Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser (23 page)

It finally dawned on Frank that all was not right. He stopped, took a good look at Larry, who held the knife as if he was ready to carve, took a better look at Jolene, then back to us.

“What’s going on here?”

“It seems that Jolene found out who killed Otto and Carlton, and got shoved into your freezer so she wouldn’t talk,” I said.

The expressions that passed over Frank’s face would have been laughable any other time. I watched him go from astonishment to incredulity to full realization.

“No. Surely not. Larry? You? But why?”

“Never mind why.” Larry was beginning to lose his confidence again, and his eye started to twitch. That didn’t seem like a good sign.

“I have to think what to do with all of you. Frank, you should have stayed away a little longer. I hate you, but you are a great chef, and it will be a shame to kill you.”

“Kill me! What are you talking about!”

There is, after all, something to be said for arrogance.

“Give me that knife,” Frank demanded. “This is utter nonsense. Mary, you and Ellen take Jolene out to the car. Get her to a doctor. Larry and I will talk about this after you’re gone.”

I’d misjudged him. Frank had started circling around, slowly edging himself between Larry and the chair where Jolene still shivered. Larry backed up slightly, away from the kitchen door. Frank didn’t look at us. He kept moving, never taking his eyes off Larry, but waved one hand behind his back, motioning to us. Aunt Mary looked at me; I nodded. She grabbed one of Jolene’s arms, I grabbed the other and she was on her feet. A low moan escaped her, but we had her moving.

“Hey!” Larry shouted.

“Go!” yelled Frank.

We did. I don’t know how I got the kitchen door opened so fast, but the next thing I knew, we were on the deck, half dragging, half pushing a stiff Jolene toward the front of the house and my car.

We got her into the front seat, I turned the heater on full blast and handed Aunt Mary my cell phone.

“Lock the doors,” I said. “Call nine one one. Call Dan.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, clutching the phone.

“Back there.”

“No. You can’t.” She reached out to grab me, but I shoved her into the driver’s seat.

“I have to. Frank is no match for Larry and that knife.”

“And you are?” Tension had tinged her voice with hysteria.

“Two is better than one. And I can’t leave Frank alone. Lock the door.”

I wasn’t being heroic. I was reacting to worry and adrenaline. Otherwise, I would never have gone back into that kitchen. But I did. And there was Frank, face down on the floor, a thin trail of blood escaping from under his left arm.

Larry stood a little off to one side, his back to the door, his right hand hanging down by his side, the knife barely held between slack fingers. Small drops of blood dripped from it, making a tiny crimson pool on the black and white tiled floor.

I stopped just inside the door, paralyzed, unable to speak. Unfortunately, that didn’t last.

“Oh my God, what have you done?” Bad mistake. I knew it the minute the words were out, but it was too late.

Larry turned toward me, his eyes glassy, but it didn’t take long for him to focus. “You came back.”

“Ah,” I said, backing toward the door. If I could get through it, I could slam it in his face. He was too fast, and too close.

“Where are you going?” He lunged, grabbed me with his left hand, and pulled me off my feet, into the kitchen, and almost onto Frank.

“You can’t go anyplace. Not now.”

He dragged me into the formal dining room, dim behind drawn drapes. The knife was clutched more firmly in his other hand. I wanted desperately to struggle, to scream, to signal for help in some way, but was afraid to. That damn knife was way too close.

“It’s a beautiful room, isn’t it?” He wasn’t listening for a response. “Otto said I couldn’t use my things, that I couldn’t be part of all this. He said this place wasn’t mine.” This time he seemed to want me to say something. But what? I sort of mewed. That seemed to be enough because he went on. “Not mine?” He shook his head. “It was my money that bought it. But he said it was only a loan. Only it wasn’t. It was so I could be a partner.”

Larry seemed to be in some world occupied only by him. Surely he couldn’t have forgotten Jolene fresh from the freezer, Aunt Mary locked in the car, hopefully calling the cops, and Frank. Poor Frank, lying bleeding, probably dead, on the kitchen floor. But he acted like the only thing that mattered was the tour of the dining room we were taking, him clutching me and the knife, me stumbling along after him, agreeing with whatever he said.

