He looked at me a long time, and then said, "Alright. But if you run, I'm coming after you."
As I watched, he turned, walked to the door, and opened it. But he didn't leave. Instead, he turned around one last time to say, "Because if you're gonna break my heart this time, you're damn well gonna do it to my face."
And with that, he walked out and slammed the door behind him.
I walked to where he'd been sitting. The sofa was still warm. I sank deeper into it and rested my face in my hands. I wanted to cry. I wanted to crawl back in bed. I wanted another mocha. I had no time for any of those things.
I needed to see Edgar. Wherever that tape was, he'd need to retrieve it. And then I could get my own life in order. How, I had no idea.
Delayed by Crystal and then by icy roads, I didn't reach my dad's house until nearly six o'clock, almost an hour after dark. I found Edgar watching The Three Stooges with Steve and Anthony. I looked around the basement, littered with pizza boxes, beer cans and dirty laundry. I swatted an empty box off a tweed recliner and sank into it.
"No wonder dad doesn't come down here," I said.
All three guys ignored me, their eyes glued to Larry and Moe doing complicated hand movements in each other's faces. With a disgusted sigh, I grabbed the remote and turned it off.
"Heeeey," Anthony said, "it was just getting to the best part."
"Oh for crying out loud," I said. "It's on a disk. You can watch it anytime."
"Sheesh, what a ball-breaker," he said.
I turned to my brothers. "Can I talk to Edgar alone?"
"Whatever you gotta say to me," Edgar said, "you can say in front of my buddies here."
I peered at Edgar's face, taking in his rosy complexion and bloodshot eyes. "Have you been drinking?" I asked.
"Jus' a little," he said.
I looked at my brothers.
Anthony shrugged. "It makes him happy."
I turned to Edgar. "Okay," I said. "Here's the deal. Conrad denied everything. He's a pretty good liar too."
Unsteadily, Edgar rose from the sofa. He reached for a bag of cheese puffs. "You’re tellin’ me," he slurred.
"We're going to need that tape," I told him.
He stopped in mid-reach. "Huh?"
"The tape of him offering the bribe," I said. "We've got to turn it in."
Edgar sank back onto the sofa.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Yeah dude, what's the matter?" Anthony said. "You gonna hurl?"
Edgar shook his head. "No gettin' the tape."
I felt my irritation rise. "I tried it your way," I said. "Conrad didn't bite. Now it's time for plan B."
Edgar didn't meet my eyes. "No plan B." Slowly, he looked up, his expression cloudy. "There's no tape. Never made one."
I felt the color drain from my face. "What?"
Chapter 92
Edgar buried his face in his hands. "Sorry 'bout that," he mumbled.
I shook my head, sure I'd misunderstood. "But you said you'd give it to me."
He lifted his face, meeting my gaze. "Shouldn’t have mattered," he said, his voice quavering. "Conrad shoulda given up by now."
"Do you realize what you're saying?" My voice rose. "We are so screwed. Why weren't you honest with me?"
"He just told you," Anthony said. "Give the dude a break."
I stood to face Anthony. "Oh, so now you're on his side?"
"If the dude don't got it, the dude don't got it," Anthony said.
I glared at Anthony. "But what the hell am I supposed to do now?"
Unsteadily, Edgar lunged for the bag of cheese puffs. He missed, knocking the bag off the table, sending little orange blobs scattering all over the floor.
"Look what you made him do," Anthony said to me. "You're gonna have to clean that up."
"Why?" I said. "I didn't make this mess!" I kicked at the pizza boxes, sending empty crusts and wadded up napkins around the small sitting area. I turned to leave. "Besides, I've got my own mess to deal with." I turned to Edgar. "Thanks for nothing!"
I slammed out of the house and into the driveway, now covered in a thin layer of white. It had begun to snow again – not the big fluffy flakes that look charming on a Christmas card, but the small icy pellets that are hell on the roads.
