Nine Lives

by Sharon Sala

  Cat woke before daybreak and couldn’t go back to sleep. Even though it was so comfortable and warm beneath the covers, she had the feeling that everything was about to change. She didn’t know whether it would be for the bad or the good, but she knew she needed to be prepared.

  Reluctantly, she got up and made a quick trip to the bathroom, turning on lights as she went, so she wouldn’t be tempted to lie back down when she came out. A short while later she emerged, showered, hair shampooed and dried, and feeling a strong need for caffeine.

  She dressed without thought, choosing clothes that were warm and comfortable, and headed for the kitchen. As she was making coffee, the telephone rang. Somehow she knew as she went to answer it that it was connected to what she’d been feeling.

  “Hello?”

  Wilson momentarily closed his eyes, letting that whiskey voice wash over his senses.

  “Cat, it’s me. Wilson. I’m sorry to be calling so early, but—”

  “It’s okay. I was up. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s all in how you look at the news, but I doubt you’re going to call it wrong.”

  Cat’s focus shifted from thinking about how it felt when they had sex to what he was saying.

  “Mark Presley! Something’s happened to Mark Presley.”

  “You could say that,” Wilson said.

  “What? Did he die?”

  “No. He’s waking up.”

  Although Cat was unaware of it, her grip tightened on the phone. “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How did you find out?” she asked.

  “I know one of the nurses who works night shift in the ICU. I asked her days ago if she would let me know if there was a change in Presley’s condition. Although it’s against the rules, she agreed, but only if I keep her name out of it.”

  “So she called and—”

  “She called to tell me that they’d moved him to a private room on the second floor. Then, just as she was getting ready to go off shift, she called again to say she’d heard that Presley was waking up.”

  “Oh my God! You’re kidding,” Cat mumbled, remembering what she’d thought as she was leaving the ICU. She’d been right about him all along, and she would bet anything that someone, either a nurse or a doctor, had seen through his masquerade, too.

  “Maybe we’ll see justice yet,” he said.

  Wilson knew Cat well enough by now to know she wasn’t the type to sit and wait and hope someone made all the right moves.

  “Cat, I want you to promise me something, okay?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

  “Don’t go and do something stupid. Let the police do their job.”

  Cat bristled. “There are two things you need to know about me.”

  Wilson frowned. He could tell he’d made her mad, even though it wasn’t his intention.

  “And those two things would be…?”

  “I don’t like to be told what to do.”

  “That’s one,” he counted.

  Cat turned abruptly to stare out her kitchen window, as if trying to focus on something besides the condescending tone of his voice.

  “I don’t do stupid. And that’s two. Thank you for letting me know about Presley.”

  She hung up in his ear before he could accept her thanks or offer an apology.

  He replaced the receiver with a sigh and then crawled back between the covers. He’d been up most of the night and was too tired to care if he’d ticked her off. Either she would get over it or she wouldn’t. Right now, he was going back to sleep.

  Cat called Pete Yokum from the car as she was driving to the hospital. He answered on the first ring.

  “Pete, it’s Cat. This is a heads up for you. I heard Presley is waking up. I’m on the way to the hospital to find out the truth for myself.”

  “Stay cool, honey. Don’t alert anyone that you’re on to him in any way. I still have the office to do, and then we’re good to go.”

  “You be careful, too,” she said, then disconnected.

  It did occur to her that Pete had offered almost the same advice that Wilson had, but Wilson’s had made her mad. It was, she supposed, all in the delivery. She took the next exit off the freeway, straight to the hospital.

  Joe Flannery showed up at Presley’s hospital room about thirty minutes after Penny Presley’s arrival. After finding out that Presley still wasn’t talking, he left his name at the desk, asking to be notified when he could see the man, and moved to a small waiting room on the same floor.

  Within fifteen minutes, Mrs. Presley came to meet him.

  Flannery saw the attractive young woman entering the waiting room, then frowned as he saw the black eyes and bandaged nose. When he realized it was Penny Presley, he stood up.

  “Mrs. Presley, I’m Detective Flannery. Captain Henry said you called.”

  Penny’s hair was less than perfect, and her clothing was slightly awry, as if she’d dressed in the dark. She hadn’t, but choosing an outfit at four o’clock in the morning wasn’t something she’d done before, and she would be the first to admit she had failed.

  “Yes. Thank you for coming, Detective. As you can imagine, I am extremely upset about this entire affair. I would like to feel confident enough in my husband’s faithfulness to our marriage vows to vehemently deny these claims against him, but I fear I cannot. I’ve known for years about his…dalliances, but to my knowledge, this is the first time there has been a child involved.”

  “And that child is dead…murdered along with the mother,” Flannery said.

  Penny’s expression stilled as her face turned pale.

  “Yes. I’m also aware of that.”

  “So what’s your take on all this?” Flannery asked. “Do you think your husband is capable of murder?”

  Without thinking, Penny put a hand to her throat, remembering the sensation of not being able to breathe.

  “I don’t know what to think,” she said, and looked away.

