by Bill Alive
Mark faltered. “You don’t know that,” he said, but his eyes were troubled.
“You want be a hero, but with no commitment,” she said. “You think I care about that damn hero crap? I’m on a team, Mark, it’s our job, and we all work together because it’s the best way we know to save lives. The best. That’s why I can sleep at night. Can you say that, Mark? How are you going to feel if we find another body? Give me one reason not to shut you down right now!”
Mark said nothing.
Gwen hung up.
In the stillness, I muttered, “Crap.”
A knock rapped on the door. Ceci.
“Crap,” I said. “I’m still in my pajamas!”
Mark perked up, and his eyes snapped with decision. “Come in!” he called.
Ceci swept in, wearing a white sweatsuit trimmed with pink. (At least she wasn’t working this Saturday.) When she saw Mark, she yipped and popped back behind the door. “Could you please get decent?” she demanded.
“Oh, please,” Mark said. “You don’t find me remotely sexually attractive. Especially in these goofy boxers.”
I could see Ceci’s face behind the door, and she looked surprised at how certain he sounded. But she said, “I can’t argue with that.”
“Mainly because I’m bald,” Mark said. “Not that you’re superficial or anything.”
“What?!? Hello, what about your entire personality?”
“That too, but mainly it’s the bald,” Mark said. “It’s cool, you can still take us to see Jonas Lynch.”
Both Ceci and I exclaimed with surprise, and Ceci burst back in to confront him. She didn’t seem to care about Mark being shirtless in his boxers after all, which kind of mystified me. On the other hand, she is a nurse.
“You expect me to give you a ride?” Ceci demanded. “When you just called me superficial?”
“I didn’t say that,” Mark said. “I said you weren’t.”
“It was mental reservation,” I explained.
Ceci rolled her eyes. “‘Mental reservation’ is Catholic for lying.”
“Ceci, please,” Mark said loftily. “Lying is when Dr. Kistna rents her boyfriend to Sibyl to get her nails into those millions. Then lies about his alibi to get him suspected of murder.”
“She did that? That doctor bitch?” Ceci cried. “She was secretly dating Fidelio Samson the whole time?”
“Absolutely,” Mark said.
Ceci glared at me. “What did you ever see in her?”
“I didn’t know all that then!” I protested.
“Oh, so if she asked you out now, you’d tell her to get lost?”
“Of course I would!” I said, hoping it was true. “We’re trying to bring her down!”
Ceci brightened. “Really?”
“Yes,” Mark cut in, “but first we have to get Lynch. He just tried to kill Pete.”
“We don’t know it was him,” I said.
“Pete, he threatened you to your face!” Mark said. “You were there, Ceci! You crushed his hand, and the bastard tried to sneak around behind your back to take Pete out.”
Ceci’s eyes narrowed. She hates when people sneak.
“What if he tries to hit Pete again?” Mark continued. “Are we just going to sit around and wait?”
“I’ll kick his sorry ass,” Ceci said.
Mark grinned.
“But what about Gwen?” I wailed.
“Gwen doesn’t know everything,” Ceci said.
“No, she doesn’t,” Mark said, sounding bitter but also sad. He strode for the door.
“Mark!” Ceci snapped. “Pants!!”
Mark stopped and sighed. “Stupid bourgeois convention.”
“So we think this guy tried to kill us, and we’re going to go trash talk him?” I said.
Both Mark and Ceci looked at me like, Of course.
“Right,” I said. “My bad.”
Chapter 34
We drove to the airport in Ceci’s car, nervous but in high spirits. At first. I’d forgotten how pleasant a conversation could be when you weren’t shouting over the engine.
As we pulled into the airport parking lot, I braced myself to deal with Lynch.
But the airport was deserted.
We tried the door. It was locked, with no note on the door.
“It really shouldn’t be closed on a Saturday morning,” I said. “Should it?”
Mark frowned. “We’ll try his house.”
“Um—” I said.
“Sounds good,” Ceci said.
