LeGarde Mysteries Box Set, page 51
part #1 of LeGarde Mystery Series
Maurice shouted in protest and ran toward me. He moved awkwardly, with his taped hands held in front of him.
“Do you want a penalty, fat-boy?” screamed Jonesy. “Three strikes and you’re out!”
Maurice backed away, mouthing the words I’m sorry.
My back burned from the blow, but I caught my breath and tried to ignore it. Where the hell is Siegfried? He should be back by now. He’ll know something is wrong. He’ll get the police. What had Jonesy done to keep him away? I began to worry in earnest about my family and animals.
Jonesy strutted to the front of the room, sidling up to Camille. “Okay! This is going well, now, isn’t it? Bet you never thought a janitor could upstage your fancy little show, did you? Ha!” He barked a lecherous laugh, running his hand down Camille’s arm. “Still so pretty,” he whispered. He moved her hair back and ran the tip of his tongue along the rim of her ear. He’d drawn his knife out again, and held it to her throat.
I shuddered, boiling with rage. It was all I could do to stay put, knowing what he was doing to her. Humiliated, I fumed on my seat.
“You don’t remember me yet, do you, princess?”
She looked up at him, trying to reason with him. “I don’t remember anyone who was named Jones in my school. Are you sure you don’t have me confused with someone else?”
He snarled at her and walked back to the music cabinet, picking up a small wooden box. He lifted the lid, withdrew a yellowed greeting card, and then thrust it into her hands.
“What kind of card is that, princess?”
She answered quickly. “It’s a Valentine.”
“Excellent! Now open it.”
She flipped open the card.
“Read it. Let’s read it to the whole class, shall we? Why shouldn’t you all suffer with me?”
Camille began to read in a tremulous voice.
My dear Camille,
I adore you, sweet princess.
Please come to the Senior Prom with me?
Without you, I am nothing.
Monty
She stared at Jonesy. “Monty?” Recognition dawned in her eyes.
“Cecil Jones Montague, at your service, madam.”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Jonesy made a mock bow in her direction. “What’s wrong? Are you looking for a head of curly blond hair? I lost it all by the time I was thirty. Glasses too thick? What if I take them off, recognize me now, princess?” He leered at her.
“Yes,” she said quickly, “I recognize you, Monty.”
“Next question!” he bellowed. “What did you do with the Valentine, princess?”
She lowered her eyes and her voice softened. “I gave it back to you.”
“Correct! And how did you answer my question?”
“I said no, that I didn’t want to go to the prom with you.”
“Correct! But how did you deliver this juicy piece of news, princess?”
“I don’t remember,” she said timidly.
“Aaaannnntttt!” he shrieked, elbowing me in the jaw.
I tasted salty blood where he smashed my cheek against my teeth.
“I’ll remind you, Miss Prissy Princess. You told me in front of three of your giggling girlfriends that you would never go out with the likes of me. That you had no interest in me, and that I needed to leave you alone!” His voice cracked as he continued in a lamenting wail. “I loved you. I poured my heart out to you. You were my life. I lived to see you everyday. I worshipped you.”
Camille’s cheeks reddened and she raised her voice. “But Monty, I was only fourteen years old. I was a freshman. You scared me. You followed me home every day, never speaking, just watching me. I was just a child. And you were a senior, for God’s sake.”
Jonesy strode to Camille and backhanded her. Her head shot back from the blow.
I leapt from the stool and launched myself at him, knocking him down and getting in several good punches on his jaw and nose. Blood gushed from his nose, but his moves were quick and efficient. My schoolyard fighting tactics didn’t seem to be enough, but I struggled against him with all I had. I remembered that unlike me, he’d seen combat. As hard as I fought, he had me pinned in minutes.
He slammed my head against the cement floor shrieking, “Penalty for interference!”
Breathing raggedly, he looked up from the ground and nodded to Nelson to draw another mark on the board. The pain in the back of my head surged and a goose egg began to swell.
