That’s one thing he could do. Just day by day, help her get things in order. Things you never think about when your husband is still alive. Like deciding what to do with his car, paying outstanding bills, getting a death certificate to the bank.
Lots of things.
Mac decided to wait. She was probably resting, or maybe she had gone to be with some friends.
He’d have plenty of time in the days ahead to make sure everything was all right. And in making them all right for her, they’d be all right for him.
6:07 p.m.
As she walked back along the path toward her car, Liz could barely see. It was dusk, and the trees made it even darker. She had only one thing left to do, and she’d have to do it without much light. If she moved fast, she could —
She stopped at the edge of the paved parking area.
Another car was parked one space over from hers.
Through the windows, in the last light, she thought she could see two silhouettes. Two heads. The heads came together and moved around.
Tongue tango.
This was not in the plans.
Don’t worry, Mama. I can do this.
Yes, just like when Mama and she rehearsed the story, over and over again. How the drunk Miller Jones had pulled a meat cleaver on both of them. The meat cleaver with only his prints on it that the police found in his dead hand. Mama had used a dishtowel and placed it there.
Then she used the dishtowel to try to clean up some of the blood after they called the cops.
Liz turned on the tears, too. They came easily as she told the story she’d rehearsed with Mama. When the one officer, the older one, tried to dig a little further, Liz cried a little harder. And he backed off.
The town knew about Miller Jones, so the questions were never very probing after that. Liz talked to a nice man from the district attorney’s office and repeated the story, and he was satisfied.
They never talked about Miller Jones again, she and Mama. That name was never spoken aloud between them.
But every now and then, Mama would stop what she was doing and stroke Liz’s hair and say, “You can get anything you want in this life, little girl. Anything.”
So a couple of snoggers weren’t going to get in the way now.
She heard a grunt behind her.
Turning, she saw a large backside and a figure in the unmistakable position of a male relieving himself.
He grunted again, dipped a couple of times, then turned around and looked at her.
She couldn’t make out his face. He, apparently, couldn’t make out hers. Because he was staggering as he walked.
“Oh hey,” he said. “Nature callin’.”
Liz turned, went to her car, got in. She had blood on her clothes. Even though she’d given Ted the knife under the ribs, not the neck, there was still the blood to deal with. She would burn the clothes later.
Right now she didn’t need any conversations with some crunk, a crazy drunk.
She closed her eyes. The crunk was probably in the car with the makeout artists, and maybe they’d —
Bam, bam!
Liz almost jumped through the windshield.
The crunk was pounding on her roof, standing at the window.
“Hey, what time izzit?” the guy shouted. His big moon face was staring in at her.
Liz shrugged and motioned she didn’t know. Now get out of here, she thought.
Bam, bam!
“Hey, what time izzit? You got da time?”
“No,” she said.
“Huh?”
“No!”
“You all alone in ’ere?”
“No help here. Good-bye.”
The guy didn’t walk away. He stayed outside the window, swaying. She didn’t want to look at him. She didn’t want him to get a look at her face, even though he was blitzed.
“Come on,” he said. “I gotta have a time. What time izzit?”
He pounded on the roof again.
Liz started the car, backed away from him. Her headlights were on auto. The beams hit the guy, and he covered his eyes.
She paused and watched him move around like he was trying to get out of a spotlight. Then a girl got out of the other car and yelled at him. For a moment, the guy teetered between them. He looked back and forth between the girl and the headlights. The girl went to him, grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the other car.
She opened the back door of the car and practically pushed the crunk in.
She looked toward the headlights herself. A short, dark-haired girl. A little too curious.
Liz knew what she’d have to do if it went on much longer.
The short girl turned and got back in the car, and the car started and drove out of the parking lot.
Liz let out her breath. She’d been tighter than she thought. She parked again and got to work fast.
She got the can of gas and a couple of rags out of her trunk and ran back to Ted’s car. She almost stumbled over a rock she couldn’t see in the dark. She cursed and went on.
She got to the car and took Ted’s wallet out of his back pocket, careful to use a rag so she wouldn’t leave prints. She wrapped the wallet in the rag and put it under her arm. Then she poured gas over Ted’s body, lying on the front seat.
She popped the trunk and soaked Bill’s body. Then she spread gas all over the car. She soaked the rag and threw the gas can into the car.
She took a box of matches out of her pocket and lit the rag on fire. It caught on good. The flame licked her hand. She let the rag go, and it fell across Ted’s dead legs.
The fire started slow, then spread fast. Liz ran back to her car. Just before she started the car, she heard the explosion and saw a flash of orange light.
Friday
9:32 a.m.
Rocky took the call on her cell phone. Not someone she expected to hear from.
“I need help,” Mac said.
Rocky said, “What kind of help?”
“You’re an investigator type, right?”
“You could say that.”
“I need that kind of help.”
“You want to hire me?”
“Hire may be a creative word for it. I really can’t afford to hire anybody.”
