Angie managed to focus on his backside enough to see that it was moving. But for how long? “H-he’s hurt.” Maybe dead.
“No kidding.”
“Don’t make this worse for yourself. You already have one murder charge hanging over your head.”
“So, what’s two more?”
This couldn’t be happening. Angie assessed Jarvis’s condition. He must be gut-shot—the blood was closer to that area. The puddle didn’t seem to be growing. She counted the rise and fall of his breaths—seemed to be fairly regular and without stress. How long before things went downhill?
“Look. The show’s about to start. Very soon, someone’s going to come looking for me. If you leave now, you can escape. I won’t tell anyone it was you.”
“Right.”
“Okay, what if I promise not to tell anyone for an hour? That should give you time to get away. Think about it. In a minute somebody will come. They’ll figure out what’s going on and run for help. You do remember that the place is crawling with cops and security guards, right? They’ll take you down without a thought.”
No verbal response but there was a flicker of hesitation.
“What are your options? You either run or try killing everyone who comes through that door. Sooner or later you’ll run out of ammunition and be trapped here—a sitting duck, with dead bodies all over the place. You try to run then and someone’s going to kill you. It’s a given.”
This time the response was a double blink of the eyes. Good, a little more hesitation. Hurry up, make a decision!
The puddle around Jarvis hadn’t expanded. As a former nurse, the fact was small consolation since so many things could affect the flow of blood—specifically internal bleeding.
Okay. Okay. She had to think of things she
could
change, namely the gun looming a foot from her left temple. “So, how did you get in my hotel room?”
“Simple, pretend to be Jarvis and ask for a key.”
The movement came out of nowhere. Something black zipped across her line of vision. Before her brain could process anything more than it was a human being, the attacker dropped to the floor with a grunt and a heavy thud. The wrestling began. Angie shot to her feet, prepared to jump into the fray. Where was the gun? As the bodies rolled and tussled, she spotted it now and then. Wait, Jarvis’s gun? There, under the farthest sink. She ran, picked it up and—as she aimed and shouted for their attention, the other gun went off.
She kept her gun aimed at the floor, at the person wearing a brown jacket. Brown rimmed glasses lay broken near her right foot. She kicked them away. The rescuer in black leather and denim stood up and moved away from the body. His face was red, his hair tousled. Evan Harris was the best sight she’d seen in years.
“Call 911,” Angie said. Evan took a phone from his hip pocket. After he dialed, she handed him the gun. She didn’t need to tell him what to do with it. He’d already aimed the thing at the person on the floor.
She knelt beside Jarvis. And rolled him gently onto his back. His eyes were closed. His skin ghostly white. Blood stained the entire front of his new suit. She pushed up the stiff white sleeve and two-fingered the pulse at his wrist.
The bathroom door burst open. José entered, gun drawn. He was followed by a pair of white-suited EMTs. Angie gratefully relinquished command. All she could do now was pray as they assessed, stabilized, loaded and left with her friend, confidant, and lover.
She started to follow but was halted by José’s touch on her arm. “I’ll take you in a few minutes. Help me straighten this out a minute, would you?”
Angie threw a desperate glance at the propped-open door. The stretcher was just disappearing around the corner. “Please.”
There was nothing she could do for him right now. She’d only get in the way at the hospital. Besides, he faced hours of assessment and tests—if he lived till then.
She sucked in some courage, nodded at José, walked to the body and kicked it hard in the ribs.
“Feel better?”
“Marginally.”
“You all right?” he asked Evan, who’d backed from the commotion and stood in the farthest corner crammed between the last sink and the wall. His skin was almost as pale as Jarvis’s. She went to him and wrapped him in her arms. He sagged against her. And then the sobs came. They wracked his thin body. Nobody said a word for a long time, though, behind her she heard people enter, turn over the body and begin collecting evidence.
Finally Evan was all cried out. He straightened his spine and backed away.
“Throw some water on your face.”
He did so, dashing handfuls up and over his hair. She pushed a wad of brown paper towels at him. He scrubbed them over his hair and heaved them in the trash, then turned to her looking a bit sheepish. She took his hand and led him from the room. They sat side-by-side in the main locker room, letting the investigation go on around them.