“Oh my, Professor. Three penalties. You lose!” He stood up, smiling wickedly. Pressing the tip of the rifle against my left calf, he fired.
Hot pain seared my flesh. I barely heard the screams of Camille and the students, staring in disbelief at the hole in my pant leg. Blood gushed out, quickly soaking the fabric. Jonesy grabbed a sweatshirt from the desk and threw it at me.
“Here,” he said without emotion. “Wrap this around it. I still need you for leverage. If you pass out, it won’t be as much fun.”
I pulled the sweatshirt tight around my leg and tied it in a knot. I felt dizzy, but dragged myself back to the stool when he repeatedly jabbed me with the rifle.
A red welt formed on Camille's cheek. Her face worked in horror. She stared at my leg, and I thought she might lose it.
I mouthed the words, “I'm okay,” although I wasn’t sure it was true.
“Do you want to know what happened to me that night, Princess? After you and your bitchy friends laughed at me?” He grunted when she didn’t answer. “Well, I’m going to tell you anyway.” Jonesy pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Then he lowered his head and screamed in her face. “It was the worst day of my life! You taunted me mercilessly in front of the whole school.”
Camille looked at him in surprise. “What? I—”
“I skipped out and took off in my car. I was so humiliated; I pushed the pedal to the metal until I wrapped myself around a tree. The car was totaled and I was in the hospital for three months. Three whole months! I never graduated; I didn’t go back to school. I didn’t get to college. Eventually, the military took me, but just barely.” His voice cracked. “And all I could do when I lay in bed in that hospital was think of you—think of you and how you had rejected me.” He hiccupped a ragged sob and covered his eyes with his hands.
Camille’s expression changed. She sat up, and spoke with a soothing, sweet quality. “I remember hearing about your accident, Monty. I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were that upset. You just turned and walked away from me and that was the last time I ever saw you.”
She reached out a hand to place on his shaking shoulder.
He shook it off violently, the words exploding from his lips. “It’s too late for apologies!”
“But Monty, I was fourteen. Girls can be cruel at that age. I know. I remember how mean they were to me, too. But I was really afraid of you, Monty. Maybe you should’ve talked to me instead of following me around and scaring me.”
“Aaaannnntttt! Wrong answer!”
He turned and kicked the shin of my good leg. The sharp pain paled in comparison to the throbbing in my wounded calf.
Camille raised her voice. “Monty! You didn’t ask me a question. That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” he shouted. “It’s not fair? I make the rules, princess. It’s my game, remember?”
He tossed another handful of pills down his throat, and then turned toward me. “What’re you looking at, hotshot?”
I tried to avert my eyes from his, but couldn’t. They bored into mine with loathing. His voice turned to a wheedling whine. “I finally found her again, after she went off and married that first retard. When she changed her name to his and moved to Rochester, I lost her for seven long years. I found her when she went back to her maiden name and registered online in the white pages. By the time I’d landed a job at this school, you had stolen her from me, you academic, fascist bastard!”
His voice rose to a crescendo when he walked back and forth between Camille and me, becoming more and more agitated as the pills took effect. In the back of my mind, I idly wondered how he had put together academia with fascism, but let the thought evaporate when I noticed the front doors jiggle.
I glanced at Jonesy. He hadn’t seen it. His voice had risen to a fever pitch during the last tirade.
Maybe someone heard the shot.
I glanced up at the clock. It was quarter to seven. The audience would be arriving soon.
Jonesy followed my gaze and looked back at me with a calculating expression. “You’re right, Professor. They’ll be coming any time now. Let’s turn up the music to muffle the noise, shall we?”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Jonesy smirked at the teens. “Hey! I have a great idea. Why don’t you guys sing to me? A private show. Yeah. I want that sexy dance number. C’mon, where are you, ‘Lana?’”
Jonesy walked through the crowd of cowering girls and dragged Takeema forward. She wore a short, red satin dressing gown with a feathered boa around her neck. In the first scene, she is shown off to the side of the stage, in her “dressing room,” getting ready to perform in the exotic dancer club.
