Organized for Murder (32 page)

But she had her hand free for the moment, and a moment was all she needed. As he ripped off the first strip of silver tape, her right hand dove into her jacket pocket and came out with the laser pointer. One click and the green beam shot directly into his eyes. It didn't take long, just like Meg said.

"Ahh!" he screamed. "My eyes! I'm blind!"

Walker tried to shield his eyes, and Kate made her final attack. With every ounce of strength she brought her knees to her chin, and slammed both feet into his chest. There was a whooshing sound as air left his lungs, and he fell to the pavement. She scurried out the door, moving as fast as her wobbly legs could go. He grabbed blindly for her, catching hold of her jacket as he worked his way back to his feet.

Not this time.

She shook free of the coat and headed for the steel cafeteria door. But she couldn't get away from his long reach. As if by instinct, he moved, cursing and grabbing, then knocked her to the ground. She slammed a heel into his shoulder. She kicked off from the asphalt, her palms scraped and bloody. She screamed, but no one opened the doors. The cafeteria was her only hope. Closer. Closer. She was seconds away when he tackled her again, holding both of her feet this time.

Kate fell just short of the small concrete apron that served as the door's porch. Her hand rested next to the iron doorstop someone had left at one corner. As he rose to move on top of her, to pin her one more time, she grabbed the heavy metal wedge and swung in a ninety-degree arc, using the movement to bring all available weight behind the blow. The heavy doorstop connected with his left temple. Kate heard a sickening thump, and he fell away from her.

Laughing and crying at the same time, she rose to unsteady feet and pounded on the locked door.

"What the hell?" The door opened to reveal Valerie in a hairnet and floury white apron. Kate collapsed into her arms, right before the world turned black.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Organizing Your Mind for Clear Thinking

1. Think small. Take small bites, and you'll finish much easier.

2. Focus on your objective. Don't let random chaos rule.

3. Believe in yourself. Organization is a decision that you make.

4. Don't let clutter trap you. You have power over your environment.

5. Like the Nike ad says, "Just do it." Five minutes is better than nothing.

*

"In a hairnet? Valerie?" Meg hooted. "Tell me you're joking."

After the laughter died down at their table, Kate regaled Keith and the Bermans with the other details of her harrowing morning. Though Keith had made it back to town by noon, Kate had still been with the police and paramedics. After one of the cafeteria workers had run into the assembly screaming that a man was molesting women in the parking lot, the DARE officer had quickly taken charge. Charles Webster Walker had finally regained consciousness with Rosie standing guard over him, her German shepherd warning growl low and mean any time he tried to move.

"Yes, at first I thought I was having delusions from getting socked in the head, but it's true—our demon decorator volunteers in the Hazelton Schools food services division. One of the regular volunteers hurt her back and couldn't make it today. When Valerie heard, she offered to take the woman's place. Seems our gal Val is a regular helper at the high school cafeteria. Hard to believe, huh?"

"Valerie as benevolent servant?" Meg mused. "That's a toughie."

Gil swallowed his last bite of breadstick and said, "She's a big behind-the-scenes person for the community Toys for Tots each Christmas, too."

"I guess we've always looked at her through the wrong end of the telescope." Kate frowned as she carefully bit into a savory meatball. It still hurt to open her mouth very wide.

Ooh wonderful
. The seasonings exploded across her taste buds.

"Well, not completely," Gil admitted. "She gets serious business mileage out of being philanthropic with her time, pitching decorating skills as she lifts a volunteer hand. It isn't all selfish. She does a lot of good, but she makes sure to self-promote at every turn."

"There's the Valerie we all know and tolerate," Meg said, and they laughed again.

Stabbing a slice of baked zucchini from his wife's plate, Gil mused, "Speaking of selfish people makes me wonder, with Sophia dead and her husband around the bend, so to speak, what's going to happen to the radio station?"

Keith chuckled. "You are not going to believe this. Story is when Mr. White's doctor and a nurse went in to tell him about Sophia's death, the old guy perked right up. They figured he didn't really understand what they were saying and planned to return later to try breaking the news again. Within an hour, he'd called his attorney—not Walker's firm, by the way—and was checking himself out. Said he wanted to go home and was perfectly fine. Said the whole thing was an act to get away from her and gain some peace for a while."

