Looking back toward the road I sighed again as I watched for cars coming down the road. Still no sign of Dave. I shrugged my shoulders and went around to the side of the garage and, spotting a window, peered in. Sure enough, hooked onto the far side of the wall was a ladder. “Paydirt!” I said aloud as I tried the window. The thing wouldn’t budge. I pushed and pulled and shimmied on the pane for a few minutes until I finally gave up and looked around on the ground. Finding a brick in one of the flowerbeds I picked it up and hurled it through the window. Hey, it was my house; if I wanted to break a window that was my prerogative.
Taking off my coat and wrapping it around my hand I knocked out a little more of the glass and reached up to unlock the window. With my hand still wrapped in my coat I pushed up on the pane and it opened. “Yay!” I said as I shook the glass from my coat, and put it back on. Carefully, I hoisted myself up and swung a leg over the ledge, putting it through the window, and shimmied the rest of me through the opening, dropping to the floor of the garage a moment later. It was darker than I’d thought inside and as I turned to head toward the ladder I tripped over something large and went down like a sack of potatoes.
“Crap!” I said as I landed hard on the floor of the garage. Turning to see what I’d tripped over I nearly fainted from fright as the large unseeing eyes of Willy Breger stared back at me. “Ohmigod!” I screamed and scuttled backward, away from the body, my own eyes large and horrified.
“The diamonds aren’t in there,” called a voice from the window.
Startled yet again I looked away from Willy to the owner of the voice, and was shocked to see James Carlier standing at the window, a .44 Magnum trained at my head.
“Wha . . . ?” I said stupidly, my brain not quite computing everything I was seeing.
“The diamonds. I tore this garage apart years ago, and they’re not in there.”
“I know,” I said before I could stop myself.
James looked startled at my statement, then amused. “You know where they are, don’t you?”
Watching the Magnum, I nodded my head slowly. “If you put the gun down, I’ll tell you where they are,” I said, my breathing a little ragged.
“Or,” James offered, “I keep it and you get them for me.”
I thought about that for a minute, until James took the safety off the gun. “Okay!” I said. “Okay! I’ll get them!”
“Good girl,” James said. “Now hurry up.”
“I need the ladder,” I said getting to my feet, my legs feeling like rubber.
“It’s right behind you.”
Slowly, I turned to the wall and got the ladder down off the hooks it was on. Awkwardly I began to walk it forward toward the window, wondering how I would manage to get it through the hole.
“Hang on,” James said. “I’ll open the door.” He disappeared and a moment later I heard him at the lock on the garage door. I quickly set the ladder down and began to move to the window, but faster than I would have expected I heard the padlock drop to the ground and the door begin to open. There was no way I’d make it if I tried to run.
With pounding heart I waited while the door creaked open and sunlight burst through the garage. James stood in the light of the open door and as he noticed the ladder cast aside and my position a few steps closer to the window he grinned as he trained the gun on me again. “Thought you could run away?”
Something about his smile made me catch my breath, and for an instant I was lost in the memory of the first time I’d visited him at his shop. Then, I realized what troubled me so much about James’s smile and my hand flew to my mouth as I figured out another giant piece of the jigsaw puzzle.
“What?” he asked me as I ogled him.
“You have crooked teeth,” I said as I lowered my hand and pointed a finger at him.
James snapped his mouth shut, his eyebrows lowering to dangerous levels. “So what?”
“You’re not James,” I said after a moment. “James had braces. You’re Jean-Luke!”
“Very good,” he said after a moment, his grin widening again. “You figured it all out. Now, come on out of there and show me where the diamonds are . . . now!”
On wobbly legs I walked back to the ladder and picked it up. I needed to stall in order to think of a way out of this mess, because I had no doubt that Jean-Luke was just crazy enough to kill me just like he’d murdered Willy. “So why’d you kill him?” I said, pausing with the ladder by Willy’s body.
Jean-Luke looked down at Willy with a snarl. “That old geezer wouldn’t give me my tax returns. In fact, he actually took a swing at me!”
