Chapter 33
“Toss me the phone,” Max demanded. A greasy strand of his hair hung over his face, and his jutting brow shaded narrowed eyes.
“Max,” I said as loud as I could. I had to clue in the dispatcher. “Could you put your gun down, please?” My voice quavered. Under my sweatshirt I was covered in a cold sweat. The music must have masked the sound of him picking the lock on the service door.
“Throw me the phone, Robbie.” The words came out slow and threatening.
I held onto it. What would he do if I kept it? He clicked something on the gun, his eyes burning into mine. I tossed him the phone. My hand wobbled so much the phone hit the door he'd shut behind him and clattered onto the floor. With barely a glance down, he slammed his heel onto my lifeline. The crunch sickened me. But I'd already called, and dispatch had to have heard what I'd said: both Max's name and the fact he held a gun.
“Who were you talking to?” He glared at me. A tic beat next to his right eye.
“The police. They're going to be here in a minute.” I needed to stay alive until help arrived. “Why are you pointing that gun at me?”
“You've been snooping around all week. And you were asking about that
shlagga
pick over to Don's hardware. I knew it wouldn't be long before you figured out it was a pick. And hooked it up with me.”
“What's a
shlagga
?” My heart was a jackhammer and my eyes felt fuzzy. I resisted the urge to wipe my clammy hands on my jeans.
“Women.” He snorted, curling his lip. “Don't you know anything? It's the lock company.
Schlage.
Like the worthless locks on your own doors.”
I glanced at the door. “If you leave right now, you can get away before the cops arrive.”
He moved toward me, the gun never sagging from a straight line to my heart. Several tables stood between us. He pushed one out of his way so hard it tipped over and crashed into the kitchen counter. I backed up and scooted around another table. I had to keep obstacles between us. My fear was an icy thrumming presence that threatened to paralyze me if I didn't keep moving.
“So you found the pick,” he said. “I wondered where I'd dropped it.”
“I didn't think it was a lock pick.” I thought for a split second. He hadn't shot me yet. What was his plan? “Want me to show you where I found it?” I took a couple of steps toward the cookware shelves. Maybe I could show him and then whack him on the head with a cast iron skillet.
Yeah, and pigs can fly.
“We're going to go for a little ride, me and you. But sure, show me.” A humorless laugh slid out of him.
I was not going for a ride with this man. He stood almost a foot taller than me and weighed a good hundred pounds heavier. Plus he had military training. And a weapon.
“So did you kill Erica here?” I sidled across the store, trying to keep at least one table between us. I took a deep breath.
In three long strides he was at my side. “I didn't mean to kill her, you know. She was relentless.” He grabbed my left arm. “Forget showing me where you found the pick.” His breath reeked of alcohol. He forced me to take a couple of steps back toward the side door until we were in the kitchen area. “And no. I didn't kill her here.”
“I thought Vince killed Erica,” I said. “Or you were in it together.”
“You kidding? That wuss Pytzynska doesn't even kill spiders.”
So much for that theory. When I slid my hand into my pocket, it hit the lock pick.
Maybe, just maybe.
In the pocket, I slowly separated the halves of the pick, keeping my hand as flat as I could and my eyes on Max. I curled my middle finger into the V, so the two prongs stuck out between my fingers with the hinge in my palm. The music coming from the speakers changed to “Jingle Bells,” an even worse contrast to my current situation.
“Reminds me of Iraq.” He glanced around at the stainless steel counters, the griddle, the deep sink. “They made me work KP after I didn't follow their idiotic rules to the letter.” His mouth turned down. “I was the guy they'd trained to open up all kinds of places the military wanted to snoop in. Instead, the only thing I was unlocking was the skin on potatoes.”
I swallowed. “If you didn't mean to kill Erica, why did you?”
He stared at me. “Sheâmy own sister-in-lawâcame over to the house in the middle of the night after the party. I went out to talk to her and she tried to seduce me. Her sister is bearing my child, Erica's nephew! I couldn't stand it. She shouldn't have been flirting with me. It's wrong.” He shook his head, his mouth turned down.
“What happened?”
