Deadly Fall (41 page)

Anne stumbled toward her. Was she losing her balance? In the circle, the boy had taunted her with these same things as she pointed a gun at him. She and the others knew the guns were loaded.

“Here's what bothers me most,” Paula said. “The story implied Sam fired at the boy on purpose. He couldn't stand the hurtful accusations—”

“Can you blame him?”

Anne's hand was under her jacket. Paula swung the sports bag. It hit Anne's shoulder. Anne reeled backward, fumbling with something black and large. Not a needle. Paula raised the bag for a second swing. Anne lunged toward her. The gun dug into Paula's chest. She tottered on her heels. The bag struck Anne's back, pushed Anne into her. If the gun went off, if Paula fell, she was finished. She dropped the bag and grabbed for the gun. Her hand slipped over latex. Gulping in Anne's coffee-soaked breath, she forced the muzzle to the sky.

“Don't, Anne,” she said. “The cops will catch you.”

“They won't know it was me.” Anne twisted the muzzle toward Paula.

“They'll identify your gun.”

“Felix's gun.”

The muzzle pressed the rough turtleneck wool into Paula's skin. In a minute, she would be dead, shot in the neck. “They'll think Dimitri did it. He's the one they suspect.”

“They'll blame Sam, thanks to Felix's story in your bag.”

“I lied. The story's not there.”

“What?”

Paula shoved. She staggered to the back of her car. Anne regained her balance first. She aimed the gun. The bullet noise blasted Paula's ears. She hit the pavement, clutched her calf. She tried to move. Pain burned her leg. Damp warmth seeped through her glove. Blood? She would die here like this. Leah and Erin, her daughters. Never see them again.

Anne's shaking legs were a foot away from the sports bag. She gripped the gun with both hands, to steady it. A car rumbled down the street. Sam? At last. No, an
SUV
cruised by. Even if Sam had missed a light, he should be here. Anne stepped closer. She planted her legs astride, knocking the sports bag. The candlestick rolled out. Paula reached for it. The crystal slithered past her fingers. Fuck. Shit. Anne was adjusting the gun to get the position right. Could Paula throw her off balance mentally again?

She stared past the muzzle to Anne's face, its features shrouded by darkness. “I lied about the story, Anne. There was no Sam character. He was working that night. You were there. I gave the story to the cops. When they find me, they'll know right away you did it.”

Anne's whole body shook.

From the corner of her eye, Paula glimpsed a flash of crystal, a few feet behind her. She could grab it and whack Anne's ankles. She edged toward the candlestick, on the pavement, wincing in pain.

Anne steadied her legs. “Nice try.”

“There's no story in the sports bag. Look for yourself.”

“I'm not stupid enough to fall for that.”

“You're not stupid, Anne, that's why I don't understand how you could do this. We're friends.”

“No, we're not.”

“We are.”

Anne tightened her double-handed grip on the gun. “You preferred Callie. Why? You and I are more alike.”

“I'm not a . . .”

“Callie got everything, even my son.”

Her gaze fixed on the gun, Paula inched back. “Think of your business, Anne. You worked so hard to build it up. Don't throw it away.”

“Sam stole Dimitri, too. I'm getting my son back.”

“You'll lose him if you go to jail.” Her fingertips brushed glass.

“I'll lose everything when you squeal to the cops.”

“I won't.”

“Liar. You always think you're so right.”

“Not this time.”

“You think you're above all of this.”

“I don't.”

“You think you're better than me.”

Brakes squealed on the street. A car roared into the lot. Headlights zoomed straight for Paula.

Through the fog, a man's words, “You killed her.”

Female laughter.

Sam's voice. “You're a fucking murderer.”

On the opposite side of the car, Paula's hand rested on the candlestick. Was she alive? There was no pain in her leg.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sam said. “You're an idiot if you think you can stick this on me.”

“I don't need to,” Anne said. “You ran over her with your car. You killed her.”

