Money Creek

by Anne Laughlin

  Clare drank more bourbon and followed it up with some beer. She was speeding, having taken some meth that afternoon, which was stupid. Her life was surreal. If the police had evidence putting Henry at the scene, he would have only her testimony that he left the house before the shootings. That might be the reasonable doubt he would need to avoid a conviction for triple murder. She was fucked. Freya might be arresting her for real at any time.

  “Let’s not talk about that anymore,” Freya said. “I’m pretty sick of Henry Nelson right now.”

  “Sure. Anything else going on in your life?” Her posture was stiff and she tried to unclench herself.

  “I have zero going on, except for you. Why don’t you join me over here?”

  Clare felt about as sexy as a dish rag, but she moved over to the couch. She remained a foot away from Freya, hoping she wouldn’t want to make love. But why wouldn’t she? That’s what they did when they saw each other, and normally Clare would be filled with desire simply being next to her. Their relationship was about to implode, and that was the least of her problems.

  Freya picked up her hand, which lay limply on her lap. She stared into space. “You still seem a million miles away.”

  She smiled as brightly as she could. “Do I? I guess I’m a little tired.”

  “And the news about Henry can’t be easy.”

  “I worry about Elizabeth. What must she be feeling now? Her treasured son may be a murderer. What can be harder than that?”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Freya said. She moved a little closer to Clare and put her hand on her thigh. “It’s going to be impossible for her if it turns out Henry committed the murders. Hank, too. She was pretty angry today when we arrested him. I think she hates me now.”

  “That’s the mama bear thing. I’m sure she was fierce. I’m glad she didn’t send me in to represent him. She’d want the best counsel for him and that’s certainly not me.”

  Freya reached over and touched her face. “You have a bad habit of denigrating yourself.”

  “I do?” No one had ever told her that.

  “You do it all the time. You see a completely different person than I do.”

  She was afraid to ask but did anyway. “What do you see?”

  Freya dropped her hand and looked into Clare’s eyes. “A beautiful woman in every way. You’re sweet, kind, funny, smart, hardworking, compassionate, filled with integrity, and did I say smart?”

  She blushed as the list went on, though surely Freya was talking about somebody else. That her view of Clare was about to be shattered seemed sad. “You’re making that up,” she said, looking down at her lap.

  “There you go again. You can’t take a compliment. Why are you so hard on yourself?”

  “That might take years of therapy to find out.”

  “It’s never too late to start, though I don’t know how many good therapists are in Money Creek.”

  She smiled, trying to stay present in the conversation. “Maybe I’ll think about it.”

  Freya laughed. “That’s so noncommittal. You’re not even agreeing to think about it.”

  “I have a problem with commitment.” She knew as soon as she said it that it was the wrong this to say. “I mean, not with relationships, for example, but with more personal stuff.”

  Freya cocked her head. “What could be more personal than a relationship?”

  She was getting annoyed. She may as well be under interrogation. She reached for the bourbon. “Would you like another?”

  “No, I’m good.” They were silent for a minute. “You don’t want to go too deep in this conversation, do you?” Freya said.

  She sipped some whiskey. “I’ll go deep. Maybe not tonight though. I’m not feeling so great.”

  Freya looked like she was going to say something, but then held her tongue. They were quiet a few more moments before she looked at Clare again. “Should I leave, do you think? I don’t want to outstay my welcome.”

  “You couldn’t do that. Why don’t we go to sleep. Do you mind if we keep it at that?”

  Freya looked relieved. “Of course not. I’d love to spend the night with you.”

  Twenty minutes later, they lay in each other’s arms. Clare stared at the ceiling, as wide awake as she’d ever been, wired and wondering why she hadn’t let Freya leave. This was going to be a long, long night, and her thoughts were filled with dread. She knew there was only one thing she could do and that was tell Freya everything in the morning. She could no longer keep up the charade, hiding her drug use, and hiding her role in the murders. Her life seemed completely out of her control. And it was better to tell her before Henry could say she was there at the house. It was the right thing to do, had been for some time, but she’d clung to the illusion that she could maintain her Money Creek lifestyle while a wild fire formed a ring around her. Now the illusion was destroyed. And with that, she fell asleep.

  * * *

  When Clare woke at eight, Freya was gone from the bed. She slowly swung her legs to the floor and stood. She was dizzy, as if her blood pressure had sunk to a perilous level. Her hangover was mild, but her stomach was still in turmoil. The morning had not changed her mind about confessing to Freya.

  She slipped her feet into her moccasins and made her way to the living room. No sign of Freya except for a note. Feeling very close to you. Call me later. XO. She sank onto the couch. There was no way she would stay with her after learning Clare was a drug addict and unreported witness to a murder. She was emotionally exhausted. Morally bankrupt. She couldn’t take it anymore. It was her addiction ruining her life. She wasn’t sure she was ready to quit, but didn’t see much choice. She couldn’t imagine a life without drugs, but she no longer could imagine a life with them.

  She picked up the phone and called Freya.

  “Good morning,” Freya said. Her voice sounded warm, perhaps for the last time.

  “You left here early.”

