Nine Lives

by Sharon Sala

  Charlie nodded, then got in his car and followed the ambulance to the morgue, while Sam and his deputy escorted Cat into a patrol car.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate a ride to the nearest motel,” Cat said, then leaned back and closed her eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the deputy said.

  Sam glanced back at Cat once, then started the car. They were backing up when his cell phone rang.

  “This is Lohman,” he said, then listened to his caller. “Yeah, sure…no problem,” he said, and when the line went dead, dropped the phone back into his pocket and took a quick right turn.

  Cat looked up just as they passed a well-lit motel.

  “Hey, that one has vacancies.” she said.

  “I’ve got to go by the office first,” he said.

  “But, I…oh, never mind,” Cat said. She didn’t have it in her to argue.

  Sam started to explain, but when he looked up into the rearview mirror, he saw that she’d closed her eyes. She would know soon enough, anyway.

  A few minutes later, the patrol car turned off the street into the parking lot of the sheriff’s office. As soon as the car stopped moving, Cat sat up.

  “Come inside,” Sam said. “You’re going to the motel in another vehicle.”

  Assuming that one of his deputies was going to take her, she got out without comment and followed them inside. They went through the outer office and down a small hallway before coming to the sheriff’s office. As they walked through the doorway, she saw Wilson McKay stand up from a chair beside the desk.

  Breath caught in the back of her throat as her eyes filled with tears. She tried to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Hey, you,” Wilson said softly, and enfolded her in his arms, then held her close.

  Every emotion that Cat had been holding in came undone. The moment his arms went around her, she began to shake.

  “As God is my witness, I will kill him with my bare hands,” she mumbled.

  “You’ve done your part,” he said. “Let the police finish this.”

  “They have to make him pay.”

  Wilson didn’t have to ask who she was talking about and was past doubting she knew what had happened.

  “If he’s their man, it will happen,” he said, then looked at the sheriff. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to question her?”

  Sam nodded. “Tomorrow’s soon enough. Just bring her by before you both leave town. That’ll do for me.”

  “You got it, and thanks.”

  “No problem,” Sam said, watching the way Wilson seemed to be putting himself between Cat and the rest of the world. Then he looked back at Cat. “Miss Dupree, I know it doesn’t matter to you now, considering all you’ve been through, but I wasn’t kidding about your dad. He was one of my best friends.”

  Cat nodded, but talking about the past was nothing but a heartache for her.

  Wilson glanced at Cat. “Are you okay to leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll see you in the morning,” Wilson said, and they left the office through a back door.

  As soon as Cat stepped out of the building, a gust of cold air slapped her in the face. She shivered and pulled her coat a little closer.

  Wilson noticed and hurried her to the car.

  “I got here about thirty minutes ago, so it’s still warm,” he said, as he helped her inside.

  Cat glanced around as she settled into the seat. There was an empty throw-away coffee cup in the cup holder and a partial pack of gum on the dash. It was warm inside, as he’d promised, but it also smelled like him—a mixture of the cologne he wore, and the soap and shampoo he favored. It was familiar and oddly comforting. Cat leaned back against the seat, took off her gloves, stuffed them in her pockets and closed her eyes as Wilson slid behind the wheel.

  He gave her a quick glance, then started the car.

  “We’ll be at the motel in just a few minutes.”

  She didn’t say anything at first; then he heard her sigh.

  “You came.”

  The pain in her voice was his undoing. He took her hand and pulled it to his lips, then kissed the knuckles, pretending he didn’t see the old bruises and healing scrapes.

  “Of course I came,” he said softly.

  Cat looked at him then—searching the familiarity of his features before absently glancing at the small gold hoop in his ear.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now let’s get you to the motel. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

  “I may never sleep again,” she said.

  He didn’t comment, just changed the subject. “When did you eat last?”

  Cat blinked. “Uh…this morning, I guess.”

