His friend took another gulp of his beer. “You saw the Seven-Eleven video . . .”
“Yeah, but for a while, I thought you could have done it.”
“Well, that video clears me.” Vic chuckled. “I think of all the crap you gave me about not shoplifting or causing trouble while I was in town on Lopez. Well, stealing those beers and making trouble on camera in that Seattle store got me out of a murder rap—and I didn’t even know it. What a stroke of luck. They could have framed me, too. My prints are all over that house, and like you were constantly reminding me, people in town on Lopez saw me hanging around.” He raised his glass. “Let’s drink to luck . . .”
Joe hesitated. But then he raised his glass and sipped the beer.
“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Vic said. “Chug it.”
But Joe put the glass down, and he started pacing again. He wondered how his friend could be so calm when, according to him, they had less than an hour to get out of there. It didn’t make any sense. With everything happening right now, Vic wanted to stand there, drink beer, and chew the fat.
Didn’t Vic feel the time crunch? Joe felt it, because he didn’t want anything going wrong when Mrs. Gretchell returned. He wanted Vic out of the house and long gone.
He wanted Vic out of the house.
Joe suddenly realized that he really didn’t want to go with him.
“Vic, Mrs. Gretchell was right,” he said. “The deal she offered you was really nice. We—we need to split up, you and I. It’s the only way. Why don’t you take that dead guy’s car and hit the road now. It’ll give you a head start. I’ll stay here and make sure no one calls the cops for two or three hours, however long you need.”
“Shit, you really must be crazy, kiddo. You think the police will go easy on you? You’ll get into a shit-load of trouble for aiding and abetting. And that’s just for starters.”
“I don’t care,” Joe said, “as long as it’s not murder.”
“Sit still for a couple of minutes. Finish your beer.”
Joe shook his head. “I can’t.”
Vic frowned. “So—after all I’ve done to save your ass, you’re ready to split up, just like that?”
Joe finally stopped pacing and gave him a weak smile. “It would be the last time you’d have to save my ass, Vic.”
His friend stared at him, and then laughed. “Okay, yeah, sure, fine.” But the smile ran away from his face. “Only you have to promise me a few things. Before I leave, I’m taking some of the silver and crystal. I’ll need to hock it for cash later. Also, like I said before, we’ll have to slip the little brat a downer—or at least half a pill—just to make sure he doesn’t wake up and start bawling before mama gets home. And his sister upstairs, the princess, we still need to tie her up. Once I leave, you’ve got to promise me that the bedroom door will stay closed and barred. I don’t want you talking to her or anything. You’re such a sap. I can see her luring you into the room and using the kid as bait. He’s sick, or some such shit—and bam, she’ll clobber you over your fat head with something. And she’d have the cops here before I even reach the highway. She’s a sneaky, resourceful little bitch. So promise me, she stays tied up until her mama gets home. And for the duration, you stay clear of her. That’s non-negotiable.”
Joe balked at the idea of doing anything else to the poor girl. She’d been through enough. But if it got Vic out of the house, then Joe would help tie her up.
He looked at his friend and nodded. “Okay, I promise.”
“Drink up!” Vic said. He opened a couple of drawers until he found the dish towels. He grabbed a bunch and set them on the counter. Then he pulled out his switchblade, clicked it open, and started cutting strips from the towels.
Joe realized Vic was fashioning restraints out of the rags—for Sophie.
“Why aren’t you drinking?” Vic asked. “You aren’t going to have one last beer with me?”
Though he didn’t want it, Joe took a big gulp. “Um, I—I thought I heard a car,” he lied. “But maybe not . . .”
Vic stopped working on the towels and headed toward the front of the house.
Joe quickly moved into the kitchen and poured his beer down the sink drain.
“False alarm,” Vic announced, returning to the kitchen.
Joe was holding the empty glass to his lips. He set it on the counter. “Boy, I shouldn’t have drunk that so fast,” he murmured.
“Pussy,” Vic chuckled. With his knife, he went back to making strips from the dish towels. “We weren’t thinking ahead. We knew we’d probably have to tie up a few people. Before we came here, we should have bought some rope—and tape.”
