Mayhem Takes a Dare: The Second Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 2) (22 page)

Alex nudged her. “We want to see what these kids know, not lecture them,” he hissed.

As they entered the clearing, the small faces turned to them in alarm.

The twins announced, “They’re OK. We caught her in a tiger trap, and she’s our prisoner.”

Alex turned so they wouldn’t see him smiling.

Marisa stepped forward. She tried a reassuring smile. “Did any of you see—”

As a small locomotive hit her legs, Marisa staggered backwards. She looked down. A little girl had entwined herself around Marisa’s legs.

Marisa peered into the grimy face. The shy brown eyes and long, curly hair were familiar. “Melanie?”

She smiled and hugged Marisa’s legs harder.

Marisa winced when the small girl squeezed her skinned knees.

“You know her?” Alex asked.

Marisa whispered, “She, her mom, and her brother lived for some months at the domestic violence shelter. Her dad was one of the victims of the murderer four months ago.”

Alex was surprised. “How do you know they were at the shelter?”

“I do volunteer work there, remember?” Marisa raised her voice. “Where’s your mother, Melanie?”

“We live here now. Mama couldn’t keep the house after Daddy got his head exploded like a watermelon.” Melanie popped her dirty thumb in her mouth.

Marisa pressed a scratched hand over her eyes. “Did you kids see anybody sort of sneaking around here?”

The children exchanged bewildered glances and shrugged.

“I think we’ve done all we can, Marisa. It’s time to call the police.” Alex took out his cell phone. “I hate to see Dreamus’ reaction when he finds us on the scene.”

“I don’t have to be psychic to predict his vein will pop out on his head again.”

“Are you married to Moira Peters?” Althea blurted.

The car swerved slightly, then righted.

Sucking in a horrified breath, Althea looked at Clay.

His profile, dominated by the aggressive nose, reflected determination. His hands on the wheel of his Jaguar communicated firmness and deftness. His body, relaxed in his pressed pinstriped gray suit, represented strength.

Clay must have sensed Althea’s eyes on him, and he briefly turned his head to meet her mortified gaze.

Althea hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. But since it had been paining her like a sore tooth, she was glad to get it out in the open.

“Did Moira tell you that?” His voice was carefully neutral.

Althea shook her head. “I overheard you and Moira talking. She said you and she are married, and she also seemed to be threatening you.”

Checking first in his rear view mirror, Clay signaled a turn.

Althea was surprised. “We’re not there yet, Clay.”

“I know. I want to pull over so we can talk.” He guided the purring car into the small park. Clay turned deferentially to Althea. “Would you like to walk a bit in the park?”

The summer sun was warm, rather than the past few days’ unbearable inferno heat. They walked along a path and into the shade of the towering trees. Clay spotted a bench. “Shall we sit?”

With a painful squeezing of her heart, Althea noticed he did not add his usual endearment.

Over their heads, the birds twittered. In the distance, Althea could hear the sounds of children laughing. Down the hill from them, children fed ducks and geese while their parents hovered with sacks of bread. A lone fisherman sat placidly on the bank, his fishing pole angled in front of him.

“I have a confession, Althea. Until I retired, I worked for a branch of the government that liked to keep out of the public eye.”

Althea’s eyes widened. “You were a spy?”

Clay winced. “I gathered information in covert ways. I haven’t told you before for two reasons. One, I took a vow of secrecy, and I’ve kept it for thirty years. The second reason is I didn’t think you would believe me. I was afraid you’d put it down to the nattering of an old man who wanted to make himself sound important.”

Clay shifted on the bench. “I’ve known men and women who made up a history of military service. They wanted others to see them as brave and important, especially their friends and family. Over time, they came to believe their own stories of military service. I knew one woman who sincerely believed her own lies. When she was confronted with the truth, she was genuinely surprised. I suppose I was afraid you’d think I was making up a story to make myself seem more important than I was.”

Althea thought about everything she knew about Clay.
Cool in a tough situation. Able to physically protect himself. Ingenuous, creative, and intelligent.
“You’ve kept this a secret for three decades. Why did you decide to tell me now?”

Clay let out his breath with a whoosh. “You believe me.”

“Of course I do, Clay. You wouldn’t lie to me.” She smiled, her emerald green eyes sparkling. “And besides, after decades of teaching elementary schoolchildren, I can spot a lie a mile away.”

