The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder (31 page)

Just as I slowed to a crawl, foot on the brake, I noticed that the solid guardrail at the edge of the escarpment had been demolished. Had someone else crashed into it earlier? Yellow and black caution tape waved in the wind. I belatedly remembered the news items about the elderly couple who narrowly avoided going over, when I felt a massive crack behind me. The car jolted and my head snapped back with the force. I heard another crack as my air bags inflated. It felt like being smacked in the head by a beach ball traveling fifty miles an hour. The air filled with white powder that stung my eyes. In my shock, I must have lifted my foot off the brake. An explosion? No, a collision. I could feel the Miata moving forward, even though it had stalled. Someone was pushing me forward. I tried to force the air bag away so that I could see. I turned to the rear window and saw the large brown delivery truck behind me. Way closer than he should have been. Had he slid down the road and caused both of us to careen toward disaster? The Miata inched ahead. The air bags were blocking my front view. I leaned sideways so that I could see. The car was being pushed over the collapsed guardrail. I was inching toward the embankment.

I pushed the air bag away from me. They were supposed to save lives, but it sure made it hard to move. As whoever was behind me struck again, I unbuckled my seat belt and pushed again. The Miata jerked forward. I couldn’t see past the air bag, but from the side window I could tell I was close to the edge. I decided to take my chances with whoever was behind me. There’d be no way to survive going over the escarpment in the Miata. I pushed my door open and heaved myself out. I tumbled and rolled a few feet, grabbing at snow-covered grass and shrubs to stop my fall. My body was less than a foot from the edge; one foot dangled over. I stared in horror at my Miata as it teetered at the edge, and slowly, almost deliberately, slipped off and plunged. I watched openmouthed as my beloved little car hit the ground below nose first, flopped over, and burst into flames.

I was still on a slippery slope to end all slippery slopes, with someone who wanted me dead right behind me. Filled with dread, I whipped my head around. Where was the vehicle that pushed me over? I heard shouts. The brown delivery truck rapidly reversed, spun around, and sped away, fishtailing.

A man’s voice boomed out to me. “Are you all right? Stay there. We’re coming.”

Sure thing. Where would I go?

A woman’s voice next, high and quavering. “We’ve called the police. We saw it all! That truck! He tried to kill you.”

I was grabbed unceremoniously by lots of arms and pulled up away from the sheer drop. My rescuers were in their late sixties, with kind, creased faces. I tried to stand up, but crumpled into a heap on the road. I stared up at them, bundled in matching blue-and-silver puffy ski jackets. My head was spinning.

“Can we call someone for you?” The woman’s voice again, concerned.

“My phone is in the car. And my purse. My briefcase. Everything. Up in smoke.”

Thank heavens I hadn’t brought Truffle and Sweet Marie. I wouldn’t have been able to save them, to get the three of us out of the car. I heard sirens in the distance and thought I saw the flash of red lights. Could the WINY truck be far behind?

“Ask Jack to walk the dogs,” I said, before the lights went out.

Sometimes a hot bath is exactly what you need, especially if you’ve been battered and bruised and almost killed. Not to mention hauled off to the hospital, interrogated by Pepper Monahan, and yelled at by Sally and Margaret for not keeping clear of a crime. Oh, and captured for posterity by WINY. My appearance was revolting as always. White powder from air bags doesn’t flatter anyone. Let’s just say that.

I was so tied in knots, I thought my neck would spasm. Of course, I couldn’t relax. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw either the sheer drop off the embankment or Mona’s face or Haley or Brie. I was quite prunelike and still grumpy when I got out of the tub. I put on my most cuddly terry-cloth robe. It’s much too big and bulky and I feel like a refrigerator in it, but so what. My hair was in a topknot and I had striped socks on
and
my fluffy slippers as I flopped on the sofa to listen to a bit of soothing music. I didn’t have the energy to do any of my normal pleasant chores. Naturally, there was a knock on the door.

“Hi,” Jack said. “Oh.” He followed this with a major grin.

“Oh what, Mr. Grinny Face?”

“Nothing.”

“Out with it.”

“It’s just that you look so—”

“Much like a refrigerator?”

“A refrig—? No I was going to say you looked cute. Is that a polar bear suit? Not everyone would be as cute as you in whatever that getup is.”

“Cute? What kind of thing is that to say? I’m a modern woman. We are never cute.”

Jack blinked. “So, not a bear suit?”

“Not a bear suit. I’ve been trying to mellow out in the bath.”

“Now that you mention it, you do look a little like a refrigerator. You have that chilly, modern aspect too.”

“Very funny.”

“You put the idea into my head. I’m suggestible.”

“Neither a refrigerator costume nor a polar bear suit. This is a luxurious terry-cloth robe sent by my mother to assuage some kind of guilt. I keep it to wear after near-fatal car crashes. But now I’m truly insulted.”

“Cool,” Jack said. “I wonder how long you can keep that up. Want to watch television? Catch the news? There’s bound to be excellent coverage of your crash.”

