Killing Bliss

by EC Sheedy

  He pulled the book back. "Fair enough."

  He was at the door when she said, "Cade."

  He turned back, his face still unreadable. She knew she'd hurt him. Hated that.

  "The thing is, I, uh, don't read at all."

  "That's okay. Not a problem." His expression didn't change, and he opened the door and walked out.

  She thought of calling him back, explaining, but she couldn't say it again. It was too mortifying. She hadn't even told Toby yet. She watched Cade go, her stomach sinking.

  He was halfway to his cabin when he stopped abruptly and called Redge who was running ahead of him. Making an abrupt about-face, he headed back to office and confronted her. "You mean you can't read... at all?"

  Chapter 11

  Addy swallowed, feeling outed against her will, and promptly kicked herself for trying to save his feelings by exposing her awful secret. "That pretty much nails it."

  Silence.

  "Pretty much?" he queried, tilting his head and studying her as if she were a new life-form.

  She busied herself with the guest register, which of course, given her admission of illiteracy, was the ultimate in stupidity. She slammed it closed. "I didn't do well in school. Okay?" She sharpened her tone, wished she could cut her tongue out. "I can read some. I'm not stupid." Addy knew the "some" wasn't nearly enough, and hated herself for sounding defensive. She certainly didn't owe Cade Harding excuses. Smart enough to get by this far—harder since Lund's death—she'd continue to cope. No problem. For one thing, she used her ears. If a person listened hard enough, she discovered, it was amazing how much they could learn and keep filed away. The rest, like getting someone to read for you if you were completely stuck, just took creativity.

  "Obviously," he said, his tone matter of fact. "If you were stupid, you wouldn't be running this resort—"

  "—motel," she corrected automatically, wishing with all her heart he'd go away and take this uneasy conversation with him. He still held the book in his hand, and she looked down at it, adding, "Now why don't you go back to putting more words on paper for people who can appreciate them and leave me alone?"

  "Why did you tell me?"

  She shrugged, not about to say she hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings.

  When she didn't answer, he said, "If you like, I can teach you to read."

  She fixed her eyes on him, couldn't help herself. She laughed, hollowly and without humor, but for some reason she couldn't come up with her usual quick response.

  "What's so funny?"

  "The idea of you being teacher instead of lecher."

  "Ouch." He inhaled sharply. "You may not read, but you're sure as hell not deficient in the vocabulary department." He took a step closer to the counter. "But, for your information, I am a teacher"—he glanced away briefly—"of sorts. Until a few weeks ago, I was head of the criminalistics department at Washington State."

  It was as if a frigid wind had raced through the door. She froze. "You're a cop?"

  "Ex-cop, and that was years ago. When I figured out I preferred the classroom to the streets, I went back to school." He settled his green eyes on her. "I taught at WSU until a couple of months ago."

  Was she imagining it or was he staring into her soul? Whether he was or wasn't, Addy was so stunned at the idea of her standing there talking to a cop, even an ex one, her tongue froze solid in her mouth.

  "That bother you?"

  "What?" she mumbled.

  "That I wore a blue suit for a while?"

  "No, why should it?"

  "Good." He put the book on the table. "Take this. It's called Zero Intolerance. See what you can do with it. The offer to teach stands—right alongside a promise not to 'lech.' You know where to find me."

  He walked out the door, and Addy was left with a book, a slack jaw, and a spike of terror up her spine as sharp and rigid as a fire poker.

  * * *

  Cade let himself into his cabin, unsure whether he'd made the stupidest decision of his life, been fiendishly clever, or simply capitalized on someone's weakness. He was no expert in illiteracy, but he knew the stats: up to 50 million adults in the U.S. suffered from either not being able to read at all, or they read only at the most rudimentary level.

  It didn't surprise him that Addilene Wartenski, who'd barely attended elementary school, then hit the streets at thirteen, would be among them.

