Something shady, p.34
Something Shady, page 34
part #2 of Stoner McTavish Mystery Series
Another. And another.
Shingles. The house was shedding its roof.
Hallucination.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not in real great shape myself, but this is an emergency. So if you could put your problems behind you for a little while...”
A chunk of rusted gutter clanged to the patio below.
“...when this is over we’ll get together and compare horror stories.”
Claire looked at her. Her eyes focused. She reached up, touched Stoner’s hair.
Her fingers came away dripping blood.
Hallucination.
“Blood,” Claire said.
But whose hallucination?
She grabbed Claire by the shoulders and hurled her to her feet. “Goddamn it, move!”
Dragging the woman behind her, she raced down the fire stairs. They shattered beneath her feet.
Keep going.
The walls were melting. Water stains revolved slowly, oozing dampness. The odor of thyme filled her nose and choked her.
You’re not going to stop us.
Her lungs burned to bursting. She tightened her grip on Claire’s hand. “We can make it,“ she said. She didn’t believe it.
The second floor hallway was filled with fog. Yellow fog. Acrid, sweet, like rotting fat.
She pushed through it.
One more flight.
The house began to hum.
She lost her footing on the stairs and grabbed for the railing. It was red hot.
“Jesus!” She tore her hand away.
The humming grew to a moan. To a roar.
A crack appeared in the floor at the base of the stairs. Chunks of planking fell away.
Oh, no, you don’t. By God, you don’t.
Bits of plaster dropped around her. Spiderweb lines shot through the walls. Glass shattered.
Journey’s End was tearing itself apart.
Hallucination, she told herself ferociously, and jumped. A strip of splintered floorboard ripped her leg.
“Blood,” Claire said.
Stoner began to giggle.
Her head was filled with bubbles. Dancing bubbles, making her lighter than air.
“You’re diseased!” she shouted to the house, while her feet hovered above the ground. “Vile, detestable, scabrous, rotten!”
A sudden fall of air hurled her to the floor.
She pulled herself to her knees, balanced on the brink of the widening gulf, and reached back for Claire’s hand.
Claire stretched toward her.
Stoner yanked her across.
The floor heaved.
Her joints were on fire, her muscles turned to jelly.
The front door stood open. She crawled toward it. It receded, spiraling into the distance.
We’re not going to make it.
“Chief!” Jerry shouted from beyond the door.
Hallucination.
“Move it, Chief. They’re coming!”
Footsteps pounded in the hall above, racing toward the stairs.
The open door was a tiny rectangle of darkness far away.
She sank to the ground.
Jerry grabbed her roughly. “Don’t you quit on me now, damn you!”
This is no hallucination. He’s real. He’s...
Upstairs a woman shrieked. The footsteps stopped, paused, ran the other way. Another shriek, then another, a dozen voices shrieking. The sound of a struggle, angry shouting, a high-pitched laugh.
She looked up at Jerry. “What’s that?”
“Lily, creating a diversion.” He threw an arm around Claire and hurled her out into the night. “Come on, Stoner.”
“Can’t make it.”
He pulled her to her feet. She wavered.
“MOVE IT!”
“I can’t.”
The footsteps were coming their way again.
Jerry glanced toward the stairs. “All right,” he said, “stay here. Girl.”
She felt her anger begin to rise.
“You’re weak,” he said contemptuously. “Chickenshit. Fuck-up. All you’re good for is making babies.”
“Pig!”
“Sugar and spice and everything nice,” he chanted.
She lunged for him. “I’ll kill you.”
“Have to catch me first.” He ran from the house.
“Stupid asshole pig!” Furious, she scrambled after him.
He danced just beyond her reach. “Catch me. Come on, sweet-cakes. Let’s see those buns wiggle.”
She lunged again.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Jerry called. “Look at the tits on that one. Sure would like to grab a handful of those tits.”
“Macho punk!” she screamed, and began to run.
“Not my fault,” Jerry called. “I’ve spent half my life in institutions.”
There was gravel beneath her feet. Pellets of sleet scoured her face.
Jerry broke for the gates. She raced after him.
Behind her, the house howled with rage.
Jerry glanced over his shoulder. “You okay, Chief?”
“Okay,” she shouted. “Split up!”
She dove into the woods. Ahead, she could see Ione standing by the fence waving a white handkerchief, calm as the Lady of the Manor welcoming weekend guests.
Stoner began to laugh. “Cheap trick, Jerry,” she panted.
She could hear his voice over the clatter of feet on gravel. “Tell it to the Marines, sweetheart.”
Pulling together the last of her energy, she plunged forward. Something grabbed her foot. There was a sickening, popping noise, like a string of Chinese firecrackers. Pain exploded up her leg and set off sparks in her brain. The ground rushed up at her.
Her foot was caught in an exposed tree root, her ankle bent at an unworldly angle. She looked back. Two men appeared in the doorway, hesitated, and ran toward her.
She struggled against burning pain. The tree root held.
“Keep going!” she shouted to Jerry.
“Gate’s locked!”
“Climb it!”
He threw himself against the chain links and fell back.
The men kept coming.
Overhead, the sky began to swirl.
