All Things Considered

by A B Plum

  She’d forgotten to take the Provera. Explains the hyper-sweating. She crawled out of bed. Unless she wanted to deal with another bout of bleeding, she’d better take that damn pill.

  Certain her reflection would scare her to death, she opened the medicine without turning on the overhead light. She tapped the Provera vial in her open palm. Half a dozen of the little white pills spilled out. As she returned all but one pill, she spiraled down into a déjá vu flash. In the bedroom. At the mansion. Pouring out too many of the melatonin caps.

  Snap. The connection evaporated before he brain made the connection. Something on Doc’s tape?

  Exhausted, she popped the Provera with water sucked from her hand and crawled back into bed as the clock numerals rolled over to four a.m.

  The scratching and whimpering at the door jerked Ryn straight up in bed. A million electrodes exploded in her scalp. Fingernails scraped the wood on the door and triggered a memory of Stone dragging his fingernails on the back of his guitar. Over the years, she’d stopped screaming when he played this game, but Stone never stopped laughing at her reaction.

  “Ryn?” Beau sniffled. “Ryn. I’m scaaared.”

  He sobbed her name again, and she kicked at the bed covers, dragging them with her as she fell out of bed. She threw open the door. Huddled in front of it, Beau tumbled like a bag of dirty laundry into her bedroom.

  She managed to stay on her feet. “What’s wrong, Beau? What’s the matter?”

  In the hall, Maj went up on her toes, stretched, and meowed. Beau didn’t even glance at his feline companion.

  Bad. Something really bad. “Beau?” Ryn crooned his name and squeezed his arm. “Can you tell me what scared you?”

  Tail high, Maj pirouetted a few feet and bumped Ryn’s elbow. Carefully, Ryn reached for The Fanged Beast. She whispered, “Here’s Maj. She wants you to hold her.”

  Maj hissed but didn’t claw either of them as Ryn held the furry orange-and-white body against Beau’s waist. Slowly, he raised his head. His tear-stained cheeks were red and raw from lying on the carpet. Ryn gave him the edge of her blanket to wipe his runny nose. He held out his arms. As if Maj were a king’s crown, Ryn handed over the cat. His face dropped into the fur, and his shoulders shook as he started crying again. For once, Maj lay absolutely still.

  Ryn waited, the six-year-old inside her remembering she’d buried Beauty in stony-eyed silence, refusing to let Mama comfort her, lying wide awake night after night bargaining with God to let Beauty and Daddy come back from the dead.

  Beau hiccoughed. “I had a baaaad dream. It was so scary And so real. I couldn’t tell if I was awake or if I was dreamin’.”

  “Would talking help?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I remember it.” He shuddered. Beau might not have enough gray cells to understand astrophysics, but he had deep feelings, and he wasn’t afraid to show them.

  “It’s okay if you can’t remember. You want some hot chocolate to help you back to sleep?” She had no idea of the time, but it must be early because she hadn’t heard any birds yet.

  Maybe they’ve had a tough night, too, and are sleeping in.

  “Can I make the hot chocolate?”

  “Sure can.” Stifling a groan, Ryn pushed up to her feet.

  “Can Maj have some milk, too? Please, Ryn.”

  What an easy way to make Beau ecstatic. She capitulated without protest. Life was too damned short to bicker over a saucer of milk. And she didn’t care how many times Stone claimed Beau manipulated her.

  In the kitchen, she listened to Beau with one ear. She’d call Lulu. Ask if she could come to Los Altos if Ryn paid for someone to care for the nieces. Beau would need Lulu once Ryn went to the police about The Monkey Boys.

  If she says no, I’m not above a little manipulation myself.

  Beau removed a saucer of milk from the microwave and spoke a little louder—as if he’d caught Ryn’s attention wandering. “Maj hasn’t drunk any warm milk since the night Stone got shot, you know.”

  Ryn’s heart missed a beat. “No, I don’t think I knew that.”

  An image of an empty saucer on the pale pink, Mexican-tiled kitchen floor came back. At the end of the island. Across from the stainless steel, restaurant-sized fridge.

  “Yep.” Beau stirred the cocoa powder in his hot milk. “I slipped back in the kitchen after Amber and I left.” He blew on the steaming chocolate and took a test taste.

  Ryn held her breath. “Where was Amber?”