  “Not good enough,” Wilson said. “Do you want to eat out, or get something to go and take it to the room?”

  Cat swallowed while trying not to think of what Marsha’s body had looked like.

  “I’m not very hungry,” she said.

  “You need to eat.”

  She closed her eyes and then pinched the bridge of her nose to keep from crying.

  “I don’t think I can…uh…I can’t get the image of her…”

  “Shit,” Wilson said softly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s all right. I just don’t want—”

  “I understand. Completely. Just sit back and relax.”

  Cat took a couple of slow, deep breaths and went limp. Despite her vow of sleeplessness, she was asleep when he drove through the take-out lane at a local drive-in. She was still asleep when he parked in front of the room he’d rented at a local motel.

  He left her in the car as he carried the take-out sack into the room. Then, leaving the motel door open, he returned to the car for her. She roused slightly as he opened the door.

  “Are we there?”

  “Yes.”

  She swung her legs out and stood up, then staggered slightly. He steadied her, then shut and locked the car door before guiding her inside.

  The room was warm and quiet. Cat began to relax as soon as she crossed the threshold. When Wilson shut the door, she turned toward him.

  “Thank you…for all this,” she said, and began taking off her coat.

  He frowned. “Knowing what you went through today, I couldn’t have stayed in Dallas.”

  “Did you find your bail jumper?”

  “Yes,” Wilson said, then took her coat and tossed it on a chair before easing her backward onto the bed.

  “Give me a foot,” he said, and pulled off one of her boots. “Now the other,” he said, and dropped that boot beside the first one.

  “That feels so good,” Cat muttered, as she wiggled her toes inside her socks.

  Wilson tilted her chin up with the tip of his finger, then gently kissed her square on the mouth.

  “That feels good, too,” she said, when he pulled back.

  He opened the sack he’d carried in, took out a paper cup with a straw, and handed it to her.

  “Vanilla malt. No thought needed to drink or swallow. Trust me, it will be okay.”

  Cat swallowed past the knot in her throat. He’d understood and still been able to see to her needs. And he’d been right. The malt was perfect—cold and sweet, without the need to chew.

  “It’s good,” she said, and continued to sip until it was gone.

  Wilson opened his bag, took out a new toothbrush, a new hairbrush and one of his old t-shirts, and laid them at the foot of the bed.

  “For you, too,” he said.

  Cat was overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness, and at the same time a little panicked. He kept doing all the right things, which sucked her farther and farther under his spell. She didn’t want to like him—not like that.

  In her experience, men didn’t stay. They hit and ran and left the woman bleeding—or, in Mimi’s case, dead. And while she knew Wilson might never physically hurt her, she didn’t trust him not to break her heart.

  “Thank you again
,” she said. “I think I’ll shower first.”

  “Sure thing,” Wilson said. “You go clean up. I’m going to call Bradley and tell him you made a positive identification.”

  Cat hesitated. “Is this case going to Dallas Homicide now?”

  “Yes, although they’ll need to wait for the coroner’s report. And even if this wasn’t the scene of the crime, the sheriff still has some precedence in the case.”

  “I reported her missing to the Dallas police, and she turned up dead.” Cat said. “Why isn’t it Homicide’s case now?”

  Wilson cupped the side of her face with his hand, then traced the frown lines away with his thumb.

  “Stop worrying. We’ll get it sorted out. Besides, you’ve already proved your point to Missing Persons, and when you give your statement, they’ll know everything you know about Mark Presley.”

  “Yeah…okay.”

  “Trust the process. Give them time to get what they need to nail him the right way.”

  Cat understood what he meant, and whether she liked it or not, she knew he was right.

  “Okay,” he said when she nodded. “Now, you go get that shower while I make my call.”

  Cat undressed beside the bed and walked naked into the bathroom without looking at Wilson again. But he wasn’t quite as removed. Even after she’d closed the door, he was still bemused by her tall, slim figure and the pink butterfly on her butt. It was several moments before he remembered he’d been going to use the phone.

