by Joanne Fluke
“You bet! Harry’s only hung up on the coffee. The last boss I had counted the french fries, too.”
As soon as the waitress left, Beau turned to Sam. “What time is it?”
“Ten-thirty. We’ve still got five and a half hours to go.”
“After we eat, maybe we should all go home and try to get some sleep.” George suggested.
Beau shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep anyway. I’ll stay at the hospital in Jerry’s room. And I’ll stop them if they try to give him another sedative. A brother’s got that right, doesn’t he?”
Sam shook his head. “Not unless you have his medical power of attorney. But I’ll sack out in the waiting room, and you can call me. I’ll snow them with some legalese.”
“I guess I might as well stay in the waiting room, too.” George sighed. “I have a feeling Jerry knows who murdered Mercedes, and I’m going to be right there when he wakes up.”
“Oh, I couldn’t!” Marcie turned to Brad with a smile. They’d just finished dinner at a marvelous restaurant overlooking the ocean, and the waitress had wheeled the dessert cart to their table.
“Not even the cheesecake?”
“Well . . .” Marcie looked longingly at the chocolate cheesecake, dribbled with raspberry sauce. “Could we split a piece?”
Brad nodded. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
The cheesecake was just as delicious as it looked, and they ended up ordering another piece with two cups of espresso. Brad had a brandy, while Marcie sipped the last of her wine. Then Brad called for the check.
“What time is it?” Marcie asked. She hadn’t worn her watch.
“It’s early. Only nine o’clock. Are you tired?”
“Not exactly.” Marcie began to blush. “But I thought you might want to get back to the condo.”
Brad began to grin as he opened the folder the waitress had brought with his credit card slip. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. We’ll open a bottle of champagne, toast each other and . . . damn!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Our waitress forgot to bring a pen. And I didn’t bring one with me.”
“I’ve got a pencil,” Marcie offered. She opened her purse, pulled out the personalized pencil, and held it up for him to see.
“Where did you get that!?”
“I found it. Someone named Jimmy must have stayed in the condo, because his name is stamped on the side in gold letters. At first I thought I’d call the time-share company and offer to return it, but I figured that since it’s just a . . .” Marcie’s voice trailed off. Brad looked very strange. His face had turned white, his hands were trembling, and his eyes were cold as he stared at her. “What’s the matter, darling?”
“It’s mine!” Brad grabbed the pencil and stuck it in his pocket. “Where did you find it?”
Marcie felt a twinge of alarm. Brad looked very upset. “On the floor by the dresser. I’m sorry, Brad. I would have asked you, but I had no idea it was yours.”
Marcie watched as Brad struggled for control. Some of the color came back to his face, and he gave an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry, Marcie. It’s just that . . . uh . . . this is my good luck pencil. I use it to sign all my big deals, and I never go anywhere without it. I know it’s silly, but I panicked when I saw that you had it.”
Marcie was still confused, and more than a little frightened. Brad had seemed like a different person when he’d grabbed for the pencil. She knew that some people were very attached to their good luck charms. Shirley Whitford carried a rabbit’s foot on her key ring, and Harriet Scharf had once admitted she burned green candles for luck. But she’d had no idea that Brad was so superstitious.
“I’m certainly glad I found it, if it means that much to you.” Marcie gave him a smile. “But, Brad . . . why do you have a pencil with someone else’s name on it?”
Brad smiled, and Marcie breathed a sigh of relief. It was his old, familiar smile.
“This pencil belonged to my best friend Jimmy. We went to grade school together, and we were so close we were practically brothers. When his mother died, they sent him to an orphanage, and before he left, he gave me his pencil.”
Marcie nodded. “I understand now. Do you know what happened to Jimmy?”
“He was adopted.” Brad picked up the pencil and signed the credit card slip. “Let’s finish our coffee and go back to the condo.”
Brad looked depressed and Marcie sighed. Talking about his friend had upset him. She wanted to cheer him up, so she decided to tell him about her surprise.
