Deed To Death

by D. B. Henson

  Enough to quiet her sobs, to end her suffering, to bring her peace at last.

  Toni’s cry echoed through the room, but she wasn’t the only one who had screamed. Rosa stood before her trembling, the color drained from her face.

  The housekeeper collapsed back against the sink and put her hand to her heart. “¡Ay Dios mío!”

  As relief washed over Toni, her legs turned to rubber. She had to grab on to the side of the tub to keep from falling.

  “I’m so sorry,” Toni said. “I didn’t realize you were in here. You scared me.”

  “I scare you? Why you in the shower?”

  Toni shook her head and laughed, trying to think of an excuse. “Well, I was just checking the soap. I wanted to make sure we had enough. My husband has this strange quirk. He likes to have a new bar every time he takes a shower.”

  Toni knew the explanation sounded ridiculous, but she was too rattled to come up with anything remotely plausible. “So if you could just leave a few extras, we’d really appreciate it.”

  Rosa nodded, an expression of bewilderment on her face. “Sí.”

  “Well, I have go now. I’m going to be late.”

  Toni stepped out of the tub and rushed past Rosa into the bedroom. She stuffed the photo envelope back into the drawer under Brian’s socks and then took a second to study the room. Satisfied she had left things as she found them, Toni hurried out of the suite and ran down the hallway toward the elevator.

  Brian dodged the towel cart and stepped through the open door to his suite. As he dropped his computer case on the sofa, a housekeeper walked out of the bedroom muttering to herself in Spanish. When she glanced up and saw Brian, she stopped and shook her head.

  “Your wife, she already gone,” Rosa said.

  “What?”

  “She scare me half to death. I open the shower curtain, there she is. She scream, I scream. Enough to wake the dead.”

  “My wife?”

  “Sí. She hurry out. Said you are late for your tour.” Rosa gestured toward the door. “You should go, catch her.”

  “Right, I will.”

  It had to be Toni. But what was she doing in his room? And, more importantly, how much did she know? “My wife – she’s about five feet six with dark red hair?”

  A look of confusion crossed Rosa’s face. “Sí.”

  “How long ago did she leave?”

  “Five minutes, maybe less.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Mark turned the pillow over in his hands.

  It would be so easy. All he had to do was cover her face. The drugs in her system would prevent any struggle. She wouldn’t experience any pain. Just the slightest amount of pressure and Arlene would be set free.

  Free from the shell that imprisoned her in this world.

  There would be no questions asked. The doctors had not expected her to live this long. And who could blame him anyway? Who would want such an existence? Days spent in torment, surrounded by strangers. Your own identity a mystery. Your only comfort found in the companionship of an aging rag doll.

  If he ever succumbed to a similar fate, he hoped someone would have the courage to take mercy on him. Release him from his bonds.

  Mark had debated the matter a hundred times. Had asked himself the same questions. And he always reached the same conclusion. She would be much better off when her life here ended. Still, he had never been able to go through with it.

  Something always held him back.

  It was the same today. Still holding him back. And it would continue to hold him back, right up until the day Arlene’s body decided to surrender to death on its own.

  He gently lifted his mother’s head and slipped the pillow back beneath her.

  She slept peacefully now, her breathing a steady rhythm. The sedative had worked its magic yet again. Her face was relaxed, her lips curved almost into a smile. He hadn’t seen her smile in such a long time.

  Even when he brought her gifts, she would stare at them blankly. The only time she showed any emotion was during one of her spells. And then, it was usually fear or anger, or a combination of both. Like today. The times his mother was most alive were when she was in the throes of despair. In her own private hell. He longed for the day when it would all be over. When she could escape the anguish and be happy again.

  Mark leaned down, kissed Arlene’s cheek, and then returned to the window.

  Toni worked her way through the house closing all the slats on the plantation shutters and checking the doors and windows, making sure they were locked. Even though the sun was still bright, she turned on all the lights, both inside and out. When she was done, she went back downstairs and double-checked the security system.

  Brian was out there somewhere. He could be watching her at this very moment. He might even be standing on the other side of the kitchen window, his face against the glass, peering through the minute cracks between the slats. She could almost feel his eyes on her, sense him studying her every move. The thought made the tiny hairs along the back of her neck bristle.

  Stop it. This is crazy.

  What she needed was something to steady her nerves. She opened her now semi-stocked refrigerator and took out a bottle of merlot. Even though the kitchen was pleasantly warm, her hands were like ice. They trembled as she poured the wine. It splashed over the rim of her glass onto the granite counter top.

  Calm down. You’re safe. Everything will be fine.

  She grabbed a paper towel, wiped up the merlot, and then carried her glass into the family room. She sat down on the sofa and curled her legs up under her. She took a long swallow of the wine. The liquid seeped through her body, spreading a comforting warmth. After a few more sips, she began to relax.

  Her thoughts returned to Brian’s hotel room. Why had he taken her picture?

