Caught in a Bind Read online

  Joey walked across the showroom with me dangling at his side like Raggedy Ann. He dropped me unceremoniously in a heap beside the showcase where Mike was waiting.

  “It worked, Mike. Dumb woman thought I’d left the showroom just like we knew she would.” He sneered down at me. “She was so easy.”

  Joey was obnoxious even when he wasn’t filled with overweening pride, but I found him particularly repulsive at that moment. I pushed myself to my knees, refusing to lie at his feet like an overcome Victorian maiden. My head ached fiercely, but I wasn’t going to go gently into that good night. No, sir, I was not.

  Mike looked down at me with disdain. “She’s yours, Joey. Kill her. Just don’t put her in my car. I don’t want the cleanup bill.”

  They both laughed at Mike’s clever repartee while I dragged myself to my feet by holding on to the shelves of the showcase.

  “And, Joey.” Mike’s voice became steely, reminding both Joey and me that he was the man in charge. “I don’t want any possible connection to the dealership.”

  Joey nodded. “Not to worry, Mikey. Not to worry.”

  I stood, swaying gently. My hand closed around the roof of one of the toy cast-iron cars as I grabbed for a handhold to keep from falling. My shoulders slumped and my head hung.

  “Get rid of her,” Mike ordered again and turned his back, his contempt for me written boldly in every line of his body.

  Joey was grinning broadly at what easy prey I was when I swung the cast-iron toy clasped in my hand full at him. The collision with the side of his head startled and rocked both of us. Shards of pain raced up my arm and across my shoulder, but Joey fared worse. His eyes went vacant and he slid silently to the floor, unconscious.

  Mike turned at the sound of the blow, and I felt a thrill of satisfaction at the disbelieving expression on his face. Then his eyes narrowed, and I felt a jolt of fear.

  OhLordohLordohLordohLord!

  I turned and raced for the door. I pushed it open and ran into the parking lot, his footfalls pounding behind me. I sped toward the street and the traffic with the drivers and the passengers who would be there to save me.

  But there was no traffic. Not one single car. Where was a traffic jam when you needed one?

  I knew I couldn’t outrun Mike. After all, I had on dress shoes and my legs were much shorter than his. But I ran for all I was worth as my side began cramping and my lungs filled with fire.

  What if he has a gun?

  That thought ratcheted up my panic several notches. I tried to judge how close behind me he was, to hear his footsteps slapping the street, but I was breathing so harshly that I could hear nothing. I fought the urge to glance back, knowing it would only slow me down and frighten me further.

  When I heard a car, I wanted to sing with relief. I turned and stood, waving my hands and shouting, “Help! Help!”

  My relief turned to terror when I realized that the car was driving full speed straight at me. I raced for the side of the road and the great sycamore that stood there, desperate for its protection. I dived behind it, my pulse pounding, my blood thundering in my ears. I screamed as the car roared past, inches from the bole of the tree, inches from me.

  My hands ground painfully across the gravel at the base of the tree until I slid to a halt, spitting dirt. My knees fared no better, but I didn’t care. He’d missed me!

  As I lay there gasping and thanking God I was still alive, a deep rending noise sent up gooseflesh all over my body. Mike had missed me and the sycamore, but he hadn’t been able to avoid a large rock just beyond. He had driven right over it, and it had promptly ripped the undercarriage of the car to shreds.

  I pushed myself unsteadily to my feet and stood weaving as I waited to see if the car burst into flames or self-destructed in some other way. Nothing happened, unless you count a swearing and apparently uninjured Mike climbing from the ruined car. He balanced himself against the side of the car and began searching the darkness for me.

  As I began to run again, my goal was the shopping mall down the road. People and safety! I heard Mike’s footfalls pounding behind me.

  OhLordohLordohLordohLord!

  After a seeming eternity I dashed down the grassy swale that separated the road from the mall parking lot. The bright lights of the stores beckoned to me, offering hope and protection. I ran straight toward them.

  I risked a glance over my shoulder and screamed. Mike was mere feet behind me. I swerved suddenly, running between two parked cars. I heard Mike slap one of the cars as he attempted to make the same abrupt turn I had.

