Mystery Writers of America Presents the Rich and the Dead

by Inc. Mystery Writers of America

  “No.” She squatted and picked up one of the pieces of silvery metal strewn around the body of the first man. “The gun he pulled on me got smashed to bits.”

  There among the shrapnel, I noticed a large section of onyx and ebony pistol grip. “Uh-oh.”

  “What?”

  “That’s my handgun.” I paused. “At least, it was. I sold it to a private collector last month.”

  “Was his name David Binder?”

  “Yeah.” I tingled all over. “How did you know that?”

  “Someone’s setting you up, Trip, and I think I know who it is.” She approached me and pulled the sat phone from the backpack. “Let’s find out for sure.”

  “What are you doing?”

  She extended the antenna. “Hitting redial.” She punched a button.

  “Dizzy! No!”

  “It’s ringing.” She held up her hand. “Shh…”

  I heard a man’s voice, but I couldn’t tell who it was or what he said. Karen hung up and retracted the antenna. “It was Keith. He said, ‘Is it finished?’” She looked like she’d been hit in the stomach with a cannonball.

  I pulled her into my arms. I wanted to hold her forever, to breathe her in and keep her safe from the world. I wished I could.

  She spoke in whispers. “It all makes sense now. You lose everything. You kidnap me. I try to escape. You chase me through the woods. We struggle on the edge of the quarry. We fall to our deaths. Nice and neat, just the way Keith likes it. Except it didn’t turn out to be very nice or very neat.”

  I pulled away. “Chloe must work for him.”

  “Who’s that?” Karen wasn’t crying.

  “The girl in the green dress—the one who was too young for me.”

  Karen nodded. “Keith probably owns the car service, too.”

  I approached the cliff wall. Fragments of platinum Rolex surrounded a pair of red-soled pumps. The day before she left me, my last wife went to Neiman Marcus and spent the last of my trust fund on Louboutins. Karen’s were scuffed and scratched, but the heels were still firmly attached. I thought about collecting the pieces of my watch, but there wasn’t enough to salvage.

  Karen and I exchanged shoes. She handed me the phone. I extended the antenna again.

  She shot me a confused look. “What are you doing?”

  “Calling the sheriff.”

  “Are you insane?” She looked around. “How could we explain any of this to the authorities?”

  I shrugged and said, “All we can do is tell the truth.” I began to walk away.

  She pulled me to a stop. “Keith isn’t just powerful. He’s lethal. Honesty will only land you in jail and, eventually, on a table with tubes running into your arm.”

  “Well, what do we do? You hung up on him. He’ll know something’s wrong. He’ll send more people.”

  “No, he won’t.” She held out her hand. “I’m going to call him.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “I know how to put a stop to this.” She looked me in the eye. “Trust me.”

  I handed Karen the phone. She punched in several digits; then she stared at the keypad.

  “Forget his number?”

  She looked up at me. Tears flowed down her wounded cheeks.

  “Dizz.” I put my hand on her shoulder.

  She waved me away, then she pressed one final button. Phone to her ear, she half sobbed, “Oh, Keith!” She let out a gut-wrenching wail. “Trip Gilford kidnapped me. He was holding me in his family’s old cabin. I tried to get away, but he chased me through the trees.” Her voice quivered. “Then there was this man in camouflage who tried to throw me into the quarry. I grabbed his backpack and pushed him over the edge.”

  I heard Keith speaking, but I couldn’t tell what he said.

  Karen sniffled. “Survival defense training—it was going to be a surprise. I tried to make a run for it, but I twisted my ankle. I found a gun in the backpack. I shot Trip in the woods. Another man in camouflage came after me. I shot him, too. He fell into the quarry.”

  He spoke more soft words.

  “I can’t walk, I’m cold, and I’m so scared. Trip threw a party here our junior year of high school. Do you remember where this place is?”

  Keith’s voice was audible but not intelligible.

  “Thank God you’re nearby. Please hurry. I’m at the top of the cliff.”

  Keith said something else. I still couldn’t understand, but his words sounded soothing.

  Karen let out a softer sob; then she said, “I love you. Focus on getting here safely—I’ll call the police.”

