Last Call

by Libby Kirsch

“And you snapped,” Janet said.

  Unnoticed by Benji, O’Dell and the patrol officers behind him moved into place. Sweat rings bloomed out from under Cindy Lou’s arms and Larsa reached over the bar and refilled her own beer.

  “Damn straight I snapped,” Benji said. “I—I keep this gun for safety when I ride,” he said, whipping a tiny, purse-size gun from his pocket and setting it on the bar top. Abe gasped and Cindy Lou stumbled back into the liquor shelf, sending at least two bottles clanking loudly to the floor.

  “When you ride your bicycle?” Janet asked. “How does that work?”

  “I bought it after I got run off the road the last time. These cars, they think they own the space—that I shouldn’t even be allowed on it! Do you know how many times I’ve been nearly killed? Last time was close—a car pushed me into a fire hydrant. I nearly broke my arm! I decided if they have a deadly weapon—their car,” he clarified when he saw Janet’s confused expression, “then I should, too. I carry this now when I ride, so I’m ready. Just in case.

  “And you were ready yesterday. Did Finch try to run you off the road?”

  “No, but he railroaded the justice system ten years ago, and then again just a few weeks ago, when he made sure Ike didn’t face charges for sideswiping Abe. He was enabling a killer, don’t you see? I couldn’t stand for it. He was getting back in his car, trying to leave the scene of the crime. So I—I shot him.”

  A cop grabbed Benji’s arms from behind. A second officer took the gun off the countertop and dropped it carefully into an evidence bag.

  “But why the Beerador, Benji? Why go to all that trouble?” Janet asked, even though he was being led away in handcuffs. O’Dell stepped closer and Janet frowned, not liking his expression.

  Larsa finished her beer. “Now what?”

  “Now I take you downtown,” O’Dell said to Larsa. He turned and pointed at Janet. “You too.”

  Chapter Forty

  Janet’s foot tapped out an uneven beat against the concrete floor of the interview room. She wasn’t nervous; she was, however, tired, hungry, and a little chilly, if she was being completely honest. She was glad to be wearing a boxy black T-shirt instead of a tank top, at least.

  “Coffee?” O’Dell asked when he stepped into the room.

  “You know, when we first met, I had you pegged as the good cop. But after sitting here for two hours, I’m not so sure anymore.”

  He took a sip of the very coffee he’d just offered her. “I wasn’t going to give you the coffee, even if you’d said yes. So I guess I am the bad cop.” He sat down opposite Janet. “You pulled a very risky move back there, Janet. And if I could have my way, I’d charge you with so many offenses your head would spin.”

  Janet scoffed. “I don’t have the video of Finch’s murder! I made that whole thing up to get Abe to confess! I had no idea Benji was the killer.”

  “You don’t have the video?” O’Dell said skeptically.

  “No, god—bless it, Jason didn’t give me a fifty-thousand-dollar security system! We were trying to catch an employee who’d stolen a couple thousand bucks! Plus, his system really has been down since before Ike died. He’s finally getting it back up and running, but his priority was his paid clients—not me.”

  “I doubt that,” O’Dell said.

  Janet grinned despite her circumstances. “Okay, fine, you’re probably right, but regardless, my system isn’t back up yet.”

  “Actually, it is. Why do you think all those officers showed up tonight?”

  “Didn’t you call them?”

  “No,” O’Dell said with a rueful sigh. “I’ve been blind when it came to this case from day one. I’ve gotten everything wrong, pinned the blame on the wrong people, didn’t trust the right ones,” he said, staring at Janet. “But Jason called 911 as soon as Larsa confessed. He was watching the whole thing go down from a computer at a ‘secure location,’” he added with a sour expression.

  “What secure location?”

  “Wouldn’t I love to know.”

  “You don’t?” Janet asked, now thoroughly confused.

  “No. He won’t tell me. I just finished talking to him in the next room.”

  “What?” Janet leapt up from her chair and took a step toward the door. Then she remembered she was stuck in this room for now.

  “He came in on his own—wanted to tell us what he recorded and what he didn’t.”

