The Ex Who Wouldn't Die

by Sally Berneathy

Amanda restrained her impulse to say, How about I call you Murderer? She was here 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 get 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. But, she supposed, 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.

  They sat quietly until their drinks arrived and the waiter had disappeared. Kimball sipped his wine then leaned forward, folding 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 this 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 again 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 it's under a different name," Charley advised.

  Amanda leaned back in her chair, folding her arms and 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 give it back 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."

  "What do you want?" Kimball asked when the waiter was gone. "I don't have what you want. 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." Amanda 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 lifted 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 shot him a glare. She 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, amazingly, 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 that expertise at this 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 today.

  "Don't say anything else," Charley advised. "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?"

  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 and looked Kimball directly in the eye. "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 this 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 when Amanda returned to the Randolphs' house. "What happened? What did he say?" she asked, holding the screen door open.

  "Nothing," she 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 into 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 here, 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 all 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…

  Lying to Kimball was one thing. He didn't count as a member of the human race. And withholding information from her parents for their own good also seemed justifiable. But she couldn't lie to this woman who'd lost her son and taken his widow into her home and heart. Irene deserved the truth, scary as it might be.

  "When and where are you meeting that monster?" Irene asked.

&
nbsp; "I don't know." Amanda sat up straighter, girding herself to divulge her frightening plan to her mother-in-law. "I'm going to get a gun like the one he used to kill Dianne, and I'm going to give it to him, but only if he admits to me that he killed her and Charley."

  Irene's face paled, and her eyes widened. "Amanda, that's plumb crazy!"

  "Yeah, probably, but it's the best plan we've…I've been able to come up with."

  "Even if he lets you out of there alive, what makes you think, if the police don't believe you now, they'll believe he confessed to you?"

  "I'm going to record our conversation on my cell phone. There's an app for that." She tried to sound flippant.

  "And what about getting out alive? You got an app on your cell phone for that?"

  "Okay, this plan isn't completely fleshed out yet. There are still a few holes."

  Irene shook her head. "I can't let you do that. I'm going to talk to Herbert tonight. We'll all put our heads together and figure out something. You're not alone in this anymore. Family takes care of family."

  Amanda hated that she had brought Irene and soon Herbert into the tangled, dangerous mess of trying to trap Kimball, but at the same time, she felt an intense relief at sharing the burden with other people who believed her, who cared about her. Other real people, she amended. Much as she hated to admit it, Charley provided some help. Not enough to compensate for the problems he caused, but he was really good at the sneaky, sleazy parts.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Herbert didn't leave for work immediately after breakfast that morning. Instead, as soon as Paula and Penny were out the door, he and Irene resumed their seats at the breakfast table.

  "Leave the dishes for now," Irene said. "We need to talk." Amanda set down the plates she'd carried to the sink and joined them at the table.

  "We don't think you ought to take a gun to Kimball," Herbert said. As usual, his lean face showed no expression, but his words were laced with tension.

  "I'm not crazy about the idea myself," Amanda said. "But we've got to do something."

  "I know most of the guys on the police force," Herbert said. "Went to school with them, hunt with them, play poker with them. I'm gonna talk to them."

  Amanda shook her head. "We're accusing the mayor, one of the most prominent and richest men in town, of murders we can't prove. You're probably not going to get a lot of support."

  Herbert nodded and slid his chair back. "Don't you worry. We'll take care of the worthless scum that killed my son." His words held a tone as close to ominous as the genial man was ever likely to come.

  Amanda gasped as she remembered Charley's reference to his dad's shotgun. "You're not…you wouldn't…do anything…illegal?"

  Herbert gave her a small smile. "I'm not gonna kill him. I won't deny I've thought about it since Irene told me everything last night. But that's not the right way to do things. I just want to be there when they give him the shot."

  "The shot?" Amanda repeated.

  "Lethal injection. I'd like to see him hang, but I guess I'll have to settle for the shot. I want to see him die like he made my son die. We'll catch him. He won't get away with murder." He squeezed her arm reassuringly, then turned and left the house.

  "Now," Irene said briskly, "you can relax and enjoy your visit here. The strawberries are just right for picking at the Berkley farm. Let's go get some today, and I'll show you how to make strawberry preserves."

