But then he remembered Ricky Macrae waiting for him back at the ratty motel where they were staying a few miles down the road. Ricky was obsessed with getting back at Martha Lee. That’s all she’d talked about since they’d left Jersey—Martha Lee this and Martha Lee that. He had promised her that he’d do it, and he’d taken a down payment from her, so it wouldn’t exactly be ethical to back out now. And if anything, Joe Pickett was true to his word. Besides, Ricky came from a biker family, and bikers don’t fuck bikers. He sincerely believed in that.
But he could sure use the extra cash. A Harley Softtail would be nice. So would a clean room with a view of the water, any kind of water—salt, fresh, a stream, anything. And a Mr. Coffee all to himself. He could grind his own beans and try all those coffees he’d just heard about but had never tasted. Like Kona and Sumatra. Jamaican Mountain Blue. Tanzanian Peaberry. He’d even drink it with half-and-half instead of plain old milk. It would be awful nice.
“So what do you think, Joe?” Martha Lee was looking him in the eye. She was serious.
So was he.
Ricky was a good kid, but thirty grand ain’t fifteen. He’d make it up to her somehow.
“Okay,” he finally said. “You got a deal, honey bun. Now where do you suggest I start looking for this government rat?”
Loretta nearly peed her pants when she heard this. She was on her hands and knees in the bushes under Martha Lee Spooner’s open bedroom window. After she’d found Martha Lee’s bungalow and heard voices through the door, she’d decided to investigate by crawling through the peat moss in the beds around back to eavesdrop. But she couldn’t believe this. She’d been an undercover agent for less than two hours, and already she was a failure. Martha Lee and her boyfriend—whoever the hell he was—knew she was here, and they were plotting to kill her. Loretta peered through the bushes, her pulse racing.
She had to get to a phone and call Marvelli. Any number that ended in four ones.
She crawled backward through the stinky peat moss and got away from the window. They wanted to kill her, she kept thinking. It was incomprehensible. You need a pretty good reason to kill someone, don’t you? Well, that meant Martha Lee had something pretty big to hide, Loretta reasoned. Martha Lee didn’t even know her and she wanted to kill her. Not even Brenda Hemingway had wanted to kill her. At least Loretta didn’t think so.
Loretta stopped and listened, then when the coast was clear, she stood up and hopped out of the bushes. She glanced back at the open window as she brushed off her hands and knees and started walking toward the parking lot. She had to get to a phone, she kept thinking. She had to call Marvelli. Anything that ends in four ones, she kept telling herself as she rounded the corner of the bungalow. One-one-one—
“New Jersey!”
Loretta looked up. Lance was standing at the edge of the parking lot, bouncing a volleyball on the blacktop. He was smiling like a little dog who’d just done his duty and was proud of it.
“Lance,” she said, trying to keep her voice down without whispering. She smiled, not knowing what else to say to him. Her pulse was beating jungle drums in her ears.
Lance stopped bouncing the ball and waved his hand over it as if it were a crystal ball. “New Jersey,” he said in a fake spooky voice. “You are from New Jersey. The Amazing Lance knows all.”
“You certainly are amazing, Lance.” The smile was petrified on her face as she edged toward the parking lot.
“And that is not all,” he said, continuing with the Bela Lu-gosi routine. “I seem to remember that you were living with a man who was a computer nerd. Is that Mr. Marvelli by any chance? Is the amazing Lance not correct, Loretta?”
Her stomach tightened when she heard him say her name. She tried to be cool, but she felt like throwing up.
“So,” he said, going back to bouncing the ball, “you’re name is Loretta, you’re from New Jersey, and you’re a cop. Right?”
She shook her head, wanting to strangle him. She glanced back at the front door to Martha Lee’s apartment. If Martha Lee and her boyfriend heard this, they’d come out with guns blazing. And chances weren’t very good that they’d hit the skinny little asshole by mistake. She was definitely the easier target.
