by John Evans
“About the car . . .” I hesitated, remembering how my wallet was being held as evidence.
“Granger’s towed it to the police station. There was no damage, nothing stolen that I’m aware of,” he offered casually. He tossed me the keys. “Pick it up whenever.”
“How about my purse?” Liza asked quickly.
“I don’t think he touched anything. He just needed to get out of town fast.”
Devereaux paused and pulled out his notebook and flipped through the pages. I got the impression he was not looking for anything particular but was establishing the fact that he was conducting an investigation. “We’ll keep the gun for now,” he said and his eyes darted up from his notes. “Unless you have a permit to carry.”
For an instant, I was puzzled and confused, trying to figure out what gun Devereaux was talking about.
“A gun?” Liza gave me a quick glance.
Devereaux paused, pencil on pad, and stared at Liza. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ on the permit to carry.”
Devereaux scribbled something in his notes. When he was done, he looked at Liza sternly. “It was in your purse,” Devereaux said. “Fully loaded.” He allowed the accusation to hang in the air. And then he added. “That’s a felony in just about every state from Florida to Pennsylvania.”
His tone led me to think his next move would be to slap a set of handcuffs on her and lead her away, but Liza brightened. “Stomp must have put it there,” she said and flashed a smile.
It was such an absurd lie and so transparent that Devereaux stared at her blankly. “Guess he figured you needed some protection,” he said at last.
“Probably.”
Devereaux broke into a grin that was almost fatherly. “Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what happened.” And this time, his tone told me that he was happy to let the matter drop. Liza batted her eyelashes contritely—a silent admission of guilt mixed with gratitude.
Devereaux closed his notebook and the conversation switched gears. Devereaux dropped his stoic, official face and became openly friendly, chatting with Liza about her trip to Fannett Meadow. As I had discovered earlier, Devereaux was a master of the informal interrogation, but Liza was a genius at evasion—and to the casual observer their conversation was warm and amiable.
“Christ, he’s good,” Liza said as we watched Devereaux pull away.
“You’re pretty good yourself,” I reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “What’s the business with the gun?”
Liza stared at me for a moment and then smiled. “You’re not the only one who borrows a car and a gun from a Mr. Starchy Pants.”
CHAPTER 39
On the way back to the Crow’s Nest, I stopped by Granger’s Garage to make arrangements to pick up Liza’s Mustang and told him that my Saturn was dead. Mike Granger said he’d take care of both. Then we ducked into Sally’s Diner across the street for a quick breakfast before returning to the Crow’s Nest. In the daylight, the architectural peculiarities of my father’s house brought themselves to notice.
“What’s up there?” Liza asked, pointing to the circular structure at the top.
“It’s an observatory,” I said, “with a three-sixty view of the world.”
Once inside the house, Liza raced ahead of me to the stairs to the observatory. The windows leaned outward for a better view of things directly below and Liza approached them carefully.
“Wow! Look at that!” She stood, hands on hips, gazing out across the valley and shaking her head in wonder and awe. I joined her and viewed the valley below with new eyes, appreciating the beauty beyond for the first time.
Liza took slow, crossover steps as she moved clockwise around the room, pausing for a few moments to study the world below. I moved with her silently as we circled the room. She stepped closer to the glass and shielded her eyes
“Someone’s down at the Farmhouse.”
I wheeled the Nikon next to Liza for a better look. A twist of the knob brought Cash Williams into focus, and limping next to him was Dusty. I had forgotten all about him. Cash’s car was parked in front of the garage and they were heading to the back deck of the Farmhouse.
“Christ,” I muttered.
“Bill collector?” Liza nudged me aside to take a peek.
She had no idea how close she was. I had forgotten about Cash and his thousand-dollar fee.
“You might say that,” I said. “I owe the one some money.” I grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her away from the telescope. “Come on.”
I wanted to get to the Farmhouse before Cash decided to explore and find his way to the top of the mountain. If he smelled money down at the farm, he’d be blown away by the stench of it at the Crow’s Nest. He expected a cool thousand, and I knew where to get it.
At my father’s study, I slipped through the door, repeating the combination to myself. Even as I turned the knob, I knew that I was about to violate a solemn trust. I pulled open the top drawer and was once again awestruck by the sight of so much money in actual cash. Packets of fifties with brown bands marked $5,000 and mustard-colored packets of hundreds labeled $10,000 filled the top drawers from front to back. And as my fingers closed on a pack of hundred-dollar bills, I vowed to replace the money before my father returned from Chicago. I never wanted him to suspect that I had entered his vault for anything other than the gun.
I pulled ten bills out of the packet and tucked them into my pocket. I then placed the packet crossways in the drawer so I would always know which one was short—which one I would re-fill one or two bills at a time until my debt was paid.
“Sheesh, he’s got a regular bank vault here.”
Liza was in the doorway of the vault, leaning against the steel jam with arms crossed. I suspected that she saw everything. I tucked the money into my pants pocket and led the way to the garage, Liza following, but not quickly enough. I had to look back to hurry her along and stood impatiently next to the Lexus, car door open, as I waited for her.
