Another Man's Treasure
Page 15
“Trips. He’ll kill me, just like he killed Vic. And he’ll find a way to pin it on you. Just like he did with Vic.”
“Who is he? And why would he want to set me up—do I even know this guy?”
“Vic had something over on him, I don’t know what. Trips heard about the fight between you and Vic and thought you’d make a good scapegoat—” The back door rattled. She stopped short with a groan.
“Someone’s coming. I must go. I’m so sorry…for bashing up your truck…for the phone calls…for everything.”
“The calls? Gabby, wait. Please, I need to know—”
She kissed his cheek, her lips like ice, and then turned and ran through the back door, slamming it behind her.
Deason kicked the dumpster, the hollow, thunderous sound causing a dog to bark somewhere down the alley. He had to find out what Gabby was hiding before Tuesday’s hearing when trial witnesses would be discussed before the judge. If she wouldn’t talk to him, he’d have to ask Attorney Crowley to order a subpoena before the actual trial took place—something he’d hoped to save as a last resort.
Yes, Gabriella was a cheat and a liar—an adulteress in every sense of the word—but even after all she’d put him through, he didn’t want to drag her kicking and screaming onto the stand with a murderer’s death threat hanging over her head. He had to persuade her to come forward on her own, convince her that by sharing her testimony this Trips-guy would be locked away for good. And she would be free. She’d have to listen. Throughout their dating relationship and marriage, Deason had never given her reason to doubt him.
He turned and made his way down the alley, eastward, back to Jagger’s house. “See you tomorrow, Gabby,” he whispered to the dark.
****
Frowning, Charis pulled into the driveway behind her mother’s hatchback. She’d planned to take some pictures of Mr. B today, and had driven most of the way to his house before realizing she’d left her camera at home on the dresser. She’d returned for it, and slid from the car wondering what Lita was doing at her house instead of Kenny’s. Especially this early in the morning. It was time to ask Lita to give her house key back. She should’ve done it days ago, but put it off, not wanting to hurt her mother’s feelings.
A strong urge to be quiet settled over her as she turned the knob and walked in. Kinko pawed her legs, and she picked the dog up as soundlessly as possible. She tiptoed through the house, toward the slightly open door of her bedroom. She remembered closing it this morning, just as she did every morning to keep Kinko out.
Through the crack in the door, she saw Lita, back turned, elbow crooked at her side. Her head was down as if she was looking at something. Was she going through her things? Charis’s neck warmed and she swallowed. Her breath dragged heavily through flared nostrils. “Find what you were looking for, Lita?”
Lita jumped and turned, jerking one hand behind her back as the blue snail crashed to the floor.
“Oh, hi there, baby doll.” She stepped over the broken glass at her feet. “Sorry about the mess. You scared me to death.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Kenny’s taking me to the city today. I came to see if I could borrow your gold hoops. I forgot you were working. Hope you don’t mind, I used my key.”
Charis relaxed a little, glad Lita had offered an explanation. She wanted it to be that easy, wanted to accept her mother’s excuse, grab her camera and drive away, keeping their still-new relationship intact. The gnawing in her belly wouldn’t let her.
“So, you found them?”
Lita raised her eyebrows.
“The hoops?” Charis took a step forward.
“Oh. Yes, I found them. I’ll drop them back by this evening. Thank you, baby.” She kept her hand behind her, brushing past Charis.
“Just a minute.” Charis placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder, turning her. “Let me see. I want to make sure you have the right ones.”
Lita’s eyes grew large. “I told you, the gold hoops. Those are the ones I’m borrowing.”
“I have two pair. One set is real gold—I don’t loan those out.” Charis held out her hand.
Lita’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “Heh. I see how you are. Too good for your own mother. Got yourself a college education and you think you’re so damn special.”
“Please, Lita. I don’t want to argue. Just show me what’s in your hand.”
“I got news for you, miss goody-two shoes. You’re not nearly as special as you think you are. Remember how I told you your daddy was a doctor?”