  “She went down to the carriage house. To leave some Lady GaGa tickets for Erick and Astrid. I got back to the car before she did,” Beau crowed.

  Ryn exhaled slowly. What had she expected Beau to tell her. That Amber stayed on the mansion grounds while Beau drove himself home in her red Lamborghini?

  Beau could barely operate the microwave let alone drive a car with more gears than his IQ.

  He drained the last drop of milk from his cup and ran his tongue around his sticky moustache. “I bet I can sleep until noon today.”

  “I hope so.” She hugged him good night. How soon did she have to contact the police about Chance and Harpo? What would she tell Beau?

  Dizzy from lack of sleep, she fell face down on the bed and curled into a fetal position. Not even the grinding gears of the garbage truck blocked sleep. She heard the screaming landline phone from miles away. Unable to open her eyes, she fumbled for the receiver and mashed it against her mouth on the second ring.

  “Whoisthis?” Her tongue thick as a tree trunk.

  “Garrett McCoy. Sorry to call so early, but I waited till seven-thirty.”

  “Whatttayawant?” she snarled. Someone had driven a nail through her right eye while she’d been asleep for five minutes.

  “I figured you’d want to know,” McCoy’s voice vibrated with excitement. “Dr. Colin Comfrey was found dead two hours ago.”

  Chapter 39

  Ryn sat with her head in her hands next to McCoy at the kitchen table. They stared at the miniature Japanese tape recorder like cats with a two-hundred-pound canary. Her heart rang in her ears. No matter how hard she focused on McCoy’s mouth, she couldn’t hear his words. Dead. Comfrey Dead.

  A front-page story. McCoy’s matter-of-fact phone announcement faded in and out of her short-term memory. Whatever he’d said in the elevator had disappeared. Half-convinced she was dreaming, she cocked her head, ready to jump out of her chair at the first whap of Beau’s slippers.

  She interrupted McCoy’s non-stop jabber. “Who gave you this tape?”

  “A confidential source—like I said in the elevator.” He tapped the table. “I can’t divulge who—any more than a mainstream reporter would disclose that info.”

  Holding back a snigger at his claim to legitimacy, she protested, “You removed evidence from a murder scene.”

  He waved his hands like a referee. “I didn’t remove anything. The original is—as far as I know—still at the scene. I—”

  “You paid for something that may not be reliable.”

  “Exactly why I want you to hear it. Is if authentic? Or did I pay a fortune for nothing?” Electricity spewed out of every pore in McCoy’s body. His index finger hovered over the ON button. “The first part’s dull—the doc telling you to close eyes. Relax. That sort of dull.”

  None of this is coincidence.

  Ryn nodded. What McCoy said made sense. But this was a big story. Why should she trust him? On the other hand, why waste time? Why not get to the interesting stuff? “Okay, go ahead.”

  Barely able to sit still, McCoy punched the ON button and leaned over the recorder as if about to eat it. The man knows how to focus on what’s important.

  COMFREY: “How were you and Stone getting along?”

  Hearing Comfrey’s clipped tone, Ryn flinched. Another nightmare from which she could not waken.

  HER VOICE: “Not very well. We argued a lot.”

  COMFREY: “Was he abusive when he got mad?”

  HER VOICE: “Phys
ically, yes. Mostly, he tried to intimidate me.”

  COMFREY: “Why was he mad?”

  HER VOICE: “He hit me.”

  McCoy stirred his coffee and the spoon clinked against the cup. Ryn assumed he was writing the story in his head as he listened.

  COMFREY: “What did you do?”

  HER VOICE: “I opened a bottle of … and took one pill. To sleep.”

  White noise drowned out the name of the substance. Sweat ran down Ryn’s sides.

  COMFREY: “What did you do after taking the …” [More white noise].

  HER VOICE: “I heard a popping sound. POP! POP! Twice.”

  “It’s doctored.” She pressed OFF. Goosebumps chased each other up and down her arms, tromping on her last hope that she might be asleep. She was awake and had to defend herself. “Who knows what I really said, but the implication is I took something—a drug—and shot Stone.”

  “That’s one interpretation,” McCoy said. His green eyes narrowed.

  The intercom squawked, and Ryn started, heart leaping into high gear despite the heaviness in her calves and the disappointment in her bones. The intercom buzzed once more. Her legs wobbled as she lumbered across the room.

