The Extinguished Guest (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 2) (29 page)

Crystal sighed and said, "My father used to work for him at D&P Enterprises. Dad was
a CPA there, head of their accounting department. One day he brought it to Mr. Prescott's
attention there was an unexplained deficit of several hundred thousand dollars in
the corporate account. Prescott went ballistic."

"Going ballistic" was one of Wendy's favorite sayings. Crystal and Wendy had to be
about the same age, I thought. I made a mental note I needed to call Wendy if I lived
through this current ordeal. I turned my attention back to Crystal to listen to her
explanation.

"Dad was just doing his job, doing what he was paid to do, and yet, a week later he
was given his walking papers. Prescott fired him, of course. It became very clear
to Dad who was responsible for the missing money."

"Mr. Prescott, I presume?"

Crystal looked annoyed, as if disgusted with me for not paying attention. She said,
"Yes, of course it was Prescott. My father had been a loyal employee of D&P Enterprises
for over fifteen years when this happened."

"Your father surely had good enough qualifications to get another job somewhere else,"
I said to the young woman who now had tears streaming from her eyes. It was obviously
a very emotional subject for her. I was touched at how deeply she cared for her parents
and amazed at just how far she would go for them.

"He was so upset at being fired by Prescott that he suffered a massive stroke that
same evening," Crystal said. "He's been in a wheelchair ever since, unable to use
his right arm or leg, and he's unable to speak coherently. He draws disability pay,
but my mother had to go to work, cleaning other people's houses, to make ends meet.
And it's all because of the corruptness of Mr. Prescott, who fired my father because
he was afraid Dad would be able to prove he was the one who embezzled the missing
money. Dad was convinced both Prescott and Dack were stealing from the company, behind
each other's backs, as if competing to see who could out-embezzle the other partner.
I vowed to myself one day I would make Mr. Prescott pay for what he did, and Boris
Dack, too, if the opportunity arose. I was happy to see Dack brought down without
my help. And—"

"Uh-huh," I nodded. "Go on. What'd you do next?" I had to keep Crystal talking.

"When I heard the buffoon was being honored at a dinner here at the inn, and Mr. Van
Patten was looking for help, I knew it was the opportune time to exact justice. It
was time to make Horatio Prescott pay for the pain and suffering he had forced my
family to endure. So I turned in an application, and you interviewed me and selected
me for the job. Thanks, by the way, for giving me this opportunity."

"Well, you did have the best qualifications of all the applicants," I said inanely.

"Thanks," Crystal said with a smile. "I took over all of the responsibilities of running
the household when my mother had to go to work to support us. Not only did I learn
how to take care of the family finances, I also learned how to cook, sew, clean, and
even—"

Crystal stopped talking abruptly, realizing she'd drifted away from the main subject.
She waved the gun recklessly and continued to speak. "Anyway, I was hoping to eliminate
Mr. Prescott by poisoning him. But, as you know, that plan failed, as did my attempt
to eliminate you the same way when you started asking too many questions. I realized
too late, unfortunately, I should've given Horatio the entire dose of the tansy oil.
If I had, all that's followed wouldn't have even been necessary."

Crystal was now sobbing and the gun was oscillating back and forth in her quivering
hand. I really did feel sorry for what had happened to make this young woman so bitter,
even though she was threatening my life for the third time since Monday. This obsession
of hers was beginning to irritate me, but I had to appear as if I felt nothing other
than an overwhelming compassion for her.

"I'm so sorry, Crystal, for you and your entire family. Now that I've heard your story,
I'm sure the authorities would show leniency. They might actually acquit you of the
murder charge, if you were to turn yourself in before anyone else gets hurt. I promise
I'd help you in any way I can." I was sincere in my pledge. I was not merely trying
to save my own life, although it did add a compelling incentive.

Puffs of smoke were now coming from around the door of the oven on a regular basis,
and drops of lemonade concentrate continued to drip and fizzle on the bottom of the
oven. As ridiculous as it seemed, I felt bad about making a mess in the new oven Stone
had recently purchased for the inn. I wondered if Easy Off Oven Cleaner could remove
the burnt residue from the bottom of the oven. It occurred to me then that I must
have taken complete leave of my senses to be worried about the oven when I was in
imminent danger of losing my life.

"I'm afraid I can't trust you. I can't trust anyone. I'm sorry, but I have no choice
but to eliminate you as a threat, Lexie. If it's any consolation, I really do feel
bad about having to kill you." With trembling hands, Crystal lifted the gun and aimed
it at my face. She grimaced and squinted her eyes, as if she couldn't stand to watch
the bullet pierce my skull. As she began to squeeze the trigger, she closed her eyes
tightly shut.

I tensed my muscles and shut my eyes tightly, too, no more thrilled about the situation
than Crystal claimed to be.

Ka-boom!

The loud explosion rocked the kitchen of the Alexandria Inn and could be heard from
one end of the old historic home to the other. The loud percussion of the shot knocked
me off the chair and on to the tiled floor.

"Aaggghhhh!" A scream followed in the wake of the explosion. My first thought was
I felt pretty good for someone who'd just been shot. My second thought was it had
been a loud explosion for a gun with a silencer attached to it. And my third thought
was it had actually been Crystal who'd screamed, not me. I opened my eyes slowly,
relieved to discover I'd not been shot at all. The explosion had come from the oven,
not the gun Crystal had been brandishing. The gun now lay on the floor, where it'd
been flung as Crystal was hit by flying debris.

