by Wendy Tyson
Two things stuck with her: the painting destroyed at the Center, and the image Marcy had painted of Elliot’s face when he saw someone stalking Thana. Sadness, not fear or anger or surprise. As though he knew the stalker.
Megan dialed the Center. She tried Carly, but Carly didn’t answer. Not a surprise. She’d asked her not to return to the Center. Forbidden it, in fact. Why would she take her calls? So Megan tried Ray’s numbers. He didn’t answer his office phone. He picked up his cell.
“Megan, I can’t talk now.” He sounded out of it, depressed.
“I need to meet with you.”
“I’m busy.”
“Where are you?”
“You know where I am.”
Megan fought to keep her voice calm. “Ray, stop being coy. Where are you?”
“Pretty birds. We should have taken care of the windows sooner.”
The rain had stopped. Worms washed onto pavement during heavy rains. Worms attracted birds.
Megan hung up. She knew where Ray was.
The Center was hardly Fort Knox. Megan decided not to risk parking in the lot. She’d seen the path from the road to the walking trail when she had hiked up to the meadow, so she parked along the same unnamed road where Thana had died and climbed her way through the thicket and toward the Center. Thorns grabbed her ankles, tree branches snapped in her face, but she made her way across the stream at its narrowest point, sorry the day’s storms had come when they did. She was a muddy mess.
She found the walking trail twenty minutes later and followed it toward the Center, staying under the tree line and out of site. Once the Center was in full view, she stayed under cover of the trees until she got close to the tennis courts, then she hustled to the backside of the fitness center. It took her a moment to identify the small retreats Ray had shown her, but once she figured out where they were, she found Ray’s quickly. The lights were on, and Ray was standing in his tiny courtyard, staring at the ground.
Megan climbed over the fence. She knew she was a sight—between the muddy, bleeding legs, wet hair, and snagged clothing, she probably looked deranged. She took Ray’s hand and led him back into the retreat room. He followed like a child.
She sat him on the chaise lounge, then used the bathroom to wash her face and clean up her legs. She kept the door open, watching her charge. Satisfied that she wasn’t bleeding on the pristine décor, Megan sat next to Ray and took his hand.
“You knew all along, didn’t you?”
“No. Only recently.”
“You knew Maria had nothing to do with Thana’s death.”
“I knew it was Elliot’s fault.”
“Elliot’s dead.”
Ray turned to her. His smile was ghostly. “Doesn’t mean he wasn’t to blame.”
“It wasn’t Thana’s paintings they were after, was it?”
“She had such talent. We didn’t see that when we were young because we were too caught up in ourselves, in each other. Thana was always the third wheel, the one who had to fight for attention. I don’t know why I didn’t see it back then. I was a fool. I think it made her who she was. That need to be noticed, to have someone love her.”
“Perhaps.” Megan knew memory was a dangerous thing, and revisionist history was common, but the final portrait of Thana, with all her conflicting dimensions, was coming clear.
Ray said, “Elliot used her.”
Megan nodded. “Her paintings were used to transport drugs.”
Ray smiled. “The paintings were mules. When she found out, she went crazy. Told Elliot to stop.”
That day at her father’s. He’d heard something smash, Thana claimed they’d been fighting about sales. “So she didn’t know.”
“No, that’s why they broke up. Elliot tried to convince her he’d done them a favor, made her famous. She was aghast.”
Yes—the night at Thana’s father’s. The timing fit.
Megan said, “He designed the frames to hold drugs between the backing and the painting.” When Ray nodded, she said, “Pretty clever.”
“He didn’t count on Thana’s art taking off. They priced the paintings in accordance with the value of the drugs, but to the outside world—and the IRS—it was her paintings fetching that kind of money. The prices her work acquired got noticed, and she started trending.”
Just as her mother had explained. The high prices signaled value, and people started wanting Thana’s work because they believed it had worth. “Eventually Elliot didn’t need the drug money,” Megan said. “The paintings were enough.”
Ray stood and paced, his agitation evident. “It was too late. The pressure was on for him to continue. Thana was threatened, he was threatened.”
“And the Center? It was a way to attract high-end customers, perhaps even users willing to pay the prices her art was now earning.”
Ray hung his head.
“You didn’t think of inviting Thana to be part of the Center’s opening, did you? That’s how I put it together, Ray. It was Carly who convinced you to call Thana, only it wasn’t Carly either, was it? It was Gina Muller from the spa. Because her son Joseph was Elliot’s partner in the drug trade, and he knew Thana was your friend. Carly didn’t know that—it had to come from someone else.”
Ray nodded. “Elliot and Joseph met at the Mission. They concocted this plan back when Thana’s paintings were worth nothing. It grew, and Joseph became greedy. They wanted Thana planted here to attract rich people, to expand their clientele. Gina saw the opportunity and ran with it.”
“Gina ruined the painting.”
“She was looking for drugs. By then they knew Elliot was squirrely. He wanted out, Thana wanted out. Thana could compete as an artist—the drugs were no longer needed. But Joseph and his mother weren’t going to let things end that easily.”
