Once Bitten, Twice Dead Page 23

  “I don’t know if you’re aware that Mike’s dog was poisoned last week,” David said.

  “I knew that. My mother told me. And she told me something else. She told me she did it.”

  “Can you repeat that?”

  “My mother poisoned Mike Miller’s dog, Priscilla.”

  “Why did she do that?”

  “She just wanted revenge for Mike not going out with me anymore. My mother is a little crazy.”

  “Would you tell the local police what you’ve just told us?” David asked.

  “No, I won’t. I’m not going to be responsible for putting my own mother in jail.”

  “Then why did you tell us?”

  “I’ve had this on my brain for awhile. It was eating at me. It was a rotten thing for my mother to do.”

  We kept trying to persuade Colleen, but she wouldn’t budge.

  We went back to Mike and told him.

  “That does satisfy me,” he said. “At least now I know the truth.”

  Since we had no actual proof that Diane Paris had murdered poor Priscilla, we had to leave it at that. I don’t think David cared much about the dead dog, but I couldn’t help feeling sad until five days later when I read a short item in the neighborhood section of the paper that said there had been some vandalism down in the Maplewood part of town.

  “An area resident had her automobile vandalized last night. When she came out to use it yesterday morning, she found that her entire engine was gone. If anyone knows the whereabouts of a 2009 Toyota Camry engine, please contact Diane Paris of Fox Lane.”

  Sometimes justice is not always given out in a court of law. Perhaps Mike will have a good future in mechanical engineering.

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  The relationship between David and I continued to slide, and then it went into a total skid. We kept skidding, and I felt that a crash was imminent.

  Mainly we argued about silly things. David kept picking at me about the damn money.

  “Raven, I wish you hadn’t told me about your inheritance. I’m beginning to see that you’re part of this privileged class that I dislike.”

  “Exactly how do I use or abuse my so-called ‘privilege’?”

  David had no answer for that.

  A couple days later before falling asleep David turned to me: “I’m convinced of one thing now.”

  I was almost asleep. “What’s that?”

  “You look down on me because I’m from a more humble background than you.”

  Again I defended myself, but I knew it would just lead to negative territory. “How do I look down on you, or anyone else, for that matter?”

  He didn’t specify. There were no particular examples. David just said, “You don’t really appreciate my hard work. You want everything to come easy. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t solve those last two cases when we were with the police.”

  I felt like I’d been hit in the stomach. I got out of bed and went downstairs to read, but I couldn’t concentrate. Maybe it was true that sometimes I seek the easier way out if it gets the job done. Am I supposed to put forth effort just for the sake of effort so that David could see me sweat? Sitting downstairs for the next hour, try as I might, I couldn’t think of one time I had acted the way David had said I acted. Possibly I was completely unaware of my actions, but I didn’t think so. I’ve always been able to be self-critical. It seemed that David was just trying to pick a fight—he seemed to have some kind of goal in mind.

  The next morning I found out what David’s plan was.

  He walked out of my life.

  That night I had gone back to bed, and by that time David was asleep. There were no more words about my haughty attitude. When I woke up, David was gone with only a note on the kitchen table as his farewell. The note read: “Raven, it’s time we split. I’m giving up this defender of the law bit. The Agency is all yours. Good luck. David.”

  There was no clue in there as to why he was doing this. A year later I discovered the reason, and it almost killed me.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Oddly enough, for the first three days without David I felt better. There was freedom—I could come and go the way I wanted. The last few months David had gotten more controlling. It was good not to be bossed around anymore. The other relief was that there was freedom from bickering. I didn’t have to constantly defend myself.

  However, after this three day bliss, I got very depressed. My relationship with David had failed. I felt that I had failed. David might have been right—possibly I had changed. With all my concentration on murder and mayhem I had to face the fact that maybe the last few years had warped me. I had to get back to my old self, the self that David thought he was marrying.

  I have plenty of money, I told myself. I don’t have to keep working at this damn crime stuff. I do want to help people who have been wronged, so maybe I can eventually come back to it. But what I know for sure right now is that I need a vacation. I’m going to take a month, maybe two months, and travel. I have to get into new, bright places.

  I had always wanted to see Venice. Possibly it was just desiring to see the uniqueness of a city of water streets, but that’s where I was headed.

  Two days of gondola rides, crossing dainty and sometimes crumbling bridges, and drinking in local bistros did have me feeling better. My parents had never been prudish, but I had never developed much of a flavor for either smoking or drinking. The last couple days and nights had changed that, at least on the drinking side. Both nights I could hardly find the hostel I was staying at.

  This night I had started on the drinking earlier. By 8 P.M. I was pretty well plastered. I didn’t feel too good—I was skipping meals, and the alcohol suddenly seemed to attack me. However, I told myself I could still stand, so what the heck. The bartender in the last bodega I had been at told me of a cute place across the bridge that served exotic specialty drinks.

