Murder on the Third Try

by K. P. Gresham

  I pick up the phone. “Yes, Chief.”

  “This is Kodak.”

  The last thing I want to hear is the smarmy voice of the Chief’s second in command. “I was expecting to speak with the Chief.”

  “He had more important things to attend to.”

  I feel my undigested supper lurch in my gut. I swear to God when I take over the organization Kodak’s a dead man. “So what kind of bomb is he sending me?” The explosive content and trigger will dictate the minutiae of my plan.

  “He’s not sending you anything. Yet.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Austin’s a no go. Too many witnesses. Too many cops. Too many cameras.”

  I scrub my free hand over my face. “Why didn’t he bring up those concerns when I talked to him earlier?”

  “Because he didn’t talk to me until an hour ago.”

  Seriously. This man will not die easy.

  “So he said you had a plan B in mind as a back-up. What’ve you got?”

  “Surely I get a chance for rebuttal. I still think my first plan is a good one.”

  “You don’t have a plan B, do you?”

  I can picture the glint of victory sparking in the weasel’s beady eyes. He is right. I’d only said I had other ideas because I wanted to give the Chief the impression I had everything well in hand. Well, the best defense is a good offense. “Considering your helpful disposition to anything I suggest, I’m not sure I trust your ability to accurately portray my plans to the Chief.”

  “He doesn’t appreciate infighting among his staff.”

  This time I laugh. “Who are you trying to kid, Kodak? He pits us against each other every chance he gets. It’s one of his favorite forms of entertainment.” I get an idea. “One which I enjoy indulging. Tell the Chief I’ll call him first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “You’re only going to delay the needed action. He’ll tell me, I’ll have to set him straight, and you’ll have to come up with something else.” He was enjoying our warfare. Now that I think of it, I fear I’ve fallen into his trap.

  “How about you be on that call, too? I’ll make it straight up at eight a.m.” I can lay a trap as smooth as anyone. Come into my web said the spider to the fly. “For once you can square off with me in real time instead of stabbing me in the back. It’ll be a new experience for you, Kodak. Come on. Let’s dance.”

  I enjoy the next few moments of silence. It’s the sweet sound of victory as far as I’m concerned.

  “All right,” he finally says. “To the victor will go the spoils.”

  The line goes dead, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Until I remember I have to come up with a plan B. Before eight a.m. tomorrow morning.

  Oh, shit.

  ***

  Bo turned out the lights in the Fire and Ice House, walked out onto the back porch and locked the doors behind him.

  Pearl hadn’t called. Looked like he wasn’t going home tonight.

  How odd to think he had a place he thought of as home. When he’d got out of Hunstville, and Angie had been able to hire him thanks to the County Judge’s okay, Bo had taken a room in town. That’s all it had ever been. A room with a dorm fridge by the dresser, a hot plate and coffee pot on its top, a twin bed and a chair. He shared the bathroom down the hall with three other renters. It was a step up from his jail cell, and he didn’t have a cell mate. But it had never been a home.

  How Pearl had seen past his manslaughter conviction and come to love him, he would never understand. Sure, he’d been the hero when her worthless husband had beaten her. But after the man died, Bo figured she’d no longer need him as a knight in shining armor. He’d hoped they’d stay friends. He never dreamt they’d become lovers.

  He patted his leg for Shadow to follow him up the stairs to Angie’s apartment, wondering if his boss would mind if he crashed on her couch for the night. “Want a roommate, boy?” he asked the dog.

  “You stayin’ here tonight, Bo?”

  He jumped an inch when Chelsea’s voice called out from the darkness of the porch. “Gees, girl, you scared the spit out of me.”

  “Sorry,” came the reply.

  “What are you doing here? You clocked out an hour ago.”

  He heard the deck chair scoot, and then a flame sparked.

  “Nowhere to go,” she said as she lighted a cigarette.

  “You usually have somethin’ to get to,” he said.