At least we tried, she told herself. At least we didn’t make it easy.
She closed her eyes to wait.
An ear-splitting crash shattered the night, a sound of tearing metal.
She looked up. The men were retreating. Light flooded the driveway. A car was wedged in one side of the gate. The other side was torn a way.
Someone ran to her, knelt beside her, eased her foot free of the root. She gritted her teeth against the pain.
More lights.
Shouts.
People running.
Sirens.
A gunshot.
A white convertible slid to a halt on the drive. The door opened, and Nancy got out. She reached for Claire, pushed her inside.
Jerry swung himself through the car window.
We made it, Stoner thought.
There were strong arms around her, a soft face against her face. “
What do you know?” Gwen said. “The police took notice.”
She let herself sink into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER 13
There was color everywhere. Blue, red, yellow, green. Smudges of colored light against a white background. As she watched, it seemed to move slightly...
Hallucination.
From somewhere below came a familiar clatter and clank. A sound of running water. Dishes being washed. Everyday noises. Normal, mundane, friendly noises.
This is no hallucination.
She turned her head slightly, wincing at the pull of stiffness in her neck muscles. She was in an unfamiliar room, a room brilliant with reds, browns, amber. In the curtains, on the bureau, lying across the bed. A stained-glass shade pull hung at the window, swaying gently in the breeze. Puzzled, she pushed herself upright and felt a throbbing pain in her ankle. She fell back.
“Easy,” Gwen said. She uncoiled herself from the armchair and came to sit on the bed.
Stoner blinked. “Am I sane?” She asked fearfully.
“At the moment, yes. In general, no.”
“Where am I?”
Gwen’s velvet laugh caressed her. “Really, Stoner, how corny can you get? Delia’s. How do you feel?”
“As if I’m coming down from a bad trip.”
“It was a bad trip, all right.” She rested her hand along the side of Stoner’s face. “I’m glad it’s over.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
She moved her foot and gasped. “I think I broke something.”
“It’s only a wicked sprain. Edith left you some painkillers. Want one?”
“I’ve had enough drugs for a lifetime.”
“You know what that means, don’t you?” Gwen asked. She made a face. “Aunt Hermione’s herbal teas.”
She fumbled for Gwen’s hand. “Is everyone all right?”
“Everyone but R.J. Lefebre, Hank, and your loving shrink. They’re in jail.”
“The Greniers?”
“Gone with the wind.”
“What happened to...”
Gwen squeezed her hand. “Everything’s fine. You’ll get all the details later. Right now I just want to look at you.”
She reached up and touched Gwen’s hair. “More gray?”
“If you don’t like it, tough. It’s your fault.”
“I like it,” Stoner said. “I like it very much.”
“Is there anything you need?”
Her mouth felt dry. “Water. I’ll get it.” She started to get up. Every muscle and joint in her body assaulted her. “My God, I feel as if I’ve been blitzed by the entire L.A. Rams defensive line.”
“What’s wrong with the New England Patriots?” Gwen said, pushing her back and going to the bureau for the water.
“Have you looked at their record lately?” She reached out for the glass and drew back as her shoulder screamed.
Gwen handed it to her. “You’re in pretty bad shape, aren’t you?”
“Gladys and Mario bounced me around a bit. I’ll be okay.”
“I know. There’s no permanent damage. Edith let me check you out for breaks.”
“I’m sorry I missed it,” Stoner said.
“Marylou’s furious. She wanted to watch.”
“One of these days Marylou’s going to go too far.”
“I guess I should help you work out some of the knots,” Gwen said. “On the other hand...”
“What?”
Gwen looked at her thoughtfully. “Would you say your mobility is restricted?”
“To about three inches in any direction. Why?”
“You can’t move?”
“Not without intense pain.”
A wicked gleam came into Gwen’s eyes. She started unbuttoning her shirt.
“Gwen,” Stoner said apprehensively, “what are you doing?”
“I finally have you right where I want you.” Her shirt fell to the floor.
“Gwen…”
She slipped off her shoes.
“This isn’t fair, Gwen.”
Gwen smiled a little smile and slid out of her jeans.
“Not politically correct.”
She took off her wrist watch.
“I’ll tell. It’ll be all over the Cambridge Women’s Center in twenty-four hours.”
She pulled back the covers and started to get in.
“They’ll never let you teach a Coming Out workshop.”
“I’ll say I didn’t Come Out,” Gwen said, reaching for Stoner’s pajamas. “I’ll say I Crossed Over.”
“They won’t let you teach that, either.”
She slid her hand up Stoner’s side and touched her breast. “All you have to do is get up.”
“I can’t get up.” Every cell in her body jumped to its feet and applauded. She didn’t want to get up. “I’ll scream.”
“Scream.”
She didn’t scream.
“Now, my ball-busting butch from Boston, I’m going to make love to you like you’ve never been made love to before.”
***
“Well,” Stoner said, “you certainly learned some interesting things being straight.”
Gwen punched her lightly. “I’ll have you know, everything you’ve experienced in the last hour I made up myself.”
“Then you have a heck of an imagination. To say nothing of technique. No wonder you look so self-satisfied.”
