Murder Melts in Your Mouth (18 page)

“It might be a little angina. Nothing serious.”

“Of course angina is serious! Where does it hurt?”

“My arm. My jaw.” He put one trembling hand on his chest. “And here.”

I pressed two tablets between his lips. As he chewed them, I seized his wrist and tried to find his pulse there. But I had no experience with such things and ended up holding his hand. I cursed myself for overestimating his health. I had mistaken his tan for vibrancy, I realized now.

I'd often thought of my father as Hepplewhite furniture—one of the many things for which he had a collector's appreciation. He was slim and graceful with considerable inner strength, but not enough strength to withstand a crushing weight. And lately, he'd been carrying a very heavy load. I liked to remember him the way he looked in the photograph I kept on a living room shelf. The camera had caught him winking, holding the bridle of a black horse with twelve-year-old Emma on its back—yet somehow my father had dominated the picture, not the animal or the pretty pixie in the saddle. His raffish expression, the elegance of his posture and the classic pullover and threadbare trousers looked more genuinely aristocratic than any Ralph Lauren stylist could dream up.

But now his eyes looked frightened.

I gentled my tone. “When did this start?”

“Two years ago. No, three.”

“Have you seen a doctor? Do you have some medication?”

“I left my nitroglycerin tablets on a boat last month.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “Your mother and I took a day cruise to see the remains of an island temple on Talikit. The boat was a lovely two-masted—”

“Talikit?” Tierney said. “That's a beautiful island.”

“Lovely,” Daddy agreed. “The cliffs, the turtles.”

Tierney's face darkened. “Who's taking tourists to Talikit? That island has a delicate ecosystem. If people start hiking all over it, they'll destroy the plants and kill off the turtles. Those are very rare turtles.”

“Let's focus on the pain,” I said. “You've had it before, Daddy? How bad is it now? Compared to the last time?”

He wagged his head back and forth. “So-so.”

I shook a handful of pills into my hand. “Here. Chew up a couple more. It should help. And I'll call for an ambulance.”

“Wait a minute,” Tierney said as I scrambled to my feet. “No ambulance.”

“Are you kidding?” I demanded. “We need help! He could be having a heart attack.”

“No ambulance,” Daddy said just as firmly, around a mouthful of aspirin.

“Don't be crazy! You need medical attention!”

Tierney eyed my father with suspicion. “He's faking.”

“How do you fake these symptoms?” I asked. “Look at him!”

Daddy said, “Muffin, I'd rather avoid contact with any kind of officials. It might put your mother and me in an awkward position.”

“Me, too,” Tierney said. “No ambulance. No police.”

“So what do you suggest?” I said to my father. “We should stand around watching while you have a heart attack?”

“No, of course not. The two of you go about your business. I'll just sit here quietly. But—another aspirin, please.”

This time he was too weak to chew the pill. I rested my hand on his forehead. His skin felt clammy to me, and I didn't like the gray color of his face. My own heart had begun to hammer in my chest.

“He'll be fine,” Tierney said, without sounding convinced.

Daddy nodded. “Sure. Fine. But maybe I could lie down for a minute?”

“That's it,” I snapped. “I'm calling 911.”

I crossed the kitchen to the phone, but Tierney kept the gun trained on my father. He said, “If you're faking, I could get very angry.”

“You don't really look like the angry type,” Daddy said.

I pressed 911 on the phone and spoke to the woman who answered my call. I described my father's condition succinctly and gave the address. She must have heard the edge of fear in my voice, because she spoke soothingly to me and asked me to stay on the line.

Behind me, Daddy was saying, “How do you know about those turtles?”

“I have a friend who studies them.”

“A friend? Is she pretty? From a nice family?”

“He's a he,” Tierney said. “A guy.”

Daddy looked surprised, then dismayed. “You're not a homosexual, are you?”

Tierney bristled. “He's just a friend. A grad student I met. We're not—I've had girlfriends, you know. Just not at the moment.”

“Nice girls? Anyone we might know?”

“Daddy,” I said, “we need to talk about your homophobia.”

“Ma'am?” the 911 operator said in my ear.

“Sorry,” I said to her. “There's a lot going on here.”

