The Last Best Lie

by Kennedy Quinn

  I looked at Zach, who was also suppressing a smile. “You should invite him to join you.”

  Her hand fluttered to her neckline. “Oh, I … I wouldn’t want to disturb him.”

  Zach leaned in, his six-foot-four frame dwarfing her. “Oh, go on. We menfolk love cookies. Especially in the company of a pretty little cookie like you,” he added with a wink.

  I barely controlled a groan as Mrs. Naidenheim, grinning from ear to ear, said, “Now, you’re just terrible. Madison, isn’t he just terrible?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He definitely is. And, I’m sorry, but we need to be going now.”

  “Of course. You two children have a nice evening.”

  Zach and I descended the stairs into the cooling night. The stars were actually out now—what stars could be seen against the washed-out city sky. A pervasive smell of garlic-laden suppers mixed with the aroma of Mrs. Naidenheim’s arthritis ointment and some enthusiastic gardener’s fertilizer gave character to the night.

  “Sweet lady,” Zach said.

  I looked back and saw Mrs. Naidenheim glancing nervously up toward the third floor. “I hope I still have those urges when I’m that old.”

  “Amen to that. You and me both!”

  I heard a window rise behind us. “Madison, is that you?” a dignified voice called out.

  As Zach put the birdcage in the narrow backseat of his red pickup, I turned. A thin, elderly man leaned out the window. He wore a turquoise short-sleeved shirt buttoned to the top, with a red and white polka-dot bow tie. His shirt was tucked into khaki pants pulled halfway up his chest. I didn’t know about the cookies, but he could sure use Mrs. Naidenheim to teach him how to dress. He lifted his thick spectacles and peered underneath them. “Is that you?”

  I waved. “Good evening, Mr. Keeper. How are you?”

  Mrs. Naidenheim rather quickly left the porch to stand on the grass. Peering up at him, she waved. “Hello, Frederick.”

  He started, banging his head on the window. “Ah, Millie. What a pleasure to see you.”

  “Yes, yes, very. I, um—” She glanced at me, and I nodded to her. “I was wondering if you might like to join me for some fresh-baked cookies. If you’re not too busy, that is.”

  “Certainly.” He cleared his throat. “Very kind. Very kind, indeed.”

  Zach and I shared a grin as he put the rest of George’s things on the seat beside the cage.

  “But first,” Mr. Keeper said, “I was wondering if our young lady knew anything about that paraphernalia in the bushes on the side of the house.”

  I looked up at him. “What’s that, Mr. Keeper?”

  “Right over there,” he said, pointing to his right. “On the side of the house, beneath Jake’s windows. I noticed it earlier when I was watering my flowers.”

  “I’ll get a flashlight.” Zach leaned into the car.

  “We’ll check it out,” I said, walking toward the side yard. As Zach caught up with me, a window rose again. We looked up to see Mr. Keeper leaning out of his side office window.

  “It’s over there,” he said, pointing. “That bush.”

  Zach and I searched the thick branches—a task difficult enough in broad daylight and just plain annoying in the dark—before finally finding a large manila-colored envelope. I took it, flicking off pieces of greenery from my arm, as something heavy fell to the ground. It was a metal lockbox, rectangular and about eight by ten inches. Zach and I squatted by it. He shone the flashlight over it. “It’s dusty,” he said, raising an eyebrow meaningfully.

  “And the perfect size?” I said, my heart racing.

  “Yup, for the empty patch on the shelf.”

  We both looked up. “Right below Jake’s window.” I smiled broadly, and he smiled back.

  Zach straightened. “Let’s go where we can have privacy. I’ll put these in the truck.”

  “Okay.” As I walked back into the front yard, the third-floor window slid open again.

  “Do you have it?” Mr. Keeper said.

  “Yes, sir. We’re going to take it with us.”

  “Oh, and Madison, would you ask Jake if he’d be so kind as to tell the landlord that he needs to be more sparse in his application of fertilizer? The odor of manure has clung to my apartment since mid-morning, and few people say ‘no’ to our good Mr. Thibodaux.”

  “Yes, I noticed the smell too, Mr. Keeper. I’ll ask Jake.”

  “Thank you. And I’ll be right down, Millie,” he called out toward the front porch.