  “Got stood up. Again. Fourth time in two weeks.” She shook out the match. “What about you? You’re usually hightailin’ it to your truck when you get off work.”

  He wasn’t sure how to respond. He hadn’t exactly been stood up. More like shut out. By Elsbeth.

  “Come have a smoke, Bo. Sounds like you could use one.”

  His eyes were adjusting to the dark and he was able to make out Chelsea’s outline against the rail. “Don’t mind if I do.” He walked over, took the cigarette she offered, then sat down in the plastic chair across from hers. Shadow plopped himself down between them.

  “It was nice what you said last night,” Chelsea said, handing over a book of matches.

  “What was that?” He lit up.

  “That I could talk to you if I needed to.”

  “It can be a lonely world,” he said. “Sometimes you gotta know you’ve got friends around.”

  “Yeah.” Chelsea’s cigarette flared as she inhaled. “Don’t have a lot of friends, but that’s my choice.”

  “Same here.”

  The two sat in silence for a moment, listening to the trees rustle in the warm evening wind.

  “I think my friend has a piece on the side,” Chelsea said, and Bo could tell the statement had cost her. Her voice hitched on the last word.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What about you? Don’t tell me you’re not in love with somebody. I can tell. Does she have a side piece too?”

  “No.” He smirked in the darkness. “But she has a helluva family.”

  “At least you know where you stand with her, it sounds like.”

  “I know she loves me. But feeling that way about me is gonna send shockwaves through her people when they find out.” Bo sighed. “Maybe the best thing I can do for her is let her go. She’s got enough problems right now.”

  “Which probably means she needs you more than ever,” Chelsea scolded. “If you’ve got something good, don’t throw it away.”

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t know if I’ve got something good.” Chelsea took another puff on her cigarette. “Maybe our schedules simply haven’t meshed. I work weird hours.”

  “Don’t you trust your guy to tell you the truth?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what’s killin’ me.”

  Bo took a drag on his cigarette. “Any way you can find out?”

  “Short of becoming some paranoid stalker, I don’t see how.”

  “Taking care of your heart isn’t being paranoid. It’s self-preservation. You deserve to know the truth.”

  Chelsea’s chuckle was flat. “You givin’ me advice on my love life, Bo?”

  “No. I’m giving you advice on taking care of yourself. This pining stuff you’re going through isn’t only affecting you. Your customers can tell.” He flicked the ash off his cigarette. “Your coworkers sure as hell can too. You’ve worked way too hard to be accepted here at the Ice House. Don’t throw it all away worrying when there’s somethin’ you can do about it.”

  This time Chelsea’s laugh was sincere. “Gees, Bo. Don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think.”

  “That’s a line from a movie, isn’t it?”

  “Probably.” She stubbed out her cigarette and reached for another. “I suppose I could do a little snoopin’ without acting like a stalker.”

  “I could help. A bartender hears things, you know.”

  “I’ll think on it.”

  Shadow let out a snuff, and Bo put out his cigarette. “Gotta take Shadow up to get some food.�
�

  “That dog’s on a bar schedule, that’s for sure,” Chelsea said. “Thanks for the straight talk.”

  “Any time.” He headed for the steps to Angie’s apartment, Shadow following close behind.

  “I appreciate you’re not asking a lot of questions about my situation,” she called after him. “It’s hard keeping a secret in a small town.”

  Bo’s lip curled in a sad smile. “Tell me about it.”

  He was halfway up the stairs when his phone rang. Seeing the number, he quickly clicked on the call. “Hi, honey.” He listened, then heaved a sigh of relief. “All right, sweetheart. I’ll be right there.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Best of Times,

  the Worst of Times

  Bo felt the sun on his face, then sat up straight in the bed. He looked at the nightstand alarm clock, checked to see that Pearl was still asleep, pushed back the covers and silently swung his legs out of bed.

  A soft hand touched his back. “Don’t go.”

  He looked back at her. “Elsbeth’ll be here any minute. It’s after eight o’clock.”

