Renewed for Murder, page 26
As I admired the beautiful bones of the dilapidated structure, a shadow stretched across the short wall fronting the balcony. “I can understand your enthusiasm for restoring this,” I said, assuming I was talking to Marty.
“Get over here,” said a harsh woman’s voice.
I turned to face Evelyn Stover. “Hello,” I said, forcing a smile.
A squeak of protest made me cast a swift glance up the tiered rows of the balcony. Huddled on seats in the back corner were two people.
I looked back at Evelyn, finally noticing something I’d missed.
The gun in her hand.
“I said, move it,” she barked.
“Excuse me, what’s this all about?” I shot another glance up at the two figures, my eyes narrowing. They were both women, I realized. One was Zelda, and the other was our missing suspect, Olivia Rader. “Why are they here?” I asked Evelyn, fighting to keep a tremor out of my voice.
“For justice,” she said, pointing the revolver at my heart. “Now, drop your purse and join them, please.”
Your cell phone is inside, I reminded myself, as I placed my purse on the floor. You need to find a way to get it back, sooner rather than later, but for now, leave it.
As I climbed the steps flanking the rows of seats, the thud of footsteps told me Evelyn was behind me. With the gun.
“Sit,” she commanded, waving the revolver toward the end of the row.
I slid into the seat next to Zelda, who pressed her fingers against my bare forearm. “So sorry,” she murmured. “I lied.”
“Seems like something you do a lot.” Evelyn’s eyes were hard as amber behind the lenses of her glasses. Her gaze swept over the three of us. “I need to send another text, which means moving to a spot with better reception. But I’ll be keeping my eyes on you the whole time, so no one better make a move, or it won’t be good for the other two.” She backed down the steps until she was standing at the front edge of the balcony again, facing us.
I shot a glance at Zelda and Olivia. “What are you doing here?” I asked under my breath.
Zelda tightened her grip on my arm. “Like I said, dear, I lied. After we had everything set up, Olivia texted me again and asked me to meet her here, instead of the garden behind the Heapin’ Plate.”
“And you never told Brad or his team about the switch?”
“No. I thought …” Zelda looked at Olivia, who appeared so listless I wondered if she were in shock. “I hoped Livy and I could work things out, without the authorities getting involved. I really didn’t believe she’d killed Claudia. I was sure the shooter was Earl.”
“But it wasn’t,” I said, speaking to myself as much as to Zelda. I stared down at Evelyn Stover, who was texting but still alert enough to cast me a warning glance. “I’m confused. How did you end up here?”
“I was fooled. It wasn’t Olivia texting me at all. It was that one, using Olivia’s phone.”
Just like she’d used her husband’s phone to text Richard, and then me, I realized. But why? I took a deep breath to still my racing thoughts. I had to make sense of this. If I understood what was going on, I might have some leverage. “Olivia was here already?” I whispered to Zelda.
She nodded. “She’s been trapped here since Wednesday. Evelyn Stover wanted us together, so she could exact justice. That’s what she told Olivia, anyway.”
I gnawed the inside of my cheek. “Justice for what?”
Zelda released her hold on my arm and used two fingers to wipe the drops of sweat from her upper lip. “It has to do with Patty Johnson. That’s all she’s told us, so far. I assume she tried to get Olivia to confess to shoving Patty off those risers, and wants me to admit to covering it up.”
Staring down at Evelyn, I struggled to reconcile my original impression of her with this angry, vengeful woman. She’d seemed so reserved and gentle. A devoted wife …
Deeply in love with her husband, I thought, as the gears turned and clicked into place in my mind. Marty, who suffered in the foster system after his mother had a breakdown and his father disappeared. But what could Patty Johnson have to do with the Stovers? Unless …
The seat of my chair, once plush velvet, was now so tattered that a spring pierced my slacks, scraping my skin as I shifted position to lean closer to Zelda. “Marty’s mother lost her husband and remarried. Aunt Lydia said there was at least one other child, from her first marriage. Do you know anything about that?”
Zelda’s eyes widened. “Patty Johnson did have a half-brother or sister. Do you think that means anything?”
