I paced some more and fought with my conscience. I wanted to get the information to Dutch, but I didn't want to give myself away. I looked at the clock radio and sighed. It was nearly nine-thirty. I sat back down on the bed and ran my fingers through my hair. I was very, very tired. All of the events of the past few weeks had taken their toll. With a sigh I concluded that eight hours wouldn't make much difference in tracking down Frank Milford anyway. If he was responsible for murdering Allison, Alyssa, and Mary Lou, then he was definitely holed up somewhere and taking great precautions to hide his whereabouts. No, it was better to get some rest tonight, then call Anderson first thing in the morning, making sure to block my number, and leave Dutch a message with all the information. He could track Frank down as best he could, and I could continue to operate incognito without having to talk to him.
Wearily I pulled back the covers of the hotel bed and crawled in. I was asleep within seconds.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning I woke with a start. Something was out of place. I bolted upright and looked around at my fuzzy environment. For a long, dreadful minute I had no idea where I was. Then it all came back and I had another panicked thought and snapped my head around to look at the digital clock radio. I squinted and made out the time. Eight o'clock. I snapped my head around to the window, a.m. "Shit!" I swore and tore off the covers. How had that happened? I swore I set the alarm for seven! My first client was at nine and now I might not have time to make it to the office and back in time to call them and schedule a phone reading. I rushed into the bathroom and punched in my contacts, then combed my hair with one hand while I brushed my teeth with the other. I quickly pulled up my hair in a ponytail, and threw on jeans and a T-shirt, grabbed my purse, and ran out of the room.
I reached the sidewalk outside and noticed with dismay that it was still raining. "Can I catch one break here?!" I said to the sky, then ducked my head and took off. I ran the two blocks to my office flat out, and by the time I got to the double doors I was huffing and wheezing and drenched again. I pushed through the doors into the lobby and had to grab the molding along one wall as I stood bent over, fighting for air. I noticed that two women walking by gave me a wide berth and looked disapprovingly at my dripping, wheezing form. If I'd had the breath I would have told them what hobby they could pick up in their spare time.
When I was merely panting, I straightened up and checked my watch. 8:15. Son of a bitch. I took the stairs two at a time, my legs burning, and walked quickly down the hallway to my suite. I extracted my key, turned the bolt, dashed inside and closed the door. I grabbed the large package sitting just inside the door, and carried it into my inner office. As I walked through the doorway, my phone rang and reflexively, I picked it up.
"puff-Hello?-pant, pant."
"Abby? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Dutch asked.
"You! -puff-pant-Are! -puff-pant- An Asshole! -pant-pant."
"Do you know how worried I've been about you?" Dutch roared.
I shook my head at the phone, giving it a particularly vulgar look as I slammed the receiver down. I plopped into my chair and while I caught my breath I pulled the package close and inspected the sticky note affixed.
Abby,
I rescheduled all of your appointments for Wednesday and tucked your appointment book into your top drawer. This arrived while I was
calling your clients. Call me if you need me to help with anything else.
I'm so sorry about your friend.
Yvonne 8/29
I smiled and made a mental note to call Yvonne and give her my personal thanks, then quickly tore open the package. It was from Theresa and contained a beautiful angel figurine by my favorite artist, Kim Lawrence, who had been designing such abstract art pieces for quite some time. This particular statue was called In His Grace and depicted a white, faceless angel complete with halo and wide wings. The statue's head was slightly bowed, and he wore an overcoat that flared outward. It was beautiful. I hurried to open the letter that accompanied the statue.
Abby,
Brett and I have settled into our new home in Santa Monica and I'm starting to get used to the routine here. I'm meeting with my new producer next week and we're going to go over story ideas for the show. Part of me still walks around pinching myself that this is all happening, but I'm trying to remember to be grateful.
I found this figurine in a little shop in downtown Santa Monica and immediately thought of you. He reminds me of Archangel Michael, and I know he's your favorite, so I thought what the hell—happy early birthday!
Anyway, I miss you like crazy! I swear I felt your energy last week when I was out at the beach. It was like you were standing right next to me. Call me soon!