But Tierney swung the gun in my direction. “Hang up,” he said.

“I'm supposed to keep talking.” I pointed at the receiver.

“Ma'am?” the 911 operator said. “Is that the patient you're talking to?”

“No,” I said.

“Hang up,” Tierney said again.

“Ma'am, who else is there with you?”

Tierney put the gun to my father's head. Daddy's eyes widened.

I hung up the phone.

“They're coming,” I said to him. “The paramedics will be here soon. The fire station is just two miles down the road.”

“Okay,” Tierney said to me. “If help is on the way, then you're coming with me.”

“What?”

“What?” Daddy said. “Why?”

He was holding on to the edge of the table with both hands, trying to stay upright.

Even Tierney couldn't help seeing how desperately my father wanted to stay in command of himself. Tierney said, “I'm not going to drag you around. I'll talk to her instead.”

“No, don't,” my father protested. “She doesn't know anything that can help you.”

I said, “Yes. I do. Take me. Don't hurt anyone.”

To me, Tierney said, “Help him lie down someplace. Then we're out of here.”

I did as he ordered and helped Daddy into the living room. He stretched out on the leather sofa, one hand instinctively resting over his heart. I fussed with a cashmere throw, trying to put it across his legs, but Daddy pushed it aside. Toby put his forepaws up on the sofa and sniffed my father's face.

Tierney grabbed my elbow and pulled me to my feet. “Stop stalling,” he said. “Let's go.”

“He needs somebody with him. Let me get Rawlins. My nephew can—”

“The ambulance will be here in no time. We're out of here.”

Then Tierney pointed his gun at my father one last time. “Don't die, old man.”

Daddy tried to smile. “I'll try.”

I choked and found I couldn't say good-bye. Tierney wrestled me out of the room. I grabbed my handbag as he pulled me through the kitchen. We went out the back door, down the steps and across the lawn to the black sedan.

T
ierney put the gun in the pocket of the driver's-side door and made sure my seat belt was tightly fastened. He told me to put my handbag on the floor and my hands on my knees.

He started the car and a chipper female voice suddenly said from inside the dashboard, “Turn left.”

“What's that?”

Tierney sighed. “It's the damn navigation system on the car. I can't turn it off.”

“She sounds a little like Goldie Hawn. Without the giggle.”

Helpfully, the voice said, “At the next opportunity, turn left.”

“Shut up, Goldie,” Tierney said.

“Where's she trying to take you?”

“I don't know. They used my passport when I rented the car. Maybe she's trying to get me back to South America.”

He drove down the driveway and turned right onto the highway.

Goldie spoke up again, sounding disappointed. “You've made an error. I'm recalculating your route.”

Tierney muttered, “Don't do me any favors.”

We'd gone only a few hundred yards before the ambulance came toward us and flashed by.

I sat stiffly in the seat, trying to imagine what was happening at my house. Trying to imagine life without my father. He'd abandoned us more than a few times in our lives, but somehow he'd never truly left us. There was a difference now. I peered into the side mirror, but the red light on the ambulance had disappeared in the darkness behind us.

Tierney glanced at me. “He'll be fine.”

“No thanks to you.” I felt a flood of anger inside. “If he dies, it will be your fault.”

Shaking his head, Tierney said, “If he's stayed alive this long in your daffy family, he's tougher than he looks.”

“Turn left,” said Goldie.

“What did you want from my father?” I asked. “What's all this about in the first place?”

“I need to know some things.”

“About what?”

“Hoyt Cavendish's death.”

“I think you know enough already,” I said. “Didn't you kill him?”

Tierney sent me a squinting glance. “That's what the police think, isn't it?”

“They're looking for you. Dozens of people must have seen you at the Paine offices before you ran away. And you had a reason to kill your own father, didn't you? Because he wouldn't give you enough money for Amazon Chocolate.”

“How the hell do you know about that?”

“It wasn't hard to figure it out,” I said tartly. “And the police are way ahead of me.”

“What are you? Some kind of private detective?”

“No, just a friend of Lexie Paine. Because of you, she spent last night and today going through hell.”

“If you really thought I murdered him,” he said, “you'd be more scared than you are.”