“What exactly is it you want me to do?”
“Find out about a parole agent named Slezak. My parole agent.”
“A parole agent? Like for the state of California?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not magic what I do,” Rocky said. “I can’t just snap my fingers and know about this guy, especially if he’s government.”
“Can you do more than snap your fingers?”
“What exactly are you looking for?”
“Anything. I want to be able to see my daughter again. This guy is making it so I won’t. He wants me to crack. He wants me to go back to prison.”
“Any idea why?”
“I’ve tried to think, but nothing comes to mind,” Mac said.
“So what can I do?”
“If you can find something on him, some dirt — ”
“This is a state employee,” she said. “I could get into trouble for that.”
“Has trouble ever stopped you before?”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Let me get this straight. You want me to investigate a government employee, without anyone finding out that I am, and without paying me anything. Is that about it?
“Deal of a lifetime.”
“Oh yes.”
“Opportunities like this don’t come along everyday.”
“Golden, it’s just golden.”
A pause. Then Mac said, “Forget about it. I’m just a little desperate here.”
“I can relate to desperate. All right. What have you got? I’ll need some information.”
“I’ll come to you. Name the place.”
9:47 a.m.
One drink, Liz told herself. That’s all I need. One drink and that’s it. When I get back, then I get the sacks. I put the
m in the trunk, under the mat, where the spare is. Then I tell them I need to get away and clear my head. Visit someone. Yes.
Over and done.
One drink.
This time, Liz chose the Pavilions store a few miles from home. It was bigger, served a different community. She could get in, shop, get out, come home, begin.
Maybe wait just a couple of days. Look normal. Quietly pack some things, then go. Don’t rush it. When you rush it, you make mistakes.
Liz took her time shopping. No one would think it odd that she had decided to take a trip.
No one at all —
The man at the meat counter was looking at her. He was slender with a hawk-like face, and his look lingered on her too long.
What did he know? How could he know?
No one had seen her, she knew that. No one had come knocking on her door. She had gotten away with it.
Liz pushed her cart down an aisle, then made a beeline for frozen foods.
Where Arty was waiting for her.
She almost screamed.
It wasn’t him. It wasn’t even a man. It was a woman with short hair who didn’t even look like Arty.
What were her eyes doing to her?
She needed a drink. Well, why not? She was alone in the house now. No Arty to frown at her. She could take a drink and not fear the wrath of Arty, the frown of Arty.
If only she could quit thinking that Arty was out there somewhere, able to see her.
What did that even matter? He couldn’t do anything. Ghosts couldn’t do anything.
Her pulse was pounding. Now why was that? Why on earth was her body doing that?
Because you killed two people yesterday, that’s why. You killed them without so much as a second thought. Do you realize that?
Do you realize that after what you did to Arty you were able to kill two other people? And do it pretty skillfully?
She almost fainted. She held on to the cart. She was in front of the Lean Cuisine case. She took a long, slow breath.
Do not let this happen, she told herself. This is a form of weakness, don’t you see that? They are fighting you. There’re fights all around. Don’t fall for them. They tried to fight you when you were little, but you showed them, didn’t you? Didn’t we, Mama?
In a few moments she felt calmer. Stronger. She also had a dryness in her throat, and that sent her toward the liquor aisle.
There she selected a fifth of Jim Beam, old reliable, and put it in her cart. Enough, enough. She headed for the checkout. As she was putting the bottle on the belt, she heard a woman’s voice behind her.
“Well, well, well.”
Liz turned.
Mrs. Axelrod, that infernal busybody from the church, was smiling at her through thick red lipstick.
“Oh,” Liz said. “Hello.”
“How nice to run into you, dear,” Mrs. Axelrod said. “I wanted to invite you to my house for dinner this week.”
“How nice, but I — ”
“Won’t take no for an answer, I . . .” She stopped, looking down.
Liz realized she was homing in on the Beam.
“My, my,” Mrs. Axelrod said.
“What?” Liz said.
Mrs. Axelrod snatched the bottle.
Liz opened her mouth to protest, a curse curling itself around her tongue, but then she remembered she was redeemed now.
Mrs. Axelrod placed the bottle on the edge of the counter. “Let’s talk, shall we?”
The cashier, a woman, said, “Will there be anything else?”
“I should say not,” Mrs. Axelrod said.
Torture must be like this, Liz thought, as Mrs. Axelrod left her own cart and walked Liz outside. She proceeded to sit Liz on a bench by a floral display and start a lecture.
“It all goes back to our sin nature, you see,” Mrs. Axelrod was saying. But every word was like a hammer on Liz’s eardrums. If this didn’t stop soon, she’d scream and stuff some carnations in the old lady’s mouth.
“ — power of the Holy Spirit in us, you see — ”
Liz stood up. “Mrs. Axelrod, I have to go. I’m sorry.”
“Go?”
“I promise, I won’t drink.”
