Double Jeopardy (Stone Barrington #57)(21)

“Invite the Jacksons here,” Stone said.

Lance did so.

Primmy spoke up, “The noise is going to affect my property, too. I’m closer to the twins than the Jacksons.”

Stone took her aside. “I think you should move in with me, until this business with the twins has been resolved.”

“Sold,” she said. “I’d better go pack a bag before it gets dark.”

“Primmy, are you licensed to carry a gun in Maine?”

“I am.”

“Then come armed, and don’t linger down at that end of the island. Shall I come with you?”

“Of course not. I’ll be back in an hour.” She left the house.

Stone went back to the others. “Primmy has gone to pack. She’s moving in here for the duration, and she’s coming armed. I suggest that you all carry while you’re here.” He went to tell Mary how many they would be for dinner.



* * *



—

Primmy drove slowly past the Stones’ house, to satisfy her curiosity about what was going on there. “The place is an anthill,” she said aloud to herself. She drove on to her place, two driveways down. She pulled into the yard and went inside. She, like pretty much everyone else on the island, didn’t bother locking her doors. She went upstairs to her bedroom, got down two suitcases and began stuffing things into them. She closed the larger one, wheeled it to the stairs, and started rolling it down. A deep voice made her jump and lose control of the case, which bounced into the living room and stopped.

“Can we give you a hand?”

She stopped and looked at them. She wasn’t sure which one had spoken. “I can manage, thank you.”

One of them picked up the bag as if it were a briefcase. “I’ll put it in your trunk,” he said, then turned and walked out the door.

Primmy, her heart pounding, ran back up the stairs, opened the safe in her dressing room and took out a compact 9mm and its holster. She was fitting it onto her belt, her back to the door, when someone said, “Is this one ready to go?”

She pulled down her shirttail over the holster and turned to find a twin standing in her bedroom. “I don’t believe I invited you into this room,” she said. “In fact, I don’t believe I invited you into my house. Please leave now.”

A smile spread slowly across his face. “We don’t always wait for invitations from beautiful women,” he said. “They seem to prefer it that way.”

“Apparently, your ego is larger than your brain,” Primmy said. She was less nervous than angry now.

“I believe that was an insult,” he said.

“Well, your hearing is working. I’m not going to tell you again to get out of my house.” She reached under her shirt, thumbed off the snap from the holster, and kept her hand on the butt of the pistol.

“You scratching an itch under there?” he asked. “Maybe I can scratch it for you.” He took a step toward her.

Primmy, in one smooth motion, pulled the pistol and racked the slide and pointed it at the floor.

“Well, now,” he said. “That’s not very hospitable—more hostile, I’d say.”

“You want to see hostile?” she asked, raising the pistol and thumbing off the safety. Her finger still rested alongside the trigger, not on it.

“Yeah,” he said. “We enjoy a little hostility in a woman.”

Primmy aimed over his shoulder at the doorjamb and squeezed off a round. The sound came in concert with another blast from the house down the road, and she was appalled to see his head jerk to one side and a little puff of blood erupt from his ear.

The twin clapped a hand over his ear and backed toward the stairs slowly. “I’m going to take pleasure in making you regret that,” he said.

“Don’t walk, run!” she shouted at him. He turned and started down the stairs, looking back at her over his shoulder. Beyond him, the other twin was starting up the stairs. She kicked the nearest one hard in the ass; he lost his footing and tumbled down the stairs on top of his brother, the two of them ending up in a heap.

She took a step on the stairs. “I’m sorry I missed,” she said. “I’ll try to do better this time.” She fired another at the floor to one side of them. They were scrambling to get out of the house now.

She followed them down the stairs and to the door, her pistol held out in front of her. The two leapt into a pickup truck and reversed up the driveway, leaving a rosebush in distress.

Primmy slammed the door and ran upstairs, holstering the weapon. She went to the safe and got a box of ammunition and a spare magazine, tossed them into her suitcase with her underwear, grabbed the case, and pushed it down the stairs ahead of her. She let herself out, locked up the house, set the alarm system, tossed her bag into the trunk with the first, got into the car, and drove back to Stone’s house, doing her best not to drive faster than the speed limit. She didn’t want to have to explain all this to the single state trooper on the island.

Stone let her in. “You’re all flushed,” he said. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you when my bags are safe inside,” she said, heading for the bar, everyone staring at her. By the time Stone got the cases upstairs she has halfway through a large Scotch, no ice.