Murder Is Our Mascot (23 page)

The rain was now a steady downpour, a good soaking rain, the farmers would call it. Dusk was encroaching on the last stubborn lights of day, decreasing visibility. Where was Tad? Or Detective Gangly-Arms? Or both? Tad had to be out of Mathletes' practice by now.

Emily turned the car back on for warmth. She tried to approach how to locate Helen from a logical standpoint. She wasn't at the school. She wasn't at her home. Arlene's place was deserted. Or was it? What if the sound she had heard earlier wasn't the windmill after all, but someone crying for help? She flipped on the car lights, clicking on the high beams. There were still no visible signs of life, so she had two choices. She could drive to town for help, wasting precious time and risking missing Tad and losing evidence, or she could go check out the house one more time to be safe. Option one was undoubtedly the safer of the two, but Emily was prone to jumping headlong into any option two, intent upon results. Anything had to be better than just sitting here, worrying about Helen and Stevie. Besides, Tad should be arriving with backup at any moment.

Tad had his umbrella with him, as Mr. Always-Prepared had heard there was a 30 percent chance for rain again today. Looked like it was a 100 percent chance that Emily was going to get soaked. Slamming the car door, she moved quickly, yet cautiously, through the sheet of rain to the shelter of the porch. It would be just like her to fall on the wet grass and break her ankle now, too.

The front door and windows were still locked tight. The original leaded-glass windows would be next to impossible to break, even if there was something handy to smash them with. Unfortunately, the porch was devoid of all furniture. Not even a stray flowerpot offered itself up as a battering ram. The faded welcome mat certainly wouldn't do her much good, and she doubted she could pick the lock even if she had the right tools, which, of course, she didn't. She didn't even have a bobby pin in her chestnut hair. Emily decided she had to be world's worst heroine-in-training.

She left the shelter of the porch and headed back around the house. She remembered a small back door on the east side of the house. The rain was coming down even harder, if that was possible. At this rate, she'd need a boat in order to rescue anyone. She cheered aloud when she saw the window, covered by a heavy curtain, in the top half of the back door. The cinder block would easily break the window, but it was too far away to haul to the back door. Emily willed herself to think despite the bone-numbing chill of the rain. Thankfully, the red woolen scarf she had pinned around her cast today was keeping it relatively dry. She hefted her right arm. Her cast was heavy enough to break the glass, but she didn't want to risk re-creating the healing break in her arm. The only option left was to use her fist. She yanked off the red scarf and wrapped it around her left hand. Her cast was now sopping wet, but at least the break in her arm was still protected.

Emily closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and channeled Dorothy L. Sayers's heroine Harriet Vane. She had once broken a window using this method. Emily opened her eyes and punched with all her might. What did she have to lose, other than a few liters of blood if she split open her wrist? But, to her surprise and satisfaction, the window now sported a jagged hole and her wrist was both uncut and intact. She carefully used her scarf-covered hand to tap out the loose, jagged pieces. Standing on her tiptoes (thank goodness for high heels!), she could get her arm far enough inside the window to turn the lock. Seconds later, she stood in the dim, but blessedly dry, kitchen of the old farmhouse. Stepping carefully over the broken glass, Emily listened intently. The only sounds were the rain drumming a tattoo on the roof and her own breaths rasping harshly in the still house. An older dinette set had an air of abandonment about it and was the only furniture in the kitchen and attached dining room. The fridge hummed, and the ice machine rattled as it dumped a new load of ice, the sound magnified in the empty room. Emily cracked the fridge door open, then yanked it wide, surprised to see that it was fully stocked. If Arlene was leaving town, she would have cleaned out the refrigerator so as to not arouse suspicion in Stevie. Either she was in too big of a hurry to worry about keeping up appearances, or she planned to come back later.

Emily threw open a few cupboards, but as she expected, they were bare. The pantry was also empty, except for a few moldy onions and a rusty mousetrap holding an anemic hunk of cheese. As she moved into the living room, she stumbled over a box, dropping her pepper spray, which rolled off into the hallway. The living room was shrouded in darkness due to the drawn curtains and raging storm. She twitched aside one of the curtains at the front window. Rain slashed down, but no headlights appeared. She turned and bumped her way down the hallway, but she couldn't find her pepper spray in the gloom. She gave up the search, hurrying to explore the rest of the house.

