“Andrew,” blubbered Vicki, “I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
The other man continued to jerk open drawers and cabinets. “Now I have to decide what to do with you, Andrew. Clearly you’re too stupid to live. Your dear wife has been having an affair with Simon for a year.”
“Is that true?” Andrew asked in a whisper.
Amid snuffles and snorts Vicki said, “Can you ever forgive me? In the beginning, Simon was so good to me and I felt like a princess. I never stopped loving you, Andrew. I just wanted . . .”
“She wanted somebody to clean up her messes and take care of her like her big brother always has.” The man dropped to the floor and shone the light underneath the furniture. “Instead she married a dufus whom she had to take care of.” He sneezed.
“Natasha hired that private investigator,” said Vicki, “and found out that Clyde was my brother and that I was seeing Simon. She pressured me to get Simon to give her a TV show on his channel.”
Clyde! Simon’s driver was Vicki’s brother?
“But that day at the stuffing competition”—she paused to blow her nose—“Simon asked Sophie on a date in front of the whole world and then when I went to talk to him on Natasha’s behalf, he made fun of me. He . . . he said it was over and that he didn’t care if people knew about our affair and it ruined my life. I would have lost everything if he exposed me. My job, you, everything. But he wouldn’t have lost anything. Wouldn’t even have noticed. He would have gone right on to the next woman without giving me another thought.”
Vicki’s voice grew cold. “He made jokes and I realized that I meant nothing to him. He thought I’d left the room, but I watched him from the door to the service corridor. The turkey trophy was on a table behind him and I clobbered him with it. All he cared about was money. He used me and threw me away like that girl on his TV show who lost her leg.”
“I don’t see the stupid poison vial in here anywhere,” said Clyde. “Where do you think you lost it?”
The flashlight traveled around the living room. Any second the beam would land on me.
THIRTY-ONE
From Natasha Online :
Every house should have an area that serves as a coffee bar. Locate it away from the kitchen work triangle so that coffee drinkers can help themselves without getting underfoot. The coffeemaker, espresso machine, and coffee grinder as well as measuring spoons and filters should be grouped in this area. I always use gold filters. The coffee tastes better and they can be washed and reused for years. If you don’t have a drawer or cabinet for the small items, place them in an attractive basket. And don’t forget to set out porcelain coffee mugs that match your decor.
“Oh, for pity’s sake. Give me that gun before you shoot me, too,” said Clyde. “I’ve never known anyone so incompetent. What are we going to do with Andrew? Too bad he hasn’t died yet. I hate to add another bullet wound. It’s so unprofessional.”
“No!” I screamed, flying to Andrew’s side before I thought about it. “He hasn’t done anything to hurt either of you. Leave him alone.” I looked at Vicki, who still knelt by him. “You can both go right now. You have time to get away. Please, Vicki. Don’t let Andrew die.”
Andrew wore a leather jacket and I wondered if it was Mars’s. I unzipped it, my hands slipping from the blood. I pulled a decorative throw off a plaid chair and felt Andrew’s abdomen, trying to find the spot where the bullet entered. When I thought I had it, I pressed the throw against it in what was probably a vain attempt to prevent him from bleeding out.
I bent close. “Andrew, can you hear me?”
His hand gripped my wrist with more strength than I’d expected. I shrieked.
At that moment, a blur leapt from the shadows near the foyer.
Clyde grunted as someone attacked him from behind. The man clung to Clyde’s back as he staggered through the living room. Clyde waved the gun wildly and I feared he’d shoot.
The two men slammed into the wall beside the grandfather clock. The chimes dinged softly and a fuzzy missile landed on Clyde’s head like a bad toupee.
Clyde screeched and I imagined that Mochie sank his claws into Clyde’s scalp to hold on. The gun skittered across the floor as Clyde sneezed and fell.
Relief flooded over me. It had to be Wolf who wrestled with Clyde.
“The gun, Vicki. Get the gun!” yelled Clyde.
She rose to her feet.
I glanced around; where had it gone?
Vicki was quicker than me. She retrieved the gun from the floor near the door to the den where I’d hidden. “Let him go or I’ll shoot!” she shouted.
The person who’d attacked Clyde now sat on him with his back to me. I squinted but couldn’t make out who it was. It looked like he had Clyde’s arms pinned behind him.
“Shoot him, Vicki.” Clyde spoke without emotion. So matter-of-fact that I was alarmed by his cold-blooded nature.
She held the gun in both hands and aimed. Behind her, the door to the den opened wide and someone slammed a frying pan over Vicki’s head. She crumpled to the floor.
I lunged at the light switch on the wall and surveyed the scene.
Natasha stood in the doorway to the den, staring down at Vicki. Andrew lay on the floor, pale but alive, his eyes wide with terror.
It was Bernie who sat on Clyde’s back and said, “Could I trouble you for something to tie him up with?”
I raced to the kitchen for turkey twine and returned to the living room. Bernie continued to sit on Clyde while I tied his wrists and ankles together. For added security, when Bernie rolled off Clyde, I trussed Clyde’s wrists to his ankles so he couldn’t stand up. Mochie sniffed Clyde’s head.
Clyde sneezed again. “Ged it away,” he said with a clogged nose. “I’b very allergic.”
Bernie called 911 while Natasha helped me truss Vicki.
“Vicki?” called Clyde. “Vick, can you hear be?” he slurred.
Vicki groaned. I had a feeling she would be all right, since she screwed her eyes shut like she wanted this nightmare to go away.
“Huh,” said Bernie, “they’re already on their way.”
“Nina probably called them,” I said, pulling the twine tight around Vicki’s ankles.
“Don’t tell them anything. Don’t admit to anything.” Clyde wormed along the floor toward Vicki. “I’ll take care of you.”
Vicki’s nostrils flared. “You won’t be able to take care of anything when you’re in jail for killing that private investigator.”
“Shut up!” yelled Clyde.
“You think I’m so dumb. Well, I knew Simon’s secrets. I knew he rigged the outcome of his shows. I don’t know where Otis found that rope, but Simon wouldn’t have paid you to kill Otis if he wasn’t desperate.”
“That was different. It was business. Otis knew the kind of chance he was taking when he tried to blackmail Simon.”
Mochie tentatively patted Clyde’s head with a paw.