The Last Best Lie

by Kennedy Quinn

  The two were dragged apart, three men on each of them.

  “What the hell is the matter with Nestor?” I blurted out, still stunned by my normally uber-chill friend’s bizarre turn to violence.

  Lilly looked over her shoulder, her look dark. “He’s on edge.”

  “Oh, you think? What clued you in, the foaming at the mouth?”

  “This isn’t the first time those two threw down. Last time, Jake practically had to sit on Nestor to get him off. And Nestor wouldn’t talk to Jake for weeks.”

  “Nestor and Hunter have been at it before? What happened?”

  “Who knows why men do anything?” She looked me up and down. “Trust me, they’re not fighting over you.”

  I shook my head, trying to digest the information. True, I’d only known Nestor for a few months, but he’d seemed so easygoing. And why hadn’t Jake ever said anything about their quarrel? “I know Hunter has a temper, but it’s hard to believe he’d disrespect another cop like that, especially in public. Something else must be going on.”

  Lilly stopped cold and looked at me. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head. She smiled slightly. “What are you saying? That maybe Hunter had a grudge against Jake?”

  Surprise forced a blink. “How could you get that out of what I said?”

  “Maybe you’re on to something. Maybe we ought to look into Hunter’s motivations.”

  “Whoa, hang on! You can’t think for a moment that Hunter would hurt Jake!”

  “They’re supposed to be best buddies. So why, when Jake came north, didn’t they go into business together? Hunter’s a big success, so why doesn’t he cut his pal in on all that money?”

  I shifted my weight from one foot to another. “Well … yes, that’s bothered me a little. But men are weird. They’ve got all these stupid contradictory rules. Yes, Hunter came north first and became a big success. Maybe Jake thought working for Hunter would be too much like charity. Or maybe Hunter didn’t want to be overshadowed by Jake again.”

  Her eyes brightened. “You’re right. Maybe Hunter was jealous of Jake!”

  “That’s not what I meant! You’re getting carried away. We’ve got real suspects to worry about. Lathos? And the other guy at the hospital? That’s where we should look.”

  She stared purposefully at me. “I found out that Lathos used to live in New Orleans, and guess who once arrested him for vagrancy?”

  “Jake?”

  “Unh-uh. Hunter.” Her eyes shimmered as if in victory.

  “But Hunter told Voltaire there was no connection between Lathos and himself or Jake.”

  “Uh-huh. When Rasmen asked, Hunter just said he hadn’t remembered. And Voltaire won’t believe anything bad of him. But I think you’re on to something. I can get access to Hunter’s files; let’s take a look.” Lilly herded me backward again. “Besides, we need to get you out of here. This explosion might have nothing to do with you, but we can’t take any chances.”

  I stood my ground. “I don’t want to go to a jail cell.”

  “I’m not taking you there. I’ll take you someplace safe.”

  “No. I can’t do anything if I’m locked up somewhere. And I’m not going to sit on my ass, safe and cozy, while everyone else looks for Jake’s killer. I can take care of myself.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment I thought she might just drag me away anyway. Instead, she took a deep breath. She scanned the crowd still around us and put her hands out in a gesture of surrender. “I know what you’ve probably heard about me, that I only care about getting promoted. And, yeah, I won’t lie, I want it. I deserve it. I do the right things.

  “But right now, I’m a lot more concerned about things getting further out of control. You have to believe me. I’m not the bad guy here. People don’t understand me. They’re always trying to fit me into a box, to make me who they think I should be. No matter what I do, it’s never enough. So, sometimes I rebel a little. But that doesn’t make me wrong. You know?”

  Visions of my mother, Hunter, and even Jake floated before my mind’s eye. How often had I had to defend myself, in much the same way, to each? “Yeah, I do.” I tossed Zach’s hat in my hand, making up my mind. “Okay, we’ll do it your way. Let me give Zach his hat first.”

  She looked ready to protest but then said, “Hurry. I’ll get the car; it’s back a block.”

  I jogged over to Zach, who still sat on the tailgate of his truck washing his face with a hand wipe. He looked almost normal.

