Wicked Is the Whiskey: A Sean McClanahan Mystery (Sean McClanahan Mysteries Book 1) (18 page)

“Hall wouldn’t be dumb enough to have her thugs attack us here at the pub would she?” said Maureen to Mick and me, the following morning.

We sat in the booth by the hearth, its embers still hot. I was drinking a mug of coffee and beginning to feel myself.

“It’s anyone’s guess,” I said. “But she has displayed some narcissistic tendencies and it wouldn’t surprise me. She’s clearly tying up loose ends. She still doesn’t know what Erin and Elizabeth may know — or, for that matter what I, you and Mick know. She appears to have eight well trained mercenaries guarding her operation, in addition to Tony and Terry. And she seems to think that we’re keeping Erin in my apartment above the pub.”

“Well, let’s be proactive then,” said Maureen. “Maybe we can set a trap for Hall’s mercenaries.”

“What are you thinking?” I said.

“If they come, you have to figure they’ll try to break into the back door,” said Maureen. “So let’s rig it so that they can break in fairly easily, then we catch them in the stairwell.”

“How can do we do that?” said Mick.

“There’s a good-sized foyer area surrounded by three steel doors,” said Maureen. “If they enter from the alley, they come into the foyer through the first steel door. Then they have only two choices — either go through the second steel door to the pub, or go through the third steel door that leads to the stairs to your apartment. So we make sure the two interior doors are locked tight, then we weld a couple of brackets outside the ally door. Once they enter the back door, the spring will automatically shut it. One of us slips up behind them and sets a steel bar across the door into both brackets. They’ll be trapped inside and nobody gets hurt.”

“I like it,” I said.

“Better yet,” said Maureen, “we can install wireless security cameras and monitor their activity on my laptop from inside the garage across the ally.”

“Modern technology amazes me,” said Mick, “but if all goes well, we’ll catch us a gaggle of bad guys without having to lift a finger.”

“They can shoot all they want,” said Maureen. “Their bullets won’t pass through those thick steel doors or the bullet-proof window we had installed in all three. Once they’re trapped, we call the police and call it a day.”

“Praise the Lord,” said Gertrude Miller as she and Erin hugged each other tightly. I’m so happy to see you well.”

The plan Chief Sarafino and I came up with was simple: She would continue collecting evidence in Maryanne to build a case against Hall, while Erin searched for that daggone ledger and I shadowed Hall.

“Gertrude, we’re still looking for the ledger that John had in his possession,” said Erin. “Do you mind if I stay with you a little while so I can look for it?”

“Sweety, you’re welcome to stay here anytime for as long as you like,” said Gertrude.

We searched the house high and for 90 minutes but found nothing. Gertrude talked me into sticking around for dinner and she prepared us a wonderful meal of pot roast, mashed potatoes and peas.

It was a wonderful dinner, as Erin and Gertrude shared their memories of John — some of which caused all three of us to laugh out loud.

A few hours later, after some cake and coffee, it was time for me to go.

I gave Erin a cell phone I’d purchased for her. I used it to call my phone and bookmarked the number.

“You use this phone to call me if you need anything,” I said.

“I’ll be fine,” said Erin.

“Do you know how to use a gun?” I said.

She laughed.

“I was the son my Father never had,” she said. “He took me hunting. We shot pistols, rifles and shotguns at the range. And I was the star shooter on my high schools rifle team.”

I smiled as I handed her one of my spare pistols.

“Sonny,” said Mrs. Miller, “I have three pistols here and a couple of shotguns. We’re loaded for bear!”

“Gertrude and I have some catching up to do,” said Erin. “After that, I’ll search high and low for that ledger. If John stored it here, I will find it.”

Erin gave me a big hug at the door.

I left Mrs. Miller’s house and got into my truck. I was getting used to seeing Erin every day and, I admit, was already starting to miss her.

I put the truck in gear and headed to Victoria Hall’s Mount Washington house.

