The Killing Game

by Nancy Bush

  “It was a single-car accident,” she insisted, saying the words by rote, as if they were in some foreign language. She could mimic the sound, but she had no idea what the words meant.

  “Fucking A, Mimi. That’s what they want you to believe. They probably came at him in another car and Greg swerved to avoid them. It only looks like a single-car accident. It could have been his wife who went after him after she found out he was screwing around. She doesn’t want to share her part of their fortune with somebody else’s brat.”

  “I don’t think—” she began, but he cut her off.

  “True, Meems. True! You don’t think. Not enough.”

  “No . . .”

  “Yes!” he insisted, his fingers digging into her shoulders.

  “Greg said he and his wife had drifted apart from each other. He called her Andi. They couldn’t have children. I thought he’d be so thrilled when I told him I was pregnant, but—”

  “Never mind.” Scott didn’t want to hear that again. He was sick of Mimi bemoaning how the news of her pregnancy seemed to send Greg back into his wife’s arms. Counterintuitive, but then, who knew what guilt would make people do? Scott knew Wren’s car slipping over the embankment was just an unfortunate accident, but that wasn’t going to help him now. Mimi had to feel some righteous indignation if she was going to play this right. And she needed to play it right.

  “Sweetie,” he went on in a conciliatory tone, “if we don’t get some money soon, we’re gonna be out on our asses. Fucking rent’s skyrocketing, especially around the goddamn lake.”

  “We could move back to Laurelton,” she said hopefully.

  “This is where we grew up,” he reminded her tightly. “We’re not getting run out by the people with all the money. Gentrification. Goddamn it! We belong here, too.”

  She tried to think. He could practically see the wheels trying to turn in her mind, though they were slipping a few cogs.

  “Maybe,” she said, “it was those brothers who ran Greg off the road. Those twins.” Her mouth wobbled and more tears filled her eyes.

  He had to give her credit for that one. She could almost be right about the Carreras. “That’s not what happened,” he said. He had to keep her on track. “Now listen to me. Andrea Wren’s going to be here soon, so I’ve gotta leave.”

  “No!” She gazed at him in fear.

  “You need to do this alone.”

  “Oh, Scott. I can’t!”

  “Yes, you can.” He steered her toward the bedroom and she tried to dig her boot heels into the carpet, but he was stronger and Mimi was always one to give in. “Put on a loose blouse. Where is that damn bun-in-the-oven thing? Get it out and put it on.”

  “It’s in the bottom drawer,” she said dispiritedly. She stared at the blue chest of drawers with the white knobs. Mimi’d had it since they were kids and was fond of it, had planned to use it for the baby, whereas Scott had thrown all measure of their earlier life with their single mom away. Depressing stuff.

  He yanked open the drawer and dug through some T-shirts before he found the baby bump. It wasn’t that large. He’d bought it for her as soon as she’d miscarried, already thinking ahead. She should be showing a lot more by now, he thought. Still, it would probably do the trick. He handed it to Mimi, who reluctantly took off her T-shirt and fastened it around her middle. She put the T-shirt back on and Scott was happy with how it looked. She could be the kind of woman who didn’t show a lot. “You’re wearing this to work, aren’t you? We talked about this, Meems.”

  “I wear it,” she said, her lower lip thrust out in protest.

  “Good. Don’t let Greg’s wife get too near,” he warned.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Yeah. You can. You have to. Now listen . . . you need to let her know that you really want this child, even if abortion would be the better choice. You got that?”

  “I would never have an abortion!”

  “Mimi, we’re playacting here. Use your fucking head for once. Jesus. This is important.”

  “I know we need money!”

  “That’s right. That’s exactly right. We need money. And you don’t like Greg’s wife. She’s a rich bitch. You know that’s true.”

  “They met at college. She has an MBJ.”

  “MBA,” he corrected.

  “Oh yeah. Masters of business and . . .”

