Chapter 22: Scare-Jacob

The audience gave the performers a final round of applause while the theater’s lights turned brighter. Clapping louder than most of the spectators, Gilbert Bethune beamed with delight at the performances. A patron of the arts, the seventy-eight-year-old man particularly liked Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?. Unfortunately, his wife didn’t appreciate or share his enthusiasm.

Grabbing her purse, Ruth had already walked around the column and into the aisle. Sighing, Gilbert followed her past the column. One of four support beams obstructed views in the rear of the first floor of the theater; Ruth had insisted on these less-desirable seats for the monthly plays. People they might have once known wouldn’t likely be in the worst seats of the house. Attending the third week of a show opening also limited their chances of being recognized by past acquaintances.

“Good show, huh?” Donald Drummond queried, stepping into the aisle and in front of Ruth. He appeared to have dragged his grandson to the theater for tonight’s performance. “I can personally confirm that one of my marriages fell apart similarly.”

“Great show, Don,” Gil replied, afraid that Ruth might make a rude comment. “I’ve always loved these types of plays, and the promise I said this cast showed is truly blossoming.”

“I’d say so. Lily Lessey is blossoming into quite the busty beauty. If you know what I mean,” Drummond stage-whispered while elbowing Gilbert forcefully.

“I think I’m a little too old to notice those things,” Gil replied, winking at Don while also nodding in Ruth’s direction.

“Ah, right. I guess the eye for such treasures fades once you hit seventy-five,” Drummond declared, laughing boisterously at the decade-older man while his grandson watched in discomfort.

Excusing himself, Gil hurried to catch up with Ruth, who’d already entered the lobby. His eyes widened slightly upon noticing the attractive woman who’d cornered Ruth. City Council President Victoria Newton managed to hold a conversation with his wife while also glad-handing any of her constituents or potential citywide voters who passed by. Practically a shoo-in to run for mayor someday soon, Gilbert admired the thirtysomething’s delicious curves. I wonder what her vice is? Her type always has a power-related fetish. Does she like to be dominated, tied up, or debased? Is she willing to spread her legs for campaign donations, or does she only fuck to relieve stress?

“Evening, Victoria,” Gil greeted. “What are you and Ruth hatching now?”

"Hello, Gil! We're doing nothing of the sort. I'm trying again to enlist your wonderful wife's help with this year's Waterfest. She's such an amazing volunteer for small events, but I think she could shine during such a grand stage."

“Now, Ms. Newton, you know that Ruth is somewhat shy. Smaller charity events are more up her wheelhouse than such a big event. We’ve attended several Waterfests since arriving in town, so I don’t think you’ll have much luck,” Gilbert warned. Although his wife wore a thin, polite smile, he could tell she’d run out of patience.

“Well, I can keep trying. And sorry that you didn’t enjoy the play, Ruth,” Victoria replied, forcing a light-hearted laugh before immediately shaking another couple’s hands.

“Well, Dial M for Murder is coming up later this summer. That’s more to your liking,” Gilbert mumbled, following his wife through the lobby.

“Annoying bitch,” Ruth hissed, once they’d exited the Odyssey through the front doors. “As if we could risk being seen at Waterfest or the pageant.”

“Be that as it may, but we never had such a gorgeous mayor like her to control,” Gilbert mused. “Although Bitzie Robar down in Blueview was quite striking.”

“The bimbo with fake boobs? Ha!” Ruth scoffed. “Her drug habit meant she could never be manipulated properly enough, even to win the council president position. Not to mention, she couldn’t have been more blatant. Crashing out in that manner as a lowly councilwoman is pathetic.”

“Yes, the skiing jokes grew stale fast in town. Hitting the slopes wasn’t as sly a phrase as she thought when you live in a water skiing community,” Gilbert agreed. “Still, having a politician in our pocket would be nice.”

“We’re retired and have enough trouble already,” Ruth shot back, crossing the side street.

“Which is why it could be useful. Mayor Molson in Cottonwood certainly helped us with Hagerman,” Gilbert reminded.

“Did he? Hagerman didn’t stop causing trouble. That PI sniffing around proved it, and so do those pictures,” Ruth pointed out. “We need to check on his sister. Either Mary or her offspring is potentially behind those photos surfacing. They’ve clearly found us.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Those pictures could’ve come from someone else.”

