Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 152, Nos. 5 & 6. Whole Nos. 926 & 927, November/December 2018

A House in the Country by Susan Dunlap

Susan Dunlap is the author of four popular mystery series. Her latest book, 2016’s Out of Nowhere (Severn House), belongs to the stuntwoman Darcy Lott series. “Darcy remains an unusual and appealing character who uses both Zen discipline and daredevil instincts to solve crimes,” said Booklist of this entry in the series. We have another Dunlap story coming up soon!

It took all of Aaron Higjbee’s self-control not to rev the engine of the red sports car. His hand tightened on the gearshift; his was almost in spasm above the accelerator. But he could not take the chance.

It was so unfair. He’d spent weeks figuring how to beat the alarms on summer houses and he’d come away with jack all. Then, out of the blue he spotted this hot car, top down, key dangling in the ignition. No one around. It was, like, too good to be true.

He’d sidled up, swung himself like a gymnast over the door, slid down into the seat, and took off. Hot dude in a hot car! Like he was in one of those sports-car videos, taking curves at sixty, downshifting at the last second, gears grinding, sparks flying behind him. Like he was doing Daytona.

That had been a couple hours ago.

Now the tank was near empty, his own tank was just about bursting. He’d pee later. Now he had to face facts. A red sports car! Red was bad for all the reasons it was so hot. Too late to take it back. Too far. He was out in the country where summer people lived in what they called “cottages.” Couldn’t ditch the car because it was night and cold and how was he going to get home?

So, play to your strengths, right?

He spotted the driveway first, then the house. Light on inside — the kitchen or hall or bathroom — a dead giveaway to a dude as sharp as him. The place would be empty, but just in case, he backed the car into the driveway out of sight of the road and left it ready for fast getaway. Up the driveway there’d be a kitchen cupboard with cans of soup, tuna, stuff the owners couldn’t be bothered taking. Maybe beer, whiskey. He’d piss, he’d eat, then he’d figure out what to do. Maybe there was someone he could call who he could trust more than his for-shit friends.

He started toward the house, turned, and shot a final glance at the road. Trees hanging over the blacktop, two narrow lanes leading to more narrow roads. A blink of moonlight showed the deep ruts, which he already knew too well.

A second blink lit the car.

And the license plate.

CD11.

He couldn’t believe it! How could he have such rotten, lousy, unfair luck? CD11. A congressman’s plate. A congressman’s car! Every sheriff in the county would be hunting it.

He had to get out of here.

But go where? Would he have to ditch the car and walk home through the woods? Walk all night? Food, he’d need food.

He ran up the driveway, around the back of the house, and eyed the windows for alarm wires.

Bathroom? Its wires were so obvious it was like announcing the place was wired. The next window — bedroom? No wires he could see. The window was eight feet off the ground. He hoisted himself up, peered over the sill into the dark room at... Sheesh!.. a guy sleeping in there!

Lousy, unfair luck!

His hands went slack.

He dropped with a thud.

A door flew open. Flashlight blinded him. Woman barked: “In here. Keep your hands up. Up! Move!”

He couldn’t believe — Dammit! He should have run. But he was so startled, shocked, terrified, outraged that it was all he could do to not wet his pants. Then he spotted the automatic on the counter by the door. He couldn’t believe...

Then he saw the woman’s hand hovering over it. Her hand was as shaky as he was.

Okay, not all bad luck. He could manage this. He walked in.

She stood between him and the gun, motioned him to the far side of the kitchen. It was all white — walls, cabinets, sink, even towels. The gun stood out like a display in a store window.

The woman could have been in the store window too. Middle-aged but doable. Jeans, woolly sweater. She looked jumpy, more freaked than he was. Jumpy was bad. Jumpy with a gun, real bad. She was saying, “Empty your pockets. There, on that counter behind you. Everything, lay it all out. Don’t think about it. I can shoot you before you turn around.”

She was trying hard to sound tough. Maybe the phone was out? Maybe there was no cell coverage. He could handle her. The kitchen was only ten feet square, an easy leap for him. Slowly he pulled out his wallet, the key to the car but not his own keys, a wad of toilet paper he’d used for his nose, a mint. Keeping his hand as close to them as hers was to the gun, he made her an offer: “I can leave; it’ll be like I was never here.”

“Drive off into the night?”

“Yeah.”

She took a step back, away from him, turning it over in her mind, he figured. “Why should I believe you won’t go get your friends and come back now that you know I’m here alone.”

