“She was duped by Harrison. I know, I know,” she said when he gave her a stern look. “That doesn’t excuse what she did.”
“I will refrain from saying anything.”
“How did George know Jeffrey Wainwright?” Anne asked.
“Seems Mr. Wainwright was distantly related through marriage to—you’ll love this—Becky Lawrence.”
“What?”
Gil nodded. “Yep, his mother was Ms. Lawrence’s aunt’s stepson. And she knew he was a waiter at the hotel. In fact, he’d served her several times during your meetings. When the plan was hatched to what she believed was to sicken Ms. Harrison, she gave Wainwright’s name to George.”
“Oh my God, I never suspected that connection.”
“Ms. Lawrence claims she never knew where her ersatz cousin lived, so she had no idea when she dropped Harrison off at the house next door to the apartment, that it was his complex. She also admits to getting a call around one in the morning from Harrison demanding she come pick him up on a corner near—guess where?”
The light bulb lit up in Anne’s mind. “The convenience store. She made some kind of reference to that at the house when George had us under the gun. How did she explain her absence at that hour of the night to her husband?”
“She says she was still up watching TV when the call came in. Mr. Lawrence was in bed sound asleep. He never heard her leave or return. Said the whole trip took less than an hour.”
“And she never questioned why George needed a ride either time?”
“She claims he threatened her and by then, she was too scared to say anything.”
“So when her partner in crime called demanding a ride to Wainwright’s place, she didn’t ask. And, of course, George didn’t want to take a chance on driving his own car and perhaps being seen on surveillance. What was her reaction when she heard about Wainwright’s death?”
“Says she didn’t know until just a couple of days ago that he was dead.”
After I talked to her at the mall.
“Also claims she didn’t think George was involved and she never suspected he had anything to do with the drug trade.”
“I wonder why she took Fran’s purse and hid it in the restroom?”
“We asked her that. She said George told her Fran always carried a lot of money. He didn’t want it to get lost. He suggested leaving it in the stall and that he’d get it on his way out.”
Anne shook her head. “Only, he either forgot or just ignored it. What’s going to happen to Becky?”
“She’ll be charged as an accessory to murder, probably murder one.”
“Doesn’t that carry the death penalty?” Anne asked in alarm. She didn’t want Becky who was basically duped by George Harrison to buy a needle in the arm.
“It could, but most likely she’ll be offered a plea deal in exchange for her testimony against Harrison. He’s the one who’s likely to be put to death, provided he comes out of his coma.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about him.”
“Didn’t think you did. How’s Lisa holding up?”
“Pretty well. She seemed fine this morning. I told both of them to keep quiet about what happened, and if anyone at school asked about Ken being picked up by a police car to just say we’d had a break-in, but everyone was all right.”
Gil nodded. “Good, although I’m sure being a heroine and not able to talk about it is killing her.”
“Probably. Maybe someday.”
“I read through the folders you gave me. They make sense now. Inspection of the furniture on the one list showed false bottoms, hollowed out legs, and numerous other hiding places. The delivery list was to make sure the moving van picked up most of those items on the next trip so they could be used again. The numbers were the weight of the drugs. A digital scale was found in the warehouse at the shop. The last one was who picked up the goodies and the container used. The list of numbers is what was paid to Harrison by the “customer.” Later, a bag man picked up the money and gave Harrison his cut—ten percent. He should never have made that list.”
“I don’t understand why they used Fran’s Fabulous Finds as an outlet. Just more people in the know,” Anne said.
“The cartels ship the drugs to various other countries that turn a blind eye to what’s happening. Then it’s smuggled into the US. Ramirez made the pick up in Miami, hid it in different antiques bought by Harrison and delivered to Ramirez, then redelivered them to Harrison. He, in turn, handed the drugs over to the dealers. As for the number of people involved, well,” he said with a shrug, “there’s also safety in numbers. The more people between Ramirez and the street dealers, the better. Blurs the lines.”
“So that’s it? The case is all wrapped up?”
“Not entirely. As a writer you’re going to love this. Both the FBI and the DEA had Fran’s Fabulous Finds under surveillance for the past few months.”
“What?”
“Seems both agencies had been suspicious of Rodriguez Moving for some time now. Informants tipped them off that the moving company was really owned by Ramirez. The frequent trips to the port followed by trips to the store raised a huge red flag. They were weeks away from making arrests.”
“What irony. You’re right, I may have another story in the making here. The only thing not cleared up is the fake doctor at the meeting.”
