“We’ll have a unit out there within fifteen minutes,” the dispatcher said.
“Hurry,” Traci whispered.
She peered around the trunk of the tree in time to see a light snap on in the kitchen. To her horror, she spotted Garrett through the glass storm door, shoving Felice into the room at gunpoint. Felice was in her scrubs, her hair bound up in a wrap. Even from this distance, Traci could see the terrified look on her face. Garrett was shouting something at her, but Felice was shaking her head.
Lola let out a low, guttural growl. She was standing at alert, her ears set back and quivering, body rigid, tail tucked, teeth bared.
“No,” Traci whispered. “Easy, girl. Easy.”
She bent down to scoop her up, but it was too late. Lola rocketed forward, her barking sharp and frenzied, trailing the leash and handle behind as Traci raced to try to intercept the dog, who was faster and focused on her rescue mission.
Garrett froze, uncertain of what was happening, then turned toward the door, gun in hand.
In that moment, Felice leaped forward and kicked Garrett squarely in the groin.
He screamed and fell to his knees and Felice, emboldened, kicked him again, with a ferocity that frightened and impressed Traci, who yanked the kitchen door open. Somehow, Garrett was still clutching the gun in one hand, while protectively cupping his genitals with the other. Lola was on him now, snarling and snapping.
“Get the gun,” Felice cried, raising her bandaged hands above her head while raining blow after blow on the downed man with her bare feet. She stood, looking down at Garrett, who was writhing in agony on the floor.
“How you like that, motherfucker? You gonna point a motherfuckin’ gun in my face? You gonna drug me and my bestie and try to burn us alive?”
She planted her foot hard in the middle of his face. His nose burst open, spurting blood.
Traci stomped hard on Garrett’s gun hand. He yowled, and Traci kicked the gun, sending it skittering across the kitchen floor. She picked it up and pointed it at Garrett. “Don’t move.”
Whelan was the first to arrive on the scene. When he burst through the kitchen door the first thing he saw was Traci, sitting on a barstool, pointing a gun at the intruder. The second thing he saw was Felice, seated at the kitchen table with Lola in her lap, glowering down at the intruder.
The third thing he saw was Garrett Wycoff on the floor, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey with what looked like the cord from Lola’s retractable leash. His face was swollen, his nose a bloody, pulpy mess.
“What happened here?” he asked Traci.
“Lola doesn’t like it when criminals break into our house,” she said wearily. “Plus, he pulled a motherfuckin’ gun on Felice. He got what he had coming.”
CHAPTER 72
“This was all Madelyn,” Garrett said. He was sitting in the interview room at the Bonaventure County sheriff’s office, pressing an ice bag to his ruined nose.
Traci and Whelan sat on the other side of the one-way window, listening in.
“How’s that?” Coyle asked, his tone neutral.
“It was her idea, all of it. The fire at the dorm, trying to get rid of Livvy, that was all Madelyn. I’m telling ya, man. That is one stone-cold bitch.
“Me and Charlie were happy with the way things were going, but then, during the remodel, she said we should step it up. She said Mrs. E didn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground, because, you know, she was walking around like a zombie after her husband got killed.”
Traci winced and Whelan rubbed her shoulders.
“Back up,” Coyle said. “What kind of ‘things’ are we talking about here? And be specific.”
Traci listened while her former favorite waiter tonelessly laid out his crimes against her and her business, laying most of the blame at Madelyn’s feet.
“Once Madelyn got her claws into us, she wanted more. The old man gave her the job as design director, which was like letting adrunk run a liquor store, so she upped the ante, buying cheaper TVs, mattresses, furniture, like that, then dummying up purchase orders for more expensive shit. She put the squeeze to contractors doing the demo and build-out on the new wing. It was a lot of money, not that I saw that much of it.”
“How did Madelyn become a partner in your crimes?”
“How do you think?”
“Are you saying you and Madelyn Eddings had a sexual relationship?”
