The Good Die Twice

by Lee Driver

  The buzzer at the front gate rang. “COMPANY, COMPANY, AWK.”

  As they walked past the aviary to the surveillance monitor for the front gate, Einstein had his claws clamped to one of the bars on his door, his beak protruding between the bars. “AWWWKK, COMPANY.”

  “We know, Einstein. Calm down,” Sara whispered. She stroked Einstein’s head.

  Dagger checked the monitor. “You won’t believe this. It’s Robert Tyler.”

  Robert refused cream and sugar, preferring his coffee black. They sat around the coffee table in the living room. Wearing a short-sleeved peach shirt with Cedar Point CC on the pocket, Robert looked ready for a game of golf. He sat stirring his coffee for two minutes making idle conversation, never drinking.

  “That is really a beautiful bird you have there.”

  Einstein eyed their visitor through the bars. He flew over to the birdbath and pulled the chain, spraying himself with water.

  “You’ve put a lot of work into his aviary,” Robert added.

  “I’ve had Einstein for five years. I would never give him up.”

  “Leyton tells me that’s the major disagreement between you and Sheila.” Robert finally took a sip of his coffee, glancing briefly at Sara through the steam wafting up from his cup. “Sheila says this is Sara’s house.”

  “Yes,” Dagger replied. “I rent office and living space for me and Einstein.”

  Sara walked over to the computer and busied herself going through the list of businesses Tyler International owned. As far as anyone knew, Sara was just a secretary, which was fine with her and Dagger. People tended to disregard her, speak more freely, open up. Robert kept glancing over at her. She looked down at the blue leggings and oversized floral shirt she had changed into after visiting Skizzy and wondered if she was underdressed.

  Dagger’s gaze shifted from Sara to Robert. Leaning forward, he watched as Robert’s hand started to tremble, the same tremble he had displayed the day before when Dagger showed him the computer drawing of Rachel.

  “I think I killed her,” Robert whispered.

  Dagger cocked his head, his ponytail flipping across his shoulder. “Come again?”

  “Rachel.” Robert blinked several times, stared down at his manicured nails. “I received a call around midnight last Wednesday, Thursday, whatever day. It was a female voice, sounded frantic. I didn’t recognize it at first. And when I did, I said, ‘Rachel? Is that you?’ Then there was a dial tone.” His gray eyes appeared to glaze over. Robert Tyler looked old, suddenly aged in twenty-four hours and feeling a need to unburden his soul.

  “What did you do?” Dagger asked.

  “I walked the floors wondering if I had dreamt the damn thing. Maybe it just sounded like her. Maybe I had a few too many nightcaps.”

  “Do you have Caller I.D. on your phone?”

  “I didn’t even think to use it. I didn’t tell anyone about the call for fear they would think I was in need of a shrink.”

  Dagger leaned over and lifted the lid on the painted box. He handed Robert the earring.

  “Does this look familiar?”

  “My god, yes. It was Rachel’s. I gave her money on her trip to Australia to buy herself something special.”

  Dagger placed the earring back into the box. “So you feel if you had taken the call seriously, you might have saved her life?”

  Robert rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his hands under his chin. “Something like that. I put that phone call completely out of my mind because it was so outlandish. If Rachel were alive, why did she wait til now to contact me? I need you to find out where she has been all this time. Once we find that out, I think we’ll find out who she was running from and who finished the job they started five years ago.” He pulled a check from his pocket and handed it to Dagger. “This should be sufficient for a retainer. Let me know if you need more.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Nick plied himself with coffee as he shook the cobwebs from his head.

  Lily stood vigil, her face masked with motherly concern. “Anything else, Master Nicholas?”

  “Did my brother come home for lunch?”

  “I’m here.” Eric turned to Lily. “That will be all.” Once she left, Eric poured himself a cup of coffee and sat next to Nick at the dining room table. The picture of Rachel stared down at them.

  “She was supposed to be dead,” Nick whispered.

  “I guess we need some answers, don’t we?”