  “Administration. Meems, please . . .” He despaired of her. “Come on.” He grabbed her hand and led her toward the kitchen table. “After you let her in, go back and sit in this chair. Keep the table as a barrier, you understand? You don’t want her to look too closely at you, and you definitely don’t want her to touch you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Make some coffee. Oh, shit, you’d probably be drinking decaf. . . .” He looked around the kitchen.

  “I drink decaf tea,” she said, slipping from his grasp. Opening a cupboard, she collected two mugs and set them on the counter. Then she lifted the lid on the cookie jar that sat next to the toaster and pulled out two tea bags. “I just fill the mugs with water and zap them in the microwave.”

  “Good enough. Make sure she doesn’t stay long.”

  “What does she want? Why is she coming?” She started chewing on her thumb again.

  “Stop that. It has to be about the baby.”

  She dropped her hand. “What if she wants to touch my stomach? People do that, y’know. I like to do it. It’s good luck.”

  “Just sit at the table. Got that? Just sit at the table and keep her away from you.”

  “After I give her a cup of tea.”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish she wasn’t coming.”

  You and me both, he thought, but he said, “Yeah, well, maybe this is a good thing. They’ve all ignored you for months. Maybe this’ll get the ball rolling.”

  Mimi swiped at another round of tears. “I wish I still had the baby for real.”

  “You fixed that for all of us. But get over it. We have work to do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Andi drove into the parking lot of Brightside Apartments, Mimi’s address, which was on the north side of the lake and about half a mile from the water. In those weeks after she’d first learned of Greg’s relationship with Mimi Quade, she’d been half crazed with anger and a wild possessiveness. She’d found herself following him from work, and it hadn’t taken long before he drove to a large complex designed with rows of town houses. It wasn’t one of her finest moments by a long shot, but when Andi had learned Mimi’s address, she’d filed the information away for future use, just in case she needed it. Later Greg had told her about going to see Mimi himself. He’d let her know it was over. He insisted Mimi wasn’t pregnant and the affair was really over before it had begun. Andi hadn’t fully believed him, though she’d wanted to, but she wasn’t convinced Greg had been faithful even before Mimi. There were rumors . . .

  But at the time she’d pretended to believe Greg. It was easier than fighting. Later, though, she’d found out where Mimi worked and she went to the nail salon and observed Mimi as she gave a manicure to an older woman who requested a glittery diamondlike gem be affixed to every one of her nails. Andi got a pedicure from another woman and wore fake glasses, her hair bound in a scarf in case Mimi chanced to look her way. She figured if she was found out, too damn bad; she’d take the heat. But the scattered girl with the big eyes who’d gazed at Greg so adoringly in their offices had been too involved with her work that day to notice.

  Greg had been true to his word about ending it with Mimi, however. As soon as Mimi and her brother announced her pregnancy, the affair was over. From Greg’s point of view, a quick transgression was turning into something more complicated that didn’t fit with his plans. He told Andi the only woman he’d ever really loved was her, that he’d failed her and that he wanted to make it up to her. Andi hadn’t believed him, but the words had soothed her wounded heart, and somewhere in the next few weeks she’d forgiven him enough to sleep
with him again. All of that was a blur. Lost time. Blackouts. The fog of misery. Call it what you will, at the time Andi had felt like she was going through the motions of someone else’s life.

  Then she’d gotten the nine-one-one call: her husband was being life-flighted to Emanuel Medical Center in northeast Portland. Reality was a bucket of ice water poured over her head. She’d driven to the hospital in a controlled panic, but by the time she got there, Greg was already gone.

  Now, thinking back, she had only snapshot memories of seeing Carter and Emma and Ben there, though she could smell Emma, who’d been blindly drunk and reeked of booze. Through it all, Andi had forced herself to stay focused. She needed to ask the right questions. She needed to keep moving forward, make decisions. At one point, Carter had pulled her aside and hugged her, his heart beating fast and hard. She’d noted it from a distance as he rarely touched her. Ben, taking a cue from his brother-in-law, had then hugged her, too, though more stiffly, until Andi eased away. Emma hadn’t been able to do anything but stumble around and cry.