“You look rather self-satisfied yourself.”
Stoner folded her arms behind her head and watched the colored lights waltz across the ceiling. Shady Acres and its horrors seemed a hundred miles and centuries behind her. “I love you, Gwyneth Ann.”
“I thought I told you never to call me that.”
“I like it.”
“So do I, when you say it.” She propped herself up on one elbow. “How are your knots?”
“I’m completely knot-free. I wonder if they know about this in locker rooms.”
“I’m sure they do.”
She reached out and touched Gwen’s face. “Will you tell me what you did that night?”
“What night?”
“The night I left Journey’s End.”
Gwen kissed the palm of Stoner’s hand. “My God, you’re persistent. You remind me of...”
“Someone or something you knew back in Jefferson, Georgia. It’s important, Gwen. I need to know... all of it.”
“Okay,” Gwen said. “After I left you, I came back here, and Marylou and Edith and Delia and I sat around making plans. Except we couldn’t make plans, because we didn’t know what you were doing. And that, Dearest, is because you refused to tell me.”
“All right, all right.” She snuggled against Gwen. “I made a mistake. I’m a jerk. I was born a jerk, and I’ll die a jerk. I can’t help it, it’s my nature.”
“Well,” Gwen said, “now that we’ve established that... About eleven-thirty, Aunt Hermione called. She’d had a premonition that something had gone wrong.”
“It certainly had.”
“She’d phoned Shady Acres, but no one answered.”
“I heard the phone,” Stoner said, “but I was a little tied up at the time.”
“We knew we were supposed to wait for your call, but we didn’t know what to do. I mean, imagine the dilemma. If you were sneaking around, trying to get out without attracting attention, it wouldn’t do for us to go charging in. On the other hand, if Aunt Hermione was right - and she usually is - you probably needed us to make like a SWAT team. Meanwhile, Aunt Hermione was going to keep calling, to divert them from whatever you might be doing.”
“I wasn’t doing anything except dying, and listening to the phone ring.”
“Anyway, we decided we’d better move. Then Delia couldn’t find her keys. As it turned out, Aphrodite had hidden them in the garage, where she keeps the skeletons of birds and mice. And we wanted to take as many cars as possible, to make as much noise as we could.”
“You made plenty of noise.”
“So we got Steve to hot-wire Delia’s car, and she called Jared. He called the state police, saying there’d been a break-out at Shady Acres and the patients were running loose, looting and pillaging. That way he could by-pass the Castleton force.
“Edith went to Lefebre’s house - she said she should nab him herself, as a professional courtesy, psychiatrist to psychiatrist. On the way, she dropped Marylou at Millicent Tunes’ place, complete with Delia’s gun and a fake FBI ID. Later, we found her sitting in Tunes’ living room, eating fondue and drinking chablis and listening to classical music. Tunes was locked in a closet, and not very happy about it all.
“As soon as they’d left, Jerry’s call came, and Delia and I took off. You know the rest.”
“Except for one thing,” Stoner said. “Who broke down the gate?”
Gwen grinned. “Three guesses.”
“You?”
“Me.”
“I’d never suspect you of violence.”
“You never suspected I was in love with you, either. Really, Stoner, you have a lot to learn about me.”
And I’m going to love every minute of it. “Did you happen to notice any- thing... strange... about the house?”
“In all that confusion? I had other things on my mind. How’s your ankle, by the way?”
“On fire.”
“I’m sorry,” Gwen said. “I got carried away.”
Stoner held her tighter. “It was worth every minute of it.”
Something that felt like a laundry bag full of sand plopped on the bed.
“What is that?”
Gwen looked up. “Just Aphrodite.”
“My God, that’s the fattest cat I ever saw.
“She’s pregnant.”
Pregnant? It gave her an idea.
“I have to talk to Delia.” She eased out of bed.
“Stoner, dear, you’re naked.”
“Oh.” Balancing on one foot, she retrieved her pajamas and pulled them on. Delia’s red satin dressing gown languished on the back of the chair. She hopped over to it.
“Use the crutches,” Gwen said. “That’s what they’re for.”
She shoved them under her arms and hobbled to the bureau. Raking her hands through her hair, she glanced at herself in the mirror. “Good grief, I look like a butch whore.”
Gwen was on her knees, burrowing under the covers. “I’ve lost a sock.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll be right back.”
“We have a busy day ahead,” Gwen said. “I’d prefer to face it with my socks on.”
“Well, all right, but you’re going to look pretty silly with nothing on but your socks.“
Gwen hurled a pillow at her.
She banged awkwardly down the stairs, bouncing off the walls. Delia was at the grill.
“Delia!” Stoner shouted.
“Good God!” A spatula flew. Delia picked it up and tossed it in the dishpan. “You’re certainly back from the dead.”
“Is Aphrodite really pregnant?”
“You’ve been unconscious for two days, and all you want to know is if Aphrodite’s pregnant? Alexander Haig could have seized control of the government in a military coup, and you want to know if the cat’s pregnant?”
“Is she?”
“She doesn’t always look like a hairy Goodyear blimp,” Delia grumbled, scrounging a clean spatula from the utensil drawer and flipping a pancake.