Charis’s insides shrank, the hand she held out trembled.
“When you were small, I used to tell you that you took after him. That’s why you liked patching up your dolls and nursing sick animals back to health.”
Charis gently clutched Lita’s wrist, pretending the words didn’t bother her. “Okay, so my father wasn’t a doctor, is that what you’re trying to say?”
Lita twisted out of her grip. “Oh, he was a doctor, all right,” she cackled. “But not the kind you think. Dr. Feelgood’s more like it. One night while paying for my fix, I ran out of rubbers and ended up with you in my gut.”
A shockwave rattled Charis’s teeth.
“That’s right, baby. Your daddy was a drug dealer. Nastiest one around, too. Got himself shot to death a few years back. Nothing that man wouldn’t do for money. Always suspecting people of ripping him off.” She ran her gaze over Charis. “Seems you take after your old man after all. Greedy as hell, just like he was. Accusing me of stealing from you—my own daughter.” She tore through the doorway, charging into the living room.
Charis followed, pulling her cell from the pocket of her scrubs. “You’re trapped, I’m parked behind you,” she said, dialing.
“Who are you calling? Your murdering boyfriend? Or maybe that redheaded bulldozer, Daphne?”
“I’m calling the police, unless you hand over what you’re hiding.”
Lita darted her gaze around the room. “I have warrants.”
“I figured.” Charis put the phone to her ear. “Hello? Yes, this is—”
“Shit. All right, you win.” Lita opened her palm, revealing Frank McKindle’s gold watch.
Charis returned the un-dialed phone to her pocket and took the watch from her mother’s palm. “Goodbye, Lita. I hope one day you’ll find the courage to change.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she snapped, turning on her heel, tossing her hair.
“Not so fast,” Charis said. “My key.”
Lita yanked the key from her pocket and skipped it across the floorboards.
****
“Let’s go sit on the porch swing, Mr. B,” Charis coaxed, patting Mr. B’s back while gently tugging his elbow.
“I like it here,” he argued, grasping the edge of the Formica table.
“Oh, come on Mr. B. You’re just sitting here staring outside through the window anyway. Might as well enjoy some fresh air and sunlight. Besides, you never know—we might even hear a little gossip, carried downwind from Mrs. Smith’s place.” She raised her eyebrows and grinned.
“Maybe just for a minute or two.” He allowed her to loop an arm through his and help him from the chair. Together, they shuffled toward the door.
“Want to try your walking stick today?” she asked, reaching for the cane hanging beside the doorframe.
“Can’t use it no more. It’s bent.”
The reason behind the chipped and battered cane worried her. “How in the world did that happen?” she asked, helping him onto the porch, walking him to the swing. She hoped he’d give her the explanation he’d held back from Daphne.
“Wendell hit Vic with it. Killed him dead.”
Charis gasped, causing Mr. B to jump. She slapped a hand over her mouth.
“The squealing tires woke me up and I saw the whole thing. Seems like I already told you about that.” He smoothed his fine, cottony hair.
She carefully settled him on the bench swing
then seated herself. “Yes, Mr. B, you did tell me that story, but don’t you remember what I said? Wendell didn’t kill Vic. I was here, too. Vic drove away, mad as a hatter, but alive.”
“I…I just see it so clear…” Mr. B frowned and dragged the back of his trembling hand across his forehead.
Charis squeezed his knee. “I know it’s hard, not knowing what’s real and what’s…imaginary. I only want what’s best for you, Mr. B, so, please, please listen. You mustn’t say Wendell killed Victor Locke, ever again. It could get Wendell into a lot of trouble. Plus, it might upset him enough for him to…to…consider alternate living arrangements for you.” She rested her head on his gaunt shoulder. “I love you too much to let that happen.”
He raised his arm and patted her head as she nestled closer. Mr. B was the closest thing she’d ever had to a father. No way she’d risk losing him to the eye-stinging, bleached walls of one of those eight by eight cells they called “suites” at the local convalescent home.