“Close, Lance, but no cigar.” She did a fast walk toward the parking lot, grabbing him by the arm and taking him with her. Unfortunately, he was wiry, and he squirmed out of her grip.
“Are you arresting me, Officer Loretta?” he shouted in the middle of the parking lot. “This feels like police brutality to me.” He was laughing. He thought this was a riot.
Loretta turned and started across the lot. A phone, she needed to find a phone.
“Hey, what’s the rush?” Lance zipped around her and got in her way. His bouncing ball was making a racket in the otherwise quiet lot. He was too damn loud.
“Look, Lance, I’ve had about enough—”
But then she heard them coming out of the bungalow. They were about twenty feet behind her, but she didn’t dare turn around and look for fear that Martha Lee knew what she looked like.
“That was sure nice, honey bun,” Loretta heard the boyfriend saying. “We gotta do that again soon.”
“Sure,” Martha Lee said. “But let’s take care of that other thing first. Okay?”
“You got it, my dear. Consider it done.”
Lance tilted his head to the side like a parrot. “What were you saying, Loretta? You’ve had about enough of what?”
“I—” Loretta couldn’t get the words out.
They were coming this way, Martha Lee and her boyfriend the assassin. Loretta could hear their footsteps.
“I—I—”
They were right behind her.
“What, Loretta?”
“I—I’ve had just about enough of being overweight, Lance. I’m ready to get serious about losing weight.” She took his arm again and led him across the parking lot.
“Fantastic!” he gushed. “I’m so glad to hear that, Loretta.”
“That’s right. I’m ready to do it. And it won’t be like the last time.” She was practically dragging him. Martha Lee and her boyfriend were crossing the parking lot. Loretta could hear them.
“So, Officer Loretta,” Lance said, “how about starting off with a Scotch hose? I highly recommend it.”
Loretta cringed. “How about something else?”
“Gotta clean out those toxins from your pores, honey. I am going to hound you to death until you do it.” He was getting loud again.
“Okay, okay.” She picked up the pace to get away from Martha Lee and her friend.
“Loretta, you’ll be glad you did it when it’s over.”
“I wish it were over now,” she said, walking faster.
Four ones, she kept thinking. Four ones and Marvelli will come running. As soon as she could ditch Lance, she’d call him.
Marvelli was at a pay phone outside a pizza parlor in a strip mall on the highway. Lawrence Temple was sitting in his gray Cutlass with the air-conditioning on, waiting for him. Marvelli turned his back on Temple. His hands were shaking.
“What do you mean Mommy isn’t doing well?” He was talking to his daughter, Nina. She was on the verge of being hysterical.
“She was really bad this morning, Daddy. She couldn’t breathe. Grandma called an ambulance, and they took her to the hospital. I’m scared, Daddy.”
So am I, he thought.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Just calm down, Nina. I’m coming home. First flight I can get.”
“What if she dies, Daddy?” Nina was sobbing. He could hear the panic in her voice.
“I’ll be home tonight, Nina. I promise.”
“Her face was all gray, and she couldn’t talk. I didn’t know what to do, Daddy.” She was crying her eyes out. “She’s going to die, isn’t she?”
“Don’t think that way, Nina. I keep telling you—positive thoughts, think positive thoughts. It helps Mommy.”
“I’m afraid.”
&nbs
p; “Is Grandma home?” he asked.
“No, she’s at the hospital. Mrs. Donahue from across the street is here. So’s my friend Margaret.”
“All right, tell them to stay with you until I get there. I’m on my way. I love you, sweetheart. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right. It will.”
“Okay.” But Nina didn’t sound convinced. “I love you, Daddy. Come home as soon as you can.”
Marvelli hung up the phone, feeling as if there were ropes pulled tight around his chest. His head was light, and he was breathing hard, trying to get enough oxygen out of the thick, humid air. Renée couldn’t breathe either, he thought. Renée was having a hard time. She needed him.
He went back to Temple’s car, the cold blowing air inside making him shiver. “Take me to the airport,” he said to Temple. “Hurry up.”
