“Or we can go somewhere else where my dress will be appropriate.”
“I’ll meet you there at noon.” His voice had lost its cordial tone. “You won’t be able to enter the restaurant until I get there to escort you in. Members only.”
“I’m familiar with country club restrictions. I’ll wait at the entrance.”
She hung up.
“Good job! Now we’re getting somewhere.” Charley gave her a thumbs-up.
Irene walked slowly to the sofa and sat down. Amanda considered for a moment if she should run upstairs and try to avoid this conversation. But only for a moment. She could do that sort of thing to her mother but not to Irene. She sank down on the cushion beside her.
“My mama raised me and my three sisters with an iron hand,” Irene said. “We went to a very strict church, and Mama made sure none of us girls could go against the church teachings.” She shook her head. “I loved my mama, but I didn’t like being clamped down like that. I raised my kids with a lot more freedom. I always tried to let them make their own mistakes and learn to fly on their own. And that’s worked real good, most of the time. But I’ve often wondered if I should have been stricter with Charley, insisted on knowing what he was doing instead of respecting his privacy. If I’d clamped down harder on him, laid down the law, maybe—”
“No,” Amanda interrupted. “Don’t do that to yourself.” She glanced toward Charley, expecting him to be gone, but he still stood beside the phone. He looked a little sad. “If you’d tried to rein in Charley, he’d have figured out a way to get around you and do what he wanted. Trust me. Been there, done that.”
Irene sighed. “I’m sure you’re right. But I should have tried anyway. And now, even if I make you mad by invading your privacy and being too pushy, I’m going to stick my nose in your business. What’s going on with you and the mayor?”
“I’m meeting him for lunch today.” It was a weak attempt to avoid the question. A useless attempt.
“People don’t usually go to lunch with somebody who tried to kill them and then threatened them. Isn’t that what you said he did?”
“Don’t tell her!” Charley said.
It was a little late for Charley to be worrying what his mother would think about his bad behavior.
She sat quietly for a moment. She didn’t want to worry Irene, but there was no way around it since the woman had overheard her comments. She drew a deep breath and told Irene about Charley and the blackmail, Dianne’s death and the possible murder in college, the confusion with the guns and Charley’s death, the man who’d been outside her window. Everything except Charley’s continuing existence.
Tears welled in Irene’s eyes, and her hands clenched in her lap. “That no-good rich kid killed Dianne and my son, and he’s not in jail?”
“There’s no evidence. I have only the, uh, phone call from Charley letting me know Kimball was in his apartment to kill him, and the police don’t believe me. They think I killed Charley.”
Irene wrapped her arms around Amanda and held her close. “Nobody who knows you believes that.”
Amanda returned the embrace, finding her own eyes strangely moist. “You don’t know how much it means to me that you believe me.”
Irene drew back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand then sniffed indignantly. “Your husband’s dead and those idiot police are trying to blame it on you instead of doing their job and finding the murderer. That’s just not right.”
“His neighbors overheard me threaten to kill him. But it wasn’t a real threat. We were just having a fight.”
Irene nodded. “Husbands and wives fight.”
“Not you and Herbert.”
Irene laughed. “Yes, me and Herbert. In the early years. Before we settled into each other. You and Charley would have got through the fighting if that sorry excuse for a human being hadn’t killed him.”
Amanda didn’t think that would have been even a remote possibility, but she thought it best not to tell his mother.
“Blackmail,” Irene said softly. “Charley was blackmailing him.”
Amanda looked over at Charley. He had the decency to flinch. “He wanted money to come to Dallas, the big city.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The way Charley left town so suddenly and told us he had to hide, we couldn’t tell anybody where he was...we knew he’d done something wrong, made the wrong person mad. And I reckon I’m not really surprised about what Kimball did. I’ve never liked that man. He’s grown from a rich, spoiled brat to a rich, powerful bully.”
“I’m sorry about Charley.”
“Was my son a good husband?”
Amanda fancied she could feel Charley’s gaze on her as he waited for her answer.
She shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to tell a lie and make Charley feel better about their marriage, but not wanting to tell Irene how bad it had been. “We had fun at first.”
“I see. So you really were going to divorce him?”
“Yes.”
Irene took Amanda’s hand. “I reckon it’s my turn to say I’m sorry.”
“No,” Amanda protested. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“If I’d raised him better, if I’d been stricter…” She shrugged. “Like you said, he was fun. He’d do something wrong, but then he’d get me to laughing. It’s hard to punish somebody who’s making you laugh.”
Amanda looked toward Charley to see his reaction. For an instant, she thought maybe she saw an expression of contrition on his face, but probably not. He smiled and shrugged. “Everybody likes to laugh.”
“I know,” Amanda agreed, thinking of the times she’d forgiven Charley because he made her laugh, the problems she’d overlooked because they had so much fun. She gave Charley a final glare then returned her attention to Irene. “Trust me, there’s absolutely nothing you could have done to change Charley.”
“Maybe not, but his murderer has got to be punished. Charley did wrong, but that didn’t give that awful man the right to take his life.”
“That’s why I’m going to lunch with him. Somehow, I’m going to get evidence against him.”
