The Ex Who Wouldn't Die

by Sally Berneathy

  "How about Dawson? Maybe he can find one on the internet."

  "That's possible. I'll call him." She punched in the number.

  "Hi, Amanda. I've been working on the bikes all day and don't have anything on Sunny Donovan yet."

  "That's okay. No rush. But, uh, I do need a gun really fast. Can you get one on the internet?"

  "You can get anything on the internet."

  "Great. How long would it take?" She gave Charley a thumbs-up sign.

  "I'm not sure. A few days, a week or two."

  She gave Charley a thumbs-down sign. "That's too long. Never mind."

  "Why do you need a gun?"

  "It's a long story. If I live, I'll tell you all about it. In the meantime, can you find a phone number for Dub…" She looked at Charley quizzically.

  "Henderson," he supplied.

  "Dub Henderson."

  "Give me a minute."

  "Why on earth did you choose tomorrow night?" she demanded of Charley while she waited for Dawson to return to the phone. "That gives us no time at all!"

  "I didn't think Kimball would back off if we told him any later! You're the one who blabbed to my mom and got this thing ramped up."

  Amanda drew in a deep breath and told herself to remain calm. Arguing with Charley wasn't going to help matters. His value was in being a con artist. He was worthless when it came to dealing with real situations. She was on her own now.

  "I can't find a listing for Dub Henderson in Silver Creek," Dawson said. "Are you sure that's the right name?"

  "Oh," Charley said. "His real name is Dwayne. We just call him Dub because who wants to be called Dwayne?"

  Amanda heaved a sigh. "Try Dwayne Henderson."

  He returned in seconds with a phone number.

  Amanda signed off with Dawson and immediately called Dub's number. No answer.

  "He's probably still at work," Charley said. "We can try again in an hour."

  "Great. I'll just sit here and have a nervous breakdown while we wait."

  Somewhere around the tenth time she called, Dub answered.

  "I need that gun tonight," she said without preamble.

  "No can do. I need a few more days."

  "We don't have a few more days. My life is in danger. The lives of Charley's parents are in danger."

  Dub was silent for a few seconds. "I could maybe get you one but you wouldn't be able to register it."

  "I don't care if I can register it! I don't care if it's stolen!"

  Again Dub was quiet.

  "It's…stolen?"

  "We don't care!" Charley shouted.

  "We don't care," she echoed. Surely her father would rather she be caught with stolen goods than be found dead.

  "Okay," Dub agreed. "Tonight, nine o'clock, Shade Tree Inn."

  ***

  Amanda arrived at the Shade Tree Inn a few minutes before nine. Irene had protested her leaving the house at that hour, but she'd assured her mother-in-law she wasn't going to see Kimball. That had only slightly assuaged Irene's concern. She would be up, worrying, until Amanda returned. Amanda left for her rendezvous to buy a stolen gun with a spot of warmth in the middle of all that terror in her heart.

  "I watched really close and didn't see anybody following you," Charley told her as they walked across the lot toward the Shade Tree's entrance.

  "Doesn't mean somebody wasn't following me, but I suppose it's marginally better than if you'd seen someone."

  "Yeah. Either nobody was there or it was somebody with more skill at following than Sturgess."

  "You have a real knack for making me feel better."

  The same or similar faces as the ones on Friday night turned toward her when she walked inside, then turned back to their drinks. The same scents of stale beer and cigarette smoke greeted her, and the same or similar country music played on the juke box. Familiarity was doubtless an appeal for those who frequented this place.

  From the same stool on which he'd sat Friday night, Dub lifted a hand. He was nursing a beer while a Coke sat on the bar beside him in front of an empty stool.

  Amanda took a seat and lifted the Coke. "Thanks."

  "Welcome."

  "Be cool, Amanda," Charley advised, taking a seat on the bar between them. "You don't want everybody in here to know you're buying a gun."

  Amanda shot him a scathing glare, then turned back to the business at hand. "How was your day, Dub?"

  "Fine. How about yours?"

  "Good." Didn't count as a lie, Amanda told herself. She was just observing the social amenities.

  Dub took a drink of his beer, and Amanda sipped her Coke.

  Amanda hated that she was in a position to need Charley's field of expertise. However, he'd been helpful with Kimball, and she grudgingly admitted to herself she needed him tonight. She had no idea of the protocol for conducting the purchase of an unregistered gun. She looked up at him, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

  "Be patient," Charley advised, then added, under his breath, "Like you know what that word means."

  She couldn't retaliate except to shoot him another glare. He laughed happily at her inability to retort.

  Dub drained his beer. "Think I'll go outside and smoke a cigarette."

  "Go with him," Charley advised.

  "A cigarette," she repeated. "Good idea. Mind if I join you?"

  "Sure."

  Together they slid off the stools and moved toward the door. Dub politely opened and held it for her.

  Again she felt relief at breathing the clean night air. A person could get lung cancer from just hanging out in that bar.

