Slip and Go Die (A Parson's Cove Mystery) (20 page)

I saw the dark outline of someone walking past the window. Whoever it was, was dressed in a big winter parka. For a moment, I thought it might’ve been Reg or Jake but I knew neither one would be out on a night like this. Jake and Flori would be sitting in their living room watching television, where most folks with an ounce of sense in their heads would be. If Reg were on duty, he’d be in his warm office, either reading a hunting magazine or oiling his rifles.

The man turned and stood in the doorway. If I’d known who it was, I’d have called out. Under the circumstances, I thought it best to stay still and silent.

He was tall, the top of the parka reached within a couple of inches of the doorframe. He didn’t fill the doorway quite a much as Flori so I imagined he was on the thin side. What light there was came from the outside and behind him, so there was no way that I could see his face.

Slowly, as if in slow motion, his arm came up. For one brief second, the light coming in through the window reflected on something shiny in his hand. A gun! I knew it was a gun. The only protection I had was the curtain. Even in my befuddled mental state, I knew it wasn’t bullet-proof. Before my brain could grasp the idea that I should run for my life, something else happened–a bright light shot out of the object and right into my eyes, blinding me. A flashlight! I quickly pulled the curtain in front of me. It could have been Reg checking things out but my mouth was frozen; I couldn’t call out.

Besides, my heart was beating too fast and my knees shaking too much for me to say anything that would be close to making sense.

I waited and shivered. The moments ticked by.

“Well, lookee here.” He shone the light up and down my body. Even through the thick cloth, it hurt my eyes. “Somebody’s all wrapped up in her curtain. Could that be Mabel Wickles, by any chance?” He chuckled. “Real brave, aren’t you?”

It was the same voice that was on my answering machine. Why did I not recognize it?

“I knew you’d come down here. Just couldn’t stay away, could you? You think you can stick your nose in wherever you want. Well, I have news for you; this time it will be different. No old meddlesome woman is going to upset our plans.”

I closed my eyes and held my breath. Tears sprang up and felt hot against my eyelids.

“Like I told you on the phone, Wickles, this is only a warning. I don’t like getting rid of old women but if I have to, I will. You have no idea how miserable I can make your life. So miserable, you’ll wish you were dead. I’m going to tell you this only once. Keep out of this or you’ll end up like Beulah Henry.”

Before I could stop my lips, I said, “You mean you killed Beulah?”

He laughed.

“Now I didn’t say that, did I? Don’t you know your old friend, Beulah, had a terrible accident? Could happen to you, too. You might fall through the ice on the lake, end up in one of those holes.” He paused. I couldn’t see him but I knew he was smiling. In my mind, I pictured a cruel evil grin. “Maybe some fisherman would pull you out. Or, maybe no one would ever see you again.”

I knew one thing: he was the devil, for sure.

He let out one insidious laugh; I heard a click and I was in darkness again. For several seconds, I remained motionless. When finally, I peeked cautiously out from the curtain, the room was empty. The door gaped open as before, swinging slightly. The room was dark and cold and I don’t think I’d ever felt so alone. My whole body trembled from fear but the tears running down my cheeks were hot.

Chapter Twenty Six

I didn’t rush to close the door. Visions of being grabbed in the dark and shoved down into a fishing hole on a frozen lake were still too vivid in my mind. All I could do was shiver and shake–a little from the cold; most of it from terror. When I felt secure enough to walk across the room, I did. Very quickly. I slammed the door shut, turned the lock and leaned against it. The storm door could keep swinging, I wasn’t reaching my arm outside to pull it shut. The only sound in the room was my heavy breathing and then the furnace kicked in again. Somehow, I didn’t feel so much alone then.

There was no way I was going to walk down the back lane for home. There was also no way I was going to walk down Main Street. I could lock both doors but he had already proven to me that he was a master lock picker. He had me. Even though he hadn’t physically touched me, I felt violated.

If I ever needed a plan, it was now. I had to do something to throw him off. He had to realize that tangling with Mabel Wickles was a little different from all the other ordinary victims he’d manipulated. My first goal, of course, was to control my fear and stop my legs from shaking.

As soon as my pulse and blood pressure returned to normal, I reached over and switched on the lights. I’d been in the dark for so long, it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. I then went to the back of the shop, locked the backdoor (for all the good it did me) and switched the lights on. In the back room, there was an old rickety chair that I’d been meaning to throw out for years but somehow never got round to it. I shoved it under the door knob. I went back into the front and pushed a chair under the door knob there.

No one was going to terrorize me in my own store.

It was after eight. The streets were empty but I knew that Pattie Morgan, who lived above the print shop, would be able to see my lights. There might also be a car drifting by once in awhile, heading for the beer parlor at the hotel. There was a fair to middling chance that someone might pop in and see what Mabel Wickles was up to. At least, that’s what I wanted the hooligan who threatened my life to think. Personally, I doubted that anyone would be very interested.

It didn’t take long for the room to warm up. I made a pot of coffee. If I was going to be trapped in my own store, I might as well make the best of it.

I wished that I could phone Flori but I didn’t dare. In fact, somehow, and without hurting her feelings, I was going to have to keep Flori away from me until I had this case solved.

Who was this man who knew that Flori was my friend? He was the one who stole all of Beulah’s things, that much I knew. Otherwise, why would he mention Beulah and Charlie? But, if he stole her things, why was he still in Parson’s Cove? What else did he have in mind? Wouldn’t a normal, intelligent thief know enough to leave? What kind of a bozo was he?

