by Sharon Sala
As soon as he could, Charlie made his way back to his car and got a bottle of water and a couple of wet wipes. He pulled down the tailgate of his vehicle, reached inside for a quilted sleeping bag and unrolled it. He sat down with the baby, who was crying more loudly now and becoming more aware of everything.
“Mama, Mama,” she sobbed as Charlie wiped the blood from her hands and face, then held the bottle of water to her lips.
“Want a drink, honey? It’s water. Want a drink of water?”
The baby sucked back a sob and opened her mouth. Charlie tilted the bottle and dribbled a little bit in, then waited to see if she could swallow. And she did.
When she reached for the water bottle, he poured a little more in her mouth and repeated it until she pushed the bottle away. He was screwing the lid back on when the baby made a sound as if she’d just swallowed another sob, then laid her face against his chest, her little head tucked beneath his chin.
And so Charlie sat, holding the baby as close against him as he dared, waiting for paramedics to reach them.
* * *
Wyrick had finished her sandwich and was getting ready to call new clients to set up appointments, when Carter came running up the hall.
“Turn on the television! Now!”
Wyrick raced to the living room, grabbed the remote and aimed it at the television.
“What’s happening? What channel?” she asked.
“Anything local! Charlie’s on TV.”
“You aren’t serious?” Wyrick muttered as she tuned in to KXAS, the NBC affiliate, and immediately saw the burning footage of a multicar pileup on I-35.
Ambulances were on scene, as were fire and rescue. The news anchor was firing off updated information as it was coming in.
“...and we’ve just been handed an update to the video we aired earlier. The man who saved the toddler has been identified as Charlie Dodge, a well-known private investigator from the Dallas area.”
“There!” Carter cried. “They’re running it again. All I have to say is your boss sure can move.”
Wyrick felt the blood draining from her face and sat down to keep from fainting. The video began with Charlie leaping out of his Jeep and running all the way to the baby. Her heart began to pound when she saw sparks and smoke coming from beneath the hood of a nearby car, and then in one smooth move Charlie grabbed the little girl in his arms and kept running without missing a stride.
The video lost sight of them when he ducked behind a Greyhound bus trapped in stalled traffic, and then everything exploded. She jumped and then shouted.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God!”
“There’s more, just wait,” Carter said.
Wyrick could hear the news anchor’s voice, but not what he was saying. She was too focused on the man who emerged out of the smoke carrying a bloody baby against his chest. The film ended after the baby tucked her head beneath his chin.
“Does Charlie have children?” Carter asked.
Wyrick shook her head.
“Pity,” Carter said. “He’d be a natural.”
Wyrick stood, handed Carter the remote and went back into their office. She picked up her cell and activated the locator app she’d put on his phone before he left for Denver.
He was on the move now, which meant the paramedics must finally have taken the child. She found the street he was on and the direction in which he was driving, and realized he was on his way back.
She sat down in front of the computer and started to call him, then stopped. If she had to talk right now, she was pretty sure she’d cry, so she sat quietly until she’d cleared herself of emotion, then went back to work.
Carter came back to where she was working and handed her a cold bottle of Pepsi.
“No, thanks. I’m fine,” Wyrick said.
“No, you’re not, but I won’t tell your boss. Since I doubt I could persuade you to drink on the job, I suggest caffeine. Good for dealing with shock.”
He set it on the coaster beside her and walked away.
Wyrick picked it up, unscrewed the lid and took a long drink, feeling the burn as it slid down her throat. By the time Charlie returned, she’d recovered. She saw the blood all over him and blinked, before she made herself look away.
“You were on television. Is any of that blood yours?”
“Really? It was a mess, and no, none of this is mine,” Charlie said.
“Is the baby okay?” she asked.
Charlie eyed her closer, thinking he just heard a break in her voice.
“They think so. The blood all over her was her mother’s. Her mother didn’t make it,” Charlie said. “Are you still okay?”
She nodded.
“Okay, then,” he said and walked down the hall.
Wyrick heard his bedroom door open and close, and then the place was silent again, like it used to be when she was here by herself. She took a deep breath, answering the rest of the afternoon emails before shutting everything down and letting herself out.
Before she got in her car, she checked it for trackers, then left the parking garage. Her head was throbbing and she needed to be alone.
* * *
Mack Doolin saw the film footage of the accident. He knew Charlie Dodge. He knew Wyrick worked for him, and he also knew Dodge’s office had been in the building that had exploded.
It occurred to him that Charlie might be doing business out of his home for the time being. Only he didn’t know where Charlie lived. But it gave him a new angle on trying to run Wyrick down. This was the new break he’d been waiting for. The sooner he got the information he needed as to where she was living and working, the sooner he’d have another payday.
* * *
The mood within Dunleavy Castle was somber. Suspicion was the key word of every day, and it was getting on Dina’s nerves. Now that she knew Carter was alive and safely hidden, her anxiety had shifted to impatience. She wanted all this drama to be over with, and their lives to go back to normal. Kenneth was talking about moving out of the family home when they married, and Dina was excited at the idea of looking for property.
