Fortunes of the Dead

by Lynn Hightower

  He had called Sel twice last night, and she hadn’t been home. She hadn’t returned his calls, either. No doubt she was working long hours at the restaurant, or maybe the waves were good. He just wanted to hear her voice.

  Sel was the breath of fresh air in his life, an unpredictable mix of innocence, wisdom, and practicality. He could never anticipate her viewpoint. Wilson had given her the surfboard that first time they met, along with a handy explanation calculated to generate her sympathy and overcome her reluctance to take a gift from a stranger. It was no problem getting her to meet him later at a small café in Marina Del Rey. He’d known she was from out of town the minute she’d agreed; a local girl would have been more cautious.

  Marina Del Rey was home for Wilson. He’d grown up just down the road in Playa Del Rey, and misspent countless hours of his youth blading off Venice Beach—another activity relegated to his past. It was dark by the time Sel arrived, a half-hour late. The air had gone crisp, like fall in New England, and Wilson was sipping a beer, listening to the surf from Venice Beach, and calculating the odds of getting laid.

  What he didn’t factor in was the effect Sel would have on him. He’d fallen in love within ten minutes of sitting across from her at the small round table. Although she noticed the candles flickering in the center of the table, and the starched white linen tablecloth that snapped in the breeze swirling in off the beach, Wilson noticed nothing but Sel.

  His one-night-stand plan had not accounted for the confidence he felt when she tilted her head while he talked, giving him all of her attention; the effect of the intelligence in her brown eyes; or the way she pushed the dark, shoulder length hair from her face. He was captivated by the way she talked about surfing. The way she let him know, with a simple squeeze of her hand, that she understood how it would feel to give it up.

  Wilson stood at the edge of Janis Winters’s little kitchenette and saw that one small picture of Koresh had escaped notice, and was hanging on the side of the refrigerator and out of view. Winters had drawn devil horns in over the top of the man’s head. Hard for Wilson to imagine this streak of light mischief from the same woman who excelled at cold-blooded execution. As always, a killer’s humanity jarred him. It was perfectly logical that a murderer shopped at Kroger’s like everyone else, ate Twinkies and Whopper burgers, but the details always stuck in Wilson’s mind.

  Where is she? Wilson wondered. Who is she?

  He’d put an APB out on a Dodge Dakota that had only just been reported stolen from a bar no more than a half mile down the road. One of the locals had gotten drunk at a sports bar called Boots, gone home with a girl he’d met shooting pool, and woke up the next morning with a hangover, and a new girlfriend to hide from his wife. The girl had driven him back to Boots, but the truck hadn’t been in the lot. They’d spent the next twenty-four hours trying to remember where they might have parked it before they finally notified the police. The Dakota had been sighted once, in Louisiana, but the sighting was made by an off-duty cop on his way to the ER with his youngest son, who was bleeding profusely after catching a football with his nose. The pickup hadn’t come up on the radar since.

  Since the Dakota had disappeared the same time Janis did, Wilson figured she’d taken it with her. Her stun gun, her baling wire, all the tricks of the trade, were gone. Just her pickup truck—well-known and covered with Pro-Am Rodeo parking stickers—and the trailer were left behind. He figured Janis Winters had a good chance at disappearing if she ditched the truck and got out of the game. The possibility made his stomach hollow.

  Odds were she wouldn’t, but this one was hard to predict. Her motive eluded him. Clearly, she had no sympathy and a great deal of contempt and hatred for the Branch Davidians. But it was the law enforcement guys she was killing. Whether or not she would quit would be a whole lot easier to predict if he knew why in the hell she did what she did in the first place.

  When the next team of investigators arrived, Wilson stepped out of the trailer. His cell phone rang. Mendez, according to the caller ID.

  “You pick Edgers up?” Wilson asked. He appreciated Mendez. He was not the kind of southerner you had to be polite to before you got down to business. Wilson wasn’t feeling particularly polite.