Love to you and all you do,
Theresa
P.S. Oh! Almost forgot! Someone named Mary keeps coming through to me and is telling me to tell you that she and Lou are fine and busy planting flowers but she wants you to be careful; in fact, she was the one who made me buy the statue! She said it's for your protection and that I had to rush the delivery. Hope that makes sense!
I dropped the note onto my desk and shook my head. Theresa's talent still left me dumbfounded at times, and I felt tears of relief fill my eyes as I thought about Mary Lou traveling to a heaven where she could busy herself planting flowers and create a beautiful garden.
I swallowed hard, remembering that I had a client showing up in forty minutes and several calls still to make. I had already decided to read my first client at my office, then quickly bolt back to the hotel in time to call the second. My readings typically only last about forty-five minutes, so I'd have fifteen minutes or so to make it safely back and set up for some phone readings.
I settled the figurine at the center of my desk and was reaching for the phone when it rang unexpectedly. Startled, I jerked it up. Tentatively I put it to my ear and asked, "Hello?"
"Abby, please do not hang up on me," Dutch again, controlled and calm this time.
I sighed audibly in his ear and snapped, "I have nothing to say to you! You are a liar, you cheat on your wife and you pretend to be this upstanding police detective who obeys all the rules when you're really just a lying jackass who thinks he can use people!" Hmmm. Apparently I did have things to say to him.
Just then there was a soft knock on my door. I took a deep breath and blinked away the tears of frustration that had welled up in my eyes. "Who is it?" I called out, putting Dutch on mute.
"Abigail Cooper? Hi, it's me, Mike Pad. I have a nine o'clock appointment? I know I'm early, but I was just really excited to see you…"
"Abby, listen to me, I swear it's not what you think," Dutch said in my ear.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Mike and Dutch had spoken at the same time, and I shook my head to clear all the traffic. I popped the phone off mute and said, "Just a minute, I've got to check something," then put Dutch on hold. I pulled open my desk drawer, took out my little blue appointment book and flipped quickly to today's date. There was Mike's appointment. I called out, "Okay, I'm on my way," and quickly walked to the outer office door. I opened it to find a gorgeous, casually dressed man wearing a white bandana and oversized jeans, dazzling me with an electric smile.
I smiled back and said, "Hi, Mike, come on in. I'm finishing up a call, and I have one more quick one to make after that but then we'll get started. It's actually a good thing you got here early."
Mike nodded and passed in front of me while I held open the door, then locked it behind him. He looked at me quizzically as I turned back again. "You're soaking wet!" he said.
Rubbing my arms, which were peppering with goose bumps from the chill air in the hallway, I said, "Yeah, I got caught in the rain. Uh, just have a seat and I'll be right with you, I promise." I rushed back into my inner office, closing the door. I had to dispense with Dutch quickly, then call my ten a.m. and tell them about the change of plans. Walking back to my desk, I was slightly flustered by the very good-looking man in m
y lobby. I thought suddenly of how I must look, wet, and rumpled. I grabbed my purse from the floor, setting it on the desk, and then picked the receiver back up. I depressed the hold button again and said, "Dutch, I'm sorry, but my first appointment is here and I really don't have time to talk to you about this." I emptied my overstuffed purse on my desk, hunting for a comb.
"Abby, listen to me," Dutch said with forced patience. "I don't like the idea of you doing readings at your office. You're too vulnerable over there. It's fine if you don't want to stay with me—"
"You got that right," I said, pushing aside Alyssa's journal, some folded pieces of paper, my wallet and a lipstick.
"I know you're upset, but you don't have to run around taking chances and giving me a heart attack in the process."
For some reason my intuitive phone suddenly went haywire the moment Dutch said "heart attack." I homed in on the thought and followed it, my eye darting to Alyssa's journal. I recalled little hearts she'd drawn with "Mr. and Mrs. Frank Milford" in the middle. With a jolt I suddenly remembered my theory on Frank Milford from the night before. Interrupting Dutch, who was continuing to explain himself, I said abruptly, "I know who killed Allison and Mary Lou."
