by Kelly Irvin
“You can’t. He’s got to be in on it.” Aaron stepped between her and the door. “We need to talk to King.”
“He’s well on his way to figuring this out. If he has financial records and phone records and Dad’s emails, it’s not going to be circumstantial. He’ll follow the money trail.”
“Then let him do his job and stay out of it. Three people are dead.”
“I can’t.” She inhaled and swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I need to know what Rick’s role in all this was. I can’t believe he would stoop to murder. He’s going to be the next state representative from our district. He worked so hard for that. So long. Why would he throw it all away?”
“What if it was Rick? What if the firm didn’t like the idea of being blackmailed by the judge they corrupted?”
“There’s no way Rick knows about this. He’s a good guy.” She did an end run around Aaron and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. Rick couldn’t know. She had trusted her father. He was a liar and cheat. Not Rick too. She needed to be able to trust a childhood friend. “A little egotistical, but he’s good. He wants to serve the public like my dad did. He wants to make a difference. He’ll go with me to tell King. I know he will.”
“He wants to be somebody and that can do weird stuff to people. You know that. He’s a politician and politicians get in over their heads all the time.”
“You’re a cynical journalist.”
“So are you, usually.”
She set her coffee cup on the granite counter and tugged her phone from her hip pocket. “I’m calling him.”
“Don’t call him.” Aaron reached for the phone. Nina danced back. He shook his head, his blue-gray eyes dark with concern. “Call King. Tell him our theory.”
“I won’t blindside Rick. I’ve known him—”
“Since you were nine. I know. He threw you a lifeline when you needed it. I know.”
“Then let me do what I need to do.” She went to the windows that overlooked the backyard. A full moon reigned. Stars twinkled. Light in the dark. She placed the call.
Rick answered on the first ring. “Mi amor.”
He only let Spanish, rooted in his childhood, intrude when he was drinking or incredibly stressed or both. “Have you been drinking?”
“I had a couple of beers, that’s all. It’s Saturday night, after all.” No slur in his voice, but still he sounded different. Amped up. “What’s up?”
“I need you to come over.” Nina turned from the window. The kitchen seemed no warmer or friendlier. “I need to talk to you about something, and I don’t want to do it over the phone.”
“I don’t know. It’s late and I’ve got court in the morning.”
Confident Rick was gone, replaced by a guy with a hitch in his voice she hadn’t heard since his stepdad smacked him around for stealing a Baby Ruth candy bar from the convenience store. The candy bar had been for his mama. Rick had always walked on moral thin ice. The ends justified the means. In relationships, in work, in life. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing besides, you know, life in general.”
“Before my dad died, you would be here 24/7 if I let you. Now I need you and you don’t want to come.” Nina turned her back on Aaron and his wildly gesticulating hands telling her to hang up. Careful to keep her voice low, she marched back down the hall to the office. “Is it because you know something about my dad’s death?”
“No. No, of course not.” The more he protested, the guiltier he sounded. “No, that’s not it. I’ll be there in ten.” He disconnected.
Nina laid the phone on the desk. She leaned over and slapped both hands on the cool, slick varnished wood. Her stomach knotted. She swallowed against acrid bile. “He’s coming.”
“So I gathered.” Aaron flopped into the overstuffed chair by the window. He swiped at his face with both hands. His eyes were bloodshot with exhaustion. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Nina did too.
Eight minutes later his knock—more of a pounding—sounded on the door.
Nina opened it and Rick shoved past her. He brought with him a cold wind. His dark hair was tousled and curled to his head. “I don’t know anything about your dad’s death, okay, nothing.”
“Shush! Everyone is sleeping, and I’d like to keep it that way. They’ve been through a lot.”
“You didn’t tell me this jerk was here.” He gestured at Aaron, who rose from his chair, his burly frame bristling. “What do you need me for? You’ve got golden boy photog. He speaks your language.”
