A Sticky Situation (22 page)

I slipped the checks back into the bag and rose to my feet. I needed to get back to my apartment to call Lowell. As I turned to leave a gasp caught in my throat.

“What do you think you're doing in here?” Priscilla stood a few steps into the room, blocking the doorway.

“I was just looking for some more albums Frances asked me to bring over to her,” I said, hoping Priscilla hadn't noticed the bank bag in my hand.

“That isn't an album in your hand, now is it?” Priscilla took a few steps toward me and I was shocked to see a knife she used for trimming flowers in the shop in her hand.

“Well, no. It's not. You must have noticed how duffer-headed Frances is getting. Really quite paranoid, in fact.
She kept going on and on about people stealing her things, including stuff from her workdays. I decided to bring her this since I thought it might help ease her mind.” I held my breath and hoped she'd buy it.

“You're lying.” Priscilla took a few more steps toward me and pointed the knife at me.

“Why would I lie to you?” I looked around the room for a way to escape. Priscilla seemed to have as much trouble letting furniture and old clothes go as she did tax records and catalogs. All around me sat piles of coats, lamps with broken shades, and sagging mattresses.

“Because you know that bag wasn't with Frances's things and you know how it got there, don't you? Do you think I couldn't hear you moving boxes and opening the filing cabinets up here? The floor is so old and thin I could hear every twitch you made.”

“I think this is the sort of thing we should talk about downstairs. It is dangerous up here and I don't know about you but I'm getting pretty cold.” I didn't like the look in Priscilla's eyes. She was breathing pretty fast, too.

“I knew I should have gotten rid of that bank bag years ago.” Priscilla's shoulders slumped a little, like she was ashamed of herself for not being able to let things go. The lights flickered again and I thought about whether my chances of getting past her were increased or decreased if the lights went out and stayed out. I hadn't noticed Priscilla carrying a flashlight of her own. I switched my flashlight off and slipped it into my sweatshirt pocket.

“Why didn't you?”

“Tax records. I just can't get rid of anything to do with them. I got audited early on in business and I have kept every scrap of paper ever since.”

“You've got everything really well organized, too.” Praise seemed like a good thing to try. “I bet you had a hard time deciding where to file the bank bag. Your system is so well designed it must have been difficult to settle on Miscellaneous.” I edged a little closer to a wingback chair with a spring poking up through the fabric of the seat.

“You're right. I wanted to put it with the canceled checks but the checks weren't actually canceled.”

“And most of them weren't yours. That must have been a factor, too.” Perhaps appealing to her obsessive organizational skills wasn't the best choice but it was distracting her from the knife in her hand. If I could do it long enough I might get close enough to the door to make a break for it.

“You don't know how much trouble those things gave me or how many times I wished I hadn't kept them.”

“I understand all the tidiness but what I don't get is how you ended up with them in the first place.” It was obvious I wasn't fooling her into believing I thought the checks belonged to Frances. If I was going to be stabbed at least I could hear the whole story.

“You know if I tell you then you aren't going to be going anywhere, don't you?” Priscilla flashed the knife at me again. “I'll see to that.”

“Even if you don't tell me it doesn't look like you are intending to let me leave,” I said. “Besides, thirty years
is a long time to lug around that sort of a secret. I bet you'd feel better if you finally told somebody about it. Maybe over a nice cup of tea in my apartment?”

“No tea, and you're right about me not letting you leave here no matter what.” Priscilla pursed her lips. “But you're also right that it might do me some good to talk about it.”

“You have such a successful business here. I can't see why you would have needed the money.”

“It wasn't about me needing the money. It was about keeping it from someone else.” Priscilla stepped even closer. At this rate she would be right on top of me before long. I took another step of my own toward the chair, hoping it would work as an effective shield if I should need it.

“But I thought the money was for a good cause?”

“If by a good cause you mean letting the cheapskate taxpayers in Sugar Grove get away with skimping on funding the library then I guess you could say that.”

“How does stealing money slated for renovating the library help anyone?” I was worried by how animated and strident Priscilla's voice had become. It seemed like asking her about the money was not such a good idea after all. Instead of delaying her I had worked her up even more.

“The festival money would have been enough to fund nothing more than a pathetic redecorating project. And worse, one that the townspeople would have been able to claim met the community's needs for years to come. I was the only one willing to say we needed to raise a
bond for a new separate building.” That's when I remembered the message from my father about money blowing away from lots of books.

“So you decided to steal the money so the less costly project couldn't be done?”

“That's right. Frances had told me that the money was being kept overnight in Karen's desk drawer. So, I waited for a couple of hours after the festival was over and then let myself into the town hall with my keys.”

“You had keys to the town hall?” Keys and who has them has always been a pretty lax affair in Sugar Grove. Even now in an era of car alarms and video surveillance most people still don't lock their doors.

“All the library trustees had keys to the town hall so we could get into the library when we needed to.” Priscilla's face had taken on a smug look.

“So you let yourself in, but how did you manage to get the bank bag?”