  “What did he record?” Janet asked, crossing her arms and staring at O’Dell, incensed.

  “He recorded everything tonight, from the moment Larsa walked into the bar. He said he knew that you were going to get to the bottom of things, and he wanted to make sure that he captured any confession that came out on camera. That’s why he had Mel empty the bar.”

  “Jason had Mel—wait, what?” She suddenly felt like Cindy Lou: totally clueless.

  “She says he called her cell phone and asked her to get everybody out so the microphones would pick up anything important, and to keep the customers safe. He wasn’t sure what might go down when the killer was cornered.”

  Janet flinched. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

  “Does that mean that you have the whole thing on tape? Larsa’s claims, Abe’s involvement, Benji’s confession—all of that is on camera? Is it admissible?”

  O’Dell steepled his fingers under his chin. “I think so. We’ll let our prosecutor have the final say, obviously, but Benji’s already claiming coercion.”

  “Bah,” Janet muttered.

  “Exactly. A regular citizen can’t coerce someone to confess to a crime. He’s grasping at straws.”

  “What about Larsa? What’s going to happen to her?”

  O’Dell took a long, slow sip of his coffee and Janet licked her lips, wishing she’d grabbed the cup from him when he walked in. Now that she thought about it, she was parched.

  “I’d like to book her on murder two,” he said, “but I know the prosecutor’s not going to try for a court conviction. There’s no one to counter her claim that it was an accident. Patricide is pretty rare, hard to get a conviction when you consider her sad story. Jury’ll be very compassionate toward an orphan with an unhappy childhood.”

  “Do you think it was an accident?” she asked.

  He swatted the question away with an irritated hand. “I don’t want to think about it. It doesn’t make a difference what I think, anyway. Prosecutor does what she wants to do.”

  “Huh,” Janet said, slowly sitting back down. “Kind of like homicide detectives, then.”

  He looked up sharply, then nodded. “Fair enough. I zeroed in on Jason on day one. I didn’t like his attitude, and he had that juvie conviction. Not hard to see him snapping at an obnoxious customer. I was wrong.”

  “So how did Jason’s pen get into the Beerador with Finch’s body?”

  O’Dell’s face flushed, and he looked uncomfortable for the first time that night. “Rebecca, one of our evidence techs, says she remembers Finch using the pen yesterday. He must have picked it up from the evidence we gathered at your house by mistake.”

  Mistake? She’d file that one away with Where the hell is my coffeepot? and move on. Now that she knew Jason had been watching over her for the past twenty-four hours, she felt warmer and fuzzier toward him than ever. “Any idea who spray-painted my house?”

  “Someone graffitied your house?”

  Janet shook her head. “Never mind. Can I go?”

  “I just need to ask you a few questions and then we’ll get you on your way. Your boyfriend is in a barely concealed rage in the waiting room; be sure to tell him we treated you nice.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “Jason’s still here? Why?”

  “I knew you’d need a ride home—and, contrary to popular opinion, I am the good cop.” He smiled lightly and then looked down at his notebook. “Did you ever consider telling me anything you knew when you knew it?”

  “No.” He grimaced and she said, “I answered one, now it’s your turn. Why
was Larsa so involved after Ike died? You’d think she’d have had a better chance of getting away with an ‘accident’ she had her uncle help cover up if she’d just laid low and stayed out of the way.”

  “Maybe she knew he didn’t end up knocked out on the gravel by himself that night. Maybe she wanted to get to the bottom of who put him there. I think she blamed them for his death as much as anyone else.”

  “That’s grim,” Janet said, quoting O’Dell from what felt like a lifetime ago.

  He shrugged. “But true.” He blew out a breath before looking back up at Janet. “I would have helped you. I would have helped Elizabeth.”

  “Before or after charging my boyfriend with murder?”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, just nodded slowly. “How’d you find her, anyway? It seems like she was the missing link to figuring everything out.”

  “Family,” Janet said. “It always comes down to family.”

  O’Dell frowned. “You’ll need to write it all down in a witness statement.” He pushed a pad of yellow legal paper toward her and motioned to the pen on top.

