FASTBACK Mystery
RICHARD LAYMON
Fearon
BELMONT, CALIFORNIA
FASTBACK® MYSTERY BOOKS
Bill Waite's Will
Cardiac Arrest
Dawson's City The Diary
The Face That Stopped Time
A Came for Fools
The Good Luck Smiling Cat
The Intruder
Janie
Mad Enough to Kill
No Witnesses
Shootout at Joe's
Cover photographer: Jim Ross
Copyright © 1984 by David S. Lake Publishers, 19 Davis Drive, Belmont, California 94002. All rights reserved. Mo part of this book may be reproduced by any means, transmitted, or translated into a machine language without written permission from the publisher.
ISBN-0-8224-3463-6
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 83-62091
Printed in the United States of America.
1. 9 8 7 6 5 4 3
Joyce Walther woke up on Monday morning to the smell of coffee. She hated the taste of the stuff, but she loved its smell. The sizzle and snap of frying bacon came to her ears while she got dressed. The bacon smelled even better than the coffee. She couldn't wait to get into the kitchen.
She almost couldn't wait.
As she pulled a brush through her tangled hair, she saw the magazine lying on her dresser---Whispering Shadows Mystery Monthly. Joyce set her brush aside and picked up the magazine. She turned to page 99. There, in large letters, was her name---JOYCE WALTHER.
"Breakfast is ready when you are," her father called from the kitchen.
"Be right there," Joyce answered without looking up.
In spite of the wonderful smells of coffee and bacon, breakfast could wait.
Her eyes stayed on page 99 and on the big words there---THE OPAL RING by JOYCE WALTHER.
Me.
Above the title was a paragraph Joyce had read so many times during the past two days that she almost knew it by heart. Downstairs, breakfast was getting cold. But Joyce took time to read the paragraph once again.
Our 582nd First Story comes from a very talented 18-year-old who is studying English at Santa Monica College. Joyce Walther, the daughter of jewelry store owner Bryce Walther and actress Monica Walther (now seen on the soap opera "City Hospital"), has blended her knowledge of jewels and TV to write a clever story that will keep readers guessing until the last word. We are pleased to find such talent in one so young and can only hope to see more of her work in the near future.
Joyce grinned at herself in the mirror.
Her throat tickled as if a giggle were
trapped inside and about to spring free. "Joyce!" her father called one last time.
"Your breakfast is on the table."
"I'm coming!"
Joyce set down the magazine and took one last look at its shiny red cover. "Very talented," she whispered. Then she hurried to the kitchen.
Water was boiling on the stove. Joyce gave her parents a happy greeting as she turned off the flame. She reached behind the heavy iron pan and lifted the teapot off the back burner. A mug with a tea bag in it was waiting on the counter. She added the boiling water, then a touch of milk and a spoonful of sugar. With the tea just the way she liked it, she carried her mug to the table and sat down.
"So," her father said, "how's our famous mystery writer this fine morning?"
"Great. I thought up a new story last night. I want to get started on it right away."
"Then I guess you won't have time to go with me to the shopping mall," her mother said.
Frowning at her plate, Joyce started to pick at her bacon and eggs. "I don't know," she mumbled. She was very anxious to start writing. On the other hand, the shopping mall did have two bookstores. She never liked to miss a chance to look around in them. "Are you going, Dad?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I have to clean the pool."
Joyce took a bite and stared out the sliding screen door. A few leaves were floating on the calm surface of the swimming pool. "It doesn't look so bad. Why don't you come along, and I'll help you with the pool when we get back?"
"Well..." Mr. Walther seemed to be thinking it over.
"Oh, come on," Mrs. Walther said. "It's your day off."
Her husband smiled. "You talked me into it. Maybe we can have some lunch at that Greek---"
The sound of the screen door being slammed open stopped his words.
Joyce gasped. Her fork dropped with a loud clatter onto her plate.
Mr. Walther jumped to his feet so fast that he knocked his chair over.
Mrs. Walther slapped a hand to her mouth as if to hold in a scream.
