The Gossip

by Nancy Bush

  “What’s he saying?”

  “Taft . . . Jesse . . .”

  “He’s not going to make it,” Taft said, and Mackenzie turned to see that Keppler was staring blankly straight ahead, though he was still breathing.

  “Where were you hit?” she asked. She put the Glock she’d grabbed and Seth’s handgun on the floor, then reached for her cell phone in her back pocket. It wasn’t there and she glanced down anxiously, seeing it had skidded a few feet away. She lunged for it. “Where were you hit?” she asked Taft.

  “Beneath the shoulder,” he admitted.

  She had the phone in one hand. She watched him pull back his jacket. The bloom of red against his shirt made her dizzy.

  “Nine-one-one. What is the nature of your emergency?” the operator answered.

  “A shooting,” Mac said crisply, going into cop mode, forcing herself to stop thinking of the spreading blood on Taft’s shirt. “Multiple injuries. Hurry . . .”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  It all hit the fan.

  Larry Perkins, Seth, and Taft were taken by ambulance to local hospitals, though Taft, who was the only one awake and aware, lobbied for Glen Gen and his request was granted. Mackenzie got the keys to Taft’s rental and drove like a madwoman to Glen Gen, ignoring all speed limits and wheeling into the lot with a screech of tires, a sound that perfectly fit her mood. Taft’s gun had been confiscated by the local police. The officers had then looked at Keppler’s arsenal of weaponry with raised brows and had stationed themselves outside that room, waiting for the crime scene team.

  Mac arrived right on the heels of the ambulance, but she was turned away when she tried to follow Taft and the EMTs into the emergency cubicles and then on to surgery. Taft tried to assure her he was fine, but he was white-faced with pain and shock and she knew it wasn’t true.

  Federal agents and local law enforcement were working the crime scene. Mac learned that Taft had already put in a call to DEA as soon as he’d gotten an up close and personal with the drugs in the shed. He’d just placed the call to them when Keppler charged into the house. He then raced to the back door, intending to sneak in through the gun room, unaware Mackenzie had already blasted into the room with Seth on her heels.

  Mackenzie had learned that Seth was also in surgery with two shots to the chest from Taft’s gun. Larry was in surgery with one shot to the chest from Seth’s. Both were touch and go. Mac had been seen herself and was happy to learn she was not concussed, but her head still hurt like hell from where it hit the floor.

  Seth’s other bullet had gone through Taft below his right shoulder and embedded into the wall beneath the display of handguns.

  Mac had spent most of the day at the hospital, fielding calls, pacing, and generally waiting to hear about Taft. It took them a while to get him into surgery as his injuries weren’t life-threatening, thank God.

  She’d heard from Cooper Haynes, who let her know crime scene techs, local police, and the DEA were all over the house. Cooper Haynes was working the Granger Nye case and had met with DEA members at Best Homes as well, much to Andrew Best’s dismay. There was an ongoing search of Best Homes cube trucks to see if any others had been modified for drug smuggling. No word on that yet.

  “How you doing?” one of the male nurses asked Mac.

  “Fine.” She lifted a glass of water up. The staff at Glen Gen, though unable to stretch protocol for her, had been nothing but nice.

  She glanced at her phone and caught a text from Haynes. DEA was annoyed that Taft and Mackenzie had intercepted the shipment before it had landed into the hands of its final destination, the kingpins who would divide it up and sell to willing customers.

  She thought about heading out and getting something to eat other than cafeteria food, but when she looked out the window she saw several news crews that had come and gone all day, attempting to interview her and learn more about Taft. Channel Seven, always the most aggressive news station, had cornered her when she’d gone outside to switch cars back with Stephanie, who’d uber’d to her car at the gas station, switched it with Mac’s RAV and brought it to her before catching uber now. Mac’s “No comments” had been splayed across the local news and were getting regional play as well because of the size of the confiscated haul of ketamine.

  Finally, Taft was out of surgery and doing fine, or so the hospital staff told her, as they still wouldn’t let her see him. Mackenzie exhaled and sank into one of the chairs outside the OR. She was exhausted.