The Aston Martin Kenneth had chosen for his birthday present was a powder blue convertible, and they were taking it for a drive tomorrow. Maybe they’d look at homes for sale while they were at it.
Ruth was overvigilant now on behalf of the family, scowling at everyone who came and went within the castle walls.
Edward was mostly himself. Since learning Carter was alive and well, he had no quarrels about anything.
But it was Jason who was feeling the pressure. He wanted his uncle back at work, so it would loosen his workload, and that wasn’t going to happen until the people responsible were behind bars.
And if that wasn’t enough of a headache, Miranda was coming back to Denver. He really, really needed to put a stop to dating her. There were countless other women he could see who weren’t campaigning to become his wife.
Dinner at the household came and went, and as was the family’s habit, they’d gathered together in the library afterward for a nightcap.
Kenneth was bartending. A shot of bourbon for Jason. A gin and tonic for Edward, and Dina wanted a martini. Kenneth made another for himself, and then they settled into their own spaces to bring the day to an end.
* * *
Jason was sitting beside Edward, listening to him tell some tale about a childhood escapade he and Carter had pulled when they were young. He laughed in all the appropriate places and urged his uncle to share more stories, but he was watching his mother and Kenneth from the corner of his eye. Their relationship was all one-sided, which irked him no end. Kenneth was attentive when he got his way, and pouted like a toddler when he was thwarted. Jason couldn’t imagine what his mother saw in him, then guessed it was the companionship, more than anything else. He sighed and looked away. He didn’t like to think of her as lonely, and it wasn’t his business to interfere.
Edward finally ended his story and settled into his chair, sipping his gin and tonic.
Jason was thinking about retiring for the night when he got a text. He glanced at his phone and resisted the urge to curse. Miranda was at the airport. That meant tomorrow he’d be inundated with messages from her, all wanting to know when they could meet. He didn’t respond, but he had a decision to make.
“It’s been a long day. I think I’m going up,” he said.
“I’ll go with you.” Edward set his glass aside.
“Good night, Jason, darling,” Dina said.
“Good night, Mother.”
“Aren’t you going to tell Kenneth good-night, as well?” Dina asked.
Jason left without answering, then wished he had spoken to Kenneth, because he could hear his mother apologizing profusely for his behavior.
* * *
When Charlie came out of the shower and found Wyrick gone, he stood in the dining room, looking at the makeshift office, and knew he needed to get her out of this space. For whatever reason, she was as uncomfortable being here as he was with her presence.
His phone began ringing, and he reached across the kitchen counter to pick it up. “Hello.”
“Charlie Dodge?”
“Yes, who’s speaking?” he asked.
“This is Jamie George from KDFW here in Dallas. We were wondering if you’d be available to make a statement regarding your amazing rescue during the pileup today.”
“No. Thanks for calling,” he said and disconnected.
Not five minutes later his phone rang again, and this time it was an on-the-spot reporter from WFAA Dallas, requesting the same thing, and again, Charlie turned him down.
After that, he let the calls go to voice mail and devoted the rest of the evening to Carter. They ordered in from an Italian restaurant, and when it arrived, shared the end of the dining table to eat their dinner.
Their conversation started out randomly, but it didn’t take long for Charlie to get down to the business of finding Carter’s inept assassin.
“From all you’ve told me about the attempts on your life, they don’t feel professional. It’s more like someone just taking random opportunities and acting in the moment. Do you agree?” Charlie asked.
Carter nodded. “Yes, and I think that’s why it took me so long to realize the incidents were more than accidental.”
“I’ve been thinking about the arsenic you ingested. Are you sure it happened after dinner?” Charlie asked.
Carter nodded again. “Any earlier and I would’ve become sick before or during dinner. It was afterward that I felt ill.”
“Do you remember who was pouring drinks that night?” Charlie asked.
“Not really.”
“Okay, then what do you usually choose as your nightcap, and does anyone else favor it, too?”
“I like a Gibson. That’s gin and dry vermouth with an onion. My dad was a fan and it rubbed off on me, and no, nobody else has them. I’m always the one who—” Carter paused. “Oh! The pickled onions. They’re kept in the little jar beneath the bar. Nobody ever has them but me.”
“Good job,” Charlie said. “You might have just solved the question of how you ingested the arsenic. But we need to see if the same jar of onions is still behind the bar. I’ll call Jason later. I don’t want him to know where you are, so all I’ll say is that we’re staying in touch because I’m working on your case.”
Carter laid down his fork and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table—something he probably wouldn’t have had the freedom to do at home.
“If it was the onions, then it was most likely a woman. Other than the chef, I don’t have male household staff,” Carter said. “But if that’s so, the brake line then becomes an anomaly. I don’t know any woman capable of doing that, and there wouldn’t be a man anywhere near the library to poison the jar of pickled onions.”
“So maybe there are two of them,” Charlie said.
Carter sighed. “I can’t believe I’m even having this discussion. I made enemies, but none I ever thought hated me enough to try and kill me.”