  He grinned. “Thanks! That’s my lucky hat. Used it to distract Murderous Intentions one day. Saved me from getting my head stoved-in.” He nodded toward where a cluster of police officers still stood. “What was going on over there? What was that fight about?”

  “I’m not really sure but I—”

  “You!” Hunter’s voice rang out.

  Uh-oh.

  “Trouble’s coming,” Zach said.

  Hunter strode across the yard. Blood stained his collar, and his determined glower said he’d had enough. “You’re coming with me! And I mean now!”

  “Yikes!” I ran for the front of the truck. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Zach slid off the tailgate and walked to the driver’s side. “I can handle him.”

  “Maybe so, but he’s got Voltaire on his side and that could mean jail for both of us!”

  “Fair enough,” Zach said as he jammed the truck into gear and it leapt out onto the road.

  CHAPTER SIX

  We loaded up Fido and drove him to an empty lot behind a friend’s convenience store eight blocks away. Once there, we scrubbed up in the store’s restrooms, and I ditched the hospital shift for one of Zach’s t-shirts. Unfortunately, the best I could do for underwear was a sports bra from the souvenir section. Consequently, “Chicago Rules,” stitched in red, stretched from nipple to nipple beneath the thin, white fabric of my shirt.

  A half hour later, standing inside the rear of Fido’s van, I flipped Zach’s cell phone closed. He was securing the last tie of a large black cargo net to a hook on the wall, neatly bisecting the vehicle. Glancing at me over his shoulder, he said, “Was that the landlady again?”

  “From the office building, yes. She says Mrs. Naidenheim is doing better. Apparently, there aren’t any relatives to call, but she’ll stay with her. No one knows what to do about Mr. Keeper; there’s no one to call for him, either. Damn it, Zach. I feel so guilty running off.”

  Zach gave a tug on the net, testing its hold. “You stick your head up too high and you’re going to be hauled into a holding cell. Best stay low. How about Jake?”

  “He’s stable. That’s something. The problem is the one nurse who’ll talk to me is going off shift soon.” I nodded at the net. “Are you sure that’ll hold?”

  “The hooks will hold. They’re for strapping in heavy boxes and such.”

  “I mean will the net hold him back?” I jerked my thumb toward Fido, who seemed content munching grass. “I don’t want to get stepped on. Maybe we should sleep outside, or in a bed. People have been doing that for centuries now. It’s really caught on.”

  He yanked at the tie again. “It’ll be fine. Anyway, bulls can take out most fences; they just don’t.” Coming up beside me, he put an arm around my waist. “Besides, there’s no better bed on earth than soft blankets spread over a thick layer of sweet-smelling hay.”

  I arched an eyebrow, tempted to ask what his girlfriend, Jolene, might think of the sleeping arrangement. Zach was enough of a straight-shooter that it probably didn’t even occur to him it would bother her. And I was kind of a heel for not mentioning it. But I needed his help and was too tired to wrestle with my conscience. Still, I grimaced as I looked down at the bed he’d made us in the forward corner. “It’s kind of away-in-a-mangerish, don’t you think?”

  “If it’s good enough for our Lord and Savior, it’s good enough for us. And you’ll feel a heap better once you get some sleep under your belt. You do look like death warmed over.”
>
  “Are you remarking on my state of disarray, or is that another of your favorite bulls?”

  He laughed and walked me toward the bed, unhooking the gate to let me through. “I mean you look tired. But that’s not a bad name, come to think of it. I wonder if it’s taken.”

  Glancing back over my shoulder, I said, “Any chance his tether will hold him?”

  “It’s long enough for him to come in and out of the van if he wants.”

  I knelt on our homemade bed. “That’s not what I asked!”

  “How about we take a look at that stuff we got from Jake’s? That’ll occupy your mind.”

  “But what if he steps on my spleen in the middle of the night?” I bit my lip and stared nervously at the muscle-bound beast. “I like my spleen. I’m attached to my spleen. In fact, I’m attached to all of my internal organs, and I’d like to ensure they remain un-stomped upon.”