  Flannery frowned. She knew more than she was letting on.

  “You do realize that if you’re covering up for your husband, you can be charged as an accessory to murder?”

  Penny gasped.

  “Good Lord! I am most certainly not covering up anything. I’ve been more than courteous to your department. I didn’t have to call you about anything, and yet I’ve volunteered DNA from his hairbrush and toothbrush, as well as given my permission for blood to be taken for testing. How dare you accuse me?”

  Flannery backtracked. He didn’t want to piss off his only witness to Presley’s whereabouts.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to insult you, but I felt it was my duty to make sure you understood the consequences of withholding evidence.”

  Penny’s chin went up as her eyes flashed angrily.

  “Well, you did insult me. As for consequences, as you put it, I’m well aware of my legal standing, including the fact that you can’t make me testify against my husband, although if I knew for a fact that he’d committed such a horrible crime, I would most certainly do so…and by my own choice.”

  Flannery decided to go straight to the heart of the matter. “Has your husband truly come out of his coma?”

  “The doctor says he has, although he has yet to open his eyes and speak to me.”

  “Do you think he’s been faking?” Flannery asked.

  Penny’s eyes narrowed angrily. “I’m not a doctor. I don’t know what to think!”

  “Do you have a problem with me asking him some questions?”

  “Not if I can be a witness to your interrogation.”

  Flannery frowned. He knew for a fact that Presley might tell him something that he wouldn’t want his wife to hear. Still, she’d said he wasn’t talking, so it might all be moot.

  “I don’t have a problem with that, but I would ask you not to let on that you’re in the room,” Flannery said.

  Penny nodded. “Yes. I understand.”

  “Can I see him now
?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Follow me.”

  Mark was sick to his stomach with fear. The doctor had as good as told Penny that he was awake. He didn’t know what to do now except open his eyes. But what then? He needed time to make his getaway, time to delay the police from questioning or filing charges against him. If that happened, it would be twice as difficult to escape.

  He knew that a nurse was still in the room. He could hear her walking around with her rubber-soled shoes, and once in a while heard the scratching of her pen on paper as she made notes.

  Penny had been here, too, but he’d heard her walk out when the doctor left. They’d talked about him as if he wasn’t even there, which was a little disconcerting. Still, he’d had no choice but to remain silent.

  The tape holding his IV in place was itching. He wanted to scratch it in the very worst way, but didn’t dare move. Then he heard voices out in the hallway and willed himself to be still. Soon he heard more than one set of footsteps coming into his room.

  Penny nodded her okay at Flannery, who promptly moved to the side of the bed. He stood without talking, watching the monitors registering Presley’s blood pressure and heart rate, as well as the steady rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was steady and deep, and there was the slightest flutter to his eyelids, which Flannery knew didn’t necessarily signify cognizance. Still, there was something about Presley that seemed off. Flannery couldn’t quite put his finger on what was bothering him. Maybe it would come to him later. Now it was time to see what reaction he got from identifying himself.

  “Mr. Presley, I’m Detective Flannery from the Homicide Division. I have a few questions I want to ask you.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. The cops? They shouldn’t be here already. Who the hell had tipped them off that he was waking up?

  Flannery thought he saw a muscle jerk near Presley’s mouth, which gave him the impetus to continue.

  “A few days ago, some detectives from Missing Persons interviewed you regarding an ex-employee of yours…Marsha Benton? I believe she was, at one time, your personal assistant. At any rate, she’s been found. She was murdered. Do you know anything about that?”

  Presley’s stomach was in knots. If there was a God in heaven, he would surely put him out of his misery and just take him now. He didn’t think he was going to be able to bear this inquisition.

  When Flannery saw Presley’s fingers trembling, he knew the bastard could hear, but how could he break down the wall of silence behind which the man was hiding and drag his sorry ass out into the truth?

  “I believe that would constitute a ‘no comment,’ right? Well, I have another little fact you can’t deny. The baby that Miss Benton was carrying, the one that was murdered along with her, was yours. It’s an undeniable fact. Do you have anything to say to that?”

  Presley felt the contents of his stomach coming up and could do nothing to stop it. He wanted to cry out. He wanted to scream at the world to get out and leave him alone, but all he did was choke and then gag. Before Flannery could step back, Presley had thrown up all over the front of his sport coat and slacks.

  “Oh crap!” Flannery yelled, as he stared down at himself in disbelief.

  The nurse in the room hit the call button and then ran to Presley’s side as Flannery moved toward the bathroom in the corner of the room.

  “I’m so sorry,” Penny said, as she grabbed a handful of paper towels and handed them to the detective.

  Flannery took them without comment and began wiping himself off as best he could. But the scent was with him, no matter how much he tried to clean up.

  “Obviously this wasn’t a good time,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

  Without waiting for anyone to say otherwise, he stalked out of the room and down the hall to the elevator. Because of the hour, he rode it down alone and made it across the parking lot to his car without being noticed.