The man following Thana had been Joseph. Elliot’s sadness at seeing him was spawned by a realization that they couldn’t simply walk away. Everything became clearer. Oliver Craddock’s insistence that Elliot owed money. Elliot’s drug use. Elliot knew they were in too deep. That it was too late.
Megan said, “So Joseph killed them?”
Ray shrugged. “I honestly don’t know who killed them. I thought it was Elliot. Now I’m not so sure.”
“How did you find out about everything?”
“I grew suspicious over time, watching Elliot and Thana. Then she told me when we were together. I didn’t say anything about the drugs because I didn’t want to implicate the Center any more than it was already implicated. I figured Elliot would get busted for Thana’s murder and that would be the end of it.” He dug his fingers into his eyes and rubbed. “I was clearly wrong.”
A crow swooped in front of the picture window and took off again, soaring high into the gray sky. “This really is a special place,” Megan said. “These rooms, the thought that went into the Center. You did well, Ray.”
“It’s over. Our investors are closing in and Carly wants me out.”
“Just this morning I saw the two of you together.”
“A last ditch fling. I mean nothing to her. She only wants whatever she can’t have.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes while outside the birds reclaimed the airways after the storm.
“Your leg is bleeding onto the chaise lounge,” Ray said.
“I’d reimburse the Center, but I’ve been banned by Carly.”
They both laughed.
“So we’re no closer to the killer,” Ray said.
“I think we are.”
Ray looked at her sideways. “Who?”
“Not ready to say yet. Think you can drive me to my truck? I had to come here incognito.” She pointed to her bleeding leg. “It’s a killer of a hike.”
“Sure. Until she bans me, too, I’m still a boss.”
Thirty-Four
&nb
sp; Once back on the road, Megan called King on his cell phone. When he didn’t answer, she tried Clover. It was Clover’s day off and she answered immediately.
Clover said, “Clay’s trying to reach you.”
“Clover, I need you to get a hold of Bobby. Tell him to meet me at your house.”
“My house? Why? What’s wrong?”
“Just trust me, okay?
“Megan.”
Megan sighed. “Fine. Keep an eye on your neighbors’ house—the ones with all the parties.”
“Elliot’s place.”
“That’s the one.”
“Are his friends involved?”
“I think so. But whatever you do, don’t go over. Just keep an eye on the house and get Bobby to meet me.”
Megan hung up feeling jumpy, a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. She dialed 411 and asked to be connected to the Dartville Police Department. If she couldn’t reach Bobby King, Jones and Lewis would have to do.
The house Clover shared with Bobby was empty. Megan cursed under her breath. She shouldn’t have said anything; it was just like Clover to go over there.
Megan walked around back but didn’t see Clover there, either. It was only midday, and all Megan heard was the hum of air conditioners and the slam of a car door. She rushed around front, forcing herself to walk slowly when she saw Steve Stewart in his driveway, loading a duffle bag into his car.
“Hey,” Megan called. “How are you?”
Steve smiled and tipped his baseball cap in her direction. “Megan, right?”
“Right.”
Steve ran up the steps to his apartment and pulled the door shut. He checked the lock before descending the steps again. His smile was relaxed, his gait easygoing, and Megan found self-doubt eating at the edges of her mind.
She recalled the pictures of Steve and Elliot and Joseph.
It had been Steve who helped Elliot empty the workshop. Elliot thought Steve was his friend. He was wary of Joseph, but Steve he trusted. Roommate, pal, business partner. Murderer.
Megan pictured the snarl on Steve’s face when they discussed Thana. At the time she thought it was Thana being Thana, causing trouble, but now she saw a different image. Steve upset that Thana had broken up the party—their little money making business ruined because of her. He couldn’t tell Elliot that, but he’d taken things into his own hands. Attending the Center grand opening, following Thana into her van, strangling her with the scarf Sylvia had dropped when she stormed off into the woods. Elliot didn’t know. He thought Joseph—the Center stalker—was the bad guy. He trusted pal Steve.
Trusted him enough to tell him where he’d seen more paintings—at Washington Acres. So Steve had the paintings and the equipment. With Thana dead, her paintings were worth even more, so two or three good scores and he could stop working for a while. His needs were simple. Beer. A small apartment. Maybe a beach.
Bastard.
Steve smiled. The perennial frat boy looking to have a good time.
“Have you seen your neighbor?” Megan asked.
Steve opened his car door. “That really narrows it down.”
“Five-five, thin, long dark hair. She was supposed to meet me here.”
“Sorry.” He squatted to get into the car. “I really need to leave.”
Bile rose in Megan’s throat. She couldn’t let him go. And where the hell was Clover? Her car was here. Suddenly movement caught Megan’s attention. One of the taillights was wobbling back and forth. Keep him talking, Megan thought.
Steve put the key into the ignition. “Look, I need to go. My parents are expecting me.” He slammed the door shut. The engine roared. Megan choked down panic. Think. She saw the taillight fall and a sneaker wiggle through the opening. If she rushed the car, he’d take off, so Megan gave him a casual wave, trying not to look in the direction of Clover’s foot. She got into the truck, which was between him and the street. She started the truck, a vapid smile plastered purposefully on her face.
