Thick as Thieves

by Sandra Brown

“Oh. You’re feeling guilty.”

  “You’re the cheater. I don’t have anything to feel guilty for.”

  He tipped his chin down and gave her a look.

  “Don’t,” she whispered with distress. “I feel terrible. She was lovely to me. I pried, but she was steadfastly loyal to you. I can’t believe she encouraged you to go someplace with me while she stays at home for a cozy evening with—”

  The realization slammed into her. Crystal’s total lack of animosity or jealousy over her dealings with Ledge suddenly made sense. She looked up into his face. “With Marty,” she said. “They’re partners.”

  The fact that he didn’t react with a swift contradiction was an affirmation.

  “How long have you known?”

  He took her arm again. “I think you and I should go have that honest conversation that Crystal recommended. Your place or mine?”

  “Neither. Someplace public.”

  “Scared to be alone with me?”

  “Precisely. If we’re alone, I’m liable to kill you.”

  Chapter 27

  Ledge insisted that they leave Arden’s car there and go in his truck. He drove them a few miles out of town to a wide spot in the road where two state highways intersected beneath a caution light. The axis didn’t actually qualify as a town, although a portable building on one corner was designated as the post office. On the opposite corner was a restaurant.

  “It doesn’t look like much, but they actually grill a damn good steak.” He got out and went around to the passenger side to help her down, but by the time he got there, she’d made the jump on her own. She hadn’t spoken a word since leaving Crystal’s.

  When they walked into the restaurant, the hostess beamed and greeted him by name. Then she noticed Arden and sized her up. Her smile lost some wattage, and her generous bosom settled back into its natural position.

  He didn’t let on that he noticed. “Hey, Angie. We’re having a business meeting and need quiet. Is the back corner booth free?”

  Looking skeptical about the nature of the dinner, Angie led them to the requested booth. Along the way, Ledge surveyed the other diners scattered throughout. He didn’t see anyone familiar.

  He and Arden slid into opposite sides of the booth. He chose to sit with his back to the wall, facing out into the dining room. Angie placed two laminated menus on the table. “I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with your usual bourbon, Ledge?”

  “Please.”

  “Double?”

  “Single.”

  Arden ordered ice water. Angie sniffed disdain. “I’ll be right back.”

  Arden turned her head to watch as Angie walked away. When she came back around, she said, “Friend of yours?”

  “Not the kind that fits your inflection.”

  “A hopeful wannabe?”

  “Forget her.” He leaned forward on the table. “Why do you have a hankering to kill me?”

  Her purse was beside her on the bench. She opened it and took out a manila envelope, set it on the table between them, and pressed her index finger in the center of it. “Copies of two crime reports. The two my father is alleged to have committed. I thought I’d had an original idea to ask for them.”

  He muttered a string of curses, which Angie caught the tail end of as she returned. She gave him an arch look as she served their drinks and asked if they were ready to order. They skipped the appetizers and went straight to the entrées. Regardless, it seemed to take an inordinately long time to order.

  Arden apparently shared his impatience. As soon as Angie was out of earshot, she sprang forward as though a tether had snapped. “If I had known you had these reports, I would have asked to borrow them and saved myself a trip to the courthouse this morning.”

  “Who spilled the beans?”

  “The detective who helped me. He wasn’t tattling. He didn’t know I knew you.” She gave him a probing look. “I don’t believe I do.”

  For the time being, he let that pass. “Why did you want the reports?”

  “That should be obvious and understandable. I wanted to see what, if anything, was in them that incriminated my dad.”

  “Nothing. Unless I missed a clue that only a family member would spot.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve read every word of both reports twice. I didn’t find anything. Lisa had told me that it was a waste of time.”

  “So she’s also reviewed them?”

  “Soon after it happened. As a ten-year-old, I wouldn’t have understood most of what I was reading. By the time I was old enough, years had passed. It never occurred to me to ask to see them. Not until last night.”