  Keith was in mid-no when Karen punched the end button. She powered off the phone, collapsed the antenna, and handed it to me. She wiped away the tears and, voice unwavering, said, “He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  I found myself following Karen up the hillside. My feet were so sore, I winced with each quick step. It amazed me that she could move so quickly in heels. It amazed me even more to find that she was intact—even energized—after learning her husband had tried to have her killed. Some people crumble in crisis. Others summon deep reserves of strength that disintegrate when the tribulation is past. Karen obviously fell into the latter category.

  As we hiked up the slope, I said, “What’s the plan?”

  “Negotiate.”

  “You have completely lost your mind, haven’t you?”

  Karen shook her head. “This whole thing boils down to money. Everything Keith’s made, he made while we were married. Fifty percent of what’s his is mine. He doesn’t want me to have my half. I’ll tell him I’ll walk away with twenty-five percent if he clears your name.”

  “What if he decides to kill us both and keep a hundred percent?”

  “He thinks I called the police, and he thinks you’re dead. He won’t try anything. He won’t even be armed. He’ll just be thinking about regrouping and waiting for the next opportunity.”

  We threaded our way through the trees until we reached the spot on the rim above the dead men. Karen and I stood facing each other. I’d never felt so close to or so distant from her.

  She smiled and said, “Am I as much of a mess as you are?”

  I brushed off the front of my tux with my hands, but it was a lost cause. Karen opened her coat, looked down at her ruined dress, then closed it. I noticed blood oozing from a scratch on her forehead. I wiped it away with my thumb. “Did you have any idea things with Keith were this bad?”

  “Not this bad, but…” For a moment, she looked something close to her age. “On our twelfth anniversary, we were having one of our usual arguments. I said I would’ve been better off if I’d stayed with you. He was so angry, I thought he was going to burst into flames. I’ve tried to make it up to him, but he hasn’t been the same since then.”

  “So that explains…”

  “What?”

  “Over the last three years, the wealth my father and my grandfather worked so hard to accumulate has been systematically erased. For a while it seemed like a string of bad luck, but nobody could be that unfortunate that consistently. I always suspected someone was behind it. I guess I was right.”

  She put her hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. I never intended for that to happen.”

  “It’s not your fault.” I ran my hands back through my hair. “You didn’t know what Keith was going to do. And I was a novice when it came to financial matters. I mean, I got a degree in Romance languages and literature. My dad felt so bad about me losing my mom at such a young age, he took care of everything so I could enjoy life. After he died, I tried to follow in his footsteps, to be a good person, to be a thoughtful philanthropist, but I trusted the wrong people. Those people apparently worked for Keith.” I heard car wheels on gravel. Through the trees, I saw headlights climbing the driveway. “It’s showtime, Dizz.”

  As the sound of the engine grew louder, Karen pulled me into a close hug and whispered into my ear, “You’re the best man I’ve ever known. I really should have stayed with y
ou.”

  I wanted to tell her she had shattered my heart so completely when she broke up with me, I’d never gotten over it. I wanted to tell her no woman had ever compared to her. I wanted to tell her she was the real reason I’d been divorced three times. There were so many things I could have said, should have said. I kept my mouth shut.

  Karen backed away, hands in her coat pockets. “You better get out of sight.”

  “Shouldn’t you be sitting down? Since you twisted your ankle?”

  “It won’t matter. Now go.”

  I hobbled away through the trees. A car door slammed. Fast, heavy footsteps trudged through the woods. Keith knew exactly where to go. He should—he’d planned the whole thing. Even if Karen didn’t think he’d try anything, I decided to be prepared. I reached into the backpack for the handgun. It wasn’t there. I wondered if I’d dropped it on the hike back up the hill.

  Voice loud and firm, Karen said, “Stop right there!”

  “It’s me, Dizzy.” The voice was unmistakably Keith’s, but it had taken on a tone of supreme composure; three billion dollars could buy a lot of self-confidence. “You can put the gun down now.”

  The gun? I mentally cursed at myself for not anticipating this. I was naive about business, and I was naive about women. I hurried back through the woods along the rim.