  She followed Dub to the side of the building where she'd seen a man retching on Friday night. Watching the ground carefully, she moved into the shadows with Dub, stopping when he stopped.

  Slowly he reached inside his faded denim jacket and withdrew a small package wrapped in brown paper.

  Wordlessly Amanda reached into the pocket of her motorcycle jacket and withdrew an envelope containing the amount of cash they'd agreed on. She handed her envelope to Dub, and he handed his package to her.

  Dub turned aside, opened the envelope and flipped through the bills, then closed it again and shoved it into his jacket pocket. "Nice night," he said, taking out a package of cigarettes and tapping the bottom until one slid out.

  "Yes," she agreed, turning away and peeking into her bag. It was a gun.

  "Take it out," Charley demanded. "I want to see it."

  Amanda looked around the parking lot and didn't see anybody else. Reluctantly she withdrew the revolver, bending over to shield it from the sight of anyone who might drive up.

  Charley leaned over and peered at it closely. "Yeah, that should pass, at least for our purposes. Only way he'd know the difference is if he had the serial number."

  "Great. That makes me feel so much better," she whispered.

  "What?" Dub asked.

  "Great gun," Amanda said. "Makes me feel so much better to have protection."

  Dub smiled. "I loaded it for you. Unloaded gun's 'bout as useful as a screen door on a fishing boat."

  Amanda smiled. "True. I don't want to get close enough to pistol whip somebody. Thank you."

  "Unload it, Amanda," Charley said. "I don't trust you with a loaded gun."

  "You let me know if you need anything else," Dub said. "I hope ole Charley, wherever he is, knows I'm taking good care of his wife."

  "I totally believe he knows," Amanda said.

  "Hello, Amanda."

  Amanda whirled at the sound of a familiar woman's voice behind her. Sunny Donovan stood there watching her.

  "The gun!" Charley shouted. "Hide the gun!"

  Amanda realized she still had the .38 in her hand. Hurriedly she shoved it inside her jacket, hoping the black gun hadn't been visible in the darkness. "Hi! Sunny! What are you doing here?"

  "I just stopped by for a drink. How about you?"

  Amanda studied the woman standing before her. Regal, even in blue jeans and a blue cotton
shirt with a classic black leather purse hanging from her shoulder. Sunny did not belong in the Shade Tree Inn. What was she really doing here? Charley had said nobody was following her. Nobody would likely have excluded Sunny Donovan.

  "Hi, Dub," Sunny greeted as Dub moved out of the shadows. Amanda wasn't surprised to find she knew him. Dub had probably used her services. Sunny likely knew more about the secrets in this town than even Irene.

  "Hey, Sunny. Buy you a beer?"

  "Thanks, Dub. I could use a cold one after spending the day in that hot courtroom."

  "Air conditioning on the fritz, or was it just all that hot air from them lawyers?"

  Sunny laughed. "A little of both."

  Amanda waited, poised to run as soon as Sunny and Dub went into the bar, but Sunny placed a slim hand on her arm. "I'll meet you inside in five minutes, Dub. I need to talk to Amanda first."

  Crap. She'd seen the gun.

  "Run, Amanda!" Charley advised. "Get away from her!"

  Amanda had been considering just that action until Charley suggested it. Instead, she stood quietly while Dub strolled back into the bar.

  A dog barked somewhere in the distance. Crickets chirped all around them. The night was soft and warm and normal while Charley paced up and down in front of her, going a little higher off the ground with each turn. Nothing normal about that. Maybe he'd soon float away into the sky.

  "What are you planning to do with that gun?" Sunny asked quietly when the door closed behind Dub.

  Charley ceased pacing and settled to the ground, folding his arms and watching the exchange intently. So much for hoping he'd float away.

  "I have a Right to Carry permit," Amanda replied defiantly. "I'm legal."

  "I know that, but it doesn't answer my question. What do you plan to do with that gun?"

  "Target practice." Amanda decided she didn't like Sunny Donovan after all. Where did the woman get off, questioning her about something that was none of her business? "How do you know I have a Right to Carry?"

  Sunny ignored her question. "Amanda, I think you're in some kind of trouble, and I want to help you. Please let me help you."

  The woman's expression was so sincere Amanda's anger dissipated. Sunny Donovan was the self-appointed guardian of the underdog in Silver Creek, and Amanda was her latest project. It was hard to be angry with someone so sincere and determined to help.

  "I appreciate your concern, but I've got everything under control."

  "What do you have under control?"

  Lawyers. This interrogation reminded her of her father. She supposed that association actually made her more kindly disposed toward this aggressive, annoying woman. "The gun. My life." She spread her arms wide. "Everything."

  Sunny sighed, put her palms together and held her hands to her mouth, studying Amanda intently as if trying to read her mind. Finally she dropped her hands in resignation and smiled. "You're stubborn, determined, independent. I like you. Please, think about letting me help you. If you get in trouble you can't handle on your own, if at any time you realize you're no longer in control of everything, call me. Day or night. I always have my cell phone with me, even when I'm in court."