  “When you told me you would start looking for answers someplace else.”

  “Which would have been an ideal time for you to volunteer that you had done some sleuthing yourself.”

  “You didn’t give me a chance to say squat.”

  “If I hadn’t slammed the door on you, would you have told me?”

  “Probably not.”

  “No probably about it, Ledge.”

  She picked up the envelope and returned it to her handbag. Or tried. It buckled. She wound up impatiently stuffing it in. Then she pushed back a handful of her hair. She took a sip of ice water. He scooted his glass of whiskey toward her, she scooted it back, with enough of a shove to slosh some.

  “All right. Clearly you’re mad. Lay into me.” He leaned against the back of the booth and folded his arms across his chest.

  His complacency seemed to infuriate her more. “Don’t patronize me. You keep me in the dark by talking in half-truths, riddles, and outright lies. Why? When are you going to be up-front with me?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What prompted you to ask for copies of those crime reports? After twenty years, what gives them relevance now?”

  “Someone driving past your house every night.”

  “Oh. Right. About that. Turns out that it’s your bitter enemy, the district attorney. Surprise!”

  He took a sip of his drink. “No surprise there, except that you now know.”

  She gaped at him. “You knew it was him?”

  “I suspected.”

  “All along?”

  “Since the minute you told me about it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I hadn’t caught him at it. I tried.”

  “The camouflage and war paint night.”

  “I made no secret of trying to catch him.”

  “No, but you kept secret who you suspected him to be. Another of your lies by omission.”

  He didn’t blame her for being pissed. If the situation were reversed, he would be, too. “When did you find out?”

  “Today.”

  “Here you go.” Angie seemed pleased with herself for having startled them. Neither had noticed her approaching. “Filet for the lady. T-bone for Ledge.” She set two sizzling platters on the table. Addressing Arden, she said, “I know how Ledge likes his. Want to cut into yours to see if it’s cooked okay?”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  Angie asked if they needed anything else, and when Ledge told her no, she left them. He picked up his knife and fork, and motioned for Arden to do the same.

  “I’m too angry to eat.”

  “Force yourself.” He cut a piece of steak, speared it, pushed it into his mouth.

  “Why?”

  “For appearance’s sake.”

  “Don’t you want to know—”

  “Yes. But not now. Not here.”

  He looked around. No one seemed to be paying Arden and him special attention, but Rusty had far-reaching tentacles.

  His steak was as good as usual, but he ate methodically, fueling himself without really tasting the food. He was more interested in the woman across from him, who took dainty bites of her dainty filet. She looked distraught, bewildered, anxious, and angry, all at the same time.

  He wanted to tell her that everything was going to
be all right. But he didn’t know that everything was. Besides, what a fucking hypocrite that would make him.

  They declined dessert and coffee. Rather than hassle with a credit card, he left cash on the table. Angie looked disappointed to see them go.

  As they headed back toward Penton, he watched to see if anyone followed them from the area of the restaurant. No one did.

  “Okay. Tell me,” he said. “How did you learn it was Rusty?”

  “I’d gotten the reports and was leaving the courthouse. He pulled up behind me on the parking lot. I recognized the sound of his car’s engine.” She described the scene and recounted their conversation. “To tell it, it sounds perfectly harmless. But it didn’t feel that way. My skin was crawling.”

  “With good reason. That detective didn’t point you out to him. He’s had you in his sights since you moved back.”

  “But why?”

  “Hold that thought.”

  Well before they reached the city limits of Penton, he turned off onto a narrow side road that amounted to a rutted dirt lane. If one didn’t know it was there, he would drive past without even seeing it.

  Arden asked, “Where are we going?”

  “To the scene of the crime.”

  Even at high noon, it was an ominous environment. After the sun went down, the threatening aspects were intensified by the encompassing darkness. Trees that competed for sunlight during the day formed a canopy that moonlight couldn’t penetrate. Insects were intimidated into silence. Nocturnal creatures went about their business furtively. Fowl sheltered in their nests. The aura of menace was unrelieved.