  Voice steely, Karen said, “You really thought you could get away with it?”

  “Get away with what?”

  I broke through the trees. Keith stood hands up, back to the brink, the band of his Rolex gleaming in the moonlight. Karen faced him from a couple of yards away. She had shed her coat and shoes. Keith was dressed in a suit and tie. His clothing appeared well tailored, his reddish hair meticulously clipped. He looked every bit the robber baron. He also looked like he’d seen a ghost.

  Eyes wide, Keith glanced over at me and said, “Dizzy. To your left.”

  Gaze fixed on her husband, she spoke in a mocking tone. “Surprise!”

  Keith gave a nervous smile. His teeth were straight and white. He’d obviously invested some of his fortune into his appearance.

  My looks had been marred and my wealth had been decimated, thanks to him. Two charities that depended on me had ceased to exist. I’d never felt such spite for another human being as I did for Keith at that moment. I wanted to shove him into the quarry.

  His eyes darted between Karen and me. “Is this some sort of a joke?”

  Karen kept the handgun aimed at him. “Is your plan to frame Trip for kidnapping me a joke? Is your plan to have us both murdered a joke? Is your plan to marry that little trollop….” She glanced over at me. “What was her name again? Chloe?”

  Chloe was his mistress? Confusion replaced contempt. I took a step toward Karen. “What’s going on, Dizz?”

  Focus steady on her husband, she widened her stance. “Is your plan to marry Chloe a joke?”

  His smile disappeared. “Dizzy, your imagination’s playing tricks on you.”

  “The recordings I’ve downloaded from that obnoxious watch of yours aren’t imaginary.”

  He glanced up at his Rolex. Its diamond bezel flashed fire. She’d hidden a recording device inside?

  “It’s the only thing you never take off.” Karen took a step forward. “You wore it to bed with your mistress. You wore it in the pool while you and your financial advisers figured out how to ruin Trip. You wore it in the steam room when you gave your hoodlums the kill order.”

  Keith looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “Dizzy…”

  As I tried to get my head around the fact that Karen had known Keith was setting us up, she dropped the gun and said, “You should have been more careful.” She leaped forward and grabbed an overhanging branch. Her legs swung in a long, fast arc. Her feet struck Keith in the chest with such force, it sounded like a basketball exploding. Keith disappeared over the edge of the cliff. He didn’t utter a sound. A sickening thud told me it was ended.

  Karen released the limb and dropped to the ground.

  My whole body went numb. I fell to my knees. “What have you done?”

  “It was self-defense.” She approached me. “He would have killed me eventually.”

  I looked up at her. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

  She chuckled lightly. “You’re the last good man on earth. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  The words wouldn’t come. Even if they had, I wouldn’t have known what to say. I loved Karen. Being with her was all I’d ever wanted. But at what cost? The life of a man who’d tried to kill us both, a man I’d wanted to kill myself? That and possibly my soul.

  “Just one thing—I’ll handle the money.” Karen extended her hand. “Now come on. We have work to do.”

  THE ITINERARY

  BY ROBERTA ISLEIB

  Detective Jack Meigs knew he’d hate Key West the moment he was greeted off the plane by a taxi driver with a parrot on his shoulder. He hadn’t wanted to take a vacation at all, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to come to Florida, which he associated with elderly people pretending they weren’t declining. But his boss insisted, and then his sister surprised him with a nonrefundable ticket: he was screwed. A psychologist had once told him that it took a year for grief to lift and that making major life changes during this time only complicated the process, which was why he’d gone to work directly from the funeral and every day in the three months since. There was no vacation from the facts: his wife Alice was dead, and she wasn’t coming back.

  The driver packed him into a cab that smelled like a zoo and lurched away from the curb. Then the bird let loose a stream of shit that splattered off his newspapered roost and onto Meigs’s polished black leather loafers. The cabbie hooted with laughter.

  “That means good luck, man,” he said, gunning the motor and grinning like a monkey in the rearview mirror. “Mango doesn’t do that for just anybody.”

  The parrot screamed during the entire ten-minute ride to Meigs’s hotel, and the driver never shut up, either. Would everyone connected with this damn town want to give him a travelogue?