“Who? It’s not like we’re visiting the retirement homes.”

The man once known as Avery Voyce hesitated to answer. He’d never told his wife about the incident last fall when she’d gone to visit her relatives. Despite clearly recognizing him, Gilbert never had a clue to the woman’s identity until the neighborhood grapevine spread the news about Stella Rulle’s heart attack at her daughter’s home. Recognizing the name, Gil had been stunned to learn that they’d moved into the same neighborhood as Stella’s daughter. First, she’d disappeared out west decades ago. Second, they’d also concentrated their schemes in Blueview and its neighboring towns around that time. Stella had been one of many they’d dropped as no longer being worth the effort. If she hadn’t been such a sexy woman, Gil might have forgotten her name entirely.

Finally, Gilbert had warned Ruth that this could be an issue. The plan had never been to return to Anchor Rock or Edgewater. Circumstances forced a quick exit from Blueview, but they had other options. Yet, Ruth shot them all down. Cottonwood seemed like the perfect retirement home until Hagerman appeared from a nearby town. However, Ruth’s damn need to watch and lord over their past victims would likely be their downfall. They’d already had a close call with Wisteria Harp within weeks of moving in. Fortunately, the author only knew Nan Kronen as a woman she disliked from several past encounters. Tired of moving, Gilbert had taken the chance that Sharon Capshaw knew nothing about him. He’d conveniently lost that Sunday’s obituary from the newspapers he saved for his wife’s return.

Everything seemed fine since then until last week. Then, out of nowhere, several photographs had appeared, and they’d fallen into the hands of those two snoops. It would be nice to know which photos those brats found. The limited descriptions certainly sound like the kind we used.

“I tell you, I get the feeling that I’m being watched,” Ruth stated, stopping at the passenger door.

“What?” Gilbert asked, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Being followed. That’s what I said. And don’t call me paranoid. I’ve had this feeling before, and it proved true,” Ruth reminded, getting inside their vehicle. “The sixth sense felt especially strong yesterday.”

“Are you sure? There are a lot of people around because of the rummage sale, and we know those two are mostly working their sale,” Gilbert pointed out.

“No, it’s not the Hardy Boys. I’ve been watching for them,” Ruth admitted. “You’re the one who should be more careful. Talking to that girl today was stupid.”

“I couldn’t say no.”

“You can never say no to a pretty face with big boobs and a perky butt!”

“Johanna doesn’t have big boobs.”

“Oh, it’s Johanna now, is it?”

“I had to be polite. She’s been going around the neighborhood for the last couple of days to interview people about the history of the rummage sale. Somebody suggested talking to us since we’re still considered relatively new. It would’ve looked odd if I blew her off. Still, I kept it brief.”

“She recorded you!”

“It’s for that internet stuff. Nobody we know is going to watch it,” Gilbert argued. A beep from behind startled him as the stoplight turned green.

“I told you, she was on the news when those two little shits caught that professor,” Ruth reminded him. “All we need is one of the local stations running her history of the rummage sale as part of a local interest story.”

“It would probably be on the PBS channel.”

“And who watches those shows on there? People our age,” Ruth pointed out.

“I couldn’t help it. Somebody suggested several newer residents, and I was one of them.”

“It was probably that damn Gordon. No, don’t give me that look. You should’ve cut him out years ago. He’s too nosy, too gossipy for his own good,” Ruth declared.

“Oh, come on, Nan. I need to speak with some people around here. It would be suspicious if we kept to ourselves.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Why not? I’ve always called you–”

“Not now. It’s too risky.”

“We’re in our damn car. Nobody is going to overhear us,” Gilbert pointed out.

“But you’ll get sloppy and let it slip in front of the wrong person,” his wife warned. “No more risks, got that? We should take a trip for these last few days of the rummage sale. Or better yet, take a vacation during Waterfest.”

“Stop being so paranoid. Maybe those busybodies are looking for the photographs, so what? They somehow found three. I doubt they even know the identities,” Gilbert remarked. “As you said yourself, they’re kids playing detectives; they’re not actual ones.”

“Yet, they’ve gotten lucky in the past.”

