Skewed

by Anne McAneny

  “Midnight? No, that’s not right.”

  “Maybe you’re not as good in the sack as you think, Senator. You and Lenora may have had a little prison fling, but she gave you up faster than a two-dollar hooker puttin’ out for a Benjamin. We had a lovely chat a few minutes ago.” Leroy chuckled as I continued. “Lenora dropped you off five miles from the prison, at a gas station where she had a rental car waiting in her name. You had all the time in the world to drive to the mountains and kill Sam Kowalczyk.”

  Leroy gasped and muttered to himself, “Sam’s dead? Oh, my.”

  I was on a roll now. “You made Sam’s files just easy enough for me to find. You killed Sam and framed Leroy while you were at it, making it look like Leroy was gallivanting about, killing anyone who knew his true identity. The beauty of it was that it wasn’t even you accusing poor Leroy—it looked like Sam’s handiwork. You were just the naïve bystander.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Grady said. “You can’t possibly believe all this.”

  “Nice touch with the 5-7-5 file. Did you do that before or after you marched Sam into the woods and killed him?”

  The upper corners of Grady’s lifelong mask curled, as if the heat of being in the spotlight was finally taking its toll.

  “And it wasn’t just Leroy and the police who knew which drug you were injected with thirty years ago. You knew, too. You wrote that glutton juice haiku and even managed to throw a little pity party for yourself—making it look like you’d been betrayed by your dearest friend all those years while he spent your money and let you rot.”

  “Janie, you—”

  “Your money kept Sam quiet, not loyal.”

  Leroy piped up, his voice so small it didn’t even reach the ceiling. It just hung in the air, searching. “Sam and I spoke when he tracked me down in Ridge. I had caught him taking photos at the church. As horrid as Sam was, he was a spiritual man. He wouldn’t have taken his secrets to the grave. Grady knew that; that’s why he killed him.”

  “You really know how to pick ’em, Grady,” I said.

  And suddenly the façade came tumbling down and the curtain lifted. For perhaps the first time in his life, Grady McLemore showed his real face, and it was something to behold. Evil streaked with ice-cold indifference, shrouded by self-glorification and unreserved hatred. “I picked your mother, didn’t I?”

  “Don’t rise to his bait, Janie,” Leroy said. “You’ve got him where you want him and I’m proud of you. But the cavalry will be here soon, and it’s time for me to bid you and your family adieu. I do apologize for the stain.”

  “What stain?”

  “Betty shouldn’t have mailed those pictures, but she never did forgive me for those puppies,” Leroy said, a mournful smile coating his features. “But I forgive her and I need to go see her now.”

  Leroy raised his gun to his head, sucked in a defiant gulp of air, and pulled the trigger.

  I may have screamed No! but I didn’t hear it. The deafening shot of the gun pounded against my ears as I watched his round body go limp on the couch, falling gently to the side as if he’d lain down for a nap.

  At the same moment, Jack must have returned through the front door, but I didn’t hear him, and only Grady would have been able to see him through the archway between the living room and foyer.

  Not the least bit fazed by the suicide, Grady screamed to Jack, “Leroy’s here! Toss me the gun!” He pointed to the nine-millimeter on the foyer table.

  As I turned to shout at my brother, I saw a flash of hard steel fly into Grady’s hands. Jack entered immediately after and tried to make sense of the bizarre scene. He ran to Leroy and gently touched his neck to check for a pulse. Not finding one, he looked from Grady to me. “What the hell is going on?”

  Reflexively, Jack pulled out his phone.

  Grady took aim at my brother’s head. “Not so fast, Jack. Put it on the floor.”

  Jack froze. Had I not been so horrified by the turn of events, I would have enjoyed the expression on my brother’s face, but his words sufficed. “No. Fucking. Way.”

  “Afraid so,” Grady said, signaling with his gun for Jack to get away from Leroy’s body, and away from Leroy’s gun.

  Jack stepped toward me, repeating himself in a murmur. “What the hell is going on?”