  “I needed to get home to get ready for work. Thought I’d tiptoe out so you wouldn’t wake.”

  Clare took a deep breath. “I need to talk to you about something. I should have done so last night, but I didn’t have the guts.”

  “That’s mysterious. Can you tell me now?”

  “It has to be in person. Can you come over before work? It’s important.”

  “Sure. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  The time dragged, each minute an eternity in which she tried to talk herself out of the confession. There were so many reasons to come forward, not the least of which was to prevent Henry from being convicted of a murder he didn’t commit. She didn’t like Henry, but she couldn’t live with herself if she let him be put away for life. She went into the kitchen to make coffee for them both. When the door rang she opened it to find Freya dressed in her tactical gear, concern written on her face. She was sick at what she was about to do.

  “Should I be nervous?” Freya said as she walked into the house.

  “No. There’s no point. I’m nervous enough for both of us. Come into the kitchen and we’ll have some coffee.”

  Freya sat at the kitchen table and watched Clare carefully as she poured a mug of coffee and set it down in front of her. “What is it? I can’t stand the wait.”

  Clare sat down with her own cup and dove in headfirst. “I was at the scene of the murders.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I was at the scene while the murders happened. I’m the one who called it in from the Texaco station.” She watched Freya closely, saw her face change from one of openness to one of confusion, as if she’d just stepped into a bear trap but the pain hadn’t yet registered.

  “I don’t understand.” Her voice was strained.

  Clare told her the whole story from her drug use to why she was at the party with the drug dealers and making the anonymous 911 call. Freya grew pale.

  “Please tell me you’re making this all up,” she said.

  “You know I’m not. That would be insane.”
>
  “What you’ve just told me is pretty insane.” The sadness in her eyes was unmissable. “I’ll have to take you in for questioning. You’ll need to call into work. We’re going to be a while.”

  Freya didn’t bring up the state of their relationship and how the news affected it. Who could blame her?

  “Of course, but I’d like to tell Elizabeth before she hears it from anyone else. Can I stop by there before coming to talk to you?”

  “Meet me at the sheriff’s department at ten. That should give you time to talk to Elizabeth.” She scootched her chair back from the table and stood. “You’re a Jekyll and Hyde, Clare. I never would have guessed this from you. Apparently, I don’t know you at all.” She walked out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

  She cringed at Freya’s anger but was primarily relieved. She was about to lose her job, possibly her law license, her relationship with Freya. She might also be facing a jail term, but she still was better than she had been the day before. Telling Elizabeth was going to be much harder, her disappointment more painful to bear than Freya’s. And as quick as a thought, she latched on to the idea that it would be the perfect time to do one last hit of meth. She would have to quit, but today was not the day to do it.

  She called Evan, despite the early hour. He picked up on the first ring.

  “Hey, Clare. What’s up?”

  “You sound wide awake.”

  “I have class at nine. How are you?” He sounded cheery, almost unnaturally so.

  “I’m all right, but I need a little of your product.”

  “You finished what you got the other day?”

  She flushed. Another arrow piercing the fiction she had her drug use under control. “It wasn’t that much.”

  “I’m not the one to discourage business. Do you want to come over?”

  “Do we have time before your class?”

  “Sure. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  She hung up and hurried into her bedroom to throw on some clothes. She’d get ready for work when she got back and go in a little late for once. Ten minutes later, she was in Evan’s apartment, sitting at the kitchen table. He wore a camouflage hoodie and khaki cargo pants and smiled at Clare as she got settled.

  “How much do you want?”

  “Can you sell a single serving size? I don’t want to do more than the one hit.”

  He cocked his head. “Are you thinking of quitting?”

  “Not thinking of it. Doing it. Right after this.”

  He pulled a small packet from his hoodie and opened it. Then he took the razor on the kitchen table and cut the amount into halves, wrapped the two in paper and pushed one half toward her. “That’s one healthy dose.”

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “That’s on the house. Consider it a farewell present, though I’m not entirely convinced you won’t be back.”

  “Thanks for the confidence.” She put the packet into her jacket pocket and started to rise.

  “Wait. I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said.

  She sat down and tried to tamp down fear. There were few conversations lately that didn’t bear bad news.

  “Have you heard that Henry was arrested for the murders?”

  She decided to pretend ignorance in all things. “What?”

  “They know he owns the house, and there are some other things as well.”

  “Shit. That’s terrible for Henry. And Elizabeth. She’s got to be hurting.”

  “I imagine.” He was gazing at her steadily.

  “Do you think he did it?” How much had Henry told Evan? Did he know she was at the property? It was hard to gauge the proper amount of ignorance to show.

  “They have a pretty good case against him. I know he resented Bobby and Ray. He thought they were starting to squeeze him out of the business. That was probably the motive. I don’t know what he’s capable of. I think the only thing that could exonerate him would be a witness at the scene.”

  He had to know she’d been there, but why not simply tell her that? Henry must have told him. He leaned back in his chair and unzipped his hoodie, revealing a dark green Guns N’ Roses T-shirt. She gasped. The image of the masked man leaving the scene came to her, his jacket open, revealing the exact same concert T-shirt. That man was tall and lanky like Evan. When she raised her eyes, she saw him with a half-smile on his face.

