Murder Is Binding (24 page)

“Shut up,” Deirdre/Doris growled, moving closer, her expression menacing. “We're not safe. You and your stupid temper. Can't you see you've ruined it all?”

Mike's mouth twitched, but he didn't say anything, just kept picking up the plastic fragments.

Angelica stepped back, bumping into Tricia. “I told you she killed Deirdre,” she hissed.

Tricia reached out, pinched Angelica to silence her.

“These two are now a liability. We'll have to get rid of them.” Doris opened her purse and brought out a couple of the wickedly sharp kitchen knives that matched those from the Cookery's demonstration area. “Take this,” she said, shoving the handle of a boning knife toward Mike. “Ladies, come out from behind the counter. Slowly. No funny business.”

Funny business was the last thing on Tricia's mind. She gave Angelica a shove in the small of her back. Angelica stayed rooted.

“Look,” Angelica said, her voice relatively level. “I've got a nice roast chicken in the oven. I'm making a wonderful appetizer, too. Can't we all have a glass of wine and talk this over?”

Doris's lips were a thin line. Her cheeks had gone pink, her grasp on the knife handle tightened.

Tricia gave her sister another slight shove. “Ange.” Finally, Angelica took a step forward.

“What are we going to do?” Mike asked.

Doris ignored him. “Out in front, ladies, hands where I can see them.”

Tricia and Angelica stepped around to the front of the cash desk, Tricia's shoes crunching on glass. Angelica yelped, stepping away from the sparkling shards, leaving a patch of blood on the carpet.

“You.” Doris nodded toward Tricia. “Where's your car?”

“In the municipal lot.”

She turned to Angelica. “You?”

“My car's there, too.”

“So's mine,” Mike groused. “Terrific, now how do we get out of here?”

“Deirdre's car is parked just outside.” Doris fished inside her purse and came up with a set of keys. She tossed them at Tricia, who caught them. “You'll drive.”

“Where?”

Doris nodded toward the street. “Just get in the car.”

“Oooohh,” Angelica crooned in anguish, and shifted from foot to foot, the patch of blood growing larger on the rug.

Mike grabbed Tricia's arm, pushed her ahead of him, pressing the knife against her hip. “If I'm not mistaken, the femoral artery is near the tip of this knife. You wouldn't want it severed and ruin your beautiful carpet, not to mention your day.”

Doris stepped forward, brandishing her shorter vegetable knife. “Don't think I can't do a lot of damage with this,” she told Angelica. “I can filet a five-pound salmon in under a minute. Just think what I could do to your internal organs in only seconds. Liver anyone?” she said and laughed.

No one else did.

She shoved Angelica forward, toward the door.

The wind had picked up and the rain came down like stinging pellets as Tricia led the way to the pavement outside her shop, with Mike practically attached to her. They paused and he looked up and down the dark, empty street. No one stood on the sidewalk. No hope of rescue.

Mike pushed Tricia toward the driver's door. “Get in. Don't try anything—unless you want Doris to slice your sister.”

Tricia yanked the door handle. It was like a bad movie, including Doris's and Mike's corny dialogue.
I'll wake up from this nightmare, I'll wake up soon.
But it wasn't a dream.

Already soaked through, she got in, slammed the door, and on automatic pilot, buckled her seat belt. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Doris with one hand on Angelica's shoulder, the knife-wielding one hidden in shadow.

Mike got in the passenger side, brandishing the wicked knife clenched in his left hand at mid-chest—the perfect position for slashing. “You really blew it, Trish. We could've been great together.”

“Is that what you told Wendy Adams?”

“We've talked,” he admitted, his expression a leer. “And more.”

The right rear passenger door opened. Angelica ducked her head, got in, scrambled across the seat with Doris crawling in after her. The door banged shut.

For a long moment no one said anything.

“Start the car,” Doris ordered. “And don't try anything funny. You saw what happened to Deirdre. She thought I didn't have the guts to kill. They say it's easier the second time.”

“What about Winnie?” Tricia asked.

“Not my handiwork,” Doris said and glanced at Mike.

Tricia swallowed, her gaze focused on Doris's reflection in the rearview mirror. “Then it doesn't matter if you kill us here or someplace else.”