“My guess is she was paid by Harrison to make sure the medics didn’t get to his wife too soon. You said that the 9-1-1 call was delayed a few minutes because she claimed to be a doctor,” he replied.
“I know. She was so assertive in what she was doing, we all just stood around and watched,” Anne said with a shake of her head as Gil’s phone rang.
“Collins here… When?” He paused to listen for several seconds. “Are they sure… And they have the guy… Okay, I’ll be right down.” He disconnected. “George Harrison’s dead. Apparently, murdered right in the ICU.”
Her heart rate sped up. “My God, how?”
“One of the station nurses saw a man dressed like an orderly slip into his room. What he didn’t know was that those rooms all have security cameras. The nurse hit the panic button when she viewed him taking a needle out of his pocket and sticking it in Harrison’s arm.”
“Weren’t there policemen at the door?”
“One was on break, and the other was down the hall stretching his legs. The guy took a chance and walked right in. When the alarm sounded, the cop down the hall nabbed the guy in the doorway.”
“Who’d want to kill him at this stage of the game?”
“I’d say someone on orders from Ramirez who wasn’t smart enough to look for cameras in the room did it. And Ramirez would do it on orders from the cartel. There was always a chance he’d come out of that coma and talk. Can’t prove it, of course, unless the guy talks.” He rose and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ve got to go, honey.”
Anne sat back to think as he left. Harrison got what he deserved. She was just unhappy that he was already in a coma and didn’t suffer like his wife had. Greed killed Fran and George. Jeffrey Wainwright was what amounted to collateral damage.
She shivered, thinking how close she and Becky had also come to being another notch in George Harrison’s gun
Chapter Eighteen
Anne sat at her desk determined to finish the chapter she’d begun last week. She and the kids had returned home two days ago, and while Lisa still walked through the foyer with wariness, she was back to her normal self.
Gil called at least once a day, but was busy tying up loose ends with the Harrison case, so she hadn’t seen him. That was due to change tonight. He was taking her out to dinner.
News had spread like wildfire through the chapter about Fran’s murder and Becky Lawrence’s part in it. Anne hoped to put it all behind them after the next meeting. She was certain the chapter would run smoothly now that both Fran and Susan Lynch were gone. Plus, they had a new treasurer, Laura Denbow. She had accounting experience and would do w
ell in the position.
I should feel badly thinking about Fran that way, but she really was a nasty piece of work. She didn’t feel in the least bit sorry to see Susan go.
Jack Holloway, the accountant, had contacted her with the good news that while the chapter had taken a heavy hit financially, they weren’t broke. As close as he could tell, Fran, with Jane’s compliance, had sucked close to five thousand dollars out of the chapter.
Rose and Jen were coming over tomorrow for a critique group meeting. It would seem odd not having Nancy around, but an e-mail a couple of days ago confirmed she and Brad had arrived safely in Papua New Guinea. Next stop was Lae on New Britain, and then on to the volcano.
Anne sighed and pushed her thoughts out of her mind. She had a book to write.
Gil rang the doorbell at precisely seven o’clock. She opened the door and he entered, stopping to give her a hard kiss.
“Hi, honey, how was your day?” he asked.
“Fairly productive. Got a chapter and two more scenes written along with an outline for my next book.”
“Let me guess, it’s all about a woman with food allergies who’s killed in a room full of people.”
She had to laugh. “Straight from the headlines to my eager little mind. How was your day and where are we going for dinner?”
“Interesting, and I was thinking Giovanni’s.”
“Hmmm, Italian. Interesting how? Come on in and have a seat. Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked leading him into the living room.
He remained standing. “No thanks, I’ll wait until we get to the restaurant. Becky Lawrence was officially charged with being an accessory in the murder of Fran Harrison. Her lawyer immediately plea bargained from murder two down to manslaughter two. She accepted and will do the max. Her husband’s attorney served her with divorce papers right there in the courtroom.”
“Ouch, that’s cold. Yet according to Becky’s ramblings the other day, I guessed the marriage was over. Any more on Ramirez?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s in the Feds’ hands, but we did contact the former sales clerk at the shop, Miriam Jackson. She said she’d been suspicious of some of George’s so-called customers for several months. And the financials from the store show that George really did own it and had been peddling drugs out of it for close to four years.”
“So it was only a matter of time. Can’t believe it took Fran that long to figure it out. But then, I guess it would be hard to suspect your own husband of dealing drugs and fixing the books. I’m glad those folders helped.”
“Ah, yes, those folders.”
He said it in such a way as to make Anne hold her breath. “Well, as long as they helped. Shouldn’t we be heading out to the restaurant?”
