Genevieve knelt and hugged Butterscotch close. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Don’t come after me. When I’m gone, run.”
Butterscotch pranced in place, sat and looked longingly at Genevieve as she slowly backed away with her palm held out. “Stay,” Genevieve repeated. “Stay.” Butterscotch stayed, but her legs trembled at the effort. She lifted a paw...
“Tie her up,” Miss Love snapped. “And hurry.”
Genevieve turned to her and glared. “I don’t have—”
“Use the bag.”
It took Genevieve a minute to figure out what she meant, and then she remembered the camera bag still slung over her shoulder. She unhooked it and looped the long strap under an exposed tree root. She then worked the strap under Butterscotch’s collar and snapped it into place.
“You first,” Miss Love said, gesturing down the hill and Genevieve, her head held high, began walking toward the cabin, the teacher following close behind. Soon Genevieve had reached the wooden porch and could smell the deceptively homely scents of baking bread and burning wood. At Miss Love’s command, Genevieve walked inside the cabin. Outside, Butterscotch began to howl.
The cabin was sparsely furnished with a plush red sofa, a charcoal gray area rug, and a dark wood coffee table. Flames crackled in the stone fireplace, and overhead was a loft from which voices could be heard, although Genevieve quickly realized it was only the sounds of a television. On the wall adjacent to the fireplace was an open window, but Genevieve would have no time to hoist herself up and pull herself through it before the teacher brought her down with the taser.
There was nowhere to run.
Miss Love kicked the door closed and shoved Genevieve against it. “How did you know?” she demanded.
Up close, Genevieve noted that Miss Love’s arm was heavily bandaged beneath her jacket; she could see the bulge of the gauze. That must be where she sliced herself open to soak her clothes in blood, she thought. If she could just get in one good punch...
But as she looked into the cold and merciless eyes of the killer, her nerves failed her. So Genevieve did the next best thing to buy herself time. She talked.
“It was the neighbor,” she said. “Ms. Pierce’s neighbor saw you that night, only she thought you were a man.”
Miss Love’s face darkened with amusement.
“At first I thought about Principal Mattison,” Genevieve continued, “since he fit the description of a man of medium height and slender build—”
“As if he could have gone through with it,” Miss Love sneered.
“But Principal Mattison didn’t have a good enough motive, and he had so much to lose. And then I remembered. The description of the thief in Mountain Ridge this summer also matched the neighbor’s description. I realized it may be the same person, someone who had recently moved to town, who was in hiding... and it all came together.” Genevieve stared at Miss Love boldly. “You murdered Ms. Pierce because you thought she’d figured it all out. But all she really knew was that you were having an affair with Principal Mattison. That would have cost you your job and given it to her. You went there that night thinking she knew you were the armed robber from Mountain Ridge, and when you discovered all she really knew about was the affair, you still killed her.”
“It would have been the same result!” Miss Love cried. “She was going to out us, and I still could have been caught! And she was so smug about it; I couldn’t help it! That pathetic smile on her face, her pathetic clothes.” She stopped and looked at Genevieve knowingly, her eyes twinkling with some of her old charm, and for a second Genevieve nearly smiled back before shaking off the spell.
Miss Love tossed her black hair over her shoulder and scowled. “She was going to ruin me, and all for a stupid job! I grabbed the pillow on the sofa and just smothered the old hag. It was easy.”
“You could have let her go,” Genevieve said angrily. “By that time the scrutiny over the robberies had died down. You could have let the poor woman have the job and moved on—”
“Well, I lost my temper, didn’t I?” Miss Love answered petulantly. “It happens. And do you think I’d just let her get away with it? She threatened me, tried blackmailing me! Anyway, where would I have gone?”
From outside the window, Genevieve heard a rustle of leaves. She spoke quickly, raising her voice. “So you murdered her in cold blood and tricked Principal Mattison into believing she’d attacked you first.”
“The fool,” Miss Love said, and began to giggle. “Men will believe anything. I called him and told him what I’d done, and of course he rushed right over to help cover up the crime. He was devastated, naturally, kept blubbering like an idiot over the old hag’s body, but who do you think came up with the idea to make it look like a suicide?”
