Scot Free

by Catriona McPherson

  I looked at Todd and managed to squeeze out a tear. It was easy. I’d sweated cheap sun block into my lashes crossing the car park and my eyes were stinging.

  “I think we should just let him finish his round. It’s the last round he’s ever going to play before we tell him the news.” Todd nodded and winked with the eye furthest from the hostess. I turned back to her. “If we could just wait. There’s … nothing to rush for.”

  “Is everyone okay?” she said. “In his family?”

  “I’m afraid not,” I said.

  “Oh my God,” said the child. She licked the gloss right off her lips. Maybe it wasn’t a zit after all. Maybe this was a nervous habit and she’d licked herself raw. “Did his wife make it home okay? It didn’t happen near here, did it?”

  “She did not make it home,” I said. She hadn’t; she lived in Texas. “But the death happened off the golf club property.” It had; Clovis died at Casa Bombaro.

  “Oh my God!” said the child. She put up her hand and picked at the sore. Maybe she’d get through the summer without any of the lecherous doctors bothering her after all. “Please sit down. Can I bring you a cold drink? It’s so hot.”

  “Just a glass of white wine,” said Todd. It sounded so much like just a glass of water until so near the end that the child was unfooted and only nodded and scurried away. She brought one for me too.

  Todd raised his glass to me before he drank. “Masterful,” he said. “And since you were trying to be a total porn-star Pinocchio with the twelve-inch nose and yet tell no actual lies … I’m assuming we’ve got some real bad news to deliver.”

  “Ew,” I said. I swore I’d never say that. Like I swore I’d never use the drive-through postbox, eat raw kale in a salad, or download an app to help me count sit-ups. But in the end, California got me.

  ∞

  Jan “Bang-Bang” Dolshikov emerged into the foyer of the clubhouse from its nether regions about twenty minutes later, with a towel round his neck and rubber mob-caps over his golf shoes to stop them spiking the parquet.

  “Wait,” said Todd, watching him approach. “That’s the husband of that dumpy chick in the bad shorts? No way.”

  “Poor Sparky,” I said. I stood up. “Jan? Lexy. We met at Visalia’s the other day?”

  “If you’re looking for my wife,” he said, biting the word off and narrowing his eyes, “she flaked out on me and went running home.”

  Wow. What a prick.

  I didn’t say the words but, from the look he gave me, I think they might have been printed on my face. He turned away and stalked out, the rubber bundles on his shoes making the kind of squeaky clumping noise that could ruin a much grander exit.

  “So your golf game was ruined, eh?” I said as I caught him up halfway down the steps.

  “I had to ask to join the couple ahead of us, like a fifth wheel,” he said.

  “Third, surely,” said Todd. “But never mind that, we need to talk to you. Should we get into your car and turn the air on?”

  “I have nothing to say to you,” he told us, “I don’t know who killed my uncle-in-law and I don’t much care. He was a stubborn old fool who didn’t know when to step aside. My wife spent her life tiptoeing round him and expected me to do the same. I didn’t get where I am today by letting old men, labor unions, or family slow me down.”

  “Now,” said Todd, “was it Gandhi or Mother Teresa who said that?”

  “It’s good of you to be here supporting her,” I said, “given that you feel that way.”

  “I’m here to make sure the factory keeps running smoothly,” said Jan.

  “Oh, come off it,” I said. “I mean, yeah I get it—alpha male, blood on the boardroom floor, yeah, yeah. But keep it real.”

  Jan regarded me steadily. “Did you have something you wanted to ask?” he said.

  “Yes. How did Serpentina get here so quickly?” I thought if I accused his wife, even obliquely, he’d spring to her defence. “Visalia can’t understand how she made such good time unless she knew in advance she’d be needed.”

  “Well, of course she knew in advance,” Jan said.

  That was easy, I thought.

  “We were coming to lay out the new business plan. Post-merger.”

  “Right,” I said. “Boomshik-a!”

  “Bullshit-a! I already said to you I’d never let family sentiment get in the way of business, and the Dolshikov name is a bigger brand.”

  “What about your cousins?” I asked. “Are they ‘building the brand’?”