“I slapped her across the face. But I've always been too big for my own good. And she was only a little speck of a thing.” He glanced at the floor. “She fell down the front steps. Brick steps. Hit her head something bad.” The barrel of the gun now pointed at the floor, too.
My chance.
I'd started to slide my hand out of my pocket when he looked up. I froze.
“I've wanted to be a father for as long as I can remember.” Anguish ripped his face for a brief moment, until it was replaced by a set jaw and flared nostrils. “I couldn't let Erica's death get in the way of that.” He tightened his grip on my arm, raised the gun to my chest again, and pulled me around the corner of the counter toward the door.
“You should have told the police she fell.” I tried to keep my own jaw set. This was no time to show weakness. “No crime in that, right?”
“They would have seen the mark on her face where I hit her. I'd have been locked up for a long time.” He pursed his lips. “Me, the locksmith.”
“Why'd you leave her here in my store?”
“I wasn't thinking too clearly by then. Brought her back and dumped her. Dragged her in here and left her on the floor.”
“Did you hit her head with my sandwich press?” I had to wait for my chance.
“Why not? That's a damn good weapon you had hanging on the wall. I broke the glass in the door after the fact, too, so they wouldn't blame the whole mess on me. Because why would a locksmith break down a door when he could slide in unannounced?” He turned his head and gazed at me like he'd just come back to the present. “And now we're going for our ride.” His smile was mirthless. “I know a nice swamp outside of town where they'll never find your body. There's no way I'm missing my baby's birth. Or . . .” He looked around the room.
I clamped my teeth together so they wouldn't chatter from fear.
“Or maybe you don't want to leave your precious store,” he said in a soft voice. It scared me more than the loud version. “Maybe you'd rather stay all cozy in there with your eggs and cabbages.” He pointed with his chin to the walk-in.
I heard the keening of a siren over the music.
Finally.
“Listen.” I gestured with my chin to the service door. “You'd better get out of here quick. It's the police. Run out through my apartment.” My heartbeat thrashed in my ears.
He glanced at the door. He swung the gun toward it and loosened his hold on my left arm.
Now.
I reached up and grabbed his hair with my left hand. I swung my right fist up and jabbed the points of the pick into his eyes. I twisted and pressed, hanging on despite how terrible it felt.
I dropped the tool when Max screamed. The gun crashed to the floor and he brought both hands to his eyes. I kicked the gun as far away from him as I could, wincing, hoping it wouldn't go off. Birdy raced for the front door. I scooped him up and ran out, down the steps, onto the sidewalk.
The best thing I'd ever seen in my entire twenty-seven years were the flashing lights of a South Lick green and white screeching to a stop in front of me, siren awail.
Chapter 34
I sank to sitting on the bottom step as Buck and Wanda leapt out of the car, wearing vests and helmets, weapons extended.
“He's inside,” I called, except my voice came out a squeak. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I, um, jabbed something in his eyes. He's hurt.” I held Birdy on my lap with both arms, one hand in his scruff to make sure he couldn't get away.
Buck rushed around the back of the cruiser, clearing it in two giant steps. He peered at my face. “You're not hurt, Robbie?” He leaned down and laid a hand on my shoulder. More sirens approached.
I shook my head. “I'm not, but it was close. His gun is on the floor somewhere, so be careful.”
“Got it.”
I hugged Birdy to my chest. After the chill and adrenaline of the last few minutes, the cold of the night now pressed in.
Two state police cars and another South Lick cruiser roared up, sirens cutting out abruptly, blue and red lights continuing to strobe into the darkness. More uniformed officers poured out. Buck directed two officers to the service door and two to the back of the building, warning them all that Max was large, armed, and possibly wounded in his eyes.
A green Prius drove up. Just what I wanted to top off my evening. Octavia, wearing a skirt, ankle boots, and a very undate-like bulletproof vest over a sweater, emerged and hurried to Buck. Jim approached me, his brow furrowed, his eyes looking pained.
“What happened?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
Buck called to us. “Jim, Robbieâget in the car and move down the block, will you? Those stairs ain't a safe place right now. And you'll be warmer.”
