“Yes, I had a plan.”
He sniffed the rag and his eyes grew small again. He was probably reacting to the chemical fumes. The rag must reek of them. Hugh’s dirty rags were releasing toxic chemicals, and Abbas was overly sensitive to them. He sneezed violently and threw the rag down. My pulse raced.
Toxic chemicals from the cans on the shelf.
“You weren’t going to talk to the publicist, were you?” I said. Slowly, carefully, I angled my body so I could move my right arm behind me unnoticed while Abbas wiped his eyes. “You were buying time.”
Buy time.
“You drove out here that Saturday night,” I continued, blindly exploring the shelf with my trembling hand.
Don’t knock anything over.
“You came here to the house unannounced and told Hugh you were very upset, you needed to talk, right? You knew he’d let you in. Very smart, Abbas.”
“I gave him one more chance. Only one. No pleading.”
“And when he answered?”
Abbas sniffed and used the gun in his hand to jab at an imaginary Hugh. “I made him go back to bed.”
“Did you make them pose before you . . .” I shuddered. “And then you slashed the painting to make certain the police would think about me. Oh God.”
“I thought they would arrest you sooner,” he said, scowling. His eyes were beginning to swell. “What will I do with you now?”
All his phony concern. I’d been nothing but a “thing” for him to use in his scheme.
I saw him glaze over and focus inward for a few seconds. I could almost hear him calculating. Then he began rubbing his eyes again with his coat sleeve. I took a small step to my left and continued frantically searching until my fingers found a tall, round can. Bless Hugh’s messy work habits: the cap was off. Abbas finally brought his arm down and looked at me again. Red light.
“Walk over there, back toward the door. Away from the art,” he ordered.
If I obeyed, I’d lose my only chance to get out alive. I stayed put, terrified.
“What are you going to do? You can’t get away with another murder,” I said.
“No?”
Think. Think.
I challenged him, desperate. “How will you explain killing me?”
He paused again, the plan still forming in his mind.
“We spoke in the parking lot at the funeral. You knew I would be coming here. You followed, uninvited, and offered to sell me a notebook you stole from Hugh.” He nodded toward the Princess Leia sketchbook on the worktable at the center of the studio.
“I refused. I said I would report you.” He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “You got very, very angry, Nora. You went mad, dear girl. You admitted you killed Hugh and Helene and shouted that you’d kill me, too. Then you pulled out a knife and attacked me.” He brandished the gun. “I had to defend myself.”
Think. Think. Think!
“Now move,” he ordered, waving the gun.
“But you used that gun to shoot Hugh and Helene,” I said, firming up my grip on the can. “They’ll match the bullets.”
Abbas smiled.
“That gun is at the bottom of the Hudson. This one is legal, and it’s not a .22.”
He stooped to pick up the ninja book.
“I must thank you for finding this,” he said. “Now I can burn it.”
I seemed to stop breathing. Blood thundered in my ears. Everything was slowing down except my racing thoughts: if I tried to run, he would shoot me; if I didn’t run, he would shoot me. I had nothing to lose. Make your move.
I bent over, dropped into linebacker stance and rammed my head into Abbas’s belly, knocking the wind out of him. The gun fired above me with a deafening crack as a sharp, burned smell hit my nostrils. I raised my hand high and pressed the nozzle on the can of Blair’s spray varnish, aiming at his eyes. Abbas howled. I pressed again. He screamed and fired a second time, shattering glass somewhere in the studio before the gun clattered to the floor. Abbas dropped the book next and tore at his eyes, shrieking.
“I will kill you, you fucking bitch!”
I sprayed one more time.
“Fuck!” he screamed. “Fuck!”
Tossing the can and snatching the ninjas off the floor, I scrambled to my feet and ran like the wind.
Bursting out of the studio into the cold twilight, I blasted through the driving snow, shin-deep in snowdrifts. My coat flew open. Freezing air bit my face and lungs as my arms and legs kept pumping. I looked over my shoulder and saw Abbas’s dark shape emerging from the studio.
The ninja book dripped with melting snow. I shoved it inside the waistband of my jeans to protect it and realized, shit . . . Princess Leia was still on Hugh’s worktable. There was nothing I could do about that. It was too late to backtrack.
I struggled to close the buttons on Grace’s coat as I labored on, breathing heavily. The sky was darkening and I had to find the hunting trail while I could still see where I was going. Stay low. Keep moving. Stick close to the snowbound seagrass so Abbas can’t see you. The ground near the inlet had turned slushy and was slowing me down. My pants were soaked up to my knees, my toes ice. Was I close to the blind? I looked around pointlessly—the flying snow obscured everything. I could barely make out what was right in front of me. Had I already passed it? Suddenly my foot met with something hard and my big toe exploded in pain.
“Fuck!”
I went flying. I landed on my right shoulder at the edge of the inlet. The icy water began seeping through Grace’s coat almost instantly. Rolling onto my back to save the ninja book, I felt a pain in my foot so sharp I knew I’d be hobbled and unable to run. But I couldn’t stay there; I had to keep going. I managed to turn over onto my hands and knees and try to stand. A loud pop sounded as the bullet whizzed by my head and sent me diving face-first into the icy mud. Another pop. And another. I curled into a fetal position and clasped my hands over my ears.
“I know you’re in there,” Abbas yelled.
I couldn’t stay where I was. I rolled back onto my belly and crawled commando-style behind a large clump of snowbound grass. Through a small gap in the reeds, I could see him lurching through the snow a few yards away. There were no more moves to make except into the water behind me. I might not be able to walk, but I could swim. I could shed the coat, swim underwater, and pray that I didn’t freeze to death before Abbas ran out of bullets.
The Polar Bear Club jumps in every winter. They survive. You can do it, kiddo.
Daddy? Is that you?
I began to inch backward on my elbows through the mud, but I hesitated. The ninja book. The ninja book would be ruined. Even if I survived the freezing water and bullets, without those sketches, I couldn’t prove Abbas’s motive to kill. Instead, he could tell a story that would get me convicted. Especially since he still had the other sketchbook. He’d claim I stole it from Hugh and tried to sell it to him.
Kiddo, the water has got better odds than a bullet. You gotta bet the odds. Go.
I started inching backward again, grunting with the effort. But my hesitation had cost me.