Temple gave him a stern look. “The airport? What’s wrong?”
“My wife’s in the hospital. I have to get to her.”
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s dying!” Marvelli said, raising his voice. “Now will you please take me to the airport?”
“Sure. Of course.” Temple put the car into reverse and backed out of the space. “But what about your partner?”
“Loretta can take care of herself.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” Marvelli snapped. “You’ve got five men down here with you. You guys watch her. My wife is dying. I have to be with her.”
“Absolutely.” Temple pulled out onto the highway and headed for Fort Myers.
“Hurry up, will ya, Lawrence? I’m worried.” Marvelli was looking out the window, chewing on his bottom lip, thinking about Renée. “Come on, step on it.”
“I’ll get you there as fast as I can. Don’t worry.” He picked up his car phone. “I’ll call the airport and see what flights are available. We’ll get someone bumped if we have to, say it’s a government emergency.”
“Thanks.”
As the strip malls gradually gave way to open fields of grass and ferns, Temple picked up speed. He spoke softly into his car phone as Marvelli stared out the window, worried sick.
“There’s a Kiwi flight to Newark at seven-forty. We’ll get you on that one. Okay?”
Marvelli nodded, half-listening. He was thinking about Renée, imagining her face the way it had been before chemo and radiation. Oh, Christ, he thought, clutching his stomach.
Temple was driving with the phone to his face, waiting for someone to get back to him. “Just tell me one thing, Marvelli. Is there anything I should know about Loretta being at the spa?”
Marvelli shook his head, biting his knuckle. Renée dead. He didn’t even want to consider it.
“Don’t worry then. We’ll watch out for her.” Temple went back to the phone, explaining to whoever was on the other end that this was a government emergency and he needed a seat on that plane to Newark.
But Marvelli wasn’t listening to anything. All he could think about was Renée. And life without Renée. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and blew out a deep breath. A shudder gripped his chest and shook him to the core. Jesus, no, he thought. No. . . .
14
Rancho Bonita was deserted as Loretta moved through swishing ferns down a pebble path, heading for the big mirrored building where the WeightAway headquarters were located. She wasn’t surprised that no one was around. Mealtimes at the fat farm were always like this. They didn’t feed you much here, and there was no snacking allowed, so when chow was on, the guests flocked.
She walked as fast as she could, but it had suddenly gotten very humid, and it felt as if she were moving through Jell-O. But despite the heat and the sweat pouring down her face, she kept going. She was determined to finish this job and show all the wonderful men in her life that she didn’t need them, that she could do it alone.
As she came toward a clearing where two paths crossed, Loretta slowed down. She knew Martha Lee’s boyfriend was out gunning for her, but he didn’t know who she was any more than she knew who he was. In all probability Martha Lee didn’t know that Loretta was the one working undercover for the IRS; they’d never even met. But Lance was the one she was worried about. The little shit had remembered too much about her, and he had a big mouth. All she needed was for him to come bouncing out of the bushes, playing his guessing game within earshot of Martha Lee or her boyfriend, and that would be the end of that.
Loretta frowned as she cautiously entered the clearing and took the path to the left. Lance was probably out looking for her right now. He’d followed her into the sauna, talking her ear off, then hung around doing back bends and squat thrusts as the masseuse gave her a massage, which actually would have been wonderful if Lance hadn’t been there. Thank God the Jamaican dominatrix who ran the Scotch hose concession chased him out when he tried to follow them in there.
Loretta had managed to slip out a side door and escape the Scotch hose ordeal, going to the front desk at the main building to find a pay phone instead. She’d called Marvelli’s beeper and left a number that ended in four ones, then waited in the lobby, keeping her eye on the front gate since that was the only way into Rancho Bonita. She pretended to be absorbed in WeightAway magazine, flipping through the personal testimonials and the obnoxious before-and-after photos of supposedly satisfied customers. It was all bullshit, and looking at all their smiling skinny faces in the pictures just aggravated her. They all looked scrawny and old to Loretta, like people wasting away from some killer disease. A little fat filled in the wrinkles, kept people looking young and healthy. Didn’t these morons realize that?