There was a pause, then Dutch surprised me by saying, "Frank Milford."
My breath caught for a moment, then I remembered that he and Milo had been to see Karen Milford. "Karen Milford told you, huh?"
"No, she can't tell us anything Abby. She's dead. Frank killed her, too."
I sat down with a thunk. "He killed his own sister?"
"No, Karen was his second wife not his sister. We believe that Allison called Karen to warn her about Frank and that Frank overheard the conversation, then killed Karen to keep her quiet about Alyssa's murder."
"But I thought Karen's husband was in prison."
"No, Frank got out of prison six months ago. I guess the guys in Ohio are a little slow updating their records. We checked with Frank's P.O., and currently Frank's missing in action. We know he killed Karen by the bloody fingerprints he left all over his home. They're a dead ringer for the ones on record with the Toledo P.D. We found Karen's body in a shallow grave out behind the house. Even though she's been dead for two weeks, you can tell he beat the hell out of her, probably with the same bat he used to kill Allison.
"My guess is that he thought he could kill Karen, then head up to Michigan, take care of Allison and you, and make it home in time to clean up the house before skipping town for good…"
Dutch was still giving me the details when something fell to the floor in my lobby. I heard a loud thunk, and for some reason it unsettled me. My eye darted to the closed door separating me from my client in the lobby, and suddenly feeling uneasy, I pulled my appointment book closer. My intuition was going haywire and I didn't know why.
I glanced at the appointments written down for the day and couldn't see anything to be alarmed about, but something was definitely off. I picked up the book and looked closely at Mike's appointment. My eye kept darting to his last name. "Mike PAD, 9:00 a.m."
It was weird that I'd put his last name in all caps. Weirder still that I hadn't written down his phone number next to the name; I only did that with clients I knew personally. But I didn't know the man in my lobby. I was sure I'd never met him before in my life.
Dutch had stopped his description of the murder scene at the Milfords' and was now trying to get my attention by saying, "Abby? Abby, you there?" but I wasn't listening to him. Instead I was listening hard to a little jingle that had started to play in my thoughts, When you want some lunch and you're in a crunch, come on down to Pic-A-Deli…
My eye refocused on Mike's last name. "PAD—Pic-A-Deli. I dropped the book on the desk as my breath caught in my throat.
Mike from the Pic-A-Deli was not in my lobby.
Frank Milford was.
I looked down at my arms. Goose bumps stretched from my wrists to my shoulders, and the damp hair on the back of my neck was standing straight up on end. I wanted to run screaming. I wanted to crawl under my desk and make it all go away.
"Abby? Hello, Earth to Abby. I can hear you breathing…" Dutch said.
Panicked now, I squealed into the phone, "Yes, Mr. Rivers!" my voice rising in harsh crescendo with fear. "Of course I can squeeze you in, especially if it's an emergency!"
There was a beat or two on the other end of the line as I heard Dutch's breath catch. I gripped the phone with white-knuckled fear and added, "I have an opening on September eleventh. Would nine-one-one be good for you?" I was trembling in fear now, willing him to understand.
"Abby, I'm calling the Royal Oak police on my cell. Do not get off this line!" Dutch said, his voice a hush of tension.
I could hear him punching three numbers into his cell and pictured him holding me up to one ear and his cell phone to the other.
"Hurry," I said, trying to whisper but it came out louder than I'd liked.
At that moment my inner office door slammed open and Frank Milford stood with menacing fury in the doorway. He'd clearly heard my plea for help. "Hang up the phone, Abigail," he said from the doorway. My eyes darted to the twelve-inch blade gripped tightly in his hand. My vision blurred as my terror rose. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe and couldn't scream.
I could hear Dutch on the other end shouting into his cell phone for the police to hurry, and I had a wild thought, that as long as I could physically hear Dutch I'd be okay.
"Hang up the FUCKING PHONE!" Frank shouted.
I jumped in terror, dropping the receiver. It clanked loudly on the desk and I could hear Dutch calling out from the earpiece, "Abby?! Abby?! Are you there?! Abby?! Talk to me!!!"
