Blown To Pieces (PTO Murder Club Mystery Book 2) (22 page)

“This may sound a little crazy—”

“Really? After what we’ve seen this morning? Nothing you can say will sound the least bit crazy.”

“I think I know where the gold is.” I could be wrong, but my gut was telling me that I’d nailed it. “It might be easier to show you. Are you okay to ride in the car?”

“Yes. The nausea is gone for now. As long as no one says the C-H-I-L-I word out loud, I should be fine.” Monica fastened her seatbelt. “Where are we headed?”

“Bee Creek Elementary. Haley was in charge of decorating for the bookfair.” I knew exactly where she’d hidden the gold.

Understanding dawned on Monica’s face. “Oh no...she didn’t.” She nodded. “That makes perfect Haley sense. She hid the gold in plain sight.”

Twenty minutes later, we stood in the hallway outside of the school’s office, staring into the trophy case at a treasure chest full of real gold coins. The sign above glittered with, well, glitter, and said, “Reading is a treasure. Books are worth their weight in gold.”

“Yes, reading is a treasure, but I’m not sure books are worth their weight in actual gold.” I pulled my keys out of my back pocket, unlocked the case, and stared at the gold.

“Would have been nice if we’d thought to bring a bag to put the gold in.” Monica inspected the treasure chest. “The box is made out of thin wood. If we’re careful, I think we can use it to transport the gold.”

I picked up a corner, and the chest shifted on its flimsy wooden shell. Gingerly, Monica and I eased it out of the cabinet and slowly walked to the car. I waved to the custodian on our way out. If he thought it was odd that we’d just removed the treasure chest from the trophy cabinet, he certainly didn’t say anything.

We loaded the chest in the back of my car and then took our places in the front seats.

Monica checked her watch. “So, what do we do for the next two and a half hours?”

“Here’s what I think is going on.” It was time to tell her the whole bizarre story that I’d pieced together. “Big Tommy faked his own death.”

Slowly, Monica turned her head toward me. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I think his real job was in body disposal—you know, besides making that C-word.” I watched her carefully for signs that she was going to be sick again. Monica looked fine-ish.

“Okay, he was in body disposal...for who, and why?” Monica sipped from the bottle of water.

“I don’t know, but since he knew all about Molly’s gold, I’m thinking that maybe he was working with her.” We’d found out that our murdered and beloved kindergarten teacher had been doing some contract killing on the side to pay for her mother to live in a fancy retirement village.

Now, Edna was dead. That was on me. I couldn’t think about it now.

Monica looked like she was working it out in her mind. “That makes sense. So Big Tommy’s not dead, and he wants Molly’s gold for what?”

“To get out of town and start a new life? Why else would he fake his own death?” This was all complete supposition, but it felt right. “I have no idea why he needs a new life—five ex-wives?”

If I’d had five ex-husbands, I sure as hell would have needed to fake my death.

“How did he know we had Molly’s gold? Why did Molly leave the key to Big Tommy’s safety deposit box with her mother?” Monica looked like she was mulling things over in her head.

“I think Molly and Big Tommy were friends and maybe coworkers. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we get Big Tommy this gold and get Haley back.” We were supposed to hand over the gold at noon at the Knights of Columbus. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. I started Portia’s engine. “I think I know where Big Tommy is keeping Haley, and I know who’s helping him.”

I screeched the tires, pulling out onto Hamilton Pool Road. “Call Bautista and tell him we need backup. Tell him to bring lots of guns and even more people to shoot them. Tell him to meet us in thirty at Dick’s Sporting Goods. We’re going after Big Tommy. I’m tired of playing his game. We’re getting Haley back now.”

The VFW/Knights of Columbus was just as gray-cinder-blocky and unassuming as I remembered. Only now, I knew it housed my best friend in addition to Stormin’ Norman Kozlowski and Stumpy Gregg. God only knew what they were doing to her.

I didn’t have time to wait for the world’s slowest gate, so I took the Knights of Columbus entrance. Monica and I drove right up to the door, and I threw Portia into park. We hopped out, dressed in black fatigues and strapping all kinds of weapons. It was just like in
The Heat
when Melissa McCarthy and Sandra Bullock went after the bad guys...only, I felt like they had known what they were doing.