  Mrs. Naidenheim’s eyes shone. I winked at her. “Good luck. And don’t—”

  A loud explosion split the air. My body jerked in shock. Knees buckling, I fell to the ground, stunned at the sight of flames shooting from the window where Mr. Keeper had stood!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I stared, mouth open, kneeling paralyzed on the ground. Then Zach was there, dragging me to my feet. “You okay?” he shouted.

  All I could do was nod dumbly.

  “Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear!” Mrs. Naidenheim stood dazed on the porch, her eyes fixated on the conflagration above her. She stumbled and went down on one knee, her hands trembling wildly. Zach reached her just as she fell. He scooped her up and carried her to me. He laid her on the ground, and I fell to my knees beside her. Zach grabbed my arm, putting it on hers. “Take care of her!” Then he turned and ran back for the house.

  “Zach, no! It’s too late!” I tried to rise, but Mrs. Naidenheim grabbed my hand.

  “Dear, dear. Oh, no. No. No.” Her whole body shook in a palsied tremor, and her eyes were wide and wild. “What happened? What happened?”

  I grabbed her by both shoulders. “Mrs. Naidenheim, you have to calm down. Millie, look at me!” Her body practically convulsed. She turned to me, no recognition in her eyes, and then her head lolled back, and the color drained from her face. She slumped in my arms, the sudden weight yanking hard at my stitches.

  “No! God, no! Millie! Millie! Can you hear me?” I fumbled to free a hand and pressed it to her jugular. No pulse!

  “Call 911!” I yelled into the night, my crisis training taking over. I laid her on the ground and began chest compressions. Hot tears flooded my eyes, but I blinked them away and shut out the roaring flames and heat at my back. Zach’s going to be okay. He has to be! He has to! “Help!” I yelled, my voice breaking. “Call 911!”

  A man fell heavily to his knees beside me. I turned. “Hunter! Where did you—?”

  “You got this? Do you need me to take it?”

  “No, I got it,” I croaked. “Zach—my friend—he went back in the building!”

  Hunter jumped to his feet and ran toward the house. I didn’t look. I wanted to! I wanted to run after him, but if I stopped, Mrs. Naidenheim would die. I swallowed hard, my throat raw from gasping back tears, and kept pushing on her chest. Her body rocked to the rhythm of my compressions, inert as one of her dolls. Come on!You can do it, Millie! Come back!

  Suddenly, I was being lifted to my feet. I struggled to break away. “I have to help her!”

  “It’s okay, we got her,” a voice said. Strong arms pulled me to one side as a uniformed man went down on one knee beside Mrs. Naidenheim, covering her mouth with an oxygen mask. Another paramedic threw a defibrillator to the ground. I stumbled back, slipping away from the hands that held me. Bright pulsing lights flared in my peripheral vision, and I fought to focus amid the swirl. Orange flames engulfed the upper floor of the building, spiked tendrils—like living barbs—shot high into the night, and black smoke billowed out against the gray night sky.

  Zach! Hunter!

  I ran for the house, pushing past firemen. Someone clutched at my back. I slapped at the hands and wriggled free of the grip. Then they were both there, in the doorway! I stumbled backward, nearly collapsing from relief. Thank God! Oh, thank God!

  Hunter had Zach by the arm. They half ran, half staggered out of the building. Zach went down to his knees, and Hunter hauled him up. Throwing
the younger man’s arm over his shoulder, he pulled Zach off the steps. Two firemen ran forward and took Zach. One put a mask on his face and led him away. Hunter waved off another’s help, then coughed hard, wincing and putting a hand to his chest as his whole body convulsed. As he looked up, I caught his gaze.

  “Are you okay?” I mouthed.

  Nodding, he jerked his head toward Zach, who now sat on the lowered tailgate of his truck, clutching an oxygen mask to his face as a medic took his vitals. I jogged over to him. Zach’s face was streaked black. Sweat soaked his clothes and plastered his blond hair to his skull. His eyes met mine, and he shook his head. I understood: Mr. Keeper was dead.

  For several seconds, I stood beside him, gently rubbing his arm. He put the mask down and nodded to a space behind me. I turned. Two men pulled a body cart across the lawn, its wheels dancing over the grass, then jumping and shaking against the concrete of the sidewalk. Mrs. Naidenheim lay strapped onto it, her body wrapped in a blanket, a breathing tank strapped beside her. I sighed in relief. She’s alive!