“You asked what happened to my cane,” he said quietly. “I can’t forget what I saw. But I won’t talk about it anymore.”
“I’m sorry. It’s for the best.” She raised her head and kissed his cheek.
“Now, I’m pretty sure that kiss really happened.” He grinned and rubbed the side of his face. “That ought to be enough to occupy my feeble mind for a while.”
Charis chuckled. “Mr. B, can I ask you something? Do you like my friend, Daphne?”
He studied the sky as the swing gently swayed. “She’s sweet enough, I guess. A little salty too, though.”
“I agree.” She nodded. “Do you think she could take pretty good care of you, if I was to go away for a while? On vacation?”
He turned to look at her. “Vacation? Why the hell do you need a vacation? You get to lounge around the house with me most days, drinking coffee and reading the paper. Look at us, right now, sitting in the porch swing, enjoying the weather.”
“True. But I’m thinking of taking in some new scenery, getting out of my comfort zone a little.”
He studied her, his faded eyes seeming to question her judgment. She thought back to the countless times she’d stared at him the same way.
“I guess she’d do. For a little while,” he finally answered. “Maybe she could bring that little boy with her some.”
“Thank you, Mr. B.” Charis closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “We’ll iron out the details later.” She put her arm around him and rocked the swing a little higher, her hopes rising as well.
Surely, in the name of friendship, Daphne would do her a favor. She said a little prayer, summoning the courage to ask her.
****
“Thanks, Jag. I’ll only be gone an hour—at the most.”
“No sweat, man. It’s Saturday. I won’t even be dressed till noon.” Jagger tossed him the keys, poured another cup of coffee then looked in the fridge. He lifted a piece of aluminum foil and sniffed. “Phew. What curled up and died in there?” He coughed, sliding the covered dish deeper into the fridge.
Deason grinned. “Thanks again, man. See you around eleven.”
The odor of stale cigarette smoke slapped him in the face as he opened the Trans Am’s door. He lowered into the velour bucket seat, turned the key, and dialed down Aerosmith’s Dream On. Looking over his shoulder, he backed from the drive, dread eating the walls of his stomach like acid. He prayed no one would see where he was going, that it would never get back to Charis.
Gabriella lived in a shabby apartment complex on the north side of town. Several eyes narrowed as Deason crept the Trans Am into the potholed parking lot, steering it into a space directly under Gabby’s second story window. He pushed down the lock and climbed from the seat, slamming the door behind him. Rocking back on his heels, he surveyed the graffiti-stained building. Gabby had lived right up there, in that same second floor apartment when they’d started dating. With the exception of the spray painted gang tags, the building looked the same.
He pocketed the keys, strode to the rickety stairwell then jogged up the dozen or so steps. After double-checking the number on the door, he knocked. A late sleeper, Gabriella probably hadn’t yet rolled from under the covers. He hoped to catch her alone, but given her preoccupation with the opposite sex, the odds of that were slim. Then again, that was before she’d met Trips. He knocked again.
He heard footsteps, followed by a soft thump inside the door—probably Gabby leaning against it to check the peephole. Deason took a step back to make sure she could see him.
The knob turned, Gabriella cracked the door. Leaving the chain on, she peeked through the opening. “Oh, god, Deason. What are you doing here?” she moaned, raking a hand through her matted hair. “Are you trying to get me killed?”
“No. Just the opposite. Gabby, please listen.” He raised his hands, palms out, and took a step forward. “Let me in and I’ll explain everything to you. I really think we can nail this guy.”
“Nail Trips?” Her voice warbled.
Deason could’ve kicked himself for blurting out too much information at once. “Wait. I’m sorry. It’s just that…I have a hearing in three days. There’s a good chance I’m about to be locked up for twenty years—maybe even the rest of my life—for a crime I had nothing to do with. I know we’re not friends, but can you at least listen to what I have to say?”
She narrowed the crack in the door, nearly closing it.
“Gabby. Please.”
