by Clea Simon
“What are you talking about? I loved the guy.” He was good, but I didn’t buy it.
“Yeah, enough to give him a child. Was it for Delia? Is this all about her?” I thought of the blonde. She could certainly cause trouble. But, no, that didn’t fit. Mack didn’t care enough. He’d had his fun, but was happy enough to let her run back to Chris when things got serious. I’d seen no trace of jealousy or possessiveness. More likely, he was grateful. For a split second, I felt for Delia. Well, she was making the best of the situation. Mack however…“No, it must have been the money.”
“What money?”
I stammered. Truth was, I still wasn’t sure. Then it hit me. I didn’t have to know. He did. “I’ve seen the accounts, remember? And I have copies of those files.”
He shook his head, slowly. “You really are clueless, aren’t you, Pru?” To my surprise, he smiled. “There was no money. Never was. I needed those files to find a way out.”
“But you’re the money guy.” None of this was making sense.
His smile grew broader. “Do I seem like a financial whiz to you, Pru? I’m a salesman. Always have been. And there are forecasts in those files, forecasts I could still use if I acted fast enough. At least, I’ve got to try.”
I didn’t buy it. “But anything would have gone to his mother. And, besides, if there’s nothing there…”
“Nobody knows that, Pru. Nobody but you and me and members of his immediate family. You see, I set up the business plan, and that’s what people are looking to me for.”
“But if there’s nothing done. Nothing built—”
“Still might be enough there to buy me time.” Desperation had crept into his voice, giving it a tightness I’d never heard. “You don’t get it, Pru. I’m a middle man. I introduced Charles to some people he might not have known otherwise. People who definitely don’t know his mother. I mean, folks around here don’t have a lot to invest, if you get my drift.”
I thought of Happy’s. Of Mack’s time there, and the gambler who had sold Lily to Charles. “You owe money, don’t you?” I swallowed. “A lot?”
“I’ve had some bad luck.” He rubbed his chin. Between the shadow and the puffy eyes, I could see what he’d look like at fifty. It wasn’t pretty. Mack wasn’t coming out on top.
“You owe, and to pay them off you set up Charles.” I looked at him. My point hadn’t hit home. “You offered him—his business—as collateral.”
It would have made sense. Should have, except that he laughed out loud. “I tried to, Pru. Lord knows I tried! There’s not much money out here, unless you’re in real estate. But those outside folks can recognize a good investment. Charles would have made money for anyone who partnered with him. Hell, they loved the idea. They’d make him a quick loan under the table, and my debt was going to be forgiven. It should have worked like a charm.”
“In other words, you were getting a cut—above and beyond your agreement with Charles.” The picture was getting clearer. “Is that why you told Creighton about the drive? Was this whole business a front? Were you laundering funds for some mob?”
“You’re not hearing me, Pru. I wasn’t. I didn’t. I have no idea who told the cops about that computer drive. Maybe if I had…” He shrugged.
I wondered just how much he did owe. “Your debts got Charles killed.”
“No.” It wasn’t a question,but he shook his head. “He never took their money, Pru. The deal fell through, leaving me in the hole for thirty large.”
“But why?”
“Because of that dog, Pru. Because of that damned dog.” He was meeting my eyes now, and the mix of sadness and humor almost broke my heart. “Charles was only going to the meet because I begged him to, but he wouldn’t even sit down with them once he saw that stupid dog out there, Pru. Charles took one look at that dog and made his one and only deal. He bought the dog outright, and then took off. Left forty grand of good money hanging, and left me in the hole. That dog didn’t get him killed, Pru. But it isn’t doing my health much good.”
There wasn’t much to say after that. I didn’t even need Eleanor as an excuse to say goodbye to Mack and to close the door. I must have had more in mind than I’d admitted to myself, though, because it was with a heavy heart that I climbed back up the steps and collapsed on the bed.
Floyd woke with a start, and I felt the flood of disappointment wash over him as he saw me beside him. Reflexively, he started to groom, and I reached out to stroke him, as much to stop him as to comfort us both.
“No.” He drew away, and I got another flash of his person. Large, male. Could it be?
