Murder by Misadventure Read online

  “What’s going on here? Besides the shooting?” she asked.

  “Calvin – that’s my cousin – was driving by when one of the streetlights suddenly exploded. He stopped to check it out when another streetlight exploded. It was then he noticed Marcy in the street with her rifle. Afraid she’d mistake him for a streetlight, he skedaddled out of there as quickly as he could and gave me a call.”

  “No casualties?”

  “None that I know of. As soon as she went back inside her house, everyone in the surrounding houses evacuated. However, I’ve been seeing movement inside some of the homes. I wouldn’t be surprised if some neighbors are still trapped, afraid to move in case she comes out again.”

  “Any idea what she’s yelling about?”

  “She keeps screaming about the bastards not getting her, which makes absolutely no sense to me. I’ve tried calling out to her with the megaphone, but the only response I get is more shooting.”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “Ever since her divorce from her husband Jerry two years ago, she’s kept pretty much to herself. She was never very nice to begin with, but the divorce made her worse. Before that though, she and Jerry used to go to all the shooting tourneys around the state. They were pretty good too. I think they actually won a few.”

  “So if she wanted to take someone out, she could do it quite easily.”

  Rick nodded. “She could do it with one eye closed and a hand tied behind her back.”

  “She’s that good?”

  “She’s that good.”

  “Any history of alcoholism or drug abuse?”

  “Not sure. My uncle used to take part in some of those tourneys. I called him while I was waiting for you to show up. He never mentioned her drinking. He said Jerry was the one who liked his liquor.”

  “Is that why they got divorced?”

  “They got divorced because he couldn’t stand her nagging anymore. In fact, last I heard he moved to California to get as far away from her as he possibly could.” Rick paused, then said, “Maybe we should call in reinforcements.”

  Clarke County was the smallest county in Maine. Because of its size, Cammie had the option of calling for help from the larger Aroostook County. She could also call in some of the locals who acted as part-time deputies whenever the need arose.

  She shook her head. “It’ll take two hours for the guys from Houlton to get here. Nor do I want to provide Marcy with any more targets if I call in the cavalry.”

  “Then what do you propose we do? We could wait until she runs out of ammo, but that might not happen until next week.”

  Cammie turned her attention back towards Marcy’s house. It was hard to make out features in the darkness, but she discerned a chain link fence on either side separating it from the other houses, with a driveway to the right and a walkway to the left. Behind her house lay a large empty field where kids played ball in the summer.

  “Keep her focused on you. Try talking to her again with the megaphone. Just make sure you don’t get in her line of fire. While you’re doing that, I’m going to get to her through her back door.”

  Rick lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe I should do it. You’re still recovering--”

  Cammie cut him off. “Have you ever done anything like this before?”

  “Uh – no.”

  “I have. Now do as I say.”

  Rick still had reservations, but he knew better than to voice them. He reluctantly nodded. “Will do. Be careful, Cam. It’s like she’s jacked up on something.”

  She felt Jace come up beside her. “Whatever you do, please don’t get shot. I was looking forward to coaching you out on the ice.”

  She suppressed a smart ass remark. Instead, she nodded. “Yeah, I’ll try my best.”

  Before she could move, Doc joined the small group. “Whatever you’re going to do, I’m not sure you should do it,” he remonstrated.

  “I haven’t got any choice. Marcy can come out of that house any minute and start shooting at everyone else’s houses. She needs to be stopped. And,” she added swiftly as Doc was about to continue his argument, “Rick doesn’t have the experience that I do.” She softened her tone when she saw he wasn’t convinced. “Believe me Doc, the last thing I want to do is wear out my welcome at your house by getting shot again. I’ll be fine.”

  Knowing there was no use in arguing any further, he reached out and gave her good arm an affectionate squeeze. It was his version of a hug.

  Cammie turned and scurried behind the furthest house from Marcy, cringing on how loud her boots sounded against the crunching of the snow.

