Chapter 41
CHAPTER 41
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 25
I was back in the basement with the dead body on one side of me and Mary on the other. It was well after midnight. The start of a new day whose dawn I feared I’d never see. Although Mary and I each had our wrists bound behind our backs, Tim hadn’t gagged me this time. He’d even removed the cloth from my neighbor’s mouth.
It was incredibly dark, and I didn’t hear police sirens arriving. Damn Jane Brockton. I’d been a fool to think she’d help me. The police weren’t on their way to us. Nobody was. My eyes darted around the dank enclosed space, seeing very little, yet something about the basement itself wasn’t making sense to me. My mind was such a jumbled mess by now that I wasn’t surprised. My whole body ached, and I was exhausted. I heard Mary breathing heavily beside me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to her.
“Yes, she’s sorry she’s such a nutjob,” sneered Tim, turning on his flashlight and pointing it from Mary’s eyes to mine and back again. “And I’m sorry you’re such an interfering old lush. You should have let me get the info I needed out of you the old-fashioned way. I’d have let you drink to your heart’s content, and as soon as you returned the financial records you stole from me, I had even bigger plans for you, involving a handle of vodka.”
“Those are Caroline’s financial records I stole, not yours.”
“Or yours,” he snapped. “I need to know where that paperwork is, and you’re going to tell me, or I promise to make things very painful for you.”
“That’s why you kept sneaking into Caroline’s house? To get your hands on the documents from her mother’s estate?”
“The ones with Lilith’s authentic signatures, which couldn’t be contested in a court of law,” said Tim.
Mary cackled. “Took you long enough to figure out I had them. I thought you were smarter than that.” In the flashlight’s glow I could make out Mary grinning as she eyed my husband, whose brows had lowered menacingly over his eyes. He looked awful, as though he’d sweat buckets.
“So, you did steal my inheritance.” I piped up to take Tim’s rancor off Mary. My voice sounded weary. The man never missed an opportunity to disappoint me. “How predictable.”
“The problem with you, Caroline, is that you’re so damned unpredictable. I can never guess what you’ll do next. The best place for you was at the institute. Since you had no money, you’d have become a ward of the state.”
“Just stop talking, Tim. I don’t care about what you have to say.” Something was steadily creeping over me. Something like hopelessness. I glanced at the slight, still body slumped next to me. I’d finally found the woman I’d seen in the window. Staring at the dark cascade of hair covering her face, I recalled how graceful she’d looked dancing with Matt. “This poor woman. How could you just kill her?”
“I haven’t done that, but I should.” Tim kicked out, the toe of his shoe connecting with the woman’s shin. She was jolted awake, a muffled moan escaping through the gag still in her mouth.
I flinched, gasping as I jerked toward Mary and inched sideways until I was nearly in my neighbor’s lap. What the hell was going on? Unable to take my eyes off the woman, it suddenly occurred to me what hadn’t seemed right about the basement: there was no stench of death surrounding what I’d assumed was a corpse stashed down there for weeks.
Tim reached out and removed the cloth from her mouth. She flinched and jerked her chin toward the shadowy wall when Tim angled his light on her torso, revealing a dark fleece pullover with the splashy Patagonia insignia plastered onto the front. His light trailed to shiny black leggings and black Balenciaga running shoes, which had to have set her back a couple grand. I’d seen the Housewives wearing those. My initial relief that she’d not been fatally wounded morphed into confusion when she whipped her face in my direction and looked at me; features I’d seen for the first time just hours before. Annie Connolly.
“You’re not her,” I said, hearing the wonder in my own voice. “Not the woman I saw in the window. You’re the lawyer dating Tim... and Jeffrey Trembly?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” We locked eyes in the flashlight’s ambient light, a mixture of defiance and fear in hers.
“Yes, you do, Annie,” snarled Tim. “We had it all set up until you ruined everything—and with some moron who barely supports himself by reporting on the things everyone else in the world is doing.” He spotlighted Annie’s face in his light beam. “Caroline, meet the bitch who embezzled our funds.” He angled the light into my eyes. “Annie, meet crazy.”
She didn’t acknowledge the introduction. To Tim, she said, “How did you find me?”
“Just followed my nutty wife. I didn’t know what she was up to, but I was pleasantly surprised to discover she now fancies herself a private detective. She led me right to the house you were hiding in.”
“I owe you nothing, Tim. I simply investigated ways for you to get your hands on your wife’s money. I acted in good faith when Caroline here”—she angled her head my way—“entered the cuckoo factory.”
“I saw the swanky furniture in Tim’s apartment,” I said, unable to stop myself. What was I doing? The last thing I wanted to do was to support Tim in any way, shape, or form.
“I’d sold my house when Ray and I decided to separate. I needed somewhere to put my belongings. That was my only mistake. When I returned to Tim’s for my stuff, he showed up, beat the crap out of me, and called the movers, telling them not to come over.”