  “God, I should have drunk more last night so I wouldn’t have to deal with this.” Nick pressed his hands to his head.

  “Seems to me, little brother, that’s how you have been drowning it out for the past five years.”

  Nick pulled his hands away and glared at Eric. “And why shouldn’t I?” His hands started to shake. “I’m responsible. I killed her.”

  Eric clamped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You should be celebrating, Nick. You didn’t kill her. She was alive all this time.”

  “But how could that be?” Nick massaged his temples vigorously. “If only I could remember.” He reached for his glass of lemonade but Eric intercepted.

  Eric brought the glass up to his nose. “Dammit, Nick!” He carried the glass to the balcony and flung the contents over the railing outside. “How can you remember anything if you live your life in a haze?”

  Nick leaned back and closed his eyes to the bright sunlight. When he opened them, Eric had set another glass of lemonade in front of him. “This one is straight up I take it?”

  Eric placed one hand around the back of Nick’s neck while the other gave him a brotherly pat on the face. “It’s going to be okay, little brother.”

  “I don’t understand, Eric. I saw her body. You found me down by the river soaked to the bone the next morning. I had to have carried her…”

  “Shhhh.” Eric stole a quick glance toward the doorway. “Keep your voice down. Now think about it.” He wrapped a protective arm around his younger brother, just like when they were kids. Eric had been the one to cover for Nick when he was ten and broke their mother’s favorite antique vase. He had even covered for him when he wrecked Dad’s Porsche. Nick hadn’t been a reckless youth, just adventuresome. “Dagger is wrong. It couldn’t have been Rachel. Maybe you should finally get some therapy, Nick. You need to come to terms with what happened. It was an accident.”

  Nick took a sip of lemonade, his mind drifting to that night five years ago. Wistfully, he murmured, “I wonder if there are people out there hoping I don’t remember?”

  “Remember what?” Edie asked, appearing in the doorway carrying a vase of fresh cut roses. She set the vase in the middle of the table and continued to rearrange the stems. The brim of her straw hat was turned up and her white sundress had a smudge of dirt on the pocket. “Let’s not keep secrets, boys,” she smiled, pouring herself a cup of coffee and taking a seat across from Eric.

  Eric explained, “This whole thing that Dagger brought up is playing havoc with Nick’s head. I suggested he make another stab at seeing a therapist. Maybe someone specializing in repressed memories.”

  “You two talk like I’m not even in the room.” Nick pushed his glass away, slouched back, a fist propped under his chin.

  Edie reached across the table, not quite able to reach Nick’s hand. “That’s not true. We’re family, Nicky.”

  “Maybe you can convince him,” Eric said.

  She tapped a well-lacquered nail against her coffee cup. “Actually, I agree with Nick. If he’s having problems with over-imbibing now, won’t it get worse once he starts to remember?”

  Eric scowled. “You’re supposed to help, Edie.”

  “I am, Sweetheart.” She placed her hand over Eric’s. “But really, do you believe Dagger? All he has is an earring that could be owned by thousands of other women. Do you really think that it was Rachel that was seen being murdered? Come on.” She flashed her green eyes from Nick and back to Eric. “I say give it up. Forget about it. Dagger’s investigation
will go nowhere. Don’t you think Rachel would have tried to contact someone over the past five years if she were still alive?”

  “Just get her talking about her childhood. I want to know where she was born, where she grew up, what her parents did for a living.” Sheila’s voice was even more demanding and vicious over the phone. “Find out what schools she went to. It obviously wasn’t a finishing school. She didn’t even know which fork to use last night.”

  Worm pulled the phone away from his ear slightly. “You don’t have to yell Sheila. I’m not deaf.”

  “Where are you meeting her for lunch?”

  “The Patio.” Worm looked around at the tables dotting the sidewalk, shaded by the canopy overhang. The sidewalk cafe offered outdoor seating for those wishing to mingle with nature.

  “How tacky,” Sheila muttered.