  “Exactly,” Jan said. “Their Bill and Melinda routine gives me cover for smarter business dealings than I’d have otherwise, in Dallas or in Jersey. But now I have a wife to take care of all that crap, I can let them get back to doing what they’re best at. They’ll be taking over in California.”

  “How did you meet your wife, Mr. Dolshikov?” said Todd suddenly.

  “I flew to New York to a dinner I knew she’d been attending and wooed her.”

  “And was the marriage your idea,” I added, “or did the whole board have to vote?” His eyes had narrowed to Voldemort-nostril dimensions. He didn’t answer me. “And what makes you think Visalia will just ‘step aside’?”

  He made a sound I didn’t immediately recognize as a laugh. “Whether she’s headed to Sicily or solitary, she’s out.”He opened his SUV, kicked the booties off his shoes, dropped the towel from around his neck, and, leaving all of it lying on the hot tarmac, he climbed in and drove away.

  “Wow. That guy is a prick,” said Todd, my twin soul.

  “Yep, he only wanted Sparky so he could get his mitts on the West Coast. And Sparky’s just wising up to it now.”

  “Did she never look in a mirror and wonder?” Todd said, beeping open Kathi’s SUV. “The open dating market doesn’t make mistakes like that.”

  I grimaced. That little pearl of wisdom was quite a bit too close to home. “He definitely thinks Visalia bumped Clovis off, doesn’t he?” I said.

  “Or he’s pretending to so we don’t suspect it was him,” Todd said. “Oh God, it’s too hot. Let’s go back, have cool showers and naps, and get together later over a jug of margaritas. Try to think this through.”

  I lifted my bum up off the seat, hoping to get the cold draft a bit further up my shorts. Maybe even out at the waistband if I was lucky. “If anyone in the factory got wind of the Dolshikov take-over, it puts the kibosh on them harming Clovis, doesn’t it?”

  “Does that help my mom?”

  “Not really,” I said. “The more suspects the merrier, in that regard.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Todd. “Would you stop dry-humping the a/c and put your seatbelt on, please?”

  I let my bum drop onto the seat again.

  “Unless they thought the Dolshikov take-over was Clovis’s idea. No, listen! If anyone at the factory heard about the Sicily retreat and the Dolshikov offensive and thought they were two halves of the same coin, they’d want to stick a spanner in it, wouldn’t they?”

  “Stick a what? And that’s a lot of big ifs, Lexy.”

  “Just sayin’.”

  “Well, how about this then?” Todd said, as we rumbled under the bridge, in sight of the motel. “What if Sparky knew deep down that Jan only wanted her for her merger potential. Wouldn’t she have a great motive to make sure nothing got in the way of it? If she knew her uncle would disapprove of the marriage and never agree to her plans, maybe she killed him.”

  “She was on a plane from Dallas.”

  “But whoever it is we’re blaming,” said Todd, “we know they must have had an accomplice. There was one to set it up and one to cut him loose.”

  “I’ve got two problems with that,” I said. “Why wouldn’t accomplices coordinate at least enough to make sure the right one had the handcuff keys? And also, how do the cops know
that the handcuffs weren’t opened by keys? And three, why didn’t Mike the cop know what handcuffs I was talking about? I watched her face and she had no idea. But that’s what she told Bilbo—handcuffs and ankle-cuffs.”

  We had arrived and parked in the shade of the balcony.

  “So we’ve achieved absolutely nothing today at all, have we?” said Todd.

  Just then Della’s door opened and little Diego came bounding out, clapping his hands in anticipatory glee.

  “Oh, Jesus,” I said. “We’ve achieved this.”

  “I got it,” said Todd. “I’ll tell him there’s three fishies coming tomorrow.”

  “I owe you,” I said. “Interior design, lingerie, car hire—Oh! Your car’s parked at the cop shop, by the way.”

  “Roger drove it home.”

  “So yeah. Car hire, food and drink, pet procurement, companionship … ”

  “Fucking with your louse of an ex-husband … ”

  “Invaluable,” I told him. “Can’t put a price on that.”

