“What is it?” she’d asked.
“Nothing,” he’d said. “Just Hartley, saying he thinks we should work on some new things.”
She’d seen him fiddling about with his thumb, no doubt deleting the exchange in case she got curious.
If Jane was guessing, it was Melanie. Her supposed friend Melanie. She’d seen something going on between the two of them. Nothing overt. It wasn’t as if Melanie had leaned across the table the last time they were all out for drinks together and shoved her tongue down Bryce’s throat. It was more the way she laughed at everything he said, and let’s face it, Bryce was not exactly Jerry Seinfeld. And Jane was pretty sure she’d caught him looking at her out of the corner of his eye more than once.
Jane got out her phone, brought up her contacts, and tapped on Melanie. Considered how to go about this. What message could she send her friend that might trip her up?
She typed: Hey maybe a drink after work? Did you catch band last night? I couldn’t make it.
Sent the message.
Jane set the phone down, took a file folder out of her desk. She had to write some copy for a law firm’s radio spot and think up some way to make a protective mattress pad sound like something you just had to buy, without using the word “stain.”
Her phone buzzed.
Melanie had texted: Yes to drink. Duh. Went by bar, Bryce not there. Sick?
That was interesting. Jane had to think about that response. Melanie wasn’t covering for him. If she and Bryce had been out together, wouldn’t she have lied? Wouldn’t she have said yes, she saw the band, Bryce was great? Something like that?
She texted back: Shit just had ton of stuff dropt on me cant do tonite. Bryce seemed ok 2 me this morn.
So if he hadn’t been out with Melanie, what was he doing? Who was he with?
The hell with it. She dialed Bryce’s cell.
Seconds later, he said, “Hey, babe. Sorry about this morning. We just seemed to get off on the wrong foot or—”
“Don’t lie to me, okay? Don’t lie to me when I ask you this question.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Where were you last night? I know it wasn’t with the band.”
Silence on the other end.
“You there, Bryce? This is not a good time to pretend you lost my signal.”
“Look, uh, I couldn’t make it to the gig. I was feeling off.”
“So if you didn’t do the gig, where did you go? Spend the night in the ER waiting for them to treat you for sniffles?”
“Jane, I can’t—I can’t do this right now.”
“I can.”
“It’s just, things between us lately, they’ve been kind of rocky, you know? And you’ve been totally on edge. Sometimes, when I’m talking to you, it’s like you’re on another planet. You don’t hear a thing I’m—”
“Just tell me her name,” Jane said. Hector had appeared and was standing in front of her desk.
A long sigh from Bryce. “I went for a drink with Steph. That’s all it was. A drink.”
“You were out with Staphylococcus?”
Hector had his arms crossed and was strumming his fingers on his elbow.
“Jane, don’t call her that. She’s just a friend, but she’s a good listener and—”
Jane snapped at Hector. “I am on the phone.”
“Sounds like a personal call.”
“Wow. You’re super perceptive.”
“You shouldn’t talk to me like that,” he said.
“Like what?”
“When you came in and told me to fuck off.”
“Oh, Hector, fuck off.”
“That’s what I mean, right there. It’s contrary to the office code of conduct.”
Jane spoke back into the phone. “Good-bye, Bryce.”
“Yeah, we’ll talk later, after you get—”
“No, good-bye, for good.” She ended the call and turned her glare back onto Hector. “The office code of conduct, and you can kiss my skinny, white ass. Was there something else you wanted?”
“There’s a woman in the lobby who wants to talk to you,” he said.
“About what? I hit her car or something?”
“She wants to hire you, bitch,” Hector said. “You know, for an ad campaign? The thing we do here?”
“Show her to the conference room. I’ll join her in a minute.”
“You know,” Hector said, leaning over the desk and whispering, “I’d complain to Mr. Anders about you, but my guess is, you’re blowing him.”
Jane batted her eyes twice and said, “Yeah, but he tells me I’m nowhere near as good as you.”
