On the third day, her phone chimed with a new text from philandering husband. He’d be home that night. The time had come.
She took a long shower and put on fresh comfortable clothes. She padded downstairs into the kitchen for her secret phone. A two-word text to Michael—“Tonight 8:00.”
She texted back her husband saying she had an open house at the Community Center and not to wait up for her. Then she picked up her overnight bag and left for Violet’s. The beach would be wild and beautiful. Violet’s house would be warm and safe. And Christine would be far away from whatever happened there that night.
She prayed that Michael was ready. That he’d keep his word. But it was out of her hands. She had to trust fate.
On her way to Violet’s, she stopped for a bucket of chicken, mashed potatoes, slaw, and rolls. She paid cash and made sure to get a receipt with a date and time stamp on it. She stopped at the bakery too and got a fresh blueberry pie, also paid cash, and got a receipt. At 6:05 p.m., she rambled down the access road to Violet’s.
Phillip would be home soon. Would Michael be there, waiting for him? Was fate on their side? She thought it was. For once.
Chapter 14
DRESSED IN BLACK, MICHAEL slipped in through the kitchen door. The gun tucked into his waistband pressed against his back, like a finger demanding his attention.
Quick footsteps squeaked over the hardwood floors as he moved to the den. Phillip’s inner realm. He was pumped and needed something to turn down the flame on his nerves. A bottle of vodka from Logan’s liquor cabinet did the trick—a couple of swigs steadied his hands.
The room languished in shadow except for the pool of light over the desk. Christine had left the desk lamp on for him, so he wouldn’t break his neck. Or maybe it wasn’t for him at all. Maybe it was one of Logan’s many rules. He checked the room to ensure there were no surprises waiting for him. Like a jealous husband hiding in the closet with a gun. He giggled—the anticipation of handing Logan his final fate made him silly with nerves. The liquor on the credenza tempted him but he resisted. “Stay focused.” 7:30 p.m.—it wouldn’t be long now.
The whine of a car engine drew him to the window. An old black Nova coasted to a stop in front of the house. The door creaked open and a dinky little guy stepped onto the pavement. He craned his neck, checked his watch, then craned his neck again. Muttering to himself he ambled up the walkway to the front door—a Manila envelope in his hand.
Michael held his breath as the little dude approached. Who the hell are you? He glanced at the mantle clock and his throat tightened. The guy rang the bell once, twice, three times. Still, he remained at the door, jangling the change in his pocket, pivoting his head left and right. “Leave,” Michael muttered. “Get the hell out of here.”
But instead of being discouraged and leaving, the strange man let himself into the house. “Hello? Mr. Logan? Hello?”
Michael fumbled to turn off the desk lamp. Too late. Footsteps approached and he dived behind the easy chair.
The man entered the den, muttering to himself. “Dark in here.” He went straight to the table next to the easy chair. Michael held his breath, thinking of reasons for hiding in his ex-boss’s house. But the man just switched on the lamp, unaware of Michael’s presence. “Better. Yeah, now I can see.” He dropped the envelope on the chair and shuffled over to Logan’s desk.
He shuffled through papers on the desk and checked in the drawers with lazy curiosity. The liquor bottles on the credenza caught his eye and he picked up one of the liquor decanters and admired it. “This musta cost a pretty penny. A very shiny pretty penny.”
“You bet your ass, it did.” Phillip’s voice boomed across the room and Michael jammed a fist in his mouth to stifle a gasp.
The little guy put the decanter back in place and shuffled around the desk. “Nice place you got here. You do it yourself? The house, I mean?”
Phillip tramped into the room. “Chauncey, what the hell are you doing in my house?”
Chauncey chuckled nasally. “You want to keep people out, you gotta lock the doors. Keep dogs. Something.” He fanned his stubby arms. “Put some lights on.”
Phillip dropped into his desk chair, the leather sighing under his weight. Chauncey dropped into the easy chair, moving the envelope to the side table. Michael wanted to laugh—they had no idea he was there.
Phillip said, “I don't want to know how you got in. I want to know why you’re here.”