Back in the car, Mark tried to check the airport website on his phone, but it was such a mess that he gave up. He sank into a sullen silence, slouching alone in the back seat and staring out the window.
I’m no empath, but I was pretty sure he was obsessing over Gwen’s accusations. If the murderer killed again, we’d never know for sure we were totally free of blame.
Then I thought, Dude, the murderer’s the one killing people. Let it go.
I tried to chat with Ceci, but even she found it hard to be chipper with Mark brooding in the back.
We bounced up a mountain gravel road where the houses were somehow trashier than usual. Many felt abandoned, especially for a Saturday, when you’d think people would be home. The road climbed and twisted and rattled Ceci’s nice car, until at last we reached a tilted mailbox with crooked number stickers that matched Lynch’s address.
We pulled in and parked. The house was a rundown A-frame, with tar paper peeling off the roof. Derelict cars dominated the weedy yard, like angry ancient aunts sulking in corners at Thanksgiving. Although it wasn’t even noon yet, the slope faced north and so it was already deep in shadow.
We got out. I sniffed the chilly air. I couldn’t see smoke, but someone on the mountain was burning plastic. Probably trash. Or an old trailer.
Mark shook his head. “Shit.”
“What?” I said.
“There’s no one here.”
“Are you sure?” Ceci said. “Look at all the cars.”
He shook his head.
“You mean you can feel—” I said.
“No one’s here.”
Mark kept standing there, so I went and knocked. No answer.
Ceci shifted from sneaker to sneaker. “He could just be out.”
“He’s gone,” Mark said. “Moved out.”
“How can you possibly know he’s moved?” I said.
Mark smiled. “He took his dogs.”
He waved a hand at the dog run. I don’t think I’ve told you about dog runs — I’m not sure what they actually call them out here, but they’re like chicken runs for dogs. People who look like they must be on Social Security can spend thousands of dollars fencing in a special yard for their pit bulls.
This fencing looked sparkling new, and the dog house inside the run looked nice enough to be a guest bedroom.
“He’s got to have at least two or three dogs,” Mark said. “And they’d have come running when you knocked.”
“Maybe he took them to the park,” I said.
“Sure, they must find this mountain so confining,” Mark said. He opened the mailbox. It was bulging with mail. “He’s gone all right.” He yanked out the pile — he had to pull hard, it was jammed tight.
“Hey!” I said, hurrying over. “You can’t tamper with the mail, I think that’s a felony!”
“Are you saying something?” Mark said, as he flipped through the envelopes. “Was he saying something, Ceci?”
Ceci looked irritated with both of us, but curiosity won. “We’re not tampering if we don’t open anything,” she said. She drew close enough to Mark to read along. “Anything interesting?”
“Bunch of crap,” Mark said. “But no one gets this much junk mail at once. He’s been gone for days.”
“If he’d already left town, he probably didn’t cut our brakes,” I said.
“Damn it,” Mark said. He tried to shove the pile back in.
But Ceci snatched a catalog. “What is t
his? ‘Canine Care Collective … Specialty Dog Care Products for the Discerning Parent.’ Parent?” She flipped through the glossy pages. “Oh my goodness. An outdoor doggy pool?”
“He’s got one,” I said, and pointed toward the dog run. An actual miniature pool languished in the shade.
“Why do I think you can’t afford these kinds of doggy toys on the salary of a rural flight instructor?” Mark said.
Ceci gasped.
“What?” I said. “You okay?”
“There’s a doggy armoire,” she said. “For twelve thousand dollars!”
I shuddered and refused to look. “You think Lynch is involved with Numb?” I asked Mark.
“He’s involved with something. Only one way to find out.” He strode toward the house.
“Dude, wait!” I said. “You can’t go in! That’s breaking and entering! Investigators can’t even do that once they’re licensed!”
“Please don’t tell me you read all that licensing crap,” Mark said.
“Didn’t you?”
Mark smirked.
“I thought you were training to get your investigator license, Mark,” Ceci said sharply.