I slid into the Mustang and cranked the ignition. The engine roared to life in a way that might've been comforting if I were headed out onto hot Alabama asphalt, not frozen Michigan pavement. Gently, I released the clutch and eased out of my dad's driveway, fishtailing as I turned onto the glistening road.
Gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, I focused on the road ahead, my thoughts drifting to the mess I'd made of everything.
I'd failed in every way. Gabriel was in jail because of our store. He'd probably end up in prison. Might have it turned out differently if I had handled things better?
And what about Scruffy? He hadn't been a nice person, but I recalled his wistful smile as he told me he had plans. Wherever Scruffy was these days, he wouldn't be keeping any of those plans now.
It was all too much – the situation with our store, the fight with Bishop, Edgar's lies about the tape. My vision clouded with unshed tears. I kept my left hand on the wheel and wiped my eyes with the back of my right.
Immediately, the Mustang's back end drifted to the left. Seizing the steering wheel with both hands, I turned into the spin, catching it just in time. A half second later, the Mustang's rear drifted again, this time to the right.
I stomped on the clutch and turned into the second spin. The car steadied itself, but only for an instant before fishtailing back to the left. Once again, I turned into the spin. This time, I overcompensated, jerking too hard and too fast.
That was all it took. The car spiraled into a dizzying tail spin that ended only when my car slammed sideways, passenger-side first, into one of the big, wooden telephone poles that lined the narrow country road.
Gasping for breath, I peered toward the passenger's side door, still smashed up against that stupid pole. From inside the car, I saw a shattered window and signs of substantial damage, to the door at least.
Afraid of what I'd find on the outside, I opened the driver's side door and fumbled out. I circled the Mustang and took a good, long look, wincing as I saw crumpled metal and scraped paint. I'd definitely need a new door. About the rest, I wasn't so sure.
This wasn't my first encounter with a telephone pole, and probably wouldn't be my last. By now, I knew the drill by heart – go home, call my insurance agent, and take it from there.
I just prayed the Mustang was drivable. I returned to the driver's seat and started the engine. After several attempts, I finally got it back on the road, shivering as icy air poured through the window and sucked out all the heat.
Forty-five freezing minutes later, I drove past the darkened coffee shop and slid into my usual alleyway parking spot. Still shivering, I exited my car and glanced toward the outside stairway. When I got upstairs, I decided, I was going to rip off that stupid board, once and for all.
And then, I was going to call Bishop and beg him to come over. Somehow, together, we'd work it out.
I was just leaning into the car to grab my purse when I felt something hard press against the small of my back. I froze. A male voice said, "About time you got back. I was freezing my ass off."
My blood ran cold. I didn't move a muscle.
"Tell me," Conrad said. "Are you scared now?"
Chapter 93
I remained frozen in mid-reach. "What do you want?" I said.
"You wanna guess?"
"The tape?" I said. "I don't have it."
He gave a soft laugh. "Sure you don't."
"Just so you know," I said, "I've got company. He'll be down any minute."
"Sure he'll be," Conrad said. "Only I haven't seen anyone show up. Could it be you're full of shit?"
I said nothing, and he continued. "This is the plan," he said. "You're going to ease back slowly, and we're going u
pstairs for a little chat." He gave me a little nudge with his revolver. "Unless you'd rather settle things down here. The quick and easy way."
"A chat might be nice," I said.
He pulled the revolver from my back. "Ladies first."
He kept the gun trained on me as I slowly eased my torso out of the car. Conrad wrapped an arm around my neck. With his free hand, hidden beneath his long wool coat, he pressed the muzzle of his revolver under my rib cage.
Together, we made our way out of the alley and toward the store's entryway. As we moved forward, I tried to think of a way out. Maybe in my apartment, I'd have a fighting chance.
I had the Ruger in my nightstand and Crystal next door. But did I really want to involve Crystal in the mess I'd created? I decided to focus on the Ruger.
We entered the darkened store, and Conrad gave me a shove. I stumbled forward and whirled to face him. "Asshole," I said.