Blood oozed from Paula's calf. That meant life. One gloved hand clutched the candlestick; the other pressed the bleeding wound. Sam's car had crashed into her rear bumper. If she'd been an inch closer to Anne, he would have jammed her between the cars. She shivered. Anne must have jumped out the way. The cars concealed her from Anne and Sam. Should she let them know she was here?

“I saw you pointing the gun at her,” Sam said. “She was a crumpled heap.”

“Wrong, as always, Sam. I hadn't fired yet. That is, you fired a wild shot at her and jumped in your car to finish the deed. That's what the cops will deduce.”

“You won't get away with that lie.”

“They'll find the evidence to support it.”

Paula flexed her leg. It felt normal.

Across the car, Anne laughed. “What will your son think of you now? My only regret is that having a jailbird father might wreck Dimitri's career. He and I will work on damage control.”

Paula rolled onto her knees to hoist herself up. She dropped to the pavement, her head woozy. Was that a light on the street? Another vehicle?

“Get your fucking hands off of me, Sam,” Anne said. “I'll say I witnessed it all. You thought you were setting me up by arranging to meet Paula here.”

A car screeched into the lot. Paula curled into a ball. Not again. Footsteps on the pavement. Male voices: Sam and another man.

“No,” Anne screamed. “You've got the wrong . . .”

More footsteps pounded toward Paula. A silhouette halted. She looked up at Sam.

“Paula.” He tumbled on top of her, hugging, kissing, knocking the candlestick from her hand. “I can't believe it. You're alive.” His warm arms enclosed her; his lips drank in her hair.

“What's happening with Anne?”

“Never mind her.”

“Are the police—?”

Sam squeezed her hard to his chest. They fell to the pavement. More footsteps were rounding the rear of his car. A woman and man hovered behind Sam.

“They followed us here,” he said.

Pre-dawn light lit up Isabelle's and Walter's faces.

“They were what made me late getting here,” Sam said. “Almost too late. When I saw . . . I thought you were dead. All I thought of was ramming down Anne.”

“I knew something was up when you called last night,” Isabelle said. “I got Walter to drive to Sam's. We staked out the house.”

“Why?” Paula looked at Walter. “Was that your pickup following me?”

“We were arguing about if we should cut you off,” Isabelle said.

“Then you got too far ahead,” Walter added.

“So, instead, they cut me off,” Sam said.

Voices mumbled on the other side of Sam's car. A man's and a woman's. Angry tones. The female voice was Anne's. The man sounded like Detective Vincelli.

Sam helped Paula up to her wobbly leg. He rested his hand on the small of her back. “Walter blocked me from turning onto this street,” he said. “I tried to go around the truck and almost ran down Isabelle, who'd got out to flag me down. I argued with her to let me pass and finally told them to get in and crouch in the back seat.”

“We didn't want to miss the action,” Isabelle said.

“I don't think the murderer-lady knew we was there,” Walter said.

“She threw the gun in the front seat,” Isabelle said.

“To implicate me,” Sam said. “At least with Walter and Isabelle, we've plenty of witnesses against Anne.”

A siren blared down the street.

“That must be the cop car Vincelli called,” Sam said.

Across Sam's car, the large detective gripped Anne's upper arm. Her face was turned away.

“Vincelli phoned my cell looking for you,” Sam said. “At that point, I figured we could use some backup.”

Its red light whirling, the police car sped into the parking lot and stopped behind Vincelli's sedan. Two officers leapt out. Vincelli dragged Anne toward them. As he handed her over, Anne turned toward the group standing next to Sam's car. Her gaze settled on Paula. The first rays of dawn flashed across her face filled with hatred.

Paula's skin went clammy. Her vision blurred. She clung to Sam's arm.

“Paula?” Sam said through the fog. “Are you all right?”

Three hours later
Paula sat in the coffee shop across the parking lot, her leg propped on a chair, a warm mug in her hand. The police had cordoned off the fitness center property to the end of the lane. Officers guarded the perimeter; the crime scene unit scoured the scene. The bullet that had grazed Paula's leg was found at the site, Vincelli told her. The paramedics said her injury was merely a flesh wound, but everyone insisted she go to hospital Emergency.

