by T. L. Hart
“We are still here, Officer.” I was getting steamed at his lack of respect and I didn’t care much to be pigeonholed as “local gay woman.” “So does this mean you’ll talk to Sealy?”
“We will check all leads, ma’am.” He gave me a business card with his name and some department numbers on it. “If you have any questions or have any more trouble, call us. Or call 911 if you feel it’s an emergency situation.”
“Like if one of us ends up dead? Would that be an emergency situation?” I was talking to their retreating backsides. “Don’t worry, officers. We can check out the leads on our own.”
“I don’t see your badges,” the cop said in parting. “Stay out of the way and let us investigate.” He turned and added a word of advice before stepping into the elevator. “Don’t be stupid, lady. Let us do our job.”
* * *
I was stupid enough to confront Max Sealy the next morning, but I wasn’t stupid enough to do it alone. Aggie rode shotgun, almost literally. We were both carrying weapons, nice legal, registered and loaded weapons. My small Kimber forty-four caliber felt like it weighed a ton in my shoulder bag. Aggie was used to hers and never seemed awkward about it at all.
“I feel like I’m walking into the O.K. Corral, Ag. Carrying this gun makes me feel more afraid, not less.”
“Forget it’s there,” she advised. “You aren’t going to need to use it.”
“Then mind telling me why the heck you insisted that I bring it?”
“You need to get used to having it around. The time may come that you wish you had it on.”
“That day isn’t today,” I said, tugging the gun out of my purse with one hand and thrusting it across the console toward the passenger side. “Put it in the glove box. I can’t deal with it right now.”
“You’re gonna have to deal with it, sooner or later.”
“I choose later.”
“I just hope it isn’t your funeral. Again.”
“One more thing, Ag.” As we were walking up the ramp toward the building, I thought it was time for me to clear the slate with her about my previous visit here. “I better tell you something before we go in here.”
“What’s that?”
“You know those vans and pickups that got donated to the Outreach?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I bought those.”
“Do tell.”
“You knew?” She was making fun of me in her own none too subtle way—outright rubbing in how dumb I was. “How did you know it was me?”
“Well, I was pretty sure it wasn’t Santa Claus. Too early for that. And you were new at the center, with so much money it was burning a hole in your fancy pant’s pocket.” Aggie waved her hand impatiently. “Don’t keep me waiting all day? Are you telling me you got them here? You went by yourself to look up Max?”
“I was trying to find Jo.”
“Seems like there might have been an easier and less expensive way to get that scoop than buying half his lot. Not to mention less dangerous.”
“I wanted to look him up. I thought he might be more forthcoming if I laid out a bunch of cash.” The way she shook her head didn’t look like she understood where I was coming from. “Besides, my brain had more holes in it than a cheese grater at that point in time. I wasn’t making the best of decisions then.”
“Unlike now, I guess.” Aggie held the front door open for me. “Come on then. Let’s get this showdown on the way.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Nelda was at the reception desk, her crowning glory teased to bountiful perfection. She looked at me, then up at Aggie.
“Good afternoon.” She nudged her purse farther under the desk with the toe of her shoe. “How may I help you ladies?”
She obviously didn’t consider us ladies. At least not ladies who she didn’t worry might steal her purse. I didn’t want to speak for Aggie, but my feelings were hurt.
“We’d like to speak to Max.”
“I’ll see if Mr. Sealy is available.”
“Tell him it’s Jennifer Strickland,” I said. “I promise he’ll want to talk to me.”
Max came storming down the hallway, not attempting to hide his rage.
“I want you out of here, right now,” he snarled. “Both of you.”
“Max. Max,” I chided. “Is this any way to treat a good customer like me?”
“I don’t want your damn business, bitch. I want you to get off my property.”
Spit droplets sprayed from his lips, giving the impression he might start foaming at the mouth at any minute. His usual ruddy complexion was a dangerous purple.