  Mom called about five thirty and said, “How’re you doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “You sure? Even when you were with the police, nothing like this happened.”

  “This turned out to be bigger than any of us knew.”

  Mac wondered if Keppler’s drug involvement was going to come back on Mitch and Prudence Mangella. Andrew Best was already in the DEA’s sights. Taft had said there was something between Best and Mangella. Important heads could roll.

  “They say this drug dealer is involved with a lot of others in the community,” her mother said, speaking Mac’s thoughts aloud.

  “Seth Keppler. Yeah, there are some ties . . .”

  “Are you going to keep doing this and make me worry?”

  “I’m not trying to make you worry, Mom.”

  “Who is this man you’re working with? Jesse Taft? An ex-policeman?”

  “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ve got a lot going on.”

  “I’m just so happy you’re safe. You just don’t know.” She exhaled and drew a deep, deep breath. “There is something else I need to talk to you about.”

  Mac’s heart nearly stopped. “The cancer . . .” she whispered.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m doing great. It’s Dan.”

  Dan the Man? “What about him?”

  “He has . . . I’m . . .” She cleared her throat. “We’re splitting up.”

  “You are?” Mac was totally taken aback. This was what she’d prayed for but now that it was here, she hardly knew how to feel. “Are you okay with it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mom, you sure? I know you know how I feel about him, but if you’re happy, then—”

  “I’m not happy. Dan’s, well, I don’t have to tell you . . . among other things, Dan’s too cheap. I’ve had enough worrying about my life. I have enough money and I don’t want to penny-pinch. I’ll be thrifty. I can take care of myself. I’m not going to put myself in debt, but I’m tired of this. Always making excuses for him. Always looking over my shoulder, second-guessing me on my finances. He has his own money, and I have mine. We’ve never truly melded most of our funds, which is good. Now I need to live my life.”

  Mac felt an easing of her tension. “You’re absolutely right.”

  “Maybe you’ll come back and live with me,” she said hopefully.

  Mac didn’t immediately respond. She didn’t want to disappoint her mother, but it was time to move on. She talked about a few other things and let her mother go off on Dan awhile, then eased herself off the phone. She digested the news, then put in a call to Stephanie. They’d seen each other during the vehicle exchange, but Mac had been preoccupied, and Stephanie had just said over and over again how glad and utterly thankful she was that Mackenzie was okay. Now Mac asked her, “Have you talked to your father today?”

  “Yes, I finally told him about the baby. He was, well, a little underwhelmed. Kind of pissed me off.”

  “He didn’t say anything about my mom and him?”

  “Oh. Just that she’s dumping him and it’s not because he took twenty-five thousand out of the only account that they shared to put down money on one of those super-expensive apartments above the River Glen Grill.”

  “Oh . . . shit . . .”

  “Yeah. That’s my dad. He transferred the money to an account of his own and now he’s moving into the apartment and keeping the rest of the money to help pay for his lifestyle.” She laughed without humor. “I told him he was going to be a grandp
a and that’s what I got in return. I didn’t really want to tell you, with everything that’s going on with you. How’s your head, by the way?”

  “Just a big knot. I’m the lucky one.”

  “Hang in there. You need anything, just ask.”

  “Thanks, Stephanie.” A lump was developing in her throat, so she ended the conversation before she could embarrass herself. No matter how little she thought of Dan Gerber, the fact that he’d given her Stephanie as a sister was worth everything.

  * * *

  Thad couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d been chewing his lip into a bloody pulp, waiting for more news on Brenda when all of a sudden ex-cop Mackenzie Laughlin popped onto the news. He was on his computer and saw the clip, so he delved further into the story, playing every news article he could find. It was a breaking story. All about a big drug bust. There was a guy in surgery at River Glen General who’d been instrumental in breaking up the ring. Thad took out a pen and wrote down his name: Jesse James Taft. Mackenzie had been involved with him in the bust.