I contemplated that truth. I wasn't afraid of Tierney. Not really. Now that the gun was out of sight, I was more angry than frightened. “I'm worried about my father,” I said finally. “You could have two murders on your hands, buster.”

He made a snorting sound.

“And you've put Lexie through a terrible ordeal,” I said. “She wouldn't hurt anyone, let alone a partner in her firm, a man she's known all her life—”

“A man who's going to bring down her business? Ruin her reputation? Make it impossible for her to work in her chosen field for the rest of her life? And he punched a hole in her painting, too.”

I turned in the seat to look at him. “You were there when that happened?”

“I had just arrived. The woman at the reception desk said he was in a meeting. So I waited.”

“For how long?”

“Less than a minute. I didn't even have time to sit down before all hell broke loose. I went to the doorway in time to see Hoyt and Lexie Paine arguing. I saw him hit the painting.”

“Then what?”

“Then your friend shut the door, and they started shouting at each other.”

“Did either of them see you there?”

“No, but the receptionist knew I was in the office. Several more people were milling around. A woman in a wheelchair, for instance. I guess one of them could have told the police I was there.”

Trying to imagine the melee, I asked, “Did you see Chad Zanzibar?”

“Who?”

“An actor. He played an elf in that big movie that came out last Christmas.”

“I haven't seen a movie in years. There was a short, rude kid hanging around the reception area, though. I don't know what happened to him when things started popping.”

So Chad had been in the Paine Building before Hoyt died.

I asked, “Why did you run away?”

“I didn't run away,” he snapped. “Lexie came out of the office saying Hoyt had fallen or—I forget her exact words. I ran into her office and out onto the balcony. I saw Hoyt on the—I saw him, that's all. I wanted to help. I ran downstairs to see if he—if—look, I wasn't trying to run away.”

My first instinct had been right, I realized. While Crewe assumed Tierney had been trying to make his escape, I thought he had run down the stairs to reach his father.

“Why didn't you take the elevator?” I asked.

“A bunch of old ladies blocked my way. I figured I could make it faster on the stairs.”

I thought about a frantic son trying to reach his father, unsure if he was alive or dead. Hoping he was okay, despite the odds of surviving such a long fall. Fearing he was gone forever.

Unconsciously, I glanced at my watch. I touched it nervously.

Tierney saw my gesture.

“Call your house,” he said finally. “You have a cell phone, right? The paramedics are there by now. Call and find out how your dad's doing.”

I grabbed my cell phone and punched my home number. The phone rang and rang before someone finally picked up. I heard Lucy's small voice. Thank heavens someone had found the key and released everyone from the scullery.

“Luce? It's Aunt Nora.”

“Oh, hi,” she said, sounding as calm as if I had interrupted her watching an episode of
Blue's Clues.

“Lucy, is Rawlins there? Can you put him on the phone?”

“He's helping Grandpa,” she said. “They're all helping Grandpa.”

“Is he okay? Is Grandpa awake?”

“Yes,” she said. “He wants everybody to stop yelling. But he's yelling, too. He doesn't want to go to a hospital.”

I gripped the phone with both hands to stop myself from dropping it from the relief. “But are they taking him to the hospital, Luce?”

“Maybe,” she said. “One ambulance man is talking to Grandpa about it, but the other man is talking to the twins. They want to shock somebody with the electric box.”

“Did they use the electric box on Grandpa?”

“No, Aunt Nora. But the twins want to see how it works. I think they're going to steal it.”

“Don't let them steal the defibrillator, Lucy. The nice ambulance men need it to help other people.”

“Okay. Can I have some candy, Aunt Nora? Grandma says she found your secret stash and we can have it if we're good. I've been good, right?”

“Very good, Lucy, thank you.”

Tierney said, “Hang up.”

“Gotta go, Luce. Bye!”

But she had already disconnected, hot on the trail of my emergency chocolate.

I closed my cell phone. My hands were shaking. To Tierney, I said, “Thank you.”

“He's okay?”

“He's being taken care of, that's all I know.”

“But he's conscious?”

“Conscious and arguing with the paramedics.”

“Good.”

