What Lacey saw next genuinely took her by surprise, which is saying something for a person who’d found a headless body on her property twice in the past ten days. Brandy and Big Marv exited the office. As Brandy limped to her car, Marv lumbered right behind her.
“I’ll be in touch,” Marv said.
Brandy looked at her watch. “You better hurry. Verducci’s is at least a forty-minute drive.”
Lacey couldn’t fathom the connection between Big Marv and Brandy, but she decided that Big Marv’s appointment held a little more intrigue than the rest of Brandy’s day. Lacey waited until both cars were out of sight, ran to her Toyota, and headed after Big Marv, who was on his way to Birkton, home of Al’s gas station, the $1 to $5 store, and Verducci’s, the best Italian restaurant in a fifty-mile radius.
Exactly forty-two minutes later, Lacey was parked in the lot of the $1 to $5 store, which offered a decent view of Verducci’s parking lot. A few spots down from Big Marv’s Mercedes was her brother’s truck. Paul’s secret gimpy stripper girlfriend was one thing; a secret meeting with Big Marv was an entirely different monster. And now that the two were somehow linked, Lacey had to get to the bottom of it.
Lacey ducked into the store and purchased a ten-dollar lumberjack shirt, a two-dollar trucker’s cap, and a one-dollar pair of sunglasses. She tucked her hair inside the cap and donned the rest of the outfit. She looked like a wimpy serial killer. In Birkton, she’d blend right in.
Lacey crossed the road and circled the establishment. The windows were dark on the outside, so she had to get her face right up to one to see inside. She scanned the room and in a back booth saw her brother sitting across from the Babalato brothers. It clearly hadn’t been a table for three. Only Jay and Paul had plates of pasta in front of them.
A waitress taking a smoke break exited the building. She turned to Lacey and said, “Can I help you, sir?”
Startled, Lacey stepped back from the window.
“How’s the food here?” Lacey asked.
“It’s okay,” the waitress replied. “A hell of a lot better if you go inside.”
“Good to know,” Lacey said.
Lacey dialed Paul’s cell phone to see if he’d pick up.
“What’s up?” Paul said.
“It’s Lacey,” Lacey replied. She hadn’t expected Paul to pick up.
“Yeah, I know that.”
“What are you up to?” Lacey asked.
“Just … uh … running a few errands.”
“What kind of errands?”
“The kind that involve buying things in stores. What are you up to?”
“Nothing much.”
“You sure got out of the house early,” said Paul.
Lacey aimed for a better alibi than her brother.
“Just got my stitches out. Might run a few errands of my own and then head home.”
“See you later,” Paul said.
“Not if I see you first.”
The line was a standard part of their banter, but she noticed an edge in her voice as she said it. She’d already begun to wonder if she really knew her brother at all.
Lacey headed back to Mercer, intending to stop by Mapleshade. But when she arrived, Mapleshade was in lockdown—someone had pinched every last penny from the petty-cash box. The prime suspect was Sook. While the staff was searching his room, he snuck out the back. Lacey caught sight of him slipping into the woods and decided to follow. Sook was easy to trail; years of hunting without earplugs had rendered him half deaf, and his path was marked by tiny bits of ribbon hanging from trees. Eventually she caught him crouching down, unearthing a rock.
“Now what are you doing?” Lacey asked, exasperated.
Sook grabbed his heart and sat back on his heels.
“Damn, Lacey, at my age startling a man is tantamount to attempted murder.”
Lacey watched Sook slip a wad of bills into his pocket.
“I saw that, Sook.”
“Then I will ask you to keep your silence. They’ve got a three-strikes policy here at Mapleshade and I am not about to get kicked down to We Care.”
“So you’ve done this before?”
“Do the math.”
“You’ve stolen the petty cash three times?”
“You have no business judging me for illegal behavior.”
“What’s your plan?” Lacey asked. “Since clearly they’re onto you.”
“I’m going to slip these bills into Martha’s underwear drawer.”
“Martha doesn’t even know how to wear underwear anymore,” Lacey replied.
“Exactly,” said Sook. “They’ll forgive her. Probably won’t even count it as a first strike.”
Lacey followed Sook back to Mapleshade. As they approached, Yolanda was exiting the building, clearly on a Sook hunt.