Hector scurried off. Jane gathered together a notepad and a fine-point pen, plus an iPad in its handsome black leather case. If this potential client wanted to see or hear any of the work Jane had done for others, she could show it to her on the tablet. She allowed a minute to make sure the client was already in the room. That way Jane could make an entrance. Always looked better than being the one sitting and waiting, like you had nothing else to do. Make the client think you’re doing her a favor, finding a spot in your busy day to talk to her.
The woman was there, sitting. Nice looking, black hair, small string of pearls around her neck. Big smile, good teeth.
“Hi,” she said, standing.
“Don’t get up,” Jane said, extending a hand. “A pleasure to meet you. I just had to finish up a call there.” All businesslike now, no more f-bombs.
Calm down, she told herself. Put the Bryce thing away. Lock it up in the box. You’ve always been good at this.
“No problem,” the woman said.
“I’m Jane Scavullo.” She presented the woman with a business card.
“I’m so glad to meet you. I’ve heard good things.”
Jane almost said, “Really?” Had to catch herself. Don’t act stunned when getting a compliment. What she did say was, “And you are?”
“I’m the best life coach in all of southern Connecticut,” she said.
“A who?”
“Life coach. I’ve been trying to raise my profile and I thought, maybe I need to advertise more, you know? I mean, I have the Web site, but people have to find the Web site, right? They have to know it’s out there.”
Jane was thinking, Steph? Bryce was out with Stephanie? That girl had nothing going on.
“What do you think?” the woman asked.
“I’m sorry?” Jane said.
“Do you think you could get my name out there, get me more clients?”
“Well, I guess the first place to start would be for you to tell me what your name is?”
“Oh!” The woman laughed and extended a hand. “My name’s Regina. But call me Reggie. Everybody does.”
FORTY-FOUR
GORDIE and Bert took the panel van they kept parked out back of the shop. Bert got behind the wheel and Gordie jumped in next to him.
“I still can’t believe it,” Bert said, driving away from the body shop.
“Which part?” Gordie asked.
“You kidding me? Eldon. I can’t believe he punched Eldon’s ticket.”
“If he did it,” Gordie said, “he did it for a reason. Like he said, Eldon was gonna blow the whistle on us. I mean, yeah, it’s pretty sad about what happened to his kid, and he’d have been upset and all, but if he can’t handle it in a way that keeps us all safe, what’s Vince supposed to do?”
Bert looked ill. “Don’t talk to me about the kid. You weren’t the one who had to go to the farm.”
“Sorry, man. That couldn’t have been easy.”
“I can’t fucking do this.”
“Don’t talk that way. Don’t ever be talking that way,” Gordie said. “Sometimes shit happens. You’ll feel better in a day or two.”
“Come on,” Bert said. “You see things clearly. Tell me things aren’t going south.”
Gordie glanced over. “What are you talking about?”
“All I’m saying is, the boss
is not the man he used to be.”
“His wife died. He’s been sick. He’s got to ride this through. How do you think you’d be if your wife died?”
Bert looked at him and laughed. “Seriously?”
“Okay, maybe that’s a bad example.”
“That’d be the best thing that could ever happen to me. Janine wanted me at a meeting—be going on right about now—at the home where her mother’s at? They’re kicking the old bat out because she’s a miserable bitch. And guess what Janine’s plan is? Guess?”
“Just tell me.”
“She’s going to move her in with us.”
“Oh man. No, you can’t let that happen.”
Bert waved a hand in the air in frustration. “What am I gonna do? You can’t talk to Janine. The two of them there, ganging up on me, telling me everything I’m doin’ wrong.” He went quiet. “There are times, I just think, I’d rather hit the road and not come back. Life’s shit at home, and it ain’t much better at work.”
Gordie watched him quietly.
Bert said, “Vince, the guy, I tell ya, he’s running on empty. Things are falling apart. And now we’ve been hit. What happens when the guy that money belongs to comes back for it? And we ain’t got it? What’s gonna happen then?”