“Don't sound so happy. If you hadn't upset him, he'd be fine right now.” I put the cell phone back into my bag. “I don't plan on forgiving you for this. What did you want from him, anyway? Why on earth did you take my family hostage?”

“That wasn't the plan. They all ganged up on me.”

“What was the plan?”

“To talk. To get some answers.”

“With a gun? Those must have been some monstrous questions.”

“I wasn't exactly thinking straight. I haven't slept since—God, I don't even know. Not in a long time.” He glared at the road ahead.

“Then you're still not thinking straight. Let me go, and you can—”

“Forget it,” he said. “I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

“Why not? What can I possibly do to harm you?”

He shook his head stubbornly. “I need to think. I need time to figure out what's going on. You're going to have to help.”

“Okay,” I said. “I'll help. I give you my word. But you need some sleep. And I want that gun out of this car. Once the gun is gone—”

“No,” he said. “I've got a better idea.”

In my bag, my cell phone began to ring. I slipped it out and checked the screen. Michael's new numbers gleamed up at me.

Irritated, Tierney said, “Hand over that thing.”

I gave him the phone. He rolled down the window. I cried, “Don't throw it away. Please, don't. It has all my numbers from work, and my job's already in jeopardy. Please don't get me fired.”

Taking pity on me, he rolled up the window. He shut off the phone and put it in the cup holder between us.

“Turn left,” said Goldie, sounding happy again.

For once, he obeyed. Tierney drove over the bridge into New Jersey. He seemed to know where he was going. We went through a series of small towns, and I saw signs for Princeton before we arrived at the entrance of a drive-in theater. I could see the flicker of the movie through the trees.

Tierney surprised me by pulling into the ticket booth. As he rolled down the car window, he said to me, “Keep your mouth shut, or I'll give you a lot of reasons to be scared, got it?”

I said nothing as the woman opened the ticket window and leaned her elbow on the sill. A cloud of cigarette smoke billowed out into the warm evening air. In a voice like a rusty hinge, she said, “Movie started half an hour ago.”

“Double feature?” Tierney asked.

“Triple.” She burst into a fit of coughing. Unable to speak, she pointed at a sign that read,
TEN DOLLERS PER CARLODE
.

Tierney pulled his wallet from his hip pocket and passed her a ten-dollar bill. Still coughing, she waved us through the gate, past a sign that said,
TURN OFF YOUR HEADLITES
.

The drive-in parking lot was full of station wagons and pickup trucks parked backward so families could sit in folding chairs facing the big screen. Tierney drove past a concession stand pumping out smells of fried food and popcorn. On our right, a dozen children played on a swing set in the dark.

Tierney chose the back row, where only a few cars were parked—each one positioned a distance from the next car to provide a certain amount of privacy. I could see no people sitting in the cars. Then I realized they probably weren't sitting.

Tierney shut off the car and unfastened his seat belt. He retrieved the gun from the door pocket and slid it into his belt. Then he released my seat belt and said, “Get out of the car.”

“Why? What are we doing?”

“Get out of the car.”

He exited his side, came around the car and pulled me out of the passenger seat. He closed my door and opened the door to the backseat. “Get in.”

“What do you—”

He grabbed my wrist and pulled. “Just get in.”

I obeyed, but my heartbeat had already accelerated. When he climbed into the backseat with me and slammed the door, though, I panicked and scrambled to get out the other side. Tierney seized my arm, preventing my escape.

“Settle down,” he snapped. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“I don't want to do this,” I said, quaking. “I don't know you, I don't like you, I don't—”

“Shut up,” he said.

Suddenly we were wrestling. I didn't have enough room to kick him, but I made a lunge for the gun in his belt. He batted my hand away, but I managed to punch him in the chest, and he recoiled with a grunt. I yelped when he yanked my arm, so he clamped his other hand over my mouth. I bit him, but he hung on. He was stronger than I was, and soon he had spun me around with one arm twisted behind my back. I struggled with all my strength, determined to fight him every inch of the way. I kicked at the door, hoping to break the window.

“Stop it,” he said, breathless in my ear. He twisted my arm until I cried out in pain and froze. I could feel the tense power of his body as he pinned me against himself.