Flash Flood

by Susan Slater

  “Mahoney, you there?”

  “Yeah. And you’re probably right. We talked. He was there when you were arrested. Admitted to being the lawyer who met with you, made the promises, then kept up the charade for seven years. But he tried to pin the whole thing on Billy Roland at first.”

  “And you didn’t believe him?”

  “No. He as much as finally admitted that it was someone else pulling the strings.”

  “Like who?”

  “Unfortunately, we didn’t get that far. He suggested that I drop it. Just accept the Billy Roland theory.”

  “But you won’t, right?”

  “Not now.”

  “Sounds like you got some idea of who hired him. Did he give you a hint?”

  “Yeah. Your former wife.”

  “What?”

  “He said Elaine has the answers. Exact quote. Any idea what he meant?”

  Dan felt the silence that followed was ominous. And Eric’s obvious reluctance to say anything was making him crazy. If they weren’t on the phone, he’d have his hands around Eric’s throat screaming at him to tell the god-damned truth.

  Dan broke the silence. “Talk to me. Is that possible? Could Elaine have some part in all this?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I never thought….”

  “What do you mean, maybe? Answer me, Eric. I want a fucking explanation. What happened seven years ago?”

  The phone went dead. Eric had hung up.

  A second cup of coffee didn’t make him feel any better. It was the fourth or fifth time he had walked past the window before he realized he was pacing, hamster-wheel exercise, getting him nowhere. Should he take a day and drive to Milford? Somehow get Eric to talk about how his former wife might have been involved? Or was Eric just pulling his string?

  At least, Elaine was in Ireland. She couldn’t have had anything to do with J.J.’s death. There was no way J.J. could have reached her after they talked, no way she could have masterminded running J.J. off the road.

  When things calmed down, he’d drive over and chat with Eric, when he trusted himself not to kill him. But meanwhile, he had other things to do. He called Roger. Said it was important, told him to be at the Ramada Inn, ten sharp. Then he got in the shower, first ten minutes scalding hot, second ten minutes, ice cold. But it didn’t make any difference in how he felt.

  ***

  Roger was waiting for him, sitting across from Tom in a red naugahyde booth in the corner, a bronze plastic pot of coffee between them.

  “So, what’s the good news?” Roger, the ever-eager one, went first, barely gave him time to slide in beside Tom.

  “J.J. Rodriguez would be alive today if I hadn’t confronted him with his involvement with Eric Linden.” Dan showed the two of them the signatures. Said he had an expert’s word that the top two were by the same person. Told them how Eric had recognized J.J. at the party and from the newspaper picture.

  Then summarized his interview with J.J. He left out the part about Elaine’s knowing anything but said that J.J. suggested Dan believe that Billy Roland did it, insinuated that that would be the easiest thing to do for all concerned.

  “But implied that Billy Roland didn’t have anything to do with the two million?” Roger asked.

  Dan nodded and reached for the coffee pot. Probably not good for him, but better than a cigarette.

  “You’ve been busy. Got anything else?” This from Tom, whose uncanny sixth sense was about to pay off, Dan thought.

  “Remember the flash flood? The one that supposedly killed Eric?” Dan related his earlier suspicions about how the tire and wheel had been removed from the Caddy and how he had just happened to find the evidence in back of Sheriff Ray’s station.

  “I’d like a lab to go over the tire.”

  “Goes without saying. You got it with you?” Roger asked.

  “Still in the back of the Cherokee.” Dan doubted that Sheriff Ray even knew it was gone. Probably, just thought he’d forgotten to lock the bay on his way out the other night. Nothing was disturbed. There wouldn’t have been a reason to suspect anything might be missing.

  “We also need to set up a little visit with the local sheriff. Probably should wait for the lab results. Nail down the loose ends, make certain the bullet hole wasn’t caused by target practice last week.”

  Roger was right. Cautious, but thorough and less convinced than Dan that Billy Roland was in the clear.

  “So, if J.J.’s death wasn’t accidental,” Roger mused, “who’s left to suspect? We know where Eric was and Sheriff Ray according to Dan, and we buried Billy Roland….”

