by Polly Iyer
“I’ve heard asshole mentioned more than once.”
“That’s a noun.”
Clarence snickered. “You got me there.”
“There are a bunch of those too.”
“You think Minette is capable of murder?”
The drink stopped halfway to Stroud’s mouth. He sat poised for a moment, took a long swig, swallowed, then put the glass on the table. “I take it you mean our local murders.”
“Only one.”
Avoiding Clarence’s gaze, Stroud concentrated on the dark amber liquid in his glass. “You think he’s involved?”
“I do.”
Stroud appeared thoughtful. “Robert wouldn’t do the dirty himself. He’d suggest to his hire he wanted something done. It would be oblique but clear to someone on the same wavelength. Then Robert would feign surprise when the person carried it out. He’s too much of a coward to ever do anything on his own.”
“If he were hiring, who would it be?”
“PI by the name of Harry Klugh, from Atlanta. Now, turn around’s fair play. Whose murder do you think Robert contracted? Rayanne Johnson?”
“No, the friend.”
Stroud nodded.
Clarence could see he was on his way to getting very, very drunk. He needed to grill the editor while he could still talk, although he wasn’t slurring yet. “Back to the PI How do you know this?”
“He’s used him multiple times over the years.” Stroud finished his drink and waved at Chaz, but the kid was already there with a replacement. “I make it my business to know what Robert Minette is doing, has done, and predictably will do. It’s called survivor’s instinct.”
Clarence wondered why Stroud needed survivor’s instinct where it concerned Minette. “How did Dana survive?”
Harris took a minute, as if he were deciding what bordered on breaking a trust. “Dana wasted too many years with that creep.” He looked around, waved at Chaz. “I need something to eat or you’ll have to wipe me up with a sponge.”
Clarence marveled at the man’s capacity. He’d have been under the table if he’d put away what Stroud guzzled in the short time. Chaz came over and Harris ordered a steak. Clarence decided to join him. He hadn’t eaten all day and could feel himself getting tipsy. He didn’t want to lose his edge with the editor, who obviously revved his mouth like a Formula One engine when he drank too much.
“Dana made three mistakes,” Stroud continued. “First, she married Minette. That was the biggest one of all. Then she had an affair. I’m not talking out of school. Everyone knows. When she divorced Robert, he made sure they did, in spite of the humiliation it caused. Vengeful bastard. And third, her affair wasn’t with me. Not that I didn’t try. Now it looks like she’s made her fourth mistake, and she and Reece Daughtry will wind up in prison. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, whether the woman knows how to pick the right man?”
“She could do worse than Reece.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re his friend. I didn’t think he had any. He’s not what I’d call warm and fuzzy.”
Clarence ignored the disparaging remark. “You think Reece murdered that girl?”
Harris closed his eyes and massaged his fingers over the lids. When he opened them, he blinked a couple of times. “Hell, no. Why would any sane man leave a woman like Dana to screw a little country redneck? Doesn’t make sense. It’s not like he wasn’t getting any.” He broke off a piece of roll from the basket Chaz brought. “I’m sloshed.”
“Quit drinking.”
“Drunks don’t quit until they pass out. I try to save that for when I get home, but sometimes I don’t make it. I come here because they know me, and if I hit the table, they take care of me. It’s not even humiliating anymore.”
Clarence had known a few alcoholics in his day, but most couldn’t admit their problem. “Why don’t you get help?”
“I have. Let me think—is it three or four times? Four, the marriages are three. I get them confused sometimes.”
“Were you in love with Dana?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I drink. I drink because it makes me forget things.”
Clarence didn’t want to hear Harris’s long sad story. Everyone had one. Reece had one, and he never resorted to booze to purge his demons. “Tell me about Minette. What do you have on him?”
“Very astute. But then I’m an open book, aren’t I?”
Chaz brought dinner. Clarence cut into his steak. Perfectly charred—black and blue, exactly the way he liked it. Stroud struggled to maneuver his knife and fork, but he managed to get enough into his mouth to take the edge off the liquor.