  Pearl tugged at the waist of his boxer shorts. “Lie with me. Just a little longer.”

  Which was exactly what he wanted to do, but still he hesitated. “You don’t need any trouble with Elsbeth.”

  “Maybe.” She patted his pillow. “But I know I need you.”

  He laid back down, but didn’t pull the covers over his legs. “Maybe a few minutes.” He held out his arm and she snuggled into his shoulder. Her skin was softer than her silk nightgown. Textures, he thought. Who knew a woman could feel so supple? He cradled her head and breathed in the light scent of lilacs.

  “Judith really liked you.” Pearl’s voice was still drowsy.

  “I liked her.” He hugged her to him. “I’m gonna miss your sister.”

  “You were one of the last people she talked about.” She combed the hair on his chest with her fingers.

  “Really?”

  “Said she was glad I finally found somebody that made me happy.” She raised her head to look at him. “And you do, you know. Make me happy.”

  Bo kissed her. “I love you, Pearl.”

  “And I love you.” She put her head back on his shoulder. “She said somethin’ else, too.”

  “What’s that?” He stroked her gray hair.

  “She said we should get married.”

  His hand stilled.

  She chuckled. “Your heart just went into overdrive.” She laid her hand over his chest. “Does the idea scare you?”

  “Marrying you? I’d be the happiest man in the world.” He put his hand on hers. Squeezed it gently. “But that won’t go over too well. You know. With your family.”

  This time she came up on her elbow and looked him steady in the eye. “I’m sixty-two years old. I think I’m old enough to choose who I want to be with.”

  “But Elsbeth—”

  She shook her head. “If Elsbeth decides she doesn’t want to be a part of my life any longer, that’s her business. But Judith’s passing has put a lot of things in perspective for me. I want to spend however many days I have left as your wife.”

  His eyes rounded and he looked at her hard. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  “Yes. I’m asking you to marry me.”

  He realized that his mouth was open, and he brought his lips together. Judith wasn’t dead even twenty-four hours yet. Was Pearl in the right state of mind to make a decision like this?

  As if reading his thoughts, she added. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since we moved out here. When I’m with you, I’m the happiest I have ever been. My sister was right last night. Both you and me have been through hell. Maybe we deserve a little bit of heaven.”

  “This might not be the time—”

  “No.” She put a hand to his lips. “She’s been sick for months. I started mourning her passing a long time ago. The last three weeks were the worst. Truth be told, I’d even started praying that the good Lord would take her and put her out of her misery. I’m not making any rash decisions here. I love you.”

  He’d never allowed himself to even consider the possibility of marrying the love of his life. Good stuff didn’t happen to ex-cons. The truth of the matter was he’d always worried that Pearl would wise up and drop him like a hot potato. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” She leaned down, touched her lips to his cheek. “I need to know we’re settled. We won’t be able to see each other much in the next few days. I want to have our future to look forward to.”

  He pulled her to him. “Yes. I’ll marry you.” He rolled her under him and kissed her deeply. He was reaching for her nightgown when the sound of tires crunching up the gravel driveway stopped him cold. “Elsbeth.” He sighed, and raised himself up.

  “Figures.” Pearl chuckled and threw off the covers.

  Bo was already out of bed, reaching for his jeans. “I parked behind the barn,” he said. “Keep her away from the windows for a second. I’ll take the back way out.”

  “Yes, Mr. Peveto,” she said, tying her robe around her.

  “I love you, soon-to-be Mrs. Peveto.” His grin was wide as he opened the window, and threw a leg over the casing.

  “Honey?” Pearl came around the bed.

  He landed on the ground. “What?” He pulled a t-shirt over his head.

  “When all this is over—when we’ve finished with the funeral and all, I want a ring.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, reaching for the boots he’d thrown out ahead of him. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

  The front doorbell sounded. Pearl gave him a quick kiss through the opening, then pulled down the sash.