“Fine. Do you want to scare them off? Magnum seems like a dumb jock with girl troubles. Maybe we can threaten him with dirt,” Gilbert suggested. “It could be like old times.”

“No, I want them gone for good. We can frighten the creepy kid. He’s the weaker link,” Ruth declared.

“How should we do that?”

“If the brats like pictures, let’s give them a few more. I wonder how brave Pamela’s son will be with evidence of what happens to people who get too nosy about our business?”

The blackmailer, formerly known as Avery Voyce, drove the rest of the way home, frowning in silence. Scaring off those two meddling kids shouldn’t be difficult. Teens their age had limited attention spans due to their obsession with phones and short videos. Yet, Gilbert didn’t like his wife’s methods. Bringing up past violence that they’d committed felt too risky, too dangerous. Word had it the police couldn’t stand the high school busybodies, but what if they went to the cops with the pictures or newspaper clippings he thought his wife might send?

“You missed the turn.”

“I want to double-check on the brats,” Gilbert explained, driving two more blocks.

Turning onto 34th Street, Gil eventually turned slowly onto Madison Avenue. Creeping down the street in the dark, Gilbert and Ruth scanned the Magnum and Farris homes. Both houses showed signs of life, with several brightly lit rooms and a flickering television in the Farris living room.

“How long are Pamela and Fraser gone?” Ruth asked, looking past her husband to warily check on the Greenes.

“Sometime next week,” Gil replied, shrugging. “No one in the neighborhood seems clear about the date.”

“We should make our move before they return,” Ruth said.

“Yeah, maybe,” her husband responded, still not committed to the idea.

They took a right on 36th Street and drove several more blocks until Gil turned left on Clay Avenue. Noting how dark and quiet their road looked compared to the others, Gil once again agreed with the decision to buy their latest home, despite the potential trouble with Sharon Capshaw. I guess I should look into her. It would be a shame if Nan found out and hurt Sharon. That woman takes after her mother with a fabulous ass. It’d be a waste not to exploit that asset if needed. Mark’s body shop pulls in big bucks, too.

With a narrow one-car garage in the property’s rear, Gilbert performed the usual routine by letting his wife out of the vehicle before pulling inside. Grabbing a shopping bag from the backseat, Gil told himself not to let his wife’s worrying dampen a fun night. Drummond might be a blowhard businessman, but he’d been correct; Lily Lessey had grown some noticeable breasts. Maybe it’s boredom, or it’s the past getting dragged up, but it would be entertaining to see Lily behind her bedroom door. I bet she looks spectacular naked while fucking.

“This damn bulb burnt out again,” Ruth complained, bypassing the side door to walk around to the front porch.

Following his wife, Gilbert recalled the pitch-black street. He asked if the light had been left on; Ruth nodded, saying she always left it on when they left the house. Curiously, the half-listening husband also noted that the streetlamp appeared to be out.

“I just changed it last month. Might be a short. If it goes out again, I’ll have to call an electrician,” Gilbert said, groaning as he returned to the side door. Holding the screen door open, he heard his wife complain that he never used the front door. “We have a mud room for a reason. Besides, I keep most of my shoes and jackets in it, unlike you.”

“Dammit, did the power go out?” Ruth questioned, flicking the light switch on and off with no luck.

“Huh? That could explain the streetlamp,” Gil replied, entering the mudroom. “Is the flashlight still in the kitchen?”

“I think it’s in the living room.”

Snapping open his outdated flip phone, Gilbert used the tiny amount of screen light to lead his wife down the hallway. When the hallway light didn’t work either, he said he'd check the fuse box after he found the flashlight. Finding the desk around the corner, Gilbert began to pull open the drawer.

CLICK

“That won’t be necessary for now,” a voice said while a lamp turned on nearly simultaneously. “How was Virginia Woolf? Granted, the theater or that style of play isn’t my cup of tea, but it appears to be yours. Maybe I’ll suggest that Jake take a date to see Dial M for Murder later this summer.”

“What the hell?!” Gilbert exclaimed, dropping his phone onto the floor.

“What are you doing in here?!” Ruth challenged, glaring at the center of the living room where Phineas Farris sat in an armchair that faced the wrong direction. “Forget that. Call the police, Gil. Tell them we have an intruder, and he’s injured.”

