In Self Defense by Susan Sloan (phonics books .TXT) 📕

was shooting a stalker and she shot Mr. Durant instead?  Did I hear you right?”

“I’m afraid so.”

But James was shaking his head in confusion.  “I don't see how that could be possible,” he said.  “Mr. Durant was in Vermont.”

“That’s what we thought, too,” Nina confirmed.

“But you don’t understand, I spoke to him yesterday morning,” James insisted.  “I’m his assistant.  He would certainly have told me if he was planning to come back a day early.  I would have been the first to know.  He didn’t say a word.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Nina told him with a sigh, “let me assure you it was Richard Durant’s body I saw riddled with bullets on the floor of the master bedroom, and you can take my word for it that it’s his blood soaking into the carpet in there right now.”

***

Doreen Mulcahy spent her days off on her sister’s farm in Yelm.  It was usually a quiet and peaceful respite for her, away from kids, away from television, away from the daily grind of caring for a busy family.  At her sister’s place, she had nothing more urgent to do than tend to the sheep and the goats and feed the chickens, and she usually found that doing so cleared her mind and renewed her energy.  But not this time.

She hardly slept at all on Thursday night, instead tossing and turning and worrying about what was going on at the house in Laurelhurst.  Something in the pit of her stomach told her all was not well, and Doreen had learned to trust that instinct.

By ten o’clock on Friday morning, she couldn’t stand it any longer.  She hugged her sister, jumped into the Voyager, and headed north, her sense of foreboding increasing with every mile of Interstate 5 that passed beneath the Plymouth’s wheels.

***

The Board of Directors of Nicolaidis Industries held an emergency meeting at ten o’clock in the morning, during which they discussed the scant details they knew about Richard Durant’s demise.

“What a dreadful mistake,” they were heard to murmur.  “What a terrible tragedy for Clare and the children.  But we must make sure that Nicolaidis Industries goes on.”

Douglas Potter, the vice president in charge of research and development, was named acting CEO, until a more formal process could be undertaken.

Although she was by far the major stockholder in the company, Clare did not attend the meeting.  Not that anyone expected her to.  They all understood that there was grieving to do and arrangements to make.

***

Nina found Clare’s address book in a desk drawer in the library and called everyone who was listed in it.  She was just starting to dial the number for Doreen’s sister in Yelm when the housekeeper came through the back door.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it,” Doreen cried, wagging her head and wringing her hands when Nina told her what had happened.  “I just had this awful feeling all night long.  I should have been here.  I never should have let her talk me into going.”

“I know how you feel,” Nina said.  “But it all happened so fast.  I don’t think your being here would have changed anything.”

“How is she?” the housekeeper asked, heading up the stairs.

Nina shrugged.  “About how you’d expect her to be,” she replied.  “I had to get her out of her room, so we put her in the yellow guestroom, and I’ve been checking on her every half hour.  She hasn’t budged.”

The two women stopped outside the room and peered through the doorway.  Clare was barely visible beneath the covers.  Her eyes were closed, her face flushed.

“Did you call the doctor?” Doreen whispered.

“Yes, of course,” Nina assured her.  “He came last night and again this morning, and gave her shots.  He said he’d come back this afternoon.”

“What about the children?” Doreen asked as they went back down the hall.  “Have they been told yet?”

“I called Richard’s sister,” Nina said.  “She said she would tell them, and then bring them home later.”

Doreen stopped in front of the master bedroom and stared at the stained carpet and the bullet-ridden doorframe.  “I think maybe it would be better if Julie and Peter stayed in Ravenna for a little while longer,” she said slowly.

***

Clare awakened with a start.  She was in a strange bed, bundled under flowery sheets that weren’t hers.  She didn’t recognize the butter yellow paint that cover the walls, and the view out the window was all at odds with what it should be.  For a moment, she wondered if she was back in a hospital, the victim of yet another calamity she couldn’t quite recall.  Except she knew that hospitals had white sheets and white walls and no views.

And then she remembered.  She had killed her husband.  She did what he taught her to do and squeezed the trigger until there were no more bullets left to shoot, and then the police came and the doctor, too.  The police took the gun away from her, and the doctor stuck a needle in her.  And then, somehow, she had ended up, not in a hospital, but right here.  But where was here?  She peered around until the yellow walls became familiar and she remembered the flowered bedding.  She was in a guestroom in her very own home.  Well, Richard’s home, anyway.  It had never truly been hers.  Not in all the ten years she had lived in it.  But she would fix that now, she decided.  Just as soon as she could, she would sell this place, and move with Doreen and the children back to Ballard.  Then everything would be all right again.  Clare stretched, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

***

Richard’s parents came hurrying up from their home Richard had bought them in Centralia.  His brother Jeffrey drove down from Bellingham.  Elaine stayed at home with Julie and Peter.  By noon, the story was being broadcast on every television channel and radio station, and the big house began to fill with people who wanted to pay their respects,