The whole fake-it-until-you-make-it works most of the time, but it might not be such a good idea when going after a killer who kidnapped your best friend. A ten-minute knife-throwing lesson combined with the basics of pepper spray and “here’s how you shoot after you turn off the safety” were all Monica and I had—well, apart from rage and PMS. Bautista and his merry band of mercenaries were surrounding the building, but it was up to us to distract the men inside.

Monica and I high-fived. We’d been distracting men since puberty.

I tried the doorknob and it was locked.

Monica and I pounded on the door.

I found the little hole above the door where the camera was hidden.

I yelled, “Open up or I’m dumping the gold. You want it, you give us Haley...NOW.” And then I flipped off whoever was watching. I might have been channeling a little too much Melissa McCarthy, but it was too late. I couldn’t retract the bird, and apologizing for it would make me look weak.

There was a buzzing noise, and then the lock clicked and the door popped open a couple of inches.

Monica and I exchanged a look. We both drew the pistols Bautista had given us, and I kicked the door open. I didn’t know my own strength, because the door flew back, closed, and locked again.

I stepped back and gave the camera a let-us-in-or-else look, and the door buzzed open again.

This time, Monica carefully pushed the door all the way open.

There was the sound of a shotgun cocking.

“Drop ’um, ladies.” Stormin’ Norman Kozlowski stood behind his walker holding a sawed-off shotgun on us.

Monica and I dropped our guns. Honestly, that was probably safer. What’s more dangerous, someone who knows how to use a gun or someone who doesn’t? We were certainly in the “doesn’t” category.

“Where’s Haley?” I mouthed it like I was shouting.

Norman leaned closer as if that would help him hear.

“Where’s Haley?” I mouthed again.

Monica arched an eyebrow.

I shot her a go-with-it look.

She mouthed, “Where’s Haley?”

“What?” Norman yelled so loudly, I was sure passing airplanes could hear him. “I don’t hear so good. Can you speak up?”

I mouthed again, “Where’s Haley?”

“What? Hold on.” He lowered the shotgun so he could turn up the volume on his wife’s repurposed hearing aids.

Monica’s hand whipped behind her. She grabbed the knife at the small of her back and threw it at Norman. It landed in the dead center of his chest, the hilt wobbling with the force. The gun fell out of his hands and bounced on the floor as he pitched head over walker onto a barstool.

“Oh my God.” Monica turned to me. “Did you see that? I totally just did that. I did what Bautista said and bam,” she pointed to Norman, “he’s dead.”

Monica was very proud of herself. Later, no doubt, the fact that she’d taken a life would hit her pretty hard.

Or not. Stormin’ Norman was no prize.

“I’m totally Melissa McCarthy in
The Heati>.” Monica jumped up and down and clapped.

“No, I’m Melissa. You’re Sandra.” Hello, I was totally Melissa.

“No you’re not. I’m Melissa. You’re Sandra—you look just like her.” Monica picked up the shotgun.

“You think I look like Sandra Bullock.” I put my hand over my heart. “That’s so sweet.”

Monica scanned the walls for a camera, found one, aimed the shotgun at it, and fired.

The boom ricocheted off all of the cinder blocks and made my ears ring.

“Damn, that’s loud.” Monica rubbed her stomach where she’d propped the gun before she’d fired. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”

“How many shells does a shotgun hold?” I moved to the first of three closed doors.

“No idea.” Monica cocked it. The spent shell popped out. “More than one.”

I threw the door open, and Monica jumped into the room, ready to shoot again.

Nothing but rusted metal shelves full of cleaning supplies.

I threw open door number two, and the smell of urine and other bodily functions about knocked me over. Monica jumped inside again.

“What is it with men and bathrooms? How hard can it be to pee standing up? If your aim is so bad then sit down.” Monica slammed the door, because the smell was horrible.

Why have a closet of cleaning supplies if you never used them?

“Haley must be behind lucky door number three.” I tried to channel Wayne Brady from
Let’s Make a Deal
, but I was already channeling Melissa, and I didn’t want my channels to get crossed.

I threw open the door, and Monica did her thing.

This time, there was nothing but a dark set of stairs leading down.

“Is this a basement?” Monica stepped out of the doorway and looked around. She found a bank of light switches and flicked them all on.