Irene bit her lip. “You’re dancing with the devil, you know. You need to be careful. I don’t want to lose you too.”
Amanda’s heart swelled, and again she found her eyes suspiciously moist. “I’ll be careful. You’re not going to lose me, not for a very long time.”
Her cell phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket. “Dawson, at the shop.” She headed toward the stairs and the privacy of her room. “I better take it.”
“I found something,” he said as soon as she answered. “An unsolved murder.”
“The night Kimball and Dianne broke up?”
“Yes. Somebody killed a homeless man in one of the parks out by Lady Bird Lake. The man had been drinking, and it appeared he’d settled down for the night on a bench. An unknown assailant beat him to death with a rock. Weapon of opportunity. The murder has never been solved. The police had no suspects.”
“That’s the last piece of the puzzle,” Charley said.
Amanda sank into the small desk chair and gazed out the window, trying to wrap her mind around this latest atrocity.
“I have one more thing that may be of interest,” Dawson continued. “I checked phone records, and Dianne called Kimball for the first time since college a week before she was killed. They talked three times, the last time being a call initiated by him at three minutes after ten o’clock on the morning of the day she was murdered. This would seem to verify your theory that he killed Dianne because she was going to confess to their murder. She must have warned him. I believe this Roland Kimball is a sociopath. Perhaps you should stay away from him.”
“I’m meeting him for lunch.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Amanda.”
“Probably not, but it’s the only one I’ve got.”
“I have some information on Frank Sturgess too.” He told her what Sunn
y had already told her. “Is he still following you?”
“I don’t know. I talked to his lawyer, and she called him. Maybe you could get some information on her. She’s a strange character. Sunny Donovan, an attorney here in Silver Creek.” Amanda dug through her pockets until she located the card Sunny had given her. “Looks like her real name is Suzanne. I guess everybody calls her Sunny because she’s the self-appointed purveyor of sunshine in this town.” She read off Sunny’s office address, phone number and cell number.
“Got it. You haven’t asked how business is going, but I am getting some motorcycle repairs done in between my detective work.”
Amanda smiled at her assistant’s conscientiousness. “Thank you, Dawson. For everything. If I survive this, you’re getting a raise when I get home.”
She disconnected the call and turned to Charley. “Of all the people you could have blackmailed, you had to pick Kimball. You couldn’t blackmail a cheating husband or an accountant who was skimming money or a high school teacher with porn on his computer. Oh, no, you had to pick a sociopath killer to blackmail.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Just as marrying Charley had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Amanda arrived at the Round Rock Country Club a few minutes before noon. If the place wasn’t ready for a leather jacket, blue jeans and motorcycle boots, they’d just have to get ready. She removed the jacket in deference to the heat and carried it, along with her helmet, as she strode up the wide steps that led to the entrance.
“There he is.” Charley pointed toward the top of the steps.
Kimball stood beside the door, waiting for her. The midday sun sitting directly overhead blinded Amanda and obscured his features. Instead of a broodingly handsome man, she saw only a black, faceless shadow looming above, ominous and threatening. She hesitated halfway up the steps, Irene’s words ringing through her head—dancing with the devil.
She drew in a deep breath. If she could tangle with an amoral ghost, surely she could survive a dance with the devil.
Chin thrust forward, back straight, she continued up the steps until she stood on equal footing with him. “Good afternoon, Your Honor.” Then, because she was nervous and determined not to let him know, “Or should I call you Roland, and you call me Amanda like the other night when I visited you at your house?”
Kimball smiled tightly. “Please call me whatever you like.”
Amanda restrained her impulse to say, How about I call you Monster? She was there to get information from him, not to annoy him.
Kimball opened the door, and Amanda preceded him inside.
Charley came in with her. “I’ve always wanted to see inside this place.”
Amanda gave him a Really? look. She’d grown up going to country clubs in Dallas, places far grander than this, and failed to see the appeal. That told her something about Charley.
The dining room was cool and pleasant with elevator music streaming from the speakers. The waiter pulled out Amanda’s chair. She sat obediently then transferred her helmet and jacket to the empty chair next to her. Kimball sat across the table. Charley took the fourth chair, sitting properly erect.
Kimball ordered the steak lunch for both of them. Amanda didn’t protest, but when he requested a bottle of wine, she requested a Coke. She needed all her faculties to deal with him.
They sat quietly until their drinks arrived and the waiter disappeared. Kimball sipped his wine, set it down and folded his hands on the table. “I’ve been doing some checking, Amanda. It seems you haven’t been completely honest with me.”
Amanda took a drink of her Coke. Flat and watery. She set down the glass and met Kimball’s gaze. “While you, on the other hand, have been completely honest and up front with me?”
He gave her a smug, pseudo-smile. “Of course. I was completely honest when I told you it wasn’t a good idea to threaten people who have more power than you do.” He sat back, lifted his wine glass and drank slowly, never taking his eyes off her.
Amanda knew that was supposed to frighten her. And it did. But she wasn’t about to show it. She sipped her Coke and made a face. “Too bad you don’t have enough power to force these people to serve decent Cokes.”
“Good one, Amanda,” Charley praised.