“Think I'm joking?” Doris lunged to her left and Angelica cried out.

“She cut me, Trish! She cut me!”

Stomach churning, Tricia's neck cracked as she whirled to look, but the heel of Mike's hand caught her shoulder with a painful punch. “Ange?” Tricia shouted.

“I'm okay, I'm okay!” Angelica cried, but the fear in her voice said she was anything but.

Tricia's eyes darted to the rearview mirror. She could just make out Angelica's bloody left hand clutching the slash in her light-colored sweater.

“I'll cut her again, only with more precision, if you don't start the car. Do it now!”

Tricia tore her gaze from the mirror, fumbled to put the key into the ignition, turned it until the engine caught.

“If you don't want to see your sister's throat cut, I suggest you put the car in gear and head north to Route 101,” Doris ordered.

Tricia glanced askance at Mike, hoping her pleading gaze would be met with some shred of compassion, but there was none. And why would he show that emotion for her when he'd shown Winnie no mercy and treated his own mother so callously?

Tricia turned her gaze back to the empty rain-soaked street. All the other shops had closed; the only beacon of light was the Bookshelf Diner. Even if she blasted the horn, no one was likely to hear or even pay attention to the car as it passed. Their one ace in the hole was Bob Kelly. Had Angelica reached him or his voice mail, or had she simply been bluffing?

Come on, Bob.

Then again, Mr. Everett knew of their suspicions. If they turned up missing, he could point the law in Mike's and Doris's direction. That is, if Sheriff Adams would even listen to him. And if he spoke, would he become the next murder victim?

Stalling, Tricia fumbled with the buttons and switches on the dash until she found and turned on the headlights. Next, she checked the mirrors before pulling out of the parking space and driving slowly down Main Street, heading out of the village. Within a minute the glow of friendly street lamps was behind them, the inky darkness broken only by the car's headlights.

“Turn here and go straight until you reach Route 101,” Doris directed.

“Then where?”

“You'll head for Interstate 93.”

“Where are we going?” Angelica asked, uncomprehending.

Tricia could guess. The interstate cut through the White Mountain National Forest, the perfect place to dump a couple of bodies where they wouldn't be found for months—if ever.

No one spoke for a long minute.

Angelica cleared her throat. “Does anyone have a handkerchief or something? All this blood is ruining my sweater. Not that I could ever find anyone in this town who can repair cashmere, even if they could get the stains out.”

Tricia exhaled a shaky breath. Was Angelica's claustrophobia acting up, or was she simply in shock? Either she didn't realize what was going to happen to them, or she was in deep denial.

Time was running out. If they got as far as the interstate, they were as good as dead.

“My foot's still bleeding, you know,” Angelica went on. “I think there might be a piece of glass in it.”

Mike smashed his fist against the dashboard. “Will you shut up!”

Tricia clenched the steering wheel. Route 101 was only a couple of miles ahead. If she was going to save them, it had to be in the next few minutes—and she could only think of one option: crashing the car.

She'd read too many mysteries to think of disobeying Mike's or Doris's direct orders—Angelica's bleeding shoulder was proof of that. Still, she couldn't remember any fictional scenario from a book that would keep herself and Angelica alive.

The most famous car crash she could recall was that of Princess Diana in a tunnel in Paris. The one passenger wearing a seat belt had lived—the others didn't. Only Tricia wore a seat belt. If she crashed the car, would Angelica survive? How fast did she need to go to incapacitate her captors without permanently maiming her sister?

The headlights flashed on a mile marker.

The dashboard clock's green numerals changed.

Not much time left.

“What happened, Doris? Did Mike witness Deirdre's murder and hit you up for money?”

“None of your business,” she snapped.

“He didn't have to see the murder,” Angelica said. “I'll bet he planned it.”

Collusion! Suddenly, it all made sense. “You sold Doris the million-dollar insurance policy, and when she told you her sister was dying and she'd have to change the beneficiary—”

“All very neat, really,” Doris said. “It solved all our problems.”

“Not Mike's. His mother has regained her memory.”

“I'm having her moved from St. Godelive's in the morning. She'll go right back to loving her nightly mug of cocoa tomorrow night.”

Not with Roger Livingston looking after her affairs, but Tricia wasn't going to voice that fact.

