Drip Dead (30 page)

After several minutes even Harry Hamilton had to admit that we’d been abandoned.

“I can’t believe it,” he whined. “After everything I did for him.”

“Sure,” I snarled. The pain in my wrist made me shaky. And really angry. “Like killing Gregory Whitlock.”

Hamilton’s eye went wide with shock. “I didn’t do
that
,” he protested.

“Yeah, right.” It didn’t matter to me which one of them had wielded the knife; they were both involved and they were both guilty.

And they’d been willing to send my mother to prison for the rest of her life to save their own skins.

I had no use for either of them.

Wade stirred and I crouched beside him. He started to sit up, but I put my right hand against his shoulder. “Stay there,” I said softly. “You’ve had a nasty bump on the head. Just stay still, okay?”

He looked up at me, his eyes struggling to focus. “Georgie? What are you doing here?” He glanced around at the unfamiliar surroundings. “What happened?”

“William hit you over the head is what happened.” I stopped and drew several deep breaths, regaining control of my anger. “You need to just lay here for a little while,” I said, more calmly.

I looked back at Hamilton. He was frantically scrabbling around the door, looking for a way out. Without apparent success.

I left Wade and went back to Hamilton. “Sit!” I commanded. I took his arm in my good right hand and twisted until he crumpled into a sitting position.

“Stay!”

Well, it worked with Buddha, and even sometimes with Daisy. I hoped Hamilton was as smart as an Airedale, though his association with William certainly gave me reason to doubt it.

I rummaged through my pockets until I came up with my cell phone. I flipped it open and checked the screen.

No bars, and I’d let the battery run down to almost nothing.

“Wade?”

“Georgie? What are you doing here?”

The question sent a chill through me. Wade had sustained a nasty blow to the head, and he was acting confused.

Not a good sign.

“I’m trying to get us out of here,” I said in a soft voice. “Just wait there and I’ll take care of everything, okay?”

Wade nodded, then winced. “Ow!” he said. “That hurts!”

I unzipped my coveralls and struggled out of their tight grip. I had to use both hands, and my wrist throbbed with every movement.

I unwound the padding from around my middle and folded it into a makeshift pillow for Wade. I slipped it under his head, trying to move him as little as possible.

“Just rest here,” I said.

I rummaged through his pockets. His cell phone wasn’t in his jacket, and I gingerly poked a finger in his pants pocket. His eyes grew wide.

“Just looking for your cell phone,” I said, my face flaming.

“Other pocket.”

I extracted the phone, trying to have as little actual contact as possible. It might be awkward, but staying locked in this cellar was a lot worse.

Wade’s phone at least had a charge, though his signal wasn’t much better than mine.

It was all we had.

I punched 9-1-1 and waited. I could hear a faint buzz but I wasn’t sure if it was real or if I was only imagining it.

A man’s voice answered. I couldn’t make out the words.

“Help! We’re trapped!” I shouted.

More buzzing on the other end of the line.

I shouted the address. I didn’t know if he could hear me any better than I heard him, but I had to try.

The line went dead and I looked at the phone.

Signal lost.

I tried twice more, shouting into the phone until the call dropped and I lost the connection.

I glared at Harry Hamilton. “I don’t suppose you have a cell phone?”

He fished in his pocket and retrieved a cheap prepaid phone. But when I flipped it open there was no signal.

Frustration welled up and spilled over onto Hamilton. “What did you think you were doing?” I yelled.

“I was just trying to help William out,” he said. “He needed someone to be a go-between for the partnership. He wanted to get hold of some of the wine they were buying, but the only way he could do that was to become part of the group.

“He didn’t want to do that, so he offered me a commission to act as his agent. He said there wasn’t anything illegal about it.”

Hamilton was whining now, trying to justify his involvement with the murder of Gregory Whitlock.

“Whitlock tricked me into telling him I was working for William. He told William he’d expose him to rest of the group if he didn’t help him hide those cases. He even offered him a bottle of the wine if he did what Whitlock wanted.”

I could imagine Gregory’s carrot-and-stick approach. Too bad William Robinson had a sharper stick.

Hamilton shrugged. “William agreed. He wanted that bottle and he insisted on tasting it first. Said it was the best thing he had ever had.”

“Did he know it was fake?” I snorted. “Some wine expert! The best wine he ever had, and it wasn’t even the real thing. Just impressed by a fancy label and a bunch of lies.”

Wade stirred, and I turned around. He has rolled on his side and closed his eyes.

I stepped away from Hamilton and shook Wade’s foot. “Don’t go to sleep. You have to stay with us.”

Wade mumbled and closed his eyes again.

“Wake up!” I yelled.

His eyes opened. He tried to focus on me but I could see the confusion on his face.

“Georgie? What are you doing here? What happened?”

“You got hit, Wade. And you have to stay awake. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “But I’m really tired.”

Fear sent my pulse racing. Wade had a concussion and people with concussions weren’t supposed to sleep.

“You can sleep later. Just stay awake a little longer.”

“I’ll try,” he said. He opened his eyes wide and stared at the ceiling.