“It was mean of Otto not to let you be a partner,” I said, a little breathlessly. It was hard to get the words out with my left shoulder practically in Larry’s face.

He stopped. “Yes, it was. He promised, you know. Otto. He said if I’d give him the money to buy this place, I would be a full partner. He lied.” He loosened his grip on my arm. I started to straighten up a little. Maybe I could—no. He tightened down.

“He laughed at me, you know.” Larry said this in a conversational voice, much like he’d say, “warm for March.” That was more scary than anything. But it brought up something I didn’t quite understand. Now wasn’t an especially good time to ask him, but on the other hand, it might be the only time. “Why Carlton?”

“He laughed at me, too,” he said, in that same conversational tone. “He and Otto together. He said I was stupid because I trusted Otto, didn’t have him sign something when I gave him the money. The whole world will laugh at you, he said. So I killed him.” He stopped in front of the cherrywood server and stared at the Waterford sherry glasses sitting on it, next to what looked like a very old bottle of Spanish sherry. “That was a great vintage,” he said. “Don’t you think so?”

Larry was gone again, in that world I couldn’t inhabit, and as long as he was there, I thought I had a chance of staying alive and uncarved. It was when he came back to earth that I was in real trouble. My best chance seemed to be humor him, admire the plates, the tablecloths, the sherry, anything, until help came. Help in the shape of Dan and the troops. I glanced at the dining room French doors, but the curtains were still drawn, and I couldn’t think of any way to get to them. Damn! Aunt Mary couldn’t see me; she couldn’t know I was still alive but a captive. I sent up a silent prayer she knew how to work a cell phone.

Larry let go of my arm. Maybe I could get to the drapes and somehow fling them open. I gave that idea up instantly. Instead of holding me, Larry held up the knife.

“How long have you known? All about Otto and Carlton. I didn’t want you to know.”

He was like a man waking up from a dream, the vacant expression fading into an alert, hard stare. I may have been scared before, but now I was terrified.

“You kept trying to find out things, didn’t you? Asking people questions that were none of your business. The police—your boyfriend, Dan—think Sabrina killed them both. That’s what they were supposed to think. Why did you have to spoil things? I thought you loved me. You were supposed to love me.”

“Sabrina’s my niece,” I said, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. “She’s family. I had to do something.”

“I don’t have any family.” No quiver in Larry’s voice. “Only the restaurant and this bed and breakfast. Otto tried to take that away from me, but I stopped him. Then Carlton, and Frank tried. I stopped them, too. Now you. I can’t let you do that, now can I?” The chilling logic of that statement, at least to Larry, grew my goose bumps to the size of pigeon eggs. “You know, I had a mother once. But she died and left me.” This was getting worse. Not only was there no quiver, but his voice had hardened and deepened. “My father hated me, and I hated him. When he had a heart attack and died, I laughed. I was finally free to do what I wanted. But people keep getting in the way. Why, Ellen? Why?”

“I don’t know. But they won’t anymore. Everyone will forgive you. They all know Otto was an evil man, you’ll be fine.” I was babbling. I couldn’t help it. But Larry somehow seemed to be reassured.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m going to make the dinner. I’m going to do it all. For Saturday night. Frank isn’t going to do it, and neither is Otto. Finally, I’m going to do it. All by myself. I can do it. You believe I can do it, don’t you?”

He was gone again. “Of course you can do it. You’re going to, and it will be wonderful.” I tried not to let anything show in my voice but reassurance. I wasn’t at all sure I succeeded. Please, please let Dan hurry up, was running through my head like a litany.

Larry frowned, then rubbed his head with his free hand. The one that wasn’t holding me anymore. I experimentally took one step backward. The dining room door that opened into the entry hall was right behind me. If I could ease my way out, maybe, just maybe, I could open that front door and run for my car. Maybe.