Kimball set down his glass and leaned toward her, his expression complacent and self-assured. “I have enough power to check the records on safety deposit boxes in Dallas. There isn’t one in your name.”
Charley swore.
Amanda echoed his sentiment silently.
“Tell him you got it when you went to Dallas and you have it with you now,” Charley advised.
Amanda set her elbows on the table and folded her hands under her chin, trying to look smug instead of freaked out. “It’s not important where the object of your desire used to be. What’s important is that I have it with me now, right here in Silver Creek. I took a little ride over to Dallas a few days ago. Surely your spy told you that. Now I have your little toy with me.”
Kimball’s features distorted, moving from complacent to fearful to angry, his eyes boring into hers, threatening and cold. Amanda’s heart thudded into overtime. An angry Kimball was someone to fear. A frightened, angry Kimball was terrifying.
“And I want to return it to you,” she added hurriedly.
The waiter appeared with their salads. Kimball leaned back, his gaze holding hers.
“Amanda, I think you’ve got him hooked,” Charley said. “Go slow and reel him in. Assure him you’re ready to give him the gun.”
“I don’t have what you want in return,” Kimball said when the waiter left. “It’s at the bottom of the Trinity River.”
“I understand,” Amanda said. “That’s unfortunate, but it can’t be helped. I didn’t realize the extent of your power.” She almost gagged at those words, but knew she had to say them to convince him of her change of heart. “All I want is to never see you or hear from you again. I’m not Charley. I don’t want your money. I just want this to be over. Here’s my offer. I give back the item he took from you, and we go our separate ways.”
Kimball studied her intently as if trying to determine her real agenda. Finally he picked up his fork and plunged it into his salad, lifting a piece of lettuce and shoving it into his mouth.
“Eat,” Charley ordered. “Act relaxed. You need him to believe you’re in control.”
Amanda didn’t like his peremptory tone, didn’t like his giving her orders. Nevertheless, she conceded that it was probably good information, information gained from experience. Charley was, she realized, walking her through his formula for a scam.
She’d thought his assertion that he was going to take care of her was absurd. He couldn’t fight for her. He couldn’t block a bullet. But he was taking care of her using the only skill he possessed. He was teaching her to run a scam. Part of her wanted to slap him, but part of her was glad to have his expertise at that moment.
She speared a piece of tomato from her salad, put it in her dry mouth and chewed. With any luck, she’d be able to swallow it sometime before night.
“Don’t say anything else,” Charley said. “Let him be the one to speak next.”
Finally Kimball finished his salad, laid down his fork and shoved the plate aside. Amanda had half of hers left but was glad to lay down her fork and cease the difficult task of swallowing around the lump of fear in her throat.
“When?” he asked.
Good question. Amanda had to get possession of a gun before she could turn it over to him.
“Stand up,” Charley said. “Pick up your stuff. Tell him you’ll call him, then walk out.”
Amanda scooted back her chair, stood, picked up her helmet and jacket. “I’ll call you.” She turned and started toward the door, heart pounding, knees wobbly.
“See that you do,” he said quietly. “Soon.”
“Keep going. Act like you didn’t hear him,” Charley said.
She kept on walking though Kimball’s words had injected anger into her fear, and she wanted to turn back to him, tell him she’d call when she was damned good and ready, and he could sit on his powerful butt and spin until then. But Charley was choreographing the scene. Charley knew way more about dealing with lowlifes and criminals than she did. In this situation, his field of expertise, she let him call the shots.
As she crossed the parking lot to her motorcycle, she caught a glimpse of a red-haired woman driving away in a red sedan. Sunny Donovan? Could be. It was lunch time, and Sunny was a lawyer. She would likely be a member of the country club so she could entertain clients there. Assuming she had clients of a different class from Charley and Frank Sturgess. Too bad they’d missed each other. She could have used a friendly face while dueling with Kimball.
She climbed on her bike, fired up the engine and roared away. If Charley’s friend, Dub, didn’t come through with that gun, she had no idea what she would do. Probably fall victim to a fatal accident.
Irene was waiting on the front porch when Amanda returned to the Randolphs’ house. “What happened? What did he say?”
“Nothing,” Amanda admitted. “But I didn’t expect much in a public place. I’m going to meet him again.”
Irene closed the screen door behind Amanda. “That’s not a good idea.”
“I have to. Kimball’s smart. He hasn’t left any evidence. That’s why the cops don’t believe me. I’ve got to find some way to prove he killed Charley.”
Irene considered her words for a moment. “Let’s go in the kitchen and have a glass of iced tea.”
She followed Irene to the kitchen and helped her fill two glasses then sat down at the table. This was, she gathered from the times she’d seen Herbert and Irene conferring there, more than a place to eat. It was the summit meeting place where important discussions were held and decisions made. A drink of some sort was, of course, obligatory.
Amanda sipped her tea, grateful for the cool liquid in her hot, dry mouth and throat. She was reluctant to tell Irene the details of what she planned to do. Recently she’d become almost as adept at lying as Charley. Not really something she’d ever thought about adding to her list of skills. Repairing motorcycles, selling real estate, lying…
The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (Charley's Ghost Book 1) Page 21