  Amanda grinned wryly. "Even when you're in court? My dad—he's a judge—would throw out any lawyer whose cell phone rang during court."

  "I keep it on vibrate when I'm in court." She reached inside her purse and pulled out the object under discussion. "What's your cell number?"

  Amanda recited her number as Sunny punched it into her phone. Amanda's phone rang.

  "There," Sunny said, disconnecting before Amanda could extract her phone from her purse. "You have my number in your phone so you can call me without looking it up."

  "Okay, okay. I promise I'll call if I get in over my head."

  Sunny turned and headed toward the bar, but Amanda put a hand on her arm to stop her, a reversal of their earlier roles. "How did you know I was here?"

  Sunny regarded her quietly for a moment, then she smiled. "I didn't. I came to see my client, Dub."

  Amanda released her arm, and Sunny continued into the bar.

  "I don’t believe her," she said to Charley. "Do you suppose she's helping Kimball?"

  "No!" Charley protested. "Not for one minute do I believe Sunny Donovan would help a scumbag like Roland Kimball. She would never do anything to hurt you."

  But Amanda wasn't so certain. Maybe Sunny thought she was doing the right thing. Maybe Kimball had somehow convinced Sunny that whatever he had in mind for Amanda was somehow in her best interest.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When Amanda returned, Irene sat waiting on the sofa in the living room, worry creasing her forehead.

  A tiny part of Amanda was pleased Irene cared so much, but the rest of her was dismayed that she was causing her mother-in-law to worry. She didn't want to upset her further by telling her what she planned to do. In fact, she didn't want to talk about it at all. She wanted to get upstairs, hide under the covers and try not to think about the gun inside her jacket pocket…or where the gun would be this time tomorrow night.

  "See?" Amanda said, smiling widely and waving an arm. "I'm fine! Thanks for waiting up. Good-night."

  "You're not fine," Irene replied softly. "We need to talk."

  Amanda sighed and started to sit on the sofa.

  "Let's go to the kitchen and have some hot chocolate."

  Uh-oh. The kitchen table. Ominous.

  Irene heated milk in the microwave and added Ghirardelli chocolate while Amanda sat stiffly at the table. Though the house was warm, she kept her leather jacket on, kept the gun pressed close. Absurdly, she felt if she let it out of her possession in the house, it would somehow spread its influence and involve Irene and her family in the upcoming confrontation with Kimball.

  Irene joined her at the table, and Amanda sipped her hot chocolate. "Delicious," she said. "As if you could make anything that isn't."

  "Thank you." Irene wrapped her hands around her warm cup, but did not drink. "Herbert and I talked while you were gone. We decided that whatever you're planning to do, we're going to help you. That man has got to pay for killing our son."

  "You're going to help?" Images of Irene and Herbert attacking Kimball with kitchen knives, rolling pin, knitting needles and a rolled up copy of Reader's Digest raced through her head. "No, you can't. Kimball knows that Herbert talked to the cops."

  "I know," Irene said.

  "You do?" So much for trying to protect her.

  Irene shrugged. "It's a small town. Everybody knows everything. But this did show us how big the problem is that we're up against." She shook her head slowly. "I sure didn't think something like this could happen in Silver Creek. It's a good place, a lot of good people. I always knew Roland Kimball wasn't a nice man. I just never would have dreamed something like this could happen."

  Amanda nodded grimly. "Kimball thinks he's all-powerful. He thinks he's above the law. He thinks his money can buy him the right to commit murder."

  "He's wrong, and we're all going to work together to prove it. Tell us your plan, and we'll figure out where we fit in."

  "Agree with her." Charley suddenly appeared at her elbow. "You can't argue with my mother. Just agree with her, and then we'll make sure she doesn't know what we're doing."

  "Umm…okay." She lifted her cup of hot chocolate and drank, giving herself a moment to think.

  Irene looked surprised at the easy agreement. "So where did you go tonight?" she asked. "What are we going to do next?"

  "I bought an unregistered gun," Amanda said, deciding to allay Irene's suspicions by telling her the truth up to the point of the actual meeting with Kimball. "I'm ready to meet with Kimball, give him the gun and tell him it's the one he used to kill Dianne."

  "And you think he's going to confess, and you're going to record it on your cell phone?"

  "Exactly."

  "How do you think you're going to get him to confess to murder? He's been smart enough to get away with it for year
s. Why would he tell you now?"

  Amanda decided not to tell Irene she was sure Kimball planned to kill her so he wouldn't be worried about what he told her. "I'm going to appeal to his gigantic ego. Get him to brag."

  She did not plan to let Kimball kill her, of course. Dub had put bullets in her gun. And she was almost beginning to believe the purpose of Charley's continuing presence just might be to save her life so she could take Kimball down. But she wasn't going to tell Irene any of that.