  “Somebody else got to him first. His body was discovered at roughly one this morning up in the woods behind the Tennessee Welcome Center between the Kentucky-Tennessee border. Long-haul trucker sleeping over, taking his dog out for a late night walk. Corpse was still warm. Shot four times: once in the arm, once in the stomach, twice in the face. Looks like a nine millimeter from the wounds. Time of death between eleven and one A.M.”

  “Face shots close range?”

  “Very. Killer finishing him off.”

  “You sure it’s him?”

  “No wallet, no cell, but it’s his car, and yeah, I’m sure it’s him. One of his eyes was the right color.”

  “You sensitive bastard, Mendez.”

  “Nothing on him in the way of weapons. He didn’t return fire but he may have been hit before he could. There were no weapons in his car, either, so I’m thinking the killer has them. Guy’s a cop, and a hot dog, he’d have something. There were wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs, and a straitjacket in the backseat of Edgers’s car.”

  “What the hell is that about?”

  “He was obviously meeting somebody.”

  “Yeah, but was it Match.com or Murder Inc.? No Taser and no baling wire? Because Miss Rodeo is long gone.”

  “One thing you should know, Wilson. Word’s out about the Edgers’s deal.”

  “The magical mystery grapevine of law enforcement.”

  “I didn’t tell.”

  “I didn’t think you had, and it sure wasn’t me. Hell, for all we know it was Edgers.” Wilson stepped sideways suddenly, to dodge a man leading a horse. The man gave him an amused smile, but Wilson had no interest in getting within kicking range of animals that weighed over a ton. “Mendez? You still there?”

  “Yeah. Your office had any calls from the media about Edgers confessing?”

  “Not that I know of. Yours?”

  “Not a whisper. Maybe it was Edgers who spilled it.”

  “Who’d he tell?”

  “Cheryl Dunkirk’s sister. Miranda Brady.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It might make a lot of sense. Cory Edgers was murdered last night at the welcome center that happens to be at the halfway point between Lexington and Kate Edgers’s place. Maybe Miranda caught up with him.”

  “You think this sister is capable of something like that?”

  “She struck me as self-centered. Edgy and a little off.”

  “Maybe a couple loose connections?”

  “Definite possibility. The more I think about it the more I like it. It would explain the shooting—arm, stomach, anything to bring him down. Then two bullets right in the face.”

  “She sounds pretty pissed off.” Wilson rocked backward on his heels. “You think she might be heading for Edgers’s wife?”

  “Unpredictable.”

  “It doesn’t seem likely, but I think I’ll head that way. I’ll give Kate Edgers a call, tell her to leave or lock up, and I’ll have the local boys look in.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Kate was in the hayloft when she heard a female voice call her name. Her heart jumped. The deputy had insisted she stay locked in the house. Something to do with Cory. Kate figured if Cory wanted to kill her he’d have done it already, but she’d stayed locked up most of the day. She’d come out only to see the horse. She’d called her mother a couple of hours ago, said the hell with packing, would they please come get her and Leo and bring the horse trailer for Sophie. And she’d warned her mother to expect George.

  Kate looked out the tiny window just under the roof. Just a girl, alone, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. She did not recognize her. The girl called out again, unaware that Kate was studying her through the window at the top of the loft. The girl’s hair was
brown, long and coarse, naturally curly or permed. Her calves looked thick beneath the denim skirt that hung just over her knees. The length was wrong for her height and the waistband cut her off in the middle, giving her a tight, uncomfortable look. She would be pretty enough in the right clothes.

  Kate didn’t know her. She did not look dangerous. And, on second look, she seemed familiar. Probably one of Don and Cathy Madison’s grown daughters.

  Kate put the utility knife in her pocket and headed down the ladder. She latched the stall door on her way out of the barn and looked over her shoulder.

  “Can I help you?” Kate brushed hay off her shirt and out of her hair.

  “Is Cory here?”

  “Cory?” Kate folded her arms, feeling uneasy. “No, he’s not.”

  “I knocked on the front door.”

  Kate grimaced. Leo was no doubt awake again. “Cory isn’t in the house. He isn’t here, I told you.”

