Murder in the Clear Zone Page 5

  Bard eased his hand across the smooth table top, slowly protruded his index finger until he touched hers. He brushed the smooth skin, ever so ligthly, yearning to console the sadness in her eyes and, to be honest with himself, increase the intimacy between them. He was encouraged that she didn’t pull back. But would his next question undo the bond that was forming? “What happened?” Cory thought murder was involved.

  She shook her head, looking dazed. “I really don’t know. Emma sent me to the store to buy some Haagen Daz to cheer Dan up. When I returned, he was watching a football game on the TV in our bedroom, and Emma was asleep on the living room couch. Only she wasn’t sleeping. She’d died of asphyxiation. Her pillow was on the floor. The cops suspected someone had smothered her, but couldn’t prove it. It was all so horrible. Oh, God, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  She looked so distressed he longed to hug her and put a smile back on her face. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked all those personal questions, but you interest me. I admire how you’ve carried on in the face of so much heartbreak, and I want to help you. If you decide you want the ranch house on Carriage Lane, I’ll personally find you a mover who’ll give your birds the special care they need.”

  Distrust was back in Paula’s eyes. She let him wallow in silence and regret while she took the last bite of her bacon-burger then ever so slowly, blotted her mouth with a napkin. “I want the house. But it’s hard to concentrate on getting a place right now. I want to take care of Charlie’s funeral first.”

  “That may be too late. Let’s go by the realtor’s office, and I’ll give her a check to make your offer. That’ll give you time without losing the place.”

  She balled up her napkin. “Your persistence annoys me.”

  He felt an odd panic rising in his chest. “Places available at an affordable price with the zoning you need are scarce. I think you should act on this.”

  Paula raised an eyebrow. “Of course you do, Mr. Relocation Man. To make sure you move me out of the clear zone as soon as possible, right?”

  Bard laughed, releasing some of his tension. “That, too.” His curiosity about the scar in her arched eyebrow heightened.

  He’d almost worked up the nerve to ask her about it when he saw an inky blur whisk by. He frowned. It was a black truck. Despite its speed and the distance, he suspected it would have a small dent in the right rear fender. It would if it was Deeter’s truck.

  Bard stroked his chin. A tail on him didn’t make sense. Maybe Deeter was following Paula. Was he her bodyguard, her co-conspirator? Bard exhaled in disgust. He was doing it again, letting other people color his opinion of her. He vowed to trust his own instincts.

  He stared out the window. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as the truck circled again. Whatever the explanation, there was no doubt, someone was keeping tabs on them.

  Chapter Seven

  Paula worried all the way back home if making an offer had been the right thing to do. Bard was so persuasive that she’d gotten carried away by his enthusiasm. Well, she had three days to back out.

  They turned onto her street, and Paula gasped. Police and medics had parked two police cars and an ambulance askew under the old oak tree that shaded her gravel drive, their lights revolving.

  Gary!

  Before Bard brought the car to a complete stop at the curb, Paula opened the door and leaped out. A policeman writing on a clipboard looked up. Paula ran past him to where paramedics were lifting a stretcher into the ambulance. Gary’s face was as white as the sheet tucked under his arms.

  Paula saw a glimpse of blood. “My God! What happened?”

  “Wounded in the chest,” the tallest paramedic said. He began hooking up an IV. Lost a lot of blood.”

  She wanted to climb in with them, touch Gary, comfort him, but the paramedics’ lifesaving maneuvers blocked her entry. She dug rigid fingers into her palms. “How bad?”

  “We doing everything we can to see that he makes it.” The medic started to close the door. “Gotta go, lady.”

  Paula grabbed the door before he could slam it closed. “Wait.” Her throat was dry. “May I ride with you?”

  “Sorry,” the medic said. “Rules. Better to follow in your own car.”

  Paula felt Bard leading her out of the way as the ambulance backed out of the driveway. Tires crunched gravel then the ambulance’s wailing siren cut through the afternoon silence. She bit down on the corner of her lip, fighting tears. Bard tried to gather her close. She twisted from his grasp. “I need to get to the hospital.”

