“I believe you.”
Rosie nodded and started biting her fingernail.
“How did he pay his fee?”
“Cash, in person,” she mumbled. “I vaguely remember him, because almost no one pays cash.”
“Rare these days.”
“He paid two months in cash. I should have suspected something and told you sooner.”
“You always see the best in people.”
She nodded.
“Did you ask him what he was storing?”
“Not really.”
“That’s why we ask, Rosie.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So you’re worried it’s dirty money?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Most money gets dirty,” he said. “It all depends who’s doing what with it.”
“I guess.”
“You think banks and big businesses are squeaky clean? Give me a break. I’ll bet even our local bank has a few shady secrets they keep hushed up in the board meetings.”
“But they’re not drug dealers.”
“The drug companies are.”
“I guess.”
“They’re a part of this problem. So are the politicians. Saying one thing, doing another. They’re even worse in some ways. They orchestrate all sorts of crap that ruins people’s lives. Most of them ought to be locked up.”
Rosie breathed and said, “I guess.”
“Of course.”
The oven timer beeped. They both looked over at the oven. The first batch of chocolate chip cookies were finished. They smelled amazing.
“Think of it this way,” Ryan said. “If this really is drug money, by taking it we’re slightly reducing their ability to operate. We’re hindering them. That’s good.”
“That guy had a gun, Matt.”
“Plenty of people have guns.”
“He might have used it on us.”
“If I gave him the chance. Which I didn’t.”
“Okay,” she said.
“So don’t worry about it. He won’t be back for a while. He’s getting settled in with his new boyfriend right about now. Setting up their cell, getting over the awkward first date nerves.”
Rosie let that go and stepped over to the kitchen. Contorted herself into a big letter L in order to get the cookie sheet out of the oven. Set it on a cooling rack and put the second sheet in to bake. Straightened up and fixed her hair and then sighed nervously.
“I don’t know, Matt.”
“Relax,” he said. “We’ll count it up and think about what to do with it.”
“What if someone else knows about it? Besides the guy today?”
He shrugged.
“I’m nervous.”
“Be positive, like usual.”
“You make fun of me for that sometimes.”
“So? You listen to everything I say?”
“Most of the time.”
“This is still America, as far as I know.”
She nodded. It was America.
“Look at the flagpole out front.”
“You’re right, I guess.”
“Rosie, if thinking on the bright side makes you happy, keep on doing it. Don’t worry about what I say. Or anyone else. To hell with that. You’re not a people pleaser. Don’t start now and make yourself miserable.”
She nodded.
“Someone else did something sleazy,” he said. “Not you, not me, not Sharky.”
Sharky moved his eyebrows at the mentioning of his name.
“This has just been a strange morning,” Rosie said. “That’s all.”
“I know. We’re used to being bored in this town. And this office.”
“I like boring.”
“Yeah, it’s peaceful,” Ryan agreed. “I love our town. Which is exactly why I went after that guy this morning.”
“My uncle said that career criminals sometimes steal cars to commit their crimes with. If they can’t steal one, maybe they’ll rent one as a last resort.”
“Guess I’d buy that.”
“This guy today, he was planning on a big payday.”
“Agreed,” Ryan said.
“Don’t you think he might have killed us both?”
“Not with me around. And the land shark.”
Rosie nodded. She took a breath and said, “I’ll go sit in the office for a while and try to calm down.”
Ryan said, “Ever heard of Jesse James?”
“I don’t think so.”
“The famous bank robber.”
“Oh, yes. Maybe.”
“Not Brad Pitt, and not the motorcycle guy. I mean a real guy, from the cowboy days. He led a gang of professional killers and thieves.”
“Okay.”
“You know who put a stop to that gang of killers and thieves?”
“I don’t dare guess.”
“Regular people, Rosie. Just regular folks up in Minnesota, in a town called Northfield. When the gang showed up, they got a big surprise. The locals decided they weren’t letting them ride off with all their money from their bank.”
Rosie stood there, slightly nodding.
“That was the end of the legendary James-Younger gang. Like they hit a bridge abutment doing a hundred.”
“Okay,” she said under her breath.
“Don’t you see? A few minutes of harsh resistance from ordinary folks completely derailed a successful criminal organization with years of experience. The people of Northfield got to keep their savings. Not to mention all the other people that would’ve been next on the list to be robbed and shot.”
“Scary,” Rosie said.
Ryan gave up and let it go. She would never see what she wished not to see. He waited until she’d gone into the office and closed the door before he sat on the sofa and leaned forward to start counting the cash.
***
It was a lot of money. More cash than Ryan had ever seen in his life. Not as much as he had originally guessed. But it still added up.
Two hundred and ninety-seven grand.
Over half was in hundreds, in neat bricks. Benjamin Franklin’s greenish portrait smiled back at him. The rest was in rolls and wads of hundreds and twenties. Plus tens and fives and singles from the centers of the rolls. Ryan had initially guessed half a million, until he realized how many smaller bills were mixed in. He figured the total had started at an even three hundred grand and then the guy must have skimmed some at the last moment before stashing it.
