“You suspected Emmanuelle?”
Monica shook her head. “No. Not really. I figured it was that weasel, Sheridan, what with all his trips to Europe. But I knew Elvira didn’t like Emmanuelle. Everyone knew. Though the figures belonged to a client of Richard’s and that worked. I didn’t care who got blamed. The police could sort that out.”
“So you put the printout in Mrs. Scott’s purse hoping to implicate Emmanuelle or Richard.”
“No. I didn’t need to. Elvira had them in her purse. It took you long enough to figure out the figures weren’t right. I tried to think of some other way that the finger could be pointed at Emmanuelle or Richard. Or both. But then you put two and two together.”
“How do you know that?”
“I heard you talking with Oliver Absher. I saw him arrive so I just casually wandered into Elvira’s office and listened to you in Mr. Poupée’s office.”
“Monica, why did you blame Mrs. Scott for your parent’s breakup? From what I know, your mother and father had many problems.” I let the explanation stop there. I didn’t wish to accuse the mother of being crazy when the daughter obviously inherited the same condition.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” Monica’s eerie calmness belied the rage flashing in her eyes. She moved toward me and I reached back searching with my hands for something I could use in defense.
Monica’s face came within inches of mine. I could smell the girl’s stale breath. She suddenly backed away.
“My wonderful father left me for his tramp. Just walked out and left me. I never heard from him again.” She started pacing around the room, every now and again looking at me. Her dark copper hair hung in greasy strands around her face and she kept on pushing it over her ears. “He just packed up and left. Left me to
them
!” She spat the word out and kicked the picture on the floor sending pieces of glass flying.
“What about your mother?”
“My mother?” Monica’s voice lowered again and she spun to face me. “My mother slit her throat one day. I came home and found her lying in a sticky pool of her own blood. I was seven years old. My
mother
.” She made it sound like a four-letter word. “My poor, pathetic, sick
mother
. After my father left, she couldn’t take it any more. My grandparents took us in and kept telling me it would be all right.” Monica’s voice rose again and with it the pacing grew more frantic. “As if they could possibly know anything. They only cared about their precious fucking image! Finally, we left, my mother and I, and went to live in a tiny house my grandfather bought.”
She walked around the small room, kicking things in her path. I wondered if I could make it out the front door before Monica could grab me. She circled the sofa and plopped herself onto the cushions. She put her head in her hands and I saw my chance.
“Where are you going?” Monica jumped up and blocked the path to the door.
“I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to be alone,” I said softly.
“Alone. Alone! I’ve been alone my whole fucking life! That bitch, she came into my father’s life and just took him. My mother told me all about it. How she seduced my father and told him we were no good. He didn’t want to go, but she
made
him, she
forced
him!” Spittle flew from Monica’s mouth landing on my coat.
I wondered if I could possibly reason with the girl. I didn’t see any other escape route so gave it a try. “Monica, I think your mother had a lot of problems. I think your father tried to help her.”
To my astonishment, it seemed to work. Monica backed off and went back to sit on the sofa. She wiped the saliva from her face on the back of her sleeve and pushed the hair over her ears again.
“I know your father tried to contact you. He wrote you letters and....”
She hopped off the couch again, inches from me, shouting in my face. “How do you know that? Did she tell you? Did
Elvira
tell you? What kind of a name is that anyway?”
I just about had my fill of these mood swings. “No, Elvira didn’t tell me.”
“No, she couldn’t. Because I killed her. I really wanted to kill her on Christmas but she finally figured out who I was. Took her long enough.”
Monica started to laugh and turned away. The laughing continued for a few seconds and then abruptly stopped.
I realized for the first time the girl really was insane. With this realization, I knew I had to get out of there and fast. “I really need to go. My family must be worried about me by now. I told them I would just be a few minutes.” I gave a little laugh and took a step toward the door.
“At least you have a family!”
“Monica, why don’t you get your coat and we can go talk to Detective Van der Burg. I’m sure he would understand. He’ll find some people who can help you.”
“I don’t need any help.” She looked baffled. “Do I look like I need help?”
