11 Hanging by a Hair (22 page)

Marla wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I think it’s wonderful for you to branch out. Colleges will look at extracurricular activities on your application. I’d suggest focusing on a few things, sticking with them, and doing them well.”

Brianna nodded, her ponytail swinging. “I knew you’d understand. I’ll get my bag.”

As soon as she’d left, Dalton pulled Marla into his arms and kissed her. “As always, you know just the right thing to say. I have to admit, though, it pains me to see Brie give up dancing.”

“She’s not a little girl anymore. Get used to it.”

He gave a resigned sigh. “I can take her tonight. I want to run by the hardware store for some longer screws so I can fix that cabinet in the bathroom. And then I have to stop by the station. There’s something I was having the boys check out that I’d like to follow up on.”

“Okay, but don’t forget to return for Brianna. Call me if you get stuck at work. Meanwhile, I’ll catch up on email for a change.”

She got engrossed on the Internet after their departure and, at first, the sound outside didn’t register. But then she heard the dogs barking again and the sound of a truck rumbling by. Rushing to the window, she glanced out at the budding night. It was getting dark earlier, but she could see a delivery truck pulling up to the curb next door. Surely they weren’t still making deliveries to Alan’s address. Yet as she watched, a uniformed driver holding a package approached the house. A few minutes later, he returned, empty-handed.

He must have left the item on the front stoop. Should she go over and pick it up in case the nephew wasn’t around? Maybe Dalton had his phone number, and they could notify him.

She hastened to the hall closet, pulled on a sweater, and grabbed her house keys on the way out. After locking her front door, she tucked the key ring into her jeans pocket. She’d changed after work, not wanting to wear her skirt ensemble while cooking dinner.

A breeze stirred her hair as she scurried across the grass onto her neighbor’s property. The nephew still hadn’t removed the stone walkway. Although she hated to bother him, she’d have to complain. Or perhaps he’d give her and Dalton permission to remove it. She wouldn’t mind shouldering the cost if it solved the problem.

She shivered in the cooler temperature. Other than her dogs barking in the background, the street was quiet. Overhead lamps cast a surreal glow at set intervals, while shadows played in the recesses. A sense of unease crept up her spine at the eerie stillness.

Her breath hitched as she stepped up to Alan’s bare front stoop. Where had the package gone? The glass paneling on the front doors was too high for her to see inside the house. Was Philip Byrd here without his car?

What if the dogs had barked earlier not because someone had strolled by on the sidewalk, but because someone had been walking around the mutual side of their houses?

Marla trod around to the eastern edge of her property. She scanned Alan’s residence, but all windows appeared secure. Hoping none of the neighbors were watching, she patrolled all the way around his house but noticed no open windows or cut patio screening. Was she imagining things in believing someone might be inside?

And then she smacked herself on the head.
Schmuck! Why don’t you ring the doorbell? If Philip is here, he’ll answer the door.
He would have let himself in with a key.

Marla rang the bell. No response. So much for that theory. But then her initial question returned. If not Philip, who had accepted the package?

Something stung her ankle, and she bent down to scratch her skin. Damn bugs.

As she bent over, she sensed rather than saw a movement behind the front curtain. She wasn’t alone! But who was inside?

Patting her pockets, Marla cursed herself for forgetting her cell phone. Should she run home to call Dalton, or wait to see if someone left? She moved to the side of the covered portico, wondering how to proceed. This person must have gotten in the house somehow. Could one of the windows or doors be unlocked? Or what if the killer had his or her own key?

When living in her townhouse, Marla had given her next-door neighbor a spare key in case she ever forgot hers or needed him to check the place while she was away. Alan might have done the same. Had Dalton said how the killer might have gained entry? She didn’t recall.

Keys only worked at regular doors. She jimmied the front door knob, but it was securely locked. Since this one was secure, that left the patio doors, the laundry room door, or the side garage entry. The latter served as an escape route in case hurricane shutters were up and other exits were sealed.

She stepped onto the soft grass and strode around toward the garage side door. The knob twisted easily in her grip, but she let it go. She’d head home and phone Dalton while watching the house safely from a window.

