Susan Schreyer - Death By a Dark Horse

"Gardening tools come in so handy sometimes, don't they?" He spun me around and pushed me along in front of him. "You should pay more attention when you hold conferences in the bushes. It wasn't hard to figure out what you two were planning. I don't see a future for you in burglary – don't see much of a future for you at all, actually." He chuckled.

We reached the back of the house and he shoved me at the porch steps. I tripped, broke my fall with my hands, then climbed up to the back door.

"Nice going, Grace." He laughed.

Maybe he'd amuse himself so much making fun of me he'd forget to shoot me.

Keys jingled. He reached around me, unlocked the door and pushed it opened. With the gun pressed firmly into my spine, he propelled me into the house and flipped on the lights.

We were in Valerie's remodeled kitchen with its granite countertops, tile floor, cherry cabinets, and awful smell of a toilet that hadn't been flushed for a long while.

"Now, shall we invite everyone up?" he asked.

He pushed me across the huge room. As we skirted the center island I caught sight of a pair of work boots sticking out from denim-clad legs. They were so out of place that my feet refused to continue until I'd made sense of it.

"Don't worry about Lee," Greg said, at my sudden stop. "We had a little disagreement about some money. He finally saw it my way." His high-pitched giggle plucked at my already taut nerves. He nudged me into another step and I saw the face of the man we'd been trying to locate at the bar. His skin was gray and his eyes stared, unblinking, at the ceiling. Blood – what had to be blood – pooled under his head and shoulder. The odor was not the same as the one that coated my nostrils and turned my stomach when I'd found Valerie. Of course. Lee was only recently dead. My knees buckled. Greg grabbed my collar and hustled me toward the basement door, then hauled me to a stop. With the muzzle of the gun against my ribs, he released the lock and swung the door open.

"Come on up, ladies," he called, as if inviting them in for coffee.

I held my breath and strained to listen, hoping to hear silence, hoping they had escaped. Instead I heard brief scuffling and angry whispers.

"Come now," Greg called again. "You wouldn't want to leave your sister all alone with me, would you, Juliet? Why, she might not be able to resist my well-known charms."

He caressed my cheek and neck with his left hand, and I flinched at his touch. The stutter of his breath against my hair was undoubtedly amusement.

"Did you like my little love notes?" he asked, his mouth close to my ear. "You must have, since you seemed to want more. I had to improvise for the one on your pillow – didn't have time for a newspaper note. Did I make you nervous?"

I clamped my lips together. His exhale came hot and long against my cheek. In one swift move he yanked on my shirt, dislodging several buttons, and jammed his hand inside my bra. My mouth turned sour and a whimper rose in my throat.

"How about now?" He dug his fingers into my breast. "Maybe I make you hot." His tongue flicked against my cheek and I jerked my head aside, my temple colliding with the gun. He laughed, short and ugly. I clamped down on my anger, but couldn't stop the tremor that shot through me. "Too bad I have to catch a plane. You and your sister together would be entertaining."

God, he was sick.

And there was no sound from downstairs.

He jabbed the gun barrel into the side of my face. "Invite them up."

He hadn't lost track of them, unfortunately. I prayed they were working on escaping, and stayed silent hoping to buy them more time.

"Do it. The other option is for us to go downstairs. If so, I will wound you so you live long enough to watch me shoot each of them. Your choice, but I'm getting sick of clearing bodies out of this damn kitchen myself and the smell is enough to make me gag. I could use some willing help. Then again, I might just set a match to the place. Hmm, maybe they should stay down there."

"Do what he says, Juliet." My voice shook so much I couldn't tell if it was loud enough for her to hear. I felt I'd signed our death warrants, even though I'd avoided his threat. Tears spilled down my face, but I was too frightened to sob.

After a moment there was more scuffling, then running footsteps on the stairs. Greg pulled me backwards several steps, his forearm tight at the base of my throat, choking me.

Sarah lurched through the doorway.

"Greg…?" She made a move toward us and he swung the gun at her.

"Stop right there, Sarah." She did, and her eyes popped with surprise.

More footsteps sounded on the stairs, but at a considerably slower rate. Juliet and Delores stopped at the doorway to the kitchen, behind Sarah. Juliet's eyes grew wide as she took in the scene. Delores's face, although expressionless, was ashen. She held her left arm carefully. Greg put the gun against my head again.

"Well, that's better. Now Delores, don't tell me you've gone and hurt yourself." His voice was saccharin with mock sympathy.

"You ought to know, you bastard," she growled. "You're the one who pushed me down the stairs."

"Not as spry as you used to be, huh?"

She held her silence, but her eyes narrowed.

"What am I going to do with you girls?" he said.

"Greg-"

"Shut up, Sarah."

She blinked as rapidly as the trembling of her chin.

An exasperated rumble vibrated in Greg's throat. "Looks like I've got more planning to do than I thought. You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" He pressed the gun to my head, again.

All eyes were on me, the obvious target of his question, but I was rigid with fear. I couldn't answer. I didn't want to die, not now, not like this. I didn't want anyone else to die, either.

"Now Lee," Greg gestured with the gun toward the legs on the floor. Delores and Juliet followed his motion and Juliet gasped. Greg laughed at her reaction. "He couldn't leave it alone, either. He screwed up, but the dumb shit thought I should give him more money. Now that's not fair. It's not my fault he drank the first five hundred. Why should I support his drinking habit?"

"Is he the guy who took Thea's horse?" Delores asked.

Sarah whimpered, and held her hand up like she was trying to stop Greg. He ignored her.

"Oh, how quickly we catch on. The idiot took the wrong horse, but I expect you figured that out already. Everything would have been perfect if that dickless moron had followed instructions."

Juliet slid a quick look at Sarah before addressing Greg. "Why did you kill Valerie?"

"I didn't kill Valerie."

Sarah jerked toward my sister. "See? I told you he didn't."

The sneer Juliet turned on her was as contemptuous as any I'd ever seen, but Greg jumped in, defending himself in a righteous tone.

"She was already dead when I got to her Saturday afternoon."

Liar.

Sarah waved her hands, again trying to stop him. "No, Greg! You weren't here! I picked you up at the airport. Thea did it – caused all this trouble! You told me -" She stopped herself and cowered, watching Greg, worry and confusion stamped on her face.

He sighed. "Did you see me get off the plane?"

"No," was Sarah's whispered response.

"And you picked me up where?"

"At the curb outside of 'Arrivals.'" Again whispered. Tears dripped down her cheeks. "But -"

"How much of my business do you think would have survived if the police even questioned me about Valerie's murder? People would assume I did it if you ran at the mouth about how I found her. Then I'd never be able to get new investors to keep that deal going."

"I know you didn't kill her! I'd tell people that!"

"This is why I don't trust you, Sarah. You don't think, you just talk." He made a little gesture with the gun, smacking me on the forehead with the barrel.