  Twelve

  Tahoe was to snow skiing what the island of Oahu was to surfers—both claimed to be paradise if you were tough enough and skilled enough to enjoy it. Mark had been coming to Tahoe for Christmas for as long as he could remember, even before he’d met and married Penny. He was on a first-name basis with the manager and staff at the lodge, and liked the attention they gave him.

  He’d felt their admiration in the looks they’d given him as he was leaving for the slopes that morning. It was like always being Big Man On Campus. He was one of those “men to go to” when the need for financial advice arose, a far cry from the high school boy who’d missed his chance at athletic fame.

  He’d left Penny still sleeping in their suite and enjoyed his solitary trip to the ski lift. After his loss of control the other day, the mood was still cool between them. He knew that he’d crossed a line when he’d touched her in anger, but she would come around. He would make sure of it.

  And since the fire had been put out at the number nine oil well without any repercussions from getting water from the rock quarry, he felt secure in his self-satisfaction.

  According to the pumper, Wyatt Beech, the driver of the truck that had hit the pump jack had turned up a day later, walking down the road with a hangover the size of Dallas and no earthly idea how his truck wound up in the midst of the fire.

  When Presley reached the ski lift, he nodded to the attendant as he hopped on, then tightened his grip on his ski poles. The ride up was bliss, and once at the top, he jumped off, then skied off to the side before stopping. The cold air filled his lungs to the point of actual pain, and yet he smiled. It was good to be alive.

  The bright sun made the snow-coated landscape pristine in its beauty. The sky was crystal clear, the slope in front of him all but empty. He picked up his poles, using them to steady himself as he checked the locks on his skis. Even though they felt fine, he stomped them sharply, making sure they wouldn’t come loose on the way down.

  He inhaled deeply, feeling the omnipotent thump of his own heartbeat as it moved the blood through his body, strengthening his muscles as he moved toward the lip of the slope. He was anticipating the adrenaline rush that would carry him down the hill to the hot breakfast of sausage and blueberry pancakes he was going to order, imagining the taste of French roast coffee as he shifted his goggles, making sure they were comfortable on his face.

  He crouched slightly, his knees bent, his toes curled inside his ski boots as he started to push off. In the midst of his moment of Zen, his cell phone rang. The sound was as out of place in the moment as a thing could be, and he had only himself to blame. He dropped his ski poles and pulled the phone out of his fanny pack to check Caller ID. When he realized it was his lawyer, he answered it without a second thought.

  “This is Presley.”

  “Mark…it’s Ken. You need to come home.”

  “And a hello to you, too,” he snapped.

  “Sorry,” Ken Walters said. “Please let me start over. Did you have a merry Christmas?”

  “Yes, thank you, we did. And you?”

  “Of course,” Ken said. “Now that we’ve passed the niceties, you need to come home.”

  Mark sighed. “Why? Surely whatever it is can wait until Saturday. That’s when we’re due back. Our annual New Year’s Eve party. You know.”

  Ken frowned. He was well aware of the Presleys’ annual bash. It was one of the parties to go to in Dallas during the holidays, but in Ken’s opinion, a party was the least of Mark Presley’s concerns right now.

  “The Dallas police want to talk to you.”

  Mark’s heart skipped a beat, then settled. “About what?”

  “Your secretary. Marsha Benton.”

  Mark had a sudden urge to urinate, but he maintained a tone of firm control.

  “They’ve already spoken to me about her. I told them I had no idea where she was.”

  “Yes, well, it’s more complicated than that now.”

  “She’s no longer my secretary, nor does she even work for the company anymore, so I can’t really speak to what she’s doing these days.” Mark said.

  “That’s not the issue,” Walters said.

  Mark frowned. “Damn it, Ken, quit beating around the bush and say what you’ve got to say.”