  “He was supposed to meet me.” The girl’s voice had gone so petulant Kate expected her to stomp her foot. “You’re Kate, aren’t you? I recognize you from the pictures.”

  The girl smiled, making her round face rounder.

  “Do I know you?”

  “I think you do. My name is Miranda Brady.”

  The girl reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a handgun. A .38 Smith & Wesson; just like one Cory had. And Kate remembered where she’d heard the distinct, little girl voice before.

  “You were in the barn with my husband the other night, weren’t you? I heard you on the baby monitor.”

  The girl pointed the gun at Kate’s stomach.

  Kate put her hands in her pockets, fingers closing around the utility knife. “What are you doing here?”

  Miranda moved closer. She had a dark complexion; her skin had large pores. Kate could see eruptions of whiteheads scattered across the dusky forehead. The girl held the gun in one hand, and furiously chewed the nail of her little finger on the other.

  “You look like a nice person,” Miranda said.

  “I am a nice person.” Kate took the utility knife out of her pocket. There was something about this girl—a weird aura of self-absorbed entitlement, a subtle taint, like meat just before it turns.

  Miranda chewed her bottom lip. “I wonder if this is going to be hard.”

  “If what is going to be hard?”

  “Killing you.”

  Kate stared at her. “Just because you’re having an affair with my husband? He’s left, gone, not coming back. All yours, Miranda.”

  “But that’s your fault, isn’t it?” The girl lifted her chin. “No life of your own, always complaining about his hours, never caring how hard he works, refusing sex. You invented and obsessed over problems with his son just to get attention. I know all about you.”

  “Whatever it is you think you know, take it with you and go. Cory isn’t here, and he’s not coming back.”

  Miranda stopped chewing the nail, and moved even closer. “You don’t believe I’ll do it?”

  Kate grabbed the muzzle of the gun and twisted. She was six inches taller than Miranda, and she had large hands, strong with outdoor work. She could feel it when Miranda flexed her finger and fired. The bullet thudded into the dirt three inches from the end of Kate’s Ariat barn boots, and close enough to Miranda’s peg-laced hiking boot to abrade the leather.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kate felt lightheaded she was so angry. She snatched at the gun again and Miranda leaned into her, bringing the gun barrel up against Kate’s stomach. Miranda closed one eye, drawing a bead.

  “Let the knife drop,” Miranda said.

  Kate complied.

  “Good.” Miranda tilted her head to one side. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

  “My soon to be ex-husband’s slut.”

  The girl did not seem to hear. “I’m Miranda. Miranda Brady.”

  Kate knew that name. “You’re the sister? That’s why you look familiar. Your picture was in the paper. You’re Cheryl Dunkirk’s sister.”

  “I know what you’re going to do, Kate. I know you can’t be trusted. I’m not going to let you ruin everything now that we’ve come this far. Now that Cory and I have found each other, now that we’re together, I’m not letting anything mess it up.”

  “You must be crazy. Don’t you get that my husband killed your sister?”

  “My mother died, you know, when I was a baby girl.” Miranda’s voice was nonchalant. “I don’t even remember her. It was me and my dad, and we did fine, till he decided to get married again. Up and out of the blue, pulls me out of school, moves me from Pittsburgh to Kentucky. Do you know what it was like for me growing up? Motherless, and then my father gets remarried, and to my stepmother who already has the world’s most perfect daughter. Cheryl likes living in Danville, Cheryl wouldn’t be happy in Pittsburgh, why should Cheryl have to change schools in the middle of the year? Miranda can just go to any old school, who cares? Cheryl is two years older, so it makes sense that she should have a later curfew, that she needs a car, and that the music should be turned down because she’s studying. It’s not even my house with Cheryl’s mom taking the place over, even though my dad paid for the whole thing. This is Cheryl’s town, and everybody loves her, she’s everybody’s friend, and she’s so kind, trying to include the little sister. Not a real sister, a stepsister.”

  “So you’re jealous?” Kate took a step backward. “Did you help him? Were you there when he killed your sister?”

