Trouble in Tallahassee (Familiar Legacy Book 3) Page 14

  With that goal firmly in mind, once he had his mug of black coffee, he sat down at his PC and pulled out the plastic bag of flash drives he had taken from Layla’s bag. He intended to go through them again.

  The materials on them were repetitious or similar to the items in the law review file he’d taken from Layla’s office, although in far greater detail. One flash drive had about ten drafts of a law review article on off-shore drilling in Florida, similar to the one in the paper file, with Layla’s name on them all as the author. Yet nothing gave him a hint about where Layla might be.

  Could she have uncovered some kind of secret information that one side or the other in the continuing struggle between the environmentalists and the oil companies didn’t want her to publicize? Or had she learned something that might jeopardize whatever deal it was that Phillip was working on with the governor and the state attorney?

  Unable to come up with any answer that made sense, Phillip put the flash drives back in the plastic bag and tossed them on his desk. He stood, stretched, and headed to the bathroom.

  After he brushed his teeth, he pulled on a plaid button-down shirt, and stepped into a clean pair of khaki pants. He wasn’t at all sure where he was going, but he had to do something. As he slipped his cell phone in the front pocket of his shirt, he remembered Trouble nudging his shirt pocket as if trying to tell him something.

  Running his hands through his hair, he frowned, thinking hard.

  Trouble had practically shoved that lone earring at him from Layla’s travel bag when he searched the guest room at Abby’s. And the cat had patted the pocket where he’d put the earring.

  What the hell could an earring have to do with anything?

  How could a cat know much about anything except food and soft laps?

  Yet, Abby was convinced the cat was some kind of detective.

  Crazy as that seemed, he had to admit at times Trouble did know things the rest of them didn’t. Victor stepped over to the wooden box on his chest of drawers where he had dropped the earring and pulled it out. He studied it under the bright bedside lamp. The earring was elegant and expensive if he didn’t miss his guess, and appeared to be something an older, conservative woman might wear. The pearl looked luminous and he figured it was real. The gold definitely was. The single word engraved on the back—love—must have been done by an expert as the lettering was a beautiful cursive with a flare.

  Who did Layla know who would wear such an earring?

  Her mother? Given the way Layla’s parents had rebuffed her, he doubted Layla would have kept one of her mother’s earrings. Yet, Layla had several photos of her parents displayed in her apartment, so maybe she did treasure an earring of her mom’s as a keepsake?

  But why hide it?

  Thinking about Layla’s parents made Victor think about Phillip and Jennifer. Both couples had the same kind of old-money style. Definitely not the Boho, nouveau-hippie look Layla affected, or the casual, comfortable plaid shirt and khakis he wore.

  “Like Phillip and Jennifer,” he said into the quiet of the early morning.

  Though Victor could not begin to imagine why Layla would have any of Jennifer’s jewelry, the notion that the lone gold earring with the pearl was Jennifer’s took hold in his mind. He pulled up the Architectural Digest magazine with the photo spread on the Drapers’ house and flipped to the photos. There, in a picture spread across the entire page, Jennifer and Phillip smiled in front of their elaborate fireplace.

  Jennifer was wearing small gold earrings with pearls in them.

  Victor couldn’t make out if they were exactly the same as the one he now held, but if not, they were certainly similar.

  Suddenly he wasn’t tired anymore.

  Shoving the earring into his pocket, Victor rushed toward his pickup. He needed to confront Jennifer and find out why Layla had one of her earrings. No sense in calling first and giving her a heads-up to concoct an answer. No sir, he’d deal with Jennifer now and he didn’t care what time it was. Layla needed him.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  My first instinct is to find a window and leap. Abby could jump too. This is only the second floor after all. But I glance back at Jennifer, conked out on the bed. She’s going to be a problem.

  Abby whirls around in the bedroom, her eyes big in her face. She doesn’t even look at me as she says out loud, “The first thing is not to panic.”

  A good rule, no doubt, but escape is the urgent matter at hand, not slogans.