Joe listened to the ripping sound as his friend tore up the towels.
“I’ll bet they have rope and tape down in the basement,” Vic continued, with his back to him. “We should have looked for some before I nailed shut the door. Oh, well, last time we ever make that mistake . . .”
Joe gazed at his friend hunched over his work.
“Yes,” he murmured. “The last time . . .”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Tuesday—11:48 P.M.
Wenatchee, Washington
Irv’s Lounge was a dive.
Walking into the hole-in-the-wall tavern off Wenatchee’s main drag, Laura wasn’t sure who she should be looking for. She didn’t see any college-age girls at the bar, at the tables, or in any of the booths—at least not at first glance. There weren’t any women over near the two pool tables either. The tavern’s cheaply paneled walls were decorated with neon beer signs and tinsel garlands of red and green that had seen better days. Several of the mini-bulbs were burnt out on the strings of Christmas lights strung around the bar. The place looked pretty dead.
Yet Laura could hear people laughing and hooting, and a woman singing a drunken, off-key rendition of Linda Ronstadt’s “You’re No Good.” Someone yelled at her, “You’re no good!” That got a big laugh. Laura couldn’t tell where all the noise came from. The TV by the bar was showing a foreign soccer game on mute.
She was a few minutes late, but wondered if she’d made it there before Courtney. Or maybe Courtney never had any intention of meeting her—and this was just a waste of time.
Laura had been standing by the door for so long that a skinny, middle-aged waitress approached her. She had a bad perm and smelled like cigarettes. “If you’re here for karaoke, it’s upstairs.”
“Oh, thank you,” Laura said. “Actually, I was looking for a girl—around college age . . .”
“So’s most every guy in the joint, honey,” said the waitress. She nodded toward the pool tables at the other end of the bar. “Try upstairs.”
Laura glanced over at the booths as she walked toward the alcove on the other side of the pool tables. She didn’t see anyone—except a sad-looking older couple who were drinking and not talking to each other.
In the dark alcove, Laura passed by the restrooms and headed up a grimy stairway. She kept thinking that Courtney might have set her up. Maybe instead of finding Courtney here, a man looking very much like “Zared” from Joe’s sketches would find her. Laura kept thinking about her conversation with Courtney earlier tonight—along Highway 2. While the black BMW must have been following her for quite a while, it didn’t start to approach her until minutes after she’d told Courtney where she was.
Then again, maybe that was just a coincidence.
The second floor of Irv’s was where it was all happening. The place was crowded and noisy with drunken patrons. At the standing microphone on the karaoke stage, a stocky, middle-aged man in a cowboy hat had taken over for the woman who had been butchering “You’re No Good.” He sang a passable rendition of “Ring of Fire.” The room had its own bar, more neon beer signs on the walls, and more tacky Christmas decorations.
Laura scanned the faces of the patrons sitting at the bar and at the tables. She didn’t see any college-age girls. Nor did she see any men who looked like the subject of Joe’s drawi
ngs.
“Buy you a drink, pretty lady?”
Laura turned and stared at the short, balding, middle-aged man who looked like Danny DeVito. He’d snuck up to her side.
“No, but thank you,” Laura said. “I’m here looking for a friend.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Laura worked up a weak chuckle and then turned away. She figured she was better off waiting for Courtney downstairs.
Halfway down the steps, she heard someone behind her. “Are you Laura?”
She swiveled around to see a woman in a blue eiderdown vest, skinny jeans, and a knit cap. With one hand on the banister, she stared down at her.
“Courtney?” Laura asked.
She nodded. “Are you here alone?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone follow you here?”
“I don’t think so,” Laura said. “At least, I haven’t noticed anyone for the last half hour or so.”
“Good. Let’s talk downstairs. There are more exits—in case I need to leave in a hurry.”
They sat in one of the booths. Courtney wanted to be facing the front door so she could check any new arrivals. She seemed extremely nervous. The waitress took their drink orders. Laura asked for a club soda. Courtney ordered a gin and tonic, then sat back in the booth and unzipped her eiderdown vest. But she left the knit cap on. Some of her blond hair wasn’t completely hidden by it. She didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup. She looked a bit rough around the edges. But Laura imagined Courtney with her hair down and just a little mascara and lipstick—and she was probably a knockout.
