Make an impossible target, Sam told herself. She spun toward Bart and shoved him to the left, while she dove for the ground in the opposite direction. She hit, rolled, and came up at the edge of the carport as the shot reverberated.
Bart lay huddled in a ball against the wall of the house but Sam couldn’t see any blood. Carolyn’s shot had gone wild, the bullet smacking into one of the carport’s wooden supports.
The woman had a wild look in her eyes as she spun toward Bart, taking aim once more.
“Freeze!” Beau shouted. His own pistol was out now, his two-handed grip looking very firm.
Carolyn fired again. Sam heard the ricochet and chips of concrete sprayed near Bart. Then Carolyn turned on Beau.
His shot went unhesitatingly, right into her shoulder. She dropped her own gun and slumped to the ground. He kicked her gun aside and kept his aimed at her.
“Stay right there,” he said. He keyed his shoulder mike and called for backup and an ambulance.
Sam felt relief rush through her body. She met Beau’s gaze and sent him a tentative smile. He winked. It was going to be okay.
Chapter 29
The thunderstorm cleared as quickly as it had come on, typical of early autumn storms near the mountains. Beau’s backup officer arrived about ten minutes later. As the ambulance made its way back toward town with Carolyn Hildebrandt strapped to a gurney inside, Sam went into Cantone’s house and found some old towels. Blotting much of the residual wetness from her own hair and clothing, she offered another towel to Beau.
“How did you know I was in trouble?” she asked.
He pulled a blanket from his cruiser and draped it over Bart Killington’s shoulders. Handcuffs bound Bart’s hands. He sat with his back to the wall of the house, white-faced and shaking, unmoving since Beau had read him his rights and placed him under arrest for grand theft, conspiracy to commit murder, and fraud.
Beau stared hard at the prisoner. “I didn’t. I just happened to look out the window after I’d questioned this jerk. Saw him rush out to his car. Something about the look on his face. During the interview he’d begun raging about how much trouble all this had caused him. I got a bad feeling. I planned on following him to the south end of Taos, just to make sure he left town, but when he headed this direction and I knew you were here . . .”
“But—Carolyn?”
“I never saw her. Got hung up with a fender-bender in town, had to radio Taos police to handle it.” He pulled Sam into his embrace. “I was pretty worried that I’d gotten too far behind him.”
Sam leaned against his chest. His timing couldn’t have been better.
“I’m going to have about a week’s worth of paperwork to do,” Beau murmured, keeping an eye on his prisoner. “But I want to see you this evening. If you’re up to some kind of take-out dinner and a few drinks.”
She was more than up for it. A quiet evening at home seemed like nirvana at that moment. She watched as Beau led Killington to the cruiser and secured him in the back seat. The backup officer continued to photograph the places where Carolyn’s bullets left their mark, and to bag the gun and the smashed bullet from the carport post.
The late-afternoon sun was already doing its work at drying the road and droplets of water clinging to the newly clipped grass provided only a small reminder of the ferocity of the storm. In the flowerbeds beside the house a few late roses shed beaten petals, their final act before winter. The head of one deathcamas, however, bloomed as heartily as ever, protected by an overhanging rosebush.
Sam locked the front door and watched Beau drive away. A few minutes later, the other officer finished and went on his way. Sam surveyed the property that had been under her care for the past two weeks. It seemed lonelier than ever.
Chapter 30
Nine messages waited on Sam’s machine when she got home, with another five on her cell phone, which she’d left in the van all afternoon. Among them were Rupert (twice), Zoe, Ivan Petrenko, and a couple other friends. Even Kelly and Iris had heard the story on the news before Beau got the chance to call home and reassure his mother. Some zealous reporter had caught the police call on the scanner and was waiting with cameras rolling when Beau led Bart Killington into the county jail for booking.
Exterior shots of the hospital at which “an unknown woman with a gunshot wound” was admitted were what prompted all the calls to Sam. Apparently Rupert, the only one who knew enough of the story to put it together, had gone a little off the deep end with worry and had begun calling around to see if Sam were with friends. When she wasn’t, they all assumed the worst. Zoe and Darryl had actually driven to the hospital, only to learn that the injured woman was someone else.
Sam spent two hours returning calls and explaining before she finally decided enough was enough. She wanted a hot shower and a cup of tea.
Beau showed up an hour later, bringing Kelly and Iris, and they sat down for pizza and beer. He told them that Carolyn’s injury was only serious enough to warrant one night’s hospital stay at county expense. She would be taken to jail the next day and booked for first degree murder, grand theft and a bunch more things.
Bart had apparently jabbered away all afternoon, telling how Carolyn had begun gathering this plant that she told Bart was an herbal remedy for insomnia, which the older man had suffered for years. One of them would make him a cup of tea with it each evening. Bart claimed that he never made the connection between the plant and his uncle’s increasing illness.
Sam remembered seeing books on botany on the shelves in Carolyn’s gallery, during her first visit in Mrs. Knightly mode. The woman knew exactly what she was doing.
“We’ll see what the jury believes,” Beau said. “I have a feeling Carolyn is going to put a whole different spin on the story.”
Chapter 31
Sam gave herself the luxury of doing absolutely nothing the next day. She slept through Kelly’s leaving for Beau’s house that morning, drank tea and read a book until Zoe stopped by to see if she wanted to go out for lunch. They ate quiche and salads at a little café on Bent Street, lingering at the table until mid-afternoon. By four o’clock Sam began to feel impatient with the unaccustomed leisure so she went home and sat at the kitchen table, making a to-do list.
The quinceañera cake was the only large order on the horizon, so she had some spare time for fall housecleaning and smaller projects. She wrote down everything she wished to accomplish, knowing that she’d be doing well to get half of it done. Closets, drawers and pantry could all use cleanout and organization. Bedding should be laundered. Windows washed. Garden trimmed and mulched. Garage—she almost didn’t even want to go there.
As she toured the house, remembering each little task, her gaze fell on the wooden box. Would it hurt to call upon its power? The extra energy she drew from it could be used to her advantage . . . No. She stopped herself. Somehow it didn’t seem wise to count on the box for every little thing. Starting to use its power for mundane chores like housework didn’t feel right. She turned her back on it.
Thursday morning Sam awoke full of vigor, without the need for help from the wooden box. After a quick breakfast she baked the tiers for the quinceañera cake and set them to cool. While the cakes were in the oven she whipped up buttercream frosting and tinted it in batches. Those set aside, she went into her room, stripped the bedding and started a load of laundry.