  “I’m takin’ you down our main street, give you the flavor,” the cabbie said as he turned off Truman Avenue onto bustling Duval Street. He veered around a stumbling bum and a covey of fat, sun-crisped cruise ship escapees carrying plastic cups of beer. Were open containers legal in this town?

  “Hemingway got soused here every afternoon after writing.” The cabbie pointed to a shabby-looking bar, drinkers spilling out onto the sidewalk. “And Jimmy Buffett wrote ‘Woman Goin’ Crazy on Caroline Street’ right down there in Margaritaville.” He pointed to yet another bar, lit by palm trees and flamingos in flashing neon, also crammed with boozers.

  The whole scene was a police officer’s nightmare.

  The cab driver swerved onto Caroline Street and pulled over in front of Notre Paradis, the bed-and-breakfast that Meigs’s sister had chosen for him. A thin man wearing a tight white shirt and copper sparkles on his glasses bounded off the front porch to greet him.

  “I’m Laurent, your host. This is your first trip to Key West? You’re going to love it!” He struck a theatrical pose and then paused to look Meigs over—his khakis with the worn cuffs and pockets, the gray turtleneck on which he’d spilled his Coke during the turbulence from Miami to Key West. Laurent lowered his voice to a whisper and winked. “Yes, there is a lot of money in this town. But there’s plenty to enjoy without piles of cash, too.”

  After unpacking, Meigs changed his shirt and went to explore Duval Street on foot. Laurent had dismissed his protests and insisted this was a must-see; had actually escorted him down Caroline Street and watched like a mother seeing her firstborn off to kindergarten until Meigs turned to salute good-bye.

  On Duval, Meigs stepped over two bums stretched out on cardboard in front of an empty storefront and skirted another playing bad guitar next to a dog dressed in sunglasses and Mardi Gras beads. Every few minutes, the dog lifted his snout and howled along with his o
wner. A handful of tourists stopped to take photos.

  “Cruelty to animals,” Meigs muttered to himself. Neither the cops nor the residents in his small Connecticut town would have tolerated sleeping bums and singing dogs.

  In front of Fast Buck Freddie’s tropical window displays, a petite woman in a lime green tube top and a heavyset man with a florid complexion were going at it in hissed whispers. Meigs couldn’t help catching “give me some space” followed by “but I paid for the goddamn cruise.” Then the big man grabbed the girl’s wrist and started to yank her across the sidewalk.

  Meigs moved forward and grasped the man’s bicep. “Let the lady go,” he said in his fiercest cop voice. “Now.”

  “Fuck off, asshole, this is none of your business,” the man said but dropped his girlfriend’s wrist and gave her an unnecessary push.

  Meigs turned to her. “Everything okay here? Should I find a policeman?” If he could find a cop—so far he’d seen no sign of any law enforcement at all.

  “I’m fine,” she said, rubbing her wrist and then straightening her sunglasses. She turned to her friend and smiled tremulously. “I will see you later on the ship, George.” She disappeared into the stream of shoppers entering Fast Buck Freddie’s. The man scowled at Meigs and stalked off in the other direction.

  Meigs blew out a breath and left Duval Street—so far the charm of the place was eluding him. He ambled over to the Sunset Celebration at Mallory Square—also mandatory in his host Laurent’s mind. He slunk through a bevy of aggressive street performers with minimal musical talent, fended off a tarot card reader, and stopped by a crowd gathered around a slender man in ballet slippers and silver curls who directed a posse of mangy cats. Alice would have found this performance charming. But when the cat man motioned to Meigs to step into the arena to hold a flaming hoop, he fled.

  The Disney Magic, a ten-story cruise ship decorated with white mouse ears on red smokestacks, was docked on the square. Meigs strode past her and on down the pier to a row of magnificent boats—racing sailboats with names like Primal Scream and Big Booty. More like big money, Meigs thought. Streams of spectators ogled the boats and their passengers. The largest yacht at the end of the line, the Emelina, got the most attention. On its upper deck, a four-man band banged out Buffett tunes for a group of elegant partygoers sipping fizzy drinks in glass flutes.