  After Greg’s death, Andi had barely thought of Mimi. She’d been diminished by the loss of Andi’s husband. Both Emma and Carter had believed Greg that Mimi’s baby, if it even existed, wasn’t his, so they wanted nothing more to do with the Quades.

  A couple of weeks after Greg’s death, Carter told Andi, “I did some research on wonderful Mimi and her brother. Scott Quade’s an extortionist. He’s looking for a quick score, and in this instance Greg played right into his hands. I’d be surprised if the bitch is really pregnant at all, but even if she is, the chances of it being Greg’s are slim to none.”

  Emma had agreed with her brother, but had added, “Oh, Scott’s always been around,” she said. “He’s one of the lake rats.”

  “Lake rats?” Andi queried.

  “No money. Old cabins. Scruffy and poor. Schultz Lake was full of ’em. Not so much anymore. Scott’s just trying to make a score.”

  “Maybe you knew him. I never did,” Carter corrected her.

  “You had your share of lake friends. I caught you with Melanie.”

  “We were kids,” he’d dismissed, sounding long-suffering.

  Andi had let the issue go. Her own mental health demanded it, and there wasn’t a lot she could do about it anyway. Carter had relieved her of acting in any way by telling her, “If she’s really pregnant, and if it’s Greg’s, we’ll figure out what to do soon enough,” so none of them had approached Mimi or Scott about the issue again. Then time passed and Andi was pregnant, then she miscarried.... Now she wanted to know the truth from Mimi about Greg and the baby.

  She had butterflies in her stomach as she remote locked her Tucson and headed toward Mimi’s town house. She reached the front door and knocked, noting the deferred maintenance in the faded and scarred black paint on the door and the dry, scraggly bushes flanking an exposed aggregate sidewalk riddled with cracks. Glancing around, she saw that the town houses were in total decline. Even so, with the greater Portland area’s blistering rental rate climb, she knew the rent wouldn’t be cheap.

  It took a while for Mimi to answer, but when she did, Andi’s eyes were immediately drawn to the very prominent baby bump sticking out from Mimi’s middle. The sight of it made Andi’s ears buzz. Pregnant . . . Mimi really was pregnant.

  Mimi stared at her for a moment, then suddenly broke into tears. “I miss him so much!”

  Her wail brought Andi slowly back to the present. She sensed she should say she missed him, too, but the words stuck in her throat and Mimi rushed in with, “You probably hate me. I’m so sorry. I . . . I loved him!” She was gulping hard and shaking with emotion.

  “Yeah, well, um . . . he was a good man.” Was he? Andi wasn’t sure about that.

  But Mimi, her blue eyes full of naked pain, said on a hiccup, “He was. He really was. I can’t believe he’s gone. I just can’t believe it.”

  She looked at Andi, clearly waiting for her to explain why she was on her doorstep. “I just wanted to . . . see how you were,” Andi said.

  “Would you . . . you want to come in and have a cup of decaf tea?”

  “I think maybe I should go.” She gestured toward the evidence of Mimi’s pregnancy. “I just was thinking about everything and . . . we really haven’t really given you any support.”

  “Oh, it’s okay.” Her mouth worked as she fought for control.

  “No, it’s not. If you’re . . .” She stopped herself and said instead, “We were surprised when you and your brother showed up at the offices and announced—”

  “Please come in. I’ll get you some tea.”

  She left the door wide open and hurried toward the back of the town house. Andi stood on the porch a moment longer, reluctant to enter, already wishing she hadn’t come. Exhaling a pent-up breath, she followed in Mimi’s wake.

  “Is chamomile okay?” Mimi asked as Andi stood by the small kitchen table at the end of the U-shaped kitchen.

  “Sure.” Andi had harbored a lot of bad thoughts about Greg’s lover, but faced with this pregnant woman child, those feelings started to slip away. Mimi was too open and gullible to despise, though Andi could sense she might grow impatient with her very easily.

  “Could we talk about Greg a little?” Mimi asked. “I’m . . . I’m just . . . I know he is . . . was your husband and all, but . . .”