  A turquoise motor scooter pulled into a parking space near the front entrance. Worm eyed the driver dressed in black leather with a black leather vest zipped over a short-sleeved, white, scooped shirt.

  “Oh, my.”

  “Oh, my, what?” Sheila mimicked.

  “Uh, sorry. I was distracted by a motorcycle with great, uh, pipes.”

  “Well, pay attention.”

  The driver pulled off a turquoise helmet, sending more than a yard of brown-and-gold-streaked hair tumbling down her back.

  “Oh, my god. Save me.”

  “Now what!” Sheila demanded.

  “You won’t believe who just pulled up on a motorcycle dressed in leather.”

  Sheila’s voice perked up. “Dagger’s there?”

  “No. It’s Sara.”

  Sara carried her helmet under her arm. Dagger had bought her the motorcycle a month earlier. She was afraid of his big Harley and didn’t feel comfortable driving his cars even though he felt she was ready to take them out on her own. Instead, he bought her a small Honda to drive to and from the stores during nice weather.

  Worm was just ending his cellular call when she walked up. Several men seated at the outside tables stared at her approvingly.

  Worm said, “I didn’t know you owned a bike.”

  “Have you been waiting long?” Dagger had coached her on a strategy and how to keep her guard up around Worm. She took a wild guess that Worm had just received last-minute instructions from Sheila.

  “No, just got here myself.” Worm smiled broadly. “You look soooooo different in leather. I mean, without a dress on. I mean.” His face turned the carrot color of his hair.

  Sara smiled and walked into the restaurant. They were greeted by a woman in black pants and a tuxedo shirt. She led them along red brick flooring to the mezzanine level in back of the restaurant.

  The walls were painted to resemble a quaint eighteenth-century New England village. Wrought iron railings and an abundance of hanging plants gave the room an outdoor ambiance. Sara had seen the restaurant before, had had a cup of tea last summer in the outside patio. But she had not been inside. She had tried to coax her grandmother to join her on trips into town. But Ada Kills Bull had rarely left the reservation land except to sell her fresh vegetables and canned goods at the roadside vegetable stand Sara had built at the entrance to the reservation. Cars would line up for two blocks on both sides of the street just to buy the home-grown vegetables, canned goods, and herbs.

  Sara marveled at the light posts strategically placed throughout the restaurant and the large chalkboard where the daily specials were written. Her eyes were as wide as a child’s on Christmas morning. She had eaten out with Dagger before, but each new restaurant found her in awe of the decor and furnishings.

  “You’ve never been here before, I take it?” Worm patted his bristle-stiff hair in an attempt to tame it. In his youth he had been called matchstick because his bright orange hair always grew straight up. That, and his bony physique, made him look like a lit match. He was almost relieved, once in high school, that his friends started calling him Worm instead.

  “No.” Sara studied his face. Though freckly, it was smooth, like a baby’s skin, which made him look younger than his twenty-three years. He was eager, with an inquisitive face and a sweet smile. Just knowing he had to work with Sheila filled Sara with pity for the young reporter. She wondered if Leyton Monroe had a strict dress code. Worm seemed overdressed even for Sheila Monroe’s gofer.

  They no sooner ordered than Worm began his laundry list of questions. “So, Sara, where were you born? I’ve always been interested in life on a reservation.”

  “And why is that?” Sara slowly stirred her iced tea.

  “I don’t know for sure. Maybe it’s a throwback from when I played cowboys and Indians. I always felt bad for the Indians.” He blushed when Sara didn’t respond. “That was a lame answer. I guess you hear that a lot.”

  A group of waiters and waitresses started clapping and converged on a table where they presented a woman with a cake. They led the group at the table in a rendition of Happy Birthday. Sara was surprised when everyone in the room started to sing.

  “Does this happen often?” Sara asked.

  “A lot of restaurants do it now. It’s really kind of embarrassing.”

  Over lunch, Sara sprinkled the conversation with vague answers to Worm’s questions. Yes, she grew up on a reservation somewhere near the Canadian border but after her parents died, Grandmother moved her to South Dakota, then Wisconsin. They eventually settled in on the tiny reservation land in Cedar Point her grandfather had owned. She told him she was home-schooled. She soon turned the conversation to Worm, as Dagger had suggested.

