Tippy Toe Murder (21 page)

All choreography—Tatiana O’Brien.

While Sue turned on the TV and flipped
through the channels, Lucy paced from window to window scanning the yard.

“When will Bill be home?” asked Sue,
settling down with Regis and Kathie Lee.

“Around noon, if everything goes all right.
He has to get the muffler on the truck fixed.”

“Noon sounds kind of optimistic. I think we’re
on our own. Have you got a plan or anything?”

“Not really,” admitted Lucy. “I’m hoping
the network gets here before Roderick does. If he’s got all the legal papers
and everything, I guess I’ll have to let him take Lisa. What else can I do?”

“We could hide her. An old house like this
ought to have some hidey-holes.”

“Well,” said Lucy slowly. “There is one,
but I wouldn’t want to have to use it.”

“Maybe he won’t come,” said Sue, crossing
her fingers.

Lucy sipped her coffee and tried to care as
an unbelievably beautiful supermodel explained how anyone could improve their
appearance by practicing yoga and eating nothing but fruit. Then two hotel
chambermaids competed to see who was the fastest bed maker, something the live
studio audience seemed to find hilarious. Lucy was glad for the distraction
when the girls trooped into the room toting a couple of plastic tubs filled with
dolls, and a bright pink wardrobe case.

“Now, who’s this?” asked Sue, picking up a
little doll.

“That’s Skipper,” explained Elizabeth. “She’s
Barbie’s younger sister.”

“I like Skipper,” said Lucy. “Barbie makes
me feel so inadequate.”

“I know what you mean,” said Sue,
skeptically taking Barbie’s measure. “She’s quite a woman. How does she keep
her figure?”

“I don’t think she ever eats. She’s an
anorexic with breast implants,” said Lucy.

“That would explain it,” chuckled Sue. “Does
she have lots of boyfriends?”

“Lots and lots,” said Elizabeth. “They’re
all named Ken. I like this Ken best. He never loses his head.”

“That’s important in a man,” said Sue,
studying the headless figure Sara showed her.

“Who’s this?” asked Lisa, fingering a
black-haired male figure doll dressed in a gray suit.

“That’s Mr. Heart. He’s married to Mrs.
Heart and they have twin babies,” said Elizabeth.

“Gus and Granola,” said Sara, rummaging in
the bin and retrieving two small baby dolls dressed in matching pink and blue
gingham playsuits.

“Granola is not a name,” Elizabeth informed
her. “They’re really named Andrea and Andrew.”

“Granola is too a name,” insisted Sara,
bolstering her point by appealing to a higher authority. “Isn’t it, Mom?”

“Why not? I used to have an imaginary
friend called Routine,” remembered Lucy. “Mom was very big on structure,” she
told Sue.

“Routine’s not a name either,” said
Elizabeth.

“It sounds like a name. I think you can
name dolls whatever you want. What do you think, Lisa?”

Lisa was huddled over the Heart family
dolls. She’d placed the twins in a toy stroller and propped Mrs. Heart behind
it. Mr. Heart stood by himself some distance away.

Suddenly, she scooped up Mr. Heart and
carried him out of the room. A moment later she returned without him.

“Where’s Mr. Heart?” asked Lucy.

“Away on business,” she answered, serenely
picking up one of the tiny dolls. “I think Granola’s a good name.” She kissed
the little figure and tucked it in the stroller.

There was little to do except wait, and the
morning passed slowly. Although Lucy checked the phone frequently to make sure
it was working, there was no call from the network. She wandered from window to
window, constantly on guard in case Roderick should appear. She helped Sue keep
the girls amused by playing an endless game of Monopoly and several hands of
Old Maid. She was certain the tension and boredom would drive her mad, and she
was absurdly relieved when it was finally time to make lunch.

They had just finished eating their peanut
butter sandwiches when they heard the familiar crunch of gravel that meant a
car had pulled into the driveway. Lucy rushed to the window hoping to see Bill’s
red pickup. Instead, she saw a shiny black Saab.

“It’s him,” she hissed. “Quick. You’ve got
to hide in the root cellar.” Lucy rushed into the pantry and yanked open the
closet door. “Down there!”

“There?” said Sue, hesitating before
descending into the dark, musty hole.

“Make a game of it,” said Lucy, thrusting a
flashlight into her hand. “Down you go, girls.” She picked them up under their
armpits and lowered them one by one to Sue. She slammed the trapdoor shut and
replaced the piece of linoleum that concealed it. Then she closed the closet
door and went out to the kitchen.

Quickly glancing around, she noticed the
lunch plates still on the table. She scooped them into the garbage and covered
them with a crumpled piece of paper towel. Then, taking a deep breath to steady
her nerves, she opened the door. Roderick was just stepping onto the porch.

“Mrs. Stone,” he began politely. “I believe
we met at the courthouse.”

“I remember,” said Lucy. “You’re Franny’s
lawyer. How’s the case going?”

“No new developments, I’m afraid,” he said,
furrowing his brow in a concerned expression. “Everything’s on hold until the
psychiatric exam is completed. Actually, I’ve come to ask your help on a
different matter.” He shifted from foot to foot, adopting a pleading expression
Lucy had seen on certain dogs. “It’s kind of a long story. Do you mind if I
come in?”

“I’m sorry,” said Lucy. “My husband doesn’t
allow me to let men into the house when he’s not home.”

“Very wise of him, I’m sure. But you have
nothing to fear from me.” His manner was deferential, his smile was reassuring,
and his eyes crinkled at the comers.

What an actor, thought Lucy, bracing the
door with her foot. “I don’t think I can help you.”