Gordie was silent.
“Huh? What would you do, you parked that kind of money with someone for safekeeping and they lost it? Would you say, Okay, shit happens, and leave it at that? Or would you blow their fucking brains out? I sure know what I’d do.”
“All the more reason,” Gordie said evenly, “to find out what happened to the money.”
“Yeah, but what I’m saying is, what if we don’t? And we’ve still got our wagon hitched to Vince? That guy’s on borrowed time, and as long as we’re attached to him, so are we. This thing with Eldon, that’s the last straw for me.”
Gordie had gone quiet again.
“What? You got nothin’ to say?”
“You shouldn’t be talkin’ this way, man. Vince, he wouldn’t like it.”
“You gonna tell him?”
“’Course not. But you’re taking a chance even thinking this way. He took out Eldon. You think now he wouldn’t take out either of us if we looked at him the wrong way?”
“Exactly what I’m saying. You want to live with that every day? Wondering if the boss is going to come up behind you and shoot you in the head or slit your throat?”
“I hear what you’re saying but . . .”
“But? But what? I’ve been watching him. There’s times it’s like he’s not quite there. You see him breathing heavy, like he’s having a heart attack or something. That cancer’s eatin’ him up inside. He’s holding on to things so he don’t fall down. You seen him walk? He kind of limps along. I was with him the other day; he was saying it hurts like hell when he drives, all bunched up with that bag in his lap.”
Gordie was looking straight ahead through the windshield.
“Okay, forget it.” Bert hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Bury your head in the sand.”
“Let’s just see what happens. Maybe—”
“Do you know where we’re going?”
“Down this way.”
Bert hung a left, the van lurching. There was almost nothing inside, but it still rattled with every bump and pavement seam.
“I don’t have my head in the sand,” Gordie said. “I’ve seen the things you’ve seen. But what’re you gonna do? Hand in your notice? Tell Vince you got a better offer?”
Bert snorted.
“I got an idea,” Gordie said. “Tell him you’ve been headhunted by the Mafia.”
“That’s just it,” Bert said. “He’s not the Mafia. They never let you quit. Once you’re in, you’re in forever. But Vince is one guy. If you quit, you quit.”
“No, you’re wrong. You—try making a right at the next light; we might find him down there—quit on Vince and he’ll hunt you down. I’m tellin’ ya, you don’t want to fuck with the guy. You can quit when he’s dead.” He paused.
“Maybe I won’t have to wait that long,” Bert said, cranking the wheel.
“I’m tellin’ ya, don’t talk like that.”
“I’m not saying I’d do it. What I’m saying is, the way he’s going, he may not have that much longer. And I don’t want to be there when—”
“There! Up ahead, other side of the street. Isn’t that him?”
Bert pulled the van over to the curb so he could take a good look without having to watch the road. On the other side, on the sidewalk, a man walking two dogs. A golden lab and a poodle, both straining at their leashes.
“Yeah, that’s Braithwaite,” Bert said. “I got a feeling about this guy. I think he did it. I’d bet on it.”
“Gonna be tricky with the dogs.”
“Labs are nice, and a fucking poodle?” Bert said. “He might as well be walking a couple of cats.”
He checked his mirror, cranked the wheel hard, and did a U-turn, stopping the van at the side of the road several car lengths ahead of Nathaniel Braithwaite.
Gordie got out the passenger side and positioned himself in the center of the sidewalk.
Braithwaite stopped, the dogs still straining to go forward.
“Nathaniel, right?”
“Yes,” he said hesitantly.
Gordie smiled. “We’re associates of Mr. Vince Fleming, and we’d like to have a word with you.”
“Oh, okay,” he said. “I was actually going to call him. I, uh, I wanted to talk to him about, you know, the arrangement.”
“Well, whaddya know? But you’re gonna have to lose the dogs.”
