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He ran to the rear of the hall where a phone was on a table and dialed 911.
“Nine-one-one,” an operator said. “What is your emergency?”
“There’s been a shooting,” Stone said. “A woman is critically wounded. I need an ambulance and the police immediately.” He gave her the address. The operator began to ask questions, but he hung up and ran back to Arrington, lifting her head and shoulders, in the hope that it would help her breathe better.
He held her head up. “Just breathe. Help is on the way.” Her mouth formed a word, but no sound came out.
“Peter!” Stone called. “Come here, quickly. Hattie, you stay where you are.”
Peter ran into the hall, saw his mother lying on the floor, and froze.
Stone beckoned for him to approach and kneel beside him.
Peter stared at his mother, speechless.
Arrington’s lips moved again, and it was not difficult to read her lips. “I love you both,” she was saying, then her pupils dilated.
“Mom!” Peter said.
Stone felt at her neck for a pulse but found nothing. He lowered Arrington gently to the floor, then put his arm around his son. “She’s gone,” he said softly.
Peter hugged his father, and they both wept.
51
K elli Keane was beginning to tire of the tub as the water cooled. Then she heard sirens approaching. She stood and wrapped herself in a towel for warmth, then looked out the high window over the tub.
From her left she saw two police cars and an ambulance burning up the dusty road past the inn. She could see them make a right turn at the next intersection. The Barrington house was down that road.
She hurried out of the bathroom and got into a sweater, some slacks, and her boots, then grabbed her coat and her handbag. She ran back to the bathroom for her iPhone, then, as she passed through the bedroom, David lifted his head.
“What’s going on with the sirens?” he asked.
“Trouble at the Barrington place,” she said, grabbing the rental car keys from the dresser. “I’m going up there.”
“Wait for me,” he was saying, but she was already gone.
Kelli jumped into the car and got it started, then raced out of the parking lot, spraying gravel. She made the turn at the intersection and put her foot to the floor. Up ahead, she saw the last of the three vehicles disappear into the Barrington driveway. She slammed on the brakes and turned sideways on the gravel road, but slid past the driveway, and a rear wheel ended up in a ditch. She got out and looked: no way to drive it out. She started running up the driveway.
By the time anyone arrived, Stone had got Peter into the living room and onto a sofa with Hattie, then had gone back to the hall and asked a woman in the kitchen for a tablecloth. He went back to the hall and gently spread the cloth over Arrington’s body, then he went to the front door to wait. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he was determined to be calm. How many homicides had he attended during the ten years when that had been his career?
He saw the sheriff’s cars pull up in front of the house and two young men got out. The ambulance was right behind them. He opened the door and let the deputies in.
“You called nine-one-one about a shooting?” a young deputy asked.
“Yes. The body is at the other end of the hall. Do you have a crime-scene unit at your disposal?”
“Yessir, the county has one.”
“Please call them immediately.”
The deputy ignored the request, walked to the shotgun, and picked it up.
“Put that down!” Stone commanded. “Don’t you know this is a crime scene?”
The young man flushed and put the shotgun back where he had found it. “Jake, call the sheriff,” he said to his companion, then started down the hall.
The second deputy pressed a speed dial button on his phone and put it to his ear. “Hello, Sheriff? This is Jake. I-”
