Hannah vs. Megan

This scene is from chapter thirty-one of Bait and Stitch: A Knitorious Murder Mystery Book 11. I split this scene into two parts, showing Megan and Hannah at the beginning and end of the scene. I deleted the middle because Hannah isn’t present for that part and it gives away a spoiler.

Megan leaves Hannah while she visits a nearby store. While inside the store, Megan figures out whodunit and realizes that her daughter, Hannah, is alone and vulnerable to the unlikely culprit. She rushes to Hannah’s side, determined to hide in the safety of their hotel room until help arrives.

First, we have the scene from Megan’s point of view, as written in the book. Then, we have the same scene, rewritten from Hannah’s point of view.

Megan’s point of view:

“Do you still think Maria killed Summer?” Hannah whispers as we linger within sight of the massage chairs, hoping they’ll become available before Twyla returns from her rescue mission.

“We can’t eliminate her,” I reply. “Maria had motive, and she had opportunity. She also had access to spotted water hemlock and Summer’s smoothie ingredients. Summer checked in on Wednesday morning, giving Maria two days to plan the murder.”

“But Maria is spiritual and grounded. She’s at peace with her family’s past. She wouldn’t kill anyone in case Karma punished her for it.”

“I know what you mean,” I admit. “But maybe she acts more at peace than she is. Maybe she’s serene and Zen because she killed Summer and justifies it because the universe sent her a sign or something.”

“Mine!” Hannah blurts, then jumps into the massage chair when the current occupant vacates it.

“I’m going to the gift shop again,” I say.

“I’ll be here,” Hannah says, her voice wobbling from the vibration of the mechanical massage hands.

***

I rush out of the gift shop with one thing on my mind.

“Hannah!” I grab her forearm and yank her out of the massage chair.

“I have to turn it off.” She reaches for the chair’s controller, but we’re already out of arm’s reach. “Mum, I should reset it for the next person.”

“No time,” I say, pulling her along behind me like a defiant toddler.

“Where are we going?”

“Upstairs,” I say. “We’re locking ourselves in our room until help gets here.”

“What happened?” Hannah jerks her arm from my grasp and stops. “Why are we rushing?” 

“I saw her,” I say. “And she knows I saw her. We’re not safe.”

I grab Hannah’s hand and tug my reluctant daughter toward the stairwell.

“Who did you see?” She stops again, reclaims her hand, and crosses her arms in front of her chest.

Why does she have to choose now to ask questions? Why did she have to get too big to carry? Why won’t she let me drag her to safety?

“Sweetie.” I summon my most composed and rational voice. “I know who the killer is. I know why she did it. She knows I know. She’s unstable and psychotic and has nothing to lose. We aren’t safe. She’ll do anything to keep her secret. I need you to cooperate.” I take a calming breath to maintain my composed and rational facade. “Now, please let me take you upstairs and lock you in our hotel room,” I say, sounding far less composed and much more irrational than I intend.

Hannah squints. An unsuccessful attempt to conceal the confusion and concern in her eyes as she considers my words.

“Twyla and the Shaws are miles away helping an injured hiker, which means Connie is all alone,” I say, hoping to appeal to my daughter’s affection for Connie.

Hannah nods, lurches past me, and opens the stairwell door.

“Who killed Summer?” she asks as I rush past her.

“It’s not that easy,” I say, leaning against the closed door so she can’t follow us. “Nothing is how it seems.”

“You’re not making sense, Mum.”

“I’ll explain everything as soon as we’re safe.”

“Connie!” Hannah declares, remembering why she agreed to listen to me.

She grabs the handrail and conquers the first flight of stairs two-at-a-time, disappearing around the corner before I start my ascent. The thumping of her feet bounding up the stairs is the only evidence Hannah is still ahead of me.

“Hannah!” I shout, more breathless than I care to admit. “Wait!” I stop on the landing between the first and second floors. “Hannah?”

I tilt my ear into the silence, forcing myself to tune out the heartbeat pounding in my ears and listen for the thumping of Hannah’s feet. Nothing. She must have stopped on the second-floor landing.

“Mu––”

Who muffled her voice?

“Hannah?”

A rush of adrenaline cures my breathlessness. I launch myself to the third step and take the rest of the stairs two at a time. Each leap reveals a bit more of the second-floor landing. As I search every new inch of the landing for a sign of Hannah, she slides into view. The backs of her hands are against her shoulders and her eyes are wide. She is trembling.

She is terrified.

Hannah gives me an almost indiscernible head shake.

A silent warning to stay back.

“Why?” I demand. “What’s wrong?”

Hannah shuffles sideways, and the trigger of her fear comes into view. Someone is pressing a gun into my daughter’s back.

Hannah’s point of view:

“Do you still think Maria killed Summer?” I whisper while we wait for a massage chair to become available.

“We can’t eliminate her,” Mum replies. “Maria had motive, and she had opportunity. She also had access to spotted water hemlock and Summer’s smoothie ingredients. Summer checked in on Wednesday morning, giving Maria two days to plan the murder.”