  Irene's words were meant to be soothing, to convince Amanda she needn't have any further contact with Roland Kimball, that everything was taken care of, but the anxious expression on Irene's face and the way she twisted her hands in her lap told Amanda her mother-in-law knew it wasn't going to work. Herbert's idea of going to the local police was pretty lame, and they all knew it. They were just trying to talk her out of doing something they considered dangerous.

  "Can we have strawberry shortcake?" she asked, going along with the diversion. Might as well pick strawberries. She couldn't do anything else until Dub came up with a gun.

  ***

  When her cell phone rang that afternoon in the midst of stirring a big pot of strawberry jam, Amanda yanked it from her jeans pocket excitedly, saw the number was local and felt a flash of excitement that it might be Dub with a gun. She turned the stirring over to Irene and ran from the room while answering the phone.

  "Hello?"

  "I thought maybe you'd lost my phone number."

  Kimball. Amanda stopped at the foot of the stairs, her stomach doing the familiar Kimball-clenching act.

  "No, I didn't lose your number, and I wasn't aware I'd given you mine."

  "You didn't have to give it to me."

  Anger flared at the smug reminder of the range of his power as well as the admission he was snooping in her affairs. No wonder he'd been able to find out she was going on a trip so he could sabotage her motorcycle at just the right time. "Yeah, yeah, I know," she snapped as she climbed the stairs. "You're omniscient and omnipotent around here. King Kimball."

  The line was silent for a moment, and she considered asking if he was looking up the multi-syllable words. Probably hadn't been a good idea to shoot the rabid grizzly bear with a BB gun.

  "I have access to any information I need," he said. "Right now, considering the fact that I caught you in a lie about your safe deposit box then you walked out on me after saying you'd call but you didn't call, I don't think you have anything I need. I think you're just a loud-mouthed bitch trying to cause problems."

  She entered her bedroom, closing the door behind her, looking for Charley. "You're entitled to your opinion. But you may change that opinion when I take this gun to the cops."

  "Really? If you could do that, why did you send your father-in-law to tell the cops I killed Charley but you can't prove it?"

  Damn!

  Damn, damn, damn!

  Where was Charley when she needed him to feed her lies and tell her how to handle this new development?

  "I didn't send Herbert anywhere. He's a grown man. He goes where he pleases and says what he wants."

  "Who are you talking to?" Charley demanded. "Where did Dad go? What did he say?"

  Charley! She never thought she'd be glad to see him. She held the phone away from her ear so he could hear.

  "Obviously you talked. I thought that was part of our deal, you were going to give me the merchandise and keep your mouth shut. Now you've involved your father-in-law."

  "You didn't tell him anything," Charley instructed.

  "I didn't tell him anything." That was true. She'd told Irene, who'd told him. "Right now, only you and I know about the gun."

  "It certainly is an amazing coincidence that he came up with the same story as you, that I killed Charley and Dianne."

  "Tell him it doesn't matter what anybody says when you have the only proof around," Charley supplied.

  Amanda repeated Charley's words. He really was good at squirming out of tight spots and putting a spin on things. She'd hated that when she was married to him, but it was coming in quite handy now.

  "In that case, I'm sure you'll want to get rid of that item before it causes harm to other people," Kimball said smoothly.

  Even though she'd seen that one coming, it still sent icicles through her veins. Not only was her life in danger, she'd now put Herbert's and maybe even Irene's lives in danger.

  "Tell him you're through playing with him, and you'll give him the gun tomorrow night."

  Amanda's eyes widened in shock, and she mouthed to him, No gun!

  "We'll get one. Tell him!"

  "Fine," she said, trying to sound cocky. "I have to admit, I was kind of enjoying teasing the big, powerful mayor, but you win. Tomorrow night. We meet, I give you the evidence, and this ends. I do not want my in-laws involved."

  "Then they'd better keep their mouths shut."

  "They will."

  "I'll call you tomorrow with a location."

  She disconnected the call and turned to Charley. "Tomorrow night? Ar
e you insane? What if Dub doesn't come through by then? Where are we going to get a gun? How am I going to bluff my way out of this?"

  Charley paced the floor, running his hands though his translucent hair. "We can't go to Smitty's downtown to get a gun. Too much risk Kimball might find out." He stopped and looked at her. "Maybe you could go back to Dallas and get one."

  "The creep got my cell phone number. He checked for safety deposit boxes. He found out when and where I was going on a motorcycle trip. This man has a long reach. If I buy a gun in Dallas, he could easily find out. And I don't have the kind of connections you do so I could buy one illegally."