Birdy tried to jump down, but I kept hold of his scruff and petted him all the way into Jim's car. A car that held a faint sweet smell like the one I'd detected on Jim the night of Adele's birthday party. I let Birdy go after we were inside with all the doors closed.
Jim drove a few doors down. He hung a U-turn and parked across the street so we could still see the front of the store. He twisted in his seat to look at me. I glanced back to see Birdy perched on the top of the back seat, then met Jim's gaze.
“Max killed Erica,” I said. “I'm not sure, but I think he picked the locks on my apartment and jimmied with my bike brakes, too.” The warm air in the car barely dented the chill that permeated me. I was so cold I felt like I'd been left to die in the walk-in after all.
“So that's how your bike went out.”
“He knew I'd been asking around about the murder. In fact, I told Max earlier in the week I was trying to figure it out. And I'd found this weird tool kind of thing earlier in the week.” I told Jim about asking Don at the hardware store, and Don querying Max. “After I got home, I finally thought to Google a picture of the object and saw it was a lock pick. Then I saw a shadow go by the window and was on the phone to the police when Max picked his way in. He was about to shoot me and shut me in the walk-in.” Prickles swarmed up the backs of my legs at the memory.
Jim reached out and patted my hand. I let him. An ambulance sped up and stopped in the street with its lights flashing. The front door to my store burst open. Buck walked Max down the steps. Max's hands were cuffed behind his back and Octavia grasped his other elbow. One of my blue aprons was tied around Max's eyes. The paramedics hurried a wheeled stretcher over. I looked away.
“What's up with the apron on his eyes?” Jim asked.
“It was awful, but I had to do it.”
“Do what?”
I blew out a breath, terribly glad I was sitting down. “I stabbed him in the eyes with his own lock pick.”
Jim hunched his shoulders. “Aah.”
“I know. I was going to aim for up his nose, but I might have missed, and it could have made him angrier. Can't tell you how glad I was to have taken that self-defense class with Adele last year.”
I gazed back at the store. Max now lay on the stretcher, with both of his hands handcuffed to the sides. An officer held his weapon ready even as paramedics bandaged Max's eyes. The colored lights on the Christmas tree in the front window made a bizarre backdrop to the scene. And also promised a return to normalcy.
When Buck ambled up, I opened the door and stood.
“You're clear to go back inside, Robbie. But Octavia there's bringing in the teams again, just so's you know.” He leaned down and peered into the car. “Thanks for sheltering her, Jim.”
After Buck stepped away, I stuck my head into the car, too. “Yes, thanks. You've helped me twice today, and I appreciate it.”
He gazed at me with those green eyes. “I'd do anything for you.”
Right.
Everything except stay with me. “Come on, Birdy,” I called. When the cat jumped out of the car, I picked him up, straightened, and turned toward home.
Chapter 35
It was nine o'clock by the time the state police teams left. They'd collected the lock pick and gun, taken pictures, and dusted the service door and other areas for prints, leaving the place a mess again. Octavia went away with them, leaving Buck sitting at a table with me. I'd put Birdy back in my apartment and given him an extra treat.
“Boy, am I glad that's all done,” I said. I stood and set my bottle of Four Roses on the table. “You off duty?”
“I am, in fact.” Buck grinned.
I brought two small juice glasses. “One for the road?” At his nod, I poured a little for each of us and sat. The air smelled of fresh fir, and all the holiday lights lit up my heart.
He held up his glass and clinked it with mine. “You didn't stay out of trouble again, but you're getting the South Lick medal of courage for what you did to Max.”
Sucking in a breath, I hunched my shoulders, then let them down. “It wasn't easy, but I knew I needed to disable him in some way so I could escape. And when you're outweighed by a hundred pounds, you do what you can.” I sipped the whiskey. “I'd really wondered if Vince was involved in Erica's murder. It just seemed weird he'd come all the way down here, and then stay, when he was the first to say how much he didn't like Erica.”
“We checked him out. Turns out he had a solid alibi for Saturday night. He was still in Chicago.” Buck took a tiny sip of his own bourbon.