“Believe me,” she said closing her door while I dropped it in gear. “If you owe them money, they’ll wait.”
I roared down the hill to the Farmhouse and pulled in next to Cash’s GTO. Two shadowy figures stood on the deck. Cash came forward as I climbed out of the car, Dusty behind him, leaning against a post for support.
“Waldo!” he yelled as if surprised to see me. “There you are—lost in . . .”
Liza slipped out of the Lexus and Cash frowned, probably trying to figure out who she was and how she fit into the scheme of things. He watched silently as we neared the house.
“You got to be a sister,” he said to her breasts. Then he cocked his head, taking his inspection down to her legs and back up again. “Waldo here could never get this lucky.”
“I’m blind,” she announced, staring directly into his eyes.
Cash froze, derailed by the obvious lie told in the sincerest of tones. A smile parted his lips, and I waited for him to say how that explained everything.
Liza continued, “You must be that jealous girlfriend Mark is always talking about.”
Cash’s features went cold and hard. He looked ready to deck her. I watched him struggle to get himself under control—nostrils flaring and jaw muscles working under the skin.
“Real funny,” he said at last.
“I thought so, too,” Liza said and smiled. “Let’s start fresh—I’m Liza Lovell.” She offered her hand.
“Cash Williams.” He took the tips of her fingers and gave an uncertain shake.
“Short for Cassius?”
“Short for cash—which is why I’m here.” He gave me a fierce look that told me he was done screwing around.
Dusty moved to one of the tables and sat, looking like he had crawled out of a train wreck. I went over to him.
“You OK?”
He nodded, but it was clear that he was in a daze.
“Why didn’t you call?”
Dusty stared off into space, playing with the loop of skin that was his
earlobe. The plug was missing. I pictured it flying out as Stomp pounded him.
“He called me,” Cash said. “He needed a ride from the hospital. Wanted to come here.”
Dusty looked up but he was a beat off—still stunned by his close encounter with Stomp. “I need a place to stay,” he said. His gaze dropped and he went back to pulling at his ear.
“You can stay here,” I said. I looked at Liza and she slid into a chair next to Dusty and placed a hand of compassion on his shoulder. Cash was unmoved.
“Well,” he said shifting his weight from foot to foot, “he’s all yours. I did my good deed for the day—I’m off.” He banged the table and gave me another fierce look. “It’d be nice if you walked me to my car.”
Liza gave Cash a look that did not disguise her dislike of him. “No kissing,” she chided.
Cash waited until we were near the car before asking, “What the fuck’s her problem—lesbian?”
“I really don’t think so.”
“Got a little edge to her—like me.” He stopped at the car. “Doesn’t take any shit.”
“She’s a Gypsy,” I said. “She’s had it tough.”
“Gypsy, huh?” He stood quietly for a long moment looking up toward the Crow’s Nest. Then, apparently deciding that he had given the matter enough thought, he took a deep breath and locked his eyes on me. “Tell you, man—you might need a gypsy, a fortune teller—maybe a mind reader, too. That Devereaux—I don’t know what he’s up to.” He seemed genuinely concerned.
“What do you mean?”
“You have my money?”
I reached into my pocket and drew out the pack of bills and peeled off hundred-dollar dollar bills.
“That’s ten.” I fanned out the bills like a poker hand and held them out.
He gave me a smile of approval and studied the bills. Then he folded them around his thumb and tucked the wad into his pocket. “Consider that a down payment. We have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“He wants that tape . . .”
“But you erased it, right? You took care of it. I paid you.”
“Not enough,” Cash said. “Devereaux said something about an injunction.”
Instantly, I felt weak and clammy. My face must have gone white. “Christ! That means he’s coming after me. He knows I’m lying.”
“That’s just it,” Cash said, puzzled. “I’m not sure what he’s after. I think he’s more interested in the money taken from the cash register. That’s all he talked about. It’s like he has a new agenda.”
“So you think he’s coming after you?”
He was quiet for a moment and then shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know what he’s after except those tapes.” He paused again and looked at me. “I been thinking about it ever since I saw him . . . I think he went over my head.”
“Over your head?”
“Yeah. That four hundred dollars—it didn’t come out of my pocket. It came out of whatshisname’s pocket—Tuckerman.”
Fred Tuckerman, a.k.a. Freddy Fuckerman to his employees, had several McDonald’s franchises in the area.
“I think Devereaux went to him. Pushed his buttons. Asked him to press charges so he could investigate. Tuckerman’s not going to hand over those tapes just so Devereaux can snoop through them. But if Freddy thinks someone’s ripping him off, he’ll give them to Devereaux in a heartbeat. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah . . . he gets the tape looking for whoever skimmed off four hundred and twenty dollars and just happens to notice that Dusty and I aren’t working.”
Cash gave me a long, hard look. “You don’t need that.”
I stared off into space—looking for my dismal future and my mind turned over all aspects of Devereaux studying the tapes. “And neither do you,” I said.
Cash straightened and looked at me, puzzlement plain on his face. “I don’t need what?”
“Devereaux catching you on tape skimming off money.”