“It's a bloody shooting wound,” Vincelli said. “It has to be reported through proper channels.”

Vincelli had ordered Sam, Isabelle, and Walter to the station for questioning. He conceded to Paula's request that she be returned to the crime scene to watch the wrap-up of the attempt on her life. He took her statement and spent the rest of the time moving back and forth between the crime scene and coffee shop, giving her updates.

The gun Anne shot her with was registered to Felix. Presumably, Anne had taken it from his house after she murdered him, in case she had a future need.

It bugged Paula that she and Sam hadn't thought of that. Why had they assumed Anne would take Kenneth's advice to switch tactics and use a needle?

“We must have been too tired to think totally clearly,” she told Vincelli.

“Obviously,” he said. “Or you wouldn't have done any of it.”

Two officers had gone to the hospital to relay the news to Anne's husband. Others were hauling in Kenneth and Hayden. A computer search had located an old record of an unknown body washed up from the Bow River. The details fit those known about the boy. Vincelli believed Kenneth's and Hayden's versions of the old crime were essentially true. He couldn't see Hayden being charged and suspected Kenneth would plead guilty to a lesser charge in exchange for his testimony.

“That seems fair,” Paula said. “While Anne was trying to kill me, she all but admitted she shot the boy on purpose.”

“Kenneth told us Felix suggested that to him a number of years ago. Kenneth dismissed it as speculation. Now he's starting to wonder if Anne manipulated them all into the original cover-up. She's a piece of work.”

Now that Paula wasn't facing the muzzle of a gun, she felt sorry for Anne. She must have felt desperate, thinking her life would be ruined by that old crime. Even if Anne didn't go to jail for it, the damage to her reputation and legal fees might cost her the business and, for certain, Dimitri's respect. She was always competing with Sam about him. Part of her motive for Callie's murder seemed to be the prospect of nailing Sam for the crime and, in a weird way, getting rid of a rival for Paula's friendship. It made Paula feel responsible.

For thirty years Anne had nurtured her jealousy of Callie's charmed life. Men adored Callie. Money and successes arrived with no apparent effort on her part. Anne had worked hard to achieve less.
You and I are more alike.
What was Anne's envy of Callie but a heightened version of Paula's?

Paula brightened at the sight of Vincelli entering the coffee shop, tall, broad, dressed in a dark suit. The crowd seemed to part as he made his way toward her. He took his seat across the table.

She shifted her bandaged leg on the chair to make it more comfortable. There had been something she wanted to ask. She should have been jotting notes.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Callie wanted to make amends to the family of the boy they shot. Can your forensics guy find the nephew's website Felix located in his Internet search?”

“If he can't, we'll get the boy's name from his long ago doctor friend. Kenneth supplied the doctor's name. He's in Africa now. I have a hunch he'll speak to the relatives, as Callie wanted.”

Vincelli set his large hands on the table, fingers splayed. “I owe you an apology. It was unprofessional to give you confidential details, especially ones you would use to confront Anne.”

“You didn't know what I was up to.”

“I had a general idea. I also knew we'd never solve this if I didn't send you in. Greed got the better of me.”

“Between the lot of us, we're racking up the Seven Deadlies today.”

“My superiors will be giving me a well-deserved knuckle rap.”

“I'm not sure you have any superiors.” She liked watching the color rise up his face.

After Vincelli left, Hayden showed up. She hoisted herself from the chair to greet him. From the circles under his eyes, she guessed he hadn't slept much more than she did last night.

“I told the cops everything,” he said. “I botched it by not telling them before.”

“We've all botched something in this case.”

“My non-action almost got you killed.”

“My action was more to blame.”

“I sent you running to Sam, who got to play the hero.”

“Kind of a bumbling one.” She shifted her weight to her uninjured leg.

“So, this is good-bye.” His eyes looked resigned, almost serene. “We may run into each other on occasion. Calgary's still, in many ways, a small town.”

“I'm sure we can handle it,” she said. “We're mature adults. At least, you are.”

“Don't be in a hurry to grow up. It's not all it's cracked up to be.”