Mark was inspecting a low window in the front wall. “It’s a bunch of forms and some stupid fee just to apply, then a bunch of stupid classes,” he said, without looking our way. “Just so you can be allowed to get paid.”
“No, with a license you can also legally lie to people,” I said.
“Impersonate, Pete,” he said. “Like pretend to be a debt collector. Big deal.”
“That would be awesome!” I said. “Think of the possibilities!”
Mark put both palms on the window, leaned into it, and shoved up hard. It didn’t budge … then it squeaked up an inch.
I was sure that the squeak must have cracked down the mountain like a gunshot, alerting all the neighbors for miles around. “Mark, don’t!” I said. “Gwen will kill us!”
“How would she ever know? We’re in the middle of nowhere!”
“I’m right here,” Ceci said.
Mark turned and faced us both. He looked angry, but he squinted, clearly reading us.
I felt what I think they call a frisson. Every time I think I’ve gotten used to the empathy thing, something creeps me out. Out here in the woods, Mark wasn’t only stronger than me, ticked off, shoving open windows, and in Mountain Man mode, he could also, you know, read my mind.
But I did have Ceci.
“Your call,” she said. “But you’ll be walking home.”
Mark growled, “I know.” He banged the window back down, stomped back to the car, and slammed himself in.
We rattled down the mountain. If Mark had been brooding before, he had now upgraded to seething.
“So,” I said to Ceci, when we finally pulled onto a paved county highway. “How’s the hospital? Any interesting drama?”
“In a hospital, drama’s not really great news,” she said.
“Right. Anything boring, then?”
In the back, Mark shrieked, and we both jumped. “Listen to this!” he said. “I finally got a stupid news alert! ‘Brown County Airport Shutting Down, Hollister Declares Bankruptcy.’”
“Whoa!” I said.
Mark kept reading. “‘Although the local FBO has been quietly struggling for years, co-owner Rich Hollister blames his final bankruptcy on the negative publicity around the so-called “Airport Murderer” and the unsolved death of Hollister’s business partner, Timothy Waterbury. Critics have noted that this is not the serial entrepreneur’s first business bankruptcy proceeding. Former failures include Virginia Check Cashing FAST, Ivy Holly Financial—”
“Ivy Holly Financial!” I said. “That’s the company that lost Mackenzie all his money! It was ‘Holly’ for Hollister?”
Mark leaned forward. “Ceci, turn the car around. We’ve got to talk to Mackenzie.”
“I have better things to do than chauffeur you two around all morning!” she said.
“Like you’d rather be anywhere else,” Mark said.
She snapped him a glare in the rear-view mirror, ferocious but also somehow scared.
Mark winced, then glared back, as if they’d somehow shared some private understanding.
I felt an odd pang of exclusion. It was one thing for Mark to read my mind, but I’d never thought about him vibing the secrets of my friends.
Then he smirked at her. “Face it,” he said. “You saw me with my shirt off! I know you Christian chicks only have one thing on your mind.”
Ceci groaned. “I should dump you at the curb.”
So much for my friends sharing a moment. :(
“Please, Ceci,” I said. “Mackenzie really does have a huge motive here. He’s obsessed with his old failure and he might blame it all on Hollister. We’ll be quick.”
“I’ll make sure,” she said.
“You’re not coming with us,” Mark said.
She eyed him in the mirror. “Take it or leave it.”
Mark growled. “Fine, but just bat your pretty eyes and flex your biceps.”
“I’ll say whatever I want,” Ceci said.
“Come on, Mark!” I pleaded.
Mark crossed his arms and stared out the window. “Whatever.”
Ceci sizzled, but said nothing. We drove back into town in a festering silence.
As we pulled onto Mackenzie’s street, it occurred to me that since Ceci was going to meet the man along with us, antagonizing her beforehand might not have been the best plan.
In fact, she might have just decided she’d prefer we drop this whole detective thing altogether.