  With adrenalin fueling her, and her senses on full alert, she slowly made her way down a well-used path in the snow that snaked along the back of the houses. To her right lay a wide open field that hosted local baseball games and other events during the summer. With the moonlight illuminating the night, she was grateful she’d put on dark clothes under her dark blue parka. It helped her blend into the shadows. In the distance, Rick’s voice echoed as he spoke through the megaphone.

  “Marcy, this is Rick Belleveau. You know me. My uncle is Horace Belleveau. You and Uncle Horace used to shoot together.”

  “I’m tired of their bullshit!” Marcy yelled. “I’ve been trying to avoid them for years, but they just won’t let me be!” Once again, the sound of a rifle blast rippled across the landscape.

  “We’ll protect you from whoever is threatening you. Just put down the rifle and we can talk.”

  “No one can protect me from them. No one! You try to help me, they’ll get you too!”

  Within a few minutes, Cammie reached the back of Marcy’s house. There was a five foot chain link fence that separated the property from the field. The gate that opened into the backyard was close to the front of the house. Afraid to risk being seen by Marcy if she were to enter by the gate, Cammie had no choice but to climb over the fence. Once in the yard, she could use the shrubs as cover until she reached the back porch.

  Cammie started to hoist herself over, but both the bulky vest and her own bulky weight caused her to slip and fall backwards onto her butt.

  Are you kidding me? I’m so fat I can’t even get over this damned fence. That’s it. I’m on a diet starting right now.

  It took two more efforts before she could finally get herself over the fence. It wasn’t graceful, but at least she was in.

  Standing in the deep gloom behind a small utility shed, Cammie withdrew her weapon and took a moment to steady herself. Yes, she had experience in this type of situation, but that was five years ago. With the exception of the murders last year, she’d only had to face irate cheaters two-timing their spouses in Boston, and drunk drivers up here in Twin Ponds. She’d taken this job to get away from this crazy kind of violence. Now here it was in her backyard.

  She took a long, deep breath and sprinted across a shoveled path that led from the shed to the back porch. With each step, she prayed Marcy wouldn’t hear her.

  Reaching the porch, she saw it was in bad need of repair. Two of the four steps were warped, and nails were sticking up on either end.

  Using Rick’s voice as a cover, she tried to step gently, but despite her efforts, the stairs still creaked. She sucked in her breath, hoping Marcy was distracted enough by the booming megaphone not to hear the crack that sounded absurdly loud in the night air. When no response from Marcy came, she peeked in through the glass panes on the backdoor.

  The kitchen took up the back of the house. The décor was straight out of the 1970s, with white metal cabinets and decorative tiles depicting a cornucopia of fruit on the wall behind the large, old fashioned sink. To the right of the door were the remains of a dark pine table, its wood shattered in pieces all over the door. Joining it were pieces of plaster from holes in the ceiling and walls where Marcy had fired her rifle.

  Looks like the last scene from Bonnie and Clyde, Cammie mused as she took in the destruction.

  She heard Rick finally engage Marcy in
a half coherent conversation. Taking advantage of Marcy’s preoccupation, she turned the knob. It was customary for people in Twin Ponds to leave their doors unlocked. Thankfully Marcy’s paranoia hadn’t filtered down to barricading herself behind deadbolts and latches.

  Slipping inside, she was immediately hit with the odor of musty mold – the smell houses got when they’d been abandoned or neglected for years. The sink was piled high with unwashed dishes, all covered with pieces of white tile where Marcy had shot out the ceiling. Next to it, under the debris, rested a plate with a half-eaten piece of apple pie alongside a plain brown coffee mug.

  Keeping an eye down the corridor that opened up to the living room where Marcy was, she crossed over to the sink and leaning over, glanced inside the mug. There were remnants of wet loose tea in the bottom, covered now with a sheen of plaster dust. She took a sniff, then immediately backed away. There was no odor of alcohol, but the tea smelled like old socks. If this was what Marcy drank that evening, no wonder she’d gone berserko.

