A friend, came back.
I searched the beach area and thought of Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver.
You looking at me?!!!!
LOL. I loved that movie.
Yeah, well go to the police. I’m sunning.
This is personal.
Personal.
I typed, How personal?
A past made right.
Christ.
Trust me. You’ll have to leave the sun tomorrow.
My friend hadn’t sent me on a wild goose chase before, so I was mildly interested. Actually, I was intrigued.
I’ll be waiting, I typed back.
Our communication ended, and I headed back to the bar and ordered a double scotch—neat.
My sleep was erratic, and I woke several times, wondering where my new text friend was sending me. I was up by six a.m. and made a strong cup of coffee in my hotel room.
Text already!
At eight, I went in search of breakfast, finding Rick’s Simply Great Coffee cafe a few blocks from my hotel. I selected a quiet booth in the corner, and when the server arrived, a young brunette with a charming smile, and asked for my order, I made it simple: two eggs over medium, rye toast, and lots of coffee.
While waiting for my food, I called Elizabeth. After several rings, she answered with a friendly, “Morning, Hank.”
“I guess my caller ID gave me away.”
“It did,” she whispered. “And I know why you’re calling. You’re gonna ask if everything is okay, right?”
“You got me.” A soft laugh.
“We’re in bed. Nick’s still sleeping.”
“Sorry to disturb you.”
“You’re not. It’s nice knowing you care.” She giggled softly. “And I promise not to open the door to strangers.”
“Or Amanda.”
Her laugh crackled with tension. “Especially her.”
By nine, I finished breakfast and strolled across the street to the beach. As I passed bikini-clad bathers, my phone buzzed. It wasn’t my phantom friend; it was JR.
“Hank, sorry for the delay. My voicemail was swamped. What happened?”
I told him about the previous day. “Jesus,” he said, “bad timing. Sorry I wasn’t around for the fireworks.”
“Just as well, it wasn’t pretty. But the good news is Nick and Elizabeth are safe, so no worries. I did the panicking yesterday.” I paused. “I’ve been waiting for the text guy to contact me. He’s got me on another mission, something about Amanda. I’m not sure I want any more excitement with her.”
“You trust him?”
“The guy’s been right so far. I’m just getting antsy.”
“What the hell does he know that the cops don’t?”
“Beats me.” I heard a text coming through. “Gotta run.”
He apologized for the delay. Then added,
It will be worth it.
I found a bench near the lifeguard shack and sat.
Talk to me, I punched in.
He sent me a long-linked message. At first, I thought he was crazy, but it finally made sense.
You’re sure about this????
I am now.
I need to make flight arrangements.
No rush, friend. You have a Chance.
My eyes held onto the last word. Was he sending a cryptic message by capitalizing the C in Chance? Was he finally identifying himself? Wasn’t he supposed to be dead?
I called JR.
“I need your help.”
“Anything.”
“Your aunt told you Nick’s fishing buddy, Chance, was dead, right? What if he isn’t dead? What if Chance is my text buddy? The last message I received a few minutes ago said, ‘you have a Chance’ with a capital C. Coincidence?”
“Maybe he was in a rush and…forget that. Okay, you want me to find out if he’s dead?”
“I do. Why would he be hiding behind a text and being evasive? Something’s off, JR. Press your aunt to give you his full name. And if she doesn’t, ask Nick. She might be holding back.”
“I’ll check.”
“Come to think of it, why would he bother finding Amanda? Nick is free,” I said. “And how the hell is he able to get this information unless—”
“Maybe he’s law enforcement. If he is, he’ll bring Amanda to justice.”
“Through you,” he added.
We disconnected, and I returned to the hotel, jumped on the guest computer, and made flight reservations.
I had only told JR my plans, and by six-thirty that evening, after checking in my carry-on carrying my locked sidearm, I was on an Allegiant flight to Syracuse, New York. Once there, I had an hour’s drive to Miller Falls, arriving around midnight. I picked the Budget Inn in the heart of the downtown area.