  Channel Seven broadcast a picture of Taft in uniform from his days with Portland PD. He’d left or been kicked out of not one but two departments. Thad looked him over carefully and felt a snake of jealousy uncoil inside him. Chas would give Taft a run for his money, he told himself. Chas had power.

  But Chas had failed with Brenda. She hadn’t fallen for his charms.

  She didn’t give you a chance!

  “Stupid, dirty bitch,” he muttered.

  And Mackenzie Laughlin had blown him off as well.

  But she wanted you. She did.

  “Next time,” he whispered.

  Except for this guy. This guy. She was with this guy and he was good-looking enough. Better than Chas, maybe. Tough-looking. An ex-cop, just like she was.

  It was time to give up on her. Go back to his original plan. Take care of those mean girls who had turned into such wicked women.

  Things need to be in the right order.

  He realized he was breathing hard. He was at war with himself and didn’t want to follow his own rules. He tried to turn away from the news feeds that had Mackenzie Laughlin and this Jesse James Taft. He didn’t want to think about them together. Working together, sharing a smile, rushing to the bedroom or bathroom, maybe in the shower, bodies slick with water, him pounding into her as she moaned in openmouthed ecstasy . . .

  He shook his head and went back to work on investing. He’d blown so much cash that he had little to work with. Nearly impossible with such a small investment nut to build it back up. If he could get his hands on Gram’s accounts, he could start over.

  He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. Luckily, Lorena had not taken Gram out in the Seville. All that threatening to drive the Caddy and then she’d done just what he’d told her, taken Gram for a ride in her own car. She’d maybe believed him when he’d said the car wasn’t working and had just wanted to twist the knife. Lorena understood him, he realized. Way better than he’d ever given her credit for. It was a growing problem. She’d understood his fear somehow, though she hadn’t known the why of it, hadn’t understood that someone might pick up the car on camera and match it to one outside Bibi Engstrom’s home the night of her death.

  And the threat was still there.

  He needed to keep moving. Like a shark. Not stay in one place and be pinpointed. Thad tried hard to get himself out of this place and concentrate on the third mean girl, but his thoughts traveled back to Jesse James Taft.

  He knew where the man lived.

  * * *

  Sunday afternoon Taft was released from the hospital and Mac was back to pick him up. She’d gone home to the pink and white room and spent a dreadful night tossing, turning, and reliving the same nightmares chasing through her unconscious mind. This morning she’d returned Taft’s rental car and had Uber’d back to Stephanie’s, then had gone straight to the hospital. She’d seen Taft the night before, but when he’d tried to include her in plans to spring him, she’d left before he could convince her and had planted herself facedown on her bed.

  Now, as she helped him into her RAV, she tried not to be intrigued by the few more days’ beard that had seemed to only add to his rough attractiveness.

  He was cranky about his wrapped torso. The bullet had traveled through his chest, just below his right arm, ripping through muscle and sinew. He’d been put back together through surgery, but full mobility was going to take a while. Though he knew he’d gotten off lucky, he was still glowering.

  “If I haven’t thanked you for saving my life, I’m doing it now. Thank you,” she told him as they entered his condo and he sank down in the one recliner in the room, while Mac perched on the couch.

  He smiled faintly in acknowledgment, then said, “Seth Keppler isn’t going to make it.”

  She’d heard the same. At least Larry Perkins was holding his own.

  “His co-conspirators are lucky he won’t be able to talk,” Taft added. A lot of the animation in his face that she’d come to expect wasn’t visible right now. She suspected he was also feeling the low-grade depression, almost PTSD, that came from taking someone’s life, no matter what kind of scumbag he or she might be. Officials from the police and DEA were waiting to question them both more at length.

  “I got a call from Keith Silva,” Taft said after a moment of introspection.

  Mackenzie frowned at him. “You know Silva?”

  “He also wanted to thank me for making sure Keppler got what he deserved.”

  “Silva knew Seth Keppler?”

  “I think he wanted him out of the way.”

  Like Mangella had wanted him out of the way.