Here’s the thing, we don’t have basements in Central Texas. There’s about an inch of topsoil, then several hundred feet of limestone. In order to build a basement here, you need dynamite and deep pockets. And I’m pretty sure they don’t let you excavate with dynamite anymore.

“It looks like a basement.” I peeked my head around the corner. All I could see were stairs.

“Hello, anyone down there? We’re armed and pissed off, so don’t test us.” Monica pointed the shotgun at the stairs.

“Run, Norman has a gun.” It was Stumpy Gregg. He tried to sound all frightened, but he was a terrible actor.

“Hey, Stumpy, it’s Mustang Ridges. Put down your gun. I know you’re in on this. Haley better be in one piece.” I’d passed scared an hour ago; now I was just plain old country pissed.

“Boobs, is that you? Change your mind about showing me your tits?” He racked the slide of another shotgun.

Monica and I dove behind the wooden bar seconds before buckshot tore through the wall to our right.

“I got plenty more where that come from, sweetheart.” Stumpy laughed.

Another shot boomed, and this time the roof shook.

“Oops, sorry. That was a misfire.” He racked the slide again and fired. What was left of the wall on our right disappeared. Bright rays of sunshine poured in. “I don’t see so good. Did I kill you yet?”

“Nope, we’re still here,” I yelled.

“Damn.” Another shot hit the roof, and the walls shook. “Sorry, that was me again. This thing has a hairpin trigger.”

There was a slow whining, like a motorized toy that needed to be charged.

“Sounds like your scooter is running on fumes.” I crawled to the edge of the bar and peeked around the corner. With all of the sunlight streaming in and the giant hole in the wall, I could see into the basement. Haley was duct-taped to a chair, and Stumpy was on his scooter at the bottom of the stairs, aiming up.

There was a large blob on the floor that resembled Big Tommy.

I didn’t see any other way out of the basement other than up the stairs. Unless Stumpy’s scooter could climb stairs, he was stuck.

What had been his grand plan?

“What do you say, Stumpy?” I crawled back behind the bar. “The gold’s in the car. How about you just leave Haley and drive it out of here.”

Maybe he did have another way out—like a ramp or something.

He tried to move his scooter, but the motor died.

I smiled to myself. Unless his legs were suddenly healed by the Holy Spirit, he couldn’t make it up those stairs. How had he even gotten down there?

“What was your plan to get out of the basement? It’s kinda like shooting fish who don’t swim in a barrel.” This was a mobility game now. At some point, he’d run out of shells, and then he was left crawling.

“I’m gonna go down fighting.” Stumpy cocked the shotgun again.

A shadow passed in front of the window across the room. Bautista and his guys had the building surrounded.

I just needed to buy a little more time before Bautista busted in.

Since I’ve been told that my superpower is talking people to death, I could have bought Bautista a year if he’d needed one. “What happened? You double cross Big Tommy? That why you killed him?”

“I didn’t kill him. He went and had a heart attack. I told him he needed to lose weight, but would he listen?” Stumpy threw up his hands. I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it in his voice. “Man made a damn fine bowl of chili. He’ll be missed.”

Monica choked.

I mouthed, “Cover your ears.”

“Did he ever tell you what was in that chili?” I’d come to realize that the mention of cannibalism was more incapacitating that bullets. “His secret ingredient was human meat. That’s right, he ground up human meat. What do you think he did, taste it and go, ‘Wow, this needs more Dave, or how about a hint of Wanda’?”

“No way.” Stumpy made gagging noises. “Holy crap, that’s what he did with all them dead bodies.”

An explosion rocketed through the building as the back wall blew away. Men dressed all in black stormed in and hurled themselves down the stairs.

My ears were buzzing from the blast, and all I could do was lay there and watch a piece of notebook paper float around in the breeze.

Once the dust literally settled and I’d regained some of my hearing, I crawled over to Monica, who was sitting on the floor with her back propped against the bar.

“Are you okay?” I laid my head on her shoulder.

“Yep. Remember when our lives were normal?” She let out a long, slow breath.

“Barely.” I didn’t think my life had ever been normal.

“Don’t touch me. I’m a veteran. I’m calling my local congressman,” Stumpy yelled. I glanced in the direction of the basement and saw two men dressed in black carrying Stumpy up by the shoulders. Behind him, Bautista carried Haley, Rhett Butler style.