“Injured? Oh, do tell! Will I be physically attacked? Maybe a punch from an old man, or stabbed by his equally elderly shrew of a wife. Ah, you’re going with the gun, I see. Not entirely unexpected,” Phinn remarked after Gilbert pulled out a revolver from the drawer.

“What do you want?” Gilbert asked, holding his arm out straight with the gun pointed at Phinn.

“It doesn’t matter. The opportunity to get rid of him fell into our laps. Shoot him,” Ruth encouraged.

“Let’s not be hasty. I’m merely here to talk,” the teen detective explained. “I do commend the choice of a revolver. They don’t have clips to jam. Now, that would be embarrassing for you in a scenario like this.”

“Talk about what?” Gilbert queried.

“Don’t treat me like a fool. We all know why I entered your home.”

“You broke into our home. That gives us the right to defend ourselves!” Ruth declared.

“That’s a bit iffy, and could backfire in court for you. I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked. Also, do you see any weapons on me? For all you know, I checked on an elderly couple whose power seemed to have gone out.”

“Dammit, you forgot again?”

“No, I locked it. I swear,” Gilbert insisted.

“In the here and now, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is the twenty-seven people that we know you blackmailed. Of those twenty-seven, we have seventy-one pictures of fourteen of them. Now, I’m sure that’s not all of our victims, but I know that there are more out there. I’m also confident that many of them will come forward once you’re arrested,” Phinn stated, forming a hand steeple in front of his chest. Of course, he loved this type of dramatic showdown.

“We don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t bother, Gil. You’re out of your depth, brat,” Ruth began. “Let’s suppose we had been involved in this blackmail; the police can’t do anything about it. Those crimes happened too far in the past to be charged.”

“Yes, I’m aware of the statute of limitations for criminal cases. I also believe civil cases might be out of the question, too. Not that anyone is going to sue over this,” Phinn commented, adding a single chuckle.

“Wait, where’s the other one? The jock?” Gilbert questioned.

“Jake? Oh, Jake’s outside playing lookout. I’m sure that if he hears or sees gunshots, he’ll seek help. I’d keep that in mind,” Phinn recommended.

“You should be concerned about the gun that my husband is holding,” Ruth countered.

“No, your concerns should revolve around being outed. I wonder how many of those men and women nearing the big sleep wouldn’t mind taking one of you with them?”

“Kill us? Those people? Kid, you have a lot to learn. Those men and women are mice. Meek, mild mice, who gave in far quicker to our demands than you can possibly imagine,” the white-haired blackmailer boasted.

“I assume in this scenario that you see yourselves as the cats? I mean, I guess. Jake thought vampire bats were more appropriate. You do suck the life out of your victims,” Phinn noted lazily, seemingly unconcerned at the gun pointing at him. “I guess that makes me the owl, ready to swoop down to strike.”

“Strike? I’m the one holding the gun, fool!” Gilbert exclaimed. Still, he looked stressed as he ran a free hand through his gray hair.

“Not the first time I’ve been held at gunpoint. Not by far,” Phinn stated, rolling his eyes. “However, I doubt you can shoot your way out of this. Too many victims, their relatives, and their friends seeking vengeance or justice.”

“Nobody is going to touch us. We’ll be long gone before they get a chance,” Ruth stated. Her sneer fit with how Phineas envisioned her as Nan Kronen.

“Villain overconfidence. Always so nice to see,” Phinn mocked. “And always entertaining to witness realization hit at the last moment.”

"You won't be witnessing anything!" Gilbert threatened, lunging forward with a shaky gun hand.

“You won’t be escaping either. Seriously, do you not think all these wealthy people you extorted won’t seek revenge? The younger von Essens might want revenge for Mimi. Or perhaps Crispin Claiborne will use his family’s wealth as a means to right what many view as his wrong. Of course, you also have the Emmore family. I’m sure the stories about Aileen’s vindictiveness are merely tall tales. Oh, I also heard from one of my little birdy friends that you used Eddie Lamarca in a few of your schemes. It would be a shame if word leaked that you offed him rather than the mob.”

“How do you know all this?” Gilbert screeched, waving the gun around.