“You! Big hero,” he pointed at me. “Get off your butt and play the piano.”
My head spun, but I dragged myself to the piano bench. I opened the score to the dance number, and began to plunk out the notes, trying to make sense of the bizarre feeling of playing while blood seeped from my leg and a psycho killer held a gun to my beloved Camille’s head.
“C’mon,” he screamed. “Dance.”
Takeema began to move slowly and mechanically, working through the number. Her face twisted in fear, her performance understandably lackluster. She made no sound, but tears streamed down her cheeks.
He leaned back on a chair against the wall, eyes drooping. He rested the rifle against the wall and leered at Takeema. When she passed near him, he grabbed her. He pulled her to him, fingering the hem of her dressing gown and snickering. My heart dropped when he wrapped his arm around her waist. He drew her closer and tap-danced his fingers down her bare arm as if in anticipation of pleasures to come.
I took a deep breath, ready to lunge at him if he dared to go farther.
With a snort, he released her and let her continue with the dance.
I played through the piece, gritting my teeth against the throbbing pain in my calf. Finally, it was over. As if bored with the pastime, Jonesy pushed Takeema back to the group of girls. “Ah, you’re jailbait, anyway.”
Although I knew that his combat skills far exceeded any tricks I had learned in high school scuffles, I watched for a chance to jump him. In spite of the pills he swallowed, he held the rifle firmly before him again, prowling back and forth between the front door and Camille.
“You!” He approached me rapidly with eyes rolling wildly. “Back on the contestant’s stool.”
I limped to the stool.
Jonesy approached Camille. His heavy-lidded eyes were almost closed and he tilted his head to the side with a faint smile. “It’s getting late.” He stood before her with his hand under her chin, raising her face to his. “So pretty. How’s about a kiss, sweetheart?”
The staccato beat of my heart pounded in my ears as I sensed his mood shifting. He was about to do something final, something foul. I could feel it.
He leaned toward Camille’s lips.
She looked sideways at me when she raised her arms to embrace him, her eyes urging me to act while he leaned into her.
He moved closer, lips puckered.
Simultaneously, Gene, Nelson, and I lunged toward his back. Although Gene’s hands were still taped, the weight of our combined force knocked Jonesy over and he tumbled past Camille’s chair to the ground. He reacted with lightning speed, striking at us. Nelson was catapulted toward the blackboard. I scrambled for the rifle and felt Jonesy do the same. His head cracked against mine, delivering a blow that sent stars wheeling across my field of vision.
The rifle fell to the floor. Jonesy quickly retrieved it. He tossed Gene aside with a shove and turned back to me, ready to take me on with the rifle in one hand.
He leered happily at me. “C’mon, fancy-pants. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He swung the rifle back and forth, moving closer. I feigned exhaustion, and when he was about to slam me with it, I grabbed the end of the rifle and pulled. I swung him around and slammed him into the wall. Encouraged, I forced my bloodied leg to act and bolted for him.
It was then that Jonesy revealed his true fighting skills. As soon as I reached him he ducked, pivoted, and slammed a fist into my jaw. My head flew back and I lost my balance, struggling to stay up on the leg that seared with pain. Before my vision cleared, he tackled my knees and had me on the ground, pummeling my face with his iron-like fists.
I felt woozy and confused and watched him in triplicate.
He picked up the rifle and pointed it at Gene, who crept toward us. Nelson stood by Camille with his arms wrapped around her. Tears ran down his face.
The sweet kid is trying to protect her.
I rolled over onto my knees and hopped up again with renewed vigor. Crouching, I moved in a circle.
Jonesy played with me, ducking, swiveling, and poking me with the rifle.
Don’t give up. Get the bastard.
Anger streamed through me. I pictured him kissing her, taunting her, manhandling her. Adrenaline surged through my veins.
I’m ready.