“But you’re not alone.”

She did a double take at that and he knew he was in the driver’s seat. He tapped his fingers on the counter and demanded, “The man in the bedroom, he your husband?”

“You saw him?” Now she really looked worried.

“Right, I saw him. Drunk or wasted as he is, he’s not going to be leaping up to save you. You’re going to have to deal with me on your own.”

She nodded slowly. He was thinking too. He’d just been hoping for beer and tuna. But now, with these two marks here, he was expanding his horizons, as they say. Cash, credit cards.

As if reading his mind, she said, “Look, this isn’t my house. It belongs to a business acquaintance of my husband. I didn’t want to drag myself out here into the wild to begin with. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get a cab from the airport to here?”

Like he knew anything about taking a cab anywhere!

“So, take whatever you want, it’s no skin off my nose.”

“Hey, lady, I don’t need your permission.”

She made a sound that started as a nervous laugh but ended as a squeak. “Of course. Of course, you’re right.” Her hand shifted toward the gun, but she didn’t pick it up. “The people who live here,” she said as if choosing her words carefully, “they’ve just gone for the weekend. They were leaving the house to friends of sorts. I mean, we’re not strangers. He and my husband do business.”

“So—?”

“So you don’t lock up your jewelry and extra credit card and emergency cash, like you would if you’re renting to strangers or closing the house for the winter. I mean, you leave some things where they are.”

“Hey, I know how to toss the drawers. You’re not giving me anything new.” He wasn’t a child!

“You don’t know which drawers.”

“A drawer is a drawer.”

“Behind the clothes in one of the closets in one of the rooms?”

She had him there. But it was suspicious, this woman with her gun and all her sudden help. “Why are you telling me this?” He didn’t ask why she didn’t just call the sheriff; didn’t want to remind her of that option. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you gone! You’re scaring me. Just take whatever you like and leave. You have a car, right?”

“You think I’m some kid who walked up here with a bag on my back, like Santa? Yeah, I have a car!” A damned fine car, he wanted to add. A congressman’s car.

“Shhh! If you make a commotion, chances are you won’t wake up my husband, but you could and then we’d all be shocked. I just want you to be gone and everything here to go back to the way it was before.”

Aaron felt like he ought to do something, bang her around a bit to remind her he was in charge here. But he needed to focus on the job, not go all Hollywood. “Show me the stuff”

She shook her head. “Maybe no one followed you. Maybe no one called the sheriff. Maybe. I need to stay where I can watch the road.”

Maybe she was lying to him, but he had to go with his gut. “Okay. Stay there by the window.”

She turned toward the front room.

Her mistake! Before she could take a step he was across the kitchen and had the gun in his hand.

She shrugged. “Damn! It was worth a try.”

The woman sounded like she was reading from a script. He felt stupid, disappointed, like she wasn’t taking him seriously. He waved the gun at her, half expecting her to say it wasn’t loaded.

What she did was to say, “Go ahead, shoot. Gunshots are loud. My husband’s down the hall behind you. Why make trouble for yourself?”

Her giving orders, he had to stop... But no, forget her. Get the cash and get going! “Don’t move,” he said. “If you move, I’ll hear you. I’ll shoot you both. Got it?”

She nodded, a little too much, but he didn’t need to worry about that. He took the gun and stalked off toward the bedroom.

He heard the soft rattle of keys as she slid them off the counter. She must have thought she’d opened the front door a lot more quietly than she had. In a minute she’d be down the driveway and starting the car. He could have gone after her... he laughed. No, no way. This woman would be solving his problem as soon as the sheriff spotted the congressman’s red sports car.

He grinned. It was an elegant move. Someday, after the statute of limitations had run out, he’d be telling his buds about this. Now...

Now he needed to move. If the sheriff found him in here it would blow everything. But he did not intend to come up empty.

He was riffling through the bottom dresser drawer when he heard the siren. He smiled; he would have liked to hear the woman trying to explain the car.

But no time for that. He abandoned the credit cards, watches, and two rings — no need to take a chance with them — pocketed the cash and hurried down the hall.

At the bedroom door he stopped to listen.

No snoring. No rustling.

He hesitated, opened the door, and peered in at the man.

The man wasn’t snoring.

Wasn’t moving.

The man was — oh shit! — dead. Now, in the light, Aaron could see the bullet hole in his chest. The bullet hole doubtless made by the gun in Aaron’s hand.

© 2018 by Susan Dunlap