“I was at work,” Tim pointed out. “You were being sneaky, collecting your furniture, and changing your phone number—not to mention taking my money.”
My money , I thought angrily.
“Reach into my pocket,” Mary whispered in my ear. I leaned slightly forward, giving myself room for my bound hands to reach behind me, the pads of my fingers connecting with the soft weave of her ever-present oatmeal sweater. I felt along the seam of a pocket and plunged my fingers inside it, the pointer and middle finger of my right hand curling around a cool, hard object. As I pulled it out of her pocket, the tip of the object pierced the fleshy pad of my thumb. Sinking my teeth into my lower lip to keep from gasping in pain, I knew exactly what I was holding: a travel-sized bottle opener and corkscrew combo. The kind liquor stores give loyal patrons during the holiday season. Of course Mary would have one on her person at all times. She’d carry one as faithfully as an asthmatic toted an inhaler.
“I ended up in the ER, thanks to your fists,” complained Annie.
“Consider yourself lucky,” said Tim. “You could have ended up dead.”
I grimaced in concentration, carefully wedging the tip of the corkscrew into the center of the knot binding my hands. The “Bickersons” were too distracted with each other to pay much attention to me. I rocked the metal implement back and forth, loosening the knotted rope until it slid off my wrists. Mary’s shoulder bumped up against me encouragingly. I had to keep them talking while I devised a way to overpower Tim.
“There was another woman in your house, Annie. I thought she was you,” I said.
“Caroline likes to spy on people,” provided Tim. “Just another of her endearing qualities.”
I wanted to kick him in the teeth. Wipe the smug smile right off his lips.
“Ava Hansen,” said Annie, clearly ignoring Tim. “She and her husband, Tyler, are working with the realtors. Their company does small repairs, maintenance, and house staging. My ex-husband is a bodybuilder. He did some structural damage to the floors and walls with his weights.”
“Ava Hansen,” I repeated. Melanie’s real name was Ava. And Matt was called Tyler. Why did the name Ava Hansen sound familiar? I knew I’d heard it before. I squeezed my eyes shut, concentrating, vaguely aware of Mary saying something to Annie. Ava Hansen. Such a pretty name . It came to me: the newspaper article—the blurb about the missing woman with a name far too lovely to be mixed up in the ugliness of a disappearance. Her family was looking for her. Was that the first time I’d heard her beautiful name? It was, right? Then why was I picturing a newspaper clipping of a woman with stunningly gorgeous features?
“This isn’t happy hour at the bar down the street,” barked Tim. “Keep your traps shut before I gag you all again.”
“What are you gonna do with us?” asked Mary, sounding more curious than afraid.
I glanced sideways at her, hoping she’d stop talking. She wouldn’t hold up to a beating the way Annie had. And time was running out. Tim was going to get rid of us.
As if to confirm my thoughts, Tim reached out and pulled Annie upward. “On your feet,” he commanded, placing the flashlight on a nearby shelf next to what appeared to be paint cans. The light beam shot into the corner of the basement, casting deep shadows around us. The feeble light stream didn’t give off enough illumination to draw attention to our activity in the basement. Nobody standing outside would notice anything amiss (not that anyone would be out walking in the wee hours of the morning—I seemed to have cornered the market on that action), but it appeared to be bright enough for whatever Tim had planned. He reached behind his back and pulled something out of his waistband. The small revolver that rested in his palm appeared like a trick of the light. A sleight of hand a magician uses to produce a floral bouquet from a pocket or pull the proverbial rabbit out of a hat. Annie straightened. Sheer willpower must have been the only thing keeping her standing.
“Whatcha gonna do with that, kill us?” asked Mary conversationally. I looked at her again. Was she trying to get herself shot? I jabbed her with my left elbow, hoping to nudge her into silence just as I realized why she wasn’t afraid: not only was I untied but I also had a weapon in my hand.
“I don’t kill people, Mary,” said Tim, sounding calm and unaffected by the fact that he was holding the three of us against our will. “But I won’t stop you from killing each other.” He crossed the basement and stood in front of Mary and me. I flinched at his nearness. Still clutching the gun in his right hand, he reached down and clawed at Mary, catching her by one arm and yanking her up. “Stand right there,” he ordered, pressing her back against the stone wall.
I stared at him, trying to read his expression in the dim light. He looked determined. My stomach cartwheeled, landing somewhere near my bowels. The only thing I could do was distract him—jump up and race toward him as he took aim, using the element of surprise—and my makeshift weapon—to my advantage. It was a half-assed plan, but I couldn’t formulate a better one amid my panic.
“What happened to Matt?” A shout into the quiet basement. With shock, I realized it had come out of me.
Tim paused, looked at me. “Who?”
“Umm, Tyler Hansen?” That’s what Annie had called him, right? “I saw him running by the lake with... someone else. Was it you?”
“Don’t worry about Tyler Hansen, he’s with his wife now.”