I sat down in my wicker chair with a cup of coffee and munched on a granola bar. It would have been nice if one of my cats were here to share this pleasant moment but they were at home–happy, content and completely ignorant of their mistress’ misfortune.

By the end of an hour, I had finished my second cup of coffee, had been to the washroom twice and had meticulously pulled all the little knobs of wool off my sweater. It was going to be a long night. This was almost as bad as spending the night at Beulah’s cabin with the sheriff. Not one car drove by. I was afraid to stand right in front of the window and wave my arms. The man could be a good shot and be long gone before morning. No one would ever know who’d snuffed out my life.

It finally struck me that there was no point just sitting around, waiting for someone to either rescue me or shoot me. There was work to be done. Why not spend the time putting all my old stock back on the shelves? This way I’d get my work done and the creepy person outside who was probably watching every move that I made, would think I’d completely lost my mind. It was a win/lose situation. Come to think of it, it was more a lose/lose situation. There was no way I could sell enough of my old stock to pay for the furnace.

Before I started lugging all the boxes into the room, I put the radio on to my favorite western music station. I brought out one of the boxes and then turned the radio up another notch. Perhaps, someone would phone Reg and complain about the noise.

I brought out the second box. It then struck me that if Reg came, the stranger (my potential murderer), would think that I’d called him. I turned the volume down.

Since it was going to be a long night, I dusted the shelves before putting anything back. Flori would be so proud. By eleven-thirty, everything was back and my store looked like it had before this nightmare began. It felt good. Now all I could do was hope that the not-so-generous people of Parson’s Cove would come through for me. Tomorrow morning, I would open, as usual. If I could keep my eyes open.

I’d settled down with my third cup of coffee (I hate throwing any out), when the phone rang. My cup flew through the air, smashed into a thousand pieces on the floor and coffee slopped all over the place.

“Hello.” I felt sick.

“Mabel? Is that you? What, on earth, are you doing at the store at this hour?”

Flori! I’m always happy to hear her voice but this time, you can’t imagine how happy. And, relieved.

“How did you know I was here? What are you doing up at this ungodly hour?”

There was a loud sigh. “You won’t believe how long I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the store?”

“Is there an emergency, Flori?”

“Well, sort of one. Charlie Thompson’s disappeared. Reg was just here. Jake’s gone to help look for him. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

Chapter Twenty Seven

One thing that I’m proud of is my ability to never break down and bawl like a baby in any circumstance. This includes funerals. I could say that it’s because Flori cries enough for both of us but I don’t think that’s the reason. I’m sure it has something to do with my mother. It’s not that I’m forever analyzing all my personality traits. Most of them, I don’t even care to acknowledge.

I do think about her at times though and wonder how I survived childhood. My father was a quiet, humble man, content with a roof over his head and simple food on the table. My mother was never satisfied with anything: the house was too ordinary, the shop was too ordinary, my father was too ordinary, her daughter was too ordinary. I was never sure what my mother wanted out of life but being ‘upper crust’ might have brought her a measure of happiness. She never did fit in with the people of Parson’s Cove. Most folks thought she was a bit on the snooty side.

Mother did manage, however, to achieve a bit of upper crustiness at the dinner table. While everyone else in Parson’s Cove was content to eat off of stoneware or plastic, our dining room table was graced with porcelain dishes from China and china dishes from England; our water was served in crystal goblets. Flori loved the dishes but she was petrified round my mother. That meant that she usually dropped a dish or two so my mother stopped inviting her over.

On the other hand, Flori’s house was so noisy and full of people that I felt uncomfortable and intimidated. We decided to eat at our own homes.

After I was born (my mother complained about her labor pains until the day she died), my mother claimed the bedroom for her own; my father moved down into what is now my pantry. There were times when I felt that he was relieved to have the little room all to himself. I know I did. It was wonderful to sit on my father’s bed and listen to him as he read
Swiss Family Robinson
or
Heidi
to me.

Of course, at eight sharp, my mother appeared at the doorway, telling me in a very firm voice that it was time for bed. She would glare at my father and remind him that as beneficial as it was to read to a child, it was just as important for a growing child to get a good night’s rest. To this day, I keep up my reading and I go to bed early.

And my mother never cried. It’s true she grumbled, moaned and groaned, but I never saw her shed a tear. In a way, perhaps it’s good that my mother died first because when she did, my father cried. If my father had gone first and my mother hadn’t cried, who knows what kind of emotional wreck I would have turned out to be.

Now I was setting a precedent. Charlie was missing. I sat in the wicker chair and bawled, almost matching Flori in the tear department but excluding the hiccoughing and moaning.

How could I have let something like this happen? Maybe I shouldn’t have listened to him; maybe, I should’ve gone right to Reg in the beginning. On the other hand, that might have caused more problems. Poor Charlie. What if that horrid man had taken him out into the country and left him to freeze to death? Or, what if he took him out on the lake and shoved him into a fishing hole?

I was envisioning this last scenario when there was a loud bang on the window. I jumped up and grabbed the envelope opener off the counter. That was the only weapon that was handy. I shoved the opener out in front of me, ready to stab the first person who tried to break through my door. I was also thankful that I’d just finished emptying my bladder a few minutes before.