  “Elaine’s in Ireland.” He hadn’t meant to say it. Just thinking out loud, but both agents turned to look at him.

  “The wife? She’s in town.”

  “Left for Ireland on Monday morning,” Dan corrected.

  “Short trip. She was back in town that afternoon. We recorded a call to your sister about six twenty. Sis said a bunch of them were going out to dinner—at the Tinnin restaurant on Three Eighty. Some campaign deal. Invited her to go along.”

  Elaine in town when J.J. was killed? Could J.J. have been at the restaurant, too? Both of them at the same place, leaving at the same time? Dan felt sick, and it wasn’t because of the sixth cup of coffee that morning.

  “Should we add her name to the list?”

  “Not yet. But you guys will be the first to know,” Dan lied.

  After the transfer of the tire from his car to Roger’s, Dan slumped behind the steering wheel of the Cherokee. What did it mean that Elaine had returned to Roswell? And not contacted him. Had the trip been some sort of ruse all along? Play-pretend to get away. But why? He started the car before he could formulate an answer.

  But he knew where he was going. Eleven-thirty in the morning and he was going to go by Elaine’s. A part of him didn’t believe that she could be back. So, what better way to prove ol’ Rog wrong than to just stop by her house and see for himself?

  The house looked dark as he drove up. He parked in the street; the Jeep was concealed by the five-foot adobe wall that ringed the property. The Benz wasn’t in the driveway. He walked toward the garage, a one-car building with flat roof about twenty-five feet from the house and let himself in through a side door.

  And there was the Benz. She was back. He walked to the front of the car and felt the hood. Warm. Must have just gotten home from somewhere.

  “Stop where you are, turn around.”

  Dan did as he was told. Elaine. Even in the dim light of the garage, he knew the semi-automatic in her hand wasn’t a toy.

  “Dan. Oh, my God.”

  Elaine expertly ejected the clip and popped the round out of the chamber before placing the gun on top of the car.

  “You seem fairly comfortable with that.” He gestured toward the gun.

  “Took lessons after I decided I could shoot my husband if he threatened me again. It was one of the best things I could have done.”

  Then she fell silent. Dan felt the awkwardness. Not an “oh, my God, I’m caught” feeling, just a reservation at having to explain why she was there.

  “I couldn’t leave.”

  “I’ve gathered that.”

  “Did Carolyn tell you I was back?”

  He nodded. Better to let her think that than discuss the phone tap. In the meantime he was taking in the tight jeans, beaded vest, dark hair swirling around her face which in subdued light made her look twenty, large luminous eyes searching his face. Seeking his reaction? Trying to read whether he was happy to see her, Dan thought.

  “Am I being stupid to think that I’m in love with you? That I should be here with you until all this is over?” The husky voice almost whispered the words. She took a step forward but he was beside her.

  “No, you’re not stupid.” He said into her hair before tilting her head back to reach her mouth.

  “My flight was delayed and the longer I sat there, the more I knew I wanted to be here with you. That this is where I hav
e to be. Leprechauns can wait.” She twisted away, walked to the front of the car, turned back, thumbs in belt loops, a teasing look, shoulders back showing cleavage, a rounded top of one breast where the blouse fell away from being unbuttoned one button too far.

  “Fuck Leprechauns,” he said as he walked to join her and continued to unbutton the white linen blouse. This wasn’t what he had planned. But he didn’t care, either. He made eye contact and searched her expression for guilt. But there wasn’t any. He’d have to believe that she was a cold-blooded murderer to think she ran J.J. off the road last night. But he knew this woman. She wasn’t someone to set up something like that. She couldn’t do it. Maybe she got a gun to protect herself from her husband, but that was different—it wasn’t premeditation.

  She giggled. Then began in earnest to unbuckle his belt, unbutton his jeans, pull down the zipper…after a move to shrug her arms out of vest and shirt, she helped him pull his sweatshirt over his head.

  “Oops. This has got to go.” She deftly twisted the pop-out Benz hood ornament and tossed it in the corner. “Don’t want to get impaled.”