  Zach grabbed Jake’s things and sat down beside me, putting the box in my lap. “You’re such a girlie-girl. I’ve been stepped on lots of times.” He continued with affected soberness. “It’s when they get their horns up under your rib cage and toss you twenty feet in the air and then rear up over your bleeding, broken body with those sharp hooves aiming straight at your—”

  I struggled to my knees. “That’s it, I’m out of here.”

  He laughed and pulled me back down beside him. “I’m yanking your chain. Don’t worry, he won’t come anywhere near us. Besides, he’s more afraid of you than you are of him.”

  “Really?” I said hopefully.

  “No. Not really.”

  I slapped him on the arm. “I hate you. I want you to know that. I really hate you.”

  “No, you don’t. Now, what do you want to bet the key from the cage,” he said, nodding at the towel-draped cage in the corner, “fits that box we found under the window?”

  I glanced uneasily at Fido but decided to trust Zach’s judgment. Okay, I decided to act like I trusted Zach’s judgment and hope that my brain would buy in to it. It might work. “Fine then, let’s look at the envelope first. Although I bet I know what’s in it.”

  “The missing file?”

  “Yup. Although what the hell it was doing out in the bushes, I can’t imagine.” And, indeed, I pulled a file folder out of the envelope. It contained a page and a half of Jake’s notes, capturing the two short conversations he’d had with the supposed Mrs. Lathos, and his own observations. “Not much here. It confirms that Jake only talked to the wife, or whoever she was, over the phone. No last name for Lathos’s mistress.”

  “Anything else interesting?”

  I scanned the document. “No. Standard stuff. Damn, I was hoping for something more.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe a message from Jake saying, ‘If anything happens to me, here’s the name, address, and a DNA sample of the guilty party.’ ”

  “Yeah. That would’ve been nice.”

  I set the file aside, noticing something sticky on my fingers as I did. “What’s this?” I rubbed my fingers together and sniffed at them. The material on them was scentless, yellowish, and had a consistency between well-masticated chewing gum and dried petroleum jelly.

  Zach held the lamp closer. “Looks kind of like dried-up grease. Strange color, though.”

  I rubbed it off with hay from the floor. “Jake was always cleaning his guns. Could it be from that?”

  Zach grunted. “You put this stuff in your gun, and it ain’t never going to fire again.”

  “You’re right. It’s inordinately viscous for purposes of lubrication.”

  “Uh … come again?”

  “You put this stuff in your gun, and it ain’t never going to fire again.”

  He grinned and slapped me lightly on the back of the head. “Smart-aleck.”

  I smiled at his playfulness. “On the other hand, Jake was always working on that car of his. He said it was one of the few cars left you didn’t have to be a computer geek to fix. And you remember he had that black powder on his desk, too. I wonder if there’s a connection.”

  “Old cars like that have all kinds of parts that get sooted and gummed up. Could be.”

  I pulled the key out of my pocket. My shoulder throbbed its disapproval. “Ow!”

  Zach narrowed his eyes. “Look, you, there’s a time to cowboy up and a time not to. You should take those pain pills the cop gave you.”

  “I’ll be all right once I fall asleep.”

  “Until you roll over on your shoulder.”

  “Hmm. You have a point.”

  Zach glared at me until I dug one of the Percocets out of my pocket and swallowed it with a gulp of water from the thermos nearby. “Happy now?”

  “Delirious.” He kissed the back of my hand.

  The tenderness of the gesture warmed my heart but not half as much as the touch of his lips warmed the rest of me. “So, uh, do you think I should be bothered that Nestor gave me those pills? It’s not particularly legal. Or am I just being a goody two-shoes?”

  “If the two shoes fit …”

  “Very funny. Let’s just see if the key fits.”

  “Bingo,” Zach said as I opened the box. Jake’s PI license lay on top of the pile. Beneath that, his office and apartment leases and his concealed carry permit. “Nothing special. Oh, wait! What do we have here?” I picked up a small white envelope addressed to Hunter.

  As I started to open it, Zach put his hand on mine. “Hang on. That’s personal.”