“I told you to stay put, Sook,” she shouted.
Sook slipped the wad of bills into Lacey’s coat pocket and replied, “I needed some fresh air after the Spanish Inquisition.”
Yolanda shook her head in disappointment. She returned to the building followed by Lacey and Sook. In the lobby, all eyes were on the guilty party. Lacey sat down on the couch and stuffed the wad of bills under the cushion.
“Just tell us where the money is, Sook, and we’ll let it slide this time,” Yolanda said.
Lacey could tell she was lying.
“Yolanda,” Lacey said, “I’m sure it’s all an innocent misunderstanding. I bet the money will turn up any day now. You’ll find it just like loose change, under a couch cushion or something silly like that. In the meantime, while tensions are high, why don’t I take Sook off your hands this evening?”
“You want him?” Yolanda said. “You can have him, sweetheart.”
Yolanda then did the oddest thing. She approached Lacey and embraced her. Lacey was disarmed by the warm gesture until she felt Yolanda’s hands patting her down. Lacey pushed Yolanda away, pulled her pockets inside out for emphasis, and said, “I got nothing on me except my wallet and car keys. Now, if you don’t mind, Sook and I will be on our way.”
On the car ride back to the Hansen home, Lacey debriefed Sook on her day’s adventure with Brandy and Big Marv. While they agreed the new evidence was certainly incriminating, neither of them could name the precise crime.
Lacey made Sook a grilled cheese sandwich, which he called the best meal he’d had in months. Lacey felt a twinge of guilt for not having invited him over before.
“You keeping the gun in a safe place?” Sook asked.
“In my nightstand, like your average American.”
“Good girl,” Sook replied.
“I need a shower,” Lacey replied. “Can I get you anything else?”
“I wouldn’t turn down a glass of whiskey,” Sook replied.
Lacey pulled the bottle from their meager liquor cabinet. She poured Sook a stingy glass, trying to be responsible, and then started to put the bottle away.
“Leave it,” Sook said. “There’s no booze at Mapleshade. I’m on vacation today.”
Lacey nodded and left the room.
In the shower, she remembered her lie. The stitches had to come out before Paul got home. She dried off and doused a pair of nail clippers with rubbing alcohol. She cut the first stitch and tugged it out of her arm. She wished she had taken a slug of whiskey beforehand, but continued. By the time she heard Paul’s truck in the driveway, her arm looked as good as an arm with a fresh five-inch scar can look.
Paul entered his home to find Sook sitting at the kitchen table, cleaning his gun and drinking whiskey.
“Sook, what are you doing here?” Paul asked suspiciously.
Sook served Paul a drink and refilled his own glass.
“Sit down. Drink with me,” Sook said, snaking a cloth through the barrel.
Paul sat down and took a tentative sip. Sook checked the clip of the gun and stuck it in the revolver. He smiled in a way Paul had never seen before. It made the younger man uncomfortable.
�
��What’s new?” Paul asked.
“Why don’t you tell me?” Sook replied.
NOTES:
Dave,
This book isn’t big enough for two gimpy strippers, so forget about Candi. She’s dead to you and me. And if you don’t think she’s dead, she will be.
While I’m on the subject of death, I should point out that taking my creative advice now and again wouldn’t kill you. In fact, my advice in general often contains life-preserving properties. Case in point: Thanksgiving 1998. Your refusal to put the turkey back in the oven risked not only our lives but also those of your ninety-year-old grandparents. Notice how I’m not mentioning another near-death experience that could have been avoided if you’d listened to me.
Let’s not neglect the Babalatos. You came up with them, so let’s use them. Ideally, incriminate them in Hart’s murder. It’s always good to have a few spare suspects in a murder mystery. And who knows, maybe they did it.
I hope Sook’s not too cute for you in my chapter. Remember who’s holding the gun.
Lisa
Lisa,
As I’ve explained repeatedly, after I’ve had salmonella once, I’ll happily endure cardboard turkey every year. The real question is, what are we aiming to provide here? A surprisingly delicious bird bursting with flavor, or a safe, chalky-dry one?
We didn’t die, did we?