Chauncey smacked his lips. “Let's see...June 3rd Phillip Logan, 7:30. His house.” He emitted the weird chuckle again. “Sorry, did I get it wrong?”
Phillip pulled a desk style checkbook from a drawer. He flipped through it and smiled when he found what he was looking for. He snapped the checkbook closed and shoved it back in the drawer.
Boden lifted out of his chair for a second. “Good news?”
Phillip muttered, “She did what she was told.” He eyed his pint-sized guest. “Yeah, you got it wrong. Not my house. Not ever.”
Chauncey drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Your wife's not here. So, no harm done.”
Phillip grumbled. “Where is she?”
“Got me. When she finished at the doc’s office my job was done.”
The table lamp gave off a lot of heat and Michael began to sweat. It ran down his back and into his eyes. They needed to finish. He needed to finish.
“You were supposed to stay on her. I told you to stay on her.”
Chauncey clicked his tongue. “No, sir. You said to make sure she went to the doc's and that if she didn't go I should tell you.” He chuckled. “She went. That's the end of that.”
Phillip swiveled in his chair and reached for a bottle. “Is that all she did?”
“All she did?”
Phillip slurped his booze. “Yeah. Did she do anything else? See anybody else?”
Chauncey shifted in his seat, bumping back the chair and pinning Michael against the wall.
“Ah, the boyfriend? Yeah. Just once, though.” He cleared his throat. “I got a couple pictures. Not like the other ones. Maybe they were saying goodbye?”
Phillip swilled the rest of his booze and even in the low light the burn on his cheeks showed. “I warned her.”
Boden popped to his feet and dropped the Manila envelope on the desk. “Here's the final report, the rest of the pictures and the bill.” He twittered. “You can mail me a check. I trust you. I know you’re good for it.” Phillip stared at the package. “Okay, Mr. Logan?” He rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Guess I'll see you around.”
Chauncey pivoted toward the door but Phillip stood and shot out an arm. “Hold on a second.”
The tiny spy swiveled back. “Yeah?” Logan slid a stack of cash across the desk. Chauncey flipped through the bills quickly then stuffed it in his pocket. “Okay, paid in full. Thanks, Mr. Logan. You need anything else, I’m your guy, right?”
Logan leaned over his desk, the lamplight enhancing the sharp angles of his face. “There is something else.” Chauncey cocked his head and waited for more information. “There'd be a good bonus.”
Chauncey shifted from foot to foot. “Bonuses are good. But certain things—” he raised a hand “—I draw the line.”
Phillip snarked a laugh. “So, you’ve got ethics, huh?”
Chauncey shrugged his slim shoulders. “Don't know what my answer is if I don't know the question, Mr. Logan.”
Phillip popped a handful of pills and washed them down with some booze. “Get rid of them.”
Chauncey cupped his ear. “And them would be?”
Michael cursed silently and his hand itched for the gun. He couldn’t wait to end Logan. If only the weird little guy would leave.
Phillip spoke in a hushed voice. “Both of them. Get rid of both of them. You get it?”
Chauncey ran a hand over his face. “Define get rid of.”
Phillip sneered. “Knock off the act, man. You get my meaning. Make them disappear. That clear enough
for you?”
Chauncey wagged his head and backed toward the door. “No. No, that ain’t on my list of services. I don't know things like that. I know following, I know taking dirty pictures, but not that.”
Phillip gritted his teeth in an effort to smile. “I’m not asking you to do it for free. You’d be paid handsomely. Could set you up for life.”
Boden wiped his brow with his coat sleeve. “Yeah, life. That's what I'd get.” He fumbled for the doorknob. “Okay, well, see you. Hope you find somebody to take care of that for you. And yeah, good luck and all that.”
Chortling, Logan went after Chauncey. “Christ, you should see your face.” He gripped Chauncey’s shoulder. “Easy pal, I was just screwing with you.”
Chauncey laughed with Logan but he didn’t sound amused. “Yeah, oh good. Yeah, that was a good one. Really had me going.” He ducked away from Logan and backed out the door. “Okay then, have a good night, Mr. Logan. Take care.”