“Hey, pipe down up there,” Evelyn called out, waving the revolver. “If you think you can plot an escape, remember I have the gun. And I don’t think Ms. Rader is in any condition to make a run for it.”
As if startled out of a stupor by the mention of her name, Olivia turned to Zelda, her eyes wide and wild. “Patty,” she croaked, “had a little brother.”
I jerked, banging my head against the hard rim of the seat back. A younger brother, I thought. That could be the connection.
“I think I might know why you’re both here,” I told Zelda and Olivia, as Evelyn pocketed her phone and climbed back up to stand in the row below us. I lifted my chin and fixed her with the fiercest stare as I could manage. “Patty Johnson was your sister-in-law, wasn’t she?”
Zelda gasped, but Evelyn, keeping the gun trained on us, simply looked me up and down. “She would have been,” she said, her lips twitching into a manic smile. “But she died when Marty was only ten.”
“And his mother had a breakdown. Understandable, given all her terrible losses. I suppose his dad couldn’t handle it and took off before his wife was committed to a mental institution?”
“Exactly. Leaving his son behind, with no family to care for him.” The hate flaring in Evelyn’s eyes made me wonder what had eventually happened to the elder Mr. Stover. Was he gone now too, and had it been a natural death?
I sucked in another ragged breath. “And Marty suffered when he was thrown into the foster system. He didn’t have a good experience, you told me that.”
“It marked him forever. He still has nightmares, even after all these years.” Evelyn pointed the gun at Zelda, and then Olivia, before swinging it back where she could easily target any one of us. “If any of you had cared more for another person than for yourselves, maybe Patty wouldn’t have died. If you had gotten help after her fall, she wouldn’t have had that blackout and crashed the car. If you had possessed an ounce of human feeling”—Evelyn used her other hand to steady her grip on the gun—“maybe my darling husband wouldn’t have had to endure the trauma that’s tortured him for most of his life.”
“How do you know any of this?” Zelda asked. “About Patty’s fall, and us being there, I mean?”
“I found Patty’s diary when Marty and I were cleaning out his mom’s old house a year ago. She went back there, you see, after getting out of the institution. Too late for Marty, of course. The damage was done.” Evelyn sniffed back what sounded like a sob. “Anyway, after she passed, we inherited the house and had to get it ready to sell. That’s when I found the diary, shoved behind Patty’s old bed.”
“She mentioned the fall?” I asked, keeping my tone as mild as possible.
“Yes, and who was there. She didn’t think anything was wrong at first. She bought the story she was told, about her fainting and falling accidentally. It wasn’t until a few days later …” Evelyn’s expression hardened. “She wrote she was having headaches, and feeling dizzy. So she made an appointment with a doctor to get checked out. That was where she was headed when she blacked out and crashed her car.”
Tears welled in Zelda’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, really I am.”
“Lot of good that does now.” Evelyn motioned toward Olivia. “You might want to give her a poke. I may have hit her a little too hard before you got here. She seems to be experiencing a few blackouts herself.”
Zelda turned to Olivia, who’d slumped forward, while I kept my gaze fixed on Evelyn. “Patty also wrote something about remembering her fall, didn’t she? Before she headed out for her appointment. I bet she made a note about Olivia shoving her off the risers.”
“You’re something of a junior Miss Marple, aren’t you?” Evelyn studied me for a moment before adding, “Yes, she obviously remembered what really happened and jotted down the truth, before slipping the diary back into its hiding place. She also planned to talk to the sheriff’s department, you see. Right after she saw the doctor.”
“You didn’t tell your husband about the diary,” I said, not making this a question.
“No. He’s dealt with enough trauma in his life.” Evelyn leveled the revolver at each of us in turn. “I decided I’d spare him the ugly truth. But I also vowed to exact justice. For him, as well as for Patty.”
“You want everyone involved to admit to their wrongdoing. Are you recording their confessions?” I asked, sharing a concerned look with Zelda, who mouthed Olivia’s in bad shape.
