Ding Dong Dead

46

Gretchen ducked into the break room and pressed her body up behind the door, one eye staring out from the crack. Heavy footsteps slowly approached.

A cold blast of intuition had propelled Gretchen out of the chair and off the stage, telling her to seek shelter. Hurry. She reacted to the perceived threat and ran, now feeling slightly foolish for hiding behind a door.

She’d lost all perspective. She was running scared instead of standing and fighting. Yet she wasn’t about to come out without knowing who was inside the room.

Through the crack in the door, she watched and waited. Footsteps paused. She flattened herself further. Whoever was inside the building was as wary as she.

The footsteps continued forward until he came into view.

Andy Thomasia!

The man had a way of working with locks that frightened her. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t respect a locked door? He was carrying a weapon of some sort, holding it in his right hand as though he expected to use it soon.

The silence was so absolute, Gretchen was sure he’d hear her if she swallowed or blinked. She froze, motionless like the six-foot Barbie on the stage that had caught his attention. She had a moment to think of her next move while he stepped up on the stage and walked around the enormous doll.

She didn’t have anything to protect herself with. Where was her pepper spray? Gretchen couldn’t remember what she’d done with it after spraying Jerome.

Daisy had been right about Jerome. Now that she was locked in a deserted building with the murdered woman’s husband, she believed Daisy.

Too late.

Think! How am I going to escape?

Andy’s gaze found the teddy bear lying on the floor in front of the chair that Gretchen had so hastily abandoned. He swung his head toward the break room, alert again, hunting for sound or motion. He cocked his head, his eyes sweeping along the floor from the stage to the door where Gretchen hid.

She pressed against the wall.

His eyes followed the crack in the door from the bottom up. He looked sinister, gaunt and menacing.

Their eyes locked.

“Don’t come down from the stage,” Gretchen said. “Or I’ll shoot.”

“You’re the exact image of your mother. Feisty, passionate.” Andy moved fluidly down the stage steps. “Impulsive.”

“I mean it. Stop.”

“You don’t have a gun.”

“I do.”

“Show me.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

Oh jeez.

“Where’s Caroline?” he asked.

“She’ll be here any minute with the police.”

Where are you, Mom?

Andy looked a little worn around the edges. Under different circumstances, Gretchen would have felt sorry for him. That is, if he hadn’t been so adept at breaking and entering. And if his driver’s license hadn’t been left at the scene of the murder. “What happened at the museum?” he asked.

“Why?”

“I saw a cop leaving.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Gretchen lied.

My mother and I decided to beat up the wrong guy.

“Come out from behind the door,” Andy said. “We need to talk.”

“I wouldn’t have helped you in the first place if I knew then what I know now.”

“Somebody is setting me up. You have to believe me.”

“Go away. Tell that to the police.”

“Come out and talk to me.”

“Yeah, right, like I’ll trot right over and let you stab me.”

Andy scowled. Then he glanced at the thing in his hand. “Oh, this? It’s my lock pick.” He put it in his pocket and held up his hands as though that would reassure her.

Gretchen, still flattened against the wall behind the door, looked back into the break room, frantic to find a weapon and protect herself. Where was the stage pistol? That would get her out of here. He wouldn’t know that it was a fake.

The gun wasn’t in sight.

“I tell you what,” Andy said, taking one slow step at a time toward her, “I’ll come in there and we’ll have a cup of that wonderful-smelling coffee and share information.”

“Stay out. I’m warning you.”

“But I’m turning myself in, right? I’m giving myself up to you.”

He came closer, reached the threshold. When he walked through the doorway, Gretchen used all her might to slam the door against him. She locked both palms against the back of the door and shoved as hard as she could, throwing all her body weight behind it.

She felt resistance, but she’d expected that. If his reflexes were slower than hers, the door might hit him in the head. That didn’t happen. Instead, the door was coming back at her.

They were locked in a war against each other. He, on the outside, determined to get in. She, on the inside, doing everything she could to keep him out.

Gretchen was a strong woman. She’d been jealous of all the Phoenix twig women when she had first arrived in Arizona, but now, she thanked her body. Heavier would have been even better. Three hundred pounds would have been perfect.

She was no match for Andy. He had the advantage of additional weight and more arm strength.

He was going to kill her after he won this last arm-wrestling bout.

She felt the door inching back at her, heard both of them breathing hard, felt her feet sliding back, and looked around one last time for a weapon.

Then she was flung away and the door banged against the wall, wide open.

“I don’t have time for this,” Andy snarled, coming at her. “You’re going to tell me what you know, if I have to force it out of you.”

Gretchen grabbed the first thing she saw, the first thing she could get in her grasp, and whipped it at him. The coffeepot crashed into Andy and a wave of hot coffee shot from the rim.

He slapped his hands against his face, trying to wipe away the hot brew.

“Strike one,” she screamed, feeling warriorlike in spite of her terror. The coffeepot shattered on the floor, but she was already moving, picking up a heavy mug and throwing it at him, striking his forehead. She wasn’t going down without a fight. She’d make sure to scratch him. They would find traces of his DNA under her fingernails. She’d figure out how to leave a message before she died.

She backed toward a small, cluttered table in the corner. Stage props were piled on it, and she almost collapsed in joy when she saw the butt of the stage gun poking out of the mess.

Gretchen grabbed the gun and trained it on Andy. “Turn around slowly,” she said. “Do it!”

That stopped him. Without another word, he did as she demanded, turning his back to her. He looked overly confident for a man in his position. His hands were in his pockets. The pick!

Without further thought, she clunked him on the head with the gun. He wobbled. She drew back and struck again, harder this time. He crashed to the floor.

Standing over his prone body, Gretchen hoped she hadn’t hit him too hard. What if she’d killed him?

Andy didn’t move.

Was he breathing?

Gretchen wasn’t about to get close enough to find out or to be grabbed.

She’d call the cops and an ambulance.

Should she run out into the street and flag someone down?

She’d get Mr. B. He’d help her.

Gretchen pounded up the stairs and rapped hard on Mr. B.’s apartment door, watching her back all the way, feeling afraid, feeling the adrenaline.