“Calm down. I found some things—Aaron and I found some things. I need to know . . . what you know. An envelope was stolen from my car after the accident yesterday. An envelope from Dad’s safe-deposit box. It had articles—”
“Why are you telling me this now? Why didn’t you let me help you with the safe-deposit box?” He threw his hands up. “I’m a lawyer, for crying out loud.”
“Quiet! I was trying to protect my dad’s reputation. I knew how much you respected him, revered him. You were like a second son to him. I thought maybe it wouldn’t have to all come out.”
Rick gave a bitter, half-strangled laugh. “But not anymore?”
“I think my dad’s double life got Melanie and Serena killed.” She couldn’t live with that. No matter what it meant for Judge Geoffrey Fischer. Or for Rick Zavala. “I want their murders solved too. It all has to come out.”
“You’re playing with fire, both of you. Please, please, let it go.” He backed away from the desk, away from Aaron. “Let the police figure it out. You should leave for a while, both of you. Go skiing. Go mountain climbing. Go to the Caribbean.”
“You want Aaron and me to go somewhere together?”
“I do.”
“You are drunk.”
“Not drunk.”
He didn’t sound drunk. He sounded terrified. Nina moved toward him. She reached out her hand, touched his sleeve. “What is it? What is wrong? Please tell me.”
Rick shoved her hand away. Slowly, he stepped back. He pulled a small black gun from his pocket. “I didn’t want it to come to this. You have to believe me. I love you. Te amo, mi amor. Always have. Always will.”
The gun loomed, bigger and bigger, until it filled Nina’s vision. “Rick.”
“Don’t say a word. Please don’t scream. Don’t yell. I don’t want Brooklyn to come down. Or Grace. You have to believe me, I love you all like family.” He flashed the gun at Aaron. “Both of you move. Move.” His sob broke her heart. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
A parade of three, they made their way in silence to the hallway, then to the front door. “Move.” He jerked the gun. “Up against the wall.”
“Rick—”
“Shut up, por favor. Please.” He backed toward the door, grabbed the knob, and pulled.
In walked Mr. Five-O’clock Shadow. The gun in his hand made Rick’s look like a kid’s water gun.
32
Seeing the events through the lens of a camera. Sharp. In focus. Low light. Flash needed. But Nina had no camera in her hands. Nothing separated her and Aaron from two men with guns. One of them her best friend for years.
Not anymore.
“If you scream, I’ll kill every one of the people in this house.” Mr. Five-O’clock Shadow’s cannon dipped toward Nina. “Anyone you wake up is dead.” His lazy smile broadened, but his eyes left no doubt he meant it. “You remember me, don’t you, beautiful?”
“I recognize you, yes. You took the envelope from my car under the guise of being a good Samaritan.” She also recognized his smell. Paco Rabanne. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re too nosy for your own good.” Five-O’clock Shadow reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys on a glittery key chain. Grace’s keys. He tossed them on the floor. “I also paid you a visit in the middle of the night, if you’ll recall. Who knew Peter could be so sneaky as to steal them right under your noses.”
A truste
d family friend’s mask ripped away. Peter had let this man into her house. He molded Rick into someone she didn’t recognize. “Rick, please don’t do this. Stop it. Stop him.”
Rick didn’t move. He didn’t speak, but his face crumpled.
“Shut up, beautiful.” Five-O’clock Shadow motioned toward Rick. “Point the way to her darkroom. Then get out. You did your thing, let me do mine.”
“You don’t get to call her beautiful.” Rick’s gun wavered. He no longer looked like an up-and-coming politician, a polished attorney, a man with a purpose. He looked like the scared elementary school kid waiting to get jumped by the gang who sold meth on his street every day after school. “You don’t get to call her anything.”
“Shut up, little Peter.” Five O’clock jammed the gun in Nina’s chest. His smile never changed. “Hey, cupcake, let’s take a little tour of your darkroom.”
“You stole something from me. I want it back. Do you work for Peter Coggins? Did you kill Serena Cochrane?” It took every ounce of strength, but Nina kept her voice to a whisper. Aaron’s hand crept into hers. She squeezed but never took her gaze from the intruder. “Or were you too busy killing Melanie Martinez? Did you kill my dad?”