Indian summer ended that day. It was dark, damp and cold. The falling leaves stuck to the streets like paper mache. The drizzle fell lightly on the roof of my truck and, despite the motor running and my defroster at full blast, my windows kept fogging up. I sat on Mount Washington keeping a close watch over the large ugly chrome house that littered the hillside.

I held a cup of fresh coffee, trying to keep myself awake — trying to get my equilibrium back after having my body racked with drugs and not getting much rest for days.

It’s boring work sitting in your truck waiting. A man gets to thinking when he has nothing to think about. I’d like to say my mind was working through every angle of the Preston case — thinking through every conceivable action Hall and her minions might next take — but it wasn’t.

I was soon thinking about the Steelers and whether they had a shot for the Super Bowl that year. I worried about Pitt, too, and hoped they'd finally find a way to bring home a national championship — or at least respectability.

I wondered about truck tires and fat aluminum rims, which I’d been thinking of getting for the truck, even though it was a waste of money — and even though Maureen made me divert much of what I was finally making as a PI back into the pub toward the new boiler.

And I wondered about Erin.

I admit I had a certain clumsiness around her — her loveliness and gracefulness turned my heart into a pat of butter in a frying skillet. It was wonderful to see her return to good health.

I danced through an unrelated mix of such thoughts over the next several hours until my coffee Thermos finally ran out and all four sandwiches had been devoured.

I’d sat there 12 or 13 hours without any comings or goings from Hall — and I was getting restless.

Besides, it was getting time for me to go, as I’d made plans to meet Elizabeth Preston at the funeral home where Rosie was laid out; I needed to change into the suit that I brought with me.

But at 6:45 p.m. a black Crown Vic pulled up in front of Hall’s house — Tony and Terry were in the car.

Hall’s garage door opened. A red Ferrari came roaring up the driveway with Hall behind the wheel. The Crown Vic got right behind her.

I got behind the Crown Vic. I followed them for about 20 minutes.

I couldn’t believe where they were about to go. 

Hall and Tony and Terry drove to the funeral home where Rosie was laid out. Tony and Terry waiting in their car as Hall went inside.

I changed into my suit inside the truck and hurried inside the funeral home, worried about a confrontation between Elizabeth and Hall. No sooner did I enter the building that my worst fears were realized.

Elizabeth was shouting at Hall, while Hall’s goons stood by ready to push her away.

“You murdered John, you witch.” said Elizabeth. “And you murdered Rosie. How dare you come here.”

“I came to pay my respects to a loyal employee,” said Hall, her face bright red.

“I know your little secrets.” said Elizabeth. “I know what John knew about your illicit activities. I’m telling the authorities everything and you’re going to jail.”

I walked up to Elizabeth and grabbed her hand.

“Come with me,” I said.

I pulled her into the hallway. She was breathing heavily.

“Please calm down,” I said. “This is not the time or the place for a confrontation. Hall is a dangerous person and not to be trifled with. Now let’s pay our respects to Rosie and get out of here.”

We walked into an adjacent room. Eduardo stood in front of the casket, looking down at his deceased wife. His face was blank, his three children had wrapped themselves around his legs.

“Why is mommy sleeping, Daddy?” said his smallest child.

He said nothing. He just started at his wife’s lifeless body. Elizabeth and I approached him. He turned to us.

“She never ran from a problem in her life,” said Eduardo. “She always ran right toward the fire — always had to do the right thing even if it put her in danger.”

I nodded. Elizabeth began to cry.

“She was the sweetest, most wonderful woman, Eduardo,” she said. “John adored her.”

There was five foot wide kneeler directly informs of the casket. Elizabeth and I knelt and prayed for a few minutes.

We tried to comfort Eduardo. He resumed his position staring down at Rosie, his little ones holding tightly to his legs.

“Daddy, why is Mommy sleeping?” said the littlest one, again, as we bid farewell to Eduardo.

I had to choke back tears as we headed for the door.

Elizabeth had taken a cab to the funeral home, so I drove her home and checked the house to make sure all the windows and doors were locked.