“Why did you throw the rock through my window?” Tricia asked Mike.

He laughed. “Just to keep things interesting.”

“Did you really think I was going out with Russ Smith?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“Oh please,” Angelica groused.

Keep them talking
, something inside Trish implored. “There's still something I don't get.”

“And what's that?” Doris asked.

“Why did you set the Cookery on fire and disable the smoke alarms when you had every intension of keeping it open with ‘Deirdre' as the owner? You could've destroyed everything. Or did you have the contents heavily insured as well?”

“The place wouldn't have burned. That carpet is flame-retardant. I know, I paid a small fortune for it.”

“Stop all this yapping and turn on the defroster. Can't you see the windshield's steaming up?” Mike carped, and rubbed at the glass with his free hand.

Tricia glanced down, couldn't find the control. Instead, she fumbled for the window button on the door's arm, pressing it. The window started to open.

“I said turn on the defroster!”

“I don't know where it is!” She held the button until the window was completely open. The rain poured in and she eased her foot from the accelerator.

Mike leaned closer, searching the dashboard. “Doris, where the hell is it?”

“I don't know. This is Deirdre's car. Keep pushing buttons until you find it.”

With Mike preoccupied, Tricia knew her window of opportunity was short. Headlights cut through the gloom on the road up ahead. If she could sideswipe the vehicle, or merely scare them into thinking she would, they were sure to call the sheriff. If she didn't kill them all first.

“Now or never,” she breathed and jammed her foot down on the accelerator.

Mike fell back against his seat, the knife flying from his grasp, disappearing onto the darkened floor.

Tricia aimed straight for the oncoming car.

“What are you, crazy?” Angelica screamed from behind.

Tricia risked a glance in the rearview mirror, but Angelica wasn't talking to her; she wrestled with Doris in the backseat—trying to disarm her.

Mike's hands fumbled around Tricia's legs, yanking her foot from the accelerator, grappling for the missing knife.

The wail of the approaching car's horn cut through the rain pounding on the roof and Angelica's screams. Tricia steered to the right, barely missing the oncoming car.

Mike grabbed the steering wheel, jerking it left, and Tricia jammed her foot on the brake, sending Mike flying. The car hydroplaned on the slick, wet road, sliding sideways.

Tricia wrestled with the wheel, but the car had a mind of its own, hit the guardrail, and went airborne, sailing into the black, rainy night, flipping before it landed in the swollen waters of Stoneham Creek.

Stunned, for
a moment Tricia didn't realize the car had come to a halt. It was only what was left of the deflated air bag hanging out of the steering wheel and in her face, and the rising chilly water swirling around the crown of her head that brought her back to full consciousness. Blinking did no good, she couldn't see a thing, but finally it sank in that she hung suspended by the seat belt, about to drown from the water that gushed through the car's open window. The sound of rushing water filled her ears as she fumbled for the catch.

The belt released and Tricia plunged into the freezing water. Arms flailing, she pawed for the aperture, found it, and pulled herself through into open air, then fell into the raging torrent. The current immediately slammed her against the car. Winded, she groped for and clung to the undercarriage above the water. Shoes gone, her stocking feet slipped on mossy rocks, and she struggled to find a foothold on the driver's window frame.

Upside down, the car was hung up on the rocks in the creek bed, listing at a forty-five-degree angle. Raking aside the hair flattened around her face, Tricia realized light shone down from above and behind her—the glow of a mercury vapor lamp on the bridge over Stoneham Creek.

“Help! Please help me!” Tricia looked around, realized the weak voice came from inside the car.

Angelica!

Sliding down the side of the car, Tricia sank back into the arcticlike stream, fumbled for the door handle, pulling with all her strength, but the rushing water was too powerful—she couldn't yank it open.

“Help—oh, please help,” came the voice, sounding fainter.

Grasping the window frame, Tricia took in a lungful of air, sank down, and pulled her upper body into the black interior. In only a minute or so the car had filled with water; just a pocket of air remained along what had once been the car's floor. Fumbling fingers captured Tricia's hand and she pulled with all her strength, trying to keep her head above water. “Be careful,” she gasped. “Come on. I've got you!”

The hands clamped around her forearms in a death grip.