Two doors opened off the hallway to the left, both leading to empty rooms. A small powder room under the stairs was also uninhabited. The final room on the right side of the hall appeared to be the master bedroom. There was a small alcove holding an old-fashioned secretary desk. Emily flipped open the top, but only dust bunnies held court inside. Not even a stray receipt remained. The en suite bathroom held a couple of smaller sealed boxes, but the medicine cabinet and small linen closet gave no sign of ever having been in use.

Lighting flashed and thunder boomed. Emily took advantage of the temporary illumination to hurry to the staircase. Every step creaked, and by the time she reached the second floor, her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. Another two bedrooms were on the left side of the hallway. One still bore traces of sticky tack on the wall as if a poster had hung there recently. Emily deduced that this had been Stevie's room. The right side of the hall held a full bath and what might have been another bedroom or study. Nothing remained but a few tightly sealed boxes. Those boxes were ticking time bombs. Arlene might return for them at any moment, and this rescue mission of Emily's could blow up in her face.

So far, Emily had not turned on any lights or called out, for fear Arlene would return and be upon her before Emily heard her. The looming boxes, the relentless rain, and the panic that threatened to swamp her had Emily throwing caution to the winds. She began screaming Helen's and Stevie's names. She hadn't noticed an inside entrance to a cellar, but she figured there had to be attic access somewhere up here. Emily went back to each closet to check their ceilings, but she didn't find any opening.

Hoarse from repeated shouting, Emily paused to peek out of a front-facing window. Still no sign of anyone. She was losing hope of backup arriving. Despite her instinct that Helen, Stevie, or both of them had to be somewhere in this house, she was ready to admit defeat. If she drove back to town now, she could get more people to help her search. She'd just have to take her chances that Arlene wouldn't come back while she was gone.

Emily headed back down the stairs, the creaking of the steps, the wet slap of her boots, and the rain creating its own symphony. When she reached the last step, however, the creaking continued. Emily held her breath and stood completely still at the base of the stairs. Could she be hearing the windmill screech from her place inside the house, even over the sound of the rain? Doubtful. She took a tentative step forward. The creaking continued. She desperately wished she was still holding on to her pepper spray. Had someone else entered the house?

Her heart in her throat, Emily took a quick peek outside. Tad's Prius remained the only vehicle in sight. Turning back to the hallway, she tried to determine the direction the sound was coming from. She called out Helen's and Stevie's names again. This time she heard a loud and distinctive thump coming from the master bedroom. Emily raced into the dark room, calling, "Who's there? Helen? Stevie?"

Darkness had filled the room so that she could barely make out the secretary in the alcove. She risked flipping on the overhead light, blinking rapidly against the sudden onslaught of brightness. As her eyes adjusted, the creaking sound began again. It seemed to be coming from behind her. Spinning around, Emily realized she had overlooked the second door next to the entrance to the room. She had checked the alcove, bathroom, and linen closet, but in the gloom, she hadn't seen the second door as she hurried to reach the stairs in the intermittent flashes of lightning.

She turned the lock in the doorknob and gave it a yank, but the door didn't budge. The creaking sound was louder now, but no voice answered her repeated calls. Running her fingers over the door, Emily tried to see what was preventing it from opening. Finding nothing, she got down on the floor to try and peer under it. A small, wedge-shaped rubber door stop was firmly shoved between the bottom of the door and the floor. Emily used the heel of her boot to kick at the stop until it finally slid back into the closet. This time when she turned the doorknob, the door opened easily at her pulling.