  When the road came to a dead end, Arden spoke his name with apprehension.

  He said, “You should recognize the place by the description in the police report.”

  She undid her seat belt and leaned forward to peer through the windshield. Had the headlights not been reflecting dully on the murky water that channeled through the gnarled knees of the cypresses, she wouldn’t have known the lake was in front of them. When he cut the headlights, it disappeared.

  “This is where they found Brian Foster,” she said in a whisper.

  “Parts of him. In those cypresses.” He pointed to the copse growing out of the lake.

  She turned and looked at him. “What does this have to do with Rusty?”

  “Rusty killed him.”

  Chapter 28

  Judy Dyle summoned her family to the dinner table.

  All three of the children were involved in sports and other extracurricular activities. Their after-school schedules required more coordination than the D-Day invasion. Furthermore, the schedule was constantly changing, making a set time for the evening meal impossible. Most nights, they ate in shifts, which suited Rusty just fine.

  But Judy insisted that at least one night a week they have dinner as a family.

  Tonight was the night. Lucky him, Rusty thought sourly. He took his place at the head of the table. At Judy’s direction, their daughter mumbled her way through a short blessing.

  Just as she pronounced the amen, Rusty’s cell phone rang. Rescue! He pushed back his chair.

  Judy said, “We agreed to ban cell phones at the dinner table.”

  “I didn’t agree.” Ignoring her glower, he left the table. As he entered his study and shut the door, he looked at the readout on his phone and answered. “Angie, baby. You horny for me?”

  “You wish. Listen, we’re busy, so I’ve got to be quick. I’m calling to ask a favor in exchange for some juicy skinny.”

  “You have it backward, sweetheart. You do me the favors. In exchange, I don’t tell your boss that you dip into the till on a regular basis.”

  “He knows. He and I have worked out our own swap. Do better, Rusty. You’ll want to hear this.”

  Her coyness annoyed him, but that steakhouse got a lot of traffic through it. Angie stayed attuned to the pairs, groups, and individuals who came in, and if she saw someone or something that she thought was out of joint and would be of interest to him, she reported it. She was one of his best informers.

  “Okay,” he said, “what can I do for you?”

  “My kid sister is popping opioids like they’re M&M’s.”

  “Where’s she getting them?”

  “Her new live-in boyfriend. He’s your basic lowlife, leech, and lecher. Put him away. My family will get her into treatment.”

  She gave him their names and where they were shacked up. Rusty promised to sic the SO’s dope detail on the boyfriend. “Now, your turn. What have you got for me?”

  “Ledge came in tonight.”

  “That’s not exactly a news flash.”

  “No, but he usually comes in alone. This evening he had a woman with him.”

  “A woman not Crystal.”

  “Not Crystal.”

  Although Rusty figured he already knew, he asked what the woman looked like.

  “Thirtyish. Blond. Bambi eyes. No muffin top. Pains me to say, I wanted to scratch her eyes out. It’s not like Ledge to cheat on Crystal, at least not out in the open.”

  “You know this because you’ve tried.”

  “Don’t be tacky. Anyway, knowing how it is with the three of y’all, I thought you’d enjoy hearing that he was tomcatting. He said it was a business meeting, but, you know. He had hungry eyes, and not for his tender T-bone.”

  “PDAs?”

  “No. A lot of talking, though, so maybe it was a business meeting. They had their heads together over an official-looking manila envelope. I didn’t see any markings on the outside, or what was in it.”

  Rusty’s face turned hot. He knew what was in it. “Thanks, Angie.”

  “My sister doesn’t get touched. Just the asshole.”

  “Got it.” He hung up, dropped his phone onto the desk, then pivoted and kicked the hell out of the ottoman in front of his easy chair. The steel tip on the toe of his boot left a dent in the leather.

