All Things Considered

by A B Plum

  “Idiots. They’re both idiots,” she yelled at Vega.

  Groans. Danny attempted to stand. His knees buckled and he took another nosedive. “Shiiit.”

  “Good, I hope I broke every bone in your body,” Ryn said. God, she’d love to kick him and kick and kick him until he never got up.

  “You see why we have to kill her, too.” Danny turned his head to appeal to Vega. “Woman’s a fuckin’ lunatic.” Sure that even a non-lawyer saw the logic, he continued. “Goes around using that karate on people all the time.”

  "Only if you piss me off." She rolled her eyes for Vega’s benefit.

  “The gun’s registered in her name.” Danny The Injured Party, deserving of sympathy, rubbed his leg and hip. Wanting to clear up everything. “Amber bought a red wig. Took off the war paint. Went to a pawn shop in L.A. Gave the gun dealer a phony license. Then she walked right into Stone’s bedroom.”

  The oxygen in the room evaporated. Ryn inhaled. Her heart pounded so hard in her ears she had to strain to hear the rest of Danny’s story.

  “It was easy. She left the kitchen door unlocked when she was there earlier. Told Beau to wait in the car while she took concert tickets to the housekeeper.”

  “See, Ryn? Remember I told you I fed Maj some cream?” Beau spoke with more confidence than Ryn had heard in a long time.

  She saw him feeding Maj and Amber skulking around, waiting for Beau to go back to the car.

  “It’s a wonder she didn’t run into The Dummy in the kitchen,” Danny growled.

  “So you had no part in killing Stone?” Vega swiveled his head from Danny to Amber.

  “Well, I helped fine tune the plan.” Danny’s chest expanded.

  Asshole never misses an opportunity to blow his own horn.

  On the sofa, Amber huffed and bounced to the very edge on her butt. Vega lifted a hand and Pablo untied the handkerchief covering her mouth.

  “You are such a shithead, Danny. You kept saying we could work something out with Stone. Convince him Ryn stole that ten million dollars from him. Deny we were dealing to half of Hollywood. You said we’d never get the police to charge Ryn. You—”

  “You’re sounding like a blonde.” Danny The Attorney patted his lips with his first and second fingers. The same gesture he’d given Ryn during a session with Jericho.

  Ryn didn’t see Vega turn a hair, but Pablo must've received an unspoken message. He re-tied Amber's gag.

  Will I see the signal to wipe Beau and me off this earth? Fear kicked Ryn in the solar plexus, and she had to grab onto Beau’s shoulder to stay upright. She was grateful to be sitting because her knees shook too hard to stand.

  Danny’s eyeballs had rolled back so far in his head Ryn marveled they didn’t stick there—with only the whites showing. Sweat oozed from every pore in his body. To Ryn’s amazement, he somehow got control of his nervous system.

  Man to man, he said to Vega, “Once Ryn signs the confession—”

  “Did anyone ever tell you your mind is like a sieve?” Vega asked.

  “I’ll second that question.” Ryn blurted. Shit, her mind was cottage cheese.

  Vega continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “Your sieve must have a hundred holes. That’s what coke does. It punches holes in your mind. You’d probably sell your mother for a week’s supply.”

  “Aaawk!” Danny The Urbane Attorney. Urbane, Entertainment Attorney.

  A cross between a parrot and a turkey.

  Beau giggled. Vega threw him a crooked smile.

  Ryn’s breath caught. She squeezed Beau’s shoulder. Please don’t let Vega remind Beau how many holes his sieve has.

  Beau clapped his hand over his mouth, but a loud sputter erupted from his nose as he tried to repress the giggle shaking the floor beneath his feet.

  “I’d say Danny has …” Another giggle. “I’d say … a thousand holes in his mind,” Beau stated.

  A slow grin started at the corners of Vega’s mouth, spreading until all of his front teeth showed and his eyes danced.

  Chapter 45

  “Any two-bedroom suite—except the penthouse,” Ryn said to the desk clerk when she checked into the Marriott off Union Square at three in the morning. With two of San Francisco’s finest at her elbow and Beau, half asleep on her right arm, she thought the young man handled her request very professionally. He didn’t even blink when she told him she didn’t have any luggage.