Just then, Wallis jumped up beside us. “I was thinking about that child.” she said.
“Delia’s?” She shot me a look. She meant the kitten.
“What did she hear, locked up in that closet? I mean, that dog didn’t have the sense God gave it. Refusing to attack a killer. And that baby sounds like a broken record. What are those animals good for, anyway?”
I sat up with a start. Wallis had put the final puzzle piece down. I reached for my keys, glancing back long enough to see two sets of green eyes watching me as I ran for the door.
***
“Mama,” the kitten had said. Had kept saying, from the moment I’d taken her from that closet till her owner had picked her up. Delia clearly adored that kitten. But the kitten hadn’t been talking about Delia.
Too much was piling up. I had to see for myself.
All during the drive over to Raynbourne, I kept repeating, like a mantra, the other options. Maybe Mack had been more desperate than he’d let on. Maybe he didn’t know the whole story, and Charles was in debt. Delia was another complicating factor. Did I think she’d done it? No, I didn’t want to, anyway. Still, she was a beautiful woman at the end of her tether. Who knows what any of us would do, or what someone would do for her? And then there was the complication of Lily and the gambler. Nothing good comes out of mixing it up with small-time hoods. Nothing.
With all of this buzzing around my head, I made it to Nora Harris’ house in record time. For once, she wasn’t in the garden, and as I waited for someone to answer the door, I tried to work out what to say. There weren’t really words for what I was thinking.
“You!” That wasn’t the welcome I’d been expecting. But the sight of Chris Moore, red-faced and furious, was enough of a surprise that I pulled myself together. When you see a mad dog, you go into automatic. For me, that meant cool as a cucumber.
“Good afternoon, Chris.” I smiled as a way to show him all my teeth. “Are Delia or Mrs. Harris at home?”
“Pru.” I heard Delia’s voice before I saw her. She spoke to me from behind Chris’ outstretched arm. I waited for him to get out of the way. He didn’t. “Nora’s resting.”
“Okay, then.” Normally, I would have left then. Clearly something was going on, and I wanted no part of it. Then I saw the left side of her face. Although she had ducked down to hide it, the curtain of her hair couldn’t quite obscure an eye already turning purple. The blood on her lip wasn’t yet dry, and as I watched, she ran a tongue over the swelling as if she needed the metallic taste to make it all real. “Delia, what’s happened? Are you okay?”
I stepped forward, ignoring the big oaf who loomed between us. “Do you want to come with me, Delia?”
She looked up, and her hair fell back. The cheekbone was red and blue, a trace of blood trickling from her hairline down to that distended lip. Her eye was bloodshot, but her voice was calm. “Thanks, Pru. But Mrs. Harris —”
I reached for her hand. “Nora Harris can take care of herself.” If what I was thinking was true, she’d done just that pretty recently. “You’re coming with—”
“Bitch!” I didn’t feel myself being lifted. I only felt the wall come up behind me, and the force that snapped my head back into it and had me crumbling to the floor. “You interfering little—”
I blinked in time to see a fist come at me. The wall doubled the impact, smacking from behi
nd, and everything went black. I couldn’t have been out for long, because I woke up choking, my mouth filled with blood. I was slumped in the hallway. People were shouting.
“Wait, Chris. Wait.” As my vision cleared, I looked up to see Delia hanging on her boyfriend’s meathook arm.
“No!” He grabbed me around the ribs and pulled me to my feet. I tried to kick him, but I hadn’t yet caught enough of my breath, and there was no force in it. He shoved me back up against the wall. I fell against it like a ragdoll.
“Chris, no!” Delia was hanging on his arm, but he paid her all the attention he would pay a fly. “She’s not the problem, Chris.”
He didn’t even turn to her. “You. You’re the one.” His face was right up to mine. I could feel the heat coming off him. “You told Delia.” He shook me again and leaned in. I turned away, it was all I could do. Delia was gone. Smart woman. “You told her about Eleanor.”