“I guess he was simply being nice to the Berrys. And he's apparently a pretty serious birder, too, so maybe that was his motivation for staying in the area.”
The cowbell jangled. Had Octavia forgotten something? As I watched, Abe pushed open the door and held it.
“I heard something went down here tonight. You okay, Robbie?” Those big brown eyes were pools of concern. “I tried to call but your phone went straight to voice mail. I was worried about you.”
“I'm okay. But the phone got smashed. Totally out of commission.” I smiled, then spied someone behind him.
“Come on in, Sean.” Abe said to his son, who trailed him in. They walked over to our table.
“Sean just told me he met you earlier today,” Abe said.
“That's right. Hey, Sean,” I said.
“Hi, Ms. Jordan.” Sean extended his hand.
I shook it and smiled at him. “Sit down, guys, and join us. You want a soda, Sean?”
“Yes please, ma'am.” Sean pulled out the chair next to Buck's.
I stood and gestured with my head for Abe to follow me over to the glass-fronted drinks cooler. “You never told me you had a son,” I said in a low voice once we got there.
“I know. I guess it never came up.” He glanced sideways at me. “I really wasn't trying to hide him. I have him with me most weekends. Hope you don't mind.”
“Mind? He's the nicest, most polite kid I've met in a long time. And you've taught him a firm handshake, too. Good job.”
“I do my best. The manners he gets from his mother.” He looked me straight in the eyes and swallowed. “We've been divorced for a long time,” he said in a rush.
“No worries. Don said you were divorced. Is Sean your only child?”
“For sure. We were teenage parents. Remember what I said about making colossal mistakes?” He whistled. “Not recommended, although I adore the kid, and he's turned out great, divorced parents notwithstanding.”
I pulled open the tall door. “What kind of soda does your boy like?”
“I'd prefer he has something without caffeine, since I'm choosing.”
I pulled out a bottle of a locally brewed root beer. “You'll join us in a little bourbon?”
Abe laughed and shook his head. “Afraid not. I'm driving, and with a thirteen-year-old in the car? No way do I want him throwing that back at me in a few years when he gets his license. I'll take a root beer, too.”
We brought the drinks back to the table.
“Young Sean here was telling me about his math team,” Buck said. “Smart kid.”
“I just picked him up from practice,” Abe said. “They have a meet next week in Bloomington.”
“I was on math team in high school, too.” I smiled at Sean. “Math was simply another kind of puzzle, to me.”
The boy sat up as straight as a perfectly plumb corner post. “Sweet.”
“Do you like to do puzzles, too?” I asked.
“Totally.” He nodded with enthusiasm. “Especially logic puzzles.” He took a long swig of the root beer, and then held his hand over his mouth as the inevitable boy-belch erupted. “Excuse me.”
I only smiled.
“Can you tell us what happened tonight?” Abe looked from Buck to me and back.
I'd opened my mouth to speak when Adele and Samuel burst into the store, followed by Phil. Adele rushed over and wrapped me in her arms, then pulled out a chair and plopped into it.
“Couldn't believe the news when we heard it on the scanner,” she said, breathless. “Had to get right on over here and make sure you weren't hurt, didn't we, Samuel?”
Samuel arrived at the table and pulled up a chair from the next table over. “Yep. And Phil drove up right when we did.”
Adele patted her chest. “Too much excitement for this old lady.”
“Are you all right, Robbie?” Phil's gaze had never been so intense and full of concern. “I'm sorry I'm late. I tried to call you, but . . .”
“I'm fine, everybody.” I batted away my friends' concern, even as I took it into my heart. “Adele, you and Samuel didn't have to come all the way down.”
“Shoot, we were out to dinner at the roadhouse, anyway,” Adele said. “We'd just left.”
“And Philâwell, I'm not sure I'm up for log cabin-ing tonight,” I said.
“That's about the least important thing in the universe right now,” Phil said, batting away the idea.
Adele's eyes shone. “Give us the skinny first, and we'll all help put that log cabin country store together afterwards.”
I looked at Buck. “You want to do the honors?”
He pointed to me. “It's your story to tell, Robbie.”