Bert was out of the truck now, too, taking a spot up alongside Gordie. Sunglasses on, arms folded, playing the role.
“I’ll finish walking them and then I guess I could meet him somewhere,” Braithwaite said.
Gordie shook his head. “No. It has to be now. And we’re not taking the dogs with us.”
Nathaniel Braithwaite forced a nervous laugh. “I can’t just let the dogs go.”
“Sure you can. Just unsnap the leashes. Give ’em their freedom.”
“You don’t understand. I’m responsible for them. Their owners trust me to look after them.”
“Their owners trust you, huh?” Bert said. “That’s a good one.”
Bert pulled back his jacket far enough for Nathaniel to see the gun tucked into his waistband.
“Please,” Braithwaite said. “Just let me take them back to their homes.”
“And give you time to run?” Gordie said. “I don’t think so.”
“Run? Why would I run?”
Gordie, talking out of the side of his mouth, said to Bert, loud enough for Braithwaite to hear, “Shoot the dogs.”
Bert put his right hand on the butt.
“Okay, okay!” Braithwaite said. He knelt down, unfastened the leash first from the poodle, then the lab. The dogs bolted into a nearby yard, sniffing the grass, the trees, each other. Braithwaite watched, his face washing over with anxiety, as they got farther and farther from him.
Bert had slid back the van’s side door.
“All aboard,” he said.
FORTY-FIVE
TERRY
“WHAT the hell are you talking about?” I asked Vince over the phone, Cynthia huddled close to me to hear what he was saying. “What money? There’s money in this house?”
“You were always one of my first choices,” Vince said. “There’s no one squeakier clean than a teacher and a wife who works for the health department. Couple of responsible, decent civic employees. Police would never search your place. Not in a million years.”
“You’ve hidden something here? In our house?”
“I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. I’ll be over in a while. I’ll take it off your hands.”
“You son of a bitch. If you’ve hidden something here, you’ve put us all at risk, you’ve—”
“I told you, I’ll take care of it.”
The line went dead.
“You heard that?” I said to Cynthia.
She nodded, but then she started shaking her head in disbelief. I could see the fear in her eyes.
“It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t get it.”
“You heard what he said. Because we’re squeaky clean. Because we’re the kind of people no one would suspect of hiding something illegal. Like stolen goods. Stolen money.”
I tried to get my head around it. Was that what Vince had been getting at when he asked me whether Stuart and Grace had gone anywhere in the Cummings house? Whether they’d been looking for something other than keys to the Porsche?
“Son of a bitch,” I said under my breath.
“What?”
“That’s what he’s doing. He’s hiding his money in other people’s houses, in case the cops ever raid his place.”
“That’s insane,” Cynthia said.
“Maybe. But if there’s money hidden in this house, and we haven’t got a clue about it, maybe it’s not as crazy as it sounds.”
We both looked at each other, dumbfounded. Finally, I said, “The basement. If that bastard hid something here, it’s probably in the basement.”
I walked hurriedly out of our bedroom, Cynthia close on my heels. Seconds after we passed Grace’s room, she poked her head out and said, “What’s going on?”
Neither of us answered. I was in the basement in less than ten seconds, heading for the furnace room. It was on the north side of the house, tucked into a corner of the rec room where we watched movies. A room four by eight feet, large enough for the furnace and the water heater and a few boxes.
“It could be in here,” I said.
“I don’t even know what we’re looking for,” Cynthia said. “A box of money? You gotta be kidding me. A shoe box? A wine box? What?”
“I don’t know.”
I grabbed the first two boxes I saw, both with Magic Marker scribbling on them. One read Family Photos, the other 2007 Receipts.
I dragged them out onto the rec room floor. Once I was on my knees, I opened the flaps of both boxes and dug my hands into them, pushing aside bits of paper and photo shop envelopes of old vacation shots that we’d never bothered to put into an album.
No Safe House Page 24