Phillip stood in the doorway, chuckling. “Hey relax. I was just yanking your chain. Get it?”
“Good luck, Mr. Logan. Hope everything turns out okay.” The door opened and closed and moments later, the Nova shrieked to life.
The mantle clock chimed eight times and Phillip refilled his glass. He locked Chauncey's report in a drawer, turned out the lights, and walked out—taking the bottle with him.
Michael darted across the room and caught sight of Phillip climbing the stairs. Still chuckling. “Go ahead, laugh it up. Life is short,” he muttered.
Phillip stopped and peered into the darkness. “Chauncey, is that you? You change your mind?”
Michael ducked into the shadows and held his breath.
Chapter 15
VIOLET CLUCKED LIKE a happy old hen when Christine turned up on her doorstep offering fried chicken and an apology. Violet fussed with plates and searched out the good napkins. “Let’s feast here, by the fire.”
She set the coffee table and Christine served. And they ate it all. And it was delicious. For dessert, Violet made a big pot of tea to go with the blueberry pie. Life was so easy with her. Christine wished she’d never left the place. Never grown up and fallen in love with a dangerous man. Wished she’d been smarter.
They chattered about the old days when she and Melanie were kids. Their many antics and adventures. The fond memories they shared. But after a while, Violet brushed Christine’s cheek with her fingertips. “Does it still hurt, honey?”
Christine pressed her lips to Violet’s old hand. “It wasn't that bad.”
Violet lifted out of her seat. “He punched you to the ground.” She shook her fist. “I should’ve shot him dead.”
Christine cringed. “Oh, Violet, don’t say things like that.”
“I thought he killed you.” Her eyes grew misty. “Why do you let that man hurt you? I never raised you girls to be punching bags.”
Christine bowed her head. “I don’t let him. He’s a complicated man. He doesn’t understand.” She peered into Violet’s disbelieving eyes. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.” She refilled their pretty teacups—the ones with pink roses and gold edging. “Let’s not talk about it.”
Violet stroked Christine’s hair. “You deserve better than that piece of human excrement.” She tipped Christine’s chin. “A good man, who’ll treat you like the precious gift you are.”
Christine kept her expression neutral. She wanted Violet’s mind on something else. If the police came to interview her aunt, Phillip’s brutality was the last thing she wanted her thinking about. She hugged Violet. “It's over now.” She kissed her forehead. “And it was only because he was upset about work. He just lost his temper. That’s all. Okay?”
The fire in Violet’s eyes remained—she’d long ago stopped accepting Christine’s explanations for Phillip’s behavior. She cupped Christine’s chin and looked deeply into her eyes. “You’re a sweet girl and I love you to the ends of the earth, but don’t lie to your old auntie. I knew who that man was the second I saw him. He’s just gonna come after you again. Don’t make excuses for him.”
Christine gathered the dirty dishes, careful to stack them gently. “He won’t do it again. He regretted it and has apologized. It’s over.”
Violet shuffled after Christine into the kitchen. “For now. Leopard doesn’t lose his spots. He is what he is. You won’t change him.”
Christine gathered Violet into her arms and breathed in her scent—sea water, paint, and lemon verbena. “I love you, Violet. I’ve always been able to count on you.” She pulled back and looked into the beautiful old face. “But you don’t need to take care of me anymore. I’m a grown woman now. And I’m okay. Really. Things have changed. I promise.”
She put her arm around Violet’s round shoulders and walked her back to the living room sofa. “You aren’t home for good, then? It’s just a visit?”
Christine laid back her head and closed her eyes. Was it done? Had Michael taken care of it? She forced herself to think of other things. “Do you think Mama’s still alive?”
Violet’s breath caught in her throat. “Oh honey, let's talk about happy things.”
Christine searched her memories for her mother but they were only shadows of memories—not even shadows. “I don't remember what she looks like anymore. Her voice or anything. Was she blond? Do I look like her?”
Violet blotted her tears with a napkin. “You girls were so little when she ran off. Course you don’t remember.” She patted Christine’s hair. “Yes, she was a beauty like you. She was just like you. A good girl with a bad man.”