“But Maria is spiritual and grounded. She’s at peace with her family’s past. She wouldn’t kill anyone in case Karma punished her for it.”

“I know what you mean,” Mum says. “But maybe she acts more at peace than she is. Maybe she’s serene and Zen because she killed Summer and justifies it because the universe sent her a sign or something.”

“Mine!” I shout as I jump into the massage chair the moment the current occupant leaves.

“I’m going to the gift shop again,” Mum says.

“I’ll be here,” I say with a wobbly sigh, thanks to the vibrating mechanical massage hands working their way up my spine.  

***

What feels like seconds later, someone grabs my arm and jerks me out of the massage chair.

“Hannah!” Mum shouts, pulling me to my feet.

“I have to turn it off.” I reach for the chair’s controller, but she yanks me out of reach. “Mum, I should reset it for the next person.”

“No time,” she says, pulling me behind her like I’m five-years-old and refuse to leave the playground.

“Where are we going?”

“Upstairs,”she replies. “We’re locking ourselves in our room until help gets here.”

“What happened?” I jerk her arm from my mother’s grasp and stop dead in my tracks. “Why are we rushing?” 

“I saw her,” Mum says. “And she knows I saw her. We aren’t safe.”

She snatches my hand again and tugs me toward the stairwell.

She can tug and pull all she wants. I’m taller and heavier than her. We’re not moving until I agree we’re moving. 

“Who did you see?” I stop again, reclaim my hand, and cross my arms in front of my chest, tucking my hands out of sight in case she tries to pull rank and drag me away again.

“Sweetie.” 

She’s using her fake-calm voice. The voice she uses when she’s upset but wants me to believe she’s not upset and everything is fine. My mother is a horrible liar. 

“I know who the killer is,” Mum says, then inhales a big breath before letting it out. “I know why she did it. She knows I know. She’s unstable and psychotic and has nothing to lose. We aren’t safe. She’ll do anything to keep her secret. I need you to cooperate.” 

She takes another deep breath. She looks calm, and her voice is that fake-calm that she thinks sounds calm, but her eyes are full of panic and fear. 

“Now, please let me take you upstairs and lock you in our hotel room.”

Her voice cracks near the end of her sentence, giving away the emotional frenzy her calm demeanour covers up. 

Whatever she found out, my mother is terrified. 

Knowing how much it takes to intimidate Megan Sloane, I’m overcome with second-hand fear and freeze on the spot. I’m not sure what to say or do, but suddenly, I feel exposed and vulnerable.

“Twyla and the Shaws are miles away helping an injured hiker, which means Connie is all alone,” Mum says, reminding me what’s important right now. Connie. 

I give my mother a terse nod, rush past her to the stairwell and fling open the door. 

“Who killed Summer?” I ask as Mum catches up to me.

“It’s not that easy,” she replies, closing the door and leaning against it like she’s trying to keep something––or someone––out. “Nothing is how it seems.”

“You’re not making sense, Mum.”

“I’ll explain everything as soon as we’re safe.”

“Connie!” I shout, suddenly remembering why I ran into the stairwell in the first place.

I use the handrail to brace myself and conquer the first flight of stairs two-at-a-time. As I reach the top of the second flight, the flight that leads to the second-floor, I come to a halt when I find myself staring into the barrel of a gun. 

“Hannah!” Mum shouts into the empty silence. “Wait up!” Her footsteps stop below me on the landing between the first and second floors. “Hannah?”

She can’t come up here. This psycho freak will shoot us both. I have to stop her. I can’t let Mum get shot too. 

“Mu––”

With a scowl that conveys a silent warning, the bearer of the gun takes a step toward me, pressing the gun’s barrel of the gun into my forehead. I close my mouth before I finish warning her.  

“Hannah?”

Her footsteps are fast and furious now. She’ll be here in seconds. The shooter will kill us and it will be my fault because I didn’t warn her. 

The wannabe-shooter grips my upper arm with their free hand and guides me to the landing at the top of the stairs. 

As mum’s footsteps grow louder, I wonder what the trigger-happy villain is going to do. We’re hidden around the corner where Mum can’t see us. Is the sniper waiting for her to get close enough to ambush? 

The armed aggressor spins me around. They get behind me and press the gun into my back. Then, gripping my upper arm so tightly that I’m sure it’ll bruise, they kick the back of my shoe, forcing me to step forward. Again, other foot this time. First foot again. 

Mum and I come into each other’s view at the same time and lock eyes. 

I give her the slightest headshake possible and hope she understands my warning to stay away. 

Turn back, Mum! Run! 

“Why?” she demands in response to my silent warning. “What’s wrong?”

My assailant and I shuffle sideways, just enough for Mum to see the gun pressed between my shoulder blades.

Are you ready for Murder, It Seams: A Knitorious Murder Mystery Book 12? Click here.