“What?” My heart crashed painfully into my breastbone. Tyler reunited with a possibly dead Ava couldn’t be good. “What are you saying?”
Tim crossed back over to Annie and took up a spot directly behind her. “The guy fell into the pond, and, as luck would have it, he couldn’t swim.” He quickly untied Annie’s wrists.
I thought about how sweaty Tim looked. He wasn’t coated in perspiration, but pond water.
“Of course I tried to help him. I’m not a killer like you, Caroline.” He sighed dramatically. He was enjoying his own performance. “Sadly, I couldn’t save him.”
I gasped, but as Tim raised the gun, my breath caught in my throat.
He reached his arms around Annie from behind, as if going in for a bear hug. He placed the gun in her right hand. “Grip this as tight as you can,” he ordered as he slid both hands onto Annie’s forearm and positioned it like a mannequin’s. The gun barrel was pointed at Mary. Raising his voice, presumably so it would be heard by the octogenarian, he yelled, “Are you going to tell me where you hid those documents, Mary?”
For once, Mary remained silent. I didn’t know which expression she’d plastered on her face because my gaze was glued to Tim and Annie, and the gun in the latter’s trembling hand.
“Nothing to tell me?” Tim sighed again, keeping his hands on Annie’s arm. “Okay, have it your way, old lady.” He pressed his lips to Annie’s ear. “Shoot her in the shoulder.”
“I can’t,” Annie warbled, as though speaking around a mouthful of marbles. Her hand shook so violently that I feared she was having a seizure.
Now was the moment. I had to spring on them and grab the gun, using my corkscrew if I had to. Heart hammering so hard I could barely breathe and panic clouding my vision, I launched my body up and out into the darkness, arms stretched toward the shaking gun. I smashed into the pair, our forearms clashing against each other like swords. I plunged my makeshift weapon into what I hoped was Tim’s limb as a blast of noise and flash of light lit up the basement, sending everything into slow motion. For a split second, I was floating in complete silence. Until the noises erupted full-force all around me: Tim yelping, Annie screaming, and a heartrending cry from across the room. Smoke filled the air and something hot and heavy pressed against my palm.
The gun, handed off by Annie.
I curled my fingers around it, yanked my hand up as I stood, and stumbled backward, not stopping until my shoulder blades and back hit the stone wall. My hand was now shaking as hard as Annie’s had been. Tim was on the ground, Annie on top of him. Shoving her off, he got to his feet just as I stepped forward, widened my stance, making sure the revolver—secured with both hands—was aimed at him.
“Don’t come any closer,” I ordered.
“Shit, Caroline, did you stab me with something?” Tim looked down at his arm.
“Raise your hands,” I yelled to hear my voice above the pounding in my brain. I cocked the gun.
Tim halted and raised his hands above his head. “I was never going to hurt you. You know that, right?” He took a step closer. “It was these two. They have no right to be in our business.”
“So you were going to do what, just kill them?”
“No, I keep telling you I’m not a killer. Annie shot Mary, not me.” He inched closer. I wanted to look at my neighbor, my friend, to ensure she was okay, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off Tim, who was lowering his hands. “You saw that yourself, Carrie.”
Carrie . Tim hadn’t called me by that nickname in years. I gritted my teeth. “Don’t gaslight me, Tim. It won’t work this time. You ordered Mary shot because she’s in the way, isn’t she? She’s keeping you from what you want: my mother’s money. And Annie turned on you. Even worse, she tricked you, making you believe she cared when all she wanted was the cash.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed. Exaggerated by the shadows cast by the flashlight to his side, his face looked like the embodiment of evil. Why had it taken me so long to realize how dangerous he was? He’d stop at nothing to get his hands on my mother’s estate.
What I didn’t understand was what he had against Ava and Tyler Hansen, but I suddenly needed to know how deep his depravity went. “Why would you let Tyler Hansen die in the pond? What did the guy ever do to you?”
“That was out of my hands. I jumped in after him and tried to save him. More than you did for Muzzy’s child, I might add.”
Shame washed over me. The gun wavered in my hands. Don’t listen to him, he’s trying to trip you up. Again.
“You can see how wet I am, Caroline.” He held his hands out and rocked back and forth as if modeling for my inspection.
“What about Tyler’s wife, Ava? The poor woman had her throat slit open.”
“I was too late to save her too.” He inched closer.
“So you admit to being there when she was all... bloody?” I remembered Tim’s car parked just yards away from the Pine Hill house that night.
“Yeah, I was there. I was looking for Annie when I came across both you and Ava.”
“But why?” I asked, feeling the beginning of tears stinging the back of my eyes. “Why did you have to kill Ava?”
“I didn’t kill her, Caroline.” His eyes held mine. “I was only there to clean up.”
“Clean up? What does that mean?” I shook my head. “Clean up after what?”
“Not what, but who.” He spoke very clearly. “I had to clean up your mess.”
“My mess? What did I do?”
“You killed Ava, Caroline.”