“Thank you, Thea. I had to tell you because of Moira.”

Althea felt a chill crawl up her spine, in spite of the heat of the day. “What does Mrs. Peters have to do with this?”

“The woman who calls herself Moira Peters was a fellow ‘worker’ all those years ago. On the surface, she was beautiful, daring, and exciting. I fell in love with her and I married her.”

“On the surface?”

“Intuitive as always, Thea. Beneath the glittering surface, Moira was the murky bottom of a dead lake. She was completely without a conscience. I believe she is a sociopath. One day thirty years ago, I was off duty. My boss, who was also my best friend, called an alert. He’d caught wind of the rumor of a terrorist attack on our agency. Moira was out of town on…assignment. I hurried to headquarters.

“When I arrived, the building was in flames. As I sprinted to the burning building, I literally ran into Moira. She was dressed in black, with a backpack. She was exhilarated. As I caught her in my arms, the acrid smell of explosives filled my nostrils. I realized she’d done something terrible. She told me the excitement of being a government...worker...wasn’t enough for her. She admitted she planted the explosives in our agency’s building.

“As we stood there, I could feel the scorching heat and I thought I could hear the screams of those inside. She gave me the choice of holding her under arrest, or going inside to save the others, including my best friend. I ran back inside.”

“Oh, Clay, how awful. Were they...saved?” Althea squeezed his hand where it clenched the bench next to her.

Clay closed his eyes, but not before Althea saw the gut-wrenching pain in them. “We lost hundreds of fine men and women. I did manage to drag out my best friend. We both suffered painful burns. That was the last time I saw Moira, until she showed up at the assisted living center. She tracked me here.” He turned to Althea. “My love for her died that night. Although she had disappeared, I divorced her.”

Althea leaned against him and stroked his clenched hand. “Oh, Clay, what a horrible experience. Why is she back now, after all of these years? Isn’t she afraid you’ll report her to the police?”

“Moira feels safe because she made sure any evidence that could positively identify her, such as fingerprints and DNA, were destroyed. When that building burned, so did all record of her existence. I can’t prove she’s the same woman who blew up that building and killed hundreds of people, and she knows it. It would be my word against hers.”

Althea pulled away from the comfort of his shoulder to face him. “What about someone who used to work with her? I know you suffered terrible casualties, but what about the survivors?”

Clay smiled slightly. “The greatest strength of the agency was the genius in hiding it. And that strength is what keeps me from contacting those surviving...co-workers.”

Althea was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Our agency was housed in a twelve-story building. We had a thousand...staff. Our challenge was to keep all of that a secret. We did it by disguising our operation as a government supplier of electronic equipment. Our lobby was set up to reflect the company name and mission. We even wore uniforms with the fictitious company logo on it. We paid for our operations by sending the government bills for equipment we supposedly manufactured and shipped to them. Everyone worked at the company under carefully fabricated identities. No one knew anyone else’s real name or address or hometown or family...you see?”

“Clay, what about your best friend, the former head of the agency? Couldn’t he identify her?”

“He died four months ago.”

“Around the time of the events at the nursing home?”

“Yes.”

Althea gasped. “The man Mrs. Peters said died in his bed four months ago of an overdose. That was your best friend!”

Clay froze.

“I am so sorry, Clay. I should have moved away or let you know I was there. I should have not have eavesdropped on your conversation.”

Clay closed his eyes, and then opened them. “He was in the nursing home under the name of Horace Jones.”

Althea’s hand flew to her mouth. “I remember hearing the nursing assistants talk about him. He had gangrene, related to his diabetes. It took his toes, his foot, his leg...it had eaten its way up to his hip. He also suffered from dementia, and rambled a lot of nonsense about a top-secret government agency. He was actually telling the truth all along.”

“Ironically, before my friend was confined to his bed, he saw Mrs. Craft in her long red wig, and mistook her for Moira. That’s when the rumors started at the nursing home.”

“Oh, Clay, I didn’t realize he was dead. I am so sorry.” Althea took his tense hand into hers. “Everything was so chaotic when we left the nursing home. After the authorities shut down the nursing home, we stayed with Marisa a couple of days before we moved to the assisted living center.”

“Althea.” Clay held both of her hands. “I must make a further confession. My friend was in pain and he was suffering. He begged me to end his life. During the turmoil of that last night, I took the syringe that was intended to murder you, and I used it to take my friend’s life. Moira not only tracked me here, but she put together the pieces of the puzzle and figured out I killed my friend.”