“We’ll have to do something about Frank,” Larry said. “I can’t cook with him on the floor. The cellar. We’ll put him in the wine cellar. You’ll have to help.”

I almost gagged. Frank in the cellar? Me helping? The man was stark raving mad. I took another step backward. Larry didn’t seem to notice, and I bolted. I almost made it.

Larry exploded across the room after me, catching me with my hand on the latch. He swung me around, and I landed, hard, against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. The knife was in front of me, the sharp blade coming toward my throat. We were face to face, so close I could feel his breath, so close he had to hear my heart pound. He leaned into me, bringing the knife slowly closer. He whispered, “I’m sorry. Things could have been so nice. I know how you’ve always felt about me, but…”

That did it. Rage and terror lent me strength. I shoved. He let go of my arm and staggered backward. Only a step or two, but it was enough to send me up the stairs.

I didn’t pause until I reached the landing, where I risked a glance back. Larry climbed slowly after me, a small smile on his face, no twitch in his eye, and the knife firmly held in his hand.

“Where do you think you’re going, Ellen? There’s no way out, you know. No way but down these stairs.” He kept coming up, stair by stair, his voice soft and sounding oh so reasonable. “Did Mrs. McGill call the police? Did she call your friend, Dan? You know, I never liked him when we were in school. I haven’t changed. But he likes you. And he won’t want you hurt. But you don’t much care for him, do you, my dear. You won’t marry him. It’s me you like. So come on, Ellen. Give me your hand. After I explain that to Dan, after I make him go away, we can get rid of Frank and start the dinner. You can help. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

I started to back down the hall. Larry’s words were echoing off the closed doors, bringing up pictures I didn’t want to see. Me with Larry’s knife at my throat, standing at the kitchen door while Larry bargained with Dan, the Dan I cared about a whole lot, the Dan I might never see again. Me helping Larry throw Frank’s body down to the cellar, me thrown down to the cellar. There had to be a way, some way. A window. I’d jump out a window. I opened the closest bedroom door and looked in. There was a window all right, shut tight, latched, and clear across the room. Larry was getting closer, and I suddenly thought, if I go in there, I’m trapped.

Larry laughed. “Trying for a window? You’ll never make it. I’m a lot faster than you.” His expression changed again, and his tone was no longer reasonable. “You’re making me angry, Ellen,” he hissed. “Very angry. Stop right there and give me your hand.”

“Like hell,” I said, startling myself even more than Larry. My hand was on another door handle, and I turned it, expecting nothing, but there were the back stairs, the blessed servant stairs. Steep, treacherous, but they looked to me like the stairs to salvation. I leapt around the door and slammed it shut. Another piece of luck. There was a latch. My fingers had a hard time obeying me, but the lock clicked shut as the door started to rattle.

“Ellen.” Larry’s voice was muffled, but every word came through. “You won’t get away. And now I won’t wait for Dan. I’m coming. I’m coming.”

There was no place to go but down, and I went as fast as trembling legs would take me. The stairs came out in the pantry beside the kitchen, and I knew I had to make that kitchen door before Larry did.

I stood behind the pantry door, listening. He must have run back down the main staircase, but where was he now? I eased out a little and dared a look around the kitchen. Frank was still on the floor, but no one else was in sight. Again I listened. Not a sound. He had to be somewhere, waiting. Why couldn’t I hear him? See him? Where was he hiding? The kitchen offered few hiding places, so he must be in the breakfast room or the dining room. In either case, he would have to make a huge lunge to catch me. I had a slim chance of making the back door, and I knew I had to do it now, before whatever nerve I had left disappeared. My best chance was to get to that door before Larry realized where I was, and that meant silence. Off came my shoes. I started across the kitchen floor in my stocking feet, edging past Frank, desperately wanting to stop, to do something for him, knowing that the only thing I could do was escape.

My hand was on the door handle when I heard the groan. Frank? Was he alive? I hesitated, turned the handle, pulled the door open a little, then paused again to look back at Frank. Was he moving?