Muscles straining in the numbing-cold water, Tricia pulled and tugged and eventually a dark, bulky figure emerged from the car, coughing and sputtering.

“Thank you, oh, thank you,” Doris Gleason cried, clutching at the car to find a handhold.

“Where's my sister?” Tricia demanded, steadying the woman.

“I don't know—I don't know,” Doris wailed, inching away from her and toward the car's front tire.

Panicked, Tricia pulled herself back into the driver's compartment. The cockpit's air bubble was half the size. Tricia took a gulping breath and plunged into the black water, fumbling behind the driver's seat, searching, searching for her sister. Angelica was claustrophobic—she'd be terrified! But suddenly the midsized car's backseat area seemed to have expanded.

The back of her hand scraped something sharp and Tricia grabbed, capturing the chunky stone of Angelica's diamond ring. She pulled the hand and the body attached to it toward the driver's compartment with all her might, but Angelica was a dead weight, too large to drag under the driver's seat.

Fighting panic, Tricia groped for a lever, to make the seat recline.

Where in God's name was it?

Finally, her fingers clasped a plastic handle. She pushed it, yanked it.

Nothing happened.

Come on!

She had to let go of her sister, wrenched the lever with one hand while she beat on the saturated seat with the other.

With lungs ready to burst, she was forced to seek out the air pocket, took several painful gulps, and plunged down again.

More seconds flashed by as she struggled with the lever. At last it moved, and so did the seat, but only by inches. It would have to be enough.

Angelica had slipped back into the black abyss. Maddening eons passed as Tricia's frozen hands once again probed the icy darkness.

Her fingers were nothing more than pins and needles from the cold when something brushed against her. She snatched at it—Angelica's sweater. Hanging on, she maneuvered her legs out the driver's window.

Tricia pulled and tugged and jerked until she dragged a lifeless Angelica around the seat and out through the window. She slipped on weedy rocks, plunging into the water, gashing her knees on the rocks. Skyrockets of pain shot through her, but she managed to grab her sister as she tumbled into the torrent. Angelica's foot caught on the window frame and she hung suspended, with most of her body underwater. Tricia captured Angelica's arms, yanking her free, and the force of the water smashed them against the side of the car.

Nearing exhaustion, Tricia struggled to keep her own and her sister's head above water. Mike was still in the car—probably near death, and yet Tricia wasn't sure she had the strength to keep Angelica from drowning, let alone look for another victim.

“Get away! Get away! You'll push me in,” Doris screamed.

If she'd had the energy, Tricia would've gladly slapped Doris, the cause of all their problems. Instead, she looked down at her sister. It took a long few moments for reality to register in her brain.

Angelica wasn't breathing.

“Ange. Ange!” Tricia screamed, panicked. She didn't know CPR, had never bothered to take a class.

Why hadn't she ever taken a class?

“Breathe! Breathe!” Tricia commanded, slapping Angelica's cheek, but Angelica's head lolled to one side.

Not knowing what else to do, Tricia shoved her sister's body against the car, pressing hard against her back.

Again. Harder.

Again! Harder still!

“Come on, Ange! Breathe!”

Once, twice, three more times she slammed Angelica into the side the car until she heard a cough, and a gasp, then choking sounds as Angelica vomited.

“Stop, stop! You're hurting me,” she cried weakly.

Tricia threw an arm around her sister to hold her up and rested her head against Angelica's shoulder, allowing the pent-up tears to flow.

“Need help?” came a voice from the bridge, one that sounded vaguely familiar.

“She tried to kill me!” Doris cried. “Get me out of here. She tried to kill
us
!”

Tricia craned her neck to look. From the safety of the bridge above them, Russ Smith tossed Doris a rope. “Tie it around yourself. I'll pull you over to the bank.”

“Call nine-one-one. There's still someone trapped in the car!” Tricia called.

“Already called.” Something flashed repeatedly. Tricia glanced over her shoulder to see Russ lower a little digital camera. “This is going to make a great front-page story for the next edition of the
Stoneham Weekly News
,” he said with zeal.

“Who cares about that? Get me out of here!” Doris demanded, again, already tying the rope around her chest.

“I want to go home,” Angelica sobbed.

Tricia's cheek rested against her sister's shoulder once more and she closed her eyes, ready to collapse. “Me, too.”