“So—did you really know Joseph Mulroney when he was a child?” she asked.
Laura nodded. “As I told you, I was his teacher. I was pretty surprised to hear from him out of the blue this morning.”
Courtney let out a little laugh. “I’ll bet. So—what did you want to ask me?”
“Joe insists he didn’t kill the Singletons. I thought you might have a pretty good idea who did.”
“Maybe,” Courtney allowed. “My roommate, Lisa, said you claimed to be Randall Meacham’s mother. So I’m guessing you talked to some kids at Western and ended up getting an earful from Randall. Is that how you heard my name?”
Laura nodded. “He said you handled a lot of the recruiting for the church and you were—pretty intimate with both Eric Vetter and Scott Singleton.”
As soon as the words had come out of her mouth, Laura regretted it. If Courtney was still working with the church, if she was involved in any of the recent deaths, how long would it be before Randall had an unfortunate, fatal accident?
“Well, that Randall sure likes to talk, doesn’t he?” Courtney said. “But he’s right. I met Eric and Scott four years ago. They were at Lake Chelan for some conference. I was working as a maid in the resort where they stayed. I guess you could say Scott just sort of swept me off my feet. Eric made sure I was comfortable and well provided for. Through the church, Eric set me up with a scholarship to Western, and even paid my room and board. Then I started working for the church. I guess Randall told you a bit about how we recruited some of the college kids.”
Laura nodded.
“Well, that’s how Eric recruited me. Did Randall tell you about the home movies?”
She nodded again. “Yes.”
The waitress returned with their drinks. There was a small, decorative plastic monkey with its tail curled over the rim of Laura’s glass.
“How come I didn’t get one of those?” Courtney asked no one in particular, since the waitress had already left. She nodded at Laura’s club soda. “Could I have the monkey? I kind of collect them.”
“Of course.” Laura handed it to her.
“Thank you,” Courtney said, carefully setting the plastic trinket on the table in front of her. She sipped her gin and tonic. “Anyway, about the movies, I starred in several of them. With the first two, I didn’t know I was being filmed at the time. But then Eric told me, and I went along with all the others. I know what you must think. But I would have done anything they wanted me to do. They were paying for my school, and I was crazy about Scott. He told me he enjoyed seeing me with other guys. And Eric, well, he was like a father to me. I never had a father. They were like family, kind of a dysfunctional, incestuous one—but a family just the same . . .”
She stopped talking to study a couple coming into the bar. They walked past the booth and headed to the alcove on the other side of the pool tables. Upstairs, a tone-deaf woman was trying to channel Annie Lennox with her version of “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This).” At the pool table, someone just broke a new rack of balls.
Courtney squirmed a bit and took another sip of her drink. “Do you know who Lawrence and Marilee Cronin are?”
“They’re—or they were—Scott Singleton’s partners in the church.”
“Co-ministers,” Courtney said. “They came into the picture about three years ago. They pretty much made Scott and his church into the multimillion-dollar business it is. They knew how to cash in on Scott’s name. Eric thought they were a couple of parasites. He never liked them. And Scott, he loathed Marilee. Anyway, Lawrence and Marilee aren’t as stupid as they come across on TV. It didn’t take them long to figure out what Eric and Scott were doing with some of the college students they’d recruited. They thought Eric was a major liability to the organization, and decided to nip it in the bud by offering him a big chunk of money to dissociate himself from the church—and from Scott. Eric was insulted. But Scott backed the Cronins and told his friend to take the buyout. I remember Eric telling me, ‘I’m not taking that hush money and just disappearing like one of his fast fucks.’” Courtney shrugged and took a swig of her drink. “Pardon the language. I usually don’t swear . . .”
“It’s okay,” Laura murmured. It struck her as odd that this young woman who starred in homemade porn movies and drank then apologized for cursing. Maybe that was the side of her that had embraced the church for a while.
Laura stole a glance at her wristwatch. She had to call her mother at the hospital in fifteen minutes. “Please, go on,” she said.