The way Loretta figured, these people were only smiling because they’d spent so much money to get skinny, they had to convince themselves that they were happy and that this was what they’d wanted all along when, in fact, being skinny was not all that it’s cracked up to be.
She’d gone through that stupid magazine cover to cover, waiting for Marvelli to show his chipmunk face. Almost half an hour she’d waited, and she was getting nervous. She looked suspicious just hanging around. All the other guests had places to go, things to do, forms of torture they had to endure before they were allowed to even look at food. Loretta decided she’d better look like she was hanging out in the lobby for a reason, so she went back to the pay phone and called her father in Arizona.
Big mistake.
“You’re where, Loretta? Doing what?” His voice was like a madeleine caught in her throat, bringing back all those “wonderful” memories of her childhood. She could imagine him sitting out on the patio in Scottsdale, his snowy white hair set off by a deep desert tan.
“I’m in Florida, Dad,” she said, cupping the receiver with her hand and keeping her voice down. “I’m on assignment. Investigative work. I’ve got a new job.”
“Investigative work? You’re a private eye now? What are you, crazy? I swear, Loretta, I think you do these things on purpose.”
“No, I’m not a private eye, Dad, and I do do these things on purpose.”
She closed her eyes and swallowed back a sob. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.
“Christ, if you want to do detective work, why don’t you do it for your sister? She must use private investigators all the time.”
“Good idea. I’ll give her a call.” She didn’t even bother to correct his mistaken impression. It wouldn’t be worth explaining. He’d always hated the fact that she’d chosen to work in corrections, and if he knew she was with the Jump Squad, he’d have a fit.
“You sound sad, Loretta. What’s wrong? Do you need money?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No. I’m fine, Dad.” He always said the same thing whenever she called: “You sound sad. Do you need money?” As if a handout from him would fix everything.
“Loretta, I was just on my way out the door. Can I call you back tomorrow?” He made it sound like a chore.
“No, I won’t be near a phone, Dad,” she said. “I’ll call you soon, though. Bye.”
“You take care of yourself, Loretta. And don’t do anything stupid.”
Loretta hung up the phone and would have laughed if she weren’t so disappointed in him. Don’t do anything stupid. What a laugh. According to her father, everything she’d ever done was stupid. The fact that she wasn’t born her sister was the first stupid thing she’d done, and it had been downhill ever since. There was no pleasing him.
The path to WeightAway headquarters wound down a slight grade where the foliage was thick and the heavy air didn’t move. It curved to the right, then to the left, then suddenly came out on a wide marble patio that bordered the ultra-modern three-story building. The late-day sun reflecting off the mirrored glass was so intense it was hard to look at. Loretta shielded her eyes and stayed in the shade at the end of the path. A small parking lot was at the front of the building by the road. There was only one vehicle in the lot, a white Jeep Cherokee. The WeightAway International logo was painted on the door—trim block lettering encircling a can of WeightAway Super-Thick Diet Shake and a steaming WeightAway Micro-Fast Complete Frozen Dinner. She remembered their tastes all too well. They both sucked.
Loretta eyed the Cherokee, figuring it went with a security guard who most likely was posted inside. She was going to have to sweet-talk her way past him somehow, but she wasn’t exactly sure how. She could say she was related to Martha Lee and that Martha was meeting her here. Or maybe she could quickly flash her New Jersey Department of Corrections ID and say she was from Florida Corrections, running a background check on someone. Security guards are all wannabe cops, and a lot of times they’ll bend over backward to cooperate with real law enforcement personnel. That might work, she thought. But who could she be seeing at this time of day? It was after five, and from the looks of the parking lot, everyone had gone home. Maybe she could just say she was checking up on someone in the accounting department, ask for the guard’s help, and bring him into the caper. Make him her Dr. Watson, then make him some bullshit promise about helping him get a job with the state. It would sure save her a lot of time if she had someone who could show her around.
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