“What do you have on him?” Clarence repeated.
“Hmm, better not. I need the job right now. You can find out. You’re a good detective; I can tell. It shouldn’t be hard to dig up someone in Minette’s old firm in Charlotte.”
“My boss is doing that as we speak. My guess is Minette had something to do with the disappearance of a witness. Am I close?”
Harris hesitated long enough to give credence to Clarence’s guess. “That’s a possibility.”
“Don’t be coy.”
“I’ll tell you this. If Robert did contract to make a witness disappear, no one could prove it except the person who did it. Then we have a deal between two devils, each offering the other protection. That’s how Robert does business. Personally, I’d like to think Robert did it so one day he’d have to pay, but I’m not that naïve.”
“You think Harry Klugh had something to do with the murder?”
“I’m not saying either one of them had anything to do with any murder. I’m saying I’d check him out. There’s not a moral bone in that man’s body.”
“Did Minette have a poison dart aimed at the governor to get this appointment?”
Harris emptied his water glass. “More than likely.”
“What does Minette have on you?”
Harris cut another piece of meat and gnawed on it until it probably could have passed through a straw. “What makes you think he does?”
“Wild guess.”
Pushing his half-eaten steak away, Harris leaned back in his chair and stifled a belch. “Gotta go home.” He stood, steadying himself. “You did well tonight, Clarence. You wheedled more out of me than I did from you. I knew what you were doing, but I didn’t give a shit.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Reece’s Protector
Unburdening the ugly chapter of his first week in prison helped clear Reece’s mind and sharpen his senses. As he drove through the magnificent mountain scenery of North Carolina and Virginia, the sky appeared bluer, the air fresher.
They decided to share the driving so they could make the long trip without stopping at a motel. Why multiply their chances of being noticed. Dana dozed, but every so often she reached over and touched Reece’s arm or neck or the top of his thigh. They were gentle touches, and he knew she understood.
He pulled into a rest stop. “I’ll call Frank. See if there’s a problem if we come.”
“Does he live alone?”
“No, he has a woman. We’ve talked on the phone but never met.” Holding hands, they sauntered inside to the lobby. Reece, always guarded, drew on some distant memory to act nonchalant. He nodded at those who caught his eye, something he wouldn’t ordinarily do, but it seemed more natural and what normal people did. He smiled inwardly, wondering if he thought of himself as abnormal. Dana squeezed his hand as she took off for the restroom, he for the phone.
Had the sheriff in Harold County found out about the old truck? Was his picture flashing on TV? Dana’s? Would he be on the front page of every paper in the country tomorrow? Well, tomorrow was tomorrow.
He dropped in the coin, dialed Frank’s number, and listened for the amount, which he slid into the slots. Frank answered. “You know who this is?”
“You on the road?”
“Yes.”
“Be careful. They’ll be watching.”
“It’ll be late.”
“I’ll be up.”
Reece hung up and headed for the men’s room. He had planned to visit Frank a couple of years ago and found the directions to his place on the Internet. He’d kept them, even though the original trip had been cancelled due, Frank said, to a bug he caught. Reece found out later that his illness turned out to be more than a bug. He’d wanted to visit, but Frank always put him off. All he had to do was say the word, and Reece would be there.
He found Dana waiting, and they got back in the pickup. Dana drove for a few hours. After a blink through West Virginia and Maryland, he closed his eyes and woke somewhere in Pennsylvania. He took over behind the wheel, stopped for a bite at a drive-thru, pulled in at rest stops when nature called, then rolled into New York, Connecticut, and finally crossed the state line into Massachusetts.
At midnight, they arrived in Lynn, a working-class city whose main feature was its boundary with the Atlantic Ocean. Though dark, they could still make out the landmarks.
“Frank told me Lynn was the shoe capital of the world in its day.” The big buildings Reece assumed were once factories had been converted to a community college and senior apartments. The downtown area looked like it hadn’t changed in fifty years.