  Mimi was holding two mugs and suddenly her hands started trembling so violently that hot tea splashed onto the backs of her hands. Andi jumped forward to help as Mimi dropped one mug, shrieked, then burst into a fresh flood of tears.

  “No, leave it,” Andi said when Mimi bent down to address the mess. “Sit down.” She led her toward to a chair.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Just take a breath.” Once Mimi was seated, Andi grabbed a paper towel and picked up the mug, which had stayed remarkably intact except for a broken handle. She threw the mug into a trash bin under the kitchen sink, then grabbed more paper towels and mopped up the rest of the tea. Throughout, Mimi apologized profusely. When Andi was finished, she tried to hand Andi the still unbroken mug in her hand with its half-full contents, but Andi refused.

  “You keep it. I really can’t stay long anyway,” Andi said. “We need to work this out, but I need to talk to Carter and Emma, Greg’s brother and sister, and remind them about the baby.”

  Mimi looked down at her stomach. “They’ve forgotten?”

  “A lot’s happened,” Andi said. “We really didn’t know where things stood with you after Greg died. When are you due, by the way? I think you told us, but I really can’t remember. I was ... processing.”

  “Oh, um ...” She looked away. “I don’t know if I’m keeping it.”

  “You’re putting the baby up for adoption?” Andi’s mind grappled with the thought.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She gulped down some tea. “I wish Scott were here. He always knows what to do.”

  “Is Scott not around?” Andi questioned.

  She thought that over hard. “He’s at work.”

  “He still lives around here?”

  “He never wants to leave the lake,” she said, almost in a whisper.

  Andi automatically looked past her and through the window that looked over the back parking lot. Schultz Lake was somewhere beyond, but the view was blocked by more apartments. “What’s Scott do?”

  “You mean like a job? Um ... lots of things.”

  Andi wondered if that meant he was between jobs. “Is he . . . helping you with the baby?”

  “Kind of. He wants to talk to Carter, but the receptionist won’t put him through.”

  “Did he leave a message with Jill?”

  “I don’t know. I guess. That’s just what he said.”

  Carter hadn’t let Andi know he’d been contacted by Scott Quade, but then, Carter didn’t believe Mimi was carrying Greg’s baby. However, the way Mimi felt about Greg made it hard for Andi to believe the child was anyone’s but his.
“I’ll tell Carter to talk to Scott.”

  “Okay,” she choked out.

  “I promise we’re not going to ignore Greg’s child any longer,” Andi told her.

  She flapped a hand at Andi, too overcome to say anything more.

  Andi said a few more words of encouragement, aware how ironic it was that she was the one comforting Greg’s paramour. She let herself out the door, almost feeling bad about leaving Mimi. She put a call in to Carter, who didn’t pick up his phone, and left him a message about Mimi’s pregnancy, saying they could talk about it further the next day.

  She didn’t notice the car that eased from a parking spot down the block and followed after her.

  * * *

  The Bellows’s cabin was much like he’d remembered it from his first visit: same tired-looking siding, same listing porch, same sense of abandonment. The landscaping was trimmed and tended, courtesy of Art Kessler undoubtedly. But Peg had said she was at the cabin, so Luke bent his head to a soft but persistent rain and hurried to the front door. He knocked loudly, the sound harsh and foreign in the bucolic setting. He could see through the cabin to the other side, where the gray waters of Schultz Lake were dimpling with the rain.

  No answer.

  Luke checked his watch and saw it was two minutes past two. He was right on time. He grew impatient, wondering if she’d stood him up. What the hell was that about? Bolchoy had intimated that she’d found the Carrera brothers attractive and that he should expect the same, but Peg had cooled off on them. At least that was the impression he’d gotten on the phone.

  He heard a noise inside the house and peered through the window once more. Peg Bellows was moving toward the door slowly. She wore a bathrobe and a scarf was tied around her head.

  Some kind of cancer . . .

  Luke had a sinking feeling. He’d pushed and pushed and now realized she was ill. When the door opened he half expected her skin to be gray or sallow, but her cheeks were flushed pink.