  “Marsha Benton is dead. They found her body on that oil property you own up near Tyler. She was murdered.”

  Ken Walters heard Mark gasp, he assumed in shock at the news.

  But that wasn’t what had taken Presley aback. It was the fact that they’d already found her. How the hell had that happened?

  “Mark? Mark? Are you still there?”

  Presley shuddered. “Uh…yes…I, uh, oh my God, I just can’t wrap my mind around this.”

  “I’m sorry to be the one to break the news. I knew you’d be upset. So what do you want me to tell the police?”

  “Why do you need to tell them anything?” Mark asked, then realized that he’d just snapped. He needed to maintain his cool.

  “Sorry. I’m just upset by the news, that’s all.”

  “I understand,” Ken said. “However, I told the police I’d contact you myself and pass along their message.”

  Mark frowned. “Message? They sent me a message?”

  “It’s not exactly a message so much as a request. They want to talk to you. She worked for you for years.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mark said. “I just wasn’t thinking.”

  “So when can I tell them you’re coming?”

  Mark was getting more nervous by the minute. Ken was pinning him down to something he didn’t want to do, and his attitude showed.

  “As sorry as I am to hear about what happened to Marsha, I see no need to cut my vacation short.”

  “Even when the employee was found murdered on property you own? Property, I might add, that is about as isolated as it gets in the state of Texas. It’s not like she just wandered onto the place and was assaulted by a stranger.”

  Mark inhaled sharply. “What the fuck are you getting at?”

  Ken bristled. He knew Mark Presley inside and out. He knew about all the women with whom he’d had affairs. He couldn’t imagine Presley as a killer, but this didn’t look good.

  “As your lawyer, I am strongly advising you to cooperate. Now…do you intend to do as I suggest and come home promptly, or do you want to piss off the Dallas Police Department and make yourself look guilty?”

  Mark stifled a curse. “Of course not, and of course I’ll coo
perate. It’s not like I have anything to hide, for God’s sake.”

  “So can I give them a time line?”

  “Tell them we’ll be home this afternoon. I can talk to them at the office in the morning. You’ll be there, of course.”

  Ken’s frown deepened as he considered why Presley would want or need him there. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  “No. Of course not,” Mark said.

  “Okay, good. I’ll be there. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

  “It’s certainly not your fault,” Mark said. “Besides, quit worrying. I’m not the kind to shoot the messenger.”

  The line went dead in Ken’s ear while he was still trying to figure out exactly what Presley meant by that last remark.

  Presley, however, wasn’t confused about anything. He had a problem. If Marsha’s body had been found this soon and as cold as it had been, decomposition would be far less advanced than he would have hoped. During the autopsy they would find out she’d been pregnant and would certainly want DNA from every male she worked with to eliminate suspects. He wouldn’t pass.

  He picked up the ski poles and stabbed them into the snow.

  “I should have buried her. Why the fuck didn’t I bury her?”

  But he already knew the answer. He hadn’t expected her to be alive when he’d unrolled her from that tarp. She’d looked at him, recognized him for what he was, and he’d panicked. It was stupid. It wasn’t like she was going to identify him later.

  His problem had been lack of experience. She was the first person he’d ever killed. He’d expected her to be his last. Now he wasn’t so sure. Still, one thing was certain: he would do what it took to stay out of prison.

  The motel room that Wilson had taken was clean and comfortable, but Cat had been afraid to close her eyes. If it hadn’t been for his presence, she would have lost her mind. Even though she thought she’d been prepared for the horror of Mimi’s murder to become a fact, she’d been wrong. She kept reliving the memories of their lives together—from the foster family and the room they’d shared there through the many years afterward.

  Their first attempts at cooking had been a mess, but they’d laughed and learned together. And then there were the times they’d nursed each other through heartbreaks and illnesses, the birthdays and holidays that had come and gone—always together. She couldn’t believe that life was over, that she would never hear Mimi’s voice or share a holiday with her again.