  He rubbed his throat, massaged the knot lodged there. God, as intelligent and ambitious as she was, she must hate not being able to read.

  Not his problem, he told himself, and went back to the fiendishly clever scenario.

  If Addy took the bait, it would give him the chance he needed to get close to her—get down to the business of finding out what happened to Josh. Enough time, enough of a comfort level, and she'd slip up; he was certain of it.

  What then, smart-ass? You turn her in, make her pay for being thirteen, alone in bad company, and scared out of her mind'?

  He mulled on that a bit, then decided to cross that bridge when he came to it.

  Right now he had two goals. One of them was to keep his hands off Addy Michaels, alias the Wart, and the second was to get a line on Josh Moore.

  * * *

  When the phone rang after midnight, Addy picked up on the first ring.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing, calling me? And where did you get my number?"

  God, it was like the sun coming out after a hundred days of rain. "Gus... finally." The tension seeped out of her body as if it were syrup going through mesh. The easy feeling lasted approximately three seconds.

  "Make it good. Damn good," he snarled. "And make it fast."

  She could see his black eyes, shiny and hard, and her insides shivered. In a matter of days, her life had shifted from happily organized to a state of emotional chaos. First Beauty's low, teasing voice on the phone, now Gus's, harsh, sharp, and commanding. The clock dial spun in reverse, and she was twelve again, a chronic jumble of confusion and fear, desperation scratching at her insides like a cat in a box. She was on the street again, hungry and tired—until Gus had taken her in. Taken care of her.

  Until she'd learned to take care of herself.

  "Shit, Wart, I didn't call to hear you breathe. What do you want?"

  His tone yanked her to the present, reminded her she wasn't that little girl anymore. "Same old Gus," she snapped. "Still bossing people around."

  "Yeah, same old Gus." He said, his voice tight with anger. "And if you don't like it, here's a flash. Don't call."

  She shoved her feet into the mules beside her bed, and said as calmly as she could, "I wouldn't have called—if I'd had any other choice. If you don't know that by now, you're more arrogant and miserable than I remember."

  Silence. She heard him blow out some air, suck in more. "It's about Beauty then."

  "Yes, it's about Beauty."

  "She's not my business, Wart. Neither are you. Not anymore."

  Addy stood, stared out the window toward the lights of Cade's cabin. She wished she were looking into his calm, quiet eyes instead of listening to the distaste and violence in Gus's cold voice. But that was impossible. Gus was her only hope, which didn't mean for a moment she liked what she was about to do. Knowing his deep hatred of Frank Bliss, she couldn't shake the worry that involving him would only make things more dangerous, more unpredictable.

  But Bliss had to be stopped, not shot, and her hope was that if Gus could stop Beauty from killing him, she could stop Gus. And vain though it may be, it was the only plan she had. If she failed she'd be an accessory to murder... again.

  She sucked up some courage and put her play in motion. "Beauty's about to make us your business, Gus, because she's decided to kill an old friend of ours."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Beauty is planning to kill Frank Bliss."

  His curse was blue and descriptive, and immediately followed by another when she filled him in on the details. Then the questions came, Gus
-style, precise and terse.

  "When did he start following her?"

  "A few days ago. He saw her on TV—"

  "TV." He cursed again.

  "Yeah, that's what I said." She rubbed her forehead. "But you know Beauty."

  "Yeah. Where are they now?"

  "I won't tell you that."

  Silence.

  "Don't play me, Wart. You'll lose."

  "Maybe so, but I'm not telling you where she is. You'll have to come here."

  "There? Are you fuckin' nuts?"

  "Here," she said, forcing the word to a firm stand, "or I let Beauty do what Belle stopped you from doing fifteen years ago." She held her breath deep.

  "And we all know how that turned out." He sounded disgusted. "Tell me this. Is she safe right now?"

  "I'd say yes." She hesitated. "She told Bliss you were going to give him money to make him go away. She's sure he won't do anything until he gets it."

  "How much money?"