Evelyn’s right eye twitched. “Of course. I almost messed that up, when I took action before thinking things through, but then decided to make a compilation tape. A greatest hits collection, if you will. Something I will share with the authorities, so they can see justice was served.”
“But you’ll be in trouble too,” I said. “For kidnapping, and for Claudia Everhart.”
At that, Evelyn’s stony expression cracked. “I didn’t mean to kill Claudia,” she said, her voice shaking almost as violently as the hands gripping the gun. She swung the revolver to target Zelda. “That’s your fault. I thought she was you.”
She didn’t know about the blackmail, I realized. She thinks she killed Claudia, an innocent victim in her eyes, by mistake. I wondered if there was a way to use that for leverage. “You saw her in the gazebo, and just took the shot on the spur of the moment?” I asked conversationally. “Well, that’s not premeditated murder or anything, so if you were to let us go and talk to the authorities …”
“You, shut up,” Evelyn said, leveling the gun at me.
Zelda laid her hand on my arm. “What now?”
“Now we wait for the final member of the clique,” Evelyn said.
I met Zelda’s glance, widening my eyes, praying she knew better than to speak the truth, silently begging her not to say anything about Gwen Ohlson’s connection to Kurt.
Evelyn had overstepped. She may even have made a fatal error. It was something I clung to as tightly as my fingers gripped the armrest of my chair—the knowledge that if Gwen Ohlson had just received a text from Olivia’s phone, there was hope.
Because there was a chance she wouldn’t show up alone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Time passed. I had no way to tell how much, since I wasn’t wearing a watch and my cell phone was still in my purse, which was sitting several rows below me.
I pulled free of Zelda’s compulsive grip and kept my eyes on Evelyn, who had moved back down to the front of the balcony. She was alternately stealing glances at her phone and glaring at us while brandishing the gun, as if to remind Olivia, Zelda, and me she still had a weapon. Not that Olivia was aware enough to care. As Zelda had observed, the dark-haired woman was in bad shape. Her eyes, when her lids fluttered open, were unfocused, and her arms and legs drooped, limp as cooked pasta. I didn’t know what Evelyn had hit her with, but I suspected it had been the butt of the revolver, or something just as solid.
“That looks like my husband’s old gun, the one I thought was lost,” Zelda whispered to me. “I don’t know how she got her hands on it, but however it happened, it means …”
“She definitely shot Claudia. Yeah, I’m afraid it does,” I said softly, placing my hand on Zelda’s tensed arm. “But that doesn’t mean she intends to kill us all. She’s admitted that killing Claudia was a mistake.”
Zelda turned to look me in the eyes, her lips trembling. “You know that’s a foolish hope, Amy. Mistake or not, the woman has already murdered someone. I doubt she’ll hesitate when it comes to killing again.”
I bit my lower lip and looked away. Zelda was right—Evelyn Stover had little to lose, which made her dangerous. Even worse, she didn’t appear to have an exit strategy, other than killing us before attempting to flee.
But does she even desire escape? I thought, as Evelyn paced in front of the balcony wall. She wants to record Zelda, Olivia, and Gwen confessing their culpability in the accident and cover-up that led to Patty’s death. Once she has that, and can turn it over to the authorities, I’m not sure she even cares what happens to her. Which makes her even more of a threat. She isn’t thinking about saving her own skin, simply revenge.
I tapped Zelda’s arm. “I think maybe you should confess. Let her record your statement. At least then she’ll feel her plan is working. It might keep her from doing anything rash before”—I squared my shoulders as I met Zelda’s concerned gaze—“Gwen Ohlson arrives.”
“If she does,” Zelda muttered.
“I think she might. I just hope …” I laid my finger to my lips as Evelyn jerked her head up and glared at us.
“Too much chatter,” she said.
“I thought you wanted me to talk.” Zelda’s short blonde curls bounced as she tossed her head. “I’m ready to do so, if you wish.”
“And you’ll speak the truth?” Evelyn used one finger to shove her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
Zelda rose to her feet. “I will. I think it’s time.”
“All right. But you should be aware I’ll be recording you,” Evelyn said, as she bounded up the steps to reach our seats.