  Mackenzie thought the words, but she didn’t say them. With Keppler unable to talk, others involved in the ketamine distribution ring were claiming innocence and pointing fingers solely at Keppler. Andrew Best was at the head of the line, corroborated by a witness who’d previously said she’d heard two men yelling the night of Granger Nye’s death, but hadn’t known who they were. Now she absolutely, positively, no further questions need be asked, claimed one of the voices was Seth Keppler’s. With her testimony in place, the theory was that Seth had fought with Granger Nye when Nye discovered his underhanded operation and use of Best Homes as a cover and had confronted him. The two men had argued and Seth, either by design or accident, then pushed Nye from the second story to his death. Whether it was true was a question yet to be answered.

  “What’s Silva’s part of this?”

  “He warned me once that Mangella had a lot of power. I think he knew I was pulling away from Mitch and wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything I would regret.”

  “Like what?”

  He shrugged and his lips tightened as he was reminded of his injury. “I don’t know. I don’t have anything on Mangella. Around me, he walked the tightrope. I think Silva was preparing for the future.”

  “So, with Silva Mangella has a new go-to guy?”

  His dimples flashed for a second. “Looks like it.”

  “What’s our next move?”

  “You done with Rayne?”

  “I think so. Seth wouldn’t admit to pushing her over the railing, but he’s not the kind to admit to anything. He was her last boyfriend, so maybe he was the one. I’ll never believe it was an accident.”

  “What about Troi Bevins?”

  She gave him a sharp look. “Well, he was before Seth.” She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if he was trying to say something without saying it. “And I think he’s getting a raw deal.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “No. I don’t. But I’d still like to help him in some way.”

  So far Andrew Best had bobbed and weaved at everything the authorities had tossed at him, claiming innocence while he threw suspicion on anyone else in his circle of influence. Most notable of that group was his employee Troi Bevins, who’d had a sometime friendship with Seth Keppler, though Troi had insisted Seth was just his weed connection, no
thing more. Still, Troi was being held and questioned about the ketamine bust and no one at Best was stepping up to help. They were all covering their own asses. His girlfriends were the only ones who seemed to care. Elise Sealy had called Mac and begged her to do something, saying it was Mackenzie’s fault Troi had been taken into custody, which made no sense at all.

  “Is he lawyered up yet?” asked Taft.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Laughlin, you’ve got a soft spot for that kid.”

  Troi’s other “friend,” Leah, had also shown up at the jail to protest Troi being held, which had given Elise some serious consternation. She’d called Mac a second time, ordering her to get rid of the tattoo artist, saying, “You need to kick her skinny butt down the road!” Again, Elise had been unable to explain why this should be Mac’s problem; apparently, it just was, in her mind. Mac had not responded to the request.

  They heard barking outside and a light tapping at the door. Mac answered and found Tommy Carnoff with Plaid and Blackie off leash. The two pugs tore inside as soon as the door was opened wide enough. Tommy held their leashes in hand.

  “How ya doing?” he asked Taft, who said that he was fine in a little testier voice than usual. Tommy explained about the dogs, “I’m taking them to the kennel for a few days. Maureen’s back in the hospital and I might be spending a lot of time there.”

  “You can leave them with me,” said Taft.

  Tommy eyed him critically. “I didn’t want to overload you.”

  “I’ll take care of them,” said Mac.

  “You planning to be around here then?” Tommy brightened.

  “Well, I . . .” She glanced at Taft, who gave her a bland look back that could have meant anything. “Yes,” she said. “But only while he recovers.”

  “I don’t need a nursemaid,” said Taft.

  “It’s strictly business,” Mac added.

  Carnoff coughed into his hand, but it sure sounded like he said, “Poppycock.”

  Mackenzie helped him bring over the dogs’ beds, food, treats, and toy stuffies, whereupon both pugs jumped on a plush hedgehog who looked like he’d seen better days and tussled over it. A few minutes later, Tommy touched the brim of his hat and left. Once he was gone, Mac made sure the pugs were fed and asked Taft, “What would you like to eat? Goldie Burgers? Mexicali Rose? River Glen Grill? Take and Bake pizza? It’s a little early but I’m game for anything.”