“That’s a lot of questions. ’Course you used to work for the newspaper, didn’t you?” He hadn’t bothered to hide his face. He didn’t intend for them to describe him to anyone. His smile punctuated that fact. “This is no story, pretty lady, at least not one you’ll be telling. You can call me Skeeter or Skeet for short. I’m a friend of a friend, you might say.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Money.”
Her heart thudded. Cold sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. Nausea gagged her. “You kill people for money.”
“And kicks sometimes. This time it’s mostly money. I don’t dig killing beautiful chicks.” He talked like a bad movie script. “Move. Zavala, get out now.”
Rick stumbled forward. “No, I changed my mind. You can’t do this.”
“Are you gonna do it?”
“No, but—”
“Think, buddy. Do you want to make Peter mad? No, I don’t think you do. Are you willing to give up your career, your law license, your future because you have the hots for this lady?”
Rick shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Nina. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” His voice trembled. Tears leaked down his cheeks. “If you’d just let things alone, none of this would’ve happened.”
“You selfish sack of crapola. You’re crying instead of doing the right thing.” Aaron lunged at Rick. “Go ahead, shoot me, you coward.”
Rick didn’t shoot him. He smashed the gun in Aaron’s face. The blow knocked him back into Nina’s arms. The breath knocked from her lungs, she staggered under his weight and hit the wall. “Get away from us. Get away now.”
“You have to believe me, Nina, I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I didn’t kill your dad.” Rick’s voice rose. “I told you that.”
“Keep your voice down.” Don’t wake up, Brooklyn. Don’t wake up, Jan. Please Grace—Mom—don’t wake up. Please. Nina sank to the floor, Aaron in her lap. He groaned and struggled to sit up. Nina wiped blood from his nose and lips with her sleeve. “It’s okay, we’re together,” she whispered. She glared up at Rick, who was more of a stranger than Skeeter. “Maybe you didn’t do it personally, but you had it done by a baboon like this.”
“No, I didn’t. We didn’t. We were as surprised as you were—”
“Enough small talk.” Skeet pointed the gun at Rick. “Go, now, while you still can. Or you can join the party in the darkroom as one of her victims. A love triangle, how does that sound?”
Rick backed toward the door. “What are you going to do to them?”
“Miss Thing here is despondent. Terribly despondent over her father’s death. She can’t bear to live. She takes her boyfriend with her when she goes.”
“No one will believe that. No one.” Nina scrambled to her feet and helped Aaron up. He grabbed her arm and planted himself in front of her. “I would never hurt him.”
“And I’d never hurt her.”
“Just like your buddy Rick. Haven’t you learned? It’s amazing what people do under duress. Let’s go. Where’s the darkroom?”
“Upstairs.” Rick had his hand on the doorknob. He jerked the door open. “Third floor.”
“Of course it is.”
“Good-bye, Nina. Good-bye.” Rick whirled and stumbled through the door. He closed it gently behind him.
Nina entwined her fingers with Aaron’s. Together they plodded up the stairs. His nose dripped blood on the front of his shirt and the carpet. Like red bread crumbs. The murder-suicide scenario would never work. Not with Aaron’s injuries. Surely Skeet would see that. Did he have a Plan B? Her body shook. She stumbled. Aaron’s grip tightened.
“Why the darkroom?” She tried to keep her voice conversational. Wasn’t that what they did in the movies? They kept the killer talking to buy time to figure out the big escape.
“Because it’s poetic. That place of creation became a place of destruction.”
A killer with a sense of poetry.
At the top of the stairs, Nina paused. Daffy hopped from the couch and meandered their direction. She stopped. Her back arched. She hissed.
“A black cat crosses your path. Nice.” Skeet’s laugh rumbled in his throat. “Not your lucky day.”
Daffy streaked past them down the stairs. Peanuts and Mango would be in Grace’s room where she always shut the door. Runner had retired to Brooklyn’s room as usual. The door was shut to keep grown-up noise out. One small thing for which Nina could be thankful. Please God, let them sleep through this.