"Now, that I
can
believe." Meg clapped her hands.

Gil pulled another breadstick from the basket. With a glance around the crowded dining room, he said, "How'd we score a table here on Friday night during prime dining time?"

Keith shrugged. "Power of being a celebrity." Then he laughed and added, "Kate's celebrity status, not mine. I showed up here for lunch and waited until she finally phoned to tell me what happened. I ran out without even paying for my drink. I came back after I knew she was okay." He squeezed his wife's knee under the table. "They'd already heard what happened. Management insisted I bring her back for dinner, on the house."

"How nice. And your parents were terrific to volunteer to babysit all our kids." Meg smiled, then looked closer at Kate. "Are you sure you're okay? You look a little pale."

As Keith and Gil turned worried eyes her way, Kate laughed. "I'm fine. Really. The paramedics patched up all my boo-boos. Just a few bumps, cuts, and bruises. Looks worse than it is. Besides, how can you tell what color I am in this light?" She waved a hand, taking in the romantically darkened dining room. "I counted on the restaurant's ambience to help me escape scrutiny."

Gil forked another bite of Meg's chicken cacciatore. "You look fine. My wife is letting her mommy genes work overtime."

"Hey, buster." Meg slapped his hand. "I can't help it if I care. And if you wanted to eat this dish you shouldn't have ordered lasagna."

He grinned at her, holding the delicious seasoned morsel poised at his mouth and asked, "Did Walker really confess everything in the parking lot? Word is he continued confessing the whole time the cop read him his rights. The guy's nuts."

Kate nodded. "Or trying to make it appear he is. On the day of Amelia's murder, Mrs. Baxter saw him on the front porch and thought Walker had just arrived. But he'd been there for a few minutes and already poisoned Amelia by then. When Walker first arrived, no one else was in the house, and Amelia let him in. According to him, she then ordered him to go to the kitchen to act as servant to bring in the last cup of tea. He saw the lily of the valley, knew the danger from a lecture he'd once attended at the garden club. He claims it wasn't premeditated, that his anger at her made him act without reason. When he supposedly came to his senses he planted the stolen items to send suspicion my way."

"But why?" Meg interrupted. "Why not accuse a family member? Much more logical."

"He said he wanted the case solved fast and knew we didn't have the money for high-priced lawyers," Kate explained. "He'd used one of his fake voices to call for pizza delivery and waited by our back door for Louie to arrive, thinking he'd sneak in and hide the puzzle box. But Louie didn't just stand at the front door. Tiffany let Louie into the kitchen to use the phone, and Charles Webster Walker had to go to Plan B and use the fireworks as a backup."

"But how did he set off the fireworks and get back to your house unseen?" Gil cut in.

"He didn't," Kate continued. "He called that slimy Pearson guy from his office and said he needed to pull a prank to get someone out of a house. Pearson didn't ask any questions and brought firecrackers he happened to have left over from last year."

"Yeah, right," Meg said sarcastically. "Happened to have them lying around."

"Everyone ran into the woods, and Pearson ran away after setting everything off. That's when Walker took the opportunity to sneak into our home and plant the box in the laundry room," Kate finished. "He later swiped the van key out of my purse during the house tour, made a wax imprint like I'd guessed, and slipped it back in. The rest, as they say, is history."

Meg huffed. "Well, it doesn't surprise me Pearson was involved. He's the type to set illegal fires and probably torch small animals."

"Quiet," Gil warned. "The guy's a lawyer after all. If he gets word you defamed him like that he'll—"

"I only said he was the type," Meg argued. "Besides, he did illegally set off firecrackers."

"But why kill Sophia, too?" Keith asked.

"I can answer that one." They all turned in surprise as Constable Banks walked up to their table. "I came by to make sure you're experiencing no ill effects from this morning's excitement, Mrs. McKenzie. Your motherin-law told me where I could find you."