  All the way home, he cursed Presley and his captain for sending him out on this wild goose chase in the middle of the night. His wife was in the bathroom getting ready for work by the time he strode into the house. He was taking off his clothes as he went through the house. By the time he got to the bathroom, intending to clean up, he found her in the act of getting out of the shower.

  Mistaking his nudity for something else, his wife took one look at her naked husband as he entered the bathroom and then wrinkled her nose.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Joe. Not now. I’m going to be late for work.”

  As she swept past him with her nose in the air, she paused long enough to offer a comment.

  “You need to shower. You stink!”

  “Do you think?” he asked sarcastically, and turned loose of the last bit of guilt for leaving a trail of tainted clothes all through the house.

  By the time she figured out that she’d misread the situation, he was in a fresh set of clothes and on his way out the door.

  Seventeen

  It was fifteen minutes after nine in the morning. Presley’s corporate offices were just opening up when Pete Yokum walked into the lobby and presented himself at the front desk.

  He had dusted off one of his uniforms from when he was still on the job and written out a fake work order to replace some electrical outlets in Mark Presley’s private office from 110 voltage to 220. He carried his work bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

  “Texas Electric,” Pete said, and flashed the work order to the guard as he calmly took a sip of coffee.

  “Just a minute,” the guard said, and picked up a phone, then punched in a couple of numbers. “This is Warren. I have a man from Texas Electric with a work order to do some repair in Mr. Presley’s office.”

  Pete watched the guard frown and knew he was going to have to play it cool to get by.

  The guard looked up at him, still frowning.

  “They say they don’t know anything about this.”

  Pete shrugged. “That’s not my problem,” he said. “If you don’t want me to do it, then I’m outta here. However, keep in mind that it’s taken more than three weeks to get to this work order, and with the holidays and all, I’m backed up even more, which means if somebody gets their head out of their ass and realizes I came and went without doing the work, it’s gonna be your problem, not mine. I showed up like I told them I would.”

  The guard looked a little nervous.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, then spoke into the phone again, relaying Pete’s message without mincing words. “What? Yeah…oh, okay,” the guard said. “Just a minute. I’ll ask him.”

  “So…when did you get the call to come do this?” the guard asked.

  Pete pulled a notebook out of his pocket and pretended to leaf through the pages.

  “Oh. Yeah, here it is. It was the first Monday in December. A real nice lady called me. Said her name was Benton.”

  The guard was well aware that Marsha Benton would have been the one to make this kind of appointment for the boss, and even though she was no longer here, that didn’t mean Presley’s plans for his office would change. He relayed that information to whoever he was talking to, then nodded when he got a reply.

  “Will do,” he said, then hung up the phone before looking back at Pete. “Okay, buddy. You can go on up. Take the elevator to the top floor. Someone will be there to show you to the right office.”

  “Thanks,” Pete said, then drained the last of his coffee and tossed the cup in the trash as he headed for the elevator.

  He had already located all the video cameras in place around the lobby, so he kept the bill of his cap pulled low across his face and pretended to check out the lace on a shoe as he rode the elevator up. At no time did he allow a full view of his face to appear on camera.

  As promised, there was a woman waiting for him at the elevator. He showed her the work order. She eyed it briefly, then told him to follow her and led him straight into Mark Presley’s inner sanctum.

  “How long do you think this will take?” she
asked.

  Pete shrugged. “I don’t know, lady. Is it comin’ out of your pocket?”

  The woman frowned, eyed the stains on Pete’s coveralls and sniffed disapprovingly.

  “Of course not. Just don’t make a mess in here,” she said. “Mr. Presley wouldn’t like it.”

  “I always clean up after myself,” Pete muttered, then set down his bag and turned his back on her.

  She was gone before he had it unzipped.

  He straightened up, then quickly checked out the room for hidden cameras. There were none, which didn’t surprise him. A man like Mark Presley would have to have a place where he could be certain he was unobserved. Where better than his office?

  He began looking through the desk and the closets, as well as a small dressing area off an elegant bathroom. There were a weight machine and an exercise bike in another alcove, and several changes of clothes in the closet, as well as a half dozen pairs of shoes. Several of the outfits were gym clothes, and there was a large gym bag in the back of the closet, which Pete promptly bugged, along with all the shoes.

  With a quick glance toward the door, he began a thorough check of the desk, and as he was running his fingers along the bottom of each drawer, he felt a piece of paper that had been taped to one. When he checked it out, he saw an odd set of numbers and realized it was most likely the combination to a safe.

  He hadn’t see a safe anywhere in the room, though. He made quick note of the numbers and then stood. Just because he hadn’t seen a safe, that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.

  He started to search seriously and within a minute found it behind a painting of a farmer plowing around a field of pump jacks. The safe was unusually large for a wall safe, and using the numbers that he’d found, he quickly opened it.

  He’d expected money, but not such a staggering amount.

  Without taking time to count, he would venture a wild guess as to more than a million. The bills were all hundreds, and there were stacks and stacks of them. Almost immediately, he realized that if Presley was going to make a run for it, he wouldn’t leave this behind.