“So Briana lied when she said she didn’t know who killed the woman.”
Lena smiled grimly but didn’t answer.
As if he had to give Lena deserved credit, Peter said, “Briana’s only talent is dishonesty.”
Lena said, “I stripped the agent of all identifying evidence and fled—but stupid Briana had let the list fall from her handbag. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
His voice heavy with sadness, Peter said, “Lena, I don’t know the woman you have become. You have lost sight of our reason for being. You have become the thing we always hated, the greedy, dishonest, murderous people we’ve fought all our lives.”
Lena gave him a withering look that held an ambitious woman’s scorn for a less ambitious man. With no warning, he fired his gun. Lena’s head flew apart, her torso snapped backward, one arm flying up, her knees crumpling. Odd how the body reacts before the first drop of blood has time to leave the body, as if it feels the shock of death even before its spirit has left. As her body hit the ground, I felt a stab of pity.
Wailing, Peter fell on her body, cupping himself around her like a lover. His gun had fallen. I scrabbled to my knees and crawled to the branch. I broke off a sturdy twig, crawled to the gun, and slipped the twig through the trigger ring so I could lift it without touching it. Like a three-legged cat, I crawled to the Bronco with Peter’s gun hanging from one hand. At the Bronco, I managed to hoist myself up on one leg and reach to the glove box and get my own gun.
The red haze had returned in front of my eyes, and my fingers trembled when I got my cell phone from my pocket and dialed 911.
I gave my name and address and said, “I want to report two murders. Both killers are on the scene. One is dead.”
“Are you in danger, ma’am?”
I looked at Peter’s quivering form holding Lena as if she were his lifeline.
“No, but I have a deep cut on my leg and I’m losing a lot of blood.”
“Help is on the way.”
I ended the call and everything went black.
I woke up to the sound of sirens and the feel of hands lifting me onto a stretcher. I couldn’t get my eyelids open, so I didn’t see the people who were lifting me, but I thought I might be hallucinating anyway because I heard Guidry’s voice saying, “I don’t know what happened! I just got here!”
The next thing I knew I was in a hospital bed and a nurse was standing beside me adjusting a bag of fluid on an IV stand.
She saw me looking at her and said, “Hi. Everything’s fine. You’re back from surgery and your leg’s going to be just fine.”
Michael’s worried face swam into view. Paco was beside him trying to smile but failing. There was Guidry again, too, and he didn’t seem to be a hallucination.
Steven was also there, all ramrod straight and embarrassed. The other men stood on the opposite side of my bed from him, as if they had consigned him to the outer fringes of decency.
The nurse said, “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the pain in your leg right now?”
My leg hurt like a mother-effer.
I said, “Ten.”
She put a call button in my hand. “Push this button whenever you feel pain, and it will release some morphine. Don’t be stoic. Pain is not good. Don’t be afraid you’ll get too much morphine, either. The amount you can get in any given time is controlled, so make sure you stay ahead of the pain.”
I pushed the button. In seconds, the pain lessened to a tolerable level.
I said, “I love you.”
She laughed. “Okay, gentlemen, you can have a few minutes with her, but only a few minutes.”
She left the room, and Steven spoke.
“Ms. Hemingway, I apologize for this, but I have to ask you what happened.”
“Lena ran at me when I got out of my car. She had a hypodermic needle in one hand and a knife in the other.”
Suddenly alarmed, I looked at Michael and Paco. “Be careful around the driveway. That needle is on the ground. It probably has curare in it. Don’t walk around barefoot until it’s removed.”
Paco said, “Dixie, the crime-scene people are there. They’ll cover every inch of the place. They’ll find it.”
Of course they would. I felt stupid for not remembering that. I closed my eyes. My leg didn’t hurt at all.
Steven said, “So Lena was running at you with a needle and a knife. Then what happened?”
I opened my eyes. “I had this branch in my hand, and it knocked the needle out of her hand.”
“A branch?”
I closed my eyes. I was very sleepy. “It had fallen from the oak tree.”
“Ms. Hemingway, try to stay with me, and I’ll get out of your hair forever.”
I opened my eyes. “Lena and I fought. I kicked at her knife, and she cut me. I knocked the knife out of her hand, and I got to it before she did, but she was choking me. Then Peter came and pulled her off me. He shot her in the head.” To my total surprise, I began to sob. “Her head blew up, brains and bone all over the place.”
Guidry leaped to hand me a tissue, and Michael said, “I think she’s talked enough.”
Steven said, “What about Briana?”
“Lena had already killed Briana before I got home. I guess they both thought I had a copy of the list in my apartment.”
Steven said, “Did Peter kill Lena in self-defense?”
While I tried to get my brain to sift through all the implications of the question, Guidry said, “This is not a court of law. She’s given you everything you need to know.”
He said it in his homicide-detective voice, and Steven dipped his chin a fraction in silent acknowledgement of Guidry’s knowledge and experience.
Steven said, “Okay, I’ll leave you for now. I hope you have a speedy recovery.”
He left without saying good-bye to the men in the room. They all watched him go with narrowed eyes showing their disdain for him. As far as they were concerned, he was responsible for my cut leg.
I felt a surge of alarm and tried to sit up, sending a current of pain to my foot.
“My pets! I have to get somebody to run with Billy Elliot and take care of the cats!”
Guidry said, “I’ve already taken care of that. While you were in surgery, I called all the owners and explained the situation. They all said they had backup plans, and for you not to worry. Tom Hale said that his girlfriend would run with Billy Elliot until you’re back on the job.”
“When will that be?”
They looked uncomfortable, Paco and Guidry turning to Michael to answer the question.
“The doc says you’ll need about six weeks to recover. You’ll be able to get around in a walking cast sooner than that, but you had a deep cut, and you have to give it time to heal.”
I hit the morphine button and closed my eyes.
I heard Paco whisper something, and Michael spoke again.
“Okay, kid, Paco and I are going to go home now. Our place is swarming with cops, and Ella’s probably freaking out. Don’t worry about anything. Everything is going to work out great. We’ll clean that stain on your porch, and when you come home everything will be absolutely normal. Including you.”
He leaned close and kissed my forehead. “Love you, kid.”
Paco did the same, adding a whispered, “Don’t get amorous with Guidry in this bed. It’s too narrow. You’d fall out and break your other foot.”
I smiled weakly, but I didn’t think anything would ever seem funny again.
I heard the door close, then heard Guidry drag a chair close to the bed.
With my eyes still closed, I said, “Where did you come from?”
“After we talked on the phone, I had a stroke of good sense and drove to the airport. Hopped the next flight out and got to SRQ before sunset. Rented a car and drove to your place expecting to surprise you. Instead, I found EMTs loading you into an ambulance, a couple of dead bodies, and Sergeant Owens Mirandizing a weeping guy in handcuffs. I grabbed your backpack from your Bronco, because I knew you kept your phone and your client records in it, and followed the ambulance to the hospital. I still don’t know who all those dead people were, or what their connection was to you.”