She turned on her heel to leave but had only taken a few steps when she sensed a movement from behind.

Something smashed into her head, and all went black.

Awareness seeped into Marla’s brain. A cold, hard surface lay beneath her. Where was she?

Fog enshrouded her mind, rendering her immobile along with a throbbing, pounding headache. The raspy sound of her own breathing reached her ears.

Her limbs twitched. At least she could move, she realized, testing her arms and legs. She cracked open her eyes. Darkness met her confused gaze. Why did she feel as though mud encased her brain?

Her eyelids fluttered closed.

Wake up!
Alarm bells clanged in her head. For some reason, it was imperative she regain full consciousness.

With a moan, she twisted sideways. The movement produced a rumbling vibration. Or had that been there before? She froze, listening. Yes, the sound came from somewhere outside herself.

Her eyes snapped open as a shot of adrenaline clarified her mind.

She’d surprised an intruder by Alan’s garage who must have hit her on the head.

And—dear Lord—that rumble was a car’s engine turned on, if she wasn’t mistaken. The intruder must have dragged her inside the garage and shut the side door.

She folded her legs but lacked the strength to push herself upward. Thank goodness she hadn’t been trussed up like a chicken meant for the oven. But what was wrong with her? Her body felt so heavy.

A single, clear thought pierced her like a hairpin—carbon monoxide, the silent and odorless killer.

She was meant to absorb the fumes. That’s why her brain felt like mush and her limbs seemed weighted down.

She squinted and discerned a faint outline of light. That would either be the window or the side door. She’d only need to reach that wall to find an escape route. The garage door would have a manual override, but she could never manage it in her weakened condition. Nor could she make it to the car to turn off the engine.

Her breathing slowed, her peripheral vision narrowing. She had no time to lose.

Dalton and Brianna need me. Get moving, girl.

Inch by inch, she dragged herself toward the meager light. When her outstretched hand met something solid, she summoned her energy. With a desperate shove, she pushed to her knees. Her fingers grappled along the wall until she grasped a knob.

She twisted the cold metal, and the outer door swung open. Thank God it hadn’t been sealed shut.

She rolled outside onto the grass, her legs still partially inside the garage. Clean, cool night air filled her lungs. She sucked in desperate breaths, eager for the oxygen to displace the toxic gas in her system.

Her mind cleared and she set a new target. She had to reach a telephone.

Mouth open like a beached fish, she staggered to her feet and stumbled toward her house. If only she could stop that painful symphony in her head. She reached a hand to her hair and touched something wet. That wound would heal. The blood in her cells wouldn’t fully recover until she got help.

She made it across the expanse of lawn that seemed to have expanded into a football field. Her stomach heaved as nausea rose up to greet her. She swayed, tempted to topple over and let darkness overtake her. The steps to her porch wavered in her vision.

The image of Dalton kept her going. She made it to her front door and all the way inside to the kitchen.

Surprisingly, the dispatcher on the other end of the phone understood her garbled message and sent the paramedics.

She still had the oxygen mask on when Dalton arrived home at her urgent summons. His white face loomed in her sight.

“Marla, what happened?”

One of the medics, writing out a report, signaled to him. “Your wife suspected someone was inside the house next door and went to investigate. She ended up with a bruise on her head and lying on the garage floor. A car engine had been left on. She’s lucky to have made it back outdoors.”

Another EMT monitored her blood pressure. She recognized him as Kevin Jones, the same man who’d saved Spooks. Were the rest of the crew the same guys who’d responded then, too? They must talk amongst themselves about the excitement in this neighborhood.

During the first man’s recital, Dalton’s expression changed from incredulity to disbelief to fury. He rounded on her, huddled in a kitchen chair.

“How could you?” he said, his jaw muscle twitching. His eyes darkened, and his mouth stretched into a taut, firm line. “If you saw something, you should have called me, not gone over there yourself. You know the dangers.”

She worked her lips to respond but it took too much of an effort. So she stared at him in mute contrition. Finally, she managed to get one word past her dry tongue.