The three of them squeezed into a room that once had been her sanctuary.
“Hmmm. Nice.” Skeet tapped the photos of Liz clipped to the clothesline rope. “Friend of yours? Auntie Em?”
“Mother.”
“No wonder you’re about to kill yourself.”
“I’m not.”
“Keep your voice down. Remember, you don’t want poor little Brooklyn to get caught up in this.”
“Would you really kill a little girl?”
“I charge more for minors since it’s a death-penalty offense in this state.”
“So is killing two or more at the same time.”
“I’m aware. Which is why I don’t plan to get caught.” When he smiled, he resembled a wolf. A ravenous, rabid wolf. “Have a seat, photographer guy. It was so nice of you to be here. You saved me a trip to that rat trap you call an apartment.” He gestured at the floor. “Side by side.”
The gun flicked across Aaron’s forehead, ruffled his hair. “We need just the right angle to make this scenario fly.” Frowning, Skeeter stepped back and tilted his head. “I’m not seeing it. Are you seeing it? Stand up. Over by the counter. I think we need to reverse the scenario. Photog man is despondent because you want nothing to do with him. He decides to kill you and then himself. You fight back. He’s wounded but determined. He gets the job done.”
“I would never hurt her.” Glaring at Skeet, Aaron helped her to her feet. His hands fisted. “You’re crazy if you think anyone would buy that. They all know I’ve been in love with her for a hundred years.”
“A hundred years—”
“Now is not the time.” Aaron’s blue-gray eyes were luminous in the soft darkroom lights. “But let’s just say it was love at first sight six years ago.”
Tears clogged Nina’s throat. They had wasted so much time. She had wasted so much time with Rick. So much time not trusting the man standing next to her. God, please forgive me for taking so long to trust You and him.
“I’m sorry.” She managed a whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t see. I love you too. No matter what happens now.”
Aaron sighed. “Would it sound stupid if I said I’m insanely happy right now?”
Skeeter laughed so hard he coughed, but the cannon never wavered. “You two are ridiculous.
Man, is the joke on poor Ricky boy. He didn’t have a chance with wonder boy here.” Skeeter pretended to stick his free finger down his throat. “You two lovebirds are killing me with this mushy stuff. Let’s get down to business before I lose my supper all over your shoes.”
Nina wanted to live. For the first time in years, she wanted to live the life on the other side of her camera. A long life or however long God intended. With Aaron. Nina cast a glance around the darkroom. The enlarger. Chemicals. She edged toward the gray tubs on the counter. “Did you kill my dad?”
“No, ma’am, I did not.”
“There’s no reason to lie.” She glanced at Aaron. His gaze drifted toward the counter. His nod was infinitesimal. They had nothing to lose. “It’s not like I’ll be able to tell someone.”
“I’m not lying. I didn’t have nothing to do with it. My boss is as stumped as you are.”
Aaron edged toward the counter. “Peter Coggins, you mean.”
“I signed a confidentiality agreement.”
“You signed an agreement for murder?” Aaron snorted, more of a groan than a laugh. “You put it in writing? That’s a lawyer for you.”
“Figuratively speaking.”
Together they grabbed the tub of developer and hurled its acidic, toxic contents at Skeet.
He threw an arm up to cover his face, ducked, and staggered back.
“Drop it. Police.”
Skeet whirled.
The boom of shots fired filled the air. Nina dove to the floor. Aaron’s weight told her his body covered hers.
It was over. That fast and that slow.
33
“Are you hit? Nina, are you hit?”
She tried to answer Aaron’s frantic questions, but she couldn’t get enough air to breathe, let alone talk. “Get off me,” she gasped. “Get off.”
Aaron stumbled to his feet and held out his hand. She grabbed it. Her legs wobbled, but she managed to stand upright. “Are you hurt?” She patted his blood-speckled shirt. His hands touched her cheeks, her shoulders, her hands. She looked down. She was speckled too.