At that moment Frank rushed toward me, raising the knife. I darted around the desk, pinning my eyes on him. "P-p-please…!" I stuttered. It sounded pathetic, even to me. I could still hear Dutch, shouting now for me to answer him.
Frank's grimace turned into a sick smile as he reached over and gripped the phone, and holding it to his ear he said, "Abigail can't come to the phone right now, she's too busy playing a game of butcher shop," and with that he slammed the receiver into the cradle. My lifeline was gone.
Frank then turned to me with eyes that were wild and dilated. " 'P-p-please,' 'p-p-please'!" he said, laughing as he mimicked me.
I grew very cold inside. I had to think, figure a way out. But I couldn't get past the knife poised to arc down at me at any moment.
"Listen, you don't want to do this, Frank. It won't solve anything!" I said, my words tumbling out and mixing together. He moved toward me, around the desk. I moved the opposite way. "The police know who you are! They'll hunt you down anyway!"
Frank ignored me and moved closer. I scooted farther around the edge of the desk, away from him, and he laughed at my effort. "Round and round the merry-go-round!" he sang.
Oh my God, I thought. This man is insane! "Listen to me!" I shouted, willing him to see reason. "The police are on the way, they'll be here soon …" and with that Frank lunged across the desk, knocking objects onto the floor as he came at me. I reacted too late trying to twist away and run at the same time. He caught my shirt and brought the knife down. Instinctively, I thrust an arm up in the nick of time. The knife caught me mid-forearm and I howled in pain as searing white-hot heat erupted from my arm, moving through my shoulder and sending sickening waves of pain down my spine. I felt the knife hit bone, then it stuck there and my stomach roiled. Frank pulled up on the blade, taking my arm up with him, the knife still firmly stuck.
Small arcs of blood spurted from the wound, squirting me, the walls, and Frank. He struggled to pull the knife free, the blood making it slippery and difficult for him as I screamed in agony. Far off, I heard footsteps in the hallway, then urgent knocking at the door. My screams became panicked and I inserted cries of help in between the screams of pain. Frank shook the knife back and forth, trying to dislodge it from the bone in my arm, and I crumpled to the floor in agony.
Frank bent down, sweat drip
ping from his face. "Fucking bitch!" he screamed as he grabbed my arm without mercy in one hand and firmly gripped the blade with the other, giving a tremendous yank. With a sickening sound the knife came free and I felt darkness pooling in the corners of my vision. The room was swaying and I knew it was over. I wasn't going to make it.
I felt Frank come around me and pull my head up by my hair. I saw the knife swing up under my nose and without realizing what I was doing, I flailed out with both arms, desperate for something to stop him. My left hand connected with an object at my knees, and I grabbed it with both hands, panic making my right hand cooperate, and hurled it upward with all of my might. I felt contact, and heard the sound of glass breaking, a howl that wasn't my own, a crash and then several explosions like cannon fire. Then I heard nothing at all.
Chapter Fourteen
My mouth was dry. That's what woke me. I felt like I hadn't had anything to drink in days, and my mouth felt dry as dirt. I became aware of the hum of electricity, the soft noise of a television, and the smell of antiseptic. I opened my eyes but everything was foggy. I squinted, compressing my eyes to see a little better, and wondered where my glasses were.
The room seemed too bright, and it suddenly occurred to me I had no idea where I was. I blinked several times to jog my memory, but for the life of me I couldn't remember going to sleep in this place. Something felt odd. I looked down at my right arm, which was throbbing dully at my side. It was bound in a plaster cast and tubes had been inserted in my left arm. I saw they were connected to an IV. Oh! Hospital! Okay…why was I in the hospital?
Then like a wave to the beach, it all came back, and I winced. I heard voices in the hallway just outside of my room, and immediately recognized the insistent voice of my sister. Cat was talking in her most businesslike tone. "…Yes, I understand that, but I think Abigail would be better served recovering at home, so again, Doctor, I would like a firm commitment as to when she can be released into my care?"