His eyes had narrowed at the mention of Winnie. "You have no proof."
"An admission of guilt if I ever heard one," Angelica quipped.
"Ange, shush!" Tricia ordered.
"Come on, Trish, you were all hyped just now to see if he was on that tape."
"Ange," Tricia warned.
"What tape?" Mike demanded.
"From the security camera. It was focused out on the street the night Doris Gleason was murdered," Angelica said.
"Give it to me," Mike commanded.
"In your dreams," Angelica said with a sneer.
"Ange," Tricia said through clenched teeth. "You're going to get us killed."
"I said give it to me!" Mike lifted the heavy phone with both hands and smashed it through the top of the sales counter, sending chunks and shards of glass spraying across the carpet.
Both women jumped back and screamed.
Deirdre suddenly stood in the open door, her big red handbag dangling from her left forearm. "What's going on?" she demanded.
"Call the sheriff! Call the sheriff!" Angelica squealed.
Instead, Deirdre stepped inside the shop, pushed the door so that it was ajar-but it wouldn't shut properly with the doorjamb broken and hanging.
"I said what's going on?" Deirdre repeated.
"They've got something I want," Mike said, then turned. "Now give it to me."
The sisters stole a look at each other. Angelica barely nodded, but it was enough for Tricia to reach down to retrieve the tape from the video recorder. She handed it to Mike and backed up, hitting the wall, nearly cracking her head on the shelf that housed the useless video camera.
Mike dropped the tape to the carpeted floor, stomped on it with his booted right foot until the case cracked. Again and again his foot came down until the plastic gave way and he was left pummeling the ribbon of magnetic videotape.
Breathing hard, he looked up, his eyes wild. "Give me a bag."
Tricia blinked, unsure what he meant.
"I said give me a bag!"
Angelica pulled one of the green plastic Haven't Got a Clue shopping bags out from under the counter and threw it at him.
Mike picked up the largest pieces of tape, shoving them in the bag. "We're safe now, Doris."
"Shut up," Deirdre/Doris growled, moving closer, her expression menacing. "We're not safe. You and your stupid temper. Can't you see you've ruined it all?"
Mike's mouth twitched, but he didn't say anything, just kept picking up the plastic fragments.
Angelica stepped back, bumping into Tricia. "I told you she killed Deirdre," she hissed.
Tricia reached out, pinched Angelica to silence her.
"These two are now a liability. We'll have to get rid of them." Doris opened her purse and brought out a couple of the wickedly sharp kitchen knives that matched those from the Cookery's demonstration area. "Take this," she said, shoving the handle of a boning knife toward Mike. "Ladies, come out from behind the counter. Slowly. No funny business."
Funny business was the last thing on Tricia's mind. She gave Angelica a shove in the small of her back. Angelica stayed rooted.
"Look," Angelica said, her voice relatively level. "I've got a nice roast chicken in the oven. I'm making a wonderful appetizer, too. Can't we all have a glass of wine and talk this over?"
Doris's lips were a thin line. Her cheeks had gone pink, her grasp on the knife handle tightened.
Tricia gave her sister another slight shove. "Ange." Finally, Angelica took a step forward.
"What are we going to do?" Mike asked.
Doris ignored him. "Out in front, ladies, hands where I can see them."
Tricia and Angelica stepped around to the front of the cash desk, Tricia's shoes crunching on glass. Angelica yelped, stepping away from the sparkling shards, leaving a patch of blood on the carpet.
"You." Doris nodded toward Tricia. "Where's your car?"
"In the municipal lot."
She turned to Angelica. "You?"
"My car's there, too."
"So's mine," Mike groused. "Terrific, now how do we get out of here?"
"Deirdre's car is parked just outside." Doris fished inside her purse and came up with a set of keys. She tossed them at Tricia, who caught them. "You'll drive."
"Where?"
Doris nodded toward the street. "Just get in the car."
"Oooohh," Angelica crooned in anguish, and shifted from foot to foot, the patch of blood growing larger on the rug.
Mike grabbed Tricia's arm, pushed her ahead of him, pressing the knife against her hip. "If I'm not mistaken, the femoral artery is near the tip of this knife. You wouldn't want it severed and ruin your beautiful carpet, not to mention your day."
Doris stepped forward, brandishing her shorter vegetable knife. "Don't think I can't do a lot of damage with this," she told Angelica. "I can filet a five-pound salmon in under a minute. Just think what I could do to your internal organs in only seconds. Liver anyone?" she said and laughed.
No one else did.
She shoved Angelica forward, toward the door.
The wind had picked up and the rain came down like stinging pellets as Tricia led the way to the pavement outside her shop, with Mike practically attached to her. They paused and he looked up and down the dark, empty street. No one stood on the sidewalk. No hope of rescue.
Mike pushed Tricia toward the driver's door. "Get in. Don't try anything-unless you want Doris to slice your sister."
Tricia yanked the door handle. It was like a bad movie, including Doris's and Mike's corny dialogue. I'll wake up from this nightmare, I'll wake up soon. But it wasn't a dream.
Already soaked through, she got in, slammed the door, and on automatic pilot, buckled her seat belt. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Doris with one hand on Angelica's shoulder, the knife-wielding one hidden in shadow.
Mike got in the passenger side, brandishing the wicked knife clenched in his left hand at mid-chest-the perfect position for slashing. "You really blew it, Trish. We could've been great together."
"Is that what you told Wendy Adams?"
"We've talked," he admitted, his expression a leer. "And more."
The right rear passenger door opened. Angelica ducked her head, got in, scrambled across the seat with Doris crawling in after her. The door banged shut.
For a long moment no one said anything.
"Start the car," Doris ordered. "And don't try anything funny. You saw what happened to Deirdre. She thought I didn't have the guts to kill. They say it's easier the second time."
"What about Winnie?" Tricia asked.
"Not my handiwork," Doris said and glanced at Mike.
Tricia swallowed, her gaze focused on Doris's reflection in the rearview mirror. "Then it doesn't matter if you kill us here or someplace else."
"Think I'm joking?" Doris lunged to her left and Angelica cried out.
"She cut me, Trish! She cut me!"
Stomach churning, Tricia's neck cracked as she whirled to look, but the heel of Mike's hand caught her shoulder with a painful punch. "Ange?" Tricia shouted.
"I'm okay, I'm okay!" Angelica cried, but the fear in her voice said she was anything but.
Tricia's eyes darted to the rearview mirror. She could just make out Angelica's bloody left hand clutching the slash in her light-colored sweater.
"I'll cut her again, only with more precision, if you don't start the car. Do it now!"
Tricia tore her gaze from the mirror, fumbled to put the key into the ignition, turned it until the engine caught.
"If you don't want to see your sister's throat cut, I suggest you put the car in gear and head north to Route 101," Doris ordered.
Tricia glanced askance at Mike, hoping her pleading gaze would be met with some shred of compassion, but there was none. And why would he show that emotion for her when he'd shown Winnie no mercy and treated his own mother so callously?