Emily fumbled for the light switch. The closet was in complete and utter darkness. She could now hear a whimpering sound coming from the back of the closet. Her fingers tripped over the switch. With one flick, light flooded the closet, and Emily fell to her knees beside the figure rocking rapidly back and forth, the floor creaking beneath her. Dragging as gently as she could with shaking fingers and her cumbersome cast, Emily removed the gag from Helen's mouth. The second she dropped the offending rag, she pelted Helen with questions, but the woman only continued to whimper, her eyes disoriented and unfocused. Emily made quick work of removing the bonds from Helen's ankles and wrists, but Helen was too weak to stand. Emily was concerned by the pallor of her friend's face. Her cheekbones jutted and her eyes were glassy. Helen was a small woman by nature, sporting a trim, athletic build, but now she looked positively emaciated. Emily chafed at Helen's wrists, murmuring reassurances to her. When Helen began to cry in earnest, Emily rocked her like a baby, her own vision blurred with tears. Jim had been killed the previous Thursday. Today was Wednesday. Helen had, in all likelihood, been locked in this closet for the entire ensuing week. How could Arlene have done this? Helen was her friend. But then again, a woman who could kidnap a child and then commit murder in order to keep him would surely have no qualms about holding someone hostage, even if it was one of her friends.

Though she hated to leave Helen even for a minute, Emily took the time to race to the kitchen and snatch the orange juice she had seen earlier in the fridge. Once she managed to get some down Helen, she seemed to rouse a little. In a voice hoarse from disuse, Helen told Emily, in halting fits and starts, that she was sure Arlene had been drugging her through her food. When Arlene had last come to check on her, Helen had refused to eat. Arlene had shoved some water at her, telling her she had better drink up while she could because this would probably be her last chance. She then told Helen that she had a foolproof plan to pin Jim's murder on her. She was upset, though, because now she needed to hurry things up. She had spotted Stephen in town. Afraid of becoming dehydrated, Helen had drank the water. It wasn't until Arlene had left her again that Helen realized the water had been drugged too. She suspected that whatever she'd been giving her, Arlene had put in a much larger dose this time.

Helen's voice began to slur again, and she was having trouble focusing on Emily's face. Her eyelids drooped, but Emily couldn't let her lose consciousness now. She had to get Helen out of there before Arlene came back. Helen weighed practically nothing, but with only one good arm, there was no way Emily could carry her all the way to the car. She hated to take the chance of waiting on Tad, as it seemed increasingly doubtful he had gotten her message, but she didn't see what other choice they had. Surely Detective Gangly-Arms would get the message she had left for him. Emily tried to haul Helen to her feet, but she was dead weight. Emily smacked her cheeks lightly and gave her some more orange juice. Emily tried to keep her conscious by keeping up a running monologue. She told Helen that they'd all been looking for her, that everyone knew she was not guilty of murdering Jim, that Duke was safe at Emily's parents' house, and that she and Gabby had been to visit her mother at Serenity Falls. The mention of Duke and her mother seemed to penetrate the haze in Helen's brain. Her eyes, although still cloudy, focused on Emily's face.

Emily gave her an encouraging smile. "There you go. You're strong. We're going to get out of this. I promise. Tad is on his way." Or, at least, she hoped he was. Helen nodded as if she understood, so Emily continued. "You mentioned a Stephen. Did you mean Stephen Olsen? Did you know that Jim was his brother? Had you and Jim both figured out that Stevie is actually Stephen Olsen's missing son?"

Again, Helen nodded. She was attempting to speak, when her eyes shifted. They filled with terror. Emily twisted around to see what had frightened Helen. Arlene stood in the closet doorway, the Glock in her hand pointed directly at them. Emily had been too busy trying to revive Helen to listen for Arlene.

Arlene's voice was pleasant, but her eyes flashed with malice. "You're mistaken, Ms. Taylor, just as Jim Layton and my friend Helen here were. Stevie is
my
son. I raised him. I took care of him. I saw to it that he had everything he could ever need or want.
I
am his mother." Her voice rose, but the gun never wavered. "Do you hear me? Stevie is
my
son!"

Despite finding Jim's body and being run off the road, Emily realized that she had never known true, stark terror until that moment. She was literally staring madness in the face. She didn't know how she hadn't noticed it before, but it was obvious now. Shifting to keep Helen behind her, Emily tried to stand up. Arlene ordered her back to the floor. Emily slumped back down, knowing full well that Arlene wouldn't hesitate to shoot her on the spot. Desperate to buy some time, Emily asked, "Where's Stevie? Is he okay? Does he know what you've done?"