  She crossed her arms and leaned back in the uncomfortable metal chair. “My dad told me not to say anything until he gets here.”

  “No, no, you don’t need a lawyer. This is just your chance to—”

  “I have knowledge of a police cover-up of a debatably ‘accidental’ homicide,” Janet said, staring stonily across the table at O’Dell. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to need a lawyer.”

  “Larsa has already confessed—to her version of events. And Benji will. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “Sure, and you have to tell me the complete truth in this room, don’t you? Cops never lie in the interview room.” Janet looked suspiciously in the corners for hidden cameras. “No way. I’m waiting for my dad.”

  O’Dell made a face. “I guess you can wait at home, then. Come back when he gets here,” he said, “and we’ll get you sorted.”

  They both stood, and he opened the door for her to leave. “Hey, you did good,” he said, all the flip attitude gone from his voice. “This would have taken years to get to the bottom of without your help—your boyfriend’s help, too. I was wrong about him and you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Janet said drily. “It’s always great to hear someone assumed you were crap until you proved them wrong.”

  “That’s not—you know what? Fine. You’re welcome.”

  She smiled to herself as she walked down the hall. He was fun to tease—she’d miss that.

  O’Dell pointed to the exit, then continued walking down the hall with a wave. “As soon as your father gets here, Janet. Don’t make me come find you.”

  Her lips flattened. How could he still be issuing her orders after the night they’d just had?

  When she pushed open the door to the lobby, she stumbled right into the one person she wasn’t yet prepared to see.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “Janet!” Jason rushed forward, his expression a mixture of relief and concern. “God, what took so long in there?”

  “Power,” she said, knowing it was true. The powerful could take as long as they wanted.

  Jason pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry,” he said, rocking her back and forth, not letting go. “I’m so sorry. You know why I couldn’t be involved, but it was tearing me up inside. I knew you’d figure it all out; that’s why I left Old Ben’s video out. You’re so good at reading people, I knew I didn’t have to worry about you, but man, I worried about you!”

  She breathed him in, getting scents of mint and vanilla as usual before steeling her nerves and pushing away. “Mmm-hmm, I can imagine. So very worried that you cut off all contact with me.”

  He flinched. “Don’t be like that—it was a client! You know I couldn’t help police investigate a client.”

  “Right, and now I know that in a time of crisis, I can lean on Cindy Lou, Elizabeth, and Mel, but not my boyfriend if his job happens to get in the way!” She turned her back to him. “I don’t even know Mel, but she was there for me tonight and you weren’t.”

  She wanted to make him sweat, just like he’d made her do.

  “How about some new intel I got tonight?”

  “Nice try. I know everything that happened tonight. I was there—you weren’t—and O’Dell filled me in on the loose ends.”

  “I’m not talking about the murder or the confessions. Yes, yes, I saw all of that—and you were great.” He stopped to look admiringly at her. “I’m talking about something else.”

  “What else could possibly have been going on at the Spot tonight?”

  “While you were yammering on and on about Ike and Ollie, Larsa and Finch, the bar thief struck again, right under your nose. You were so busy, though, that you didn’t notice.”

  “What?” Janet swore loudly. “Elizabeth is back one day and she’s taking more money from me? Unbeliev—”

  “Not Elizabeth.”

  “Not Eliz—” Janet dropped her facade of anger at Jason and popped a hand on her hip. “Then who?”

  Nell took a sip of her screwdriver and carefully placed the highball glass on a cocktail napkin.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Janet asked sweetly, making a note on a nearby pad of paper with Jason’s god-awful, ugly pen that they needed more cocktail straws. When Nell shook her head, she loaded up a tray and walked around the bar to a table in the back.

  “Don’t forget about us, here!” she said, putting a sweet tea in front of Chip and handing the other to Cindy Lou. Janet’s eyes twinkled as she added, “When you’re away at school, we’ll be thinking of you.”

  Chip’s eyebrows knitted together and he looked at his mother. Cindy Lou laughed, swatting Janet’s arm with good humor. “Oh, stop. I know I’ve been a mess lately. You just have no idea how fast it all goes,” she said, motioning to the space around her son. “Watching you grow up has been the longest and the shortest stretch of time I could imagine. Yes, at the same time—it’s true,” she added when Chip shook his head.