“No. No. I just thought...I’m sorry, but I really have to go.” I moved again thinking this time I would make it.
“I said you’re not going anywhere!” Monica stood next to me.
I realized my only hope was to replace my fear with anger. I shoved Monica in the chest. The young woman tumbled back. I grabbed for the door confirming my worst fear—she had locked it. I fumbled with the latch but I still wore my gloves. Monica got back up and tried to grab my hair. For the first time in my life I thanked my lucky stars for short, fine hair.
Instead, Monica snatched at my coat.
“Let me go!” I kicked her.
“I can’t let you leave. You’ll go tell everyone I’m crazy.” She started to chant. “Monica is crazy, Monica is crazy.”
“Stop it! I won’t say anything. Just let me go!” I managed to turn around and pushed her again with all the strength I could muster, all the while pulling off my gloves. There! They were off. I fiddled with the latch again, this time managing to get it undone.
I yanked the door open and glanced back to where Monica had been lying on the floor, but she was gone.
I saw the raised hand holding the doorstop a split second before it crashed down on my shoulder. I slumped to the floor grabbing my arm and screaming out in pain.
“I said you’re not leaving!”
“Someone! Please! Anyone. Help me!” I yelled.
I rolled on my butt and managed to kick the advancing Monica with both feet. She fell backward, hitting her head on the wooden corner of the sofa arm. It made a loud thud and I hoped it hurt like hell. With any luck, it knocked her out. I had to get out of there before Monica came to. The girl already killed once and no doubt had grown accustomed to this particular method of working out her problems.
But I couldn’t move. My shoulder hurt so much.
The door had slammed shut when I fell. I groped with my left hand and turned the knob. It opened. I braced myself on the table and knocked the lamp to the floor. The bulb popped, plunging the room into darkness.
My right arm hung limply at my side, no good to me now. I managed to push the door open with my left shoulder and started slowly down the icy steps. At the bottom something hit the middle of my back. I fell forward into the snow and landed on my shoulder sending shock waves through my entire body.
Monica ran back up the steps, probably to get the doorstop, or worse, a knife.
I dragged myself to a bunch of trashcans just as Monica rushed back down the stairs. Behind the trashcans was a pile of wood and a few low bushes. They would have to do for cover.
I crawled behind, biting down on my lip to keep from screaming out.
“I know you’re out here. You can’t get away. Just ask Elvira. It didn’t do her any good either.” Monica’s voice broke the silence only a few feet from where I hid.
As true dread set in, I thought quickly. I left my purse in my car along with my cell. The only thing I had were my keys but they were tucked into my coat pocket. If I tried to reach for them Monica would hear me.
She passed the woodpile and continued down the path to the front yard. I poked my head out. Was there a back way out? Very little light from the street penetrated here and I couldn’t see a single thing. The cold seeped through my wet clothes and my arm ached so bad I didn’t think I’d be able to keep from screaming too much longer.
I heard Monica’s voice calling out for me but nothing else. The neighbor’s party was still going on, but they would never hear me from there. My whole body throbbed. Something trickled down my cheek. Sweat or blood? I couldn’t tell in the dark. Monica’s legs appeared through a crack between the bushes and the woodpile. This might be my chance. If I could get my hand through the bushes I might be able to grab her leg. And then what?
Far off in the distance I thought I heard a familiar, welcome sound but couldn’t be sure. And if I was wrong, I was done for. It was now or never. My right arm throbbed. I mustered up all the strength I could and forced it to pick up a piece of wood. Monica had wandered down the driveway and this was my chance to inch forward positioning myself to grab her leg the next time she walked by.
I heard the crunch of her footsteps. Right in front of me I made out the back of her legs. I was in position, up on my knees ready to pounce. I just needed her to take a few steps away to give me more room to propel myself at her.
And then the worst possible thing happened. She turned around and was facing the bush, was facing
me
.
I said a silent prayer as tears sprang to my eyes. And then I jumped, propelling myself as hard as I could at her.
Two days after Christmas thick clouds threatened another storm. Icicles hung from eaves and snowmen stood sentry up and down the street.