“We need to have a serious talk, Max. You and me and my big friend here.” I stepped toward him. “Why don’t we go to your office, where it’s more private?”
“I could have you arrested for slander,” he spat. “Sending the cops out here to question me. Who do you think you are?”
“I know who I am, you asshole. I’m someone you do not want to screw with.” I lowered my voice and asked more reasonably than I was feeling, “Do you want Nelda telling every soul on the lot that you were in a screaming fight with your ex-wife’s lover? Want everyone to know exactly why the police were talking to you this morning?”
He glared at me for a couple of seconds, then turned and stomped off down the hall, leaving us to follow. Nelda was making no attempt to pretend she wasn’t watching every bit of the drama. I’m sure the car business usually didn’t provide such a steamy show.
Max was already barricaded behind his big wooden wall of a desk when we strolled in and sat in the two chairs facing him. He didn’t ask if we wanted a cup of coffee even though there was a fresh pot on the table by the door. So much for Southern hospitality.
“So you’re Jo’s latest conquest?” If looks could really kill people, I would be ready to be embalmed.
“Yes, I guess that would be me. As if you didn’t know.”
“You might want to be careful, Ms. Strickland. Has anyone told you how her last little honey ended up?”
“I know more about it than anyone except the killer.” I looked in his eyes without blinking until he broke contact. “The police may not have done a very good job, but trust me, payback’s a real bitch. Take it from another real bitch, Max.”
“What do you want with me?”
I wanted to punch his headlights out, but I decided to play cat and mouse for a while. “As if you didn’t know, Mr. Peepers.”
“I’ve got better things to do than peeping in windows at night.”
“For an innocent man, you seem to have a pretty good idea of the circumstances.”
“I had no idea and didn’t give a crap until today. I’m not interested in what that black-haired slut is up to. Not until I get dragged in to it.” He reached into his top drawer and pulled out a legal-sized manila envelope. “I found this on the front step when I opened up this morning.”
He tossed the envelope across the vast sea of oak between us. I saw the notation in big square letters: MAX SEALY—YOUR EYES ONLY!
“Go on,” he urged. “Take a good look.”
There were photographs inside—half a dozen or so in grainy black and white and two in living color. The black and whites were of me, getting out of my car—going to the bank, carrying in groceries. One might have been at Lee Park. Another couple at the Outreach. One of Aggie and me walking arm in arm coming out of a bar one night last week.
The two colored shots were as crisp and clear as studio portraits. The first was of me and Jo at the Nasher Sculpture Garden, wrapped in our passionate reunion kiss. We were framed so artistically we might have been in an ad for Girlfriends magazine. The second was of the two of us from last night—a telephoto shot of another more intimate embrace in the apartment living room.
“You slug.” Aggie growled. It was the first time she’d said a word since we walked into the showroom. “I ought to—”
“Not me. I had nothing to do with these,” he said. “I’m being set up.”
/>
“Yeah right.” Aggie was on her feet beside me and she didn’t look at all convinced. “Give me one reason we should believe you, you lying sack of Siberian snake shit.”
I was astonished by her alliteration in the middle of an out-and-out threat. Max didn’t seem to appreciate her poetic talents, but the threat must have come through loud and clear. He scooted his leather chair so far back it hit the wall with a thunk and raised both hands in a defensive gesture.
“I told you I had nothing to do with these. Why would I want the cops questioning me? I’ve had enough problems because Jo can’t stay away from chasing pussy.”
Aggie was around the desk and grabbed him by the front of his jacket before I could blink.
“You want to rephrase that?” She sounded serious. “I really think you can find a nicer way to make your point.”
Max was panting so hard I was afraid he was going to have a stroke on the spot. I wouldn’t have cared except I didn’t want Aggie to be blamed for killing the creep.
“Let him go, Aggie.” She tightened her grip, lifting him nearly to a standing position so she had more leverage to throw him back down in his chair. “I don’t think he took the pictures.”