Finally Evan found words. “I don’t understand. Why would Mr. Philmore kill Ms. Forest?”
FORTY-THREE
Angie sat in a padded chair just outside the surgery room doors at St. Joseph’s Hospital. She wanted to be as close as possible when the surgeon exited with news. Good news. Great news. It had to be.
For the umpteenth time she wiped her palms on an un-bloody section of the green dress. A motion down the long hallway gave her something to look at beside the doors. A crowd was moving in her direction. Angie got to her feet as the cast and crew—except for Evan, who’d been escorted home—rushed toward her. After hugs all around, they settled in chairs and on the floor. Kiana took the chair beside her.
Angie prepared to explain what the cops hadn’t had time to. With her eyes she asked Kiana for permission to divulge her secret. Kiana shook her head and spoke for herself, telling how Gwen was her real-life mom. Surprised faces glowed around the group.
“I always wondered how you got to be so close to her,” one of the girls said.
“There’s more,” Kiana said. She pulled in a long breath and went on to explain the college relationship with Mr. Reynolds, leaving out the news of his homosexuality.
“Mr. Reynolds is your father?”
“Yes. I didn’t learn this till yesterday.”
“But how is any of that related to Ms. Forest being killed?”
“It isn’t,” Angie said, receiving a roomful of confused looks. “But I
thought
it was.”
“You thought Mr. Reynolds killed Ms. Forest?”
“I entertained the notion, that’s all. I wondered if Mr. Reynolds was the one tearing apart the auditorium—”
“And Gwen’s apartment,” Kiana added.
Just then José entered. Without a word, he joined the group, dragging a seat from across the room.
Angie continued her explanation. “I thought maybe he and Gwen had argued. And maybe she threatened to tell what she knew in hopes it would ruin his career.”
“Ms. Forest wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“A detective has to look at all sides,” Kiana said.
“Right,” Angie said, ignoring José’s sly smirk. “I wondered if he’d killed her to keep it all quiet.”
“’Cuz he would’ve lost his job.”
“Probably.”
“And he was looking for anything that might incriminate him,” someone offered.
“That’s where my thoughts headed for a short time.”
“When did you suspect Mr. Philmore?”
Angie gestured at José who told about Cilla’s shoplifting. He finished with, “We don’t have the entire story yet. Priscilla acknowledges that Gwen knew about her disease—yes, guys, kleptomania is a disease. Mrs. Philmore had been ordered into treatment for it, but couldn’t suffer the potential embarrassment. For quite some time, she and Mr. Philmore tried to treat her problem themselves.”
“But they couldn’t,” somebody said.
“Right.”
“Then Ms. Forest found out.”
“Right.”
“And then something happened between either Mrs. Philmore and Gwen, or her and Mr. Philmore. Either way, he feared she’d tell what she knew,” Angie said.
“She would never do that,” the same person who’d said this before, repeated.
“I guess when you’re desperate,” José said, “you tend to forget things like that.”
“So, he killed her to keep her quiet,” somebody said.
“What was he searching for all those times?” Kiana asked.
“Cilla told me she’d given Gwen a bracelet for her birthday last year,” José said. “It was very expensive—and stolen.”
“He didn’t find it,” Angie said.
“No. But we did. In Ted’s apartment.”
Angie explained about Gwen and Ted’s relationship. Some of the kids already knew. Others expressed major surprise.
Someone from hospital staff came and shooed everyone away. Amid thank yous and hugs, Angie promised to return in a few weeks to visit the kids. She and Kiana savored one last hug. “I will see you and Evan on Monday.”
And then she and José were alone. They sat side-by-side staring at the surgery doors, which continued to remain closed.
“Question,” Angie said. He swung around to face her. “At one point, you suspected Evan of Gwen’s murder.”
“I more so suspected Kiana. But yes, I wondered about him because of two witnesses who said he and Gwen had been arguing.”
“Did you find out what that was all about?”