“In a minute. Yes, they helped, but I’m more interested in where you got them in the first place.”
She squirmed inwardly. “I told you. I accidentally picked them up when I was at Fran’s. They were mixed in with the chapter business.”
Gil stared. “Uh-huh.”
Clearly, he didn’t believe her. She tried again. “I put them aside when I saw they referred to her shop. When I actually got around to reading them, they didn’t make sense. What with Fran investigating offshore accounts and me suspecting she’d been embezzling from the chapter, I thought maybe you could figure it out.”
“Uh-huh.”
His continued staring made her shift her gaze around the room.
“Will you stop saying that?”
He shook his head. “Not a chance in hell. Annie, I can read, too. The printout dates are on the bottom of the pages. All are at least a week after her death and since we’d confiscated her home computer, they didn’t come from there. So where did you get them?”
Damnation! She hadn’t thought about that.
“Promise you won’t get mad?”
“No, I won’t. Come on, honey, spill it. You’re not a very good liar.”
“I don’t think you’re going to be happy with me.”
“I think I’m going to be damned unhappy.”
Anne sighed and told him about her trip to the antique store on Saturday. She’d lit the match and put it to the fuse. As predicted, he exploded.
“Are you crazy! What if you’d been caught? Jeez, baby, why on earth did you do it? No, don’t answer that! You won’t have a good excuse.”
“I know. I got carried away. I realized it was a stupid idea as soon as I’d done it, but I couldn’t very well take them back, could I?”
“Annie, you’re killing me here.”
If she was coming clean, she might as well admit everything. “George confessed that he’d seen me on a surveillance camera and sent Carlos to look for them while I was out. He was my intruder.”
“I know. We, the FBI, and DEA rounded up quite a few of Ramirez’s men along with Ramirez. Carlos admitted George told him to find the folders. The guy we caught at the hospital was some crack head working off a debt. He also confessed to killing Harrison on orders from someone in Ramirez’s organization.” He paused and ran his hand through his hair. “The way I see it, there’s only one way to keep you from playing Jessica Fletcher.”
While she deserved the tirade, his words irritated her all the same.
“And what would that be?”
“We get married! That way I can keep an eye on you.”
The breath left her lungs in a huge gasp and her heart beat ramped up to ramming speed. Married? Part of her was elated. Another part was pissed off.
“Married? Keep an eye on me? Why?”
His expressions softened as he pulled her toward him and folded her into his arms.
“Because you have this horrible propensity for getting into trouble. Besides, I love you, you beautiful little idiot.”
His lips found hers. For the next few seconds, she forgot her irritation and reveled in the moment before finally pulling away.
“Idiot? I am not an idiot—a little careless, perhaps, but not an idiot, and what the hell kind of proposal was that?”
“The one I’m making! I’m not good at this sort of thing. Ask my ex-wives.”
“Bringing up your ex-wives at a time like this is not good salesmanship.”
“Maybe not, but… but damn! If you want me down on one knee, then I’ll do it.” His expression clearly stated he’d comply, but wouldn’t like it. “So, what’s your answer?”
Anne had to laugh. “That’s the craziest proposal I’ve ever heard, including the one from Jimmy Hartwell when I was six years old.”
“It’s not funny!”
“Yes, it is.” She ceased laughing. “Of course, I’ll marry you. When?”
He smiled and ran a gentle finger down her cheek. “The sooner, the better. Who knows when the next body will pop up.”
“Oh, you!” She playfully punched him in the shoulder. “But I do think we’ll need a few months to get the arrangements made.”
“All right, but remember, no more sleuthing.”
“Whatever you say, dear.”
He rolled his eyes as if knowing full well, she didn’t mean it. Bruno trotted into the living room and barked as though giving it his seal of approval.
She clamped her arms around his neck. “I love you, Gil Collins.”
Their lips met again. Marriage—the perfect ending.
A word about the author…
I was born in Indianapolis, Indiana, but have been fortunate enough to live in several diverse cities—St. Louis, Missouri; Rockford, Illinois; Memphis, Tennessee; and Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I have two adult children and seven grandchildren. My husband and I recently moved back to Memphis to be nearer to family.
Much of my spare time is used to indulge in my guilty pleasures like floating around in my pool on a hot summer day. And if I happen to think up a good plot line while doing so, all the better. I also have little containers of ice cream stashed in out of the way places in my freezer.
I love writing and hope readers enjoy the journey of
my stories along with me.
Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
For questions or more information
contact us at
[email protected].
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers
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A Taste of Death Page 25