“What? He’s guilty as hell.”
“Oh, I think he’s guilty of plenty, but I bet someone is giving him a nudge in our direction this time.” I snatched the photos and stuffed them into my shoulder bag. “We have one more stop to make.”
I slapped my hand flat on his desk to get his attention. He didn’t take his eyes off Aggie until I smacked it a second time, harder. He licked his dry lips and his eyes skittered back and forth between the two of us.
“Don’t think I’m forgetting about you. If you so much as cross within a block of me or Jo in traffic, I’ll show you what a little pussy can do to a big, fat rat.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Whoa, this isn’t the Texas Motor Speedway,” Aggie yelped as I made a corner on three wheels, spinning out of Sealy Motors onto the main highway. “Stop driving like a fool and tell me where we’re going in such a hurry.”
“We are going to meet my soon-to-be-ex at his fancy downtown office tower.” I stomped on the accelerator and got us into the thickening traffic on LBJ Freeway. “And you are going to keep me from shoving these pictures up his creepy, back-stabbing ass.”
“He took the pictures?”
“Not personally, I’m sure. Gregory hires people to do his dirty work for him.” I threaded the Beamer in and out of the cars, making my way to the faster-moving HOV lane. “He’s been having me investigated.”
“He’s doin’ what?”
“He’s been having me followed.”
“Since when?”
“Since I moved out of his house. Said it was for my own good.” I laughed, remembering his holier-than-thou attitude before he went ballistic on me in the restaurant parking lot. “His story was he was worried about me—what with the head injury and all. Right. He was gathering evidence to get me locked up so he could get away with stealing Jennifer blind. I knew he had some pictures, but—”
“And you’re just now getting around to tellin’ me about it?” Aggie banged her fist on the dash. “Did it not occur to you to let me in on this?”
“If you hit that any harder, the air bag is going to blow up in your face,” I said calmly. “I warned him what would happen if he didn’t call off his dogs.”
“She warned him.” Aggie raised her hands to heaven. “Sweet Jesus, she warned him. Isn’t that enough?”
“Evidently I underestimated him. I thought he was only a thieving cold-hearted creep.” I yanked the wheel to avoid an eighteen-wheeler trying to get in front of me from a side ramp. “Not today buddy. I’m in a hurry.”
“If you get on the tollway, it will shoot us right downtown,” Aggie directed. “The late traffic will all be headed in the opposite direction.”
“He’s going to wish he had listened to me. He’s not going to push me around and that’s what’s making him crazy.”
“Lotsa crazy goin’ round. Regular epidemic.”
“You haven’t seen the king of crazy until you meet Gregory. He looks normal, but he has a microchip where everyone else has a heart.”
We were zipping through the normally pokey stream of cars and slid to a halt at valet parking in record time. The elevator ride to the twentieth floor seemed to take longer than our flying trip downtown. When the doors slid open, we walked into a reception area so posh the queen of England would have felt right at home.
The young woman sitting behind the tall, circular desk was as sleek as the area she was guarding. No Nelda Highhair here. Butter blonde, caramel silk dress, pearl earrings—she would have been a perfect fit for the North Dallas house I came back to life in. You had to give it to Gregory: he was consistent, if nothing else.
“May I help you?” she purred.
“I’d like to see Gregory Strickland.”
“Did you have an appointment?” She was polite, but not quite ready to give us the golden ticket. “Is Mr. Strickland expecting you?”
“No he’s not expecting me,” I said sweetly. “But I have something better than appointment. I have a trust fund and the deed on his house, so I think he’d like you to show me in.”
“Pardon me?” Blondie was confused. “May I get your name?”
“Tell Gregory his wife is here.”
“Mrs. Strickland, I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t recognize you.” She looked at me as if I had been replaced by an alien. “Uh, you have a new haircut since the last time I saw you. Go right in. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
We started walking down the hallway as she was whispering our arrival into the intercom.