  “Did Sheila tell you about Rachel Tyler?”

  “About her being alive? Yeah. That was some bombshell Dagger dropped on Mr. Tyler. Did he believe Dagger?”

  “No.” Sara swirled pasta around her fork. The salad was crisp with a tangy Italian dressing. She especially liked the black olives, something she had never eaten before until Dagger started introducing her to different foods. “What was really interesting,” Sara continued, “was that Sheila didn’t believe him.”

  “Why is that interesting?” Worm pushed his empty plate away and grabbed the dessert menu.

  “I had always heard she was such a great reporter. I would have thought the entire concept of Rachel Tyler being alive would have sparked her nose for news.”

  Worm laughed, placing the menu down and settling back in his chair. “Sheila doesn’t like news stories where she has to do a lot of legwork. She likes grunts like me to do the work and she gets the by-line.”

  Sara set her plate to one side and watched a group of high school-aged youths filter into the restaurant. She found herself wondering what it would be like to feel part of a group, to be able to shop with close female friends and share laughs like this group was doing. These were things normal friends did. But she had to remind herself, she wasn’t normal. When her grandmother was alive, she had been the one to shore up Sara’s confidence, to remind Sara that she was unique. And no matter what she may have missed out on in life, she experienced more than anyone could ever dream of. Now she had to find that strength within.

  “Sara?” Worm touched her arm.

  Pulling her attention back to Rachel, Sara said, “I’m sorry. I was just thinking that I can give you some of the details and you can follow up on them, write the story, and take the credit.”

  “Fat chance.” Worm leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes darting around the restaurant. He leaned closer to Sara and whispered, “Leyton Monroe will always make sure his daughter gets the credit for everything. It’s a nowhere job. But it’s the biggest newspaper in the city, owned by one of the richest men in town who owns six additional newspapers across the country.”

  “Is that so important?”

  “Is it important?” He laughed, settling back in his chair again and digesting the significance of what Sara had said. “Actually, no. I was always taught in school the most important thing is the facts.”

  Sara placed a hand on his arm and peered into his eyes. �
�Don’t tell Sheila you are working on the story. Write it up and present it to Leyton Monroe’s biggest competitor as an example of your investigative techniques.”

  “I don’t know.” Worm stared at Sara’s hand, then placed his on top of hers. “As long as I’m employed by Leyton, anything I work on belongs to The Daily Herald.”

  “Only if he or Sheila commissioned you to work on it. At least that’s what Dagger told me.” She slowly slipped her hand out from under his. “If what we find out confirms that Rachel Tyler was alive up until last Thursday, and if we find her killer or killers, this could be a breaking story for you, Worm.”

  Worm looked at her in a way that made Sara feel uneasy, not leering, not the way Nick had looked at her, but just different.

  “Would you like to go out Saturday night?” Beads of perspiration worked his glasses down the bridge of his nose. He pushed them back up.

  Sara looked away, clasped her hands in her lap.

  “It’s Dagger, isn’t it? You’re in love with him.”

  “Dagger understands me and that’s not an easy thing to do.”

  “It’s okay. He’s good-looking, brilliant, mysterious. All the things women are attracted to. I’m just a nerd.”

  Sara smiled and returned her hand to his freckled arm. “Nerd is just another name for an intelligent, focused, serious professional.”

  Worm considered what she said, nodded to himself as though agreeing with some of her assessments. Then he smiled broadly. This time when he touched her, it was a brotherly pat.

  “You’re right. I’ll do it.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Padre walked up to the front door of the townhouse where deliverymen were carrying in washers and dryers. Inside the unit Dagger claimed was the crime scene, he saw two men in bib overalls installing the vent for the dryer. No one paid any attention to him. He was dressed like any vacationer with his floral shirt hanging out over his madras-print shorts and deck shoes sans socks.