“So you killed him over tax returns?” I asked, horrified.
“No, and I didn’t kill him. He tried to hit me and I shoved him, and we sort of wrestled around his office, and then all of a sudden he’s grabbing his chest and turning purple. I’d known the guy since I was little and I had a moment of weakness, so I loaded him into my car and headed in the direction of the hospital, but he died on the way. I couldn’t very well drop off a dead man . . . too many questions. So I brought him here.”
“What about his family?” I asked horrified. “Didn’t you ever think what they must be going through, not knowing where he is, or what’s happened to him?”
“I don’t know his family, and I don’t care about them. Make no mistake,” Jean-Luke warned me, “if you don’t cooperate, I will kill you. It runs in my family, after all.” And with that he let out an evil laugh.
“Where’s James?” I asked, still stalling.
“Tucked away,” Jean-Luke answered with a wicked smile. “Now get a move on.”
I trudged awkwardly with the ladder out of the garage over to the center of the backyard, where I put the ladder against the pole at the base of a birdhouse. I looked at Jean-Luke and said, “It’s only a guess that they’re in there, you know.”
Jean-Luke regarded me with a hard look. “For your sake, let’s just hope you’ve guessed right.”
I gulped and began to climb the ladder. I got to the top and clutched the birdhouse—I’m not overly fond of heights—and began to inspect the little structure.
It was a wooden octagon, with holes for eight nests and little perches pegged underneath each hole. It was a birdie condo. Grass, twigs and feathers overflowed from every hole, save one. That one had been plugged with a small piece of cork. Luckily, the cork was weathered and aged, and it crumbled as I dug at it until I could get a few fingers into the hole. A moment later I felt something small and leathery underneath my fingertips. I carefully wedged another finger into the birdhouse and scraped the object closer. When I had it up against the opening, I pulled my hand out and repositioned my fingers forming a hook and, after a moment, I was able to lift a small leather pouch out of the hole.
I paused up on the ladder for a moment, knowing that Liza and her family had been killed for the contents in this bag, and feeling very sad that such a small thing could wreak such karmic havoc.
“Bring it down,” Jean-Luke insisted.
I scowled at him and came down the ladder, holding the pouch in a tight grip. When I reached the bottom I stood by the ladder defiantly and didn’t offer up the pouch.
“Give it to me,” Jean-Luke said, waving the gun in one hand while he extended the other.
I looked at the bag in my hand, resigned to giving him what he wanted, when my intuition buzzed in with an idea and I said, “No.”
“You seem to forget, Cooper, I’m the guy with the gun.”
“Finders, keepers,” I taunted.
“Give it to me!” Jean-Luke screamed.
“No problem,” I said and tipped the ladder off the pole with a hard pull from my free hand.
I watched in slow motion as Jean-Luke’s expression turned from absolute hatred to one of complete shock as the ladder made a slow arc toward him.
I didn’t pause long enough to see it hit him, because the moment his eyes left me I bolted across the lawn. I headed straight for my car and heard Jean
-Luke swear as the ladder made a connection with what I hoped was his head. A moment later I heard another sound that made me jump and duck low. A gunshot rang across the yard and spurred me to even greater speed.
Even as I heard the sound I felt something hot and fast whiz by me, landing in the dirt just to my left. “Shit!” I swore and began to swerve in a zigzag, hoping Jean-Luke’s aim was as off as his mental state. Ten feet from my car I heard another gunshot, this time the shot kicked up dirt right next to me. I veered sharply out of the driveway toward the house, looking for any kind of cover, and barreled right into my handyman as he came around the front corner.
We both went down with a loud thud, the ladder he’d been carrying toppling off his shoulder to the ground. Even as Dave and I tumbled over each other I was scrambling to get up and get away from Jean-Luke, who I knew would be heading straight for us. I struggled to my feet and grabbed Dave’s hand. “Owww!” he complained loudly, holding a hand to his head. “Jesus, Abby! You tryin’ to kill me?”