Genevieve said nothing, and the teacher snickered again and said, “Well, I did, of course, but I made him think he was the one who hatched the brilliant plan. Like I said, men will believe anything. He had to do all the dirty work. I couldn’t do much, you know, with all the blood.” She widened her eyes and blinked rapidly in a feign of utter helplessness.
“I’ll bet you milked it for all it was worth,” Genevieve said in disgust. Miss Love’s arm had dropped slightly, she was so distracted with relaying her awful story, and Genevieve was trying to determine whether she’d have enough time to get away before getting zapped with the taser. The door was right behind her...
That shuffling sound again, outside...
“What I want to know,” Genevieve said harshly, “is how you convinced Principal Mattison to cover for you when it came to the robberies—wait... oh.” With a flash of understanding, she had it. “He said you were hiding from an ex. I suppose that was all one big lie too?”
“Of course it was,” Miss Love said, rolling her eyes. She spoke in a high, girlish voice, “Please, Marty, I need a place to stay, he’ll come after me, he’ll find me, you have no idea how smart he is...” She giggled again. “Once more, I let him believe this—” she gestured around her “—was his idea, but it was my plan all along. I knew he had a vacation cabin up in the woods from his boasting about it two years ago when I subbed at the school.
“The cabin’s been a perfect little hideaway. I planned on staying a few more months, maybe until winter break, and then conveniently relocating. Take the money and run.”
“But now you’ve complicated things.”
“Yes.” Miss Love looked at her darkly, all the amusement wiped from her face, and raised the taser. Genevieve’s heart quickened. “Now I’ll have yet another body to deal with. Of course, I could just tell dear Marty I heard someone breaking in, and naturally I panicked. My poor little nerves are on edge, after being abused and stalked for so long by my vicious ex-boyfriend.” Her face assumed a sad little pout and, as Genevieve watched in amazement, she conjured up tears. “I was so scared!” Miss Love wailed. “I grabbed the taser for self-protection, and when the door burst open, I just couldn’t help it—it was a gut reaction—”
There was a sudden commotion outside—a shout, a series of ferocious barks—and Miss Love’s head jerked toward the window. Now! Genevieve thought.
She drew her arm back and, with all of her strength, threw one great punch. Her fist hit its target with a dull WHAP! on Miss Love’s injured arm, and the teacher screamed in pain. Her other arm—the one still holding the taser—automatically groped at the wound, and Genevieve kicked her foot out and swept it under Miss Love’s legs. She fell to the ground hard but, quickly recovering, raised the weapon and fired wildly.
Genevieve dove to the side as the taser sounded with a deafening CRACK. She had managed to escape the shot, but now she was trapped, having tumbled toward the corner near the fireplace, farther away from the door.
Miss Love was already rising, her face full of hatred, her arm poised to strike again, but suddenly the teacher stopped. Her gaze had lifted above Genevieve’s head and her eyes widened in shock. It’s the oldest trick in the book, don’t you dare fall for it, Genevieve thought, but she had already turned to look. And it wasn’t a trick. What had once been a window was now a blurred streak of golden brown fur. Butterscotch, her face snarling, was sailing through the opening and straight for Miss Love.
“Butterscotch, no!” screamed Genevieve, but Miss Love’s instincts had once again betrayed her. Instead of firing the taser, she flung her arm protectively over her head. Butterscotch’s jaw clamped powerfully over her wrist, knocking loose the weapon, which clattered away on the wood-paneled floor.
Genevieve was preparing to race toward the kitchen to retrieve it when the front door opened and Principal Mattison calmly walked in.
The women froze, staring at the bedraggled principal, knowing his choice in this moment would determine everything. He was closer to the taser than Genevieve, and Butterscotch couldn’t stop him while keeping hold of her disgraced prisoner.
Miss Love recovered from her shock quickly. “Marty!” she shrieked, her face contorting with sudden terror. “Marty, thank god! This crazy student and her feral dog broke in to attack us. Thank god you weren’t here and I’m the only one who got hurt. Help me!”