“I was there. I’m not sure I can bear the WINY take on it. Fine. Oh crap. Where’s the remote?”

Both dogs appeared guilty, but the remote turned up under the cushion that Sweet Marie had settled herself on. Jack parked himself next to me on the sofa. If it hadn’t been that we were about to watch an item that was bound to be upsetting, I would have been smiling at the warmth of Jack’s body next to my refrigerator self. But there was that talk of hit-and-run. I clicked and Todd Tyrell’s toothiness appeared. Did the man never sleep?

He appeared to be just this side of gleeful about the burnt-out wreck that had been my beloved Miata. He managed to hold it back, as that was an inappropriate response to what was after all yet another hit-and-run, no matter what the WINY ratings might indicate.

I sat shivering in my cuddly robe, even though I was warm and dry snuggled up next to Jack. Jack who was always there for me. I found it tricky, keeping my feelings under wraps. Jack has a low tolerance for Todd. He’d turned his attention to some paperwork. Not like him in the least.

“What are you doing, Jack?” I asked, with a yawn. Brushes with death make me sleepy apparently.

“Hmm? Oh, just checking over the contractor’s estimates.”

“Estimates? Are you planning to renovate CYCotics already ? You’ve only been open for—”

“This house. Remember? Converting it back to a single-family home, the way it was when I was growing up?”

“What? Why would you—?”

Jack gave me a strange look. “I told you about it. Don’t you recall?”

How could I have missed that? I was sure I hadn’t. I’d been busy, sure, but to miss Jack talking about taking my home away from me? My perfect apartment. What the hell was I supposed to do then? Live in my car with my dogs? Oh wait, I didn’t have a car anymore.

I stood up unsteadily, feeling a sharp pain in my chest. I was sure that was heartbreak. I would have cried, but who had the energy? “I’ve had a rough day. I’m going to bed now.”

I hoped I sounded brave. And unconcerned.

Jack blinked. “Okay. Sure. See you tomorrow.”

As I stomped my homeless, carless body toward my bedroom, I was not unaware that the dogs remained with Jack.

Friday started with a headache, a generally sore body, and a bad mood. And that was before I got the call from Mona.

“Charlotte?”

“Mona, you—”

“Don’t. I need to talk. I sure hope that one of my alters didn’t do that to you. I just saw it on the news. Do you hate Todd Tyrell?”

“Yes, I do, but—”

“Anyway, that’s awful about your car and I feel terrible. At least you’re not dead. Although if one of my alters is after you, that probably won’t be true for long.”

I shivered and said, “Mona. Did you ever see Dr. Partridge for therapy when you were being bullied?”

Silence.

“Mona?”

Nothing.

“Please answer the question.” I halfway expected a totally different voice to respond. I was that spooked by the possibility of those alters.

“Oh my God. They’re almost all taken care of, and now it’s starting with Dr. Partridge. I heard he was in the hospital. What happened to him?”

“An overdose of cold medications
and
painkillers. But what do you mean that they’re almost all taken care of now? Who? And what does—?”

“Except for Haley, they’re dead. Tiffanee and Jasmin.”

“But Haley isn’t dead.”

“Not yet, she isn’t. But I guess Rome wasn’t built in a day. Serena will finish her off soon. If it’s Serena doing it. I was convinced she was behind these murders, but what if it was me?”

My temple throbbed. My own competing theories of Mona’s alters versus Serena as the killer were confusing enough without Mona making me dizzy. I said, “Mona—”

“And what about the wife? What if it was happening even back then?”

“What wife? You mean Dr. Partridge’s wife?”

“Sure. Who else? I’m pretty sure she died in a hit-and-run too. The same pattern, isn’t it? Of course, that could apply to me too. Now that I know about the alters, it’s one more thing for me to fear about myself. Maybe this multiple personality disorder has been going on for years.”

I stood there, heart thumping. I had only made the connection with Dr. Janelle Partridge and the current hit-and-runs the day before. I’d wondered if that was too far-fetched, but Mona had brought it up too.

“I gotta go, Charlotte.”

“No! Wait! You called me. I need to know—”

I wasn’t in the mood to listen to the dial tone for long. I stomped into the kitchen to put on coffee. Jack gazed up from the sofa as I passed. He smiled.

“Dogs are walked. Coffee’s on.”

“Aren’t you terrific,” I grumped.

He seemed a bit more surprised than I expected. What did he think? Selling my home out from under me and I’m supposed to be Little Miss Sunshine?

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to wake you up. It’s nine thirty and the contractor’s due here soon.”

“Nine thirty? Are you kidding? I never sleep that late.”

“Apparently, you do now.”

I grabbed a coffee, slopping a bit on the counter. The holder toppled over as I grabbed for a paper towel. “I have so much to do today. I need to talk to the insurance company and replace all my cards and . . . What time is the contractor coming?” I managed to keep a tremor out of my voice when I said that. I didn’t want to lose the last vestige of my dignity.