Through the open screen door charged two men with guns. The man in the lead aimed his revolver at Joyce's father. "Nobody move!" he shouted.
"What's going on?" Mr. Walther asked in a low voice. He sounded more angry than scared.
"Nothing to get excited about," said the first man. "Keep calm, and nobody will get hurt."
"We don't want nobody getting hurt," the other man added.
"Anybody," Joyce said, and shut her mouth tight as the smaller man pointed his gun at her. She wondered if she should say that she was sorry for correcting his English. She decided to keep quiet.
"The kid's a wise guy, Murph."
"I'm sure she didn't mean anything by---" Joyce's mother started.
"Shut up," said the man called Murph. The hard words had cut Mrs. Walther off. Her face turned a bright red color. "Now look here---" Mr. Walther began. "No, you look," Murph said. "Look right into the barrel of this.'' He raised the revolver toward Mr. Walther's face. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way." "What do you want?" Joyce's father said in a low voice.
"You're Bryce Walther, right? Owner of Walther's Jewelry over on Fifth Street?" Mr. Walther nodded.
"Your shop is closed today. It's closed every Sunday and Monday."
"You've done your homework," Mr. Walther said.
A mean smile curved Murph's lips.
Joyce noticed a C-shaped scar on his left cheek. She made a note of this in her mind. She realized that she should try to remember everything she could about how both men looked. Anything she could tell the police might come in handy later. Besides, she might want to write about a guy like this in one of her stories.
The name is Murph. A white male, about 25 years old, six feet tall, blue eyes, neatly trimmed brown hair. Wearing a blue sports jacket, blue tie, white shirt, gray slacks, and shiny black shoes.
"Well, Bryce," Murph said, "I've got a little surprise for you. You're open for business this morning, and I'm going to be your only customer."
That's why he's all dressed up, Joyce thought. So he won't look odd entering the jewelry store with Dad.
"You're going to rob it!" she blurted out.
"That's the picture," Murph said, not turning away from her father. "And just to make sure that you don't try to be a hero, Bryce, my friend here will be keeping the wife and kid company until you and I come back with the goodies. As long as everything goes nice and smooth, he won't harm them." Murph smiled at his friend. "You'll be nice and friendly, won't you?" The smaller man nodded. "We don't want nobody getting hurt."
Anybody, Joyce thought. But she kept her mouth shut.
"Any questions?" Murph asked.
"Yes," Mr. Walther said. "What happens if...I mean, I'll do nothing to put my family in danger, but...there are other shop owners on the block who know I'm closed today. If one of them sees me going in..."
"Then you'd better have a good story. If we're not back with the goodies in half an hour---bang bang."
Mr. Walther's face turned pale.
"Okay, Bud, tie them up."
"Are you OK,
Mom?" Joyce had a worried look on her face.
Joyce's mother nodded.
"You don't look too good."
"Knock off the small talk," Bud said. He was leaning against the refrigerator, watching them with his tiny eyes. Joyce and her mother were tied to kitchen chairs.
Joyce noticed that this second man,
Bud, wasn't well dressed like Murph. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. Bud looked a little nervous. That wasn't like Murph either. Even from her seat at the kitchen table, Joyce could see the sweat on the man's face. He kept moving his gun from one hand to the other and wiping his hands on his jeans.
"Is that a thirty-two caliber automatic?" Joyce asked.
"Don't talk to him, dear," her mother said.
"I just want to know." Joyce tried to smile at Bud. "I'm a writer," she told him. "I write mystery stories."
"Good for you," he muttered. "I live them."
Joyce went on. "Maybe I can use all this in a story, you know? I've never seen a real thirty-two automatic."
"Shut up, kid," Bud snapped at her.
He took a quick look at the clock on the wall. Joyce looked, too. Five minutes had gone by since her father had left the house with Murph.
"How many people have you shot with that gun?" Joyce asked.
"Joyce, please." Her mother sounded nervous.
"Nosey kid," Bud said. He rubbed the sweat off his upper lip.