I stood up as well. “Do you want Zelda to step out of the row? I can move out of the way,” I added, as a plan blossomed in my mind.
Evelyn gave a sharp nod. She had paused on the tier below our row, so I sidestepped to allow Zelda to slide over and stand in front of her.
“Remember, I have the gun,” Evelyn said, as she held out her phone with her free hand. “I can still shoot any of you in a second.”
I clasped my hands behind my back. “Understood.”
Evelyn pressed a tab on her phone. “Okay, talk,” she ordered, thrusting the phone closer to Zelda.
“Just a minute. Let me think how best to say this.” As Zelda cleared her throat, I glanced over at Olivia, who had slumped deeper into the chair, her head thrown back. It looked like she was staring at the ceiling, but her eyes were closed.
She can’t be moved. Not safely, I thought, pondering this dilemma. I didn’t want to leave Olivia to Evelyn’s mercy, but there might not be any other option. Not if I wanted to give Zelda, and myself, any chance to escape.
“It was during the statewide vocal competition, fifty years ago,” Zelda said, her voice resonating throughout the empty theater. “I walked in on Gwen Ohlson and Olivia Bell, who’s known as Olivia Rader now.” Zelda cast a swift glance at the comatose woman. “They were standing on the risers that had been set up for performances taking place later that day.”
“And they were fighting with Patricia Johnson,” Evelyn said. “Don’t forget that part.”
The hand gripping the revolver was lowered. Yes, she might be able to raise it quickly enough to shoot one or both of us, but I couldn’t help but notice her flushed face and glassy eyes. She was so totally engrossed in capturing Zelda’s words I doubted she was thinking of anything else.
Like her balance. I unclasped my hands and dropped them to my sides.
“Well, arguing, but yes,” Zelda said. She cast me a glance from under her lowered lashes. “Then there was this flurry of movement, and I saw Patty fall backward off the risers.”
“You mean you saw Olivia push her.” Evelyn tapped the gun barrel against her thigh.
Nervous energy, the kind that could make for an unsteady aim, I thought, flexing my fingers.
“Yes, although I don’t think Olivia meant for her to hit the floor,” Zelda said.
“Doesn’t matter.” A froth of spit bubbled at the corner of Evelyn’s mouth as she bent her head over the phone, fiddling with the volume. “Her actions still caused the fall. Exactly like your inaction led to Patty’s later accident.”
“Inaction can be just as deadly,” I said, shooting Zelda a glance. “Be ready,” I murmured, as Evelyn lifted her head.
Zelda opened her mouth but snapped it shut as I leapt forward with my arms raised and bent at the elbows. I used all my strength to thrust them out like two pistons.
Right into Evelyn’s shoulders.
The phone went flying, sailing up over our heads as Evelyn stumbled. She still had a grip on the gun, but before she could level it on us her back foot slipped out from under her and she fell, tumbling and landing in a heap at the bottom of the riser steps.
“Run, now!” I yelled at Zelda, who was frozen in place. “Across this row and over to the other aisle.”
“Olivia,” Zelda whispered.
“No time. We have to get out. Alert the authorities,” I said, shoving Zelda forward. “Only way to help her now.”
We dashed to the other end of the row, passing Olivia, who was still slumped in a chair in the row above us. Racing down the tiered aisle on the opposite side from Evelyn, I forced Zelda through the exit door before making a dive for my purse.
Evelyn, on her knees, fumbled around, obviously looking for her glasses as well as the gun. “You could’ve killed me,” she said, her voice jagged as shattered glass.
“Just like you tried to do when you pushed Gwen down the stairs at the poetry reading,” I said, shoving my hand into my purse. “You were there; it had to be you.”
Slipping on her glasses, Evelyn’s fingers searched the area around her. “She deserved it, just like Zelda Shoemaker. Now, if you want to live, call her back,” Evelyn said, her fingers closing over a dark object.
“No. She’s going to get away. And alert the authorities. And end all this.”
Evelyn pointed the revolver at me. “Not before I end you.”