  Cammie glanced about, trying to see if there was a bottle of medicine that Marcy might have overdosed on, or perhaps put in the tea to give it that awful odor. All she saw was pieces of plasterboard, ceiling tile and pine bits.

  “You don’t get it. You’ll never get it!” Marcy yelled out. “They’re not after you. But I’m a different story. Nobody would miss me if they snatched me away. But I ain’t gonna let that happen. Not as long as I have my rifle with me. They’ll have to kill me first before I let them lay a hand on me.”

  Marcy’s words faded as Cammie mentally went through several scenarios on how best to subdue the older woman. Without a trained SWAT team backing her up, she was going to have to rely on the old fashioned element of surprise.

  She quietly started down the corridor when she stepped on yet another squeaky floorboard. She froze, her heart pounding in her ears.

  It was one thing to shoot a murderer or rapist. It was another thing to shoot a 69 year old woman, even if that woman was busy gunning down her ceiling. She held her breath and waited. Thankfully, between Rick’s bullhorn and Marcy’s incoherent screaming, she hadn’t heard the floorboard. Cammie slowly let the air out of her lungs and continued down the corridor. She paused at the entrance to the front room. Peeking around the corner, she swallowed a gasp.

  Marcy had tipped the couch on its side in front of the picture window, and was barricaded behind it. The walls and ceilings were full of gaping holes. The sconces that had once adorned the fireplace lay in shattered pieces on the floor. Marcy’s face, shoulder length gray hair and oversized yellow sweatshirt was covered with white plaster dust. She looked more like a ghost than a human being.

  Cammie pushed aside a myriad of questions that came bubbling up – what had caused Marcy to behave this way? Why was she shooting up her house? Who were these bastards she kept screaming about? Instead, she waited for an opportunity to make her move. After what seemed like hours, it arrived.

  Marcy abruptly stopped pacing. She dropped to her knees and began to reload the rifle with shells she pulled out of the front pouch of her sweatshirt. With her back to Cammie, it was the only chance the sheriff knew she was going to get to end this situation without anyone getting shot.

  Moving fast, Cammie tackled the old woman to the floor, almost gagging at Marcy’s overly ripe smell. The rifle went flying, and it took all of Cammie’s strength to both hold onto Marcy and ignore the woman’s overpowering body odor as the woman scrambled for the weapon. The two rolled around over broken glass and plaster bits as each struggled to gain the upper hand. Marcy was surprisingly strong for a sixty-nine year old, and it was all Cammie could do to keep her from reaching the rifle. Her shoulder was screaming in pain and with her strength ebbing, Cammie knew she had to do something quick to get the situation under control. Using a wrestling maneuver she’d last had to use in Boston to subdue a shoplifter, she flipped Marcy onto her stomach where she straddled the woman and swiftly cuffed her.

  “You don’t get it!” the older woman wailed. “They’re coming to get me. I’ve got to defend myself. Let me out of these things, you bitch! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

  “Nobody’s coming to get you, Marcy,” Cammie panted, shoving her nose in her sleeve as she desperately fought to catch her breath, and not breathe in any more of Marcy’s stink.

  “They are!” Marcy wailed. “Can’t you see them? They’re right there behind you.”

  Cammie struggled to her feet. She bent over with her hands on her knees, worrying she was about to have a heart attack. “Who is there?” she managed to gasp out between breaths.

  “The damned aliens! They’re right there!”

  Cammie stared at Marcy for a moment in disbelief.

  “Aliens?” she repeated.

  “Yes! They want me, but I’m not going to let them get me.” She hysterically fought against the cuffs. “You’ve got to get these things off. Jesus, they’re right behind you!”

  Before she could stop herself, Cammie turned her head. All she saw were holes in the wall and the remaining furniture. Rather than engage Marcy, she flipped on her walkie talkie. “Rick, it’s Cammie. I’ve got the situation under control. Over.”

  “We’ll be right there.”

  Finally getting her breathing under control, she helped Marcy up to a sitting position. Where a moment before she’d been hysterical, now the old woman was silent, as though the life had completely drained out of her. She was eerily quiet, her head hanging down, her long greasy grey hair covering her face.