  She turned and practically ran into the policeman taking notes. “You’re Mrs. Lord?” the officer asked.

  Paula nodded. “Have Gary’s parents been notified?”

  “An officer called them. ST. Bernadine’s is the closest hospital. They said to take him there.”

  “Good.” And if he’d just get out of her way, that’s where she was going.

  The cop continued to block her path. “I’m Officer Kelly, and I have a few questions.”

  “So do I,” she said. “What happened?”

  “I’d hoped you could answer that,” Kelly said. “Do you or the kid have any enemies?”

  “Enemies?” If this cop didn’t have answers, she didn’t have time for him. “Could we do this later? I must get to the hospital.”

  “Before the boy passed out he said two guys attacked your birds and one of them shot him.”

  “Shot him! Dear God. I would never have left him alone if I’d thought…. My birds!” She pushed past the officer and ran toward the back yard.

  “Mrs. Lord, wait!” Officer Kelly shouted. “It’s a crime scene.”

  No yellow tape barred her. She kept going, charging across the width of her acreage. All the gates of the cages were closed. A good sign. In aviary after aviary, the birds were okay. But the cop had said….

  A chill slipped down her spine. The birds in the first cage had been unusually quiet. Seeing the door securely closed, she’d rushed past, only cursorily glancing inside, afraid to look too carefully. She backtracked her steps. Her palms felt clammy. With every beat of her heart, dread rose within her. Nothing moved. Then she saw them, four pink-breasted male bullfinches and two brown-bibbed females lying on the ground.

  Oh no. Not Zipper. Nausea washed over her. Not Rembrandt. Don’t let this be true; six birds, including Pinky, Caesar, Cleopatra, and Molly were dead, butchered.

  She grabbed the chicken-wire gate, desperate to get inside to kneel beside her beloved birds, to cradle them in her hands. She yanked hard. The gate wouldn’t open. She tried again, but someone had tied it shut. She clung to the fence and stared dry-eyed. Her mouth tasted of metal. Charlie, they killed you, and now the birds you gave me. Her eyes fixed on the lifeless lumps of feathers. Why does everyone I love have to die? A deep, guttural moan escaped her lips.

  Bard pried her fingers loose. She stared numbly at a smear of blood; she hadn’t felt the wire cut into her fingers. As though from far away in a tunnel, she heard Officer Kelly ask if she was going to be all right. The concern in his voice had an impatient edge. “There’re lots of unanswered questions here,” he said. “Gunfire was exchanged. That meant the kid had a gun, too. Where did he get it, and where is it now?”

  Kid. That’s right. Gary was hurt. She had to get to the hospital!

  Bard shifted Paula to his other side, using himself as a barrier between her and the cop. He kept his arm around her, holding her up. “Mrs. Lord wasn’t here during the trouble,” he said. “She needs to lie down.”

  “The house is off limits for now. It’s a crime scene.”

  Paula tried to jerk away form Bard. “Please, Officer, my parrot Ivanhoe is in there. What if he’s hurt and needs me?”

  “I’ll have someone check on him.”

  Paula yanked on Bard’s firm grip and glanced toward the back porch. Gary’s blood spattered the steps. “I have to get to the hospital.”

  Bard nodded and led Paula to
ward his car. He paused and glanced at the officer. “When we get the answers from Gary we’ll call you.”

  “Do that,” Officer Kelly called to their backs. “And I’ll be talking with that kid again myself.”

  Bard guided her into the car, with the image of the lifeless lumps of feathers burned forever into her eyeballs. It wasn’t just the murder of her birds that sickened her, it was Charlie and Gary and the horror of the senseless violence that men committed against each other.

  Chapter Eight

  The hospital corridor was white, antiseptic, and quiet. Paula wanted to shake off Bard’s hold, but she didn’t dare. If he hadn’t held her arm firmly, her unsteady legs might not have supported her. She took a deep breath before speaking to the duty nurse behind the desk. “I’m here to see Gary Whitney.” She fought to keep her lower lip from quivering. “Emergency said he’d been admitted and transferred to this floor.”

