“Paige! Paige! Are you okay?” Terry cried out, keeping his gaze and the gun fixed on Elsie. He was still sitting on top of her, fastening her flat on her back to the floor.

“I’ve been better,” I said. “But what about you? Your arm’s gushing!”

“It’s nothing but a flesh wound. Where’s Abby?” he yelped, whipping his head from side to side, frantically searching his limited field of vision. “Is she all right? Has she been hit?”

“Oh, my God!” I shrieked. “Is Abby here, too?” I hadn’t heard her. I couldn’t see her. Was she behind me? Why didn’t she say something?

“I told her to stay out,” Terry cried, “but she wouldn’t listen. She came through the door right after I did!”

I went into a total panic. Had the last bullet fired struck Abby? Using my good arm and leg for leverage, I madly scooched my disabled self around, until the area behind me was viewable, and the cold wind blowing through the wide-open door was blowing smack into my face.

And then I almost died again.

Abby was lying in a heap-a very still heap-on the floor to one side of the door, right at the bottom of the stairs. I couldn’t see her face; it was turned away from me, toward the wall. There was no evidence of blood on her clothes or the floor, so I couldn’t tell whether or not she’d been shot. Or whether or not she was dead.

“She’s back here, Terry,” I wailed. “On the floor at the foot of the stairs. I don’t see any blood or anything, but she’s definitely not moving. I can’t get over there. You’ve got to help her!”

Terry bounded to his feet, screaming at Elsie, “Get up! Get up off the floor and sit in this chair where I can see you. Quick-or I’ll shoot your head off!”

Without a word, Elsie stood up, straightened her skirt, and sat down. I couldn’t believe she was being so quiet. Why wasn’t she shouting? Why wasn’t she cursing? One look at her gaping, lopsided face and I had my answer. Her chiseled John Wayne jaw was broken.

Keeping the gun pointed at Elsie, Terry backed away toward the open kitchen door, each footstep crunching on broken glass. When he reached the spot where Abby was lying, and saw that she was totally unconscious, he let out a heartrending moan and sank to his knees by her side. “Baby! Oh, baby!” he cried, setting the gun down on the floor and scooping Abby up in his arms, pulling her in close to his chest, stroking her face and her hair. He’d forgotten all about Elsie. All that mattered to him right now was Abby. “Wake up, baby,” he begged, choking and sobbing between words. “Please, please wake up…”

Do I have to tell you how crazy scared I was at this moment? Must I say that the thought of losing Abby-my most beloved friend in all the world-filled me with unfathomable, unbearable dread? Need I mention that the sight of the gun sitting unattended on the floor (i.e., not pointed at Elsie) was driving me insane with fear?

I knew I had to get to the gun before Elsie did-or Terry,

Abby, and I would all be dead. But I also knew I’d never make it. I couldn’t walk, or even crawl. Using my good arm and leg like rudders, I’d have to slide my wounded body across the splintered-glass-strewn floor, protected only by thin layers of silk (i.e., my stockings and my slip). I didn’t stand a chance in hell. Elsie was going to grab the gun. Sure as shootin’.

Shows you what a fool I am. Elsie never even tried to reclaim the damn thing. She just vaulted off her chair, lunged over to the front door, threw it wide open, and-holding her hand tight around her broken jaw like a girdle-disappeared down the stairs to the street.

THE NEXT FEW MINUTES WERE THE longest of my life (if you don’t count the minutes-okay, months!-following my receipt of a certain U.S. Army telegram). I believed Abby was dead or dying. I figured Elsie was on her way to Idlewild to catch the next flight to Timbuktu. I thought Judy’s murder would go forever un-avenged (Roscoe’s, too, but I didn’t care so much about that), and I had a sinking (okay, sunken) feeling that I’d never walk again. I didn’t think Terry would ever recover, either.

So you can imagine my breathless, joyful, heart-soaring delight when Abby started squirming… and groaning… and then suddenly opened her eyes! And you must know how happy I was when she pushed herself up to a sitting position, shook her hair down her back, looked over at Terry, and said, “Hey, what the hell happened?”

“Oh, Abby!” Terry sobbed, so overcome with relief I thought he’d start bawling again. “Are you okay? Have you been hurt?”

“My head’s killing me.” She touched the egg-sized lump on her forehead. “Oh, now I remember!” she said, giving Terry a poke in the ribs. “When we busted into Paige’s apartment, you turned around and shoved me down to the floor. I think my head hit the wall when I fell. What did you do that for?”

“Elsie had a gun and she was aiming it at us. I had to push you out of the way.”

“Elsie?!” she shrieked. “I knew it! I told you that old bat was involved! Where is she? Locked in the closet? And where is Paige? Is she okay?” Abby shot her eyes around the apartment, looking for Elsie and me. “Oh, my God!” she cried, when she saw me lying on the bloody floor. “Paige has been shot!” She pushed herself to her hands and knees and crawled toward me-fast!-across the glass-littered linoleum.

Terry jumped up and lunged into the living room to the phone. “I’ll call for an ambulance!”

When Abby reached my side and saw the shape I was in, she broke down in tears. “Oh, Paige! This is so horrible!” she howled, slobbering all over herself. “And it’s all my fault! I never should have let you stay here alone!”

“Don’t worry,” I said, allowing my head to fall back on the floor. “I’m going to be fine. I’m not losing any more blood, and I’m still conscious. The doctors will fix me up in no time.” I didn’t believe a word I was saying. The pain was profound, and I was growing weaker by the second. Staring up at Abby’s frantic face, I realized my vision was getting blurry.

So when Abby’s face vanished and two tall, shadowy figures suddenly appeared above me, I couldn’t see who it was right away. It took me several seconds of squinting and straining and forcing my eyes to focus before I realized that one of the apparitions was Dan, and that the other one-get this!-was Elsie. Her broken jaw was hanging open and her wrists were in handcuffs.

“What the devil?” I sputtered, feeling a stab of new energy. I pushed myself up to my good elbow again. “What’s going on? How did you…?”

“Don’t talk now, Paige,” Dan sternly interrupted. “You’ve got to save your strength. The ambulance will be here soon.”

“But I don’t understand what’s happening!” I whimpered.

“You and me both, babe,” Dan grumbled. His blurry face was plastered with a blurry scowl. He dropped into a squat, brushed his fingers down my cheek, and stared into my eyes with fierce concern. “But now’s not the time to discuss it. You’re too weak. We’ll talk later, after the docs get you patched up.”

As I lowered my heavy head back down to the floor, a gust of wind blew over my freezing cold body. “Could somebody please close the back door?” I whimpered, teeth chattering, consciousness waning fast.

Then Elsie started singing the National Anthem, and Abby and Terry started dancing “Ring around the Rosy,” and Dan wrapped me up in Bob’s old Army blanket, and Judy Catcher’s face appeared on the ceiling, gazing down at me with the warmest imaginable smile. And then the ceiling started spinning, and Judy’s face began to swirl, and I was five years old again, wearing my horse slippers and my plastic turban, riding the merry-go-round so fast and so furiously I thought I’d be dizzy forever.