  I caught the eye of one of the men, who shrugged as he and his partner rushed her toward the ambulance. She’s alive for now, the look said. They pushed the cart into the rear of the vehicle hard, causing the wheels to fold up with a gut-wrenching clang. The man climbed in beside her as the other ran to the front. The vehicle’s lights flared. It jumped into gear and shrieked into the night.

  I sat down hard beside Zach. He drew me close. “Eight seconds at a time, Darlin’,” he whispered into my hair.

  It was almost all I could do to simply nod. “I … I need to check on Hunter. Will you be okay?” He smiled but then started coughing again, the hacking coming from deep inside his chest. A paramedic walked by, grabbed Zach’s hand that held the mask, pushed the plastic back over his nose and mouth, and kept walking. Zach raised an eyebrow, his chagrin clear even through the translucent covering, and breathed deeply.

  I nodded, patting his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

  By now, a crowd spilled onto the neighboring yards. Along with cops, firefighters, and rescue personnel, I recognized local business owners and a half dozen other passersby. The blaze seemed under control as water streamed into the upper floors from braced fire hoses, but the air was thick with the oppressive stench of soot carried on the flame-stoked breeze. I looked around for Hunter, moving between gawking onlookers, when I noticed Zach’s hat on the ground by the porch. I picked it up and rubbed off the dirt. After all, a cowboy needs his hat.

  One of the firemen walked by me, calling out to another: “One body, top floor. Not a lot left. Ask the Captain if we can get it now. The floor’s too unstable to leave it there.”

  Mr. Keeper. My throat tightened as despair rushed through me. Lowering my head, I hugged the hat to my chest and stood still, letting the world rush around me, trying to find a still, safe place inside. I heard a familiar voice call out to me. “Lilly?” I said in response.

  She jogged up to me. Her muscles were as taut as mummy skin. I could almost feel adrenaline surging through her. She said, “We heard the call on our radio. What happened?”

  Wearily, I shrugged. “I don’t know. There was no warning. And, Mr. Keeper wasn’t even supposed to be here. None of us was.” I swallowed hard.

  She said nothing, her expression dark and angry as she stared at the building.

  That’s when I spotted Nestor at the far right of the lawn. He was speaking with a neighbor and listening with the intensity of a man whose life depended on what he was hearing. When the neighbor shook his head and walked away, Nestor looked up at the window where Mr. Keeper had stood. His eyes seemed full of dread, as if he’d heard something he couldn’t bear to believe.

  “How well did Nestor know Mr. Keeper?” I asked Lilly.

  “What?” She glanced over her shoulder at Nestor and then turned back to stare at the house. “I don’t know. Ask him.” Her attention was clearly fixated on the blaze above. She shook her head. “Timing is everything,” she said quietly. Before I could even ask her to explain that cryptic comment, we were distracted by a shout from the doorway. We looked at the same time. Two firefighters came out carrying a body bag between them. My head dropped again. Lilly reached out and laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “What are you doing here?” Despite the gentleness of her touch, her voice had a tight edge to it.

  “I came to get Jake’s pet bird. And, then, I started looking … and, well, the important thing is, I think I found something.”

  She went stock still, not even breathing, as if she were an impala who’d just heard a rustling sound in the grass: Wind? Herd-mate? Predator? Finally, she said, “What?”

  “A box. Lilly, I think there’s a clue—We should tell Nestor—”

  “No!” Her hand on my shoulder tightened painfully. I winced. She stepped closer, lowering her voice, conspiratorially. “Listen to me. I know you trust him, but there are things you don’t know and that can get people killed.” She glanced around. I followed her gaze and saw Nestor occupied in conversation with a fireman, some twenty meters away. She put her back to him, blocking him from my view. “I know how to end this. You need to come with me.”

  “I don’t know, Lilly. Maybe we should—”

  Hunter walked up, his dark eyes glowering. “I’ll take it from here,” he said.

  Lilly stepped between us. “I don’t need your help, Hunter. I’ve got her.”

  His gaze raked over her. “Oh, aren’t you brave? Get out of my way.”