"There's my Riverside native," he said. "I was wondering when she'd show up."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"That your eloquence is fading fast." He smiled. "And to think, the night's just beginning."
My mouth went dry. I looked toward the door. "I'd better set the alarm."
"Sorry, but I don't think so." He gestured me onward with his revolver. "You'd better lead the way," he said, a bitter edge creeping into his voice, "since you've never been so kind as to invite me up."
Before I knew it, we were in my apartment. Conrad locked the door behind us. He leaned against the door and looked around. "I thought your place would be bigger," he said. "Or at least better furnished."
"Nice of you to notice," I said.
His gaze wandered over my small living quarters. "So where's the tape?"
I racked my brain. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that giving him the tape would be a very bad thing. For one thing, he'd have no more use for me. For another, he didn't look like a big reggae fan.
Before I could answer, Conrad gave a derisive little laugh. "Can you believe this shit? We're talking about tapes? Fucking tapes. The whole world's gone digital, and that stupid fucker tries to trap me with what? A fucking cassette tape. Un-fucking-believable."
I stared at him.
"Oh," he said. "Did that offend you?" His voice grew sarcastic. "I'm so fucking sorry."
Fucker.
Somehow, I managed to say, "Sorry, but the tape's not here."
He looked only mildly interested. "You don't say."
I nodded. "It's in a safe place."
That safe place was alongside that ancient cassette player, sitting on an end table just behind Conrad's hip. If he turned around, he'd surely notice the player, along with those useless cassettes.
Desperately, I searched for another topic of conversation. I found it and switched gears. I tried to look wistful. "So your interest in me," I said, "was any of it genuine?"
Conrad's eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?"
"Just curious," I said. "Was it all part of the plan?"
"No," he said, lowering the revolver to his side. "In the beginning, you were just a name." His eyes softened. "Getting to know you wasn't part of any plan." I heard a twinge of regret as he continued. "And once I did get to know you, you weren't what I expected."
"What'd you expect?"
"A ditz," he said, looking slightly more relaxed.
I forced a small smile. "You weren't what I expected either."
"What's that?"
I glanced at his gun. "Easy-going."
He smiled, and I saw a trace of the Conrad I'd spent better times with. The smile was short-lived. He shook his head. "Too bad things have to end this way. I really did like you. Too much." His expression hardened. "A lot more than my last girlfriend."
I kept stalling. "Anyone I know?"
He smiled again. But this time there was nothing friendly about it. "Her name was Harriet," he said. "But I think you knew her by her professional name. Lucy."
I felt my face go pale. "Lucy Larimar?"
Conrad gave a soft laugh. "Yeah, I thought you'd like that. You know, you really upset her with that Tarot reading. She came to me that day, all worried I was – what'd you call it – a Tricky Dick?"
In a rush, I mentally replayed the reading with Lucy. She'd been afraid of someone. I hadn't known who. Now I did.
"You killed her," I said. With a pang, I wondered if it was my fault. "Was it because of the Tarot reading?"
"Please. Give me some credit." He gave a casual shrug. "No, her untimely demise was professional, not personal."
"Did you even care about her?"
"That drama queen?" He made a scoffing sound. "No. Definitely not my type."
"Then why'd you even date her?"
"She was useful," he said. "For a while. Gave the development some great publicity."
"And the bad publicity for us?" I said. "You put her up to that too?"
Conrad put a finger to his lips. "Shhhhh. Lois Lane thought it was her idea." His expression grew serious. "Lucy was full of ideas, some not so good."
"Like what?"
"A big expose," he said.
"On fortune telling?"
"On me." Conrad shook his head. "What she wouldn't do for a little attention." His gaze traveled up and down the length of me. "But enough about her." "Let's talk about us."
I felt myself swallow. "Us?"
"I had different plans for us," he said. "I would have saved you, you know. The store too. But you never gave me the chance." Slowly, he shook his head. "Sad it's come to this."
A knot the size of a bowling ball formed my stomach. "What do you mean?"