  I ignored my brother for the moment and waved my own piece. “Did you forget I’m holding a gun, Grady?”

  Grady glanced at me pitifully. “The gun I unloaded before you came down the stairs, Janie?”

  Without hesitation, I aimed my gun at the external wall and fired. A disappointing click. Son of a bitch.

  “A long time ago,” Grady said, “Bridget told me how Barton kept some piece-of-shit gun in an old curio. It’s the type of information that’s handy to tuck away. And I tuck away everything.”

  He strutted over toward Leroy’s body and shook his head. “What a pain in the ass this guy turned out to be.” He sat himself down on the arm of the couch, relaxed and confident. “But at least he can help me now.”

  “You can’t possibly think you’ll get away with this, Grady. It’s not thirty years ago. No matter what you do, there’s evidence in every square inch of this room.”

  “You’re right, Janie. Plenty of evidence. To show that Leroy, the infamous Haiku Killer, felt the need to take out both of the adorable Haiku Twins before taking his own life.” He smiled, all resemblance to my brother replaced by the twisted sickness emanating from his every pore. “And here I am with a bump on my head because Leroy knocked me out while he killed my children in cold blood.” He shook his head. “Real sicko.”

  “You have to at least tell us why,” Jack said.

  “Why what?”

  “Why all of it?”

  “No time for that. So sorry.”

  “But why the haikus?” I said, desperate to stall. “Why those victims? Have you always been like this?”

  “I told you in the car, Janie, I’m not some puzzle you can assemble and label for the psychiatric journals. I am so much more than anyone will ever understand.” He tilted his head. “But I do hate to send you to your graves frustrated—the way your mother went.”

  Without looking, I knew that Jack’s reaction, like my own, was one of repulsion and horror.

  “My victims,” Grady said, “were all people with power behaving badly. My mother would have spit on their graves.” He grinned. “I guess I made it easier for her, didn’t I? Nothing beats power—nothing. Those men had it, they earned it, they existed in the upper echelons, mingling with the elite. But they all became sniveling, spineless wimps, mismanaging their gifts and begging a junior senator-to-be to save their sorry asses. I showed them what real power was.” His expression grew animated and evil, filled with enough loathing to justify a dozen slain corpses. “I met with each of them. Very discreetly, of course. The professor with his pathetic liaisons, desperate for tenure but about to be taken down by the contrite, slutty daughter of a powerful businessman. The doctor who needed me to intervene because the judge presiding over his case was a friend of my father’s. And the priest who wondered how I might be able to help him seal the records of a perverse coworker.”

  “But the haikus,” I said. “Why the haikus?”

  “Enough, Janie.” He waved with his gun for me to move closer to my brother. “You came in together, you’ll go out together. Ladies first, I think.”

  “Grady, hold up!” Jack said. “Abner Abel is on his way here. He left something behind earlier. You’ll never get away with it.”

  “Really, John?” Grady said. “That’s the best you’ve got? Thought I raised you better than that.”

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, then turned and extended his hand toward Leroy’s hip to confiscate the .38.

  Bang!

  A bullet ripped into Grady’s chest. “What the hell?” he shou
ted as he fell to the floor. Blood seeped through his clean white shirt, but he looked more surprised than distraught as he stared down at his chest.

  I glanced at the gun in my hand. It certainly hadn’t gone off. And then it dawned on me. Despite the life-and-death circumstances swirling around the room, I couldn’t help but be fascinated by what had just occurred.

  “Cadaveric spasm,” I whispered with awe and respect.

  “Cat of what?” my brother said.

  “Cadaveric spasm,” I said, taking a slanted pleasure in Grady’s attempts to stem his own bleeding with a throw pillow. “It’s rare, but bodies can twitch after death, especially those that die tragically with muscles contracted. Leroy’s hand was probably pretty tense.”

  “I still come out of this smelling like a rose,” Grady panted, growing pale, but, as Leroy had observed, the insane could show remarkable resilience. He’d kept his pistol trained on Jack and me from the moment he hit the floor. He scooted on his butt toward Leroy’s body, still determined to get Leroy’s gun, still determined to kill us with it.