“How fortuitous!” trilled a bright and happy voice.

Althea’s skin crawled. She turned her head, but she already knew who would be standing there.

Her hair bright red and her face not quite as perfect in the unforgiving afternoon sunlight, Moira Peters stood several yards away from them. Dressed in skinny jeans and a short-sleeved royal blue shirt, she was coolly confident.

Clay stiffened. “What are you doing here?”

Moira held up a small object and waved it in triumph. “Do you know what this is? It’s a recording device. It picks up sound from fifty yards away. It enabled me to stand far enough back that you couldn’t see me, yet capture every word of your fascinating conversation.” She threw back her head and laughed. When Clay started to rise, she sobered.

Moira slid her other hand into her shoulder bag, and kept it there. “I have a loaded gun. I won’t shoot you, Clay, but I will shoot your little paramour.”

Like a tiger rethinking his spring, Clay sank down on the bench.

Moira turned to Althea. “When I hand this over to the authorities, your boyfriend will go to prison for murder. At his age, twenty years could very easily turn into a life sentence.”

Althea’s mind was a jumble of disjointed thoughts and her belly was jittering.
I have to buy some time!
She leaned forward on the bench, and scrunched up her face. “What did you say?”

Moira yelled. “I said, I’m giving the recording to the police.”

Althea shook her head in puzzlement. “What? You’re reordering a poultice?”

Moira stamped her foot. “
I said, I will put your boyfriend in prison
!”

Moving very slowly, as if her joints were stiff, Althea rose from the bench.

Clay tried to snag her dress. “Althea!” he hissed. “Sit back down!”

Althea pulled free of his clutching hand and lurched, as if she had balance problems. “You got your friend a prism? Is it pretty in the sun?”

Staggering a bit, Althea inched her way closer to Moira.

“For God’s sake, can’t you get the deaf bitch a hearing aid!”

Althea cupped her ear with her hand, and waveringly closed the distance. “A spearing aid?” She pointed to the lone fisherman at the pond below. “Land sakes alive, give me a cane pole anytime. Spearing fish isn’t at all sporting.”

When Moira raised her eyes to the sky, as if seeking divine intervention, Althea knew she had to act, or lose her chance. Althea plucked the device from Moira’s hand, and lobbed it toward the pond. She balled up her other delicate little hand into a fist, and smashed it into Moira’s surprised face. The redhead fell backward to the ground.

Clay materialized next to the fallen woman. He snatched her purse off her shoulder.

A man who had been helping his child feed the ducks ran up the slope to them. “What’s going on?”

Althea pulled herself up to her full height, and stared haughtily at the man. “This lady lost her balance. I reached out to help her, and she teetered backwards to the ground.”

The young man frowned. “Wow, from down there, it looked totally different. There was a splash in the pond, I looked up, and it sure looked like you cold-cocked her.” He shook his head as he reached down to help Moira to her feet.

Moira furiously slapped his hands away, and scrambled to her feet.

She opened her mouth.

Clay gently shook her purse at her. His hand was inside.

She closed her mouth.

“Thank you, young man,” Althea said graciously, like she was the queen thanking a helpful serf.

Still frowning in puzzlement, he saluted them and ran down the slope to his child.

“You won this battle, but you won’t win the war.” Holding her blazing cheek, Moira turned to Althea. “Mrs. Craft was sitting in my normal seat on the patio. We both have long, red hair. I know too many of your boyfriend’s secrets. He would like nothing better than to see me dead. And when he stabbed Mrs. Craft in the back, that’s exactly what he thought. He mistook her for me, and killed the wrong woman. Your lover is a killer, Mrs. Flaxton. I believe it, and so will the police.” She turned furiously on her heel, and strode back along the path.

“You’re insane, Mrs. Peters, if you believe Clay killed Mrs. Craft by mistake,” Althea called after her. “You of all people should know if Clay wanted you dead, then you would be dead.”

Moira swiveled back to them. “Clay isn’t the only one who’s lying, Mrs....Flaxton. When are you going to tell him the truth?” She pivoted away and then continued along the path.

Clay pulled Althea into his arms. “That viper! She is a troublemaker! Thea, are you all right? I cannot believe you took such a risk! You could have been killed!” He squeezed her so tight, she squeaked.