“It doesn’t matter. The kid got lucky. He probably connected the women with the pictures he found,” Ruth said, dismissing Phinn and Jake’s investigative skills.

“As I previously mentioned, many victims, relatives, and friends are in their golden years. Surely, someone, or perhaps several individuals, will hire a detective or bounty hunter to stalk you. And how much of a head start will you even have? A day? Two days? No, you’re screwed worse than the people in those old photographs,” Phinn assured. “No disrespect to Terry Tully, but he was only a competent private investigator. I’m already better.”

“You know about Tully?” Gilbert blanched.

“So you know about Tully? That means you also know about what happened to him,’ Ruth countered, confirming Phinn’s theory about the more sinister member of the pair.

“Oh, did something happen to Tully? I’m all ears.”

“That means one of Hagerman’s relatives tipped you off. Which one?” Gilbert asked, then demanded after spotting the teen’s smirk. “Which one?!”

“Who’s Hagerman?”

“Don’t play smart with us. You know who he is!” Ruth shouted. “But you don’t know what happened to him, do you?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t say since I never heard of the man. However, I assume you also killed him,” Phinn speculated, shrugging his shoulders, which threw the married pair of blackmailers off-balance. “Hold on…There was a Hagerman listed in the file on you two.”

“Tully had a file on us?”

"Oh, no. I'm talking about Erin Donnelly's file. You know her. Well, whatever, but Erin has this habit of investigating neighbors and classmates. She claims it's to help hone her journalism skills, which I agree with. However, some people find it unsettling," Phinn explained, growing cockier by the minute. "Anyways, Hagerman was listed as the man who allegedly harassed Nan Kronen, whoops, sorry, I mean Ruth Bethune, over his sister. I believe he's the reason you uprooted your lives and moved back to Edgewater."

“That girl has a file on us? What about Tully?” Ruth demanded to know.

“Sorry. You’re only listed as a possible interviewee for the building on Lafayette. But that’s in his calendar on the same day that a knife found its way into his back. What a remarkable coincidence!”

“You do have Tully’s files. Who gave them to you? Mary Hagerman?” Gilbert challenged.

“Frankly, I’m stunned at your incompetence. How do you kill Tully, yet fail to get his files? Very amateur hour,” Phinn commented. “I assume you panicked and killed him.”

“No, I didn’t panic. I watched the light dawn in his eyes while he interviewed me about the past owners of my property. Unfortunately for him, I knew the shortcut to reach the alley while he left,” Ruth bragged with a murderous sneer. “And there are plenty of knives in the kitchen to ensure that you talk, kid. So save the pain, and tell us what Hagerman’s sister gave you.”

“Hmm, based on your insistence, I think you’ve made a significant boo-boo. Hagerman didn’t hire Terry Tully.”

“What?”

“Liar!”

“Yes, I’m often a liar, yet I’m not lying about this. Surely, you can guess who hired Tully at this point, since it’s also the person whom his secretary gave the files to after his murder,” Phinn said, talking directly to Gilbert. “Avery, come on, now. Think hard, think back to last autumn. Who saw you? And why do you think she died shortly afterward because of the shock?”

“What’s he talking about?” Ruth asked before noticing her husband’s expression. Then, her question turned into a demand. “What’s he talking about?”

“Funny enough. I know this happened while you were out of town. Nosy neighbors notice those things and remember. Still, I wonder if Stella Rulle hadn’t died from a heart attack, would you have been able to kill her? Doubtful. I assume that you’re the weaker half of this marriage, and let Nan do all the killing. Don’t you have the stomach for it, Avery?”

BANG BANG BANG BANG

Phineas's body flopped around in the armchair as the four gunshots rang out. Then, his head slumped onto his shoulder, falling forward slightly.

“I had the stomach to kill Hagerman and hide the body! And I killed you, shithead!” Gilbert screamed, manically.

“Gil!” Ruth shrieked, immediately rushing toward the front window. “We need to find his friend before he can talk.”

“Huh, would you look at that?”

“Ahhh!” Gilbert screamed, watching as one of Phinn’s eyes peeked open.

BANG BANG CLICK CLICK

“Either I gained superpowers,” Phinn began, sitting up straight again. “Or we spent the time searching the house while you were at the theater. It’s handy knowing a pawnshop owner. It saves a ton of questions when you want to buy blanks. Although I guess I’m eighteen now. I should remember that more often.”