  I run toward the floor-length draperies on the wall that faces the front yard, looking for a window. Ducking my way behind them, I see the curtains cover two French doors. I press my nose against the window pane in one and discover that there is a small balcony off the bedroom.

  Backing out of the drapes, I meow at Abby, trying to tell her what I’ve found. She gives me a quick, wild-eyed look, and then runs into the bathroom that adjoins the bedroom. In a moment, I hear her running water and dash into the small room with her.

  “Wetting towels to put against the door to block smoke.” Abby says it as if reading a script for a documentary. She is definitely not panicking. But I want her to see the French doors and the balcony. If I have judged correctly, we both could jump to the lush green grass. Even a biped should survive without serious injury. Though it would be more problematic, maybe Abby can slide Jennifer off the balcony too. As limp as Jennifer is, I doubt she’d be hurt by a fall.

  But Abby is intent on her own plan. She stuffs the wet towel against the threshold and runs back to check on Jennifer, who is still sprawling on the bed. Abby doesn’t bother trying to wake her up again, but runs back to the bathroom, wets another towel and drapes it over Jennifer. The cold wetness wakes Jennifer, and, sputtering, she says “What the hell?” Her words slur.

  “The house is on fire.” Abby shouts it, some of her calmness breaking. “We can’t get out because the hallway carpet is in flames.”

  Jennifer blinks and struggles to sit up, but fails and falls back on the bed.

  I head butt Abby’s leg with all my energy and insistence. Once she is looking at me, I run to the draperies. Grabbing one edge of the heavy drape in my mouth, I pull it back until Abby can see the French doors.

  Abby dashes over and opens one of the doors, letting in a burst of fresh night air. She steps out on the balcony with me at her feet.

  “We can jump.” She speaks with no hesitation and I am so proud of her. She is as brave as Tammy Lynn, my real biped. I purr to show my approval and rub against her leg.

  In the bedroom, Jennifer collapses on the floor with a thud.

  “We can’t leave Jennifer.” Abby says it with a determined resoluteness.

  I look at the balcony and think about jumping.

  Then I look at Abby and follow her back into the bedroom.

  Abby cocked her head to the sound—sirens.

  But they were still off in the distance. She ran to the bedroom door and pressed her hand against the flat panel. The door was hot to her touch, and she knew not to open it again.

  “We can’t wait.” Abby ran back to Jennifer. She had to get her out on the balcony somehow.

  “Come on, Jennifer, we’ve got to jump.” Abby shouted at Jennifer, but she didn’t respond. Tugging on Jennifer’s arms, Abby tried to pull her up from the floor. But Jennifer did not wake.

  Trouble pushed against Jennifer’s leg as it to shove her, but failed to move her.

  “Damn it,” Abby said, under her breath. With renewed vigor, Abby grabbed Jennifer’s feet and dragged her toward the heavy drapes, scooting her across the floor, but only inch by inch. Limp dead weight proved harder to move than Abby would have thought.

  Dropping Jennifer, Abby ran to the French doors, Trouble by her side. Even if she got Jennifer to the balcony, she wasn’t sure shoving the woman off was a good idea.

  The sirens were louder now, but Abby didn’t see any red flashing lights. Just as she turned to go back inside after Jennifer, she saw headlights. Trouble meow
ed to alert her as a pickup pulled into the driveway below. A moment later, a man hopped out and started running toward the front of the house.

  Victor!

  At first Abby’s heart thumped hard with fear. Had he come back to finish them off? A man who would do what he did to his wife might well kidnap his friend and then kill to cover up his crime.

  Trouble butted her leg. When she looked down, he shook his head and then ran back inside the bedroom.

  Abby followed, as her heart rate continued to climb. No, it didn’t make sense that Victor had come to kill them.

  But it didn’t make sense that he’d come to the house at all.

  Trouble raised his head, his ears perked up, and his eyes stared at the bedroom door. Abby held her breath and listened. Somebody was shouting. And clamoring up the stairs with something heavy thumping on the steps.

  But whether this was Victor bent on saving them or intending to finish them off, Abby didn’t know. She wondered if the flaming carpet in the hallway outside the bedroom would protect her, Jennifer, and Trouble after all.

