and murder do not leave Charlie alone. She finds herself tied up with solving another case when she meets a handsome helicopter pilot and his friend is accused of the crime. There’s romance in the tropical air, if only Charlie can stay alive to enjoy it. Check out Vacations Can Be Murder now!
Author’s Note
I really hope you enjoyed reading Deadly Gamble, the first book in my Charlie Parker mystery series. If so, please consider posting an online review or two and tell your friends! You can also follow my blog, visit my website, (where you can subscribe to my free mystery newsletter) and follow me on Twitter @mysteries4U
Besides writing my own books, I also teach a writing course, so if you’ve ever had a yearning to write your own stories you can subscribe to my free fiction writing tips and find out more about my methods at Novel In A Weekend.
Happy writing and happy reading!!
With my best wishes,
Connie Shelton
Books
by Connie Shelton
The Charlie Parker Series
Deadly Gamble
Vacations Can Be Murder
Partnerships Can Be Murder
Small Towns Can Be Murder
Memories Can Be Murder
Honeymoons Can Be Murder
Reunions Can Be Murder
Competition Can Be Murder
Balloons Can Be Murder
Obsessions Can Be Murder
Gossip Can Be Murder
Stardom Can Be Murder
Phantoms Can Be Murder
Buried Secrets Can Be Murder
Legends Can Be Murder
Holidays Can Be Murder - a Christmas novella
The Samantha Sweet Series
Sweet Masterpiece
Sweet’s Sweets
Sweet Holidays
Sweet Hearts
Bitter Sweet
Sweets Galore
Sweets Begorra
Sweet Payback
Sweet Somethings
Sweets Forgotten
The Woodcarver’s Secret
Sign up for Connie Shelton’s free mystery newsletter at www.connieshelton.com
Contact by email:
[email protected] Follow Connie Shelton on Twitter and Facebook
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends