Kentucky Sunrise

by Fern Michaels

  “Then what happened?”

  “Then I turned out the lights and locked up. I walked upstairs in my bare feet and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. I heard the television. I called out to Junior to tell him I was home, but he didn’t answer me. He doesn’t like to talk if he’s in the middle of a movie. It didn’t bother me that he didn’t answer. I took a shower, washed my hair, and put on a nightgown. I was just about to tell Junior I was going to sleep in the guest room if he was going to finish watching the movie when I saw all the blood on his white shirt. I think I froze in my tracks and just stared at him. I was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, but even from there I knew he was dead. When I got my wits together, I walked over to check for a pulse. His body was still warm if that’s important for you to know.”

  Hatch watched a cockroach walk across the floor. He was about to get up to step on it when Joe Sullivan beat him to it. Two more appeared and were squashed. The detective made no move to pick them up. Instead he used the edge of his shoe to slide them back under the makeshift coffee table.

  “Why didn’t you call the police? What did you do next?”

  Willow looked at Hatch. He nodded. “I did what anyone would do in a situation like that. I panicked. I thought I would be blamed, so I packed my things, cleaned out the safe, and left. I drove up to Reno and slept in my car the first night. I don’t know why I went to Reno, I just did. It was that panic thing in me.

  “I bought the papers, watched newscasts, but my name wasn’t mentioned at all. They did give a lot of play to Junior’s lifestyle, his gambling habits, and his friends. After a couple of weeks of living out of my car, I drove to New York. I got a job working in a small, out-of-the-way restaurant. I have a laptop, so I checked the Vegas papers daily. There was still no mention of me, so I relaxed a little and then a short while ago I saw, for the first time, that I was wanted for questioning. I drove from New York to Kentucky and hired Mr. Littletree. That’s all I can tell you because there isn’t anything else to tell.”

  Hatch doodled on the yellow pad in his lap and waited.

  “Can anyone vouch for your presence in Reno?”

  “I don’t think so. I ate at fast-food places and paid cash. I pumped my own gas and paid with cash. I cleaned up at gas station bathrooms. I told you, I was panicky. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “We’ll need the name of the restaurant in New York and where you stayed. It would help if you could come up with the names of the gas stations you stopped at on the way to Reno.”

  “I didn’t buy any on the way. I bought it after I got there. One place had a Taco Bell on one side and a Burger King on the other side. I remember because I ate at both places. The name of the restaurant in New York was La Grotto.”

  “Where are you staying here in Vegas, Miss Bishop?”

  “Babylon.”

  “And you, Mr. Littletree, where are you staying?”

  “Babylon. Is my client free to go?”

  “For now. We need a signed statement before you leave. We also want a list of all the men you married along with names and addresses. Don’t leave town, Miss Bishop.” Detective Wately slid a yellow pad across the scarred table along with a pen.

  Willow grimaced as she risked a glance at Hatch. He nodded. She started to write.

  An hour later Willow and Hatch walked out into the warm, summer night.

  “I think I’ll walk back to the casino,” Willow said.

  Hatch stopped in midstride. “That isn’t a good idea. Those two detectives in there are not stupid. They are going to have a tail on you. From here on in, don’t even think about leaving. They’re probably getting a warrant right now to seize your car back in Kentucky. You are a suspect, Willow. You admitted to finding the body, to touching it, to stealing Belez’s belongings from the safe. And you didn’t call the police. That’s what’s going to do you in.”

  “Are they going to arrest me?”

  She’s too damn calm, Hatch thought. A chill washed up his spine. “My guess would be yes. I just don’t know when. You must realize, if you skip out, they’ll find you. You need to cooperate.”

  “I appreciate your honesty, Hatch. I think I’d like to be alone for a little while. I’ll walk back to the hotel and get a little dinner and head for bed. Do you want me to check in with you before I go nite-nite?”

  And she’s cocky, too, Hatch thought. “If you’re serious about clearing your name, you’ll do the right thing and not make waves. I’ll check with you in the morning after I come back from police headquarters.”

  Willow nodded. “Good night, Hatch.”

  Hatch’s eyes narrowed as Willow walked away. She blended in with the crowd of vacationers, and within minutes he lost sight of her. He realized how hungry he was a moment later. And he had to call Nealy. He was glad now that he’d called Sunny earlier. Nealy had warned him to call early so as not to upset Sunny and Harry’s nightly routine.

  Hatch hailed a cab and returned to Babylon. He headed for the Harem Bar, where he ordered dinner and a bottle of Foster’s beer. He kept glancing at his watch while he waited for his dinner. Even if Willow was a slow walker, she’d make the casino in under an hour. If she didn’t bolt and run. His gut told him that was exactly what she was going to do. He was on his third beer when his salmon primavera was set in front of him. He ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. The moment he finished, his cell phone was in his hand. He rang the hotel and gave Willow’s room number. He listened to the phone ring. He broke the connection on the thirteenth ring.

  Conceivably, Willow could have stopped to eat somewhere just as he did. She said she was going to get some dinner. She might have decided to do a little gambling on the way back. Or, she could have cut and run.

  A moment later the palm of his hand slapped the tabletop. The beer bottle moved three inches with the force of the blow. Willow had traveled light—just her backpack and purse. She’d had both with her at the police station. There would be no need for her to go back to the hotel. She could have hitched a ride somewhere, picked up some high roller and coaxed him into taking her somewhere. Obviously she was very good at enticing men into her life. He rang her room again. There was still no answer.

  Where would she go? He realized he didn’t have a clue. The detectives had warned her not to leave town. He reminded himself that he was her lawyer, not her keeper.

  A waiter appeared at his elbow with his dinner check. He scrawled his name and room number across the bottom and left the bar.

  Life was going to get complicated. He could feel it in his bones.

  Willow hailed a cab and asked to be taken downtown. She’d been there many times and knew the area well. She headed for the bar at Sassy Sally’s and looked around. Her experienced eyes raked the long bar until she saw what she was looking for.

  His name was Lute Granger, and he was a hair away from being cut off at the bar. He was a pretend Texan with pretend cowboy boots and a real Stetson. He lived off a trust fund, or so the scuttlebutt said. “Hey, Lute, how’s it going?” Willow asked, sitting down on a stool next to him.

  “Do I know you?”

  “Not really. We played pool once down the street. I beat you. It’s pretty smoky in here. Let’s go for a walk. They’re going to cut you off any minute anyway. I can get a bottle, and we can sit in the car. Unless you have other plans. You up for a little fun? The night’s still young.”

  “Well, sure. What’d you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t say, but it’s Bertha. Whoops, watch it, you almost fell there. Hold on to my arm, okay. Where’s your car?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “So we can sit in the car and drink. They won’t serve you any more liquor here. If you don’t want to go with me, that’s okay.”

  Willow linked her arm with Lute’s to steady him. “You ever been to Mexico, Lute?”

  “Nope. Why?”

  “I was thinking it might be nice to drive to California and cross the border. You want
to go for it?”

  “Hell, why not. I don’t have anything else to do. Okay, here’s my car,” he said, pointing to a classic Cadillac with a pair of Texas longhorns attached to the front grille. “I filled it up earlier this evening. You want to drive?”

  This is too easy, Willow thought. Either that or I’m even better than I thought. “Sure. Why don’t you curl up in the backseat and sleep off all that booze. I’ll pick us up a bottle and wake you. You okay with that idea, Lute?”

  “Sounds like a suuuperbbb idea,” Lute said, crawling into the backseat.

  Willow settled herself behind the wheel, adjusted the seat, and fixed the rearview mirror to her liking. She looked around to see if anyone was following her, then pulled into traffic slowly, her eyes going from the rearview mirror to the side mirror. She paid careful attention to the road, knowing how the Vegas cops operated. If there was one thing she didn’t need, it was to be stopped by a cop. She felt her adrenaline kick in. She was on the run again. She started to laugh. It sure beat sitting in a dirty police cell.

  Hatch was right about one thing, the police were going to arrest her in the next few days. At least now she knew what was going on. With no other suspect, she was going to be their prime target. It didn’t matter that she’d told the truth. They would never give her bail, never in a million years, and there was no way she was sitting in jail for the rest of her life. She’d been on the run before, and this time was no different. She could get lost in Mexico and live well with her stash in the backpack. She could hide out there for years and years. For the rest of her life if she had to. She still had three identities she’d never used. Life was suddenly looking a lot less stressful.

  Willow looked at her watch when she drove across the bridge to Tijuana the following day. Lute was still sleeping in the backseat, snoring loudly. He would probably be fresh as a daisy when he woke, and she’d be whipped. She also needed to ditch the pimpmobile she was driving. Lute would pitch a fit, but life was tough sometimes. There had to be chop shops all over the area. Maybe all she needed to do was park it and cross her fingers that someone would steal the flashy Caddy.

  She stopped the car in front of a cantina whose windows were so fly-specked you couldn’t see inside. The entire street smelled of grease and urine. She climbed out of the car, glad now that she’d stopped along a lonely stretch of road to change her clothes just before dawn. She now wore flowered slacks with a matching blouse. Her hair was piled high on her head under a curly red wig. She looked like all the other bargain-hunting tourists walking up and down the street.

  Inside she bought a bottle of root beer and asked for directions to the nearest realtor.

  Lute was still sleeping in the backseat when she slid back into the car. She was careful to follow the directions to a real-estate office that was just as dirty as the cantina. A weasel of a man with greasy hair and a pencil-thin mustache said he had just what she was looking for in the way of accommodations. For $250 she could get a four-bedroom house fully furnished and for another $50 a month his sister would keep house for her. “Cash,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

  Willow nodded. “No lease. I’ll pay cash for one month. If I like it, I’ll stay. Drive us to the house and show me what it looks like. We’ll leave our car here.”

  Outside, she opened the back door and shook Lute’s shoulder. “Wake up, honey. This nice man is going to show us a lovely house, but we’re going to go in his car. Step lively.”

  In a daze the pretend cowboy climbed out of his car and into the Chevy Nova that groaned and sputtered all the way up a steep winding road.

  Willow took one look at the long sprawling ranchlike house and opened her purse. She would be safe there from the long arm of the law. At least for a while.

  “I’ll come by for the car later today. Is that all right?”

  “That will be fine,” the realtor said, pocketing the cash. “When I get back to town, I will tell Rosa she is to keep house for you. She will arrive in the morning to cook you breakfast. Will that be satisfactory?”

  “Yes. Come on, honey, let’s see our new home. We just got married,” she whispered to the realtor.

  “Ah, yes, honeymooners. Very good, señora.”

  “So, Lute, what do you think?” Willow asked.

  “Who are you?”

  “Your brand-new wife. Don’t you remember? We got married last night in Vegas and drove here,” she lied with a straight face. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

  Hatch crawled out of bed the minute he hung up the phone from his wake-up call. He immediately dialed Willow’s room number, knowing there would be no answer. He swore under his breath.

  He showered, shaved, and dressed and was on the fourteenth floor thirty minutes later. He looked up and down the hall to see if a maid was anywhere near. He turned when he heard the service elevator doors open. The floor maid worked her cart until she had it free of the doors, then looked up at him expectantly.

  “Can you please check on the guest in Room 1409. I’m not sure if the guest checked out or not. I’ll wait here,” he said when the little woman looked at him suspiciously.

  “There’s no one in the room, sir. The bed hasn’t been slept in, and the towels haven’t been used.”

  Hatch thanked her and handed over a ten-dollar bill. Willow was gone, and he knew it.

  He didn’t bother with coffee. Instead he walked outside and grabbed the first cab he saw.

  “I hope you’re not in a hurry, mister. Traffic’s a bitch at this time of morning. I’ll take all the back streets, but it’s still going to be thirty-five minutes.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not in a hurry.” Hatch leaned back into the seat. His job there was over. There was nothing more he could do. He felt relieved. Now he could go back to Kentucky and Nealy.

  The driver was as good as his word. Thirty-eight minutes later, Hatch paid him and got out of the cab. He felt a hand on his shoulder almost immediately. “Detective Sullivan. I was about to go inside to look for you. My client seems to have disappeared sometime during the night. If you didn’t have a tail on her, she’s gone. Don’t look at me like that, Detective. I’m her lawyer, not her keeper. I warned her not to leave town. For whatever it’s worth, I don’t think she killed Junior Belez. She knows you’re going to try to pin the murder on her. She’s not a stupid woman.”

  Hatch watched as police officers of every size and description walked from the parking lot to the front steps of the station house. He looked down at his watch. Almost seven. Time for the good guys to start catching the bad guys.

  “Son of a bitch!” the detective seethed. “I knew this was going to happen. My guys were about two minutes too slow last night. They picked you up the minute you got in your cab, but your client was already gone. They did some pretty fast scrambling, but they screwed it up. We’ll put out an all-points bulletin on her. You staying or returning to, where was it, Kentucky?”

  “No point in me hanging around here. If I hear from her, which I don’t think I will, I’ll call you.”

  The detective held out his hand, and Hatch shook it. It was so civilized he wanted to puke. He offered up an airy wave before signaling for a cab. While waiting for a cab to stop, he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his breast pocket and made a production out of putting them on.

  “Hey, hold on a minute.” Four long-legged strides brought the detective next to Hatch. “We have the warrant to seize Miss Bishop’s car,” Sullivan said.

  Hatch shrugged. “If you have no objection, I’d like to be there when the police check it out.”

  “I don’t have a problem with it. Check with the locals when you get back. I’ve got your card. Let’s agree to share information.”

  “Sure.” Like he was really going to have information to share. Oh, yeah.

  What mattered was calling Nick to fill him in on the latest developments.

  The forty-minute ride to the airport allowed him the time he needed to call Nick, who listened until Hatch finishe
d speaking. When there was no response on the other end of the line, he said, “Say something, kid.”

  “Do you think she did it, Hatch?”

  “No, I don’t. She ran because she knew they were going to arrest her. She couldn’t face being locked up, so she took off. They’re going to issue an all-points on her. I don’t know how much good that will do. She seems to be an expert at going to ground and hiding out. There’s nothing we can do, so I’m on my way to the airport to catch a flight home. Try and put it out of your mind. She has no hold on you, Nick, other than an emotional one. No one can help you with that but yourself. I’ll call you when I get home and if anything comes up, I’ll call you first.”

  Hatch’s cell phone snapped shut. He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.

  7

  It didn’t look like a doctor’s office, but it was and she knew it. Even though Dr. Ian Hunter wore beige twill shorts and a white tee shirt, he was still a shrink. And he was waiting for her to bare her soul. This particular session had been scheduled for outdoors on one of the many flower-decked patios but at the last minute, Ian, as he liked to be called by the patients, said simply, “We’re going to talk indoors today.”

  Emmie looked around Ian’s lair, as she thought of it. His diplomas and certificates lined one wall. The opposite wall held watercolors painted by his patients. Some were beautiful and some were downright ugly. She fixed her gaze on one that was full of vivid splashes of orange and yellow. She didn’t know why she was drawn to it, she just was. From where she was sitting she couldn’t make out the initials scrawled across the bottom.

  She hated it there, resented being in his office, resented being told what to do and when to do it. What she really hated, though, were the words: cooperate, join in, accept. She wished she could cry, but all her tears had been shed when she first arrived. There were none left.