  Cammie gently touched her shoulder. “Marcy, are you alright?”

  There was no response. Concerned, she heard the front door open. A moment later, Rick, Doc and Jace entered. While Doc went to Marcy, Rick and Jace took in the room with one glance, their eyes widening at the damage. It was Jace who hurried over to her and gingerly touched her cheek. “Did she shoot you? You’re got blood on your face.”

  “I do?” She brought her hand to her face and came away with red droplets on her fingertips. “I must have rolled over some glass while I was subduing her.” She turned and approached Doc, watching as he tried to get a reaction from Marcy. There was nothing. He straightened and turned his attention to Cammie. After examining her face, he swiftly reached into his bag and withdrew a set of long tweezers.

  “Hold still. You’ve got some glass imbedded in your cheek.”

  Cammie tried not to wince as Doc expertly withdrew the glass. He then wet her cheek with antiseptic, and put a band-aid on it.

  “Is she alright, Doc? It’s as if she’s checked out.”

  “To all extent and purposes, she has. I’m calling Mark and having her airlifted to Cary Medical. She needs more than I’m capable of giving her here in Twin Ponds.”

  The hospital, located in Houlton, was a two hour drive. In emergencies, Cammie used the services of Mark Nelsson, a local who’d learned how to fly helicopters during the Gulf War and spent twenty additional years flying rescue missions for the Coast Guard. He now supplemented his income as a wilderness guide by continuing to act as a rescue pilot, a much needed commodity in the dense forests that surrounded Twin Ponds.

  Before Cammie could respond, they heard footsteps on the front porch. Looking up, a small crowd of neighbors filled the doorway.

  “Are we safe?” a woman called out.

  “Yes. We have the situation under control.”

  While Doc and Jace gently led Marcy outside, Cammie and Rick remained to ask the neighbors questions about Marcy. No one could understand why she’d done what she’d done. Nor could anyone remember ever seeing any visitors to Marcy’s house that would have prompted her behavior. By the time they were done, it was nearly dawn.

  After finding the keys to Marcy’s house on a hook near the front door, they locked the front and back door, then draped the outside of her home with police tape. They now stood on the front porch taking a well-deserved breather.

  “You look how I feel,” Rick quipped.
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br />   “I always feel like a million bucks after I tackle a 69 year old woman.”

  “A 69 year old woman wielding a rifle.”

  “What could have set her off?” Cammie mused, aloud to herself. “The neighbors all agree she was more like a hermit. The only time they’d see her is when she came out to yell at the kids for playing ball too close to her house. And this notion of being abducted by aliens. It makes no sense.”

  Rick shrugged. “Maybe she was watching those UFO shows on TV. They’re always showing stories of people being abducted by aliens.”

  “I’m worried about her, Rick. You saw the way she looked when Doc took her away. She was basically catatonic.”

  “My suggestion is to forget about Marcy for a little while. We’ll both go home, get some sleep, then look at it later today with a pair of fresh, rested eyes.”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.” As Rick walked off, Jace drove up. He’d accompanied Doc and Marcy to the landing pad at Mark’s house to make sure they got off okay.

  “Did Doc put up a fuss?” Cammie asked as Jace approached.

  Doc hated to fly, especially in Mark’s helicopter. He was known to become especially acerbic and a bit difficult to handle when those occasions arose where he couldn’t back out. Jace offered Cammie a lopsided grin.

  “Let’s just say if Doc’s cursing has any power to it, I won’t be having children in this lifetime.” He paused, then added, “I know you, Cam. You’re never going to be able to sleep. ”

  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I may not be able to sleep, but you look exhausted.”

  “I’m a bit weary, that’s true. But I doubt I’ll be able to sleep either. What do you say we pop over to Zee’s and get a cup of coffee? He’s probably up anyway.”

  Still numb and exhausted over that evening’s events, Cammie had no energy to refuse. She simply nodded, and the two headed towards their respective vehicles.