  “Oh, no?” Crude bedroom humor but she didn’t seem to mind. He let her turn him and gently push him back onto the hood before she stooped to give his own ornament a long sucking kiss as she unsnapped her bra and let her jeans fall to the cement floor.

  Had she done this before? Fucked on the hood of a car? Did he care? Short of murder, and maybe even that, he could forgive this woman anything. He didn’t care where she was last night. Didn’t care that she hadn’t called him. He moaned, grabbed her arms to help her move to mount him, then watched as she lowered her body using one hand to guide him inside her.

  Her movements were slow and rhythmic. She watched him watching her until finally he closed his eyes when the first burst of feeling skyrocketed through his body. Somewhere in the tangle of arms and legs and moans, she had fallen forward to rest on his chest, and he felt her tongue and mouth and the warm kisses as she worked her way up to his neck.

  “I love you.” He heard himself saying the words. And he meant them. He knew that now. He wouldn’t go back on his word. If she was in trouble, he’d be there. Nothing mattered but keeping this woman with him.

  “Are you sure? No matter what?”

  He felt a twinge. A lot like “until death do us part,” but, yes….

  “No matter what,” he echoed.

  “Good. You can get up now.” She laughed, slipped backward until her feet hit the floor and held out her hands to help him up.

  “You know, this is Dr. Ruth sex.”

  “How’s that?” He pulled her to him.

  “I saw her show once where she suggested that a couple try out every piece of furniture in the house.”

  “I’d be happy to just make it to the furniture.” He feigned a pain in the back; they both laughed. He didn’t care where they did it. He watched as she snapped the hood ornament back in place and reloaded the gun before she put on any clothes. He thought he was glad her priorities were in that order and that she was comfortable being naked around him—but maybe he shouldn’t be.

  Back in the kitchen, she put water in the tea kettle and got down a basket of herbal teas. He didn’t even care when she asked him if she could smoke. Her first in four days, and he believed her. He knew he would have to get around to asking her questions. Hurtful questions. But not now. Not yet. He sat at the table and wanted to spend the rest of his life just being with her. But he was being unrealistic. He knew that, too. Sooner or later, his job would have to get in the way.

  “Move in with me. Get Simon and break your lease, it’ll be up in three or four weeks anyway. I really want you here…with me.”

  He said, “Yes.” What was he thinking of? Then he said, “I love you.” Again. Out loud. To get used to it? Elaine walked to him, straddled his lap, and playfully kissed him.

  “I know.” She nuzzled his neck.

  Then she was gone, back to the counter to fix the tea. The ringing of the phone startled both of them.

  “Just a minute, I’ll let you ask him. He’s here now.” She mouthed “Carolyn” and handed him the phone.

  “A memorial service for J.J.? I guess so.” He looked up; Elaine was nodding. Dan listened to directions and made a note of the time before hanging up.

  The service was short, held at a local funeral home. A grouping of pictures among candles and flowers made up a kind of altar in the front of the chapel. The pictures were of J.J., some as a child, alone and with family, others from graduations, high school, then college. Diplomas and law degree were displayed in gilt frames—this, instead of a body. This because there wasn’t a body. How convenient for someone, a charred car and no body. A feeling of almost unbearable sadness hung in the room.

  Mass was scheduled for the following morning. Dan was relieved to see crosses and other religious paraphernalia of Christians very much in evidence. Signs of witchcraft were simply not present. He wondered, though, if there might not be some special rite, something deep in the woods, planned for later on.

  A woman, who was probably J.J.’s mother, was supported by a man Dan didn’t know on her left, but on her right was Jorge. The tall good-looking foreman didn’t look up as Dan walked down front to place flowers near a podium. Dona Mari stood next to them wrapped in a black shawl. J.J. was her sister’s boy. The old woman seemed shaken, almost befuddled fumbling with a rosary; perhaps the shock had been too much. Or maybe, she, too, suspected he had been killed. But Dan wasn’t going to think about that, not tonight.