“What about ex-girlfriends or ex-wives with a grudge?” Charlie asked.
“I had one long-term relationship that never panned out, but that was years ago, and I never married. I guess the job is my lover. Jason is the player in the family. He always has a girl or two on call.”
“Are they the kind of girlfriends he brings home to dinner with the family?”
“No,” Carter said. “Although they often want to be. He’s been seeing a young woman for some time now who has her sights set on him. She’s the daughter of Johannes Deutsch, the man who founded Deutsch Sausages in Denver. Of course they’re sold nationwide now, and her father is very rich in his own right, so it’s not as if she’s out to snag Jason because of his money. They have plenty.”
“No one’s mentioned her before,” Charlie said.
“That’s because she’d been in Europe for at least two, maybe three months.”
“What’s her name?” Charlie asked.
“Miranda Deutsch.”
Charlie made a mental note to have Wyrick do a little research on her, as well.
As soon as they finished the meal, Charlie began cleaning up and sent Carter into the living room to watch television. After the kitchen was tidy again, Charlie went into his office to call Jason. It was after ten o’clock in Dallas, but an hour earlier in Denver. Not too late to make the call. He was staring at a photo of Annie on his desk when Jason finally answered.
“Hello.”
“Jason, this is Charlie.”
“Is everything okay?”
“As far as I know,” Charlie said. “The reason I’m calling has to do with your uncle’s case. I’ve been checking in with him on a regular basis, and during one of our updates, I asked him about the night he was poisoned. I wanted to know who pours drinks, and who drinks what, and it occurred to him that he’s the only one who has a Gibson for a nightcap.”
“Yes, that’s true. No one else in the family cares for them. Why?”
“I want you to go down to the bar and see if there’s an opened jar of pickled onions still there. If so, confiscate it and have it tested for arsenic. It would’ve been impossible to contaminate any of the liquor without endangering the whole family, but the jar of onions would work, since he’s the only one who has them.”
“The onions! Yes! That makes perfect sense. And anyone in the household knows he’s the only one who has them with a drink,” Jason said.
“If the jar is unopened, leave it, but get in touch with me. After the first attempt failed, whoever did it might have removed the tainted jar, and we don’t want to let on that we know,” Charlie cautioned.
“I’ll go down now and text you back, one way or the other.”
Charlie put the phone down to wait for the text, and reached for Annie’s picture. She was looking into the camera when he’d taken it, and the smile on her face was so real. It had been a long time since she’d looked at him that way.
Back when she still saw him—knew him—loved him...
“I miss you,” Charlie said. “I miss us.”
Jason’s text came a few minutes later.
New jar. Never been opened.
Charlie sent a text back.
When it didn’t work, they disposed of the evidence. Keep this to yourself.
He pocketed his phone and joined Carter.
* * *
Wyrick hadn’t been home more than five minutes when her cell phone signaled a text. It was from Corne, her stockbroker.
Your gaming enterprise is paying off. The release of your latest game shot sales up through the roof. You scored a little over twenty million today alone.
She sighed. Money was easy to make. Life was what was hard. She sent a thumbs-up emoji to let him know the message was received, then laid the phone aside and went to shower and change. The ritual was necessary. It was an emotional signal to herself that was now free to be her true self. No leather, no makeup. No lies.
This was where she lived h
er truth, and she held fast to the adage that the truth would set her free.
Twelve
Buddy Boy Pierce was feeling all kinds of relief now that he was off the Dunleavy job. He was feeling so good that he was thinking of taking a little trip down Tijuana way. Maybe it would give things here a chance to cool down.
He’d ordered pizza over an hour ago and was wondering where the hell it was when his doorbell finally rang.
“It’s about damn time,” he muttered and picked up his wallet as he headed for the door.
But it wasn’t the pizza delivery.
“You! What the hell? I already quit. I’ve had my say.”
“But I haven’t.”
Buddy frowned, and then he saw the gun—and the silencer.
“No, no, no, I wouldn’t—”
The pop was as minimal as the little bullet hole between Buddy’s eyes. But the blood and brain matter that hit the easy chair behind him was messy as hell. Now Buddy was on the floor, and the shooter was gone.
A few minutes later, the pizza delivery guy drove up, grabbed the pizza box and took off toward the house. He was already up the steps and on his way to the door when he realized it was ajar.
“Pizza delivery!” he called out, and when no one came, he pushed the door aside just enough to peek in. He saw a body on the floor, and the bullet hole between his eyes.
He choked, then gagged at the sight of all that blood and threw up off the side of the porch. After he caught his breath, he pulled himself together and called 911.
* * *
Wilma Short hobbled toward the door of her apartment, grateful to be home. The moment she was inside, she kicked off her shoes. Her feet hurt. They always hurt at the end of a day’s work at the Dunleavy estate. Ruth kept telling her to get better shoes, but Ruth was always full of suggestions that irked Wilma. There was nothing wrong with the shoes she had. Her feet just hurt after running errands through that damn castle all day. But now she was home and grateful for her small apartment, and the first thing she was going to do was have a long soak in a hot bath.