  I danced around an abandoned shopping cart, then stopped. I whirled, grabbed the cart and shoved with all my might. It careened down the narrow alley between the cars right into Mike, catching him in the stomach. He and it tangled and fell as I raced away.

  Directly ahead was Chester County Best Books, its lights ablaze, and I could see a clerk at the sales counter. I raced the last few yards with my skin twitching in expectation of a hand falling heavily on my shoulder. I yanked open the store door and raced inside, so out of breath I could barely speak.

  “Help!” I managed between gasps as I all but fell onto the sales counter. “Call the police! Help me!”

  The clerk, a middle-aged woman with a soft jawline and wary brown eyes, stared at me.

  “Police! Please,” I begged as I glanced over my shoulder. I gave a little scream. Mike was standing on the sidewalk just outside the store, staring at me through the great storefront window, his expression a mixture of malevolence and uncertainty. I bolted instinctively, dodging between bookshelves until I got as far from the front of the store as I could. I ended up in the last aisle, crouching in Inspirational/Religion. There was no one there except me.

  Help me think clearly, Lord. You said that if I walked through the flood, You would be there and the waters wouldn’t overwhelm me. You said that if I went through the fire, You’d protect me. Well, I’m pretty wet, and the flame’s awfully close! Be with me now.

  Feeling much calmer, I moved to the end of my aisle and peeked out. I couldn’t see Mike, and I didn’t think he’d followed me into the store. Now that I was reasoning instead of reacting, I knew he wouldn’t dare come in. Too many people, too much light. I was safe as long as I stayed here.

  I took a deep breath and walked purposefully toward the front of the store with its lights and customers. I reached the counter just as the salesclerk replaced the phone in its cradle. “The police?” I asked.

  She nodded and looked at me cautiously. I couldn’t begin to imagine how I must look to her, all torn hose and desperate eyes.

  “Thanks.” I smiled and hoped I looked saner than I had a few minutes ago when I’d rushed in screaming.

  “They said they’d be here as soon as they could, and you should remain in the store until they got here.” She folded her hands on the counter in front of her.

  “Thank you.” I held out a hand to shake hers and saw for the first time the scrapes and cuts on my palms, the blood and broken nails. I was stunned. I hadn’t realized I’d been injured. Also for the first time, I became aware of the burning pain.

  I glanced down my body and grimaced at my dress, dirty and wrinkled, a trip to the dry cleaners its only salvation if I discounted the three-corner tear near the hem. I stared silently at the ruins of my hose and the bloody abrasions on my knees which had suddenly begun hurting too. My ankle, swollen and bruised, throbbed where I had kicked myself as I’d tried to get away from Joey.

  But I was alive, safe here in the store, and I had a story that would jolt Amhearst. Hands, knees and ankles would heal, and compared to what Tom Whatley had been through, my plight was nothing.

  I was smiling at how fortunate I’d been when it suddenly occurred to me that standing here in front of huge plate-glass windows was not the wisest thing I could do. Mike stood to lose both his legitimate business and his illegitimate one, his reputation and his much-loved cars, both big and little, when I told my tale. In exchange he�
�d gain an orange jumpsuit with a number stenciled on its back and a compact little room without a seat on its toilet.

  That might well be enough to drive a man to shoot.

  A large support pillar reaching from floor to ceiling stood nearby. After an apprehensive glance out the front window, I quickly moved behind it. The sales clerk watched me much like an animal trainer might watch an escaped lion. “I’m going to get you a damp cloth and some Bactine.”

  I smiled my thanks and leaned against the pillar.

  “Come on, William! I know who shot him and why.”

  EIGHTEEN

  When the police arrived at Hamblin Motors, they found Joey sitting on the showroom floor holding his head. He was sent to the hospital where they determined he had a concussion. Tomorrow morning he would be on his way to jail.

  “You did good, Merry,” William told me. “Real good.”

  “Thanks,” I said wearily. “Can I please go to Curt’s showing? I need to be there for him. If you need to talk to me more, you can do it later, can’t you?”

