Part 24 (1/2)

I thanked her and sped down to the mailbox instead of the little flag sticking up from the box it was a metal musical note. I knew I had the right place.

The driveway was dirt and gravel and it immediately climbed. From the road, the tall trees blocked any view of the houses behind. But once I got near the top of the driveway, I realized there was a very small bluff. And perched on top was a little white farmhouse, with a picket fence and a red barn behind it.

It was a cross between Mayberry and Martha's Vineyard, before Billy Joel moved in.

I skidded to a stop in the roughly hewn semi-circular drive and jogged to the front door. I rang the doorbell and waited, but I heard nothing from inside. I tried the k.n.o.b. Locked.

I ran to the back of the house and saw a silver, 7-series BMW backed up against the house. I went up the back porch steps and was about to knock on the door when I saw that it was already open.

I went through it, into a small mudroom. There were potted plants and gardening gloves and an umbrella. The door leading from the mudroom into the kitchen was open as well. Inside the kitchen, I saw a few dishes in the sink, a pot on the stove and a small cat bowl with food in it.

From the kitchen, I went through a doorway into a small dining room and off the dining room was a living room. The place was furnished with big, overstuffed chairs and throw rugs. A small fireplace sat off to one side of the living room. I saw on the mantle a collection of photographs.

To my right, I saw a stairwell and heard a b.u.mping noise from above me.

”h.e.l.lo!” I yelled up. No one answered.

I climbed the stairs two at a time and came to a hallway with three doors. The first door on my right was open and I could see tile as well as the edge of a pedestal sink.

To my left was another door, closed. And straight ahead, the third door was open and I could see shadows moving inside. I walked forward, my heart beating from exertion and fear.

For the first time in my career, I desperately wished for a gun.

I peeked into the room and immediately understood the b.u.mping sound and the moving shadows.

Memphis hung from the ceiling fan, her neck stretched in a way that could mean only one thing. The ceiling fan was on, and was slowly spinning her body, her foot occasionally b.u.mping against the bed's footboard.

I froze, unable to tear myself away from the image of Memphis' face, her lips frozen in a look of terror, blood dripping from her nose- Blood dripping...

Fresh blood...

An electric spike shot down my spine just as I heard the whisper of a shoe on carpet and I ducked but the blow cracked along my vertebrae between my shoulder blades and I hit the floor. I rolled and caught the sight of Erma's or was it Freda's? face flushed red, her teeth gritted, a tazer in her hand.

She cursed in German and I rolled into the bedroom where Memphis hung.

And I rolled right under Freda.

She'd been standing behind the door. While her sister had been in the bedroom with the door closed. As I watched them descend on me, I realized they knew I was coming. Somehow, they knew. They'd staged the scene to lure me in.

The first one pounced on me and sat on my chest and pinned my arms under her knees. I tried to head b.u.t.t her in the face but she pulled back easily and all I caught was air. I felt an incredible weight on my legs and realized the other one was kneeling on them.

If I had any doubts about what they were trying to do, those doubts ended when the first one grabbed a handful of my hair and brought her gun up toward my mouth. I gritted my teeth but she let go of my hair, brought her forearm down and pinched my nose shut.

I held my breath, knowing what was going to happen. When I opened my mouth to breathe, she would jam the gun in and blow off the top of my head.

Then they would jot a little note.

Double suicide. Or murder/suicide depending on which story they went with.

I'd killed Memphis for some reason and then they'd bring out my past. An ex-cop ate his gun. Happens all the f.u.c.king time. Every day, in fact.

I didn't think my sister would let it ride, but hey, these two f.u.c.kers were pros. They'd make it look very good, very real.

My lungs were on fire and I knew I couldn't hold my breath very much longer. The first one had a little smile on her face. She looked like a mean little kid who'd pulled the wings off a fly and was now happily watching it die a pathetic little spasmodic death.

It p.i.s.sed me off.

Every muscle in my body slammed into place and I bucked with everything I had.

The first one barely moved.

But move she did.

Just enough to free my left arm.

I reached up and got her neck and bucked again, this time bringing her head toward me as I rammed my head forward. I heard and felt her nose squash against my forehead. Blood sprayed and now my right arm was loose. I grabbed the gun as the woman on top of me sagged. The gun fired a round and the explosion brought the three of us into a burst of frantic energy.

I hoped that I'd knocked the first one out, but her eyes cleared just as I was bringing the gun around. She had the advantage but I had momentum on my side. I gave one more shove and the gun came around toward her chest.

I pulled the trigger.

Just as she was knocked back, the second one let go of my legs and reached for her gun. I put three rounds into her chest and she staggered back into the hallway and fell on her a.s.s, her feet still in the room. She had a look of utter sadness, looking down at her dead sister. She toppled over then, her big body landing with a thud.

The smell of gunpowder was overwhelming and I felt stars shooting across my forehead.

Everything started to go black and I was suddenly scared I'd been shot.

But then I realized why.

I was still holding my breath.

Forty-two.

The first thing I did was vomit. I made it to the toilet, wondering about destroying evidence, but hurl I did. My whole body was shaking, probably from both fear and the aftermath of having an unG.o.dly amount of volts shot through my system. I was having a near death and out-of-body experience at the same time.

Somehow, I found my way back to the first bedroom where one of the twins had been hiding. I a.s.sumed the note was meant to be written in my hand, and sure enough, there was a slip of paper. It was the one on which I'd jotted down my name and phone number and given to someone in Shannon's entourage, maybe Molly?

It was standard, depressed prose: G.o.d forgive me, I'm a failure. The note said I had begun an affair with Memphis, fallen in love and when I told her it was over because I was a relatively happily married man, she killed herself. Which then weighed so heavily on me that I could only deal with it by killing myself as well.

The note stopped there, probably when I entered the house and interrupted the forger at work.