  She wished she’d had the time to search the remaining drawers. She may have found the answer. From what she had uncovered so far, it didn’t really make sense. If he believed she was an obstacle, could keep him from gaining control of Scott’s money, why didn’t he just go ahead and kill her? He knew what she looked like. He didn’t need a photo. And then the realization hit.

  The pictures were for someone else.

  For someone he had hired to kill her.

  She remembered the article Brian had written about the CIA assassin. Although the former agent was still in prison, Brian could have other contacts like him. Professional killers. By hiring someone else to commit the murder, he would be free to establish an alibi for himself.

  Brian probably knew she had been to see Detective Lewis. He might even know that she suspected him of Scott’s murder. This way he could cover his tracks. Anyone with CIA training was sure to be an expert. Someone who would never be caught. With a solid alibi and no amateur trigger man to rat him out, Brian would walk away free.

  Free and a multi-millionaire.

  Despite the warming effects of the wine, a cold chill rushed through her.

  The contract killer could be anyone. He could get himself hired at her office. Pretend to be a client or another agent. He could be a waiter at a restaurant or a clerk at the grocery store. Or he might pose as a deliveryman or even a police officer. At least with Brian, she knew who the enemy was. Now she wasn’t sure who to be afraid of.

  For the first time in her life, Toni wished she owned a gun. Her father had kept a shotgun around the house when she was growing up. As far as she knew, he never did any hunting with it. The gun stayed locked in a cabinet in the basement. He had only taken it out a few times that she could remember. And then, he used it to shoot soda cans off a fence at his friend’s farm.

  He had let her fire it once. She was around ten years old. She still remembered the recoil and the bruise it left on her arm, the echo of the blast, and the burnt-sweet scent of the gunpowder. She didn’t even come close to hitting one of the cans. After her father died, she sold the gun along with several of his other belongings, most of his furniture, and the house where she gre
w up. Besides the shotgun, she’d had no other contact with a firearm.

  Still, she felt as though she needed some sort of protection. Something small that she could carry with her. She could purchase a handgun, but she knew there would be a waiting period. It could be several days. She might not have that much time.

  She could be dead by then.

  She had a can of pepper spray in her purse, but she didn’t really think it would do much good. Then she remembered something. She had seen a hunting knife in one of the boxes Scott had brought over from his condo. She drained the last of the wine from her glass and went into the study.

  There were several cardboard boxes stacked in one corner of the room. During the two weeks they had lived in the house, Scott had been busy with work and the wedding. He planned to finish unpacking when they retuned from their honeymoon. Now the task was hers. Toni opened the closest box on top. Inside, she found several hardback books and some old copies of Architectural Digest.

  Too heavy to lift, she pulled the box trying to slide it off the one beneath. The bottom caught on something in the box below. It refused to move further. Toni gave the box a hard jerk. It came free easier than she expected, landing with a thud on the hardwood floor.

  The momentum hurled Toni backward and she lost her balance. As she tumbled to the floor, her left shoulder bumped a small table next to a leather wing chair. The table rocked, almost tipping over. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a black statue falling over the edge. She put out her hands as her backside hit the floor, catching the statue before it crashed on the hardwood.

  Carved from onyx, the image was of a rearing stallion. She had purchased the statue in Cozumel, in the small town of San Miguel, at a shop on the waterfront near the Plaza del Sol. The onyx felt cool against her skin.

  She sat on the floor with her legs crossed, tracing the lines of the carving with her index finger. Scenes of the previous summer flashed through her mind like slides in a projector. She and Scott, hand in hand, strolling down the malecon, exploring the various shops along the way, and then stopping for lunch at a sidewalk café. Sweet memories she would treasure for the rest of her life.

  Alvin Harney was right. She was the luckiest woman on earth. Scott had given her his love. She would feel it in this house for as long as she lived. It was a love that transcended death.

  Toni got up from the floor and placed the statue back on the table. She scooted the box of books out of the way and pulled open the box that had been underneath.

  Just more books.

  But the one on top seemed unusual. Thick and leather bound, it appeared to be a photo album. She lifted the book out and took it to the wing chair. She sat down and opened the cover expecting to see pictures of Scott and his family. But it wasn’t a photo album. It was a scrapbook.

  She flipped through the pages one by one, scanning every item.

  Brian’s entire career fanned out before her, starting with the very first article he had ever published. A puff piece for a newspaper in Virginia. All the articles she had found on the internet were there as well. There were clippings documenting the various awards he had won, including a John Hancock award and a George Polk award. Not being familiar with journalism, she had no real idea of the significance of the awards. But there was one name she did recognize – Pulitzer. She was surprised to read that Brian had been a finalist for the prize the prior year.

  The last item in the book was an article he had written just a few weeks before Scott’s death. There was no mention of the lawsuit against Brian or the resulting judgment.

  Toni closed the scrapbook. Scott had kept tabs on Brian all those years, saving every article he could find. Chronicling his achievements. Just like a parent would preserve their child’s report cards. Scott was proud of Brian. Had loved him dearly despite their differences.