  Ledge and the Maxwell girl had their heads together over those police reports.

  Judy opened the door without knocking first. “Are you coming back to the table or not?”

  “Not!”

  She pulled the door closed with a slam.

  Any other time, he would have gone after her and taught her a lesson in respect, but she could keep. He had to get Burnet’s attention without delay. Shock-and-awe style.

  He went around his desk and opened the bottom drawer. Inside it was a small safe with a keypad lock. He opened it and took out one of several burner phones he used to make calls such as this one.

  The number rang four times before a nasally voice answered with a surly, “Who’s this?”

  “Your worst enemy or best buddy, depending.”

  “Oh. You.”

  “Yeah, me. How soon can you be ready?”

  “If you’re waitin’ on me, you’re backin’ up. Say where.”

  “Stand by. I’ll let you know.”

  Chapter 29

  Arden was looking at Ledge wide-eyed, but he wanted to make certain that she had understood him. “Rusty killed Brian Foster.”

  She leaned away from him until her back was up against the passenger door. Her mouth opened, shut, opened again. Then, “There’s nothing in the investigation report to support that.”

  “There’s nothing in it to support that Joe was the culprit, either.”

  “But Rusty’s name doesn’t appear anywhere in those reports. Dad’s does numerous times. What caused you to suspect Rusty of all people? Is this payback for his getting you arrested that night? If he did.”

  “He did.” The doubt in her expression made him angry. “Fuck it. Crystal wasn’t convinced, either.”

  “You’ve talked to her about this?”

  “Last night. She shared something I didn’t know that lends—”

  “You saw Crystal last night?”

  Her voice had gone a little thin, and he enjoyed the tinge of jealousy it conveyed. “Yeah. Straight from you, I went to her.” He relished her mi
ffed expression for only a second or two, then pulled himself back on track. “She told me quite a story about the night Foster was killed.”

  “The night he died. According to the report, it never was determined if it was intentional or an accident.”

  “All right. The night Foster died, Rusty went to Crystal’s house.”

  “A tryst?”

  “You decide.” He related to her everything Crystal had told him about Rusty’s bizarre visit. He finished by saying, “At first, I was mad at her for keeping this from me for all these years. But I know how Rusty operates, how persuasive he can be. He convinced her that if she ever failed him, I would be the one to catch hell.”

  Arden asked, “Had you beaten up her stepbrother?”

  “I plead the fifth.”

  “Why did you?”

  “I had a reason. But we’re not talking about that. We’re talking about why Rusty needed an alibi that night.”

  “You didn’t fight him?”

  “No. But he couldn’t have faked his injuries.” He raised his hips in order to reach into his back pocket for the envelope Marty had hand-delivered.

  “I wondered what that was about,” Arden said. “It seemed very secretive.”

  “Rusty’s medical chart. She filched it from hospital records. I haven’t had a chance to look at it.”

  “I want to see, too.”

  He turned on the map light and spread the folded sheets open across the console. “Time of arrival in the ER, five fifty-two a.m. That’s consistent with the time Crystal estimated he left her house.”

  He ran his index finger over the sheet. “X-ray on left arm showed a fractured ulna, fractured humerus. Contusions on face, neck, lower abdomen.”

  “Lower abdomen?”

  “Can’t figure that, either,” he said, frowning. “CT scan of torso. No organ rupture or internal bleeding, but blunt trauma to spleen.”

  “What does that say?” Arden squinted at a notation. “Splinters?”

  “Removed from palms of hands,” Ledge said, reading from the attending physician’s notes. “Treated for superficial scratches on arms and hands.” He looked at Arden. “Sounds like defense wounds.”

  They went back to the notes. Rusty had been admitted. He wasn’t discharged until Tuesday morning and was sent home with instructions to continue bed rest for several days, take prescribed pain medication as directed, and apply antibiotic cream to the scratches four times a day.