“I remember the directions said to go around the traffic circle. The ocean should be on our right, and an inner street with apartment buildings will be on the left.”
Dana searched for the road. “There. See the buildings? That must be it.” She pointed to an inside passage off the main road with a series of three and four-story apartment buildings.
“Difficult to see with the oncoming headlights, but I see it.” Reece swung a U-turn off the main drag and entered the tiny street.
“There it is. The number 200 is lighted above the entrance.”
“I’m going to drive down the street. Watch for anything suspicious.”
“I don’t see anyone in parked cars, but that doesn’t mean a cop isn’t waiting.”
“We’ll find out in a few minutes.” He found a parking space near the door.
“How long since you’ve seen Frank?”
“Four years. I met him the day he was released. He came south, and we spent a few days celebrating his freedom. I’d finished the house enough to live in it, and we had a good time fishing and just kicking back. He got sick shortly after that.”
“How long was he in prison?”
“A little more than twenty years.”
“For what?”
“Murder. He killed a man with his bare hands.” Reece glanced at her to see her reaction. She showed no sign of shock. Dana kept surprising him. Years of marriage to Minette had made her as resilient as Reece first thought. “It wasn’t premeditated, but it wasn’t accidental either.”
They got out of the car, stiff and tired. Reece tensed, waiting for someone to pounce on him, but no one did. He noted the foul smell in the air. “What on earth is that?”
“Smells like rotten eggs.”
He’d have thought a building in proximity to the ocean would have been more luxurious, but the smell probably kept what would be considered prime coastal real estate anywhere else from being that.
They climbed a few steps and opened the door, climbed a few more to a bank of mailboxes and doorbells. Reece found Vance and pressed the button. A female voice over the intercom asked who was there. Reece said his name. The door buzzed. It opened when he pushed against it.
A woman stood inside the door on the first floor. It looked like four apartments shared the floor—one across the hall and two more on each side halfway down. Reece took Dana’s hand. “You okay with this?”
“This is hardly the time to ask, is it? What if I said I wasn’t?”
He looked at her and caught her smile. “Right. Stupid question. We’re here, and there’s no place else to go.”
“Exactly.”
The woman waiting near the open door stood slightly taller than Dana, but sturdy where Dana was slight.
“Reece? I’m Lana. Nice to meet you at last. Come in.”
He took her hand. “The pleasure’s mine. This is Dana.” The two women shook hands.
The fragrant aroma of roasted meat and garlic wafted through the apartment, reminding Reece he hadn’t eaten since lunch. Dana felt the same as she sniffed the air with raised brows.
Lana led them through a short hall to the living room. The room appeared clean and neat, the furniture comfortably worn but not shabby. Frank Vance sat in a recliner with an oxygen tank off to the side. Books covered two tables and more filled a makeshift bookshelf lining one wall. Reece struggled to rein in his reaction to seeing his old friend’s skeletal form.
“I know, I know,” Frank said. “I look like shit.”
Reece heard the familiar voice, as if his vocal chords had been mixed with gravel, the result of the mean scar that cut horizontally across his throat. “Shit might be honey-coating it.”
“Jesus Christ, can’t you ever shade the truth?” Frank pushed himself to his feet, not without effort.
“Don’t get up on my account.” Reece bear-hugged him, feeling nothing but bones under Frank’s oversized clothes. A giant lump formed in Reece’s throat that would translate to visible emotion if he didn’t force himself to hold back. He whispered in his ear, “I’d ask how you were doing, but I don’t have to.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not dead yet. Fucking cigarettes. Should’ve quit a long time ago, but you know how it is in the can. Not much fun if you have to give up all your vices.”
Reece backed away and motioned Dana forward and introduced them.
Frank offered a bony hand, and Dana took it. “She’s a pretty one.” He turned to Dana. “How’d you get involved with this geek?”
“Lucky, I guess.”