  “Mom, I’ll be down the street. Seriously, my biology lab is less than a mile from here.” The deep timbre of his voice didn’t match his young face and scrawny arms.

  “Did you ever find out who spray-painted your house?” Cindy Lou asked, taking a handful of trail mix from the basket Janet had just plunked down between them.

  Janet chuckled. “Can you believe it was Jason?” When Cindy Lou gave her a blank look, she explained. “He’s never liked the color of the house and saw this as his chance to force a paint job ahead of the kitchen remodel.”

  “With all that was going on, he thought it was a good time to—”

  “I’m pretty sure with all that was going on, he thought he could slip one by me,” Janet interrupted.

  “Not a chance,” Cindy Lou said.

  “Nope, not a chance,” Janet repeated under her breath as she walked back to the bar. Nell motioned for another lime wedge, and Janet—her finger both bandage- and pain-free—happily took one from the container.

  “So, right after Mel hustled me out of the bar—very unceremoniously, by the way—the lawyer confessed to killing Detective Finch?” Nell asked.

  Janet nodded. “Just two seats away from where you are right now.”

  “Can you imagine carrying that kind of anger around for so long? That kind of rage? Mmm.” Nell dug around in her small clutch. A moment later, a tube of lipstick was in her hand, and her ruby-red lips got a touch-up. “I can’t believe I missed the grand finale. Sounds like Elizabeth really saved the day by taking Ike’s car.”

  Janet nodded. “And to think I almost fired her!”

  “Why? She makes the best vodka-soda—gets the ratio just right.” Nell looked up quickly and added, “No offense.”

  Janet shrugged. “None taken.” She leaned in closer. “I thought she’d been stealing from the register. Money’s been missing.” Nell’s back stiffened and Janet lowered her voice as she said, “And I can’t have that, n
ow, can I?”

  The older woman pursed her lips and kept her eyes trained on her drink. “Well, she has to go, then. No second chances, that’s what I say.”

  “What if there was a good reason, though? I don’t want to throw someone out if they’re just in a bad fix. I’d want to help them,” Janet said, keeping close tabs on Nell’s face.

  “She’s too old—she should have known better,” Nell said, and Janet knew the other woman wasn’t talking about Elizabeth. She drained the last of her drink and pushed her chair back with finality. “Goodbye, Janet. Thank you for—”

  “No.”

  Nell primly fixed a flyaway hair, her face impassive. “What?”

  “No, you’re not walking out of here. You owe me at least two thousand four hundred twenty-nine dollars, and that’s just from the last three weeks. What gives, Nell? Why have you been stealing from me? I thought we were . . . friends?”

  Nell straightened her shoulders defiantly before sinking back down onto the bar stool. “I don’t honestly know why. I’ve got a problem. I, uh, I take things that aren’t mine. I just can’t stop myself.”

  She opened her purse and took out a fat wallet stuffed with cash. “I didn’t need the money—didn’t spend a dime. I just like knowing I can do it.” She unfolded her wallet and turned it upside down. The money was so jammed in that nothing fell out. She huffed out an irritated sigh and then forced her fingers around the edge of the wallet, freeing the wad of bills.

  “It’s just under one thousand. There’s some change, too, but it was too heavy for my clutch. The rest of it is back at home.”

  Janet stared in disbelief at the mound of money between them. Her eyes flicked to Nell’s open purse. “Is that my pen?”

  “Oh.” Nell’s cheeks colored and she took Jason’s pen out and handed it over.

  “How long has this been going on?” Janet asked. She obviously needed a new accounting program.

  “About a year.”

  Janet’s jaw dropped, but she shut it quickly when Nell finally looked up.

  “You don’t have to say it—I’ll go. I’ve lost a lot of people over my lifetime because of it, but I just can’t . . . I can’t make myself stop.” She slid a smooth piece of sea glass across the bar. “This is Cindy Lou’s. I just took it from her back pocket twenty minutes ago.”