I lowered my head and lunged toward the fiend with all my strength.
The rifle stock slammed against my head and the room instantly blurred. I sank to the floor, disoriented. The steel toe of Jonesy’s boot connected with the flesh beneath my chin. I reeled backwards and fell into a black void.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
I lay on my back on the cold cement floor. Someone was talking, but the words made no sense. I struggled to understand, but couldn’t drag myself from the mire. My face ached on both sides. I tasted blood on my tongue. An inferno burned in my calf.
A cold metal object jabbed into my ribs.
Several girls screamed.
A voice snarled close to my ear. “It’s all over now, Lover Boy.”
Camille yelled, “No!”
I tried to pry myself from the mental bog that held me captive. My eyes opened halfway and I saw Jonesy’s cruel face above mine, grinning as he prepared to shoot me.
His eyes—bloodshot and heavy—narrowed to slits. His breath reeked of stale cigarettes. He straightened above me and repositioned the weapon over my heart. My flesh pounded against the metal, and I lay motionless beneath it.
In a flash, an angel appeared overhead. He descended from the heavens, his long, blond hair spread about his body in a golden halo.
My vision clouded. I lost my tenuous grip on consciousness and feel back into the blackness.
Chapter Eighty
“Professor, please wake up.”
My eyes opened slowly.
Siegfried knelt over me, patting my face. An ugly bruise had formed above his left eye, and his split lower lip beaded with blood.
My body throbbed in a dozen places. The fire in my calf threatened to make me lose consciousness again. My eyes closed as I lay still, trying to remember.
“Professor, Bitte!”
“Sweetheart, wake up,” Camille whispered.
I opened my eyes again and stared up at the catwalk, remembering the snake that had been dropped from above into the prop room. In a giant whoosh, it came flooding back to me.
Jonesy. Camille. The kids.
I looked into the troubled face of Siegfried and realized that the angel who had dropped from the heavens was my gentle friend.
Camille wiped a cloth across my brow and caressed my cheek with the back of her hand.
“Did you actually jump down from there?” I mumbled, trying to sit up. The room swam. I decided to stay down until I could muster more strength.
Siegfried nodded. “Ja.”
Camille said, “He sure did. He’s our hero.”
Siegfried touched my hand. “He was going to shoot you. It was the only way.”
I turned my head to see the students milled around, hanging on each other and crying.
“Go,” I said to Camille. “Help them.”
“You sure?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, honey. You stay here with Sig.” Camille hurried to her kids. Instantly, the boys and girls descended on her, some babbling, and some crying.
She dabbed at Nelson’s forehead with a wet cloth, still glancing over at me with concern from time to time.
I forced a weak smile to console her. The kids needed her more than I did.
Siegfried had called the police, as I’d hoped. Joe Russell and Adam Knapp arrived in minutes. They expertly rolled Jonesy over and snapped cuffs on him, answering my unasked question about whether or not he was alive. I guess he was still breathing, or they wouldn’t have restrained him.
He lay so close to me; the acrid odor of sour cigarettes rose in a stench. My stomach rolled when I looked at his pasty face and the pair of broken glasses askew on his nose.
I finally sat up and held my head in my hands. The throbbing in my jaw was excruciating where Jonesy’s steel-tipped boot had connected with the bone. I wondered if it was broken. I tried to stand. The pressure caused fresh, warm blood to seep down my leg.
“Careful.” Siegfried helped me up and settled me into a chair. I looked down at the blood-soaked sweatshirt I’d wrapped around my leg and felt woozy.
Jonesy lay three feet from me. Inert. No longer a threat.
He’d been beside us the whole time, and we hadn’t seen it. Why hadn’t I seen through him?
I had the urge to stomp on him, kick him, destroy him. As I gently probed my swollen jaw, I looked at him and realized that if the opportunity had arisen, I would have killed a man tonight.
The thought chilled me. I looked toward the hallway where I heard the sound of gurneys rolling down the hall accompanied by hurried footsteps.