“The cheap locks on those office desks are a joke. Anyone with a sturdy paper clip and a few minutes of free time can do it. I grabbed the bag and had headed around the corner to go downstairs when I ran right into Spooner.”

“I bet that was a nasty surprise.” Probably just about as nasty as being discovered snooping through a killer's incriminating papers in a dimly lit attic during a snowstorm. I almost felt bad for her.

“It all happened so fast. I spotted him. He spotted me and then pointed at the bank bag with a look of total surprise on his face.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He said, ‘Hey, what are you doing with that?' I was so startled I reached out both hands and shoved him.”

“Did he fall down the stairs?”

“All the way down the whole flight. I had dropped the bank bag when I pushed him and it tumbled down the stairs with him. I was so shocked by what I had done I just stood there looking at him for a moment. His neck was twisted at a bizarre angle.”

“Did you try to help him?”

“I snapped out of it and ran down to check his pulse but there wasn't one. I don't think he suffered much. I never meant to hurt him. All I wanted to do was to help the library. I even put the cash into the church collection plate a little at a time.”

“How did his body get into the basement?”

“It was the only place to hide his body that I could think of. I grabbed him by the feet and hauled him bumpity bump down the basement stairs and left him there while I got my emergency snow shovel out of the trunk of my car.”

“So you buried him in the basement all by yourself?”

“Of course I did. That's not the sort of thing you call the neighbors to give a hand with, now is it?” Priscilla had a point and thirty years earlier she would have been in her prime, physically, at least. “As much as the cheap slacker attitude in town was hard to take as far as getting a new library built, it helped me out with the body.
If the town elders hadn't been so lax about disposing of the coal in the basement it would have been a lot harder to hide the fact I had been digging around down there. As it was, I just dug as close as I could to the leftover pile and then tumbled coal from the pile down onto the grave.”

“And no one was the wiser for thirty years.”

“Not until you had to clean out the basement at the town hall. If it weren't for you Spooner would still be missing.”

With that Priscilla lunged at me. I remembered what my father had supposedly said and looked for someplace that reminded me of hide-and-seek. The chair was all I had available. I crouched behind it just in time to feel Priscilla jabbing at the upholstery.

I heard a ripping sound over the howl of the wind and realized she was stabbing the chair with the knife. I was torn between wanting to keep a firm hold on the chair in order to use it as a shield and letting go of it in case she managed to hack all the way through. Before I could decide what to do I felt the chair begin to slide. Priscilla was pushing the whole thing in my direction.

The light was even lower under the eaves and I couldn't see what was behind me. Even with my small stature it only took a step backward before my head was scraping against the nails that held the shingles in place. I cried out as one gouged deeply into my scalp. The bank bag slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor.

I was pinned. Furniture stacked on either side of me
and the only way away from the nails in the ceiling was to move forward, straight into Priscilla. I tried to shove the chair back toward her to free myself. Priscilla had to have outweighed me by at least thirty pounds. I felt her use the full weight of her body against the chair. I did the only thing I could do. I let go of the chair and dropped to all fours, tucking myself into the gap under the eaves.

The chair slammed against the slope of the roof and stopped short. I pressed my face against the floor in an effort to keep Priscilla in my sights by peeking through the chair legs. For a second everything was dark and then there was a strange tearing noise. I heard Priscilla gasp with surprise as she took a final step forward and then a bit of light filtered up through the floorboards.

Everything happened so fast I thought I had imagined it. It took me a few seconds to convince myself I hadn't. From my hiding spot behind the chair I watched Priscilla drop through the floor right in front of me like she was riding an invisible elevator. First her calves disappeared from sight, then her torso, and finally her face with its look of complete surprise.

It was the thud that convinced me to leave my hiding spot. I looked around for the flashlight I had lost in the struggle but my sweating palms and trembling limbs made that job more difficult. I finally noticed the weight of it in my pocket. I pulled it out and switched it on. I crept along the floor joists, hoping they were more stable than whatever parts of the floor Priscilla had fallen
through. I rounded the chair and crouched at the side of the hole.

I pointed the beam from my flashlight through the gap in the floor. The first thing it landed on was Priscilla's antique sewing machine. The second was Priscilla. She was slumped, motionless, on the floor, leaning against the base of the sewing machine.

Somehow I found my way to the door and ignoring the quaking in my legs I hurried to Priscilla's side. Low security lighting gave off enough illumination to find her still slumped in the same position against the sewing machine's antique wooden base. I bent over her and tried to remember how to feel for a pulse.

I fumbled under the sleeve of her sweater, searching for the underside of her wrist. While I didn't think a medical school, or even an ambulance crew, was going to be knocking my door down any time soon with invitations to join them, I did manage to feel enough of a flickering throb to know Priscilla was still alive.

I stood and wandered the room, holding up my cell phone to look for coverage. The signal was faint but even over the crackling in and out I could make out Myra's voice. I shouted to make her understand to send
the ambulance and Lowell to Stems and Hems. I turned on a few overhead lights. Then I returned to Priscilla's side and sat on the floor next to her. She still hadn't even twitched by the time Bob Sterling and Cliff Thompson rushed in with a stretcher.