“I’m sure you can,” he said, adopting a
slightly more aggressive tone. “I think you might have my daughter. She was
staying with Caroline Hutton. When I heard what happened yesterday, on the
radio, I was horrified. I checked with the police. They told me you found her.”
As he spoke his eyes darted around the room behind her, then locked onto hers. “Was
my daughter at the cabin? Did you find her?”

“No,” said Lucy, staring right back at him.
“Only Caro. If I hadn’t seen her with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed one
human being could hurt another like that.”

“Horrible, I agree,” he said, adopting a
concerned expression. Then his eyes lit on something. He shouldered his way
into the room, flinging the door wide open and shoving past her. He crossed the
room in two or three strides and seized the photographs she’d left lying on the
counter.

“It’s time to stop playing games,” he said,
narrowing his eyes. “This is Melissa. Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” insisted Lucy, praying that
Sue could keep the girls quiet in the root cellar.

“These pictures were taken in this room.”
Roderick’s eyes blazed. He tapped the photos against his fingernails.

“She was here,” admitted Lucy. “But she’s
not here now. I think you’d better leave before I call the police.” She reached
for the phone.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, grabbing
her wrist. “Let’s look and see if she’s here.”

“That hurts! Let go of me,” she cried as he
pulled her into the dining room. “See? There’s no one here. I’m all alone.”
Grabbing her upper arm, he dragged her into the hall and stood her against the
wall. Lucy felt his body pressing against hers as he looked through the doorway
into the living room and the family room beyond. He glanced at the stairway,
glared at her, daring her to move, and dashed upstairs.

Nauseous and out of breath, Lucy clung to
the newel post for support. She heard his heavy footsteps as he crashed through
the rooms over her head, knocking over the furniture as he searched for his
daughter. He was angry, and she was afraid he would turn his fury on her when
he returned. The knob on the newel post was loose in her hands. Maybe she could
knock him out with it.

Hearing him on the stairs, she raised her
head and waited warily, fingering the solid wood knob, ready if he attacked
her. He stopped a few steps from the bottom, where he towered above her.

“You know where she is,” he said, leaning
over her. Even if she summoned up the courage to knock him on the head with the
knob, she realized, she couldn’t reach him unless he came down the last few
stairs.

He grabbed her shoulders with both hands
and squeezed. His breath was hot on her face and she stepped backward, trying to
shake out of his grasp.

“You can’t get away from me,” he said, his
lips twisting into an unpleasant grin. He leaped down the last few steps easily
and stood in front of her. “I can do whatever I want with you.”

Taking his hand off her shoulder, he chucked
her on the chin. Then he slowly lowered it and fondled her breast. Lucy stared
at the wallpaper. His hand moved lower, across her belly, and he reached
between her legs. She bit her lip and stood very still.

He moved his hand back and forth. “Do you
like that?” he asked.

Lucy froze, trying to send her mind
somewhere else, pretending that this wasn’t happening.

“Say you like it,” he said, squeezing her
shoulder with his other hand.

“I like it,” said Lucy, humiliated.

“How do you like this?” he asked, suddenly
grabbing her upper arms and slamming her against the solid pine front door.

Stunned and shaken, Lucy wrapped her arms
protectively across her chest and rubbed her bruised arms. Instinct told her to
run, but she didn’t have the strength. A warm flood poured down her legs, and
her cheeks burned with shame.

“Where’s my little girl? Better tell me
now,” he advised, rubbing his thumbs against his fingers. “I won’t ask again.”

“I don’t know.” Lucy could only whisper as
she felt his hands tightening on her neck. She was fighting to breathe, her
heart was pumping in her chest, and her head rang. She was growing dizzy, her
body reflexively gulping for the air he was denying her. She wrapped her hands
around his wrists and tried to pull them away, she kicked at his legs.

“You’re like all the others,” he said,
tightening his hands and shaking her. Lucy felt the almost irresistible pull of
unconsciousness, but her body still fought for breath. She heard his voice, as
if from a distance. “Liar. Bitch. Whore.”

“Stop it, Philip. Let her go.”

The voice was cool and authoritarian.
Miraculously, his hands loosened and Lucy slid to the floor, retching and
gagging.

Annemarie stood in the doorway, wearing a
pink cardigan embroidered with a picket fence, flowers, and bunnies with fluffy
angora tails. She was holding a .22.

“The police are on the way—I called from my
car phone. Get out now,” she said, waving the gun. “I’ll say I didn’t get a
clear view of the assailant.”

“Efficient as always, Annemarie,” said Roderick,
adding a patronizing little chuckle. His tone was casual, but his hands were
clenched. “I think you may have forgotten something. I’m running this show. You
do what I say, cutie-pie, or you’ll be looking at the inside of a jail cell for
a real long time.”

“I don’t care.”

“What?”

“I’m going to tell the police the truth. I
can’t live like this anymore. It’s getting so I can’t stand to look in the
mirror.” On the floor, Lucy groaned and stirred. Roderick glanced at her.

“Do what you want,” he said, dismissing
Annemarie. “I want to find my daughter, and the bitch knows where she is.” He
started toward Lucy.

“No.” Annemarie waved the gun. “Leave her
alone.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot?” Roderick was
sarcastic.

“Yeah, I’ll shoot. Don’t make me. Just
leave. You don’t have much time.”

“That’s right. And she knows where Melissa
is.”

He bent over Lucy and began shaking her.
Lucy’s eyelids fluttered, and he slapped her face.

“That’s enough,” warned Annemarie.

“I’m getting sick of you,” growled Roderick,
turning and advancing toward her. “Give me that gun.”

Annemarie’s face turned white, and she took
a few steps backward, bumping into one of the kitchen chairs. It fell with a
loud clatter. Roderick laughed and grabbed for the gun. Annemarie bit her lip
and squeezed the trigger.