"Come on," Joyce said. "You can tell me. I'm just a curious kid. How many people have you shot?"
"You keep being so curious, sister, and you're going to be the first."
"You shoot us," Joyce said, "and you'll be facing a charge of assault with a deadly weapon. Or maybe attempted murder.
Or maybe even murder. I don't know how good a shot you are."
"You don't want to find out," Bud said. "How do you feel about capital punishment?"
"Are you crazy?" Bud waved the gun at Joyce. "Cut the cute talk, kid. You're not going to rattle me."
"I'm not trying to rattle you," Joyce said. "It's just that someone in your line of work should think about things like the gas chamber."
This time Bud aimed the gun right at Joyce. "I knew I should have gagged you in the first place," he said. "What do I want to be talking to a kid for?"
The man looked a little sick. He licked his lips and shook his head. "Kid, you are pushing too far and too hard."
"Joyce," Mrs. Walther said. "Please don't..."
"Are you sure you're feeling OK?" Joyce asked her. "You look kind of pale."
"I'm all right."
"Do you need one of your pills? Maybe Bud will get them for you." She looked at the man. He was frowning. "Mom has a little brown bottle of nitroglycerin pills in the bathroom. In the medicine cabinet. Maybe you'd better go get them."
"Nitro?"
"For her heart condition. With all this stress...I'm a little worried."
"Just forget it," Bud said. He took out a handkerchief and mopped his face.
"Look, if Mom has a heart attack---"
"Knock it off!"
"We're tied up," Joyce said. Then she squirmed against the ropes to show that she couldn't get free. "We aren't going anyplace," she told the man. "Listen to me. It's important that you get the pills." "I'm not moving." He shot a nervous look at the clock.
Joyce let out a deep, shaky breath. Her mother, tied to a chair near the table corner, suddenly gritted her teeth. "Mom!"
"I'm all right," her mother said in a tight voice. "Just...a little pain in my arm."
"Your left arm?"
Her mother nodded. "I'll be all right." Joyce glared at Bud. "You better get those pills!"
"This is none of my business."
"That's what you think! If Mom has a cardiac arrest...Haven't you ever heard of felony murder?"
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
"It means that you don't have to shoot someone to be a killer," Joyce said. She looked the man in the eyes. "You guys are committing a felony by holding us here and robbing the store. The law says that if someone dies while you're doing it---even by accident---you're both murderers." "You're nuts." He wiped his face again with the handkerchief.
"It's the same as if you shot someone." "That's not fair!"
"It's the law!"
"Oh!" Mrs. Walther gasped. Her lips peeled back, baring her teeth. In pain, she squeezed her eyes shut and fought against the ropes.
Bud shoved the pistol into his belt. "A brown bottle?"
"Hurry! Quick!"
He raced from the kitchen.
Joyce twisted her hands, trying to free them from the ropes while her mother gasped for air and jerked her head from side to side.
"No!" Joyce cried out. "Bud! Please! Hurry!"
The man raced into the kitchen. His hands were empty. His face was red, his eyes full of fear. "I couldn't find them!" he blurted out.
"They have to be there! No---wait.
Maybe they're in the bedroom. Try the bedroom. Look on the dresser."
He dashed away again.
The legs of Mom's chair bounced against the floor as she bucked and squirmed.
Then the chair fell sideways. The chair hit the floor with an awful crash.
"Mom!"
Her mother lay on her side, fighting for each breath. Her body struggled against the ropes. The overturned chair pounded and squeaked on the tile floor. Her face was very red. Joyce saw blood trickling from her mother's nose.
Suddenly Joyce pulled one of her hands free. Her left hand was still tied to the chair frame, and both feet were bound to the metal legs. But her right hand was free. Twisting, she started to pick at the knot on her left wrist. It was very tight. She heard rushing footsteps but kept pinching and tugging at the rope. It wouldn't give at all.
"Hold it!" Bud shouted.
Joyce looked up. He was drawing the revolver from his belt, aiming it at her.
"I've got to help!" she cried out.