When I arrived, I texted my friend, telling him I was safe and sound.
Wanna meet for a drink? I asked seriously.
An early rise. Text you at eight.
Like I was about to sleep. I tried, and eventually nodded off around three, after a quick bathroom run.
My cell alarm greeted me at seven. After showering and making a cup of coffee, I sat and waited. He was prompt.
Ready?
I punched in a thumbs up.
ET’s Carwash. Good luck.
ET, Elizabeth and Terry’s carwash. I arrived in five minutes and found a dozen cars lined up. I was told snow had blasted through the area five days before, and drivers were lined up to rinse salt off their cars. My rental didn’t need washing, so I parked just outside the business property and got in line.
After a customer received a ticket, they entered a long interior walkway toward the cashier. Along the way, customers were treated to watching each stage of the washer/dryer operation, which ended at the cashier’s booth.
I stood behind a guy wearing a Mad Bomber hat. When it was my turn to get a ticket, I pointed. “I’m with him.”
The Mad Bomber guy, around sixty, seemed to enjoy the show. He was on the phone with someone describing every detail. What else was there to do in winter in Miller Falls?
The guy was getting on my nerves. I mean, he kept pointing to an old, shitty blue Ford Fiesta, for God’s sake. Turn it in already!
Slow down, Hank.
My heart raced. Would Amanda be standing behind the plexiglass window collecting the payment with a smile? And if so, then what? I couldn’t arrest her. All I could do was threaten.
Stepping closer, three people in front of me, I tucked my hands in a coat I’d brought from home to Fort Lauderdale. The cold was especially intense, or was it my fear of what I’d find?
Two people left. I looked around. Outside of the sounds from the machines soaping, rinsing, and drying, it felt eerily quiet. Approaching, I wondered what Amanda was doing here in the first place. She wasn’t the owner, and as far as I knew, Elizabeth hadn’t handed over the keys to the business.
Or had she?
But what the hell did Amanda know about the carwash business?
The Mad Bomber hatter in front of me turned to pay, pushing his receipt and a ten-dollar bill through the narrow plexiglass slot. He had a dour expression and remained silent.
My turn. I took a deep breath, walked up to the booth, and made eye contact with the cashier. It wasn’t Amanda; it was Terry’s sidekick, Sammy. What the hell was he doing here?
He smiled. “Where’s your ticket?” he asked politely. He obviously didn’t recognize me, and I suspected it had to do with the black wool cap pulled down above my eyes.
“You have a ticket?” he asked again.
“Sorry, I lost it.”
He frowned. “Seriously? Well, I gotta charge you for the works then. Ten dollars.”
I took out a ten, handed it through the slot, and said, “I thought you were sitting in jail.” I removed my cap and smiled.
His eyes widened. “The fuck.”
“Amanda pay your bail?”
At first, I thought he was going to dive through the plexiglass, which made n
o sense considering it was smaller than a medicine cabinet. He stopped, realizing it wasn’t a good idea, and hightailed it to the back.
“Amanda!” he yelled.
She was here. I looked around for an entrance, and when I found it, raced inside. Sammy charged out, glaring at me, and holding a black pipe in his hand.
“You fuck.”
He swung high, and I took a glancing blow to the shoulder. I dove into him, knocking him against a wall, but he held onto the pipe and tried to thrust it at me. I grabbed his wrist and twisted it, the pipe dropping to the floor. Sammy yelped in pain.
“What’s going on?” a customer cried out.
“Call the cops,” I demanded.
Sammy headbutted me and shot his hand downward toward his ankle. I kicked him in the groin, and he wailed as I jammed my fist into his solar plexus, and he dropped.
“Where is she?” I demanded, jerking him off the floor.
He was dazed and moaned. I turned my head and heard a commotion coming from outside. I pulled Sammy’s knife out from his ankle sheath and pocketed it. Someone was yelling that his car was being hijacked. I dropped Sammy to the floor and ran out.
“She took my car!” an elderly guy cried. “I just bought it.”
I ran up to him. “What make was it?”