I inhaled deeply. “Remember the object I was asking about at the store, Sean? I'd found this funny tool near the cookware shelves earlier in the week,” I told the rest of them.
Sean nodded. Adele did, too.
“I discovered when I got home that it's a lock pick. Max is a locksmith. I thought maybe he'd left it here, that maybe he killed Erica. Or that Vince had stolen it from Max and he was the murderer.”
Abe's gaze shifted to Sean.
Oops.
A young person in the room. I covered my mouth, wondering if I should cut this talk of murder, but then Abe rolled his hand, gesturing for me to continue.
“As I was leaving a message for Octavia, I saw someone walk along the side of my building, so I called nine-one-one. Then Max came in the service door. With a gun.” I felt again my heart pounding in my throat, smelled the liquor on Max's breath, saw the gun pointed at my heart. I squeezed my eyes shut, then blew out a breath as I opened them. I was alive, I was safe, I was with people I loved. People who loved me right back.
Sean's eyes went wide. So did Phil's.
Abe covered my hand with his. “You must have been so frightened.”
“You can say that again. Terrified. He was the one who smashed my phone while I was talking to the dispatcher. But I, um”âI gazed at their facesâ“I managed to disable him and get away.”
“That's all that counts,” Adele said. “Exactly what they taught us in that self-defense class.”
“Interesting,” Buck said. “You know we found your sandwich press in the alley behind Tiffany's shop, in the Dumpster. Octavia was looking at Tiffany for the murder before we figured out she'd been . . . what she'd been doing all night.” He glanced at Sean, who didn't seem to notice the correction.
“But that alley is also behind Max's locksmith shop,” I said.
“Exactly.” Buck took a tiny sip of his drink.
“Did Max kill Erica with the press?” Phil asked.
“No. He told me she'd come by his house in the early hours after the party.” I gazed at Sean. No need for lurid details. “They, um, had an argument. Erica fell down the steps and hit her head pretty badly.”
“So he brought her over here to hide the fact she died at his house?” Adele asked.
“Right,” I said.
“What about the press?” Buck watched me.
“He said he whacked her with the press here. You know, to make it look like she was killed here. Same thing about breaking the glass in the door. He picked the lock, but he didn't want anyone to connect the murder with him.” I blew out another breath.
“Mr. Holzhauser is way bigger than you, Ms. Jordan,” Sean said, his gaze intent. “How'd you get away from him?”
I glanced at Buck then back at Sean. “What I learned in the self-defense class came in handy.”
“You disabled him with a self-defense move?” Abe asked. “I'm impressed.”
I cleared my throat and ran my finger around the neck of my sweatshirt. I was going to do my best never again to think about how the pick had felt going into Max's eyes. I looked at each of them in turn. “Speaking of murderers, I wonder if we'll ever find out the truth about Erica and Jon Shermer.”
Adele tapped the table. “We got Samuel's nephew on the case. Could be he'll uncover some tidbit the police overlooked.”
“He's good, that boy,” Samuel added. “If anybody can figure it out, William can.”
I emptied my glass. The bourbon warmed me and stretched the evening's threat to my life to a comfortable distance. “Think we can stop talking about murder now?” I asked, setting my chin on my hand.
“You bet,” Abe said.
The vintage store phone rang, the one in which I'd installed modern innards. “Who could that be?” I hurried over to answer it, picking up the old-fashioned receiver hanging on the side of the wooden cabinet.
“Robbie?” It was the deep voice of my father. His voice was so clear it sounded like he was down the street instead of in Italy.
What a delicious surprise. “Roberto!” I hadn't been able to call him “Dad” yet. Maybe when I visited him at the end of December I'd start calling him by whatever my Italian half-sister did. “How are you?”
“I am well,
grazie a dio
. But are you? I had the strange feeling you are hurt, that I should call to you. When your mobile did not answer, I find this number.”
My eyes welled up and my throat tightened. I glanced over at the table of my friends and family, lit by the soft holiday lights. My eyes took in the glowing Christmas tree, the shelves of cookware, the kitchen area.
“I am fine. I'm not hurt.” I swallowed. “Yes, I'm fine.”