  “You might want to stop home first to change.”

  “William, are you telling me I don’t look lovely?”

  “Uh.” He thought for a moment. “Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

  I gave a little laugh. “An honest cop, just when you don’t want one.” I patted his arm. “Thanks for the offer, but there’s not time. I’ve got to go as I am, or it’ll be over before I even get there.”

  I almost fell asleep as Jeb Lammey drove me to Intimations because I was without a car again. When the dealership became a crime scene, my rental was included. Mr. Hamish would love it.

  “Remember, Merry,” Jeb cautioned as I climbed out of the patrol car. “No dark alleys. But don’t worry. We’ll catch him in no time.”

  He pulled away, and I walked toward the gallery. I had almost reached the door when an arm slid around my waist and a desperate voice hissed in my ear, “Don’t make a sound or I’ll hurt someone.”

  Even as I tensed, a smart-mouthed response echoed inside my head: “Hmm, I wonder who that would be.”

  Oh, Lord, it’s fire and flood time again. Protect me!

  “Don’t do this, Mike.” I twisted to look over my shoulder at him, thinking that looking him in the eye might make killing me harder for him. “You don’t want to be tried for murder. Drug trafficking is bad enough.”

  He made a sound that could have meant anything.

  “It’s over, Mike. Joey’s in custody, and you know as well as I do that he’ll say anything to try and get off. Turn yourself in. Tell your side of things. Make it easier for yourself.”

  “Shut up! Don’t tell me what to do.” His voice shook, and he refused to look at me. “I’ve got a gun in your back.” He poked me to be certain I felt it. I did. “Move! Into the alley over there.”

  “Over there?” I asked, pointing.

  “Yes.” He released the pressure around my waist and gestured with the gun.

  Instead I turned to face him full on.

  “Move,” Mike ordered again.

  “No. I’m not going with you.” I folded my arms and stared at him.

  He blinked and raised the gun.

  I squared my shoulders and continued to eye him defiantly. “If you want to shoot me, you’re going to have to do it here where all the people in Intimations will hear and come running and with me looking straight at you.”

  Mike waved the gun in my face. “I mean it when I say I’ll kill you.”

  “Maybe you do and maybe you don’t, but I’m not making it any easier by going down a dark alley.”

  Behind me the door to Intimations opened, and a burst of noise filled the street. The owner of a local real estate business and his wife exited the gallery amid vociferous goodbyes.

  “Turn yourself in, Mike,” I said even as I turned my back on him.

  “Hello, Mr. Ellis. Mrs. Ellis,” I said loudly and made a run for them, my back twitching once again. “You know Mike Hamblin, don’t you?” I gestured in Mike’s direction.

  “Who?” Mr. Ellis asked.

  Mike was gone.

  I let out a breath and pulled the door to Intimations open. My knees hurt every time I took a step. I was limping on my swollen ankle, and I ached from head to toe. But this was Curt’s night, and I was going to share it with him if it killed me.

  I was thankful for the milling crowd that hid me. If I could get to the ladies’ room before anyone noticed me, I could wash my hands and knees and get rid of the blood. I could comb my hair, brush the dirt off my dress and get rid of my ruined stockings. I looked for the restroom sign.

  I spotted Curt near the back of the room, his dark curls gleaming in the state-of-the-art lighting the gallery boasted. He looked wonderful, his handsome face alight with vitality and life, his intelligent eyes behind their glasses intent on the person to whom he was speaking. The intervening crowd prevented even a glimpse of the person beside him, but I would have been willing to wager that I knew who it was. And I knew she was lapping the attention up like a thirsty pup did water.

  I located the restroom sign and was about to sneak off in that direction when the crowd between Curt and me suddenly separated as neatly as a block of butter when someone draws a warm knife through it. He lifted his head and looked directly at me.

  And smiled. Full wattage.

  My stomach did a somersault, and I smiled back with all my heart.

  He gave a little come-here jerk with his head, and I began walking toward him.