"This is my problem," he said, his tone reasonable. "With Edgar gone, there are only two links to me and the bribery scheme. The tape and you."
I summoned up a smile. "But Edgar's not gone. In fact, I just saw him."
"Sure you did."
"I did," I insisted. "And he has the tape, not me. So if anything happens to me, he'll know. And he'll make it public."
"Sorry, but you'll have to do better than that."
From somewhere inside me, I summoned up a laugh. "Then come back tomorrow," I said. "I'll have something better. You'll like it, I promise."
Conrad gave a rueful smile. "There you go again."
"What?"
"Making this so difficult." He glanced at the door. "I should've been in and out by now." He pushed his free hand through his hair. "I need to stop putting things off. It's messed up. I know that. But here I am, letting you get under my skin."
I kept my tone light. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
He laughed. "I've gotta hand it to you. You've got moxie. If you were Lucy, you'd have been sobbing a long time ago." He gave me a hard look. "And I know from experience."
Lucy had been bludgeoned to death. Was that his plan for me too? My mind raced. No, I wouldn't let it come to that. "Even if you don't believe me," I said, "that'd look awful suspicious."
"Accidents happen." He shrugged. "Maybe you're sitting right here in your sad little apartment, and bam, along comes a boiler explosion. Surprise, surprise. No more you. No more store." He grinned. "No more tape."
I gulped. No more Crystal either.
"They'd figure out it was you," I said.
"Really?" He gave me a self-satisfied smile. "They didn't for the first two."
"Two?" I racked my brain. He'd killed Lucy, but who else?
Conrad's eyes glittered. "Come on, shouldn't be too hard for you to figure out."
And then it hit me. "Scruffy?"
"Smart girl." He looked proud.
I felt sick. I mentally replayed what I'd heard about the crime. "How'd you make Scruffy think you were Gabriel?"
Conrad laughed. "You take things too literally."
"But there was that 911 call."
"All part of the plan," he said. "What a performance too." Conrad performed a high-pitched parody of Scruffy calling the police. "Oooooh! Help! Help! The big bad witch
is gonna hurt me."
Conrad smiled. "Man, Scruffy hated that. Said it was an insult to his pride." He scoffed. "Like that loser had anything to be proud of."
"I don't get it," I said. "What was he planning to say when the police showed up?"
"What else?" Conrad said. "That Gabriel had just left."
"But why were you there?"
"To make sure the job was done right," he said. "And to give Scruffy a nice little knife scratch, just to make it look authentic."
"A scratch?"
"Oh yeah," Conrad said. "Imagine his surprise when I plunged the knife right into his back." He was nodding. "I thought the Tarot card was a nice touch, don't you?"
"The Death Card?" I said. "It doesn't really mean death, you know."
"You'll have to mention that to Scruffy when you see him."
"But he's dead."
Conrad grinned. "My point exactly."
Chapter 94
My blood ran cold. I stalled again. "Where'd you get the Tarot deck?"
"A book store in Ferndale," he said.
"Where's the rest of it?"
"The deck?" he said. "Burned it that night. Sorry, but I'm not much for keepsakes."
I studied Conrad's posture. It had shifted. I eyed his hand that held the revolver. The knuckles were white. I'd run out of things to say, and time to say it.
Conrad took a step toward me. His hand twitched. "I'll be needing that tape now," he said.
I cut him off, grabbing the cassette player from the end table and hurling it at his face. He jumped aside. The player whizzed by his head, striking the wall behind him and shattering into an explosion of plastic and springs. The useless tape broke free and tumbled amid the mess. Conrad eyed the destruction.
It was now or never. I lunged for Conrad, knocking the revolver from his hands.
"Shit," he muttered as it skittered across the wooden floor. I dove after the gun. So did Conrad. We both landed face-down and scrambled after it.
I was closer, and might have reached it, if only Conrad hadn't landed on top of my legs. I slithered away, kicking at Conrad as I elbowed myself in the only direction available to me, right into a corner. I flipped over on my back and made a final, futile grab for the gun.
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