“Let’s have one more cup of coffee.” Marcie smiled at him. “I want to tell you about your wedding present.”
“My wedding present?”
Brad looked surprised, and Marcie laughed. “It’s an old custom I just invented. A new bride gives her groom a present the first night of their honeymoon.”
“I know all about that.” Brad gave her a knowing grin. “And that’s exactly the kind of present I’d like.”
Marcie blushed. “Uh . . . I’m sure you’ll get that present, too. But this is different.”
Brad looked absolutely astonished as Marcie told him about the set of new golf clubs she’d ordered, and the foursome she’d arranged with the golf pro. “I’ve always wanted to try this golf course, but I could never get a reservation before. How did you do it?”
“I pulled a few strings.” Marcie grinned at him. “I just told the golf pro that we were honeymooners, and this was my wedding present for you. And I also promised to tip him two hundred dollars.”
Brad laughed. “No wonder! Thank you, Marcie. Do you know that I love you?”
“I know.” Marcie nodded. “I love you, too. Maybe we should forget about the last cup of coffee. I want plenty of time to give you the kind of wedding present you really expected.”
CHAPTER 27
George woke up as Beau tapped him on the shoulder. His years on the force had enabled him to instantly assess a situation, and he was on his feet immediately. “Thanks, Beau. He’s awake?”
“Almost.” Beau nodded. “Hurry. As soon as the doctor finds out, he might give him another shot.”
“What time is it?” Sam sounded groggy as he got to his feet.
Beau glanced at his watch. “Eight-fifteen. He slept longer than they thought he would.”
“Is he rational?” George asked.
“Absolutely. When I told him you two were sleeping in the waiting room, he said that was good, because he needed to see you right away.”
Jerry was sitting up in bed as they entered the room. Except for the thick bandage around his skull, he looked remarkably like his old self.
“Jerry!” Sam hurried to the bedside. “We’re so glad you . . .”
“I know,” Jerry interrupted him. “Save it for later, okay? Is Marcie all right?”
George nodded “She’s fine.”
“Thank God!” Jerry winced as he turned to look at George. “Could you all come closer? It’s hard to turn my head.”
All three men pulled up chairs and sat by the side of Jerry’s bed. It was clear that Jerry was in pain, because he winced again.
“Do you want me to ring for the doctor?” Beau asked.
“No. He’ll just give me another shot, and I’ll be out cold again. I heard what you guys were saying last night.”
Sam frowned. “But you were in a coma.”
“I know. I couldn’t even blink my eyes, but I heard every word you said. You were right. I’m sure Brad killed Mercedes.”
“Brad was your lover?” Beau looked shocked.
“Yes. We met in college. He’s the one who convinced me to move out here. Did the police get him?”
“Not yet.” George shook his head. “We don’t have enough evidence, and he passed his lie detector test.”
“The lie detector test is wrong. I’m positive Brad killed Mercedes. I just got the bill for a dozen red bathing suits.”
Sam, Beau, and George ex
changed worried glances. Was Jerry in his right mind? But then Jerry laughed.
“I know how it sounds, but I’m not crazy. I figured it all out. That’s why I went to see Marcie. Somebody’s got to warn her!”
“I think you’d better start from the beginning.” George opened his notebook. “The red bathing suits threw me.”
“Okay. I didn’t make those withdrawals from the bank. I think Brad did it to pay his gambling debts.”
“Gambling debts?” Sam frowned. “I didn’t know that Brad gambled.”
“I went to the track with him a couple of times. And I saw him drop several thousand. I also know he was in hock to some pretty dangerous guys.”
“That figures.” George nodded. “Go on.”
“The bill for the red bathing suits came in, and it was so unusual, I called the designer. You see, Mercedes only wore white. The designer told me that Brad had called to change the color to red.”
“I don’t get it.” Beau looked confused. “What’s so significant about red?”