  Did her instability make her appear guilty? Did McCoy believe the tape was doctored? Why couldn’t she imagine what was on the tape that made it necessary to kill Comfrey?

  “I’ve got news,” Elijah announced.

  “McCoy’s here,” Ryn said, in case Elijah’s news was for her ears only. “I’ll send him down to let you in.”

  McCoy stood, stretched, and slipped the recorder into his front pocket.

  In the blip of silence after McCoy left, Comfrey’s promise echoed in Ryn mind. Don’t worry about the police hearing this tape. They never will.

  Her legs buckled, but she caught the arm of a chair and stumbled back to the kitchen table. When McCoy and Elijah returned five minutes later, she’d decided what she had to do.

  She didn’t give either man a chance to speak before she blurted, “I’m going to the police. As soon as I get dressed.”

  “Without Danny?” Elijah asked.

  “He’s in Los Angeles.”

  “He’s in San Francisco. Wait until he gets down here—”

  “No.” Nausea crawled into her throat. She had to go before she went to bed and didn’t get up again. “I’m going to the police.”

  “Noooo, Ryn.” Beau’s wail raised the hair on the back of her neck.

  She whirled around in her chair, saw Beau, and shoved away from the table. The chair teetered and she stumbled, catching Elijah’s outstretched hand, holding it until she reached the hallway where Beau sat hunched over with Maj under his arm in a stranglehold. Tears streamed down his ruddy cheeks.

  “No, Ryn.” He shook his head—a five-year-old in denial—back and forth. Back and forth. “Don’t go to the police. If you do, they’ll put you in jail. What will happen to me, then?”

  Throat dry, heart hammering, Ryn knelt next to him. “I’ll call Lulu first. Ask—”

  “No.” Beau jerked his shoulder away from her touch and scrubbed his eyes savagely with his fist. “If you call the police, I’ll … me and Maj—we’ll run away.”

  The Fanged Beast growled, wiggled free, and leaped out of his hold. She streaked down the hallway like an orange and white comet. Beau wailed with the despair of a broken-hearted child.

  Elijah and McCoy stood stiff as mannequins, paralyzed by the naked emotions. Neither of them will take care of Beau. And why would they? She snapped her fingers silently at McCoy and then jabbed her finger at a box of tissues on the counter under his elbow. McCoy handed over the box, as she tilted Beau’s massive head up to face her. Not a pretty sight.

  She gave him the box of tissues. “I’ll take care of you, Beau. I promise.”

  He pulled out a handful of tissues, mashed them against his nose, and honked. “Cross your heart?”

  Blinking away the after-image of an elephant with a bad head cold, she made two slashes across her heart, waited for his nod, and then kissed him on both cheeks. “How about some Cheerios?”

  “Okay, but if you break your promise, I’ll never eat again,” he stated—his face so tight she had no doubts he meant the threat. He’s terrified.

  “I love you,” she whispered, hoping he couldn’t hear her own terror.

  “I love you, too.” He took a bowl of cereal from McCoy and pushed it at Ryn. “You need to eat.”

  The memory of Comfrey feeding her cheese and crackers over-rode an involuntary gag at the thought of food. She picked up her spoon. Beau admonished her to chew slowly. Which she did, but she had to swallow twice to get the lump of Cheerios past the sadness choking her. She’d keep her promise to Beau—even if it meant the police might run around in circles looking for Comfrey’s murderer. None of this is a coincidence.

  Elijah broke the scrape of spoons against bowls. “The police will come with a search warrant. That way they can enter the apartment if you’re not here.”

  “They have to get in the building, first.” McCoy bent his knees, went up on his toes, and aimed his wad of paper napkin at the sink. “What say I go down and talk Mr. Smith into a game of golf? Treat him to a long lunch afterwards?”

  “In the meantime, I take to the freeways, right?” Ryn asked, seeing OJ’s white Bronco.

  “’N me and Maj take to the freeways with you.” Beau tapped his chest.

  “Whoa. Whoa. Whooooa.” Elijah clapped his hands over his head. “The cops’re gonna check with DMV on their way over here with a warrant—”

  “It’s a rental.” Ryn felt an impulse to stick out her tongue.

