The Good, the Bad, and the Emus(107)

“I suppose some people might call me a stalker,” Cordelia said. “But I think I had reason.” She was pulling open one of the armoire’s drawers to show that it contained scrapbooks. Copies of some of Rob’s games. Several more bits of my blacksmithing work, including one of the simple little hooks I often made as a demonstration and gave out to members of the audience.

“And this is a prized possession.” She bent over to open the bottom drawer.

I was leaning over to see the contents when something hit my head, hard, and everything went black.





Chapter 28



“You can’t leave her lying that way.” Cordelia’s voice hit my head like a sledgehammer, pounding away with every syllable. No, wait. My head was doing the pounding. Her voice only made it worse.

“She could suffocate,” Cordelia went on.

I flinched, and wondered if there was a polite way to tell your own grandmother to shut up.

“I said—” Cordelia began.

“Shut up, you bossy old cow!” said another voice. Irrationally, the words made me mad. Okay, I wanted peace and quiet, but where did she get off, telling my grandmother to shut up? That was my prerogative. And I wouldn’t have been so rude.

And who was she, this rude person? The voice was tantalizingly familiar. I could figure out who it was if my head would just stop pounding.

Or maybe it would work just as well if I took a look at her.

I opened my eyes. Didn’t help. I was looking at a small stretch of white wall and white-painted baseboard. And they wobbled slightly in a way I didn’t think walls and baseboards were supposed to be capable of.

“You can’t—”

“Shut up! I’m trying to think!”

I recognized the voice now. Sherry. Valkyrie Sherry. Clipboard Sherry. What was she doing in Cordelia’s house?

“I could make it look like arson,” Sherry said, “so Chief Heedles will think it’s the same killer as last time.”

“What do you mean, ‘think it’s the same killer?’” Cordelia asked. “Don’t pretend you didn’t kill both Annabel and Theo Weaver.”

I moved my head ever so slightly so I could see them. Cordelia was sitting in a chair a few feet away from me. Her hands were tied behind her back. Sherry was standing nearby. She had a gun in her right hand. I liked the fact that it was pointed at the ceiling rather than at me or Cordelia, but not the fact that Sherry was tapping it rather absentmindedly against her other hand.

“But she’s already arrested someone for that,” Sherry went on.

“You should have thought of that before you attacked us,” Cordelia said. If the tendency to mouth off when it would be smarter to keep silent was a genetic trait, I now knew where I’d gotten it.

“I’ll need to find someone else to pin the blame on,” Sherry mused. “Preferably someone who can be blamed for the other murders as well. And a better way of starting the fire this time. If Weaver’s house had burned down the way it was supposed to—well, it can’t be helped. But I’ll have to find something that works better this time.”

“Are you asking me for advice?” Cordelia said.

“No, I’m telling you to shut up.” Sherry pointed the gun at Cordelia. “If you shut up and let me think, I’ll knock you out before I start the fire. If you keep yakking, I’ll make sure you’re awake for it.”

I already knew I disliked Sherry. And I liked her even less now, since evidently she was the reason I was lying here with my head pounding and my arms tied behind me, listening to her threaten my grandmother and brainstorm on how to get away with adding us to her death toll.

“I think you’re the best candidate.” Sherry was studying Cordelia. “She’ll have a knot on her head—I’ll set it up so it looks as if you knocked her out and were planning to burn down the house with her in it and fell down while running away.”

“You really think they’ll buy that I tried to burn down my own house?” Cordelia asked.

“Not your house.” Sherry sounded exasperated. “Weaver’s house next door. That way we’ll also be rid of any inconvenient evidence that might be there. And Chief Heedles will assume you were the culprit all along and with nosy Meg out of the way, too, everything will be fine.”

Clearly her definition of fine was radically different from mine.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Cordelia said. “There’s not a shred of evidence against you in either of the two cases. Why not quit while you’re ahead?”

“And let you turn me in? No thanks.”