  “You’d be a lousy poker player. It’s obvious from your face you saw me at the house. Good thing for you I didn’t know it at the time. I would have taken care of things then.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, trying to keep the panic from her voice.

  “You don’t need to lie. Henry told me you were there.”

  She remained silent.

  “You didn’t see a man wearing this T-shirt?”

  “No! I didn’t see anything. I was on the floor of the bathroom.”

  He had a lopsided smile on his face. “The bathroom has a window.”

  “I didn’t see you. I only heard the shooting.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said. He reached into the cargo pocket of his pants and pulled out a nine-millimeter pistol. Her heart took up residence in her throat.

  “You don’t want to kill me, Evan.”

  “Not right now. I’ve got to figure out the pros and cons here. You’re the only piece of evidence against me. It makes sense to kill you.”

  A chill settled in her bones. “I can think of some cons, like how much worse killing me would make things for you.”

  “Worse than a triple murder? I don’t think that’s possible. No, the only con I can see is that I like you. I’ve had a thing for you from the day we met at the college.”

  That day was like a hundred years ago. She’d aged a lifetime since then. “I’m flattered. More than you know. Doesn’t it make sense to let me go with my promise to not tell anyone? We can see how things go between us.”

  “Your promise isn’t worth shit. I’ve got to think about this.”

  “What if you knew how much I care for you? Would you want to murder your lover?” She didn’t like taking this tack, but what choice did she have? She saw a hopeful look in his eyes before they shuttered and became cold and suspicious.

  “I don’t believe you. I should kill you right now for playing with my feelings. He pointed his gun at her and reached into his other cargo pocket for a pair of handcuffs. He stood and walked around her, his gun resting on her back. “Put your hands behind you.” She hesitated and felt the gun push hard against her. “Now.”

  “Handcuffs? Do you have a taser in your pocket as well?”

  He brought her wrists together behind the chair and snapped the cuffs on. “I got them at a gun show. I think they’re pretty.”

  “Apparently, we have different aesthetics.” Her brain had taken on a second existence, leaving her petrified body in order to banter with him. She couldn’t understand how she was functioning at all.

  He pulled out a couple of long plastic ties and secured her ankles to the chair. “Are those from the gun show too?”

  “Home Depot.” He stood and looked at her admiringly, as if he’d just gift wrapped a present. Then he sat and drank more of his coffee.

  She glanced at the clock on the microwave and saw it was quarter past nine. She’d never been late to work at Nelson & Nelson. They’d wonder about her soon. It didn’t look like she’d make her ten o’clock appointment with Freya either, and she could only imagine what she’d think of her then.

  “Why did you kill those people? You might as well tell me, since you’re not letting me go.”

  He got up to grab a beer from the fridge. “It was Henry I was after, but taking the entire organization out was a business opportunity. My plan had been to pick up the pieces and start where they left off. Henry told me a lot about how they’re organized. It wouldn’t be a problem to get up and running. Stingy and I are already working together.”

  She remained silent, s
tunned at his cavalier way of explaining three murders. Her hopes for her own survival plunged further. “Why Henry? I thought you were best pals.”

  “Henry’s a stuck-up, entitled bastard who basically treated me like a lackey. I made a lot of money through him or I would have left long ago. But recently he crossed a line.”

  “Which was?”

  He lit a joint and leaned back in his chair. “He didn’t invite me to that party of his, after all the work I’ve done for their organization. I was sick of not being respected. And there was something else, too.”

  “I’m listening.” The more she got him to talk, the better she’d be.

  “He wanted you, and he talked about it all the time. I found it unbearable.”

  “So, you decided you’d wipe them all out.”

  He looked at the ceiling, as if daydreaming. “It wasn’t so much a decision as an impulse. When he left for the party I realized I could get rid of him, increase my chances with you, and move in on an established drug business all at the same time. It seemed brilliant.”

  She could tell it didn’t seem so brilliant to him now. “What do we do now? Are you going to keep me here ad infinitum?”

  “Is that lawyer talk or something?”

  “I mean you can’t keep me here indefinitely. I think I have a right to know what you plan to do.”

  His face hardened as he stood. “You have no rights. You’re merely an obstacle. You’re staying here for now.”

  He grabbed his beer and walked toward the bedrooms in the rear of the apartment. She looked around for anything that might liberate her, but there was nothing. The blinds were all drawn, so no passerby was going to see her tied up like something from Abu Ghraib. Her phone was in her jacket pocket, but she couldn’t get to it with her hands cuffed behind her. Her head dropped forward and her eyes stung with tears. She didn’t want him to see her cry. But she was scared. And she had to pee.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Freya debated whether to tell Ben about Clare’s confession, but she knew she had to. She’d been stunned while driving from Clare’s home into work, but even with all the revelations she’d made, she didn’t hate her. Apparently couldn’t hate her, despite her drug use and everything else. Her thoughts raced through the ways the situation could be salvaged, that somehow things could return to where they’d been with each other only ten hours before, when they’d innocently fallen asleep together. There must be a way.