  The nurse checked the computer. “Are you a relative?”

  “Sort of. H;s parent’s ask me to come. He was shot while guarding my birds.”

  “Room 305,” she said. “They just brought him up. He’s stable, but you can stay a few minutes.”

  Her need to see Gary sent a burst of energy through her. She broke away from Bard and bolted for the door.

  Odors of Pine Sol and medicines blended as Paula entered Gary’s room. His parents, Ray and Nancy Whitney, stood by his bed. His mom held his hand. Her face was pinched, her mascara smudged. Gary lay droopy eyed, pale, and looking much younger than his seventeen years. A bag of clear fluid, attached to a metal pole, dripped slowly into a tube taped to Gary’s hand. He attempted a smile when Paula came close to the foot of his bed.

  “How are you, Gary?” She forced the soft words past the lump in her throat.

  “Good,” he said weakly.

  His upbeat response was so like him. Paula’s stomach knotted. She gestured to Gary’s bandaged chest, visible beneath his gown, and the intravenous tubing. “I’m so sorry about—”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Nancy said. She squeezed her son’s hand. “It was those men. And they’re free to do it again.”

  Ray shifted his weight, looking grim. “Maybe if I hadn’t taught Gary about guns—”

  “Not true, Dad.” Gary’s voice grew stronger. “If I hadn’t stopped them, they would’ve killed all the birds. And come after me next. There was no time to call the cops.”

  Paula patted Gary’s foot, needing to comfort him and not knowing how. She cleared her throat, but the words stuck there.

  “I was in the kitchen eating,” Gary continued, “and heard the birds kick up a ruckus. Two guys with machetes were in the cage with them…ah…you know…ah…hurting them.”

  Gary’s attempt to soft-pedal the horror didn’t work; the image of her dead birds were branded forever in Paula’s mind. She gripped the cold metal bar at the foot of the bed to steady herself. Bard’s arm slipped around her waist. Paula glanced up at him. She hadn’t realized he’d followed her into the room.

  “I yelled at those guys to get out,” Gary said. “The short one shot at me. I got your gun and aimed over their heads to scare them off. As they left, the short guy fired again. I didn’t even know I was hit.”

  “Can you identify them?” Bard asked, his voice heavy with tension.

  “They wore stocking masks and spoke Spanish. One was about my height and built like a lightweight boxer. The other was shorter, and the roll of fat hanging over his belt was a big tip off that he likes those third helpings of beans and tortillas.”

  Paula couldn’t dredge up a smile but was encouraged that Gary could joke about what must’ve been a terrifying experience.

  “What about their clothes?” Paula asked.

  “Long shirts, jeans, nothing unusual. When one of the cops came to emergency to see me, I told him everything.”

  “Did he ask about the gun?” Bard asked, sounding concerned.

  “Yeah. I told him I got it from a locked drawer.” Gary looked at Paula. “Once the cop learned about the gun, he seemed more interested in your .38 than in the guys who shot at me.”

  “Where is it?” Brad asked.

  “You folks’ll have to leave now,” a husky nurse with a drill sergeant’s voice said. “This boy needs rest.”

  They all filed out. Except Bard, who hesitated.

  “You too, sir,” the nurse said, shooing him out the door.

  When they all gathered in the corridor, Ray said, “You’ve worked so hard to unite the neighborhood, Paula, but Gary getting shot shows we’re losing the battle.”

  “We can’t give up,” Paula said. “If we do there’ll be more attacks. I’ll call the police chief and ask him to meet with us. Murders, attempted murders, and looting gives us a right to demand protection.”

  Paula frowned at Bard’s masked look. She’d give a hundred bucks to know what he was thinking, and why he’d hesitated before leaving Gary’s room.

  On their way back to Bard’s Omni, with the county emblem possessively stamped on the door, she asked, “Was there something else you wanted to ask Gary?”

  “About the gun, but it can wait,” he said tiredly.

  It was a good question one she needed the answer to herself.

  He held the door open for her. “Want a cup of coffee or a sandwich before going home?” He slid behind the wheel. “It’s been hours since we ate.”