  ∞

  For some reason, once I was out of my tepid shower and had the first half-pint of frosty pinot grigio down me, I phoned my mum. Maybe it was seeing Todd with Barb; maybe it was listening to the icy blast of Jan talking about his marriage; maybe it was the thought of Dorabelle sitting all alone in that ridiculous house with her edited memories. Part of it was saying to Todd I’d be at the airport headed east as soon as this case was closed and I was off the hook for Visalia’s bail. Not having a job or a flat to go back to was bothering me. Funny. Never bothered me before.

  Who knows. I dialled the number and it was only when my mum answered, groggy and strained after one ring, that I remembered the time difference. It was three o’clock in the morning.

  “Mum, I’m sorry. I zoned out and forgot. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Didn’t mean to wake me? What did you think I’d be doing at this time of day? Of course, you woke me.”

  “I forgot the time,” I said.

  “Lexy,” I heard her say over her shoulder. “She’s fine. Just felt like phoning and so she just phoned. Sleep be damned.”

  “It was a mistake,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”

  “Oh? Another hard day charging fifty pounds an hour for a chat and taking your poor husband’s credit card for walkies?”

  If she knew how much I really charged an hour, she’d never sleep again.

  “I don’t have a husband, Mum.”

  “You’ve a stubborn streak a mile wide, Lexy. You were the same when you were a wee girl. Buying your own treats. Teaching yourself to read.”

  “I sound like a nightmare,” I said. “Anyway, I’ll call back at a more civilised hour. Give Dad my love.”

  “Is that it?” she said. “Half a minute when we haven’t heard from you for weeks?”

  “Since Sunday.”

  “Call that a phone call? That was even shorter than this one.”

  “You cuddle down again and go back to sleep, Mum,” I said. “I’ll talk to you in the morning. Teatime, I mean.”

  She snorted. “Putting it off already.”

  “Or, here’s a thought: You call me.”

  “In America?”

  “Probably best if you want to catch me.”

  “I can’t go calling America. There’s a special code you have to know and heaven knows how expensive it is.”

  “So I’ll speak to you tomorrow morning my time. Teatime your time. Sleep tight. Sweet dreams.”

  I put the phone down and stared at the bottle of wine. Or rather, at the wine bottle. Because it was empty.

  Twenty

  I woke up to the pink light of a California dawn, the pulsing heat of a July day that meant business, and the familiar morning sounds of the Last Ditch Motel. Screams, banging doors, pounding feet, and angry voices firing threats of health inspectors and Yelp.com.

  I couldn’t face it. I pulled the sheet, slightly damp with sweat, over my head and lay in the dove-grey tent, running my tongue over my teeth and deciding that a bottle of wine before bed wasn’t the perfect mouthwash. I even asked myself if living in the Beige Barn, charging by the hour for chats, and taking long walks through the mall with Branston’s credit card would really have been so bad. I thought of how I could have filled every evening: yoga night, book club, midweek mani-pedi, movie night, Spanish evening class. And that would only have left two long empty days every weekend to co-exist with a philandering dentist in mustard golf trousers. I dozed off, thanking my stars I’d never have to.

  Then someone a foot away cleared their throat.

  I snapped my eyes open.

  Todd, Kathi, and Noleen were gathered around my bed like the Magi.

  “What, was Roger busy?” I said. I saw a ghost of a smile hitch up Kathi’s mouth on one side before she brought the shutters down. Noleen’s face had the shutters nailed down and the nail heads soldered over. And Todd looked close to tears. He had a cup of tea for me, but he couldn’t meet my eye as he handed it over.

  “I missed the margaritas,” I said. “Sorry. I was just so tired.” Unfortunately, as I sat up, the edge of the bedsheet caught the empty wine bottle and it toppled, hit the floor and rolled away. It didn’t even hit the wall. It found the half-open bathroom door and bumped down onto the tiles to roll a bit further.

  “Why didn’t you come out when you heard the commotion?” said Todd.

  “Tired,” I said again. “Too tired to walk in a straight line. What happened?”

  “What’s your greatest fear, Lexy?” said Kathi.