  Ten minutes after the police left, Elijah White and Garrett McCoy called from the lobby. She’d texted them from the police station at midnight.

  “Drugs, sex, and multiple murders—sounds like your kind of story, McCoy.” Elijah’s long fingers hovered over a plate heaped with Danish pastries, pain au chocolate, and four kinds of bagels.

  The REal, mouth full, chewed and tried to swallow. A few crumbs fell on his gray sweater. He looked like a Boy Scout accused of kicking puppies and tripping old ladies.

  Elijah selected another Danish with cream cheese and apricots. He cut off the crusty ends, popped the middle in his mouth, and exhaled, stretching his stove-pipe legs in front of him.

  “The only thing missing is a tryst with aliens.” Ryn smiled, trying to soften Elijah’s sarcasm. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the tabloids throws in aliens and angels.” All joking aside, she was thinking more and more of Vega and Pablo as guardian angels.

  McCoy washed the last of his pastry down with a slug of coffee. “This story doesn’t need aliens or angels. The facts are stranger than fiction.”

  “Amen, Brother. Amen.” Elijah raised his coffee cup a few inches in the air.

  “On the other hand, an interview with those two DEA agents would add a lot of credibility to my exclusive.”

  Hearing the wistfulness in McCoy’s voice, Ryn felt a surge of gratitude for the two undercover agents. They had, quite simply, given her her life back. “You could probably get an interview with the Pope easier.”

  “Yep.” Elijah picked up a raisin-cinnamon bagel. “You can be damned sure Carolos Luis Vega and his sidekick, Pablo Sanchez are already working on a new case. With new names and new IDs. I’d go so far as to say in a new part of the country.”

  “Modern-day Lone Rangers,” Ryn said, flashing on the TV re-runs she’d watched with Stone. He’d imagined writing a song about Tonto one day. McCoy’s raised eyebrows pulled her back to the present. “I still don’t know how they slipped out of the Ritz without getting stopped by the SFPD.”

  “Just as well.” McCoy took out his notebook and scribbled a single word on the inside cover. “People don’t really like spies—even in the war on drugs. Smacks too much of Big Brother and setting up good citizens for the fall. Which is what Vega tried to do with Stone. See how long before he took the bait and crossed the line from good citizen to drug dealer to the stars.”

  “I sure as hell hope you’re not gonna make Amber and Danny out to be good citizens?” Elijah set his empty coffee cup on the glass table with a thud. “By the end of the week, their lawyer will be on TV making them out the poor, misunderstood vics.”

  McCoy snorted. “Huh. Don’t think so. Stone had too many fans out there. Fans who want his killers to pay. Fans who aren’t gonna buy for one minute that Amber Watt wrote the songs that made The Stoned Gang famous.” With his glowing green eyes and flushed cheeks, McCoy looked ready to slay dragons barehanded. “Even without the drug angle, the fans won’t buy Danny as a victim when they find out he embezzled over ten million dollars from Stone.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Ryn wished she shared McCoy’s optimism.

  She put on her listening face while her mind took its own path. For every fan who thought Danny was a thief and a murderer, there was probably another who thought Stone had too much money in the first place. Some people would believe Stone tried to cheat Amber out of the recognition due her, insisting she’d been the real genius behind The Stoned Gang. Some would think Stone lived—and died—in the fast lane—taking drugs, having wild sex, and break
ing all the rules. A few would persist in their belief that Ryn had killed him.

  Mouth agape, yawning, and rubbing his eyes, Beau appeared in the door with Maj in his arms. “Ryn! They're gonna show a story about you on CNN.”

  McCoy flipped on the TV, and Ryn patted a spot on the sofa. Beau crashed down next to her with a loud sigh—like a hot air balloon seeping air. The bags under his eyes attested to his physical exhaustion. The gnawed fingernails attested to his emotional anxiety. She laid her arm across his massive shoulders. We’ll come back from this, Beau.

  The commercial ended, and Adam Jericho looked directly into the camera.

  Lizard eyes. Ryn shivered and closed the door into that basement room. No matter, she’d never have to deal with him again. Cat Woman had given her an idea. She had to talk to Beau, but she’d wait a day or two. Let him feel safe again.