Frank’s laugh turned into a hacking cough, and he sank into his recliner, exhausted from the exertion.
Reece stooped in front of him. “Take it easy, friend.”
Lana brought the nasal cannula to his nose, but Frank pushed it away. “You’ve met Svetlana. Call her Lana. Hmm, interesting. Lana, Dana. One letter off, though spoken differently. Must mean something. What do you say, Reece? Coincidence?”
“Kismet,” Reece said.
“Yes, kismet.” Frank pulled Lana to sit on the arm of his chair. “Lana’s my nurse, my caretaker, the best cook this side of the Ukraine, and,” he looked at her with what could only be described as adoration, “the love of my life. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
Reece saw true affection pass between them, and the lump in his throat grew.
“Now I have the two people who saved my life in one room at the same time.” He lifted Lana’s palm to his lips and kissed it. “Do you know the story, Dana?”
“No, I—”
“Not now,” Reece said.
“Modest, are you? Okay, but I’ll have to tell her later. Sit, you two. Tell me what happened. I heard something on the news. I waited to get the story from you. Lana, sweetheart, how about some coffee, or maybe a drink?”
“Coffee’s fine,” Reece said.
Lana rose from the arm of Frank’s chair. “How do you take it?”
“Black,” Reece and Dana said in unison.
Frank adjusted his position. “So tell me.”
Reece filled him in on everything that had happened—the first murder and the second—and the vendetta Robert Minette waged against Reece’s head. “I’ve got to find Karen Sitton’s killer, because I know it’s not me.”
“You gonna connect with your father?”
Another thing Reece had fought not to think about. “No. He’s dying, and I won’t go see him, but I need to see Carl. Maybe he knows something he doesn’t know he knows.”
“You might find out stuff you don’t want to know, like maybe your brother kept his mouth shut out of self-interest.”
“Maybe. But he wouldn’t have held back anything that would have vindicated me. I’m sure of that.”
Frank snorted, and a
wave of doubt shot through Reece. “If he held back anything, it was that he screwed Karen.”
Frank nodded. “My guess.”
“Clarence thinks the killer feared he was getting too close and committed the murder in North Carolina to deflect suspicion.”
“Which makes him someone who’ll stop at nothing,” Frank said. “He kills you, a wanted man, he’ll be a hero.”
Reece closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve thought of that.”
Dana fidgeted in her chair. “I haven’t. Reece?”
“I don’t have a choice, Dana. If I give myself up, you’ll go down with me. Damn, I should never have brought you along.”
“Well you did,” Frank said. “Nothing you can do about it now.” He took a deep inhalation of oxygen, coughed.
Reece moved toward him. “You need to rest. It’s late.”
Frank waved him away. “I’m fine, fine. You’re welcome here as long as it’s safe, and unless they tear this place apart, it is. If they keep watch, I’ll get you out to friends who’ll put you up. No questions.”
“I wouldn’t have involved you, but I didn’t know where else to turn.”
“That’s what friends are for. Besides, what can they do to me? I’m a walking dead man. Ain’t walking too good now either.” Frank took a ragged breath, paused to get his wind. “I’ll call someone to come get whatever you’re driving and stash it. The cops’ll be looking for it.”
“I never thought of that. It’s a light blue Ford pickup. Old one. Ninety-five or so, isn’t it, Dana?”
“Ninety-six.”
“You never thought of that because you don’t think like a crook. Or a murderer. The cops’ll be here. Won’t take them long to figure out the few possibilities where you could go. I’ll be at the top of the list. I’m surprised they haven’t shown up already.”
“What if they come here?”
“Don’t worry. They won’t find you.”
Reece was going to ask what that meant when Lana brought the coffees on a tray. She put it down on the table and handed each of them a cup. The others had cream. “I heard,” she said. “You want the phone?”
Frank smiled. “See? What would I do without her? Anticipates my every move.” She brought him a cell phone. He took a minute to rest, then called someone with instructions.