  Or merely prevent their rescue.

  Either way, Abby needed to move. She grabbed Jennifer’s feet and, yanking on them, pulled her toward the French doors. Trouble nipped at Jennifer’s feet as if to hurry things along. With Trouble’s encouragement, Abby finally dragged the woman toward the balcony. How a thin woman could weigh so much, Abby couldn’t figure out.

  When Abby got onto the balcony, she let Jennifer slide through her arms and sprawl out on the tiled floor in the cool dawn air. Abby’s arms ached from the effort of moving Jennifer, and her hands trembled. Below, a fire truck, followed by a police car, pulled into the driveway beside Victor’s pickup. Firemen scattered out of the fire truck. Abby shouted and waved her hand. “Up here. Up here.” One of the men heard her, looked up, and waved back. When he shouted something to the others, pointing at her, the firemen broke and ran toward the house.

  “Saved, we’re saved, Trouble,” Abby said.

  But Trouble ignored her and paced on the balcony, his head toward the bedroom door, and his nose once more in the air sniffing.

  Abby sniffed too. On top of the rancid, acrid smell of the burning carpet, she smelled something chemical, but not gasoline. She could also hear a loud hissing, like someone was using a giant can of hair spray.

  The bedroom door burst open, slamming against the wall. Abby jerked back, and hoped that she and Jennifer were hidden by the drapery.

  “Jennifer, Abby, where are you?” Victor’s voice sounded panicked, something Abby had never heard before from him.

  Suddenly Abby understood he was never intending to hurt them in the first place. He must have been using a fire extinguisher on the carpet runner, and that’s what Abby had heard and smelled.

  “Abby.” He cried out the word, his voice anguished. “Where are you?”

  “Here.” Abby pulled back the drapery and stepped through.

  Victor threw a fire extinguisher on the floor and rushed to Abby. He cradled her in his arms, rocking.

  Three firemen burst into the room.

  Abby broke from Victor’s embrace and knelt by Jennifer. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but something is. She won’t wake up.”

  “Smoke inhalation?” A fireman asked.

  “No, she was this way when I got here, before the fire.” Abby shook her head. “Please, please, call an ambulance.”

  Victor picked Jennifer up as easily as if she’d been a doll, carried her to the bed, and put her down gently. Then he turned to Abby. “What happened? What’s going on?”

  Abby dug the empty Valium bottle out of her pocket and held it up to a fireman. “I think she OD’d.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The paramedics had Jennifer on a gurney momentarily parked outside the front door of the house while one of the women EMTs re-checked Jennifer’s vital signs. Victor and Rizzo were off having some kind of argument. Abby stood by Jennifer, feeling helpless, but holding her hand. Now and then, Jennifer’s eyes would briefly flick open, but never for long.

  Trouble hopped on top of Jennifer’s chest and began licking her face, then her earlobes. Abby went to shoo him off, but the woman paramedic reached over for a quick pet.

  “Little buddy, we’ll take care of your lady. Promise you.” She spoke gently to Trouble, before going back to work on Jennifer.

  A moment later, the EMT said, “She’s stable, but we’re going to transport her to the hospital as soon as we get her loaded into the ambulance. You might want to take her jewelry for safe-keeping.”

  Trouble put his mouth around one of Jennifer’s earrings and tugged as if he were trying to remove it.

  “So the cat speaks people?” The EMT grinned.

  Abby rubbed Trouble on the neck, and quickly began to gather Jennifer’s jewelry, starting with her rings and the bracelet. She put these in her pocket, thinking she’d have to find a container of some kind to keep them together and safe. Trouble meowed, and licked again at the earring.

  “Okay, okay.” Abby removed both earrings as gently as she could and put them with the rest of the jewelry in her pocket.

  When she looked back at Jennifer, she was surprised to see Jennifer staring right at her.

  “What…happened?” Jennifer’s words slurred.

  “Your house was on fire. But don’t worry, the firemen have it all under control. Just some damage in the hallway. The house is safe. Now we have to worry about getting you to the hospital and getting you taken care of.”