“Eleanor?” That wasn’t the smartest thing to say, but I’d caught my breath and that was what came out. I’d seen Delia’s face. I’d assumed it was about Mack, about her carrying his baby. About leaving faithful old Chris behind to be a beard for Charles with a setup for life. Now it hit me. Chris didn’t care about Charles. He knew he was gay. And the fling with Mack wasn’t worth more than a smack or two, as long as it was over. What was really eating him up was the idea of Delia leaving him for good. Moving on. And he blamed that on me, on me and Eleanor. On Delia finding out about his rebound fling. “But I didn’t say anything.”
“Shut up!” He shook me, and I vowed never to work with terriers again if I got out of this. But I hadn’t been the rat. Not this time. “I’ve loved her. Always. And then you show up —”
“Chris, you’ve got it wrong. I was only looking—”
“I said, shut up!” And with that he pushed me once again. Maybe he thought that would be kinder than hitting me; he always had a rough sort of gallantry to his brutishness. But the effect was more or less the same. I hit the banister of the stair and felt myself tumble, my limbs tangled and unresponsive. Already, I could feel the bruises on my arms from where he’d held me. My ears rang, and, for a moment, the room closed in. I blinked up at a light. The hall light, but it was haloed and indistinct. And then eclipsed. Something dark rose over my face. Oval, no oblong. I could make out the treads of Chris’ work boot.
“No, Chris, no!” Delia’s voice seemed so far away.
For just a moment, I felt at peace. Poor Delia, she was going to be too late. I let my eyes close. It was over.
But the roar of sound that broke through my unnatural calm had nothing to do with my own hearing—or my face being smashed against those wooden steps. Instead, I heard a scream, a bark, a jumble of noise that startled me awake, and I looked up to see the light. No Chris. No Chris’ boot.
When I turned toward the source of the sound, I saw why. Lily—forty pounds of avenging angel—had the big man pinned to the floor. He was clutching his forearm, where she must have grabbed him in her steel-trap jaws, and whimpering, his voice soft and subdued. The big dog stood over him, body tense and trembling, and I didn’t need any special powers to hear her fury. Beside her crouched Delia, her hand on the plain leather collar, her hair falling over Lily’s quivering back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“I’m calling the police.” I pulled myself up to my feet, my head ringing like a fire truck.
“No, please.” Delia reached to help me up. Chris was still on the floor, holding his arm. Lily stood above him, every inch of her body on alert. His arm was bleeding, but it was her growl that was keeping him stone still.
“Are you crazy, Delia?” Her face was turning darker purple, her cheekbone distended. My own head didn’t feel much better. As I stood, it cleared, and a thought hit me. “Oh no, you’re not getting Lily to do your dirty work for you.”
I would’ve reached for her collar, then, only I wasn’t too steady. Instead, I let Delia help me to a chair, and while I waited for the world to hold still, I listened.
“He’s not a violent guy.” I would have laughed, really. Only it hurt. But the picture she drew made sense. There had been betrayals, and he’d expressed himself the way he knew best, with his hands. The same hands that Floyd recalled so fondly. “He feels horrible about this.”
“I bet.” She’d gotten me an ice pack by then.
“I do.” Chris’ voice was soft. “I am sorry. I lost my temper.” In response, Lily’s growl grew louder. She was tied up to the banister now and not liking it one bit. “Really.”
I sighed. These people didn’t have the sense of animals. Lily’s growl had taken on a new note—let go! let go! let go!—that old refrain. I tried to tune it out; we’d had enough violence today.
“What is going on here?” A tremulous voice from the stairwell. I closed my eyes, my reason for racing over was back.
“Mrs. Harris!” Delia jumped up to meet her. The sudden movement must have started her face throbbing, and she held a hand up, as if one hand could cover the damage. I’d have put money on a shattered cheekbone, if I were in the mood for gambling. “It’s okay. Everything is fine.” She looked back over her shoulder at Chris, at the dog. “We just had a little accident.”
“No, we didn’t.” I pulled myself to my feet. Lily’s growl had grown softer, higher in pitch. I tasted blood. My own, probably. Chris wasn’t getting off that easily. Let go! Let go! Let go?
Delia turned from the base of the stairwell to hiss at me. “Pru! She’s been through enough.”
“Young lady? You are in my home, and I demand to know—” A wave of dizziness nearly knocked me over. Nausea, the taste of blood. All I could hear was Lily. Let go! Let go! Let go!