“Evan thought Gwen and Kiana were too close. Unnaturally close. Since Kiana had rejected his efforts to grow their relationship, he entertained the thought that they had some gay ‘thing’ going on.”
That explained Evan’s severe reaction to the news about Randy’s homosexuality.
“I’m not sure—you’ll have to ask him,” José added, “but I have the feeling Gwen divulged her relationship to Kiana in hopes of diffusing potential trouble.”
That made sense.
“You told Jarvis you had two suspects in mind.”
“He told you that?”
José grinned, wide and white. “I know one was Philmore.”
“When I realized Ted had a penchant for wearing women’s clothes, I wondered whether he’d done it to keep her quiet.”
“Women’s clothes?” José asked.
“Yes. I believe his cross-dressing was the reason Gwen couldn’t commit to him on a permanent basis. Remember, she’d already been through a situation with a gay man. I think she feared to take on something so…unusual, again.”
José nodded. And then he frowned. “You have another question.”
“Marie Jason.”
A wide grin broke out on his smooth skinned face. “Jarvis was right. You are amazing.”
Angie didn’t say anything.
José continued, “Do you remember when Josh tried out for a part at your theater?”
“I don’t personally handle that end of things, but Cilla told me he did. Apparently Randy tried out at least once also.”
“I think that’s why Josh did—he wanted to one-up Randy. You know, spout about it if he got one and his boss didn’t. Anyway, at that time you were involved in solving another case. Cilla told me he came home complaining how you should keep to business, work in the theater and stay out of detecting. FYI, Randy told me he was impressed at your expertise.”
Suddenly she knew where all this was going. Josh had planned to kill Gwen, perhaps for several weeks. Somehow he knew Randy would request her services, and had sent Diva Marie to keep Angie so busy she wouldn’t be able to get away and help out when Randy called.
She started to rake her hands through her hair and realize most of it was fastened atop her head. She undid the barrette and shook it loose just as the double doors of the surgery burst open. A green-suited doctor strode through, carrying a green cap in both hands. Angie and José shot to their feet and met him a few feet inside the door.
* * * *
It was just after five in the morning. Dawn light squeezed between the heavy curtains in intensive care at St. Joseph’s Hospital. Beside her, oxygen whooshed through one tube, IV fluids and meds through another. Rough and tough Colby Jarvis had dodged another one. The bullet had pierced his rib cage, miraculously missing anything vital. The surgeon said that barring unusual developments he’d be moved to a regular room later today.
His eyes opened. They roved left and then right, and found her. She half-stood and planted a kiss on his lips. Then she sat, gripping his calloused hand like she’d never let go.
COMING IN NOVEMBER 2011
Rest in Pieces
When a popular sixteen-year-old girl is murdered, it devastates residents of the tight-knit communities surrounding NH’s Lake Winnipesaukee. But when the jury sets the accused man free, it shakes people to their very core. Detective Colby Jarvis blames himself for the verdict—his testimony wasn’t strong enough; he didn’t do enough to pull the case together. But he won’t take the murderer’s release sitting down.
CHAPTER ONE
Snow wafted from the darkening sky in delicate, airy whispers. Holiday lights twinkled off the Winnipesaukee River. A perfectly shaped balsam tree, glittering in white, filled the gazebo in Rotary Park at the end of the snow-covered walkway. The only sound was the occasional shush of cars, like skiers, up on the main road. Angie Deacon could almost forget the reason she and Jarvis were here. She linked her arm tighter through his. A snowflake landed on her nose and she sneezed.
Colby Jarvis unlinked their arms and turned her to face him. “You coming down with something?”
“Snow tickles.”
He planted a feather-light kiss on the tip of her nose then laid an arm around her shoulders and they began walking again. She nestled into the crook of his arm, difficult because they were close to the same height.
“Think you can do something about those pesky snowflakes, Detective? Arrest the little buggers.” She snatched at one with an ungloved hand. “Here, start with this one.”
His ringing cellphone cut off his laugh, making it come out like the bark of a small dog. She didn’t laugh. She and Jarvis, like dozens of others, had been praying the call would come tonight, so Crystal Folsom’s family wouldn’t have to wait through the holidays for the verdict.