“What the…” Gilbert trailed off, watching as the still-alive teen slowly picked up six bullets from the trestle table, next to the armchair.

“In case you’re wondering how I knew you had a revolver, I recalled one of the few civil conversations that you once had with Mr. Greene about how you both preferred them to semi-automatic handguns,” Phinn recounted. “Now, please take a seat. The police we had stationed in the neighborhood should be here shortly. Your time is up.”

“No!” Ruth bellowed, marching over to the desk.

Phinn watched in curious amusement as she reached inside her purse.

“I wouldn’t bother with a knife. You’d never reach me in time.”

“Can you outrun a bullet, brat?” the snarling senior citizen asked, pointing a 9mm Glock at the sleuth.

“She has another gun. I repeat, a second gun has appeared!” Phinn yelled, looking past the elderly couple.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ruth started to ask, confused about why her young neighbor had shown only a slight increase in concern. Doesn’t this generation know how guns work?

Suddenly, the closet door behind the Bethunes whipped open to slam against the wall—a large, stocky figure in a pale yellow mask and a jumpsuit launched out of the confined space.

"Graaar!" A monstrous guttural roar rang out as the masked brute slapped the pistol from Nan Bethune’s hand.

“Eeeieee!” the white-haired woman shrieked, clutching her chest before tumbling to the floor in a heap.

“Don’t think about it, Voyce!” Phinn warned, focusing his attention on the gun that had skidded across the living room. The teen watched as the blackmailer looked at the man straight out of a horror film and his prone wife. Suddenly, he scrambled toward the gun. “I’m warning you, Voyce.”

THWACK

“Oww!” Gilbert/Avery screamed in pain after the crossbow bolt pierced his arm.

“Jake, get the gun, please.”

“Uh, Phinn, I don’t…she looks…I think she had a heart attack,” Jake announced, pulling off the Sonny Snyder mask to check on Ruth Bethune.

“Is she breathing?” Phinn asked, sounding annoyed by the whole situation.

“No, I don’t…yeah, she is, but it’s very faint,” Jake confirmed from his position kneeling next to the old woman. “You'd better tell them to call an ambulance. Phinn?”

Jake watched as his best friend walked over to pick up the handgun from where Gilbert/Avery had dropped it. Pissed about having to perform the chore, Phinn kicked the moaning man before returning to the armchair and table.

“Hang on, I had to get the Glock,” the scrawny sleuth explained.

“Nan…Nan,” the injured husband cried, staring at his barely breathing wife. “She needs help. Her heart is–”

“Stone cold. We got that.”

“Phinn!”

“Don’t Phinn me. She’s seventy-five, seventy-six. If she dies, she dies,” Phinn said, picking up his phone while sirens sounded and flashing lights appeared down the street. “You still there, Wishkoski? Yeah, you'd better call an ambulance. No, I did not shoot…Wait, I guess a crossbow does count as shooting someone. No, I don’t own one. Pug does. And the woman Jake gave a heart attack to is the one who needs medical attention.”

“Are we sure that he’s the first person shot with that thing?” Jake asked about Putnam’s crossbow. “Hey! Don’t pull that out, Mr. Bethune! You’ll bleed out.”

“Let him. It will save everyone a trial,” Phinn pointed out while the injured man stopped his effort to remove the bolt. “And if you don’t realize it, asshole. We and the police heard you two confess to killing Tully and Hagerman. You’re fucked.”

“Is Wish calling for help?” Jake inquired.

“I think so. He’s freaking out that we might have killed a couple of old people,” Phinn relayed, rolling his eyes.

“Are you going to ask about Manfredi and Masked Creep?” Jake inquired.

“After this display of incompetence? They don’t have the imagination or connections,” Phinn told his best friend before addressing Avery Voyce. “You know, we’ve been doing this for over six years. And I gotta say, you and your wife might be the dumbest crooks we've ever met. You asked where Jake is, and you believe what I tell you? How the hell did you survive this long?”

“C’mon, don’t kick the man while he’s…Wait, did you actually kick him before?” Jake questioned, giving his partner a ‘What the fuck?’ look.