  “You’re a computer geek. Think about this.” Elijah dropped his hands, and his long fingers drummed the table. “Unless you used phony ID—hard to do, no matter what you see on TV—they’ll find the rental info in five minutes flat.”

  Not in five minutes. The reverberation of each of Elijah’s finger taps sledgehammered Ryn’s brain. “So, I’ll ditch the car.”

  “Only happens on TV cop shows.”

  “Shit.” McCoy threw up his hands. “What if she uses my car?”

  Whatever objection Elijah made, she didn’t hear. Breathing and moving took an effort she didn’t have because the sledgehammer pounded in sync to the rhythm of Elijah’s steady beat. Panic uncoiled in her gut and time stopped.

  “Ryn.” Beau shook her arm, tugging at it—a child demanding his mother’s attention. “Are you asleep?”

  She held his hand between both of hers. “I was thinking about something else.”

  Elijah’s and McCoy’s mouths stretched into long, flat lines. They seemed to wait for the other to speak up.

  Beau asked, “Were you thinking about Stone?”

  “No.”

  Beau’s eyebrows shot up. Did he think she thought about Stone every minute of the day and night? “I’ll tell you someday. Right now, let’s think about how to avoid the police.”

  Elijah touched the face of his watch. Ryn nodded and tilted Beau’s chin up a little. “I have an idea, but it means you have to be very brave.”

  Don’t think about if he refuses.

  Beau’s blue eyes widened, and he gulped, his mouth open. “Are you going to leave me by myself?” He breathed through his mouth and blinked rapidly. His hand was slick in hers.

  “No.” She exhaled and said, “You’ll have Maj—until Lulu gets here.”

  Chapter 40

  When Lulu’s cheery voice answered on the third ring, Ryn’s mouth went dry. Hundreds of questions sluiced around in her head. Panic stimulated her imagination and shot the hell out of logic.

  Luckily, Lulu’s logic was working fine. She listened like a priest hearing confession. Without interruption, she let Ryn state her need to go to San Francisco. Recounting the murders of The Monkey Boys and Comfrey, Ryn stumbled a couple of times and stopped once. In a dark corner of her heart, she wished Lulu would advise her to forget running. Imitating OJ, she made herself appear
guilty.

  “Guy’s not guilty, he shouldn’t run.” Stone’s pronouncement—from the grave—ran on top of the story to Lulu.

  “Hey, Honey Girl. Go do whatever you need to do. I’ll take care of Mister Beau Peep.” Lulu’s sunny Jamaican voice brought quick tears to Ryn’s eyes, but she nodded as Lulu said her older sister could care for the nieces while Lulu caught the first plane into San Jose.

  Ryn sent Elijah’s picture on her phone, texted his phone number, and hung up so weak in the knees she had to sit still for a few minutes. Sixteen minutes later, she and Elijah sauntered into the bright sunshine. Elijah sauntered. Ryn shuffled—adrenaline pumping, heart thumping, brain bumping into the holes in her head.

  Had Beau understood a word she’d told him? Don’t answer the phone. Stay in the apartment. Don’t go down to the front door. Ryn had repeated it all twice, cursing under her breath because she was making a mess of giving instructions to Beau. God, what if Lulu didn’t recognize Elijah?

  “Easy does it.” Mr. Casual, Elijah checked both directions—as if they had all day—before he stepped off the curb. “We’re out enjoyin’ this wonderful morning sunshine.”

  “Weather—the universal fallback conversational topic.” Ryn shifted her backpack off her shoulders and onto the passenger’s rear set of the Jeep. The money belt she kept around her waist, hidden by her baggy, black sweatshirt. She’d required two minutes to retrieve the leather belt. From under the bed. Where she’d stashed it after her Safeway-encounter with The Monkey Boys. Every day after that, she withdrew six hundred dollars from nearby ATMs, returned to the apartment, and evenly divided the crisp twenties between the four zippered pockets. They now contained two thousand four hundred and sixty dollars.

  Beau stood at the guest bedroom window with Maj. Ryn threw him a kiss and then faced Elijah. “Don’t do anything that causes you to lose your PI li—”

  “Worry about yourself.” Elijah huffed and slid away from the curb. “Beau will spill the beans.”

  “I know.” Beau’s teary face surged into her consciousness. “How long do you think McCoy can keep Mr. Smith out of the building?”