“Brad hates the color red. It makes him crazy. I wore a red shirt once, when we were in college. When Brad saw it, he flipped out and attacked me. He said all sorts of weird things about the Red Lady, and some kind of red room, and how red was the color of blood.”
George and Sam exchanged worried glances. They remembered the words that the crazy fan had written. Red is the color of blood. It was too accurate to be a coincidence.
“So what happened?” Beau looked anxious. “Were you hurt when Brad attacked you?”
“Not seriously. I finally managed to subdue him, but it really scared me. It was as if the Brad I’d known had disappeared, and a violent stranger had taken over his body. Naturally, I never wore red around him again.”
“Wait a second.” George frowned. “There was a case twenty-some years ago. We called it the Red Murder. A prostitute was murdered in her red bedroom, and she was wearing a red negligee.”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “Brad?”
“Maybe.” George got up and headed for the door. “I just remembered who handled that case, and I hope he’s still here.”
As the door closed behind George, Sam explained to Beau and Jerry. “Keith Lucas is in a room just down the hall. George knows him from the force.”
In just a few moments George was back, and he had Keith Lucas in tow. He introduced him all around and Keith sat on the edge of Jerry’s bed to tell them about the Red Murder.
“It was my first case working homicide, and I remember it like it was yesterday. Bernice Adams. That was her name. I went down to Family Services to interview her foster son. The poor kid was so upset, he could barely speak. I felt really sorry for him. Of course, living with a prostitute couldn’t have been the best environment, but at least he’d had a home of sorts. I asked the people in charge what would happen to him, and they weren’t very encouraging. They said his chances of being adopted were pretty slim, that no one would want a ten-year-old boy who’d witnessed his foster mother’s murder. It was bound to leave dreadful emotional scars, and the kid would be hard to handle.”
“Did he know anything about her murder?” Sam asked.
Keith frowned. “Hard to tell. The kid wasn’t very communicative. We wrote it off as a sex thing gone wrong, but I’m pretty sure they never made a collar.”
“What was the kid’s name?” Jerry asked the question that was in all their minds.
“Jimmy.” Keith stared off in space and tried to concentrate. “I remember I typed out the report. Jimmy . . . uh . . . Bradley! The last name was Bradley.”
Sam gasped. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. It was my first report for homicide, and I must have gone over it ten times, to make sure it was right. The kid’s name was James Bradley.”
“James Bradley. Brad James.” Sam turned to George. “It’s the same guy! The name’s just reversed. Two different personalities in the same body.”
“Like Jekyll and Hyde?” George looked dubious.
“Exactly!” Jerry looked excited. “I told you he turned into someone I didn’t know!”
Suddenly, George was a model of efficiency as he gave the orders. “Sam? Call the lie detector expert, and explain it to him. Then ask if Brad James could have passed that test if James Bradley committed the murder. Beau? Go out in the hall and use your cell phone to call Marcie. Don’t alarm her, but get her to meet you at that awful coffee shop across the street.”
“I shouldn’t tell her?” Beau looked confused.
“No. Brad might listen in on the call. Just tell her you have to see her right away. Make up some excuse.”
Keith watched as Sam dialed the lie detector office, and Beau raced out to the hall. Then he turned to George with interest. “What can I do?”
“You’ve got a major in psychology, don’t you?”
Keith nodded. “Sure. It’s always fascinated me.”
“Then take a look at these letters.” George reached in his pocket and pulled out the three letters from the crazy fan. “Tell me if you think they were written by the same person.”
Keith scanned the letters, and frowned. “I’m not exactly an expert, but I’d say they were written by two different people.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The first letter sounds like it was written by a younger person, a disturbed person who’s very frightened. The second and third letters are much more rational. They contain a definite threat, while the first one doesn’t.”