Let go? The scent grew stronger. Blood and dirt. Not perfume, but good, sweet earth.
“No, Delia, she hasn’t.” Lily’s growl was more like a whine now, too insistent to ignore. Home? I fought down the nausea and made my way over to the stairs, a little more wobbly than I’d have liked. “Have you, Mrs. Harris?”
“I don’t understand.” She glanced from me to Delia and back again. “Young lady?”
“She’s confused.” Delia was keeping her voice soft, but I’d swear I saw the ghost of a smile on the senior’s face.
“Yeah, maybe, but not as much as you think.” I leaned on the banister. It helped. Maybe I’d needed to be shaken up to put it all together. The whine. The scent. Motive. Opportunity. Everything the animals had been telling me from the beginning. “You see, Mrs. Harris killed her son. I’m not clear on the details, but I know he needed money, and I know that he’d been taking care of her, paying for the upkeep on this house—and for your services—for years.”
Delia opened her mouth to protest. I raised my hand to silence her. “But he must have been at his wit’s end, wasn’t he, Mrs. Harris? He was so close to launching. He’d run through all his capital, and he’d walked away from his last, best chance at getting more. And here was your house, right where the developers want to expand. But he’d have to act fast, wouldn’t he? In this economy, who knew how long the offer would have been good for.”
“Young lady, this has been my home for more than seventy years.” Her voice sounded clear now. Stern and commanding, all trace of that quaver gone. She paused, though, before adding, “and Charles was a devoted son.”
“Yes, he was.” I felt my own strength returning. “And I bet he was thinking of you, too. He saw what was happening, how your disease was progressing. He knew you’d need more care soon. He wanted you to move in with him, into his lovely house, didn’t he? Old Beauville, with a view of the mountain, and a garden that you had already made beautiful. You were working on it that day, weren’t you? Making it all nice?”
“I’m an adult,” she said, her lips white with fury. “Not a child. Don’t talk to me like a child.”
“Okay, so I won’t. You didn’t like his plan. Maybe it even brought on one of your spells. Or maybe you faked it, so he’d come close and hold you—and
you lashed out. Maybe you didn’t mean to hurt him; maybe you forgot what you were holding—a garden hoe or a cultivator that would have pierced his flesh and stuck there. Though maybe a spade would have done just as well. You must have been so angry, him making plans for you. Treating you like a child. He must have been shocked as hell. What did he say when he fell? Did he call out to you, call for his Mama? Did he beg you to help him? To call 911?”
“I am not a child. I will not be treated like a child. By anyone. Certainly not by a son who’s not even a man.” And then the rage passed, as quickly as it had come, and Nora Harris sank down onto the step, burying her face in her hands. “This is my home.” She started to sob, and I nodded as Delia went to her.
“You’re crazy.” Delia mouthed the words over the elderly woman’s head.
Let go! The whine was softer now. Lily sensed something was happening. In her eyes, a shadow took shape. A slap, a cry. A man falling to his knees. His hands at his throat. What looked like a claw, buried deep, as a smaller figure hung on. Memories flooded back. It hurt too much. Let go!
“You think so?” I focused on Delia, trying to shake off the images. The scent remained. Blood, Dirt. Sweet, fresh earth. Dig. My own head was throbbing like a kettle drum. “The outbursts, the anger? The sudden fits of temper?”
I turned back to Mrs. Harris. “I like to think that you had one of your spells. That you didn’t realize what happened when you ‘slapped’ him and he started to bleed, that you were just staring into space as he collapsed. But at some point, you came back, didn’t you? At some point, you knew.”
She didn’t answer, and I made my case to Delia. “I don’t know how much she was aware of, but I know she had enough sense to cover up the evidence, to clean up and get herself back home. Maybe that was automatic. Years of habit. But letting Lily out of her cage? That took some thought. Maybe she told herself it was a mercy. The poor dog was probably frantic, whimpering and crying to go to her master. And it served Nora well, didn’t it? I think she knew it would, that Lily would take the blame. I think she was quite pleased with herself. Everything all tied up. Except, of course, for Lily.“