“A white Camry.”
“A woman?”
“I think the owner. What the hell!”
Right, what the hell!
Amanda made a quick right onto a main road. I ran to my rental and struggled to insert the key in the ignition. I finally engaged the engine and shot out, but a slow-moving sanitation truck spreading salt blocked my view of the road.
Reaching the light, I took the same right turn as Amanda. The traffic was slow, but she was weaving in and out between cars. I flashed the cars in front of me to move aside and caught up within a hundred feet from her when the light up ahead turned yellow. She sailed through it, and I followed, nearly clipping a pick-up truck.
I speed-dialed JR, and when he answered, my voice rushed. “I’m chasing Amanda in Miller Falls. You need to call the locals.”
“Can you be more precise, Hank?”
“Hold on.” I drove another fifty yards before catching a sign. “I’m on Holly Road heading, hell, I don’t know, but I just passed a Walmart on my right. Can’t be too many of them locally.” I disconnected, dropped the phone on the passenger seat, and upped my speed. I was gaining, but she took a hard right down a narrow two-lane road. I stepped on the gas, but she was driving crazy. My speedometer was north of sixty in a thirty-five-an-hour zone. The snow hadn’t melted, and her car began to swerve.
This was madness, but Amanda wouldn’t stop.
Until she did.
Fifty yards ahead, she slammed head-on into a chestnut oak tree. I skidded up over the curb and was able to stop before plowing into a light pole. I jumped out of my car and raced to hers, but the driver’s side door was open, and when I peered inside, she was gone.
She had managed to unbuckle her seatbelt and take off. I glanced at a nearby, sparse-winter woods and noticed a trail of blood. I spotted her stumbling past a giant oak.
“It’s over,” I called out. “The police are on their way.”
She staggered and tried to bore on, then wobbled at a crawl. Leaning onto a tree, she turned to me, her face bloodied and one arm hanging limp.
At first, I had my doubts. Maybe it was the blonde wig, but her soft smile told me it was Amanda.
“It’s over,” I repeated, catching up to her.
“How?” she forced.
“Find you? I have a friend. He told me you’d be here.”
“Friend?”
“Long story, but yeah.” I looked over my shoulder, then back to Amanda. “You’ll be arrested for the murders of Billy and Terry. As for Billy, it would have been easier to divorce him.”
Amanda’s glossy eyes settled on mine.
“Janice was vulnerable,” she struggled, “and he took advantage of her. She realized being with him was wrong. Nick told me she was about to confess.” She stopped, caught her breath. “I got Billy to admit he persuaded her to take an overdose of pills, the bastard. He killed her, Hank. And he paid for it.”
I let her have her say and nodded. “How come you didn’t kill Nick when you had the chance? You blamed him—”
She waved her good arm. “I forgave him—”
“Yet you set him up after you murdered Terry.”
She winced in pain. “I was angry. I thought he could have done more to help her.” Her chest heaved and her breathing faltered. “I realized after talking to him at the cemetery that I was wrong.”
Sirens echoed in the distance. I asked Amanda if she had anything else to tell me before they patched her up and took her away.
She coughed, blood oozing from her mouth. She touched my arm for support. Or maybe more. “I wish things had been different between us. I think we fit well together.” She kissed my cheek.
A police car pulled up next to the wreck.
“Where are the paramedics?” I called out.
The patrolman’s eyes shot up toward us. “They’re on their way,” he shouted, walking toward us.
I sensed Amanda was in a great deal of pain and pleaded, “Don’t give up on me. They’ll be here any minute.”
She placed her head in the crook of my neck and with labor, whispered, “I could have loved you more.”
I smiled softly and nodded. “Me too.”
“Please tell Elizabeth I forgive her.”
I held her, gave her a final kiss, before she went limp in my arms.
Thirty-Eight
As the ambulance barreled away with Amanda inside, I returned to the white Camry she had stolen, now embedded in the tree. The young uniformed patrolman, who identified himself as McCabe, began firing off questions, and I answered a few, including identifying the crash victim.
