“I got that for Robbie for our anniversary. The two of us have a good marriage.” Joan turned off the car and faced Claire. “That’s why I know that Robert didn’t try to kill me, Claire. He doesn’t want to be a widower. He’s pretty obsessed with his image, and that title would make him seem old. Besides, he and I have nothing but good times. We don’t fight. We have love and companionship. Honestly, that’s all we need.”
“And Samuel Alton?”
“Who? Say, is that coffee and something yummy I smell?”
Claire opened her car door and Joan reached over to the glove box with her bandaged arm. She took out a pistol.
Claire said, “Whoa. What’s that for?”
Joan shrugged and said, “Someone tried to murder me, remember?” Then she grinned and started waving the gun like a rodeo clown as she took Claire around the side of the house and out to the patio.
Once they sat down at the table, Marjorie came out and said, “Welcome, Dr. Washburn. Would you like a mimosa to start?”
Claire said, “I’ll have orange juice without the champagne, please. I have to go back to work after breakfast.”
Joan was standing at the edge of the patio, sighting various objects on the property over the top of her gun, from the statuary to specimen trees to the birds. Each time she aimed her gun at something, she said, “Pytoo, pytoo, pytoo.”
Claire said, “Joan? Is that thing loaded?”
Joan called back, “Of course it is. I’ve also got a license, if you’re wondering, and I’ve gone out to the range to practice. You can never be too careful when you were almost murdered.”
“Come sit down and give me that thing. I’ll give it back after I leave, okay? It’s just for my own safety, get me?”
“You’re silly,” Joan said, laughing, but she sat down and put the gun on the table. The muzzle was pointing in Claire’s direction. Claire gently spun the gun so it was pointing toward the horizon.
She let out a small breath, but her heart kept beating wildly in her chest.
Marjorie brought out the breakfast. It was a mushroom and fines herbes frittata that smelled delicious and was paired with a side of oven-fresh warm bread. Claire’s stomach rumbled, so she unfurled her napkin and placed it in her lap. She was just lifting her fork when she heard what sounded like a gunshot.
“What’s that?” Claire asked.
Two more shots were fired.
“It’s coming from the pool house. Damn it to hell!”
Then Joan grabbed the pistol and started to run.
Chapter 25
Claire stood up fast. She knocked over a chair, hit the table with her hip, and scattered the contents of the dishes and the juice in the wineglasses. She started moving, doing her best to catch up to Joan. The woman was her age but slimmer, and even with her clipped wing, Joan was faster and more athletic than Claire.
She called out to her, “Joan, wait up!”
But Joan was not listening.
Claire huffed behind her, crossing the lawn. She saw a cottage to her left, a swimming pool, and a set of meandering stone stairs. There was a man standing at the top of it with a rifle. He had the gun sight up to his eye as he pointed it down the steps.
Joan yelled, “Peter! Peter, stop what you’re doing! Right now!”
The man whom Joan called Peter was fit and bare-chested. A pair of glasses was hanging from the cord around his neck, and he was wearing a pair of khaki shorts. When he heard Joan calling him, he turned toward her, but only slightly. He hardly lowered the gun at all, maybe just a few degrees. And he certainly didn’t drop it.
Joan was still holding her pistol. And she raised it and pointed it at Peter.
It was a standoff. But how long would it last?
Claire pictured the horrible scene that was about to happen in front of her.
But then she had an idea, albeit untested. She called out, using the most authoritative voice she had.