“Get up!” I yelled as I tugged at him and looked back in the direction of Jean-Luke. Just as I suspected, he was running for us, holding the gun up and taking aim. “Move!” I screamed at Dave as I yanked hard and pulled him to his feet.
“What the . . . ?” he began to protest but was cut short by another gunshot and the spray of small shards of siding as the bullet hit the house right next to Dave.
“Run!” I yelled and took off around the corner, with Dave hot on my heels. We crossed the length of the front of the house and rounded to the other side. Dave managed to duck around the corner just as another gunshot sounded.
“Holy shit!” he swore, “Who the hell is that?”
“No time to explain,” I said grabbing his arm and shoving him into a row of bushes. We tumbled to the ground again and crawled through the tangle of shrubbery as I listened for the sound of running footsteps close on our heels. Just as we nestled further between the overgrown bushes, we heard Jean-Luke come pounding around the corner. He stopped short when he got to the backyard and through the tangle of branches we could see him look sharply around. He was shaking with rage, a large bloody welt on his forehead.
My heart rate was in the stratosphere and I tucked the leather pouch he was after into my inside jacket pocket, then watched Jean-Luke intently, praying that he’d head back around the front of the house again. I got my wish just a moment later when he trotted out of view and over to the opposite side of the house. Not wasting a minute I grabbed Dave’s arm again and pulled him out of the bushes. “Where are we going?” he whispered, and it was only then that I noticed the fear in his eyes.
“Into the house. We’ll hide out there until he goes away, then make a run for it.”
“I can’t go into that house!” Dave hissed as I made my way over to the sliding glass door.
“You don’t have a choice,” I replied as I pulled at the handle. It slid open just as my intuition had said it would. “I must not have locked this when I let that bird out way back when. Now, come inside with me!” I whispered harshly, and with his head bowed he obliged.
I shut the door and we stood in the darkness of the kitchen, out of view, watching and waiting. After a minute I asked, “Do you have your cell phone?”
“Oh, yeah!” Dave said as he reached for the back of his pants. “I almost forgot I had it on me . . . Son-of-a . . . !”
“What?” I asked, alarmed.
“It’s not on my belt loop. It must have come off when you tackled me.”
“This day just keeps getting worse,” I said as I kept my eye on the backyard. Sure enough, Jean-Luke reappeared and eyed the back door with interest. “Damn it!” I said, realizing I hadn’t locked the door. I moved Dave back out of the kitchen and said, “Hurry up! He’s coming inside!”
We peddled backward into the living room headed to the front door. Just as we got there we heard the back door slide open. Jean-Luke was too close for us to get out through the front door safely, if he heard us he could be through the kitchen with the gun pointed quicker than we could undo the deadbolt and get out. Thinking quickly I opened up the closet and shoved Dave inside first but before I could follow him I heard Jean-Luke say behind me, “Ahhh, so there you are.”
I shut the door on Dave’s frightened face, and prayed that Jean-Luke hadn’t seen me push him in there, then whipped around to face him.
“I don’t have them anymore,” I said.
“Where are they?” he asked leveling the gun at my head.
“If you kill me you’ll never find out,” I answered boldly, trying to think of a way out of this mess.
“Yes, that’s true,” he said, lowering the gun and taking aim at my kneecap.
My eyes got large and just before he squeezed the trigger I said, “Wait! Okay! I’ll tell you!”
“Go on,” he said, his patience at a minimum, and the gun still pointed at my knee.
“They’re in the basement,” I said.
“With your friend?”
I pretended to let my shoulders sag. “Yes,” I answered, bowing my head in mock surrender. “He’s hiding down there.”
“Let’s go,” Jean-Luke snapped, waving the gun in a “come on” gesture.
I walked on stiff legs toward the basement, my heart thundering in my chest and my intuition on high. My guides had suggested the basement idea, and I’d almost passed on it because I felt it was a great place to get trapped and die, but at the last second I decided to trust them and so I’d gone with it. Now as I walked toward the door, I wondered how the hell they were going to get me out of this.