Cash threw his head back and laughed. “You think I’m an idiot? I didn’t skim off money while the tape was running. I did that when I changed the tapes. I’m not in the picture.” He paused significantly. “And neither are you.” He glanced toward the Farmhouse while I digested that.
“And that leaves us where?” I asked.
“At a crossroad, Waldo—a big fucking crossroad.” His eyes lifted toward the Crow’s Nest once more and then he dropped them to me. “You see, it’s like this. If I erase that tape, it makes me look guilty, like I have something to hide—which I don’t. And if I leave the tape for Devereaux to get his grubby hands on, then he’s going to see that you’re not where you said you were. Makes it look like you’re hiding something—which you are.”
I looked over at the deck. Liza and Dusty were watching us curiously.
“So here we are at the crossroad. Which way we going to turn? Tell you the truth, I don’t really care, but we have to decide right now before Devereaux decides for us. Do I erase the tape or not? Your move.”
“Erase the tape,” I said quietly. We were silent for a moment while his face broke into a wide grin and I heard the ka-ching of a cash register.
“Of course, this isn’t just about keeping your sorry ass out of jail by tidying up after you—telling little white lies. This is flat out putting my ass on the line for your ass. Wonder what that’s worth?” He looked up thoughtfully and stroked his chin, pantomiming deep consideration.
“Two thousand?” I said.
“I’m thinking more like ten.”
“Five.”
“Listen, we’re not having a fucking auction here. You either want the tape erased or you don’t. I don’t give a rat’s ass, but if you want it done, you got to stop playing fucking games.”
I didn’t answer, my mind spinning around, looking for a way out.
“How do I know it isn’t already erased?”
Cash smiled, a slow uncovering of his teeth. “I was wondering when you’d get smart enough to ask that.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flash drive and dropped it into my hand. “Video clip from Big Brother. Check out the date stamp.”
“Where am I going to get that kind of money?” I objected.
Cash took another look toward the Crow’s Nest, then at the Farmhouse, and then around the ground at his feet as if the grass and fallen leaves were crisp bills. “I don’t have a clue. Hey, I have an idea! Maybe you could start where you found those hundreds with consecutive numbers. Bet they came in a neat packet with a whole bunch of others. Bet there’s a few more of those around if you look.”
Cash pulled his keys from his pocket and opened the door of his car. As he placed a foot on the floorboard, he paused. “I’ll stop back for Dusty before I go to work. Tell him he’s on tonight whether he likes it or not. I need him. I’ll pick him up at six-thirty.” He slipped into his car and the window slid down. “That should give you enough time to rake up the cash.” He put it in reverse, and as the car started to move he gave me his shark smile. “No fifties.”
CHAPTER 40
“I don’t think he likes you,” Liza said as I returned to the deck. We paused, listening to the throaty roar of Cash’s car fading in the distance.
“I don’t like him either,” I said quietly.
Moe slid out of the weeds by the garage and came toward us. He zeroed in on Liza and leaped into her lap. She helped him get comfortable and used her fingertips to pet between his ears. Moe lifted his head against her palm.
After a moment, Liza looked at me. “He has the upper hand.” Her tone was decisive—matter of fact. She looked down at Moe and ran her hand along his fur in long strokes. Dusty and I exchanged a quick glance.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re intimidated by him.”
Liza did not look up, but stared off as if I was a disappointment to her.
“How do you know?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Body language or something. I just know.”
I said nothing and she smiled absently at Moe who was soaking up her attention.
“That was a payoff, wasn’t it? Extortion.”
It was my turn to look away. I glared into the distance during another uncomfortable silence.
“I’m sorry,” she said at length, but she did not sound sorry. “None of my business.” She stood and Moe slid out of her hands to the deck. “I’m going to freshen up—maybe take a nap,” and she was gone.
I turned in time to see her go into the Farmhouse. She had never been in the place, but went inside with the ease of someone who had spent a lifetime living there. I waited a moment and then sat down. Dusty stared blankly at me.
“What did you tell her?” I asked. It was more accusation than question.
Dusty blinked and squirmed out of his slumping posture. “Nothing,” he said. “I didn’t tell her nothing.” He paused for a second. “Who is she?”
I hesitated before answering. It was a very good question. Who was this girl who moved into my life so easily and with such an impact on my emotions. “Jonah’s granddaughter,” I finally said.
“Holy shitbird!” Dusty said and blew out his cheeks. He reached for his earlobe and tugged at the loop of skin, “Holy fuckin’ shitbird. Where’d she come from?”
“Her car broke down on the highway.” I aimed a thumb over my shoulder toward the lane. “Right out there. She was looking for Jonah’s place.”
“Man,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s weird.” He pushed his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “What did you tell her?” It was a question, not an accusation.
“I certainly didn’t tell her we were there that night. I told her I worked for Jonah—that he was a friend, and that the police wanted me to go through the house looking for anything that was missing.”
“And Cash?”
“I only told her I owed him money—she pieced together the extortion on her own.”
Dusty raised his eyebrows.
“I know,” I said. “She’s amazing, the shit she figures out.”