  “All I smell,” I said, “is a psycho’s blood. You must be losing it at a rate of a pint a minute, Grady; a guy your size has only got about nine total.”

  “Then I’ll have to make this quick.”

  “Must be fate,” I said. “Even in death, the man who put you away the first time manages to take you out again.”

  He glared at me, its effect chilling. “I’m far from out.”

  In a flash, he grabbed Leroy’s gun and raised it to my heart.

  Jack and I launched into action at precisely the same moment, both going low to rush Grady. He’d only be able to get off one shot before the surviving twin tackled him, and each of us was willing to take a bullet for the other.

  But before we took our first step, the sound of shattering glass and a rifle’s report filled the air, disrupting Grady’s aim but still allowing him to fire. His bullet slammed into my shoulder; it burned like hell and sent me airborne, back toward the center of the room, but I didn’t mind. It gave me a great vantage point from which to see Abner Abel’s load of buckshot come soaring in from the back deck and adjust all the mangled wiring in Grady’s head, short-circuiting the sick bastard once and for all.

  CHAPTER 55

  Four hours postsurgery, my shoulder was in dire straits but apparently filled with so much potential that the docs said I’d be doing cartwheels in no time. The fact that I’d never performed a cartwheel did not deter them from insisting on its possibility.

  Jack, who’d used his ample charms to get permission to stay by my side even in the restricted areas, had finally deemed me conscious enough to unleash his barrage of questions. We’d already covered the details of Sam’s murder and were on to the haiku.

  “Then who was the haiku for? Do you think he intended to kill Mom?”

  “I don’t think the haiku was written about her. I think he wanted a family, or at least the public illusion of one.” I tried to shrug but my shoulder would have none of it. “Maybe it was for a fellow politician that bugged him, or maybe he was going to kill Leroy.”

  “Speaking of Leroy, I guess he didn’t kill his sister. What did she die from?”

  “Abdominal aortic aneurysm. Same thing that killed Leroy and Betty’s mother. I verified it with Sheriff Tucker to make sure I wasn’t dealing with two crazies in the house. To tell you the truth, I was having a lot of trouble wrapping my head around who Grady might be.”

  “You were right all along,” Jack said, laying his hand upon mine.

  “I sure didn’t want to believe it, but then I talked to Lenora Dabney, and Sheriff Tucker texted me back with the coroner’s conclusion—all while you were next door making out with Annelise Abel.”

  Jack grimaced at the thought. “She would not let me go. Kept going on about all the good times in her cellar and how we had crushes on each other as teens but were too shy to acknowledge them.”

  “It’s a scary place in Annelise’s head. Which reminds me . . . Can you get something for me?”

  “What’s that?” he said.

  “Can you gather every apology that’s ever been uttered, written, sent, or imagined, and bundle it into a package? I need to hand-deliver it to Mr. Abel.”

  “If you throw in some gratitude, I’ll deliver it with you.”

  “Maybe we can bring it to him at church on Sunday,” I said. “Might do me some good.”

  Jack smiled. “We’ll go together, but I do have a juicy tidbit for you.”

  “Do tell.”

  “When I was driving Jedediah and Mr. Abel home, Mr. Abel confessed something.”

  “I don’t think I want to hear this.”

  “Oh, yes, you do. He told me how you were concerned about his connection to the Aberdeen Hotel and Mom and everything, and that he kind of blew up at you.”

  “I thought he was the third man for a while.”

  “Well, he confessed that he and the Aberdeen manager got buzzed on the house wine pretty often.”

  “But Mr. Abel doesn’t drink.”

  “Apparently he drank quite a bit back in the day and even attended some AA meetings in Kingsley.”

  The strange pictures that Sam Kowalczyk had taken of Mr. Abel in that old Kingsley warehouse building suddenly made sense.

  “He wanted me to tell you,” my brother continued, “because he felt terrible. Apparently he drank some wine the day Mom got shot. That’s why he didn’t go home right away. Didn’t want the missus to smell it on him.”