  A few moments later he heard the front door open. “Elsbeth.” Pearl’s voice wafted around the corner. “I just woke up. Come on in. I need a good hug.”

  He edged along the side of the house, waiting for the front door to close. When it did, he dashed the twenty feet to the barn’s back side where he would be out of sight. He stopped to catch his breath, then grinned. “Bo Peveto, you are one lucky sonuvabitch.”

  ***

  God bless the trivia team. I walk to the fridge and pull out the orange juice. It’s almost eight a.m.—the time the office opens. I plan on calling in sick—my first sick day since I started working. I’ve got some scouting to do.

  But I’ve figured out what I’m going to blow up. And thanks to the random chatter between rounds the other night’s trivia game, I came up with a Plan B. Lo and behold, I found a frigging fertilizer plant in Benedict County. It’s only twenty miles out of Austin—for sure they’ll take all the victims to Brackenridge.

  The thing is, I really need to survey the site. I can bluff my way through the initial presentation—the newspaper articles that documented the explosion in West had enough detail that I can make it sound good. I’ll tell him I can do an eyes on survey of the situation as soon as we get off the phone.

  I’ll need a different ride though. I can’t go near the fertilizer plant in my own car. With my luck, I’d show up on some surveillance tape, and that would be the end of that.

  It’s eight o’clock. I pick up the phone and punch in the Chief’s number.

  He picks up. “Yes.”

  “It’s me,” I say.

  “I hear you’ve got a plan B ready for me?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say. “Is Kodak on the line?”

  “He had an appointment,” the Chief says.

  Coward. “Chief, Kodak has a knack for avoiding conversations with both you and me present. Do you find that odd?”

  The Chief chuckles. “He’s scared of you.”

  I silently pump the air at that victory. “He should be. If he doesn’t like my plan this time, please tell him to stop being a yellow belly and to get on the horn with the both of us. I really don’t understand why you want such a gutless wonder working for you.”

  This time the Chief laughs. I know damned well he’s enjoying the show. “Now
let’s get down to business...” and I begin to outline my plan.

  ***

  Mike Hogan lay in his hospital bed pretending to be asleep. His head was spinning again, and his thoughts were just as jumbled. He felt a twinge of guilt at spying on the people who obviously cared for him, but he had to somehow get control of his situation. The cop in him told him that surveillance was key.

  “When do you think he’ll be able to leave Neuro PCU?” That was Angie’s voice. A little familiar, though he didn’t know why. A little husky, which he found quite appealing. A lot distraught, which he knew was completely his fault. He wasn’t the man with whom she’d fallen in love. Her whispers of “Come back to me, Matt,” had haunted him through the night.

  “I want to keep him here a little longer,” came the professional monotone of Dr. Christine Ryan. “I’m reluctant to release him. He’s not ready for a general floor, yet.”

  Mike sensed this no-nonsense woman was holding something back, but apparently Angie was too tired to notice. Well, he wasn’t feeling as good as he was yesterday, but how did he remember what he felt like yesterday? His memories had disintegrated to thin gray ghosts with no substance.

  “I need to get some stuff worked out.” Angie’s voice trembled. Was she crying? “So I’m going home for a few days.”

  Angie was leaving? He wondered if he was the stuff she needed to work out.

  “Are you okay, Miss O’Day?” His doctor’s voice had softened.

  There was a pause before Angie answered. “I own a bar. My cook is sick. I want to get everything straight before Matt leaves here. He’ll need me more then.”

  Nope. His specialty in the undercover biz had taught him to know the difference between someone speaking the truth and someone sidestepping a question. And she was.

  “True,” the doctor agreed. “And Lord knows your brother has the place practically on lockdown. It won’t be so easy to protect him when he goes onto a general floor.”

  Mike liked this James W. guy. And Angie. Though he didn’t know why, he thought of them as family.

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” Angie said. He heard a chair squeak. “I’ll keep in touch with the nurses.”