We turned into the kitchen and I stopped at the door. “He’s down there,” I said, “and he’s got the diamonds.”
Jean-Luke nudged me with the gun. “Open the door.”
I did, and we both peered into darkness. “Tell him to come up,” Jean-Luke said.
“Dave?” I called into the basement. “Dave? You’ll have to come up from the basement!”
“Turn on the light,” Jean-Luke ordered.
I reached forward and flipped the switch, and just as I did so a black shadow appeared to swoop out of the basement and flew right into Jean-Luke’s hair. He careened backward, flapping his arms wildly, waving the gun like a party favor as something birdlike flopped about his head. Two shots went off and I ducked low putting my hands over my head. A moment later, with the acrid smell of gunpowder in the air and the little bird that had flown out of the basement still fluttering about the room, I looked up at Jean-Luke, my intuition buzzing. “You’re out of bullets, fella,” I said with a sneer.
Jean-Luke pointed the gun at me and fired. The empty gun clicked and he tossed the gun in the corner and stomped over to me, his face contorted in rage. Angrily he grabbed me by the collar of my coat as he hissed, “I’m going to kill you for that.”
He then wrapped his hands about my throat and began to squeeze. With wild panicked motions I scratched at his hands and struggled to escape from his grip. He pulled me violently across the kitchen and shoved me into a wall, squeezing my neck as stars swam in my eyes and pain and fear drove me to kick and scratch and claw at him, but to no avail. His eyes were wild, his own breathing ragged, the rage that emanated off of him palpable.
Just as the darkness began to close around the edge of my vision I saw a necklace made of string, rosary beads and garlic loop over Jean-Luke’s head, and with a violent tug, he was pulled backward and almost lifted off the ground. He let go of me immediately, and I sank to my knees clutching at my throat, my breath ragged and painful. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my handyman with a fury so intense it scared me. He had Jean-Luke by the neck, ensnared by Dave’s string of garlic, pulling him about the kitchen like a puppet. Jean-Luke was now the one clutching at his own throat, nearly losing his balance every time Dave changed direction.
Dave’s face never wavered in its intensity and determination, and I knew it took a hell of a lot to get him to that point. “Dave!” I called out, knowin
g from someplace deep inside that this wasn’t going to end well. “Dave! Stop!” I called, but my voice was barely more than a harsh whisper, and it was already too late. In one final heave on the garlic necklace, Dave released Jean-Luke. He hovered on his heels at the top of the basement stairwell for a brief moment with a look of relief as the pressure from the rope about his neck abated. And then his eyes roamed right and left, and he knew he was at the edge of the stairs, tipping backward as if in slow motion. Too late his arms went wide to save himself, but there was no railing or grip that could stop his fall down the stairs.
I watched him disappear through the doorway, my hand extended out to him before he left my view, and even before we heard him hit the bottom with a sickening crunch that snapped his neck I saw Dave McKenzie’s face register a look of cool satisfaction.
Chapter Fifteen
I sat in the back of the police sedan with a blanket over my shoulders and a hot cup of coffee in my hands. I was shaking with cold, even though the heater in the squad car was turned up high. I’d already been checked out by an EMT crew, and ignored their advice to visit the hospital. My neck and throat hurt something fierce, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.
Dutch stood in the front yard, talking with Dave and Milo, and periodically they would all glance at me. Dave told them everything that had happened, as my voice had been reduced to a harsh whisper. I’d been told by the emergency tech who’d examined me that it could be a few days before my vocal cords healed and he’d strongly advised that I take it easy on them until then.
As I sat in the car and shivered, I saw a stretcher being wheeled out of the house loaded with a blanket covering the remains of Jean-Luke, the weight of it forcing the two men pushing it to go slow. I looked from the stretcher to Dave, knowing that even though he’d felt a sense of relief when Jean-Luke tumbled backward down those stairs, soon enough it would catch up to him and I worried how that would change him.
Even now I could see him shield his expression as he watched the team load Jean-Luke into the back of the ambulance. Another ambulance was parked just a little further down, waiting for Willy.