She was tired and sad. She thanked me and told me she was going to bed.

I had just arrived back at the pub about to enjoy a pint, when the phone rang. Maureen was down in the basement, so I answered it.

“McClanahan’s,” I said. 

“Sean, help.”

“Elizabeth?” I said.

“They're here,” she said. “They're banging on my front door.”

“Who is banging on your front door?” I said.

“The two men who work for Hall”

“Do exactly what I say,” I said. “Stay inside the house and find a place where you can hide, a place where they will never find you. Do you understand me?”

“What place?” she said.

“That is a big house,” I said. “There has to be somewhere you can hide. Think.”

“I'm thinking,” she said. “I'm think —”

Her phone went dead.

“Elizabeth?”

Nothing.

I jumped back in my truck and put the pedal to the floor, driving as fast as I could back to Elizabeth’s house.

When I got to her house, a windowpane was broken and her front door was wide open. I didn't see a black sedan anywhere.

I pulled out my Glock, and went inside.

I heard no noise, not a sound. I walked into the library, as I did before with Elizabeth. Everything was intact. No one was there.

“Elizabeth?” I said.

I walked into the kitchen, a large commercial-grade kitchen designed to host large parties. I passed through it into the ballroom.

“Elizabeth?”

Nothing.

I walked into the back of the house. Under ordinary circumstances I would have marveled at the fine carved wood lining the walls, the stained glass windows that made it look like a chapel and the formed plaster ceiling that was nothing short of spectacular. Instead I called out.

“Elizabeth?”

I worked my way back to the front foyer, then to the living room, then the kitchen. Furniture was knocked over. The kitchen cabinet doors and drawers were open or tossed on the floor.

I went upstairs and went through all eight bedrooms with the same results — beds were overturned, closet doors were open, clothes were strewn on the floor.

“Elizabeth, are you up here?”

No response. There was no sign of her.

I jumped back in the truck and headed toward Maryanne, worried that Tony and Terry were about to claim their next victim.

Just as I pulled onto the Maryanne Bridge, I saw a black Crown Vic pull away from the center of the bridge.

I gunned the motor, stopping at the spot where they were parked. I ran to the railing with my flashlight and looked down to the dark water.

Elizabeth was splashing in the water, coughing.

I removed my suit coat, climbed over the railing and jumped feet first off into the open air.

Time slowed to a crawl. I could feel the chill in the air as my body rocketed toward the cold water. I tasted the distinct, pungent smell of the river. I knew my odds of survival would improve if I hit the water cleanly. I held my arms close to my thighs, pointed my shoes downward and kept my head steady.

I could feel my speed increase, then as, I hit the water, I felt like I was hitting concrete. Every inch of my body was pummeled.

Within an instant, my body was submerged 15 or 20 feet into the freezing cold water. I swam to the surface. My adrenalin was pumping.

I called for Elizabeth frantically before I heard her choking as she fought to keep her head above water about 20 feet from me. I saw to her.

“Help,” she said, choking in water.

“Be calm,” I said. “It’s going to be OK.”

“Help.”

“Kick your legs, as fast as you can,” I said as I neared her. “Keep your head above the water.”

She did just well enough to allow me to take hold of her shoulders from behind. I kicked my legs hard as I swam backwards to move us toward the river bank.

We were both breathing hard when we got there. We laid on our backs when we did. My body felt like a Sherman tank had driven over it.

“They tried to kill me,” said Elizabeth.

“Did they drug you?”

“They tried but you got there before they could do it, thank God.”

“How do you feel?” I said.

“My body aches in places I didn’t know were there.”

I smiled.

“We have to get out of her,” I said. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

She nodded. I helped her to her feet and we walked up the bank to the ramp that led onto the bridge. I got her back to the truck grateful that my keys and my Glock were still hidden behind the seat where I’d put them before jumping in the water.

I fired up the truck. While holding the Glock in my left hand, I took a U-turn on the bridge and got us out of there.