“Huh?”
He swung the cane again. “Yup. A .420 batting average.”
I didn’t know beans about batting averages, but I did know about Zach’s overzealous, impulsive tendencies and I didn’t want him knocking Lynn’s head off with the cane. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Zach. I’ll go.”
He looked at me like I had a third eye. “Do I really have to remind you of what happened the last few times you took on murderers?”
I sighed. He was right. I didn’t exactly have the best batting average when it came to confronting murder suspects. Not to mention I thought the idea of going up there was a poor one anyway. Olive’s leash started slithering away from us, and I pounced on the end of it, then reached down to pull her back. “Stay here, girl.” When I glanced up again, Zach was already on the staircase.
“Besides,” Zach continued, moving up the steps. “You’re engaged to a cop. He’d be really ticked if I let you get killed. Like I need to have a cop mad at me. No thanks.”
He ascended the steps, hunched slightly forward, the cane clenched in his hands. He called out Lynn’s name a couple of times, but still no answer. When he reached the landing, which was just large enough for a small wing chair and side table, he paused for a second, tilting his head to one side as if he’d heard something. He took a couple of practice swings with the cane and then continued up the second flight of stairs.
I shuffled my feet nervously and listened hopefully for the sound of approaching sirens. I was actually starting to worry about Lynn’s safety. Especially now that Babe Ruth was on the case.
Then suddenly I heard a large crashing sound overhead, followed by pounding footsteps that seemed to echo throughout the house. “Zach!” I yelled, quickly tying the end of Olive’s leash around the leg of an antique hall table. I snatched the remaining cane from the umbrella stand and started for the stairs, but I stopped on the second step when I heard another noise coming from behind me. Backtracking, I inched my way toward the parlor. Again, I heard the noise and it sounded like someone moaning.
The light from the entryway only illuminated a few feet into the parlor, leaving the rest in shadows. “Cora? Lynn?” I called before finally locating the light switch. As soon as the light flooded the room, I saw Cora, gagged and bound on the sofa. I went to her. “Cora! Are you okay?” I asked as I struggled to undo her gag. In the hall, Olive started protesting her confinement. Her high-pitched yelps echoed throughout the house.
As soon as I’d loosened the gag enough, Cora spit out, “It’s Lynn. She did this to me. She’s here. Upstairs. We have to get out of here.”
I noticed dried blood on her head. Looking closer, I saw a small gash. “It’s okay, Cora. The police are on their way.” I hurried to undo the ties from her raw wrists. “Can you make it over to the neighbor’s house?” I had to speak up, just to be heard over the racket Olive was making.
She started to sit up, and then her eyes grew wide as she reached out to steady herself. “I don’t think so. I’m too weak.”
“Then you’ll have to wait here while I—”
“No! Don’t leave me. She’s still here. Somewhere in this house. Please, just get me out of here.”
“Listen, Cora. You’re going to have to be brave. I need to check on my friend. He’s upstairs. He may be hurt.”
Suddenly, Olive’s barking stopped and I heard the clicking of nails against the hardwood floors. I also heard something else. Footsteps. “Where’s that coming from?” I asked Cora. “It sounds like footsteps in the wall.”
“It’s someone on the back stairs. Probably Lynn!”
I gripped her arms and leaned in close. “Calm down, Cora! Where do the steps lead to?”
“From the top floor to the kitchen, on the other side of the pantry. By the mudroom.”
“And the back door?” When she nodded, I took off in that direction, her protests following me through the house. But I didn’t hesitate. I knew it had to be Lynn, making her getaway. I wasn’t going to let that happen.
As I ran through the front hall, I almost tripped over Olive’s leash lying slack on the floor, her empty collar still attached. But I kept running, hoping I’d beat Lynn to the back door. When I got to the kitchen, I found her standing at the counter, her bag slung over her shoulder as she rifled through Cora’s purse. “Are you looking for Cora’s car keys?”
She wheeled, her eyes wide and wild. “Let me go, Lila. I didn’t kill him, Dr. Meyers did. But you already know that. So just let me go.”
“Where’s Zach? Did you hurt him?”
“He’ll be fine. Crap! Where did that woman put her keys?” I inched closer as she lifted the purse and dumped the contents. The keys fell out, landing with a jingle on the granite countertop. I pounced forward, my fingers connecting with them first.