Lowell was hot on their heels. He took one look at me and wrapped me in a snow-covered embrace. I was so relieved to feel safe I didn't even mind the snow melting off the brim of his uniform hat and landing on my head. As soon as Bob and Cliff had attended to Priscilla and were rushing her off to the hospital as fast as the storm would allow Lowell steered me over to the seating area Priscilla used for wedding consultations.

Lowell sat taking notes and only occasionally interrupting until I had told him everything.

“When she shoved the chair forward she must have uncovered a spot where there was nothing but lath and plaster. She punched straight through and hit her head on the cast-iron sewing machine when she fell.”

“You were only supposed to be looking into the money and I told you to stop that part. You need someone keeping an eye on you twenty-four/seven.” Lowell scowled at me and shook his head. “I don't think you ought to stay here on your own tonight.” We both turned our heads toward the sound of heavy footsteps crossing the shop.

“My thoughts exactly.” Graham hurried to my side and squatted next to my chair. “I came as soon as I heard this address on the radio. You okay?”

“She will be once she gets upstairs, has a hot shower, and some kind of sustaining beverage.”

“Does that sound about right to you, Dani?” Graham asked. That was one of the things I really liked about him. He never acted like I didn't know my own mind.

“It sounds perfect. Lowell, please don't worry the family with any of this tonight. They'll feel like they need to rush over here to check on me and I don't want them out in the storm for no reason.”

“Sure thing. As soon as the roads are clear in the morning I'd like you to come by the station to make a statement.”

“Of course. But you'll want to take this with you now though.” I picked up the bank bag and handed it to him. Lowell took it and gave me a peck on the top of my head. Graham and I walked him to the door and I led the way up the stairs to my apartment.

If I hadn't seen Priscilla leaving on a stretcher I would have been jumpy. As it was, with Graham's large, warm hand squeezing mine I just about managed to face the second floor once more.

*   *   *

After soothing myself in a long, hot shower I sat back on the sofa and pulled the quilt up over my body. Graham headed for the tiny kitchen and I could hear him filling a kettle with water. Before long he placed two steaming mugs on the trunk in front of the sofa. He sat next to me and lifted my feet into his lap, tucking the quilt around them. I felt all the tension of the last hour seeping from my body. Even with all that had happened just across
the hallway it occurred to me there was no place I'd rather be.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Graham asked. “Or would you rather just sit quietly and listen to the storm?”

“I'm afraid I'm all talked out.” I pulled my hand out from under the quilt and reached over to grasp his.

“Am I crowding you? You seem a little scrunched up. Would you rather I moved?” Graham asked. It occurred to me that something had changed. A few weeks ago my first thought after experiencing anything stressful would have been to head for Greener Pastures and the comfort of my family. Tonight, my first thought was that Graham was exactly the person I wanted to see coming through the door to comfort me.

“I think I'd be happier if we both moved.” I kicked off the quilt and stood. I was most of the way to the bedroom before I looked back. Graham just stood there. My heart lurched and I wondered if I had embarrassed myself. “Aren't you interested?”

“I've been interested since the night you called in a mountain lion spotting. I just don't want to take advantage of someone still suffering from shock. Reaching out is a normal reaction to a near brush with death. I'd like this to be about more than that.”

“You're right that what happened tonight has played a part in my invitation but not in the way you are suggesting.”

“What do you mean?” Graham took a couple of steps closer to me.

“I mean, an experience like that clarifies priorities and makes you think about roads not yet taken. It made me certain this is a road I want to travel with you.” I held out my hand. Graham reached forward to take it.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “There's something important I need to know first.”

“Okay,” I said, a stampede of thoughts running through my head. “I'm listening.”

“I'm not the sort of guy who shares a bed with a woman whose name I don't know.” Graham pulled me close and bent toward my ear. “So before things go any further, you'll have to tell me, what's Dani short for?” Of all the thoughts I'd had, that was not one I'd considered.

“You promise not to laugh?” I asked. “Because that is guaranteed to kill the mood.”

“My mother named me after a cracker. I'm in no position to poke fun at anyone else.” Graham made a cross over his heart with his fingers. “I promise.”

“It's Dandelion. Dandelion Greene.” I held my breath waiting for a chortle, a giggle, a suppressed snort. “Jade got the last decent green name and my mother thought it was fun to take the naming thing in a whole new direction. Whenever I complain she reminds me she could have named me Beet.”

“Or Collard. I think Dandelion suits you,” he said. That was something I'd never heard before.

“I don't like to think of myself as an unwelcomed weed.”

“That's not what I meant.” He took my face in his
hands and tilted it toward his. “Do you know what I always think when I see dandelions?”

“Someone needs to get out the mower?”

“I always think of them as wish flowers because of the way kids make wishes on them.” Graham bent and kissed me on the tip of my nose. “I still wish on them every chance I get. Know what I wished for all last summer?”

“No,” I said, my heart catching in my throat.

“A Dandelion just like you.” I squeezed his hand and we didn't do much talking for quite a long time.