A Killer Read (34 page)

“But if it is part of the Telford thing, why break in here? Was Telford actually looking for something the night he came here and didn’t find it? And this is his partner, giving it another try?”

“Oh, honey, you do like your mysteries, don’t you?” Molly asked with a small laugh. “That would make a lovely Agatha Christie plot, though. The secret that only two know about, secretly hidden in the house of the unsuspecting widow, originally secreted away there by… whom?”

“Maybe one of them was a tradesperson working here at some point and needed a hiding place for this item?”

“Or maybe the widow had acquired something of value or incriminating and had hidden it. Which I haven’t, by the way.”

Lizzie sat forward, happy to play this game. “But what if that widow then tried to blackmail these two guys?”

“Why wouldn’t they bump her off then, rather than each other?”

“Good point.” Lizzie took another sip. “I’m glad you’ll be safe, in that case,” she said with a chuckle.

Molly smiled. “Safe from everything but our imaginations.”

The door opened and Mark joined them. “I think we’ve gotten about all we can from here, Ms. Mathews. The guys will board up your door; you should get it replaced later in the morning. I’ll have someone here very early to check the outside further by light of day and take some footprint impressions, if there are any. You might want to go to a hotel for the rest of the night, though.”

“Or my place,” Lizzie offered.

Molly shook her head. “No to both suggestions. With thanks. But I feel quite safe here. I still have my alarm system, and it worked beautifully. I wouldn’t get any sleep anywhere else, not that I’ll sleep the rest of the night anyway. Thank you, Chief.”

Mark nodded and looked at Lizzie. “Can I give you a lift home?”

“No thanks. I do have my loaner car, and I’ve had only a tiny bit of brandy, I swear. I’ll just hang around a bit until Molly’s ready to call it a night.” She walked Mark to the front door.

“I’m just relieved Molly’s all right. Do you think he’ll try to come back?”

“Not tonight, that’s for sure. But it depends on what he was after.”

“Do you think it’s linked to the Telford case?”

“I’ve no way of knowing that, Lizzie. And don’t you go trying to make any connections, you hear? I’m leaving a car here to follow you home when you’re ready to go. There’s still the matter of the car accident, you know.”

Lizzie squeezed his arm. “I do know. Thanks, Mark.”

Although she didn’t like to dwell on it, she was thankful to see the headlights of the police cruiser in her rearview mirror as she drove slowly home in the dark.

T
he next morning, Lizzie couldn’t seem to get her brain functioning. Lack of sleep would do that, she thought. She’d spent too much time deciding what to wear and was now struggling to find jewelry to match the pale pink tank top and three-quarter-sleeved blouse she’d teamed with navy cotton pants and a pair of low-heeled navy slides. Silver hoop earrings would do the trick, she concluded. Less was often more with Lizzie when it came to jewelry these days. She closed the box, then opened it again and chose a hot pink shell bracelet to keep up her energy level.

The phone rang, and George was once again on the line. “I’ve got some surprising news for you, Lizzie. I found that development that Telford was putting together. There wasn’t much but it was in the courthouse records because someone had tried suing the partners a couple of years before Fowkses’ suicides. It was thrown out of court, not enough evidence. But the partners in TC Developments, as it was called, were Frank Telford; a Jefferson Perkins, who I couldn’t find
a lot of information about except that he’s deceased; and Claydon Mathews.”

Lizzie was speechless. She couldn’t believe that Claydon had been involved in something underhanded that had led to two deaths. That had to be the connection between Telford and the manuscript. She managed to thank George for his help and then sank onto the bed. Was that what her daddy had been investigating? It would sure explain why he hadn’t told Mama anything about it. How could he share such painful news about the husband of her close friend? Oh, Mama… no affair! She was certain.

But did it explain what Frank Telford was doing at Molly’s house? Had she lied? Had she known Telford all along and was trying to save Claydon’s reputation?

But who had killed Telford? The author of the story? Was that how she— or he— planned to make amends? But why share this all with Lizzie, if that were the case?

There were just too many questions. It was all too confusing. Lizzie couldn’t believe Molly would lie to her, though. Not Molly.

She had to talk to her. She glanced at the clock. The reading demonstration she had planned for one of the fifth-grade teachers was over an hour off. She’d make time.

She grabbed her purse and tote and ran out to the courtesy car.

Part of her brain played with the manuscript. She was certain the answer lay there. Otherwise, why send it? She was certain it all tied together— Telford’s scheme, Claydon Mathews being part of it, the story about Harlan Fowks and the tragedy his family suffered because of his association with Telford and Mathews. Where was Carla these days? And her son, Duwo? How old would he be, and was he with her? The answer stared her in the face, she knew it… but what was it?

She turned onto Molly’s street. She hadn’t counted on Bob being there, too. Oh well, she thought, pulling up
behind his SUV, he’d been acting strangely because maybe he already knew about the connection. She’d make sure he didn’t run out this time until he’d told all.

She stood beside her car for a moment, trying to spot the police cruiser that should have been parked somewhere close by. She’d noticed one farther down the street at what appeared to be a car accident, but where was Molly’s protection?

She started walking toward the front door and glanced at the front seat of the SUV as she walked past. Bob wasn’t in the house with Molly. He sat slumped over the steering wheel. She called his name, in case he was napping. No response.

Heart attack.
Lizzie’s own heart pounded as she pulled open the door and tried rousing him. Should she pull him out and start CPR? As she climbed on the pullout step and tried to reach behind him, she noticed a huge welt on the back of his head, with blood seeping from it. He’d been hit. She eased him back, made sure he was breathing okay. She reached in her tote to take out her cell but realized she’d left it at home. She’d have to use Molly’s phone to get help. Or should she just run down the street and get the cop?

But what about Molly? Whoever had hit Bob might be in with her.

