by David Kearns
Chapter Twenty One
I parked Emily’s car across the street. When I came back inside, Emily and Sandy were in the kitchen, and Emily was apologizing to Sandy about leaving Sandy’s purse, the cashmere sweater, and the leather pumps on the cliffside when Peck’s boys came after us. Emily said that none of that mattered, and that all of it could be easily replaced. Sandy tried to engage Emily in conversation about what had happened on the cliffside, but Emily seemed reluctant to talk about it. Sandy kept probing, and Emily said “If you really want to know what happened, I killed someone today. That’s what happened.” That was the end of the conversation.
I offered to prepare dinner in the vain hope that it would cut some of the tension in the room. I browned ground beef in a pan while I sliced tomatoes, peppers, onions, and lettuce to make a countertop assembly line for soft shell tacos. I’d found flour tortillas in the refrigerator, and I’d microwaved half a dozen of them and then wrapped them in a dish towel to keep them warm.
We’d each prepared our own plates and sat together while we ate, but none of us said anything. Occasionally we heard a creaking noise from the hallway when Peter shifted his weight in the chair.
After Sandy finished her meal she got up from the table, washed her plate, and put the dish away.
“Thanks for dinner,” Sandy said. “I’m going to mosey on over to a motel. I was up most of last night, and I think I’m going to collapse if I don’t get some sleep.”
She leaned over and gave Emily a hug. “See you later, girl,” she said.
“Your car is out front,” I said. “Your suitcase is in the back seat.”
“That was thoughtful of you,” she said. “Where’s your car?”
“I left it for the vultures.”
“Ah.”
Emily stood from the table. She wrapped her arms around Sandy, and the two of them held each other for a moment, swaying slightly. Then they separated.
“Bye, kids,” Sandy said.
Sandy walked down the hall, stopped in front of the utility closet, and stared at Peter Stargen. Then she hooked a toe around the edge of the opened door and slammed it shut. I followed her outside. When we reached her car, she held her hand out to me and I put the keys to the Camaro in her open palm. I got in the passenger seat and retrieved my gun and Emily’s gun from the glove box.
Sandy glanced at the suitcase and shotgun in the back seat before getting behind the wheel. I stayed in the passenger seat longer than I needed to, very aware that our paths were diverging.
“Goodbye, superman,” she said. She gave me a tired smile.
“See you later, Sandy.”
“Remember what I said about this guy,” Sandy said, tipping her head towards the house. “Don’t take him off the leash. He’s got fast hands and he likes killing.”
“I promise,” I said.
Then I got out of the Camaro and she started the car. She looked at me one last time as she pulled away from the curb, gave the car some gas, and she was gone.