Then Bud saw the woman lying on the floor. His eyes grew very wide. "Oh, lady," he said. "Don't do this to me!"
"The pills," Joyce gasped. "Did you find them?"
He shook his head. He rubbed his arm across his face to wipe the sweat off.
"Untie me," Joyce demanded. "I can find them."
"No way." He kept staring at Mrs. Walther. His tiny eyes were wide open.
He licked his lips as he tried to figure out what to do. He paced up and down the kitchen like a nervous animal trapped in a cage.
"If you won't untie me, then call the paramedics!"
"Are you nuts?" he asked. But he stopped by the phone.
"Quick! There still might be time to save her!"
"I can't call no paramedics," Bud said. He moved away from the phone.
"Do you want to go up for murder?"
"I can't call no...His words stopped. His eyes bulged. Joyce's mother had stopped her wild shaking. She lay on her side, still bound to the chair, her cheek against the floor. Her eyes were closed now. She didn't seem to be moving at all.
For a few seconds Bud stared at the limp body. Suddenly he dashed to the counter. He shoved the gun into his belt and grabbed a butcher knife.
Falling to his knees, he started to cut the ropes that tied Joyce's mother to the chair. While he sawed with the big knife, Joyce tried to pull her own left hand free. The rope dug into her wrists. Turning again, she tried to pick open the knot.
"Stop that!" Bud shouted, giving her an angry look as he cut through the rope around the older woman's right foot.
"You stay put!"
"But I know CPR," Joyce cried. "Let me loose. Maybe I can---I've got to try to save her!"
When Mrs. Walther was free of her ropes, Bud grabbed her by the ankles. He pulled her to the center of the kitchen.
"Please!" Joyce cried.
But Bud wouldn't listen to her. He got down on his hands and knees beside Mrs. Walther's body. He lifted one of her arms and grabbed her wrist.
"She's got a pulse," he said. "Yeah, I t
hink she's got a pulse." He sounded relieved, but his eyes were still wide with fear.
"Is she breathing?" Joyce asked.
Bud put a hand close to Mrs. Walther's mouth. He held it there. He took a quick look over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. "Come on, Murph," he muttered.
"Is she breathing?" Joyce shouted.
His head jerked around as if he had been slapped. "How do I know?" he shouted at her. "No," he said more softly. Then---"I don't know. I guess not."
"Cut me loose!"
"I'm not going to cut you loose!"
"I know CPR! You've got to let me try to save her. Please! If she dies, you're up for murder as sure as if you'd shot her!"
Bud crouched there, thinking.
"There's no time to think!" Joyce shouted. "Just hurry up and get me untied!"
Bud did what Joyce said. He got to his feet, stepped over Mrs. Walther's body, and got down on his knees next to Joyce. Quickly he sawed through the rope at her wrist. He cut open the ropes that held her feet. Joyce sprang from the chair. She grabbed Bud's elbow and pulled him after her.
"OK," she gasped. "We haven't got much time. Get down and hang onto Mom's shoulders."
"Huh?"
"Just do it! I've got to heat up some water."
With a shrug, Bud fell to his knees beside Mrs. Walther. He took hold of her shoulders.
"What's with the hot water?" he asked, looking confused.
"Don't you know anything?"
At the stove, Joyce turned on the gas burner under the teapot. "OK, Mom!" she shouted. "Now!"
Joyce grabbed a heavy iron pan and swung around. Raising it high over her head, she dashed toward the kneeling man. Bud cried out in surprise, but Mrs. Walther held his wrists tightly. As he struggled, Joyce brought the heavy iron pan down on top of his head.
Mr. Walther stepped through the front door ahead of Murph. A hand reached out quickly, grabbed him by the elbow, and pulled him roughly out of the way.
A police officer against the wall suddenly had his revolver against Murph's ear. Two more police officers, who were kneeling on the floor, had pistols aimed at his chest. "Don't even blink," said the officer by the wall.
Joyce, watching from her hiding place behind the end of the couch, got to her feet. Her mother peeked in from the hall.