  “That is not a happy camper.” McCoy’s words drew Ryn back to the TV.

  Elijah laughed. “Looks like a man who’s had to eat a lot of crow.”

  “Shhh.” Beau put his finger on his mouth and frowned. “I can’t hear.”

  Jericho’s mouth opened and closed, mincing and parsing words about her and Stone. She let the hot tears run down her cheeks. Was there anyone out there who would believe she and Stone had once loved each other, dreaming the same dreams as all lovers everywhere?

  Beau took her hand and whispered in her ear, “No one with any brains ever believed you killed Stone.”

  Epilogue

  Ten Days Later

  “I understand you’ve bought a house in Alta Vista. Does that mean you intend to stay in the Bay Area?” Rebecca Carter spoke to Ryn from a hospital bed facing the polo field that was Rebecca’s backyard. At ninety-three, according to the information Elijah had ferreted out about the eccentric woman whose net worth hovered around half a billion dollars, Rebecca wasted no time in small talk.

  “Yes.” Ryn and Elijah had agreed the recluse must have a reason to demand a meeting with Ryn—though they couldn’t figure out why. “On Colina Alta. I’ve already moved in.”

  “Nice neighborhood. I used to own property in your block.” The older woman adjusted the hospital bed and stared at her lush garden for a long second. “A long, long time ago. Before you were born.”

  How does she know when I was born? Or the block where I live? Ryn crossed her legs, hoping to kill the urge to tap her foot. Unsure where the conversation—command appearance—Elijah had said, was going, Ryn said, “I’m sure there have been lots of changes.”

  “Oh, m’dear.” Rebecca’s laugh was dry, abrupt. She tucked a wispy white hair behind her ear. “I understand you’re looking for property for a second halfway house in the area.”

  How the hell does she know that? “I am—though I’m not sure I can affor—”

  “Would four hundred and fifty million dollars pay for an affordable place?” Rebecca was staring out her floor-to-ceiling window so she didn’t see Ryn’s jaw drop.

  Is this a sign Amber’s little white pill has wiped out my thinking brain? Ryn’s head spun. She squinted and tried to focus. “I think I misunderstood—”

  “Not exactly four hundred and fifty.” Rebecca twirled a diamond ring the size of a baseball on her right ring finger. “I plan to leave ten percent annually to the city of Alta Vista. The rest … and a property I own in the hills … should underwrite La Segunda Esperanza House for quite a few years. Maybe even a third or fourth house.”

  And maybe my cardiac rehab for the rest of my life. Is this a joke? Ryn’s mind raced but blanked on a coherent reply.

  Rebecca swiveled her gaze to Ryn. “It’s not a joke, m’dear.”

  “Do you … read minds?”

  “You’re not a poker player. Your transparency must’ve gotten you in some difficulties with Stone Wall.”

  I’ve met corpses who show more emotion than you, Ryn. Stone’s accusation clanged in Ryn’s memory. “You’re right. I don’t play poker. Anything else I say will sound defensive.”

  Rebecca clapped and chortled. “Good for you—not taking my bait. Now, let’s get down to business.”

  Ninety minutes later, Ryn rode the brake down the hill from Rebecca Carter’s ivory tower. An attorney had appeared as if from thin air. Because his name was so ridiculous, Ryn said it out loud as she drove, “I King Pilgrim.”

  “Unless you insist, and because you don’t have a very good track record with lawyers—no offense taken,” Rebecca said, “I King and his firm have handled my affairs for sixty years.”

  “No offense taken.” Why argue the point? Wasn’t anyone better than Danny?

  Twenty minutes to review and sign the documents. Assurances by I King Pilgrim that he’d have copies for Ryn in another ten minutes. A few clicks on his iPhone. Excusing himself while Rebecca asked Ryn’s opinion of burying Rebecca’s cremains at the end of the polo field. Confusion banging Ryn’s brain. Nails digging into her wrist as she spoke to Rebecca from another planet. I King’s return interrupting Ryn’s gibberish. Accepting the documents inside a slim leather briefcase. Dismissal by an exhausted Rebecca. Ryn leaving the mansion. Sliding behind the steering wheel. Staring at her glazed eyes in the rearview mirror. Pinching her wrist half a dozen times before starting the car.