“Well, I was very disappointed in Scott,” Courtney said. “He sort of dropped me and Eric around the same time. He could have stood up for his friend, but he didn’t. He told me that he was going to clean up his act, and I thought, ‘Oh, yeah, like fun you will.’ I knew he’d go on doing whatever—and whoever—he wanted. He thought he was invincible. He thought the Cronins wouldn’t touch him. After all, he was their golden boy. The church would fold without him.”
She sipped her drink. “Anyway, so Eric was on his way out. Not only was he a potential embarrassment, but his college recruiting program with the scholarships cost the church a lot more money than it made. The Cronins planned on dropping the program as soon as they got rid of Eric. But Eric wasn’t going quietly. He demanded more money—and told Lawrence and Marilee about the DVDs, some of them featuring their golden boy in all sorts of—compromising positions. He told them that some of us Messengers who worked for him could be persuaded to testify that everything we did—however unscrupulous or scandalous—we did for the church.”
She sighed and gulped down the rest of her gin and tonic. “Anyway, it was a dumb move on Eric’s part. He didn’t know just how deadly serious Marilee and Lawrence were. They have a couple of goons who work for them. Eric called them the two Teds—Ted Houser and Ted Flint. He could never keep straight which one was which. They handle security . . .” Courtney paused to give the word security air quotes. “The Teds took care of all sorts of things for the Cronins and the church. They collected money and intimidated former church members to keep their mouths shut. They did the bribing and extorting, and occasionally made certain troublesome people disappear.”
“They sound like hit men,” Laura said.
Courtney nodded. “That’s basically what they were. Not long after Eric told Marilee and Lawrence what to do with their buyout offer, the two Teds paid me a visit at Birnam Wood. They thre
atened to kill me. They said it would look like an accident.” Courtney’s voice started quavering. “They said they knew where my mom lived, and they’d pay her a visit if I didn’t cooperate. They asked me if I had any of the DVDs. They scared the you-know-what out of me. I told them that Eric and Scott were the only ones who had access to the porn. I said the DVDs were probably at Eric’s cabin near La Conner. I promised I wouldn’t say anything to anybody. That night, I packed up what I could and left school. I just had to get out of there . . .”
Laura remembered what Randall had told her about a conversation between Doran Wiley and the other recruiter, Ben, that had occurred shortly before Eric Vetter was killed. “Some shit’s going down,” Ben had said—or words to that effect.
“This was before Eric was killed in the fire, wasn’t it?” Laura asked.
Courtney winced and a tear slid down her cheek. “Two days before,” she whispered. She wiped her cheek. “I—I can’t help thinking I practically sent the Teds to him. I could have lied about where Eric kept the DVDs. Anyway, I’m almost positive that’s why they decided to burn the cabin down with him in it. You know, two birds, and all . . .”
“It sounds to me like you didn’t have any choice,” Laura said.
Courtney gave a sad little shrug. “Anyway, I’ve been pretty much hiding and watching my back ever since. On Saturday, when I heard the news about Scott and his family, I knew who was behind it. Your former student, Joe, I’m sure he didn’t do it. The police could’ve found him covered in blood, holding a knife and standing over Scott’s dead body, and I’d still say they had the wrong guy. He couldn’t have done it—unless Marilee and Lawrence put him on their secret payroll.”
“So—it was the Teds,” Laura said, reaching for her purse.
Courtney nodded. “Working for Marilee and Lawrence Cronin.”
Laura took out a pen. “What did you say the Teds’ last names were?”
“Ted Houser and Ted Flint.”
Laura scribbled the names on her cocktail napkin.
“Your former student is innocent.” Courtney said. “I mean, for starters, how could he have tied up all those people by himself? And why would he torture Scott? That’s how one of the newscasters described it. They said he was beaten up. I heard that, and I knew. The Teds had to beat it out of him. Most of the DVDs burned in Eric’s cabin fire, but Scott still had some. If any of them had been found, it would have been a huge embarrassment to the church. It was like the Cronins sent the Teds to clean Scott’s house for them. I could imagine Scott telling them to go to hell when they asked him to surrender those DVDs. I’m sure he finally told them where the DVDs were once they threatened to start killing the wife and kids.”
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