  Above Jennifer, the EMT asked, her voice gentle, “Ma’am, can you tell us what you took? What pills? And if you drank any alcohol?”

  Jennifer never took her eyes off Abby. “Marshall.” It seemed to take some effort for Jennifer to speak the word. After she said it, she closed her eyes.

  “I don’t understand,” Abby said, and pressed her face closer to Jennifer’s. As she did, she noticed some slight bruising around Jennifer’s mouth and jaw. “Jennifer, wake up.”

  But Jennifer had passed out again, and the EMTs hurried her into the ambulance. A moment later, the rescue vehicle took off, sirens blaring in the still night.

  Victor rushed up beside her and said her name. But Abby was in no mood to listen to him. She turned away from him and hurried toward her car. She wanted to go to the ER and do what she could for Jennifer. And call Delphine. Definitely call Delphine.

  But before Abby reached her car, Rizzo cut her off. “Young lady,” he said, his tone of voice tired yet still threatening, “I believe you have some serious explaining to do here.”

  “And you,” he turned to Victor. “We have a perfect photo on the Drapers’ security camera of a man dressed in a gray hoodie.”

  “Like the man in the dumpster,” Victor said.

  “I was thinking it looked more like you the night we found you drunk on the sidewalk by the dumpster.” Rizzo moved toward Victor like he was thinking of grabbing him. “Don’t either one of you move.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Victor tensed and lifted his arms, his fingers curling into fists. Enough was enough. He was ready to fight back against the detective. But before either man could strike a blow, Abby angled between Rizzo and Victor, an angry yet alert look on her face.

  With one hand shoving Victor back from Rizzo, Abby glared at the detective. “I already told the fire department’s investigator everything I saw, smelled, or heard. Ask him.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m asking you.” Rizzo jutted out his jaw, returning Abby’s look, scowl for scowl. “And we can do it here or I can take you both to the police department.”

  “You have no legal right to hold us here, absent an arrest,” Abby tossed back at Rizzo. “And you cannot force us to go to the police station unless you arrest us. You have no basis for an arrest, and you certainly don’t have a warrant. Given that, I believe I will be on my way.” She paused and cast a hard look at Victor. “Mr. Rutledge here can do as he pleases.”

  Victor wa
nted to clap his hands at the stunned look on Rizzo’s face. Trouble made a hissing noise aimed at the detective that sounded like a warning as Rizzo stood, frozen and angry.

  Abby hurried toward her car, but turned back for one last zing at Rizzo. “You should be looking for a person who drives a dark BMW, and I’d suggest you question Emmett, who drives just such a car. And leave Victor Rutledge and me alone. We did not kidnap anyone.”

  Trouble and Victor sprang into action and raced after the retreating Abby.

  These two, Abby and Victor, really need my help. But Layla needs it more—and quicker. Somehow, I’ve got to rescue her before I can mend Abby and Victor and get them to realize how much they care for each other.

  Right now, while Abby, Victor, and that Detective Rizzo finish their little kerfuffle, what I need to do is sniff around the house, and see what humanoid smell I might pick up. That is, if I can smell anything over the fire extinguisher and the gasoline.

  I wish I’d gotten a better look at the driver of the dark BMW. Whoever it was must have recognized Abby and turned around, effectively locking her in the bedroom with Jennifer and trying to burn them with the house.

  Whoever this is, he or she is very nasty. Very.

  Twenty minutes later, Victor sat in his pickup, studying Abby’s house. Her car was in the garage and the front living room light was on. He didn’t see any sign of danger and he didn’t hear any screams. Yet he could not make himself drive away. He was parked in the street in front of her house, and he planned to stay there till the bright morning sun made everything safer.

  Just because the front looked secure didn’t mean the back was. He got out of his truck and, keeping to the shadows, went around to the back. After checking every window and the door, he headed back to his truck.

  Rounding the corner, Victor came to a dead halt. Lucas Kelly was standing there, his hand resting on his taser.

  “Well, Mr. Rutledge, dang fine thing I’m not one of those quick-to-shoot types.” Lucas grinned.