  “My sister introduced us; me to Cory. I could see there was a thing between them, that she was attracted to him. She told me about it. That’s one reason she had me meet him—to see what I thought.

  “And when I saw him the first time … it just happened. We fell in love the exact minute we saw each other.”

  “They had a clip of you crying. On CNN. I saw you on the news.”

  “I know, I have it on tape.” Miranda chewed some more on the nail. “It wasn’t like you think, it wasn’t like anybody thinks. Cheryl was out to get Cory. She’s the one who started the whole thing. We were all together that night. Cheryl took me along, for protection, to make sure Cory didn’t get out of hand. She said she needed to see him one last time. She was going to warn him, to tell him to go to the S.A. in charge and tell him everything.

  “I mean, who in the hell is she, Saint Cheryl? Why does she get to dictate the terms, to ruin a man’s career, when he’s spent weeks trying to work a case? He let her in on the details; he was going to make her part it. And what kind of trust did she show him? She said she’d give him twenty-four hours before she went to Hardigree herself. She was going to ruin his career, she was going to humiliate him. What did she think would happen? Did she think Cory would be a good little boy and say yes ma’am?

  “It’s not like Cory planned it, he just panicked. They were yelling at each other, and he pushed her down in the seat. He couldn’t let her report him. I was right there in the back and I could see how hurt he was, how scared. Cheryl was taking away his dreams, everything he ever wanted, everything he’d worked toward for so long.”

  “You didn’t help her?”

  Miranda looked at Kate, but she was seeing something else. “She wasn’t my blood sister, she was my stepsister. But we grew up together; we were close. I couldn’t watch it. She was getting hurt, she couldn’t breathe. And I kept thinking, what if someone was hurting me like that?

  “Then Cheryl went nuts. I think if she had just kept her head, he would have stopped. But she was strong, she fought like crazy, she kicked the windshield out. It was scary. She was so desperate, like some kind of animal.

  “I got out of the car and I ran around to her door. I think I was going to drag her out, get her away. But then … then I thought, no, she’s too far gone. It’s too late to save her. But I couldn’t let her suffer.”

  Kate tried to take another step backward, but Miranda brought the gun up, and she froze.

  “Cheryl’s got thi
s baseball bat, it’s always in the backseat, she plays pickup softball with some guys she knows at Woodland Park. I don’t remember picking it up, but I had it.” Miranda looked at Kate. “I hit her one time, and that was all. At first, you know, it seemed like she was so strong, that nothing could kill her, and then … just that one time. She turned out to be just as fragile as a baby bird. My sister. Do you have a sister?”

  Kate shook her head. She did not have a sister. All things considered, she wasn’t sure a sister was a good thing.

  “It’s funny, you know, but I miss her. And sometimes I feel … I keep seeing Cory wrapping her head in that little pink sweater.” Miranda put one hand to her throat. “Do you know that when something like this happens to you, nothing really changes? That’s the part that surprised me the most. You still have to buy eggs and fix toast and count calories. And you look in the mirror and you look the same. Nobody sees anything different when you go back to work. I think about that a lot. But it can’t be for nothing, right? It’s got to be a destiny thing. It’s Cory and me; it’s fate.”

  Miranda moved close enough that Kate could smell the mint on her breath, and by the time Kate registered the muzzle of the .38 between the buttons of her shirt, Miranda had already squeezed the trigger, and the initial spatter of blood fell like a fine aerosol spray on Miranda’s skirt.

  Miranda, mesmerized by the puppetlike way Kate jerked backward, was aware of the heat of the muzzle of the .38, and the sensation of Kate’s body absorbing the velocity of the close-range bullet. In her mind she replayed the satisfying thunk of the impact, when the bullet struck Kate with such swift and devastating force. It was Miranda who cried out, caught between the intensity of taking a life, the sweet satisfaction of control, and the loss, once again, of the woman she could have been. Miranda’s biggest fear was that no one would understand why she did what she did. She could only be happy with Cory at her side; only Cory could heal her hurts, only Cory could calm her panics.