  "Half a million dollars."

  More expletives.

  "That's why you've got to come here, to Star Lake," she urged. "When Bliss finds out she's lying, he'll kill her in a heartbeat. Telling her you're coming is the only way I can get her here, keep her from doing something stupid."

  "I don't see anything stupid about killing Bliss."

  "Do you honestly believe that? You'd take the risk of Beauty being wanted for another murder?"

  This time the silence was so long, Addy thought he'd hung up. Then he said, "Tell her to keep it together and start heading to your place, but not to get there before I do. No way do I want that son-of-a-bitch lying in wait for me. Make that clear—she is not to arrive at Star Lake before I do."

  "Which will be when?"

  "When I get there."

  "Something more definite would be good."

  "That's the best I can do."

  "Fine," she clipped her answer, knew that was all she was going to get out of him anyway. And ask why? Forget it. Gus didn't give reasons—for anything.

  "And tell her—" he started, then stopped abruptly. Addy knew his too-fast brain was going in scheme-mode overdrive. "Tell her I can't wait to see her again..."

  Liar. You deserted her like you deserted me, but while I only cried for a lost friend, Beauty's tears were from a broken heart. But the sentiment was manipulation at its best, and Addy knew she'd repeat his exact words to Beauty.

  "...but she's got to stay in control, and she has to bring Bliss to me. Make her understand that."

  It was exactly the reaction she'd expected, and it made her sick to her stomach, raising old pain and even older questions. "Gus, I don't think—"

  "Save it. As of now, Bliss isn't your problem. I'll take care of him, like I should have done when he—" She heard him draw in a breath. "Better I do it than Beauty."

  Addy's blood chilled. "I don't think he killed anyone that night, Gus," she said, her voice the barest of whispers.

  "You know that for sure, do you?" he asked, his voice hard, his tone derisive.

  "I'm not sure of anything." Because I didn't see anything.

  The line went numb—or was that her soul?

  "And if you're smart, you'll keep it that way," he said, his voice losing some of its edge. "When I hang up, this number will be canceled. I'll be there"—he hesitated—"as soon as I can. As for you, Wart, you do nothing other than make sure I have a cabin. Got that?"

  "Yeah, I've got it," she said, knowing that argument or more questions would be a waste of her time. Now, like then, Gus had taken charge.

  "Good." He hung up.

  Addy put the phone down, sat on the edge of her bed, and took her head between her trembling hands. "Oh, God, what have I done?"

  You bought time. A small bit of time—before either Gus or Beauty kills Frank Bliss.

  And you fixed it so his blood will run on your doorstep and seep like sewage into Star Lake.

  No. She lifted her head, shook it until her brain addled.

  Get a grip, Wart. Calm down. You can handle this.

  She didn't know exactly how right now, but she'd come up with something, because one thing was certain.

  Addy Michaels wasn't in the business of taking orders—even from Gus. Those days were past. She carried enough guilt and confusion about that long-ago night in Belle's house. She would not add to it, nor would she stand by and let her friends make things worse by killing Bliss. She'd do anything to stop that. Anything.

  No one would die at Star Lake.

  Better they all go to prison for a murder they didn't commit than for one they did.

  Never once, in all these years, had her belief in her friends' innocence wavered. They had nothing to do with the murder of Belle Bliss or the boy's disappearance—she was sure of it.

  She stood, paced a few circles on her carpet.

  So maybe it was time to put that faith to the test, trust her instincts enough to do something about it.

  With a hand that felt as if it were encased in a lead glove, she picked up the phone to call her friend. She had no doubt that Beauty would obey Gus's instructions to the letter.

  Something the Wart didn't intend to do.

  Chapter 12

  "Toby," Abby said, handing him a hot coffee. "Can you do something for me?"

  He took the coffee, but didn't lift his gaze from the computer screen that had fascinated him for days now. "Sure," he muttered.