  I took a sip of the tea. Todd had hit his mark, as ever. It was hot, strong, milky, and sweet. Add a bacon and egg sandwich made with doorstep slices from an unsliced loaf and my hangover was history. I glanced at him but he was staring dolefully at me. Not a chirp, not a twinkle. Even his diamond ear studs looked murky.

  “Oh, you know. The icecaps melting, dying alone. The usual.”

  Kathi nodded grimly. “Not raccoons,” she said. “Dead or alive.”

  I took another big jolting step back to full consciousness. I had showered the night before in the bathtub of death and it hadn’t even crossed my mind.

  “Why?” I said. “What’s happened.”

  “Is someone paying you?” said Todd.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

  Noleen startled me when she suddenly grabbed my bedsheet and twitched it right off the bed, exposing me and making me slop a huge slick of tea over my silk teddy. “Up!” she said. “Come on. Come and look me in the eye while we’re both standing right there and ask me again what happened in that bogus accent.”

  She grabbed me hard round my upper arm and yanked me to my feet.

  “Steady,” said Kathi. “She’s just the sort to report you for assault. She’s in deep with the cops, remember.”

  “I’m sorry, Lexy,” Todd said. “But it does seem kind of hard to swallow. The bugs and now this.”

  “Now what?” I asked. Pleaded maybe. But I didn’t have to wait long. Noleen was hustling me along the balcony to the far end.

  “They were trying to get to Ashland, but they couldn’t drive any farther, so they pulled off and checked in here. Just to sleep a few hours and be on their way. A sweet couple. Retired from the dispatch office in the Kern County sheriff’s office. Not easy people to rattle. But how would you like to flop down into this bed?” Here she broke off to open the door of Room 216 and shove me across the threshold. “Look in that bed,” she said. Then she went to the door and stood behind Kathi.

  “And don’t worry,” Kathi said. “It’s not a melting ice cap or a lonely death under there.”

  I took hold of the edge of the blanket and lifted it an inch or two, peered in, saw nothing. Noleen took another step backwards. I lifted the blanket up a little hi
gher. There were a few dark spots on the top sheet below it. With my other hand I took hold with my fingernails and peeked underneath.

  In the last week, I had seen a dead client, a dead raccoon, a swarm of disgusting red insects whose hobby was shitting, a swarm of disgusting blue insects whose hobby was egg-laying, a sociopathic golfer, a child-molesting golfer, and Bran. Anyone would think I’d be past caring what was under that sheet.

  Anyone would be wrong.

  It made me think of rosti, called hash browns in these parts. Thin strands of grated potato, tangled together to make a little cake, crisp on the outside and moist within.

  Except this was a massive cake, four feet across, and dark brown, and the individual strands, matted and woven together, drying at the edges but still wet in the middle, were not grated potato but …

  “Worms,” I said. And my stomach detached itself from its usual foundations and rolled forward, over, and back up again, finishing at the base of my throat with a sour little gust of air.

  “And what did Noleen tell you yesterday?” said Kathi. “Just you. No one else in earshot.”

  I swung round and hurried over to where Noleen was standing out on the balcony, feet planted wide apart, arms folded, face pale.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I said. “I know it feels like it’ll help, but it’s better to breathe deep. And turn round and look a long way into the distance. Look at that tree over there that’s been trimmed to miss the power lines. It looks like Popeye.”

  “How could you?” said Noleen. “We took you in.”

  “I couldn’t and I didn’t,” I said. “Cross my heart and hope to get married to Bran again. I would never do something so terrible to my worst enemy, and you are the nearest thing I’ve got to a friend in five thousand miles.”

  “Me?” said Noleen.

  “All of you.”

  “You didn’t do this?” said Noleen. I shook my head. “It’s just that I told you yesterday and then Blammo!—here they are. It seemed pretty undeniable. Why else would there be worms all of a sudden? And after the bugs and the raccoon … it all happened after you got here.”

  “Well, yes but … ” I said. I scraped around my brain for a kind way to say creepy, yucky stuff happens here all the time and, unsurprisingly, I failed. And actually, while I thought about it, the beetroot-related (possibly ketchup) plumbing fail had been after my first night in 213.