  Carolyn and Phillip invited them to their house after the service, insisted on it, said it had been too long between visits. Carolyn seemed thrilled to see Dan and Elaine together. Took credit for it, Dan decided. But, at least, his mother would sleep better. And so would Simon, who threw himself at Dan, then chased around in excited circles.

  The early October night was too cool to sit outside. The four of them moved to the living room, Elaine and Carolyn trading “son at college” stories. It was comfortable. More comfortable than it had been with the two bimbos, as his sister had called his first wives. He had missed this feeling of family closeness. Maybe his mother and Carolyn had been right to be concerned. He settled back into the sofa cushions. Funny, how he seemed to be seeing things in a different light all of a sudden.

  Carolyn rose to get ice and a bottle of white wine from the fridge; Elaine went with her. There were no servants tonight. Even the ever-present bodyguard had disappeared and they had left Dona Mari at the service with her family.

  Dan asked Phillip about campaign contributions. Not that he was interested, but he was making a concerted effort to be brotherly. Maybe in the past, Dan hadn’t tried hard enough. Wasn’t that what dear old Mom had always said? Been too wrapped up in his own life? Time to change that. He was thinking about time, how much they had lost; time that they could have spent getting to know one another; time being a family when they heard the sound of breaking glass. He made it to the kitchen just ahead of Phillip.

  “Clumsy of me.” Carolyn was dabbing at a trickle of blood that escaped down her ankle from where a sliver of glass had grazed her leg. “The bottle just slipped.” She was leaning against a hand-carved oak table.

  Elaine was picking up the pieces of tinted glass that seemed to have gone everywhere. Dan got a whisk broom and dust pan out of the pantry and was squatting down to help Elaine when Carolyn said, “Tell Phillip what you just told me.” The way she said it; the urgency in her voice made Dan look up.

  And he knew Elaine had confided that Eric was alive, sitting back in prison, in Milford. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, but didn’t know why. Elaine was saying that it was a long story but because he was still alive, she was finally divorced, had served Eric with papers last week and because of the circumstances, the waiting period was waived. And then she happily shared that Dan was moving in with her, tentatively, looking at him first, but he smiled reassuringly.

  Carolyn
bounced up to kiss Elaine on the cheek but the enthusiasm was fake. Dan knew his sister well enough to know that. She suddenly didn’t care about his love life. All her attention seemed to be on “poor Eric.” Phillip had reacted more strangely still. After listening to Elaine, he excused himself to go get his drink. Or compose himself, Dan wondered which. He appeared shaken. But wasn’t Eric his best friend?

  They finally ended up back in the living room. Curiosity seemed to have restored Carolyn, who was now peppering Elaine with a question a second about Eric.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us. I just thought Dan was being his usual nerdy self about women.”

  Thanks a lot, Dan thought.

  “When all this time you were being held against your will—no, you forget I know you.” Carolyn had seen Elaine shake her head. “You were being held, all right. And to think how brave you had to be.”

  “I don’t know whether I really thought he was dangerous. I suppose I did.” Elaine seemed uneasy with painting Eric the villain.

  “Of course you did. I can’t even imagine how you lived with him. Not after everything….” Carolyn bent to dab at her calf.

  “What was your part in all this?” Phillip had turned to Dan. “I’m sure you know about the two million that Midland Savings and Loan was supposed to have waiting for him.”

  “What two million?” This from Carolyn, who now was completely revived, the cut on her calf forgotten. Elaine filled her in on the details.

  “And you knew about this as a bank trustee, and didn’t tell me?” Carolyn seemed genuinely irked at Phillip.

  “Thought the fewer people who knew, the better. Sorry to say, but it did cast suspicion on Billy Roland.”

  “Sounds like he did it, if you ask me. A cover-up. Wouldn’t be the first time someone wondered where he got all his money.” Carolyn added, “Haven’t we all seen the wife? He’d need a second income just to keep her in collagen implants.” Carolyn hammed an exaggerated pout.

  “For God’s sake, Carolyn, drop it. We’re maligning the dead,” Phillip barked, then recovered and sheepishly reached over to tousle his wife’s hair. “How many times in the last twenty years have I had to remind you that this isn’t Chicago? Small towns, Carolyn, have—”