  Eyes still glued to the screen, he sipped the cream-laden coffee. Today he was wearing an eye-popping Hawaiian shirt, lots of yellows and blues, and he'd had his hair cut. Even in her fog of worry, she registered how much Toby had changed since taking over the office. He looked good, he'd said when she'd commented on it, because he felt good about being useful again.

  She sat down in the chair next to him, not sure where to start and even less sure if she was doing the right thing.

  "You know the man in Cabin Six?"

  "Uh-huh. Harding. Nice guy. Great dog." He tapped some keys, frowned. When she didn't say anything in response, he turned his head to look at her. "You got some trouble with him?"

  She shook her head. "Not trouble exactly. But I was wondering..."

  He cocked his gray head. "This going to take all day? I'm getting ready for month end."

  "I'd like to, uh, check up on him."

  His beede-bright eyes sharpened. "Why's that?"

  This was what she was afraid of—questions. Questions she couldn't answer. "Can we drop the 'whys' for the time being?"

  There was no hesitation when he answered. "Done. Now what do you want, sweetums?"

  "He told me he was a teacher, and an ex-cop..."

  His eyebrows went up, then his gaze narrowed. Addy guessed anyone who'd plied his trade on the other side of the law for a time would have the same reaction, and she knew from Lund that Toby had spent enough time behind bars to have no love for the police. She knew exactly what he'd say if she confided her idea to him. He'd think she was nuts and tell her so, and maybe he was right.

  "The magic word is 'ex,' Toby." She tucked her lower lip under her teeth. "Or so he says."

  "And you want me to confirm that? Check him out?"

  "Yes. I know you helped Lund find... another friend a few years back, that you know people."

  "Some I'd rather not." He pushed his roller chair back. "But yeah, I 'know people.' What do you want to know?"

  "Everything you can find. Where he lives, what he does, that he actually was a teacher like he said he was, but especially if he's lying about that 'ex' he put in front of cop."

  "I'll make some calls. Shouldn't take long, him being an upstanding citizen and all. Consider it done."

  Stepping out of character, but unable to stop herself, she leaned in to kiss his freshly shaved cheek. "Thanks. Don't know what I'd do without you."

  "Me neither, especially with you having that reading problem of yours. You should get on that, you know. Time's a-wastin'."

  Addy's mouth dropped. She obvious
ly wasn't as clever as she thought she was, considering her embarrassing secret had been outed twice in two days. "How did you know about the reading thing?"

  "Lund told me, and even if he hadn't, it would've taken me about five minutes to figure it out for myself." He shrugged. "Can't blame a girl brought up by a billy goat like Baylor, of course."

  "It wasn't his fault. When I came here, I was so far behind, going back to school was pointless." And dangerous. Within days of her and Beauty's arrival, Lund had a story. Told anyone curious enough to ask about her—and who didn't mind getting their heads bitten off—that she was sixteen, had quit school, and was working for him. No embellishment, no excuses. His dour face stopped any further questions about his recently acquired "niece" who'd come to live with him after his sister's death. As a cover, it worked.

  He didn't have to say much of anything about Beauty, who at sixteen looked at least four years older. Staff, he'd said in his abrupt way, and that was the end of it. Within a month of being under his wing, their new names were on shiny new birth certificates and the questions stopped for good.

  "Didn't you get schooling before?"

  "Not much. My mother didn't, uh, worry much about things like school." And my darling aunt had other things on her mind, like surgically clean floors, bacteria-free linen, and miteless mattresses. "I can read... some, just not very good." And, since taking over the motel, she'd agonized over her failing more and more.

  She had to do something about it, and soon, she knew that, and the prospect both intrigued and terrified her, because along with her pride of ownership in Star Lake had come her decision to renovate and rebuild. She'd fallen madly in love with construction and decorating magazines. She worked from the pictures well enough, but the words... the words were like prayers she couldn't say.

  "Never too late, sweets. Never too late."

  He was right, but—

  An idea sprung loose.