  Elijah met her in the garage as soon as the door slid up.

  He opened her car door. “What happened? You look like you got hit by a train.”

  “Harder. Rebecca Carter sucked out my brain.”

  His laugh died in his throat. He followed Ryn into the family room. Beau and Angela—aka Cat Woman—pored over a thousand-piece puzzle featuring hundreds of cats. The pair had worked on the puzzle with images duplicated on both sides almost non-stop for the past two days. They glanced up, greeted Ryn, and returned to their search for another fit.

  “That’s how my brain feels,” Ryn said. “A thousand little pieces.”

  “In case you’re wondering, you have me hooked. What happened?”

  She summarized the meeting in a dream-like voice of disbelief. Must be the kind of disorientation Angela felt. Angela, wary when Ryn returned to the train station. Angela, openly distrustful of Ryn’s offer of a clean bed and clothes and food for MyCat. Angela, Ryn’s first candidate for La Segunda Casa de Esperanza. Angela, scheduled for dental implants next week. Angela and MyCat, instant friends for Beau.

  “What’s the joke?” Elijah’s tone reeled Ryn back to her family room.

  “Let’s go over the papers syllable by syllable …”

  Shoulder to shoulder, they read each word out loud. They reached the end. Wide-eyed, open-mouthed, they stared at each other.

  Ryn exhaled. “Cynics. Total cynics.”

  “Okay, when I’m in shock, I fall back on clichés. Here’s the best I can do: Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth—a cliché I’ve never really understood. But I’m aware the world is full of mysteries I don’t really understand.”

  “Ryn,” Beau called, his head still bent over the puzzle, “can I make some popcorn?”

  OJ's white Bronco exploded. In the corner, Stone grinned and threw Ryn a one-fingered salute. She blinked tears. “Keep working on your puzzle. I’ll pop the corn. With plenty of butter—right?”

  The End

  Thank you for taking time to read All Things Considered. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or leaving a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated. Thank you, AB Plum.

  Bonus Content

  Preview of

  Through Rose-Colored Glasses:

  A Ryn Davis Mystery (Book 2)

  POP! POP!

  The exploding discharge shattered the midnight quiet in the large, book-lined office and scared the holy shit out of Ryn Davis. Sure she'd been shot, she fell face forward across her cluttered desk.

  "You're dead, bitch," a gleeful, asexual voice purred—a beat ahead of the first deafening notes of Onward Christian Soldiers and an octave above her galloping heart.

&nb
sp; "What the hell?”

  Coming November 2019

  Exclusive Content for The MisFit Series

  From time to time, I send out notices with special offers, news about an upcoming release, or a scheduled event. Sign up for my mailing list, and you’ll immediately receive two different pieces of content:

  The MisFit Series prequel, The Boy Nobody Loved.

  Origins of a Psychopath–20 specific influences in Michael’s life that contributed to his development as a psychopath.

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  A visual outline of traits common to psychopaths.

  A partial reading list of psychopathic traits—select nonfiction and fiction list I used in researching the topic of psychopathology.

  Follow me on Facebook at ABPlumWriter and on Twitter @ABPlumWriter.

  I look forward to hearing from you—even if you comment on a grammar mistake.

  The MisFit Series

  The Boy Nobody Loved, Prequel

  The Early Years, Book 1

  The Lost Days, Book 2

  The In-Between Years, Book 3

  The Reckless Year, Book 4

  The Dispensable Wife, Book 5

  The Broken-Hearted Many, Book 6

  The Whole Truth, Book 7

  About the Author

  Every year, AB Plum commits at least one murder.

  When she first started writing as a full-time novelist, she couldn’t kill the bad guy. Now, as in life, a good character often gets murdered. Freud might say she has a subliminal urge, but she can’t stand the sight of blood. No rare steaks for her—even though she “grew up” on them in Kansas City. She is physiologically and psychologically incapable of cutting raw chicken or other meats. She has taught adolescent boys, created public library programs, and developed high-tech marketing materials. Writing is her passion, fueled by travel, reading, and interest in the dark corners of the human psyche. Living in Silicon Valley, she never lacks for potential murder scenes.