“Brianna.”

“Christ, I forgot all about her.” He glanced at his watch. “I can’t leave you. I’ll call Arnie to pick her up.”

“No, wait.” She didn’t want him to explain to their friend, but it was too late. He’d strode away, his cell phone plastered to his ear.

She slumped back as the throbbing in her head eased. The uniforms had cleaned her wound but she’d refused their offer to take her to the hospital.

Dalton could drive her if she had any further problems. The oxygen was doing its job of filtering her blood. They’d put the air-conditioning down, so cool air circulated throughout the house. She’d be all right after a while.

She needed assistance getting to the couch, though. The room still spun too much for comfort, and her stomach hadn’t quite settled. But she supposed that much was to be expected after her ordeal.

Feeling fortunate to be alive, she didn’t want to consider who’d assaulted her or what it meant that she hadn’t been killed outright. Cherry Hunter had been bludgeoned to death with a blunt instrument in her garage. If the murderer was in Alan’s house, why hadn’t he finished the job instead of leaving her to asphyxiate?

Because he’d wanted it to appear as an accident? Or because it might be a less messy way of disposing of her? It had been a close call. Marla shuddered, chills racing up and down her spine.

Dalton conferred with one of the EMT guys, casting occasional glances her way. She knew his anger masked his concern. He’d be right to condemn her behavior. She should have called him rather than going next door by herself.

“Marla, you really should go to the E.R. to be checked out,” he said, scuttling back to her side. “They need to check your blood gases and your head injury.”

“Fine, but you can take me. I won’t go for an ambulance ride and rack up a bill.” It was bad enough that the neighbors would see a rescue squad truck in front of their house.

“I’ll tell Brie what’s going on. She’ll be worried sick.”

A flush of remorse washed over Marla as he made the call. She hadn’t thought about the repercussions of her actions. If she’d suspected someone was inside Alan’s house, she should have called Dalton at once rather than lingering nearby. Everything she did affected her loved ones. It was both a burden and a joy she’d have to learn to accept.

Hours later, Marla returned home after an endless visit to the emergency room. Her hemoglobin had checked out okay and her head wound had been superficial. Still wobbly on her feet, she didn’t protest when Dalton led her to bed.

Exhaustion claimed her as she settled onto the mattress, but she wasn’t allowed to get a good night’s sleep. Dalton woke her at intervals to check her level of awareness and her pupils as instructed. His manner might be solicitous, but she could tell a storm was building from his curt responses. Lacking the energy to deal with him, she accepted his ministrations without protest.

In the light of morning, though, he let her have it.

“How do you feel?” he began after she emerged from the bathroom in her nightgown. Already dressed for work in a clean dress shirt and trousers, he stood facing the mirror to knot his tie. He glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

She put a hand to her head, the heaviness making her feel as though she’d imbibed several drinks the night before. Whether from lack of adequate sleep or a leftover from her ordeal, a headache persisted. “I’ll live. I need a cup of coffee.”

“Maybe you should go to your doctor for a follow-up exam.”

“No, I’ll be fine.” Or so she hoped. Getting up and moving around was better than lying in bed all day, and her clients wouldn’t care that she’d been banged up. At least her hair would cover the injury, which wasn’t as big as she’d thought.

“I find it hard to believe you acted with such reckless disregard for your safety.” Anger laced his tone as he wheeled around to face her. His eyes darkened to slate.

“I’m sorry, okay? I was on my way home to call you when I got attacked. I’d meant to take the package for Alan’s nephew but it was gone.”

“What package?”

“Didn’t I tell you? The UPS truck stopped at Alan’s house. I saw the guy bring a package toward the front stoop. When he returned to the truck, his hands were empty. I figured he must have left the item on the porch. Who knew when Philip Byrd would return? I went over, planning to keep it here until we could give him a call, but there was nothing at the door.”

“Did you look under the mat?”

“No need. It was flat. At that point, I wondered if maybe Philip was there and had accepted the delivery. But no one answered the doorbell. Then I thought I saw the curtain flutter, as though someone was inside watching me.”