  She threw back her shoulders and put one hand on his chest, her other going toward her gun. “You don’t get to talk to me like that, old man.”

  Hunter snorted and flicked her hand away. “You’d better be careful, little girl. Everyone knows you’re jonesing for that promotion. I know the people who can make it happen, and those who can make sure it never happens. Do you really want to cross me?”

  Lilly hesitated, doubt creasing her brows. My eyes narrowed, defensive instincts rearing up like a lioness protecting her sister from a pride-male. Sure, I was grateful to Hunter for helping Zach, but that didn’t mean I’d let him pick on Lilly when she was only trying to help me.

  I stepped toward him. “Can’t you act like a human being for one minute?”

  “You didn’t seem to think I was such a monster when I rescued your boyfriend’s ass.”

  “He’s not my boy—Damn it, don’t change the subject!”

  “How about this for a subject?” He pointed behind me at the blaze. “That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t pulled that harebrained stunt and run away.”

  Stunned, I stepped back. “Are you insane? Why would you say that?”

  “What do you think happened here, Angel? That was a bomb, and I’ll bet it was meant for you. If you’d come with me today, this might not have happened. But, no, you’re too damn good to play by the rules. Your type always is.”

  The implication staggered me. “It … it could have been an accident. A water heater—”

  He snorted. “On the top floor?”

  “I, maybe—maybe Mr. Keeper had some kind of equipment, like, a, a propane tank—” I looked back at the flames writhing on the roof. A cold horror settled in my stomach. Could it be true? Was this meant for me? And that meant—Oh, my God. Mr. Keeper died because of me? And Mrs. Naidenheim? What if she dies? That’ll be my fault too!

  Lilly shouldered me aside. “What makes you so sure it was a bomb, Hunter? And while we’re at it, how did you get here so fast? Mike over there told me you were already here when the firefighters arrived, but the station is only a block away. Maybe I should look into that.”

  Hunter glared at her. “Watch your mouth, girl. You think you can start accusing—”

  My temper snapped. I whirled on Hunter, slapped him with Zach’s hat, and then punched him hard in the chest with my other hand. “You son of a bitch! A man died here! You are not going to blame that on me! Bastard!”

  Hunter barely flinched as I struck him again.
He grabbed my hand. “Calm down, damn it. I didn’t say it’s your fault a man died. His death is on the killer’s head. But you didn’t have to make it easy for him.”

  My mouth dropped open. I was so appalled by the creeping terror that he might be right that I couldn’t formulate a response.

  Suddenly, I was being whirled around. Nestor gripped my upper arms hard. His gaze bore down on me, clearly oblivious to Hunter and his partner. “What did he look like?”

  “Wh—what? Who?”

  “Take it easy,” Lilly said, reaching for Nestor’s arm.

  But he shrugged her off, almost absently, as if he barely registered anyone’s presence but mine. “I got a description of a stranger wandering around here this morning. A man. You have to tell me what he looked like.” Then his eyes roamed my face, as if desperately looking for some affirmation of … of what?

  “I don’t—I wasn’t here.” I started to say.

  Hunter stepped forward, leaning in toward Nestor. “Back off, boy,” he commanded as he yanked one of Nestor’s hands free of my shoulder. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to protect me or just playing alpha and making certain he was seen as the biggest bad around.

  I gasped in shock as, with brown eyes blazing, Nestor shoved Hunter with the heel of his hand. “I bloodied you once, old man. I’ll do it again!”

  Hunter slapped his hand away. “Watch who the fuck you put your hands on, boy!”

  Without a word, Nestor swung at him. Hunter dodged, lightning quick, but the blow still caught him on the shoulder, staggering him. He bared his teeth and charged, shoulder first, shoving Nestor backward. Nestor ground his heels in and managed to slam his fist into the bigger man’s gut. Hunter took the impact with little more than a grunt. Hunter grabbed Nestor’s hands, and they pushed against each other, like wrestlers, each grappling for the upper hand. Other men ran up and tried to drag them apart. Lilly grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me away, but I twisted out of her grip, locked on the sight.

  Lilly yanked my arm, literally pulling me off balance. “Leave them alone. This isn’t about you. Maybe they’ll finally kill each other and get it over with.”