Chapter 35
At Mackenzie’s rundown townhouse, Mark knocked, and then Ceci finally talked. “What’s this guy like?” she said.
“Old,” Mark said.
“Obsessed with failure,” I said.
“Like I said,” Mark said.
The door creaked open and Mackenzie poked out his sallow face. He glared at Mark, sputtered a curse, and retracted.
But before Mark could speak, Ceci pushed past him and laid a hand gently on the door. “We are so sorry to bother you, sir,” she drawled, in a stunning imitation of a flirty Southern airhead. “We only have a couple teeny weeny questions.”
She winked and pinched the air, as if she herself needed such visual aids to comprehend these complex concepts. She cocked her head and her hips, and her whole stance shifted into “friendly cheerleader”.
I’d never seen such a transformation, in Ceci or anyone. It was fairly scary.
But Mackenzie’s bleary eyes lit up, and he grudgingly swung the door open. “Only for a minute,” he said. “I’ve already told your loser friends all I know, and they’re not even real cops.”
“I know, aren’t they a pain in the keister?” she said, as she followed him into the drab, tiny living room. “Honest to goodness, I think they’re on a wild goose chase.”
He huffed down into his easy chair and gave her what I think was intended to be a dashing grin. “Makes sense to chase geese when you’re a vixen.”
Ceci giggled.
It was like overhearing your mom flirt with the plumber. A side you never wanted to see.
I hoped Mark would cut in here, but he was watching Ceci’s performance with bemused surprise.
Ceci flounced down on the couch beside the chair. “It’s this airport bankruptcy,” she said, with a confidential air. “We just saw this morning it’s the very same man who lost you your life savings. What’s his name?”
Mackenzie tensed up. “I didn’t hear the airport went bankrupt,” he said. He was trying to keep his voice light.
“But it was the same jerk, wasn’t it?” Ceci said.
“I don’t know, I don’t remember exactly who it was,” Mackenzie said quickly. “I had different advisers at different times. And it was my own decision to make those investments.”
Mark leaned and whispered in my ear. “He’s lying. He’s so angry he can’t even say the guy’s name.�
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He stepped toward Mackenzie and spoke up. “Mr. Mackenzie, why didn’t you tell us before that Rich Hollister ran the company that ruined your life savings? The same man who was managing the airport where your daughter died?”
Mackenzie’s face went hard. “I didn’t — you’re not even cops—” he spluttered.
“You didn’t tell them either!” Mark said. I wondered whether he was vibing or just bluffing, but Mackenzie’s surprise seemed to show he was right. “I trust you know how they feel about withholding evidence? You keep secrets, the wrong person could go to jail. Or die. Including you.”
You big hypocrite, I thought. But I wasn’t going to crimp his style.
“They already got the murderer,” Mackenzie snapped. “That scammer bastard.”
“Wrong! He had a rock-solid alibi and now he’s free.”
Mackenzie gaped.
“And now both your daughters are dead,” Mark ground on, “and you’re suing him for their millions. The millions you couldn’t inherit until they were both dead.”
The old man’s face was blanching nearly white. “I have a rock-solid alibi too!” he babbled. “They can’t come after me!”
“They can and they will,” Mark said. “You’ve got the only motives that tie all the murders together. Money and revenge. Maybe you tried to take out Hollister and drained the wrong plane. Or maybe you meant to take out Waterbury — he was collateral damage so you could watch Hollister burn. Maybe you want Hollister alive to see your big comeback with your dead daughters’ fortune.”
Mackenzie was panicking, flapping his bony hands like a trapped turkey. “How dare you!” he choked. “How dare you!”
“How dare you,” Mark said, and bent down into his face. “Your damn secrets are going to get the wrong man sent to the chair!”
“I did not kill my own daughters!” Mackenzie shrieked.
From the kitchen, a new voice sliced in.
“Yes you did, Grandpa,” said Vincent. “You killed them both.”
In the kitchen doorway, the kid stood gaunt and haggard, with his face ghostly pale and dark insomnia bruises under his staring eyes.