“Come to my house tonight and — ”
“I really do have to go. Thank you for caring.”
Liz started for her car, but Mrs. Axelrod grabbed her arm. “Don’t try to run from the Holy Spirit, my dear. It can’t be done.”
And then Liz almost did scream.
10:49 a.m.
Rocky said, “I haven’t been able to find out anything yet. I’m a little nervous about this.”
“Can you keep trying?”
Mac had come all the way to Geena’s apartment. Geena was out catching vibes or looking for a job, or maybe both. They were seated at the kitchen table, where Rocky had her laptop set up. Some office, she thought.
“I do have a life, you know,” Rocky said.
“I’m sure you — ”
“No,” she said, sitting back. “That was a lie. At least you’re giving me something to do.”
“What about your singing?”
“In the toilet. A toilet makes more music than I do.”
“No boyfriend?”
“Stop getting personal.”
“I was just asking.”
“Don’t ask. I don’t care to talk about my luck, or lack thereof, at the moment.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t rely on luck,” Mac said.
“Life is all about luck, my naïve friend.”
“I don’t — ”
“It was bad luck that I have a father who hates me. Big deal. And why’d you bring up luck anyway?”
“I didn’t — ”
“Forget it.”
“I’m sorry,” Mac said.
“And quit being sorry. I’m not sorry. I just feel like Michael Jackson’s nose right now, okay?”
Mac let out a huge snort-laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Rocky said.
“What you just said.”
“It seemed like the best image at the time, okay? Quit laughing!”
But he was convulsed. He doubled over in his chair, the chortles pouring like rain.
Unable to stop it from happening, Rocky started to laugh, too.
“This is so absurd,” she said.
“I will never,” Mac said between breaths, “be able to think about Michael Jackson again without thinking about you.”
“Just great. My legacy.”
When they calmed down, Mac said, “There was this guy in the joint, a real hard case. At least that was his rep. He didn’t seem like all that much. In fact, he looked like he could be taken out by a lot of the other cons. But he was F-14 Bulldog.”
“What’s that?”
“Street gang. Inside and out. Very bad. So this guy, he had a patch of turf in the yard, and you didn’t go inside that without his say. Now it didn’t matter if you only believed it a little bit, you knew the odds of surviving were better if you went along with it. Faith is like that. It’s better than luck, I’d say.”
“So your faith is sort of like a prison?” She was goading him, but it did seem like a good question.
“It’s more like a fortress,” Mac said. “And we all need that.”
“What if there are no fortresses?”
“You got to believe.”
“What if you can’t?” she said.
“It’s something you choose to do.”
“Oh yeah?” Rocky said. “I heard some cluck say God chooses who goes to heaven and who goes to hell, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“That’s not what Pastor Jon says.”
“Is he the pope?”
“No, but he knows his Bible. And he says you can believe even if your faith is just a little thing. God’ll take you from there and help you along.”
A quick knock on the door was followed by the sound of the door opening. She hadn’t locked it after she let Mac in. Good job security-wi
se, she told herself as she went to see who it was.
It was Boyd Martin.
11:00 a.m.
House.
No one.
Alone.
Good.
I did it, Mama. And there’s no catching up with me. There’s no hell to pay, like Miller Jones used to tell us. Remember that, Mama? Remember?
There isn’t a hell, Mama, but if there was he’d be there. That’s the only place for a man like him. And if there’s a heaven, well then I guess Arty deserves to be there.
Where does that leave us, Mama? Where do we go when we die?
Pushing up daisies, like they say?
I think we just go to sleep and don’t wake up.
They never thought we were good enough, you or me. Remember that? They never thought we were good enough to walk in their air or rub up against them.
Remember the time that lawyer from the center of town came in when you were working at the diner? I was there, drinking a Coke in the corner and looking at my schoolwork.
That lawyer, everybody knew him, but I can’t even remember his name now. I just remember how he used to walk up and down the street, going to the post office, talking to people, only it seemed like he was letting the people talk to him, just talk to him.
When you gave him the eggs, they weren’t just right, the way he wanted them to be. And he yelled at you, Mama. Remember? He screamed his head off and treated you like dirt.
They can’t do that to us anymore.
Never, never, never. I will never let them. Never, never, never.
And then she heard the rain.
It started out like tiny tap-dancing feet on the roof, then quickly turned to a million marbles.
Liz ran to the window and looked out. This didn’t happen in LA. This was a Mississippi storm.
So quick and hard.
The mud.
The jewels.
She had to get the jewels now.
Liz cursed at the sky and ran for her keys.
11:01 a.m.
“Who’s in there?” Boyd said.
“A guest,” Rocky said. “Now get out.”
“I want to meet your guest,” he said and started past her. She stepped in front of him. He had beer breath. He had crazy eyes, too. He raised his hands like he was about to push her.
From behind her Mac said, “How you doin’?”
Deceived Page 20