Christine pursed her lips. “That’s what you always say. But what was she like? Did she paint? Was she funny? Did she sing?” A memory popped to the surface. “She used to sing to us, didn’t she?”
Violet got a dreamy look in her eyes and bobbed her head. “Oh, she had a sweet voice. Like a songbird.” She hugged Christine. “Believe me, honey, she loved you.” She patted Christine’s back. “So very much. She loved you both.”
The words lifted Christine’s heart but only for a moment. “But she left. With him.” She wiped at the tears that trailed her cheeks. “I don’t think she did love us.”
Violet shook her head. “No. It wasn’t that. She loved you girls. She did. But—she loved him more.” Violet’s words were stilted, as though each one was a sharp pain in her soul. “He took everything she had. He wouldn’t settle for nothing less. You see?”
Christine shook her head. “No, I don’t see.”
“Love does things to a person. Even when it's poison—you can't help yourself.”
Christine sat up and hugged her knees. “You’re saying that Phillip is like him, my father? Poison?”
Violet waved her hands impatiently. “I’m not saying anything of the kind. What’s over is over. What your mama did wasn’t about you or Melanie. What you need to remember is that she left you with somebody who would love you no matter what. Who’d always be there for you. She knew you’d be safe with me. You’d be loved.”
Christine smiled and stroked Violet’s silver hair. “She was right about that.”
Violet pulled Christine into her arms as she did when she was little. “You just need to keep your eyes aimed at the future. That’s where your happiness is, sweet girl. I just know it.”
Christine rested her head on Violet’s shoulder. “Sometimes, I'm afraid I’ll never be happy.”
“We all deserve to be happy. And you do, especially.”
“What if I make a mistake?”
“You'll learn to live with it.”
Chapter 16
MICHAEL PACED AS THE conversation between Phillip and Chauncey ran through his mind. What if Chauncey had said yes? Was Phillip so crazy that he’d pay a man to kill them? But wasn’t he a hypocrite to be outraged? At that moment, he waited in the man’s den with a loaded gun, ready to send him to his maker. Was it different because he was doing it out of love? Doubt chewed at his insides. Could murder be an act of love?
Stumbling overhead gave him a start. “What the hell are you doing up there?” he whispered. He eyed the mantle clock—almost 9:00. Christine said he’d be passed out on the bed in seconds. Michael wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “Just point and shoot.” That’s all. “Point and shoot.” The words gnawed at him.
Poised with his hand on the doorknob, he couldn’t make himself move. His breath came in short gulps and he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He sleeved sweat from his face. He wanted to crack a window and get some air into the room but hesitated. Had Phillip set the alarm? What was the code? He jammed his hand in his pocket and felt the slip of paper with the alarm code. The jig of his heart slowed to a waltz.
He raised his eyes to the ceiling. All quiet—just the in and out of his breath. Phillip was asleep or passed out on the bed. He wasn’t going anywhere and Michael needed to think. He eased open the door, eyes aimed toward the upper floor. Wincing with each step, he backed down the hall to the kitchen, entered the code and slipped outside.
In the backyard, he sheltered beneath a maple looking up to the second floor. One light still burned but there was no movement behind the curtained windows. Still, he waited and watched. He ran through the plan in his mind. Shoot Phillip, pocket Christine’s jewelry, take the cash and checkbook, and break a few things. A robbery gone wrong. Easy.
He circled the house, peering into windows as he went. All quiet inside. He swallowed his nerves and headed for the back door but when the lights came on inside, he stumbled. “What the hell?”
He spun away and headed for his car. He moved at a fast pace but didn’t run. Nothing to draw attention to himself. He held his phone to his ear and carried on a conversation to no one. If anyone was watching, they’d only remember a man out for an evening stroll, talking on his cell phone.
PHILLIP WAS EXHAUSTED. No way in hell would he wait up for Christine. He’d deal with her tomorrow. When he was wide awake and on his game. Tonight, he’d sleep. He popped the last couple of the red pills in the bottle and tossed it in the wastebasket. The rising steam from the tub had already relaxed him enough to make his eyelids droop. He eased into the tub and groaned at the bite of the scalding water against his skin.
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