Inside my parents’ home the family sat around the kitchen table, the makings of a leftover turkey dinner sitting on top of the counter and plates piled high on the table.
Mom and Dad sat across the table with John next to them. William and Dolly had pulled in extra chairs from the dining room and Michael stood, leaning against the kitchen sink. The kids happily played in the snow where Henry pummeled his sister in a fierce snowball fight. I, with my arm cut and badly bruised and now encased in a sling, sat with my sister on one side and my grandmother protectively on the other.
“‘Nothing is so exhilarating in life as to be shot at with no result,’” I said softly.
“Amen to that,” Sam agreed.
Meme made the sign of the cross with her right hand while keeping her left firmly on my arm.
I turned my head and looked at the group. “So it was sirens I heard.”
Mom reached across the table and patted my left hand. “Yes. And just in time.”
“I’ve been asleep all this time?”
“Just about.” Mom looked across the table at Samantha and Meme. “These two were by your side every second.”
I playfully gave Sam a punch in the arm and then winced.
“When the police pulled their car round back and turn on their lights there you were, straddling Monica. She was out cold. You looked like a wild woman who lived in the jungle.” Meme’s voice cracked and a tear escaped down her cheek. She pulled a tissue from the pocket of her dress and blew her nose.
I shook my head. “I knew I only had one chance and I had to take it. I tackled Monica. It hauled back and threw her several feet. Then I jumped on her. Having the upper hand didn’t last very long.” I shrugged and gave a partial eye-roll. “She’s really strong and with one quick flip, she had me on my back and tried to get the piece of wood.”
“’Why are you fighting me, Alex?’ she said. ‘You saw what I did to Elvira. She didn’t have a chance and neither do you.’ Spittle flew from her mouth—actually, it was more like she was foaming at the mouth.”
“Yuk,” my sister said.
“At that moment she looked like a wild, caged animal fighting for her life, but so was I and I know it sounds selfish but I thought I had a lot more to lose than Monica.” I looked at my family, all gathered around me and selfish or not, I did have more than Monica.
“Then what happened?” Meme asked, still holding onto my arm.
“I managed to bring my knee up to my chest, putting my foot right under her stomach area. I gathered all my strength in that one kick and lashed out with my good left arm at the same time. Monica flew backward.” I couldn’t help grimacing and Meme squeezed my arm. “Her head hit the wood pile. I scrambled on top of her and whacked her head with a piece of wood.”
I took a sip of my tea and used the moment it took to set the cup on the table, to gather myself. “For one brief second her eyes bore into mine. For that one moment I felt bad. But at the same time I knew she’d kill me if she got up… I got ready to hit her again…but then her head fell back onto the ground and her eyes closed.” I looked at John. His eyes held sympathy and concern. “Did I kill her?”
“No. She’s in the hospital. She’ll be okay,” John said.
“How did you know I went to Monica’s?” I asked of no one.
“Henry,” Sam said. “He wouldn’t tell us until I convinced him it was the one-hundred and fifty percent right thing to do.”
I looked out the window again. Henry stopped his assault on his sister for a split second. He looked up at the window and smiled at me, our eyes locking. He had saved my life.
“Alex,” Mr. Poupée said, bringing me back to the conversation, “I will never forgive myself for getting you involved. This is all my fault. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“Done. It’s not your fault. I walked into the lion’s den on my own. I knew better. I just didn’t think she would try to kill me, too. Stupid, I guess.”
“Well, I hope you two have learned your lesson.” This time Dolly Poupée gave out the admonishments, first to me and then to her husband. “Especially you, William.”
“What I don’t understand is what in God’s name made you go to her house?” Samantha asked not for the first time.
“The geography book. When I saw Redding, California, a few things clicked into place. Remember in Mr. Poupée’s office when Mr. Absher told us about his suspicions of Emmanuelle?” I asked John.
“Yeah.”
“Well, it all started at the annual sales meeting, a month ago. Monica told me she gave Mrs. Scott the printout six weeks before that. Mr. Absher hinted at the fact that Mrs. Scott seemed to suspect Emmanuelle of something even before he enlightened her with his own suspicions.”