  “Look, someone tried to steal this box the same day Jake was shot. But why? What’s so important about this box?” I tore the envelope open and shook it over my lap. Out fell a single sheet of standard writing paper, folded into thirds, and a small pink receipt. I opened the larger paper to reveal two columns of numbers. The left column was clearly dates, with each corresponding to a thirteen-digit number in the right one. “What do you think?” I said.

  “No idea. Anything else on the paper?”

  I held it in front of the electric lamp beside us. “Nothing.”

  Zach clicked his fingers. “Maybe they’re bank accounts, and those are the dates Jake opened them. Maybe Jake’s secretly a millionaire, or even a billionaire.”

  “Given what he pays me, if he is, I’ll kill him. No. They seem more like serial numbers. Clearly they mean something to Hunter, or Jake would have left some kind of explanation.”

  “What about the receipt?”

  I examined the paper. “It’s a five-year-old claim check for a suit from the Potomac Cleaners in Sterling, Virginia. I know the area; I have a cousin who’s a White House intern. It’s a bedroom community outside Washington, D.C.” I drew my brows together in thought. “That suit’s not likely to be there still.”

  “My momma puts all her receipts in envelopes. Maybe Jake used this envelope for that, too, and it got stuck there. Heck, I’m always finding them little papers in pockets and drawers.”

  “Me too, but still …” I chewed on my lower lip for a moment before putting the receipt back in the envelope. “Let’s see what else is here.”

  That’s when I saw it: a large manila envelope with a note stapled to it: Madison, If something happens to me, tell Fancy in person. Give her what’s in here, and give Hunter the rest. Take good care of George. Jake.

  A trill of adrenaline rushed up my arms. “Zach! Jake did know he was in danger!” A business card was stapled on the note, belonging to “F. Gloria Smith” at a Gorman’s Department Store in New Orleans. “Do you think the ‘F’ stands for Fancy?”

  “Must be.” Interest lit up Zach’s sky-blue eyes.

  I tore open the envelope and shook it over the blanket between us, hurriedly sorting through the contents: Jake’s badge, a deed for forty acres in Louisiana, a Christmas Club bank book worth $412.15, and, finally, his will. The will was a fill-in-the-blank document: the executrix was the same “F. Gloria Smith.” She got the money and the land. Hunter was to get Jake’s guns and any business paraphernalia he wanted
. Whatever he didn’t want would be sold and the profits given to F. Gloria: Fancy. I got the bird, which, at the moment, seemed rather apt.

  My shoulders fell. “This is no help. Is there anything else in the box?”

  “Just these.” Zach pulled out three small three-by-five-inch photographs.

  I took them. The first picture showed a woman—brunette, petite, perhaps thirty years old—proudly displaying a bundled baby to the camera. Muted colors gave the picture a sense of serenity, and, guessing from the style of clothes, the photo seemed to be about twenty years old. The second photo, clearly more recent, showed a woman, eighteen to twenty years old, more robust, smiling at a tiny blue parakeet perched on her finger. Although her face was more angular and her nose longer, the two women were clearly related. And the young girl definitely had Jake’s eyes. “They look like mother and daughter.”

  “Jake’s kin, maybe? His wife and daughter?”

  “I don’t know if he was married. I asked him once but never got a straight answer. Just that stony silence thing he’d do. But this photo of the younger woman is about three years old.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  I pointed to the picture. “Look at the markings on the baby bird. It’s George. He’s a little over three now.” I noted how the young woman gazed affectionately at the bird. “You know that makes sense. If George was Jake’s daughter’s bird, it would explain why Jake took such great care of him. I mean, Jake’s really not a bird person. He’s more the floppy-eared hunting dog type.”

  “So, where’s the daughter now? Why does Jake have her bird? And where’s Mom?”

  “Good questions. If you come up with good answers, let me know.” I turned the pictures over. The backs were blank.

  Zach took the third photo. “This one doesn’t look anything like the others.”

  Taken maybe five years ago, the picture featured a blond, maybe in her late twenties, thin, pretty, with model-perfect makeup. She wore short shorts and a skimpy halter top, very skimpy. Her eyes, the kind of blue that would make a Montana sky envious, stared out of the picture like a dare. And as much as I hated to say it, this woman was clearly from a lower socioeconomic class than the others.