Or something.
Rosie watched him counting for a while after coming in to take the second sheet of cookies from the oven. Then she loaded the dishwasher and went back into the office and played some music. Clearly she wasn’t getting any more comfortable with it.
All counted, Ryan piled the cash in a white Dunkin’ Donuts bag. He had a bunch of them under the sink. Because they were good sturdy bags. Much better than grocery store bags. They came in handy for various purposes. And they retained a faint aroma of coffee. So he kept them around.
Then he went to the kitchen sink and washed his hands thoroughly. Because money is nasty. He hated the slightly greasy feeling cash left on his fingers. Plus he’d seen a show once, about how dirty it was. That was enough to get him in the habit of frequently washing his hands. That was in addition to the show he’d seen about the Civil War and how many lives had been spared when the surgeons started sterilizing their tools.
The world is a grubby place.
Work done, Ryan took up his spot on the sofa with a stack of still-warm cookies. Sharky was noticeably interested in them, but he knew from experience that he wasn’t getting any of these sort of cookies. He’d get his own kind of cookies, a little later. Then some supper. Then probably more of his sort of cookies. So he wasn’t worried. He knew everything would work out somehow.
Both were content.
Ryan picked up the remote and cued the Alexander show.
Detective Rosie Clare burst back in from the office, squeezing sideways through the doorw
ay again. It wasn’t totally fair. It wasn’t a very wide doorway, like the kind in a very nice house. Rosie was excited. She’d been searching names online while playing music. Looking up arrest records and crime reporting from around the state. Apparently there was a lot of information on Facebook. The police departments kept the pages updated almost daily. Add to that all the comments written below the posts by other users, and altogether there was a lot of information and speculation.
“The guy is dead,” Rosie said. “The one who rented the unit.”
“Yeah?” Ryan said after pausing the TV again.
Alexander was still waiting.
“Overdosed on Fentanyl,” she said.
“Must have gotten hooked on his own product.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Either way it’s a sketchy story, Matt.”
“Maybe he had enough sense to hide his own money from himself. To keep from burning through it so fast.”
“Who knows,” she said.
“Dealers shouldn’t use. Documentaries say so. Even movies say that people who push shouldn’t sample. Just imagine a baker getting hooked on her own products. I mean, hopelessly addicted. Out of control. Locked the front door of the bakery and hid in the kitchen. Just swilling the cupcakes and cookies and whoopee pies faster than she can bake more or resupply the kitchen.”
Rosie stood there thoughtfully, making an O of her mouth.
“It could happen,” Ryan said.
“I guess.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
Rosie said, “So back to the point. The guy is dead. The article says it looked like an overdose, but the victim also appeared to have been beaten. The suggestion between the lines being that he was beaten and murdered by forced overdose.”
“Cleaner than a gunshot to the head,” Ryan said. “And quieter.”
“And now his potential friend tried to come up and get his money. In a stolen car. With a gun. Maybe just days after killing his friend.”
“We all know how that worked out,” Ryan said between bites of warm cookie. He made sure not to face Rosie while talking with his mouth full. Because that was nasty and unnecessary and inconsiderate. And quite honestly, Rosie would do the same for him.
She said, “This is getting scary, Matt. Like a movie.”
“Please,” he said. “Are you still watching those Lifetime movies?”
“No,” Rosie answered, just a little defensively. “Maybe sometimes, now and then. Not a lot. They’re not all bad.”
“Rosie, please relax.”
“I can’t.”
“Money isn’t evil. It’s the things people do with it. Or do to get it.”
“I know.”
“Are kitchen knives inherently evil?”
“No.” She shook her head. “It depends who’s holding the knife.”
Ryan nodded and kept on eating.
Rosie said, “I just don’t feel right.”
“Then go home for the day. On the clock. Watch a cheerful movie with your mom. Just unwind and forget all about it.”
“That’s not fair to you.”
“You earned it with these cookies. Trust me.”
“Still.”
“We won’t go out of business because you leave early.”
“I guess not.”
“I know not.”
“Okay, Matt.”
“I’ve got some extra petty cash now. No worries.”
“Am I making too much of this?”
“Probably. Hopefully.”
“You don’t blame me?”
“Did you stash the money?”
“I rented him the space.”
“That’s your job. That’s what we do here.”
She nodded.
Ryan said, “There’s nothing you can do about any of it, Rosie.”
“You’re right, I guess.”
“It happened. We didn’t expect it, but it happened. Hopefully it’s over now. But if it’s not over, I’ll deal with it if someone else shows up looking for the money. Or your uncle, or Chucky Reynolds will handle it. Or a trooper, if need be. Either way it’ll get handled. No point stressing about it between now and then.”
“It’s a lot of money, that’s all.”
“Agreed.”
“And somebody wants it.”
“A lot of people would want it.”