At the corner of my eye, I noticed a car parked haphazardly across the street. A curious motorist?
“Be right back.” I hustled toward it, but as I stepped within recognition of the driver, the black Hyundai shot out and sped down the road too fast to get a plate number. I had a sense it was my text friend in a rental.
Upon returning, Mc Cabe asked, “You know the guy in that car?”
“Guy?”
“Well, whoever?”
“No. Must have been a curious bystander,” I lied with a shrug.
“I knew her sister,” McCabe started. “Through the carwash business. Nice lady. Didn’t know she was a twin.” He stopped and frowned. “Didn’t think too much of her husband. I knew he was shady, and some say he had connections with local cops, so they left him alone.”
“I heard that too.”
“Rumor had it she ran away from the creep. Marital problems. She ever divorce him?”
“Too late for that. He was killed in Fort Lauderdale by her sister.” I nodded toward the Camry.
“No shit.” He thought a moment. “Let me get this straight. Amanda killed Elizabeth’s husband, and then she comes here pretending to be…Elizabeth. So, you think they cut a deal? You kill my husband and earn a carwash business?”
I smiled. McCabe had a point. “We’ll have to find out.” I asked him if he knew a guy who went by Blade.
“Oh yeah. Didn’t care for him either. He was part of Terry’s circle. He involved in the murder, too?”
I shrugged. “Looks that way. He’s sitting in a Broward County jail cell.”
After a few moments, McCabe sighed. “Anyway, I’m gonna need you to come back to the station and fill out some forms.”
“I’ll follow you.”
I was a few miles out of town when my cell pinged.
Good job.
I don’t usually text and drive, but I responded with, Thanks Chance. Why did you drive away?
Wasn’t me. Safe trip home.
Was it a coincidence an uninterested party stopped near the crash site?
So, you
don’t want to meet for a beer? I asked.
LOL
Inside the station, I answered a bunch of questions, and McCabe and I exchanged business cards. I added Walker’s name and number to the mix.
“I’m sure he’d appreciate any update on Amanda.”
He nodded.
“I’m staying at the Budget Inn, but only until tomorrow morning, so if you need me for anything, give me a shout.”
Heading back to the inn, I stopped across the street from the carwash. A few people mingled about, including employees, probably waiting for the boss to return. I didn’t have the heart to tell them she was in the hospital, dead or alive.
Sammy wasn’t among them, so I figured he’d split. My guess was Amanda bailed him out to help with the carwash business. He ran it with Terry.
The guy whose car Amanda swiped was still around. I hated to break the news to him. He’d be smart to call a taxi.
Back at the Inn, I called JR and Detective Walker in that order. JR was ecstatic.
“We gotta send your text guy flowers.” He laughed. “Now that we know he’s not dead. Chance, whose real name is Sean Abbott, recovered from, get this, the car accident involving Nick’s wife. He was her lover. My aunt finally admitted that Chance was dead to the family for obvious reasons. I guess now he’s trying to do right by Nick.”
“I’ll be.”
“What can I say, the whole thing was a tragedy. Including Amanda.”
I sighed. “For sure.”
We disconnected and I called Walker. He was flummoxed that I found Amanda in New York, no less.
“I’m gonna hold off asking how you managed that one, Hank. But thanks. Are you returning to Fort Lauderdale, because beers are on me?” He laughed, then mumbled. “You’re a hard one to figure out, Reed.”
I wanted to call Elizabeth, but until I found out her sister’s condition, I held off.
I needed to see Amanda, maybe for the last time, and called McCabe. He arranged to meet me at the Miller Falls Hospital in a half-hour.
With his help, I was allowed into her room, where she was hooked up with tubes, her eyes closed. While McCabe stood by the door, I lingered about ten minutes, saying a prayer and thinking about our short time together. When her doctor arrived, he sounded pessimistic about her prognosis. I handed him my card. “She’s wanted for murder.”
The Edge of Murder (A Hank Reed Mystery, Book 3) Page 19