  “Speaking of wine, remember that story you told me years ago about Pyramid and Frisbee?”

  Jack chuckled. “Pyramus and Thisbe. Those painkillers must be kicking in.”

  “Well, I don’t think I want to return to Grandpa’s house. It’s forever changed, gone from an innocent childhood white to a stained, sinful red.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “It’ll never be warm again, filled with dreams and fantasies of a perfect mother. The magnolia tree’s been toppled by Mickey Busker’s deplorable actions. The living room has seen three dead bodies, and the walls will forever echo Leroy’s sadness.”

  “All true, but remember something else about that story: Pyramus and Thisbe’s tragedy started because of an unbreakable bond between two people, two people willing to do anything for each other, even die.” He took my hand. “We have that strong a bond, Janie, and I’m sorry I ever strained it by putting distance between us. I promise you it will never happen again.”

  I squeezed his hand. “Can I take that promise to the people?”

  He grinned.

  “Jack, what are we going to do now? We’re officially orphans. You’ve lost someone who was pretty important to you, and I’ve been through the emotional wringer on this one.”

  “We were never motherless or fatherless, anyway, Janie, no matter what anyone said. We were twins. We are twins. First and always.”

  “Grandpa’s twins,” I said, reaching out an arm to hug him. He grabbed me with both arms and his whole upper body and it felt right. It felt complete. I swallowed away a bevy of tears. When we finally let go of each other, Jack took a moment to gather himself. “Speaking of Grandpa, I don’t think it’s going to be a problem to sell the house right away. I’ve got some news.”

  I gasped. “Oh, God. No.”

  The door flung open, followed by the big, sturdy foot that had kicked it.

  “Mr. Perkins!” shouted a nurse’s fed-up but overjoyed voice. “I told you not to be wheeling yourself all over tarnation just yet!”

  In rolled Grandpa Barton with full color on his cheeks and a grin wider than the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  “Grandpa!” I shouted.

  He pulled his wheelchair up to my bed. “Now, Janie, you know I love you, but my takin’ a few days off in a restful coma does not give you permiss
ion to go shootin’ up the house and stirrin’ up all sorts of trouble, ya hear?”

  “Yes, Grandpa.”

  “Next time you want to kill a sumbitch, you use that new .45 I bought you for your apartment. Better yet, call me and I’ll take care of it.”

  “My bad, Grandpa. I’ll do better next time.”

  Jack helped Grandpa up onto my bed, then excused himself to get some coffee.

  “My little girl,” Grandpa said. “I am so glad you’re all right. They tell me you’ll be up and at ’em in no time.”

  I took his hand in mine and felt at home. “Know the first thing I’m gonna do when I get out of here, Grandpa?”

  “Bake me a cherry pie?”

  “No.” I smiled warmly. “I’m going to burn down that storage unit you’ve got. Right to the ground. Every square inch.”

  “And they said those painkillers might make you sweet and sappy for a few hours. Glad to see they were wrong.”

  “Hey,” I said, “Jack says we might be selling the place.”

  “Too big for me anymore, and I’m ready for a change. There’s a new retirement community I can’t wait to sink my teeth into.”

  I pulled a dubious face. Pinochle and backgammon didn’t sound like Grandpa’s cup of tea. “Really?”

  “Of course. Can you imagine the killing I’ll make selling funeral insurance?”

  We were still laughing when his nurse returned. “Let’s get you back to your room, Mr. Perkins. I’m breaking the rules as it is.”

  Grandpa winked and I knew there’d be plenty of fat-chewing sessions over the next couple of weeks. “Tell me something before they wheel me away and treat me like an old man,” he said. “Who is that dang handsome fella in the hall waitin’ to see you?”

  My eyes brightened. “Is it a seed-spitting slob with perfect skin, or a clean-cut guy with impeccable manners and breathtaking biceps?”

  “That’d be the latter.”

  I smiled, making no effort to reel in my delight. “That, Grandpa, is my new boyfriend. At least I hope it is. His name is Alex. Alex Wexler.”