  I was headed that way over that bridge when I slipped. I tried to catch myself, but there was nothing to hang on to. The extent of my drinking was such that as I was falling toward the water, I actually enjoyed it. But then I didn’t enjoy hitting the frigid water. I’m a fairly good swimmer, but I felt so weak I couldn’t move my arms. I kicked my legs to stay up, but they also were getting weak. I was starting to sink, and the terrible thing was I didn’t care. Maybe I would find peace down at the bottom like Winnie had on the Hudson.

  As my head sank below the surface, and I began coughing up all that liquid in my throat and lungs, I silently yelled, “No, I don’t want to die.” At that same time I felt strong arms grabbing me. I was lifted into the air, out of the water. I couldn’t see who was doing this, but I did feel the wood of a boat on my ankles.

  “You’re safe now,” a low throaty voice said. I looked up into a bearded face. The skin was leathery, but the eyes beneath the white brows seemed to be filled with kindness. “It’s too cold for a night swim, lady. What happened?”

  “I. . .I guess I slipped.”

  The boatman took me back to my sleeping quarters. I could hardly walk back in. What was I doing to myself? I had never gone on a drinking binge like this, never in my life. I didn’t see that boatman ever again, but in my heart I was most grateful to him.

  That incident should have warned me, but after I left Venice I headed for more risky environs. On the Travel Channel I had always seen tourists being pummeled while they rode rafts down the Colorado River.

  A day later I was in such a boat with eight other people, being pushed away from the shore. At the beginning it was a little bumpy, but we all hung on. This wasn’t so bad. I wasn’t prepared for the next stretch. Four or five times in the space of the next couple of minutes, we bounced completely out of our seats into airborne mode. Now this was getting scary. One of the guides yelled, “Wait till we get to the rough part.”

  For the next five minutes I was thrown back and forth with my teeth constantly clamping together. There was a pre-teen boy in the boa
t along with his adventurous mom. The kid now got cocky and began standing up: “Look, no hands.” There was one more patch of rough going—the raft bounced, and the boy bounced right out of it into the churning water. I could see that we were approaching a smooth stretch now, but it didn’t look like the boy could swim. I reacted instinctively, leaping out toward the flailing youth.

  The force of the water took my breath away. The boy was propelled past me, but I also caught a powerful spurt and moved right up to him. I grabbed him, but he started to fight me. He began pulling us both under. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to slug him. He went limp, which made his weight worse, but at least now I wasn’t getting any opposition. I hung on to him for maybe three more minutes, and finally with the water getting shallower, I was able to drag him to the shore.

  Soon I was surrounded by three park rangers—it seemed that one of the boat guides had sent out an emergency call. The boy had not gone unconscious, and he was shook up, but eventually he was able to get up and walk around to get the circulation back. As a precaution his mother asked the rangers to take him to a nearby medical cabin where he could be looked at more closely. Of course she thanked me at least a thousand times.

  Two water experiences which could have ended in death. Maybe I was being warned by a higher power. From the Grand Canyon area I decided to go to a place where there wasn’t much water. I drove through the desert into Las Vegas.

  Here there was also risk, but most probably without a death chance. From those two experiences I had decided that I did want to live. I thought now it was my time to be lucky. However, for two nights I lost and lost. By the end of that second night I was just about to quit when three sevens appeared before my eyes. Bells and whistles went off, and l0,000 quarters showed up on the screen. I did like the $2500 the casino paid me, but as I had told David, I had plenty of inheritance money. With the memory of David still in my mind, the money I had just won felt tainted. I didn’t really want it.

  Before I left the Bellagio Casino I went to five people sitting there robotically in front of their machines and peeled off $500 for each of them. They were all gazing at the money in their hands as I walked out and headed back to Philadelphia. Probably three of those five would lose all that money before the night was over, but that wasn’t my worry. It had felt great to have simply given it away.

  These few days away had refreshed me. I didn’t need any more vacation. I was going back to my detective agency.

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  When the plane landed in Philly, I knew that my exorcism has worked. Maybe my demons hadn’t vanished, but at least now they were hiding. It was as if I was at a new beginning, a rebirth.

  In this birth, I got my slap into the new world in the form of another email from Phil Petrosky. It said: “The Chief’s in trouble. Call me.”

  Phil sounded out of breath when he answered the phone. “Oh, Raven. . .thanks for calling. . .I can’t talk long. . .I’m going out to the hostage scene again.”

  “The hostage scene? What are you talking about, Phil?”

  “It’s been in all the papers. Have you been off this planet the last few days?”

  “Sort of.”

  About a week ago Travis Price was released from prison. Apparently he spent his first three days of freedom doing drugs and getting all charged up so he could get his revenge.”

  “Revenge?”

  “In the early ‘90’s when Chief Brown was a street cop he was instrumental in putting Travis Price behind bars. Price vowed revenge, but no one thought he would carry it out after fifteen years—his original sentence was twelve, but he got extra time for a prison fight.

  “Anyway that third night Travis broke into the Chief’s home, brandishing a gun, had the Chief tie up his family, and then tied up the Chief.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Two days ago. The first day the Chief didn’t come to work we all thought maybe he was just a little under the weather. The second night we called his home, but no one answered. The Chief had probably missed one day of work in the last six years, so we knew things didn’t look good. I went out there to his house. I rang the bell, and lucky for me the Chief has a long glass door going into his house. When I saw a guy with a gun approaching, I dove for the bushes. The shots went over my head.

