Stella, Get Your Gun

He didn’t like this. “Shut up and do as I said.”

I reached out and punted the offending gun in his direction. Without taking his eyes off of me, he retrieved it and stuck it in the pocket of his sport coat.

“I’m leaving,” he said, backing up. “I can leave with you breathing, or not breathing. You have a preference?”

Great, a smart-aleck burglar. “Sure.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Then here’s what you have to do to stay alive. Don’t try and follow us.” I saw his eyes rake my naked body and he smiled slightly. “Although that would be a vision, wouldn’t it, you running through Glenn Ford in the altogether?”

A wise-ass with an educated vocabulary—now, there couldn’t be too many of those around town. Might make finding him easier, because I was going to find him. It was my new mission in life.

“Count to a thousand before you start getting all hysterical and calling for help. Anything less than that, I’ll come back and shoot you with your own gun.”

I sighed inwardly and made a mental note to humiliate him publicly as soon as possible.

“The one-bullet thing?” he said. “I do that for a reason. There’s entirely too much violence in the world today. Bullets work on the same principle as money—if you have it, you tend to spend it. I’d rather rely on my wits.”

He’d been backing up as he lectured. A moment later I heard the kitchen door slam. Two moments later I heard a car squeal its tires as it tore out of the alley onto the street that ran in front of the row house.

“Great!” I said to the empty house. “I get my ass kicked naked and lose my gun in the process.”

I shook my head, plucked the towel up off the hallway floor and headed for the phone. Every bone and muscle in my body ached, but nothing hurt as much as my pride. I’d let a group of punks, Jake Carpenter almost certainly one of them, break into the house and run, making a clean getaway. Damn!

I limped into the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed.

“911 operator,” the voice answered. “Do you have an emergency?”

A few smart-assed responses came to mind before I finally managed to say, “There’s been a break-in at 361 Mary Street.”

“Is anyone injured?” the voice asked in a perfectly unconcerned monotone.

“It’s nothing I won’t live through,” I said, and hung up.

By the time the uniforms arrived, I was dressed and disturbing the crime scene. I was trying to find out what, if anything other than my weapon, was missing. I wanted to know why Jake had taken the risk of breaking into Aunt Lucy’s house in broad daylight, but I thought I already knew. I figured he was looking for the papers I’d found in Uncle Benny’s workroom.

When I’d accused him of owing Uncle Benny money, he must’ve known I’d found the agreement. He was probably trying to remove any sign that Uncle Benny had lent him money. Maybe he planned to deny he owed the family a dime.

“Stupid asshole,” I swore. “I never thought you were a genius, but this move was pathetic!”

The cops took over, looking irritated when they saw me touching their evidence, and sealed the room. The next hour was spent wasting their time and mine until Detectives Slovineck and Poltrone could arrive and further complicate my life.

“I don’t understand,” Detective Poltrone said. “You saw a pair of cowboy boots and assumed from that quick glance that it was Jake Carpenter come to rob your uncle’s estate? Why would he do that?” She had an exasperating habit of flipping her notepad shut whenever she asked me a question, as if she was trying to let me know she wasn’t going to believe my answer or find it worthy of noting in her all-important log of clues.

I rolled my eyes and made a silent appeal to Detective Slovineck.

“You think he wanted to steal back a copy of a financial agreement he made with your uncle?” Slovineck asked, knowing full well that was exactly what I thought but saving his partner’s face.

“Okay,” I said. “Do we not have motive, means and opportunity here? Jake must be in some kind of financial trouble. He cons my uncle out of $260,000. He never intends to make good on the partnership—he just wants the money. That’s why he killed my uncle. When he learns I’ve seen the papers, he tries to steal them back so there’s no proof. He wants it to be my word against his. That’s why he’s desperate enough to make a daytime raid on Uncle Benny’s study.”

I sat back, waiting for the detectives to respond, and felt sick at my stomach. Granted, Jake was a jerk and a coward, but a murderer, too? How could I have been so wrong about him? How could I have ever loved someone who would coldly plot the murder of my uncle and the destruction of my family? I didn’t want to believe it, but what else could I think?

“Stella!” Aunt Lucy appeared in the study doorway, Nina peeking over her shoulder and Lloyd at her side.

The two detectives looked up like startled rabbits and I stood, turning around to reassure my aunt. “It’s all right, Aunt Lucy,” I began. She interrupted me.

“Honey, this is such a mess! You could’ve just asked me where the will was!”

“Oh, no, Aunt Lucy, it’s not that…”

“Besides,” she continued, “Jake would’ve given you a copy.”

“Jake?” The name squeaked out of my throat like a strangled cough. Behind me I heard Detective Poltrone flip open her notepad and begin scribbling.

“Oh, yeah, honey,” Aunt Lucy said. “You know, he’s the executor. He has to have a copy. Otherwise how could he administer the trust and run the business?”