The door froze in place. Deason heard the chain rattle. She hid behind the door as she pulled it open. “You can only stay a minute.”
“Thank you.” He released a sigh and stepped over the threshold.
She gestured to the scratched vinyl sofa that pretended to be leather. “Have a seat.” She wore the same skimpy shorts and tank top from the night before. Wrapping a throw around her skinny body, she sank back in the matching recliner.
“Who is he—really? What’s this guy’s real name?”
She shook her head fervently. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Okay.” He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “Gabby, I know you’re scared spitless by this Trips, and you’re in self-preservation mode, but promise you’ll at least think about my solution.”
“Solution to what?”
“To this mess we’re in. Gabby, right now you think this guy owns you. What you don’t know is that in reality, you own him.”
“What are you talking about?” She pulled her legs into the chair, resting her chin on her knees. The thin blanket shrouded everything except her bedraggled head, making her look like a small child.
“You are the one with incriminating information. You saw him commit murder. He should be at your mercy. Not the other way around.”
“But if I come forward, he’ll tell them I did it. He set everything up in such a way that if you aren’t convicted of Vic’s murder, I will be. I made the calls to you from Vic’s phone, including the one just before he was killed. I helped load his dead body into Trips’s trunk. And I used Joe’s key to unlock the dumpster before Trips hurled him inside.”
Deason swallowed the dread clawing up his throat. To win Gabby’s confidence, he had to stay calm.
“Afterwards a car drove by near the alley and he got scared. He made me split open the bags setting around the dumpster and empty the trash over Vic’s body and face, so he’d be harder to see. I can still hear the thump of cans and bottles hitting him.” She hid her face under the throw, muffling her sobs. “I’ll go to prison, if he doesn’t kill me first.”
“Gabby, listen to what you’re saying. He set us both up to take the fall for him. Why should we do that? Why should we play his game when he’s the one guilty of murder? Did Trips threaten to harm you if you didn’t go along with his scheme?”
She uncovered her head. “Countless times. Even told me how he’d do it. He had it all planned out.” Her eyes grew distant.
“That’s called coercion. And that alone is illegal as hell. Understand?
Gabby, if the body was stowed in Trip’s trunk, Vic’s DNA is all over it.”
“The trunk was lined with garbage bags.”
“I’m sure something was left behind. A trace is all they’d need. And no one in their right mind is going to believe that you hoisted a hundred and seventy pound man over your head and into a dumpster.”
“I don’t know…”
“Well I do. He’s just trying to scare you into keeping quiet, and he’s doing a damn good job. I’ve never known you to roll over like this, Gabby. Since the day I met you, you’ve never backed down from a fight.”
Her gaze drifted to his, tears trickled down her cheek.
“We can talk to my lawyer together. I won’t let you take the fall for this. But I’m asking you, with all the humility I can muster, to do the same for me. You might not like the man I am, but you know I’d never take a life. Gabby, don’t let me rot in prison for a crime I didn’t commit.”
“You’re a good man, Deason. I wish I’d never let you go.” She took a ragged breath. “But I’m not entirely blameless in this crime. I’m not going to get off scot-free.”
“Not scot-free, but with much less consequence than being convicted of murder, or killed by Trips.”
She looked at her fingernails as if concentrating. “And you’re sure he’ll be found guilty?”
“If what you’re telling me is true, I’m positive.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes down. “Okay. I’ll testify.”
Deason leapt from the sofa and yanked her from the chair.
Gabriella let out a startled yelp that dissolved to giggles as he folded her in a bear-hug.
“Thank you,” he said, popping a brotherly kiss on the top of her head.
“Don’t you want to thank me properly?” she asked, lowering her chin, batting her lashes. “For old time’s sake?”
Deason jerked away as if she was wrapped in razor wire. “Gabriella—”
“Just kidding.” She smiled wanly.
Deason got the feeling she wasn’t kidding at all.
“I know you love the nurse.” She shrugged. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“I’ll contact you before the hearing.” He grinned and left the apartment, closing the door behind him.