  It was an act of faith, that walk across the gallery. I was choosing to believe he meant it when he said, “You beat Delia without even trying.”

  The contrast between the two of us women would never be greater than right now. She looked beautiful in a sleek black floor-length dress whose simple lines screamed big bucks. Her blond hair was pulled back in a sleek knot at the nape of her neck, not an escaped wisp in sight. Marvelous gold earrings danced in her ears, her only jewelry. She was her own best ornament.

  But Curt was smiling at me

  By the time I reached Curt, the pleasure in his eyes had been replaced by concern. I realized he hadn’t been able to see how disreputable I looked when I was back by the door. Now I stood before him in all my wretched glory.

  Delia shuddered gently and did her best to ignore me. She indicated the man across from her. “Curt, Mr. Whitsun has a point about…”

  But Curt wasn’t listening to her. He was watching me. He took a step in my direction, pulled his hand from his pocket and reached for me.

  “Are you all right?” he asked in a gentle voice.

  Nodding, I put my hand in his. My heart pounded with joy. He had spoken truly about loving me. He had chosen me. I couldn’t stop grinning.

  Then he gave my hand a squeeze.

  I gasped and tried to pull away.

  He eased his grip and, turning my palm up, looked at the dirty, bloody mess.

  “I took a dive behind a tree and skinned my hands and knees,” I explained. “But I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?” It was Mr. Whitsun, looking unconvinced. He was staring not at my hands but at my legs with their ruined stockings, brush burns and blood. “If this were New York, I’d say you’d just been mugged.”

  “It’s just surface injuries.” I grinned. “You should see the other guys.”

  Mr. Whitsun laughed companionably.

  Curt wrapped an arm around my shoulders. He seemed oblivious to Delia hanging on his other arm. Even she was finally struck with the obvious: Curt had chosen. She pulled her hand free, and immediately Curt wrapped his other arm around me too.

  I rested my head against his shoulder and thought how utterly weary I was and how wonderfully sturdy he felt. I began to relax, a dangerous thing when you’re as beaten up as I was. I ordered starch back into my spine and hoped I could continue to remain upright.

  I smiled prettily as Curt introduced me to Mr. Whitsun, the man from the Broughley Gallery in New York.
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  “Mr. Whitsun is going to take four of my paintings,” Curt said, pride and satisfaction filling his voice.

  “Oh, Curt, how wonderful! I’m so glad for you. You’ve made a wise decision, Mr. Whitsun.”

  Curt turned to the fourth member of the group. “Mr. Montgomery, you remember Merry, don’t you?”

  Mr. M was looking at me with as much favor as his daughter.

  “Good to see you again, Mr. Montgomery,” I said. “I didn’t get a chance to speak to you at the News when you stopped in for that brief visit the other day.”

  I heard myself and flinched. It must be post-trauma stress. Rather that than that I was just too dumb to keep my mouth shut.

  Mr. Montgomery looked at me, appalled. “You work for the News?”

  I nodded.

  “I thought you were just a friend of Curt’s,” he said, making it obvious that “just a friend of Curt’s” could be ignored, but if I worked for the News, he’d have to pay attention to me, if only to decide to fire me.

  Curt heard the insult and gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Merry’s a lot more than just a friend, Mr. Montgomery. She’s the love of my life.”

  His easy statement took my breath away and sent color flooding my face. Mr. Whitsun smiled indulgently at me while Mr. Montgomery looked sharply at Delia. Poor Delia.

  “Merry!You’re late!” Jolene rushed up to me, took one look and said in horror, “Where have you been? You look terrible!”

  “Jo, ever tactful.” Reilly stepped up and gave me quick hug. “You know Merry always looks wonderful.”

  “I know.” Jo was still staring aghast. “She’s one of those cute-as-a-bug’s-ear girls who are so adorable it makes your teeth ache. Usually.”

  “But not tonight.” Mac had appeared behind Jolene, Dawn on his arm. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

  I grinned at him. “Have I got a story for you!” I said at the same time Curt said, “She fell.”

  Curt looked at me with one eyebrow raised. “Didn’t you?”