  I managed to scramble to safety. After that Price, himself, called the station and told us not to interfere, or the Chief’s family would be dead, one by one.”

  “What does Travis want?”

  “I think mainly to torture the Chief through his family. I don’t know what’s been going on in there the last few hours, but I’m sure it hasn’t been fun. Of course we can’t charge the house, or everyone inside will be dead for sure. So currently, we’re in a holding pattern. I emailed you to see if you have any ideas.”

  “Not at the moment, but give me the Chief’s address.”

  “All right. I’ll see you out there in just a little while.”

  It was getting very frustrating minute by minute now standing in front of the Chief’s house without any plan. Both Phil and I commiserated with each other for awhile, but we knew we had to do something—soon. There was a Swat Team of five cops in a nearby truck, waiting for a plan of action. Phil said, “Because of those damn budget cuts, there hasn’t been a deputy chief for the last two years, so I’ve taken it upon myself to direct this operation, but as you can see I’m not doing much directing. By the way, looking back over old records involving the Chief, I came across his first name. That was always the biggest secret in the office—he didn’t even have it on the nameplate on his desk.”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense. What is it?”

  “Thaddeus.”

  I shouldn’t have, but I laughed out loud. Then switching immediately back to seriousness I told Phil about the plan in my head as I drove there.

  Phil reacted as I thought he would. “That’s crazy, Raven. You can’t do that.”

  “It’s the only way. If we wait any longer that maniac Price will start killing the Chief’s family.”

  ‘All right, go do it, Raven. Good luck.”

  “Give me five minutes—then start shooting.”

  I had been to Chief Brown’s house once for a holiday party he threw for the entire office. I remembered in the back was a pool surrounded by some tall bushes. Then the first room inside the house was a basement converted into a playroom for his kids. He was proud to show all of us that because he had worked on much of it himself. The back area was sloped lower than the rest of the house. Up the stairs from that playroom was the rest of the main floor where probably Price and everyone else was holed up.

  I wanted Phil to have the Swat Team charge the front of the house, shooting into the air, but not getting close to the door and windows. Price, thinking it might be an all-out attack, would have to run to the front, and at that time I hoped I could get into that basement playroom.

  Phil was precise. Exactly five minutes later the shooting started. By that time I had crawled through the bushes and was going to make a run for the patio area. The only problem was that I hadn’t remembered that Chief Brown had a wire fence in back of the bushes, maybe to keep the deer away, and by the time I had climbed over that fence the shooting was already going full blast. It was a cloudy night, and I didn’t think I’d be seen as I sped to the back door leading to the playroom. I twisted the handle, but it was locked. Damn.

  There was only one way in. I picked up a heavy pool chair with both hands and smashed the large window next to the door. The noise was deafening to me, but the shooting was still going on in the front so I hoped that Price didn’t hear my clamor.

  The shooting stopped and I held my breath to see if Price would come down into the playroom to check the back. Apparently the frontal attack had panicked him enough that he hadn’t thought of the back. I took off my shoes and tip-toed up the stairs. Near the door I could hear muffled voices. Every now and then I could hear a louder voice—Price’s. “Close your
mouth—shut the hell up! One more word and it’ll be the end for all of you.”

  Price was getting impatient. I couldn’t delay. When I had first heard Price’s voice it seemed close to the stairs. I think that was the kitchen area. But now his voice had faded away as if he had moved into another room. I slowly pushed the door open a crack. I was right—it was the kitchen, and there were Chief Brown’s two children tied up on the floor with their backs against the fridge. They were not gagged. It was probably them that Price had been yelling at a few minutes ago.

  Right now I could see no one else in the room. I opened the door a little further. The children’s eyes got wide when they saw me, but they didn’t call out. Thank god.

  I put my finger to my mouth to tell them to stay quiet. I looked about. The kitchen curved into a large sunken family room. Over an opening above the sink I could see a crew cut head pacing back and forth, with much profanity filling the air. At the end of maybe ten swear words, Price said, “Brown, if those kids try that again, I’ll kill your wife first.” I couldn’t see the Chief or his wife. I assumed they were tied up on the rug in that family room. From where Price’s voice had been directed to, they were probably trussed up next to a large couch I remembered from the party because I had spilled a drink on it.

  The only way I could get into that other room was to go into a small hallway and then pass a short wall that opened up into the family room. If I tried to run into that room, I’d be dead before I took five steps toward Travis Price. Even if I tried to peek through the kitchen opening, he’d probably see me and shoot Brown and his wife.

  I had to get him into the kitchen.

  I bent down and whispered to the kids that when I counted to three I wanted them to make noise to bring that guy back in there. When they looked more scared than they had, I said, “Don’t worry—I’ll take care of him.”

  Now the problem with fulfilling that promise was that in my hurry to come out there, I had forgotten my gun. Swell. I had been so into my plan to gain access to the house that I had forgotten I needed a weapon. Even Phil could have given me a gun.