Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [124]
No wonder Gabe and his detectives had a hard time figuring this one out. It seemed too fantastic that three of the suspects would be in on it together and that one of them hadn’t broken under questioning. Then again, I thought about what Gabe said last night—that he was close to charging someone. Which one? That certainly seemed irrelevant to me right now. There was one last puzzle piece, though. If I was going to die, I wanted to know the whole story.
“How did Nora find out?” I asked Jillian. I couldn’t imagine her murdering her philandering husband being something she would casually talk about over drinks.
Her carmine-red mouth pulled back in an irritated scowl. “It’s so ridiculous I hate admitting it. Then again, you’ll never tell anyone, will you? Plain and simple, she saw me. Apparently she liked wandering Central Park late at night. I’d timed it so that I’d avoid the regular police patrol, but I didn’t count on our little Nora skulking through the woods that late at night like a crazy woman. She didn’t even tell me at first. I guess knowing people’s secrets made her feel powerful. She told me she was just waiting for the right time and she decided the storyteller festival was it. Now, enough of this. We have to get this taken care of so I can go home. I’m exhausted.”
I glanced over at Dolores. Her face was frozen in fear. Please, I communicated to her mentally, don’t let me down.
“Untie her legs, Dolores,” Ash said. “I’m not carrying her deadweight up those stairs. I pulled my back out playing squash last week and I don’t plan on aggravating it more.”
Dolores stooped down and undid my legs. An idea started to form. “Go ahead of me,” I whispered. She gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Quit talking,” Jillian snapped. “Now get up.”
I struggled up, my knees popping, barely able to stand because of the numbness in my feet. “I don’t know if I can make it up the stairs,” I said.
“Shut up and start walking,” Ash said.
Dolores scooted ahead of me. “I have to use the bathroom,” she said. “I’m going to be sick.”
Good going, I thought.
I saw Ash give Jillian a significant glance that told me something I had guessed in the last few minutes. Dolores wasn’t going to come out of this alive either. I would bet they’d try to make it look like she had killed Nora, then me, and then committed suicide. It was a plot straight out of a soap opera. And it was corny enough to work. I hoped Dolores realized it was her life she was fighting for, too.
Ash pushed me ahead of him, and Jillian followed behind us, still holding the gun. My opportunity came when I reached the top step. I dragged my toe across the top of the step and purposely stumbled. Ash grabbed my upper arm, squeezing it painfully. “Watch it,” he snapped.
“Sorry,” I said, catching onto the wall with my bound hands. “Numb feet.”
Then, taking a deep breath, I turned and with the flat of my foot shoved him in the crotch. Thrown off balance, he yelped in surprise and, arms flailing, fell backward against Jillian. Her scream merged with his as they tumbled down the long, concrete stairs. I reached over, flipped off the light, and slammed the basement door shut.
“What should I do?” Dolores cried.
“Does this door lock?”
“Only from the inside.”
I glanced quickly around and spotted a tall file cabinet next to the door.
“Help me,” I told her. We rocked the full cabinet until it fell in front of the door. It would keep them down there temporarily anyway.
“What now?” she asked.
I pointed to the bright red fire alarm on the wall. “Pull it,” I said. After she did, I said with a deep sigh, “Now we go outside and wait.”
With her helping me, we stumbled our way around to the front of the building. By the time we got to the front of the library, and she had managed to untie my wrists, the first fire truck arrived. The siren cut through my aching head like a freshly sharpened knife, but it was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.
“What’s going on?” a firefighter,