When Kate said she was fine, Banks faced Keith and continued, "Sophia remembered Amelia saying right after Daniel died how making everyone wait for a full accounting was silly. She also recalled how Amelia always worked out big things like her will ahead of time and wrote down her plans in her journal. Amelia's house may have been disorganized, but her mind wasn't. Earlier on the day Sophia was killed, she was at the mansion, and you found the journal, Kate. The book jogged her memory. That afternoon she called Walker and asked whether the journal, with all the notes documented in Amelia's own handwriting, could be used to validate the new will Amelia hadn't yet signed."

"He had to kill me, because he knew I had the journal," Kate said. "That’s why he chased us after the bookstore event last night and rammed our van. Because the journal wasn’t in the box of papers I took by his office the previous evening. He didn’t know that I had no idea I still had it."

Banks nodded. "And after you called to say you’d bring the journal he was afraid of the reference you'd made to the offshore account. He knew Amelia had done some digging and thought you found the evidence."

"But why was Danny trying to pin blame on everyone?" Keith asked. "Was he working for Walker?"

Banks sighed. "Danny's problems predate the thefts and murders by many, many months. Unfortunately, he has friends just as rich and mixed up as he is. His little circle of trouble keeps me and a lot of parents on high alert."

"Including Gabriella Cavannah-Wicker," Kate said.

"Especially Ms. Cavannah-Wicker," Banks said. "She has a granddaughter Danny's age. Danny is known for keeping sales records written on his hand. Natalie Wicker’s isn’t the only name people have seen scribbled next to what can only be assumed is a quantity ordered or revenue owed."

"Drugs?" Gil asked.

Banks offered a weary smile. "They're all juveniles. I've probably already said too much. Especially around a reporter. Let’s just say kids with large discretionary incomes are taxing our local police departments."

"We’ll have to use that as a reason to turn the boys down the next time they ask for a raise in their allowance. It’s our civic duty," Meg quipped. Everyone laughed.

Gil put down his pen. "Off the record. Just remember me when you have something you can comment on."

"It's a deal. Thanks."

"That's all so sad." Meg chewed her lip, and Kate knew she was thinking about kids and drugs, and hoping she never had to know firsthand. "Maybe Rosie the DARE dog needs to visit the high school, too."

"She does," Banks said. "And each trip has nothing to do with reaching out to kids in assemblies. She sniffs out trouble on a regular basis."

"Mrs. Baxter never had anything to do with the thefts," Kate mused, returning to the safer subject.

"Far as we know—no," Banks replied. "Walker said she was the original thief, but frankly I'm not ready to take his word for anything. She's currently out of state, and the family isn't even sure what, if anything, is missing. We're leaving that end of the case in closed status. The state police feel the same way. Johnson said as much before he left town this afternoon. Oh, but one thing I do need to tell you is we matched paint from your van to the damage on the front of Walker's car."

He handed Kate a police report with a yellow Post-it attached. "There's no doubt he was the one after you last night. You can give this to your insurance agent." Pointing to the sticky note, he added, "That's Walker's carrier."

"So Walker knew about the poison through the lecture," Kate mused. "Guess that means Saree and I worried over the book for nothing. I’ve been concerned that Thomas or Bill purchased it last night and had our fingerprints on the page. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway."

"And our talking about it in the van was enough to put the power of suggestion in my mind," Meg said. "When I ran into the convenience store for batteries, it was no wonder I couldn’t find a place Thomas could have hidden. Our conversation made me see imaginary enemies and danger everywhere."

Kate patted her husband’s hand. "Just like Keith always says, anxiety short-circuits the brain." The couple shared a smile.

"I still can't believe Walker spilled everything," Gil said. Ever the reporter, Kate noticed that he'd pulled out a small notepad when Banks showed up at the table and scribbled notes throughout the conversation.

"Yeah, you'd think a lawyer would keep his mouth shut," Kate said, relishing a sip of the delicious house wine. "Personally, I think he's going to go for an insanity defense. There's no other reason for singing like the proverbial canary."

"Or just get his confession thrown out," Keith mused. "He could say it was due to you bonking him on the head, and he didn't know what he was saying."