  If only Brian had known. It may have softened his heart. If he needed money, he could have asked for a loan. Scott might still be alive.

  She had a sudden urge to destroy the book. Burn its contents. Obliterate everything pertaining to Brian. But what good would it do? Scott had obviously cherished the clippings. The old adage was true. Love could be blind. Scott had no inkling of the monster Brian had become.

  Toni placed the scrapbook on the corner of Scott’s desk and began to rummage through the remaining boxes. Finally, in the next to the last box, packed with a dartboard and a set of wrenches, she found the hunting knife.

  A black leather sheath housed the weapon. She unsnapped the top flap and the knife slid out. The handle was black with a metal butt and guard. At four inches long, the stainless steel blade reflected the overhead lighting like a mirror.

  Although better than no defense at all, there was a distinct disadvantage of having a knife versus a gun. Whoever wanted to kill her would have to get really close before she could use it.

  The thought of cutting someone made Toni’s stomach churn. But if faced with death, she would do whatever was necessary to survive.

  She slipped the knife back into its holster. She noticed the loop on the back of the sheath designed to slip over a belt. If she wore it under a jacket or sweater, it would be completely concealed. She would be able to take it with her wherever she went.

  The question was, if she did find herself in trouble, would she be able to get it out in time?

  She went to the window and peeked out the shutters at the front lawn. She was surprised to see that it was already dark outside. Going through the boxes had taken longer than she realized.

  The phone rang and Toni jumped.

  She glanced at the caller ID on Scott’s desk phone and saw that it was Jill. She decided to let the machine get it. Still clutching the hunting knife, she walked to the kitchen and stood in the doorway, listening. On the fifth ring, the machine picked up.

  “Toni, it’s Jill. I was just wondering if you wanted to come over Friday night. Clint suggested that we grill out. Call me and let me know.” The line went dead and the machine beeped signaling the end of the call.

  Maybe she should go. It would give her a chance to question Clint about his statement to the police. And if they pressed her to sell Scott’s share of the company, which was probably the true motive of the dinner, she would just tell them that she couldn’t do anything until she settled the lawsuit with Brian.

  Toni placed the knife on the counter and erased the message.

  She set up her laptop computer on the breakfast table, and then went to the refrigerator and took out a plastic container filled with fresh tuna salad. She carried her sandwich and a Coke back to the table along with a pad of paper and a pencil.

  Nico Williams still seemed her best lead to finding out what really happened to Scott. If anyone else had entered the construction site that morning, it was very likely he had seen them. Even if his phone call had distracted him and someone had managed to slip by, it was still possible he possessed some valuable information.

  Information he may not even be aware of.

  Toni clicked open her internet browser and started a phone directory search. Although she knew Williams was a very common name, she was surprised at the number of entries in the area that were a possible match. There was no actual Nico listed, however there were four entries for Nicolas and close to a dozen more with the initial N.

  She took a bite of her sandwich and then dialed the first number. It was no longer in service. She hoped that wasn’t a portent of things to come. She mentally crossed off the entry and dialed Nicolas number two. An elderly woman answered on the third ring.

  “May I speak with Nico Williams?” Toni asked.

  “Who?”

  “Nicolas Williams.”

  “Honey, he’s been dead for more than four years now.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. He’s obviously not the Mr. Williams I’m looking for. But maybe you can still help me. Do you know if he has a relative that goes by the name of Nico?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation and then, “Who
is this?”

  There was something strange in the woman’s tone of voice. Something more than just the normal annoyance you’d expect to hear when asking such a benign question. Did she know Nico? Toni had a feeling she did. She had to come up with an explanation that would put the woman at ease.

  “My name is Toni Matthews. I’m with Chadwick & Shore Construction. I’m trying to locate the Nico Williams who did some subcontract work for us. Our records show that we owe him a paycheck, but somehow we got his address mixed up and we don’t know where to send it.”

  “I see. Well, I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I don’t know any Nico.”

  So much for gut feelings. Toni had thought for sure the woman was a relative. “Thanks anyway. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  She hung up the phone and twisted off the cap of her Coke. There were still several more listings left to try. Surely, one of them would be the right man.

  Almost an hour later, Toni dialed the last possible listing in the bunch. N.V. Williams, who turned out to be Natalie. She was no closer to finding Nico than she was when she first started. Either he had an unlisted number, or it was in someone else’s name. Or maybe he only had his cell phone. There was no way she could think of to find that number.

  After doing a regular search on Nico’s name and finding no hits that matched, Toni realized she had only one final chance of locating him tonight. The tax records. Part of her monthly real estate dues paid for a subscription to the state’s database. She could search all the tax records online. If Nico owned a home, she would find him.

  Keeping the window with the phone directory list open, she cross-checked all the properties in the neighboring counties owned by anyone with the name Nicolas or the single initial N with the numbers she’d already called.

  Some of the property owners that were a potential match had mailing addresses in other areas of the state. She ran another directory search for their phone numbers. It took over an hour to call all the owners on the list. Not one admitted to knowing Nico.