“I totally understand. I’m sorry about Elliot,” she yelled through the truck window.
“Thanks.” Only Steve didn’t look thankful. His face was flushed, his hands gripped the wheel. Where were the cops?
Steve peeled forward. Megan floored the gas pedal and slammed into the passenger side of his car, spinning the vehicle. It was a calculated risk but it worked. Steve started screaming at her. She ignored him, backed up, and came at the car again, careful to avoid the back end. Clover was contained. She’d be okay. The important thing was not to let him leave with her in that car.
That would be a death sentence for her friend.
Megan slammed into the car again, this time clipping the left front panel. She saw Steve trying to open the door, heard the wail of sirens. Megan pulled the truck up against his driver side, blocking his escape. She knew he owned a gun because that’s how Elliot died. She just hoped to hell it wasn’t within reach.
Steve pushed at the driver’s side door, his face a mask of rage. When it wouldn’t budge, he turned in his seat and used his feet to kick open the passenger door. Once, twice—the third kick a charm. He crawled out. Megan started her engine.
“Crazy bitch, stay back!” Steve pulled a gun from his waistband. He waved it in her direction. “Stay back or I will shoot. I’ve done it before. Don’t push me!”
Megan threw the truck in reverse. She slammed down on the gas, aiming the truck in Steve’s general direction. He pointed the gun at her windshield and she ducked, at the same time lunging the truck right at him. She heard a shot and a scream. She risked a look over the dash and saw him running out into the street, the gun still in his hand. She followed.
He took aim again. She could run him over or let him go. He wouldn’t go far—he was too out of shape. But he’d been to her house when he and Elliot had broken into the barn. She couldn’t risk him getting away.
“Stop!” she screamed.
He kept running.
She gunned the engine. He waved his arm and she sped up again, no hesitation. She clipped his outstretched arm with the right front side of the truck. Going fast enough to knock him down but not fast enough to kill him. The gun clattered to the ground. Megan shifted into park and hopped out of the truck. She dove for the gun just as he did, only his arm was broken.
“Crazy bitch,” he said again.
Megan’s lungs were heaving. She aimed the gun at Steve’s chest. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners? It’s Ms. Crazy Bitch.”
Moments later two cop cars pulled into the lot. Megan had never been so happy to see Lewis and Jones. She put her hands in the air, dropping the gun, and said a prayer of gratitude.
Thirty-Five
“You are one crazy lady.” King hugged her close and whispered “thank you.” He looked at Clover. “And where did you learn to kick out the taillights?”
“The senior center. I did a self-defense course with Bonnie.”
“Well, I guess I’m glad my girlfriend hangs out with octogenarians.”
“I just wish I had used some of the other moves before he threw me in the trunk.” She shook her head. “I saw him leaving and wanted to stall him. I tried to talk to him, but he must have suspected something.” Clover closed her eyes. “I never saw it coming.”
“You should have stayed out of it,” King growled.
Megan touched her friend’s hand. She knew that had Clover stayed out of it, they might not have caught Thana’s killer. Clover was unscathed—physically, at least—but Megan knew the trauma of being kidnapped, even for such a short time, would play over and over in Clover’s head like an unwanted movie.
King closed the door to the interrogation room. Statements had been taken and Megan and Clover were getting ready to leave.
“You okay to drive your truck?” King asked. “I can give you a ride.”
Megan no
dded. Her truck was barely drivable, but she’d get it home. One way or another, she wanted to go home. She’d had enough of the police for one day.
“It took courage to slam into the car that way, to chase him down,” King said. “He may sue you for assault with a vehicle, but it’s a suit you can defend.”
Megan understood she might have some legal battles on her hands, but what else was she going to do? Let him take her friend? Let him come after her and Bibi? Not after what he’d done to Thana and Elliot.
Megan said, “Did you find Elliot’s stuff in Steve’s vehicle?”
“We found drugs and paintings in the car, some of which are now ruined. The Dartville PD picked up the Mullers and they had some of Elliot’s things too. Your paintings weren’t in the lot, Megan. They may have been sold. You can make an insurance claim. They should be worth some good money.”
Megan thought of the portrait, of her face on that older woman’s body. Had Thana wished things would have turned out differently? That the two of them could have accepted each other’s foibles and remained friends? Perhaps. That’s what she’d choose to believe.
On the way out, Clover asked her if she’d ever spoken to Clay. Megan sighed. “No, I never called him back. Been kind of busy.”
“He found something in your yard.”
That startled her. “What did he find?” Please don’t let it be a body.
“Under that small hill by the big oak. A trunk of some sort. I think he wants to explain himself.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Megan knew what that probably was. She stepped on the gas, pushing her wounded beast of a truck as fast as it would go.
By the time Megan and Clover reached Washington Acres, news of their exploits had spread. Besides the usual crowd—Bibi, Eddie, Sylvia, Clay, and Porter—Megan found Merry Chance, Roger Becker, her Aunt Sarah, and Alvaro and Maria at the house. Emily was holding down things at the store, and Alvaro had made the executive decision to close the café for the remainder of the day.