I turned back to Hamilton. “So Robinson tasted the fake wine.” I thought for a second. “That must have been the glass that was on Mom’s counter.

“But if he liked it, why kill Gregory?”

“William’s just high strung,” Hamilton said. There was something in his voice, affection tinged with sadness. “It was an accident. Whitlock told him they had to hide the wine because it was a fake and he couldn’t let the appraiser see it. He ridiculed William because he couldn’t tell the difference. William just lost his temper. First being suckered in with a fake and then having to cover it up . . .”

“You and William,” I wondered aloud, “you’re old friends?”

“Since junior high,” Hamilton said proudly.

Like being friends with a bullying murderer was something to brag about.

There was one more thing I needed to know.

“My car?” I asked.

Hamilton’s misery was all the answer I needed.

“He tried to kill me, too,” I said. “And Paula Ciccone.”

In the distance I heard voices.

It sounded like someone was in the house.

It couldn’t be William. He wasn’t coming back, no matter what Harry Hamilton thought.

It had to be the sheriff.

“In here!” I yelled.

I waved at Hamilton and he started screaming, too. Even Wade yelled, though I don’t think he quite understood why.

The sound came closer. More than one voice.

Hamilton and I pounded on the walls, trying to attract the attention of our rescuers.

We could hear the voices on the other side of the wall, calling to us. We called back and slammed our fists on the door.

I heard a shout and the sound of the chest rolling away from the wall. Without the key, Robinson had left the door unlocked and put the fixtures back in place over it.

Seconds later the door opened and Fred Mitchell looked in.

“Something I can do for you, Ms. Neverall?”

Everyone tried to talk at once.

I put my fingers in my mouth and whistled.

Several deputies and firemen covered their ears as the piercing sound echoed against the walls of the room.

Silence descended.

“He was part of it,” I said to the sheriff, pointing at Harry Hamilton. “And the other part was William Robinson. He hit Wade.” I gestured to my boyfriend—definitely my boyfriend—still lying on the floor.

A couple paramedics pushed through the knot of uniforms and knelt next to Wade.

“Careful,” I called. “He’s had a hard blow to the head, and he’s acting confused. I think he has a concussion.”

Mitchell fought back a grin. “Any other orders, Ms. Neverall?”

“Find Robinson,” I snapped. “He killed Gregory, and he tried to kill me.” I waved toward Hamilton, now standing between two of Mitchell’s deputies. “Ask him. He and Robinson are old pals. Mom’s dear neighbor knows all about it.

“And he was willing to have her go to jail for what he and Robinson did.”

Mitchell looked at Hamilton, who obligingly began babbling about how it was all Robinson’s fault. Mitchell stopped him and read him his rights, but it made no difference to Hamilton.

He was still blabbering as the deputies cuffed him and led him from the wine cellar.

A few minutes later the paramedics put Wade on a stretcher and took him out, too.

Mitchell looked at me and cocked an eyebrow. “I’m going to need a statement.” He sighed. “Come down to the station with me and let’s get this over with.”

I thought about asking him to let me drive myself, then thought better of it. I was going to need all the good will I could muster before I got to the end of my story.

At least he let me ride in the front seat.

It took a few weeks to sort everything out. Mom decided she didn’t want to move into Gregory’s house alone. Once the estate was probated she planned to sell it. In spite of what had happened, she was staying put in the house where she had lived since I was a little girl.

There was something comforting in knowing she would still be there. I suppose I should have felt some regret about not buying the house, but it was my mother’s house and she belonged there, not me. Living in that house was part of my past. It was time I looked to the future.

Robinson had been caught driving his own car, just a few miles away. Hamilton had been right, Robinson was high strung and impulsive. He’d left Gregory’s with an armload of rare wine, climbed in his car, and started driving. He was easy to find. The knife he used to kill Gregory was also easy to find—he’d left it in his trunk. The bloodstains were still on it along with his fingerprints.

With my exams completed—and successfully—I threw a party to celebrate, and invited everyone I knew.

Even my mother.

Mom showed up with a large box, which Fred Mitchell carried in from the car for her.

“This is from Gregory,” she said softly. She choked up a little, but blinked back the tears and continued, “It isn’t really worth a thousand dollars a bottle, but just for tonight, let’s pretend it is.”

We opened the wine and drank a toast to Gregory.

And to Mom’s freedom.

Wade’s arm was warm around my waist, holding me tight against him. Dr. Cox had given him an unconditional release earlier in the week, and the wine was only the beginning of what I expected might be a long night of celebration.

The dogs were learning to adjust to overnight guests.

These were my friends, and my family, the people who stood by me. Sue and Frank, Barry and Paula, my mother. Even Deputy Carruthers showed up briefly. He’d given me the name and number of his friend in Sandy but we both knew the ’Vette might be a lost cause.

I would miss my toy if it couldn’t be repaired, but the love I’d found in Pine Ridge would always be here.

Mom poured another round, and clapped her hands, demanding everyone’s attention. She thanked all of them, even Frank and Carruthers, for their help and support. The wink she gave the two lawmen displayed a sense of humor I hadn’t seen in many years.