A thick cloud of smoke enveloped the young woman as hot lemonade dripped from her
skin and shards of glass from the oven door stuck out at all angles from her back
and arms. Crystal groaned, writhing in agony from the burns and lacerations she'd
sustained from the effects of the exploding lemonade canister. One of the lemonade
canisters had finally built up too much pressure in the severe heat of the oven, I
realized. It was the miracle I had been praying for.

I was sprawled out on the floor in complete astonishment for a few moments before
I pulled myself to my feet to do a quick assessment of my condition. I had a few drops
of hot sticky lemonade juice on my forearm, and felt the sharp pain of a rather large
shard of glass piercing my left shoulder. And I was still bruised and sore from my
ungraceful fall down the stairs.

But all in all, it wasn't nearly bad enough to prevent me from lunging for the derringer
that had clattered loudly as it fell onto the floor beneath the table, immediately
following the explosion. As I snatched the gun from the floor, the kitchen door sprang
open and Stone rushed into the room. It was evident he was startled to see I was clutching
a gun in my hands and also by the fact there was blood flowing out of both Crystal
and me. Despite her injuries, Crystal made a dash for the door leading to the veranda,
nearly knocking over Stone in her haste.

"It was Crystal. She killed Mr. Prescott, Stone. Stop her!" I yelled. I knew I looked
and sounded like a raving lunatic, with blood and lemonade dripping from me as I shouted
at Stone.

Stone looked at me searchingly. I nodded and gestured toward the door with Crystal's
gun. He sighed, took a deep breath, and bolted for the door with me right behind him.
In an awkward series of motions, he leaped over several bushes, hurdled a birdbath,
and dodged four or five low-hanging tree limbs. Somehow, Stone managed to tackle the
fleeing woman before she cleared the yard. The fact Crystal was seriously injured
from the lemonade canister explosion no doubt gave Stone a slight advantage.

An enormous sense of relief flooded through me. I was trembling all over in reaction
to what had just occurred. I looked up as a crowd of Historical Society members began
to gather around me. I realized, suddenly, how thankful I was that no one in our little
group of eccentric, but likeable, guests was a hardhearted killer. I was almost disappointed
they'd all be leaving to go home soon. Almost—but not quite.

Epilogue

It was with a great deal of sadness that I watched Detective Johnston snap the cuffs
onto Crystal's wrists and read her the Miranda Rights. I wished I could have taken
notice of her fragile emotional state and found professional help for her before her
bitterness and anger had escalated to the point of murder. But I couldn't allow myself
to feel personally responsible for her plight. She'd hidden her feelings so well that
I'm not sure anyone could've guessed the depth of her mental anguish. There are so
many avenues she could've taken in lieu of killing Horatio Prescott, if only she'd
reached out for help and not taken justice into her own hands. Unfortunately, like
so many others, Crystal had decided to mete out her own justice, in her own violent
way. Now justice would be meted out once again—with her on the receiving end. This
was not the way I had wanted this murder investigation to end.

I said a quick prayer on her behalf. I prayed the justice system would take pity on
her and find she was guilty by reason of insanity, placing her in a mental institution
instead of prison. Maybe then she could get the support and counseling she needed
and go on to lead a rewarding and productive life.

I gasped in an involuntary reaction as the medical technicians attended to my wound.
Soon my attention was averted by Stone's approach. He came up beside me and placed
his hand on mine to comfort me.

"Are you doing okay, honey?" he asked. His face turned a pastel shade of green as
he watched an EMT delicately remove the shard of glass imbedded in my shoulder. Blood
gushed out after the glass was extracted. The emergency technician handed Stone a
large cotton pad and asked him to apply pressure to the wound to staunch the blood
flow.

"Yes, I'll be fine, at least after my nerves calm down. How about you? Are you okay?"
I asked. I'd noticed he was walking with a slight limp.

He laughed, good-naturedly, and said, "It's just a strained muscle. I'm a little out
of shape to be sprinting across the yard, leaping over shrubs and flowerbeds in a
single bound, and tackling a young woman who's thirty years younger than I. But, all
in all, I'm not too bad."

"I was impressed with your speed and agility, Superman," I said in jest. Stone made
a comical face, and we both chuckled. He knew I often had to laugh to keep from crying,
and I'd been sincerely fond of Crystal. "I'm just thankful you didn't have to catch
a bullet with your teeth," I quipped.

"Me, too, honey. At my age, false teeth are probably just around the corner as it
is. I still can't believe it was Crystal. Who'd have ever thought she could commit
a murder like that. Shoot a man at point-blank range? And then threaten to shoot you.
I can't even imagine her poisoning you or pushing you down a flight of stairs. She
seemed so sweet and innocent to me."

"Me, too. I'm as shocked as you are, Stone. But other than her obsession to exact
revenge for the harm done to her family, I think she's probably a sincerely sweet,
innocent, and thoughtful young lady. Her threat to shoot me was just a panicky reaction
borne out of desperation, I'm sure. I'm not convinced she could have actually pulled
the trigger and shot me had the lemonade cannot exploded when it did. Do you think
the justice system will go easy on her?"

He squeezed my hand and kissed my forehead before responding. "I hope so. Detective
Johnston has promised me he'd look after her and try to ensure she's treated with
compassion and understanding, if that's of any consequence. I think he'll do his best
to uphold his promise."

"I do, too. He seems like a man of honor and principles," I said.

"He also just told me Veronica is moving back to the area because after her divorce,
she has nothing to keep her in Salt Lake City. Wyatt was pretty tickled about the
news."