  Paula shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Please,” he said as soft as a lover’s whisper. “I’d like a chance to convince you I’m not the enemy.”

  She stared at him through the semi-darkness of the car. A strand of wavy hair had fallen onto his forehead. He hadn’t rolled his shirt sleeves down. Light from the dashboard reflected a silvery line down his arm, highlighting protruding sinews.

  His eyes remained steady. “You need to eat. For strength.”

  He’d taken over and got her through the traumatic afternoon and evening. Even her disagreeable attitude hadn’t discouraged him. If only he hadn’t purposely kept her away. If only he was really a friend. Going home to an empty house and another sleepless night made his offer tempting. She steeled herself and shook her head firmly. Bard shrugged and tuned the radio to a mellow station. She hated the sudden silence between them and hated that he was so good at making her want to believe in him.

  He parked in front of her house instead of pulling into the driveway. All the police cars were gone only the security guard he’d arranged for remained. “You’ll be safe for the night with the security guard here,” Bard said. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Damn his disarming ways, she thought as he walked her up the steps. The sensor porch light clicked on. Bard towered over her. She studied his green eyes. It wasn’t fair for them to look so gentle and be so deceptive. She almost relented and invited him in for a sandwich, then she reminded herself that he might be guilty of turning his back while others did the dirty work.

  The security man came part way from the rear of the property, glanced at them then disappeared into the darkness again.

  “I’m sorry about Gary,” Bard said, “and your birds.” Then he just stood there staring at her. Good grief, he was going to take her in his arms. She felt it in every pore. Electricity charged the air between them. The startled look on Bard’s face told her he felt it, too. A warmth crept up her body and inflamed her cheeks. She tensed, ready to resist him, but he turned away, shoved his hands in his pockets, and headed for the Omni. A foolish disappointment washed over her.

  Silvery moonbeams outlined his retreating, wide-shouldered, silhouette. Paula swung around to the door and jammed her key into the lock.

  When she flicked on the living room light, Ivanhoe squawked, “Good evening.” She exhaled. Thank God he was safe.

  “The last few hours have been hideous, Iv, old boy.” She opened his cage. “Come out and cheer me up.”

  He climbed onto her hand, fluffing his glossy gray feathers and twitchi
ng his deep red tail plumage. She scratched his head, then put him on her shoulder.

  She sat on the couch like a zombie for an undetermined time, enjoying his nearness. When her eyes dropped, she reluctantly put him back into his cage. He clung to his perch, fluffed up like a ball, leg drawn up, clicking softly. “My birds are dead, Ivanhoe. Dead like Charlie.”

  As she headed for her bedroom, she stewed about her .38. Where was it? A shiver slid down her spine, and her breath caught. Gary said he could identify certain aspects about the masked bird-killers. That meant he was in danger. But no one knew how much of a description he could give except the police. And Bard.

  ****

  Sunlight spilled across her bed. Paula still felt stunned and scattered. She couldn’t seem to get up. The sound of running water came from the kitchen. She caught the aromas of coffee and toasted bread. Bard knocked on her open bedroom door. He had a bed-tray.

  “What are you doing here?” She’d always guarded her privacy and stiffened at the intrusion.

  “Thought you might need a friend and a little pampering.” He placed the bed tray in front of her.

  “Hand me my robe. I’ll enjoy this more in the living room. She didn’t want him in her bedroom. “And I want to check on Ivanhoe.”

  “Understandable,” Bard said. “I cut up some apples for him.”

  She blinked, speechless. All this attention. What did he want?

  He carried her tray to the living room, put it on the coffee table, and fluffed a pillow behind her. Paula sipped the hot liquid, needing its bracing warmth. He pressed a damp towel to her forehead. She pressed it tight and closed her eyes. He was being kind. Kindness meant a man wanted something from her. He glanced at her phone and dialed. “Do make yourself at home.” She didn’t try to hid the bite in her tone. She stared at him. What colossal nerve.

  After a moment, he said, “A young man was brought to the hospital yesterday.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “What’s Gary’s last name?”