Lizzie had to get in there fast. The front door opened to her touch. She slid it partly open and went in. She could make out Molly’s voice in the kitchen. Who was she talking to?

Lizzie decided to call 911 first. What she hadn’t counted on was the intruder being on the phone. He heard the click as she picked up the receiver in the library.

“You’d better hang up. Right now. And get on back here to the kitchen or your friend is dead,” a familiar voice ordered.

Lizzie’s hand shook as she replaced the receiver. She knew that voice, and she knew he was serious. She looked
desperately around for some inspiration as she walked toward the kitchen.

“Hurry up!” he yelled from behind the door.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and pushed open the kitchen door. “Dwayne Trowl,” she said, trying to keep the jitters out of her voice. “This isn’t the way.”

Dwayne had Molly backed up against the kitchen counter. He stood about four feet from her, a large, menacing black gun in his right hand.

“Now you just shut up, Ms. Lizzie Turner, literacy teacher and nosy bitch. You get over there by Ms. Molly Mathews.” He waved the gun at her, and she quickly obeyed.

Lizzie’s heart pounded in her chest as she grabbed Molly’s ice-cold hand. She glanced at her friend and saw that even though her face was deathly white, her mouth was pinched shut in that determined way of hers. Lizzie squeezed Molly’s hand hard so that Molly looked over at her. Lizzie shook her head ever so slightly. She didn’t want her friend doing something foolish.

Dwayne was checking out the back windows, his gun still pointed at them. “Is anyone with you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”

Lizzie thought she’d better keep him talking until… what? She wasn’t sure, but she knew she had to do it. Maybe she could shock him, throw him off his guard. Hopefully, the truth could do that.

“I came here to tell my friend Molly the story about Frank Telford and TC Developments,” she began. She had his full attention. “And about how a man named Harlan Fowks lost all his money with this company and eventually committed suicide. And how his wife eventually did the same, leaving a six-year-old daughter, Carla, all alone. And how that girl grew up and had a son… a son named Dwayne Trowl.”

Molly gasped and Dwayne stomped toward Lizzie, stopping a few inches away, waving the gun. He glared at her a
few minutes, without saying anything. She tried to read something in his face that would give her a clue as to what he was thinking. No hints there.

“Yeah? So how’d you find all that out? Who told you about my grandpops? You think you’re also some kind of super spy?” He laughed and backed away.

“Your mama told me, Dwayne.”

He stopped abruptly. The look in his eyes turned to bewilderment. “Whaaa? You’re a liar! She wouldn’t. No way. My mama wouldn’t do no such thing.”

“She’s written a story all about it, Dwayne, and she’s been sending me a few chapters every couple of days. That’s why I’m here now. Yesterday’s final chapter told me all about you.”

“She didn’t,” he yelled, pointing the gun at her. “My mama wouldn’t tell no one about all this.”

Lizzie took a deep breath. “But I know the story, don’t I?”

“You think you’re so smart. Well, you know, I’m smart, too. I know you don’t believe that, what with my taking the literacy class and all. You think I’m real dumb and you can trick me and get away. Well, there’s a reason I took those classes, so’s I could get into this house and see just what my family was missing out on. And I outsmarted the cops, too. I’ve got smarts where it counts.” He tapped the side of his head with his gun.

Lizzie tensed, anticipating a gunshot that didn’t happen.

“I figured what the cop outside needed was a distraction, and a neighbor was very obliging, leaving her keys in the car. So I just drove it down the street a bit and straight into a parked car. That got the cop’s attention. I hid in the bushes and snuck back here. But that old goat came driving up at the same time.”

“What old goat?” Molly demanded.

“I didn’t mean to kill him, but he shouldn’t have gotten in the way.”

“Who?” Molly almost screamed.

“It’s Bob, Molly. But he’s not dead.” She squeezed Molly’s hand again. “And we don’t want anyone to die today, Dwayne,” she said, moving a step closer to him.

Dwayne backed up. “Just stop right there or I’ll use this. I guarantee y’all that.”

Lizzie stayed in place.
Just keep him talking.
“So, what’s the point now, Dwayne? We know about what happened. I think you’d better just drop the gun, and we’ll help you all we can.”

Dwayne’s face closed into a wicked sneer. He kept the gun pointed at her. He said in a low voice, “There you go, thinking you’re so smart again. But do you know about the other guy?” He swung sideways to face Molly. “The other bastard who cheated my grandpops out of all his money and his life. That man was your husband, Claydon Mathews.”

Molly gasped. “It’s not true. Claydon would never knowingly harm anyone.”

Dwayne straightened to his full height. “Well, it is true. They both swindled my grandpops, and he committed suicide and so did my grandmama. And it’s all their fault. Frank Telford paid with his life, and you”—he waved the gun at Molly—“were supposed to pay with cash since your husband’s already dead. But Telford wouldn’t have none of it. He tried to stop me from telling you all about it. That just got him dead. Now, I’ll just take that money. You’ve got plenty. I want it, right now.”

“And do what?” Lizzie asked. “What will you do with us?”

He looked confused for a moment, just the amount of time it took Lizzie to grab the thick Agatha Christie compendium from the bookcase beside her and hurl it at Dwayne’s hand. He let out a yelp and dropped the gun, which slid across the floor toward the door. He dove for the gun. Lizzie grabbed Molly’s arm and pulled her into the hall. She heard the back door burst open and Bob’s bellow.

They peered back into the kitchen and found Bob,
spread-eagled across Dwayne’s back, both arms struggling toward the gun. Lizzie ran over, kicked Dwayne’s arm away and grabbed the gun. The bang startled them all. Lizzie’s arm had been flung upward by the kickback. She grabbed the gun with her other hand, too.

Dwayne lay absolutely still.