“Okay. That fits.” George explained. “The kid you interviewed, Jimmy Bradley, wrote the first one. And I think Brad James wrote the others, trying to get money from Mercedes. When that didn’t succeed, he ordered the red bathing suits, and set Mercedes up for a hit. He figured that if he couldn’t scare her into giving him the money, he’d have her killed and inherit it. Brad hired a killer, just as I suspected. But the killer-for-hire was his own alter ego, James Bradley.”
Sam hung up the phone with a frown. “You’re right, George. If Jimmy Bradley killed Mercedes, Brad James could have passed the lie detector test. The expert said he had a case like that once, with a classic split personality.”
“Okay. All we have to do now is . . .”
George stopped talking as Beau raced into the room. His face was white, and he looked ready to drop. “She’s gone!”
“Gone where?” Sam felt the sweat break out on his forehead. He had a terrible feeling he knew the answer.
“Rosa doesn’t know! Marcie married Brad yesterday afternoon, and they’ve gone on their honeymoon!”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Brad slipped an arm around Marcie’s shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. “I’d love to teach you to play golf. It’s something we could do together.”
Marcie smiled and shook her head. “No, thanks, darling. You can teach me when we get back to California. I’d just slow you down today.”
“But won’t you be bored, all alone?”
“How could I be bored in Hawaii?” Marcie laughed. “There’s a beach right outside our condo, and wonderful little shops to explore. I can even take a sightseeing tour of the island. Don’t worry about me, Brad. I’ll find plenty of things to do.”
“Well . . . if you’re sure . . .”
“I’m sure,” Marcie insisted. “Go ahead, Brad. Have fun. That’s what I intended when I arranged this.”
Brad pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Then he headed for the door. “I’d better hurry or I’ll be late for my reservation. We’ll have a nice romantic dinner when I get back. And then we’ll continue right where we left off last night.”
Marcie gave a happy smile as Brad went out the door. Last night had been wonderful. Perhaps it had been a mistake to arrange a full day of golf for Brad. They could have spent the entire day in bed. But that was selfish, and they had a whole life of love and passion to look forward to.
After a leisurely shower, Marcie dressed in shorts and a blouse. It was
ten past eight in the morning, and the shops probably wouldn’t open until nine. She’d stop at one of the little cafés and have coffee. And then she’d go shopping for the perfect dress to wear tonight.
Marcie left the condo and rode the elevator down to the lobby. It was a lovely day, and the warm sun and blue skies matched her happy mood. She had plenty of cash for shopping, but perhaps she’d use the credit card Brad had given her last night. She could hardly wait to sign her new name: Mrs. Brad James.
Rosa’s face was white as she poured cups of freshly made coffee for George, Sam, and Beau. “I told you on the phone. I don’t know where they went.”
“We have to find them!” Sam was clearly worried. “Think carefully, Rosa. Did Marcie give you any clues to where she might be going?”
“She told the twins she didn’t know. Brad wanted to surprise her. But”—Rosa stopped and frowned—“Mr. Brad told me to pack summer clothes for her, and I know she didn’t take a coat. Does that help?”
George nodded. “That means they didn’t go back East. They wouldn’t travel to a cold climate without coats.”
“Did you pack a bathing suit?” Sam looked worried. Marcie mentioned that she wore Mercedes’s swimsuits.
“No. All I could find were red ones, like the kind Miss Mercedes was wearing the night she died. I guess it was superstitious of me, but I lied and said I couldn’t find one. Did I do wrong, Mr. Sam?”
Sam gave a sigh of relief as he smiled at her. “No, Rosa. You did exactly right.”
“How about Marcie’s passport?” Beau suggested. “Did she take it?”
Rosa shook her head. “It’s still in that little leather folder in her top dresser drawer. I did some cleaning in her room yesterday, and I saw it.”
“Great!” George took charge again. “That means they took a domestic flight. Wake up the twins, Rosa. Maybe Brad said something to them.”
It didn’t take long to wake the twins. In just a few moments, Trish and Rick came down the stairs in matching pajamas and robes.
“What’s going on?” Rick asked.