“Someone shady wants it.”
“If they know about it. We don’t know that anyone else knows.”
“I wish we did. There might be more guys out there.”
“Guys?” Ryan said. “As in, the criminals automatically have to be men?”
“Sorry,” Rosie said.
“Rosie, I’m kidding. Normally you’d laugh at something like that.”
“Sorry, Matt.”
“Quit apologizing for being alive.”
“Okay. I’m not sorry.”
“Good. Now tell me to shut up.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can.”
“No.”
“Just try.”
“Matt, I can’t.”
“Tell me to stop bossing you around.”
“You are my boss.”
“Rosie, c’mon.”
“Matt, I can’t.”
“Okay, fine.”
“You really want me to go home?”
“I want you to do whatever you want to do. Stars and stripes, let freedom ring. I’m about to watch this show about Alexander the Great.”
Chapter 5
He woke a few hours later, reclined on his end of the sofa. There were cookie crumbs on his shirt. He was thirsty and he was hungry again. The TV show had ended and the picture had gone to a screensaver. The door to the office was closed. No obvious sounds from the office. Rosie must have taken his advice and gone home early. Sharky was still there, in his designated spot. He was growling. Someone had just knocked on the back door, and Sharky was staring at it as if Jack the Ripper was on the other side.
Ryan lowered the recliner’s footrest and fell forward, effectively ejecting himself from the sofa. He was stiff and a little wobbly from sleeping, but he loosened up after only a few steps. He opened the door.
It wasn’t a criminal on the step. Or a salesman or anyone scary looking for dirty money. Just Clay Jamison, standing there sullenly. Looking like a human coat rack. Living his life like a doormat.
“C’mon in,” Ryan said.
“I’m not staying.”
“Too busy?”
“Kind of.”
“What’s your sister want now?”
Clay said to the ground, “Kerry’s just wondering why you haven’t been to the Barking Lot today. I mean, not that you have to come over or anything. It’s just, usually you show up for a while most days. She was wondering, that’s all.”
“Why didn’t she call or walk over herself?”
“She’s busy.”
“Neutering dogs?”
“Not today.”
“That’s her favorite part of the job. Trust me.”
“That’s rude, Matt. She loves dogs.”
“It was a joke, Clay. It’s okay to laugh now and then.”
He nodded slowly, as if being forced.
“You gotta lighten up. Soon.”
Clay looked at the ground. Lightening up for him was about as easy as deadlifting a backhoe. Life was a constant horror show, a minefield with no room for fleeting moments of levity. Each particle of dust in the air was potentially upsetting and threatening.
Ryan said, “I’ll keep picking on you until you defend yourself.”
Clay stared at the ground. No intention of changing.
“I was busy this morning,” Ryan said. “I got the furnace serviced and stopped a criminal. Then I had some cookies and a nice nap. That’s why I haven’t stopped by yet. But don’t worry, my afternoon seems to be open.”
“You don’t need to pick on Kerry.”
“Defending your sister. That’s a good start.”
> “You really don’t have to pick on her.”
“Sure I do.”
“She just worries.”
“So I’ve learned.”
“I’ll go now,” Clay said, turning away.
“You don’t have to go. Want to get a coffee or something?”
“I don’t like coffee anymore.”
“Pardon me.”
“My food allergies are getting worse. I’ve told you that.”
“You feeling uncomfortable here?”
He shrugged and said, “Up here is better than being down in the gully with all the metal buildings. At least you can see part of the greenhouse and some of the trees and flowers at the nursery from here. It’s not as cold and dead as all those metal buildings.”
“Clay, how long are you gonna keep living like this?”
“What do you mean?”
“All this fatalistic, downtrodden crap.”
Clay didn’t answer.
Ryan said, “Want some work since you’re unemployed?”
“Like what?”
“I need my trucks waxed before snow flies. Just a quick touchup.”
“That’s a lot of work.”
“Two hundred for both, if you do a good job. That’s pretty decent money for two or three hours of work.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Other offers on the table?”
“Not really.”
“Well, get back to me.”
Clay nodded and moped off out of sight around the front of the office.
***
Ryan put on his coat and took Sharky out for a walk. They both spent a little time watering the trees behind the row of parked trucks, between their side yard and the nearest side of the nursery. There was a good fifteen yards of trees and small growth between the two places. Enough coverage to avoid getting a ticket for public indecency.
They went up the driveway and hung a right and walked to Dunkin’ Donuts. Bringing Sharky inside was not always appreciated, depending on who was working and how crowded it was. Since the place seemed busy at the moment they went up to the drive-thru window and Ryan knocked.
A different girl came over and buzzed open the window. She looked like a member of Special Operations Command, except for coffee rather than war. She had a uniform and a fancy headset and was surrounded with gadgets and machines and buttons and computers. At the helm of a serious command center. She was on top of everything. The smell through the open window mingling with the cold air was amazing.
I Warned You_Welcome to Fall River Page 4