“A new haircut? If only she knew.” Aggie snickered. “Which office?”
“I have no clue. If I’ve ever stepped foot in the place, it must have been way before Jennifer abandoned ship.” The heavy wooden doors on the offices were unmarked. “I guess we can start with the first one and—”
It proved unnecessary to guess. The door at the end of the hallway opened and Gregory stood waiting for us to arrive, watching with disappointment darkening his face.
“Jennifer, won’t you come in? And please introduce me to your new friend.” He was disgustingly polite. “You should have let me know you were coming. I’d have made more time in my schedule to visit.”
“Last-minute decision to drop in, Greg. This is my best friend and head of the Outreach, Aggie Burke.” Neither of them made any pretense of wanting to shake hands. “We won’t keep you long.”
“Would you like me to get Brenda to bring you something, coffee or a soft drink?”
“No.”
“Come in and sit then. What can I do for you?”
“I think you should ask what I can do for you, Greg.” I pulled the envelope out of my purse and handed it to him. “I want the negatives to those, for starters.”
He didn’t even have the acting skills to look surprised. Maybe he thought he was above being bothered; maybe he was stupid. But the one thing he shouldn’t have done was exactly what he did.
“Oh my.” He ran a fingertip over the colored photos and smirked. “These are going to be embarrassing for you in the divorce settlement. I’m afraid most of the judges aren’t tolerant of alternative lifestyles.”
“Bad way to start, Greg. Threatening me?”
“She hates that, man,” Aggie said. “I think you should give her the pictures.”
“I have nothing to do with these, although they are quite artistic.”
“And I suppose that you had nothing to do with the obscene calls that went along with them?” I wanted to wipe the smarmy smile off his face. “Any idea how these got into Max Sealy’s hands this morning?”
“Of course not,” he swore. “It would be next to inviting murder to give a madman like Max proof that his wife was at it again. With my own poor wife, who probably isn’t capable of realizing who she has gotte
n involved with.” He grinned. “Why, he could be dangerous.”
“He’s not the only one who could be dangerous, Strickland.” Aggie stepped close to him and snatched the pictures out of his fingers. Although he was a couple of inches taller than she was, he gave her ground. “What kind of man tries to put two women in that kind of situation? You better watch your back and pray nothing happens to either of them.”
“Are you trying to intimidate me?”
“No Gregory,” I interrupted. “Thank you, Ag, but I want to handle this.”
“You go, girl.” Aggie moved away from Gregory, but only a step and her fists were still balled up.
“Greg. ‘Intimidate’ is such a nice word. Make no mistake: This is not intimidation; this is a threat. I’m the one who is threatening you.”
“Jennifer—” He began to speak, but I didn’t let him get a word in edgewise.
“No. I talk, you listen.”
“You can’t come into my office and dictate to me—”
“Yes I can. Here’s the deal.” I outlined my plan in short sentences, little words. “I want the photos. I want the negatives. I want a divorce with no fault and no attempts to play games about my mental health. I want you to talk to Max and get a leash on that dog.”
“And what do I get out of it?” Gregory asked defiantly. “What makes you think you can—?”
“Here’s what you get, Greg. The house in North Dallas and all the furnishings. The paintings except for the ones my parents left to me. The Porsche. A more than generous cash settlement.”
He still looked ready to jump in with an argument. I had a couple more things that I thought might seal the deal.
“You also get to keep the beachfront house in the Caymans that you diverted money from my stock portfolio to buy.” He turned a little pale under his tanning-bed bronze. “You get to keep the cash you’ve stashed in Costa Rica.” He looked as if he were going to puke.
“You have one week to make this a done deal or I swear to God you won’t know what hit you.” He stepped behind his desk and slumped into the chair. “And because I’m such a nice person, as an added bonus, maybe, if you’re really nice, you get to stay out of prison.”