Dave
P.S. I’m curious about all these other writers who are so eager to work with you. Specifically, I wonder why you didn’t extend that opportunity to them in the first place. Or did you?
CHAPTER 22
“Heard you have a roomful of hermies,” Sook said, shaking his head.
“News travels fast,” said Paul from the easy chair across from him. The two had already settled in for some leisurely commiseration.
“Well, that just about tears it for me,” said Sook. “Maybe the Army will take me back. Or maybe We Care wouldn’t be so bad.”
“I don’t know, man, do you really want Big Marv breathing down your neck?”
“Just trying to see the bright side.”
Paul took a drink. “Speaking of the Babalatos, I saw them today. I was supposed to meet with Jay, but then Marv busted in.”
“Lacey didn’t mention that,” said Sook. “Please describe the conversation in detail. Really. Don’t leave anything out.”
“I had a lunch meeting with Jay, but before we really got talking Marv came tearing into Verducci’s. He sat down and said, ‘Jay, baby, let’s not lowball the kid.’”
Sook laughed at Paul’s Big Marv impression, a hybrid of Orson Welles and Hulk Hogan. “Lowball the kid on what?”
“Jay wants to buy Shady Acres from me. They both do.”
“How much?”
“We didn’t even get to that. Marv said, ‘Whatever my brother offers you, add twenty percent. My way of putting the other night’s incident behind us.’” Paul pointed to his forehead bruise, which had settled down into a pretty amaranthine color.
“You didn’t agree to anything, did you?” Sook asked.
“Hell no. For one, why is Shady Acres so valuable to start with? Two, why wouldn’t they go in on it together? They own other stuff jointly. And c, whoever sabotaged my plants put me in a spot where I’d be more likely to accept an offer. The timing is suspicious, to say the least.”
“Unless the timing’s too suspicious,” Sook offered, ignoring the botched outline. “They wouldn’t be so bold as to ruin your plants and make you an offer the next day, would they?”
“Unless they were counting on me to assume that,” Paul countered. “And five, while I’m sitting across from them, outside the other end of the restaurant I see some effete weirdo in Lou Reed sunglasses come stumbling through the shrubs and smash his face up against the glass.” Paul made a pig nose with his thumb to illustrate the effect. “That’s, what, four types of weirdness too many for me to even think about making a deal.”
“So what’d you do?”
“Excused myself to the restroom. But I hung a right through the kitchen, came out the other side, and hid where I could hear them. Jay told Marv he was fucking everything up again, just like with Hart.
“I went back around through the kitchen and came back from the bathroom. By the time I got to the table—literally a minute later—they were gone.”
“What about this … Louie Reed creep?” asked Sook.
“Also gone.”
“Great. One more suspect for Lacey’s list.”
“Let’s keep him to ourselves,” said Paul.
“Agreed,” Sook said, and drained his glass. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bed. I’m on the second-to-last chapter of Mascara Mayhem. It looks like Detective Nikki Maxwell may have finally met her match.”
Lacey woke up to an empty house, running late for her shift at the Tarpit. On her way to her car, she stopped, went back into the house, and took a quick look around. No gun. She called Paul’s cell phone, got his voicemail, and didn’t know what to say. She hung up.
“Ever hear of Mal and Mel Sundstrom?” Paul said to his new bodyguard as they eased off the highway onto the West Easternville exit.
“Doesn’t ring a bell, but I’m guessing they live in Easternville,” said Sook.
“You’re a natural,” said Paul.
“Been hanging out with your sister.”
Paul found the house number, pulled over, shut off the ignition, and turned to Sook. “Leave the gun, Hardcastle,” he said.33
“Who?”
“Just leave the gun.”
Sook slipped it into the glove compartment and they exited the vehicle.
On the front wall of the house were hand-carved wooden letters spelling out “The Sundstroms.” “Looks like this is the place,” Sook observed.
“Again, nicely deduced,” said Paul.
A tall blond woman in her late twenties answered the doorbell, two kids hanging onto her legs.
“Hi, I’m Paul Hansen, and this is my friend Sook.”
“I’m Ilsa,” the woman said cautiously through the black wrought-iron screen door.
“We’re looking for some of my parents’ old friends, Mal and Mel Sundstrom. Are they home?”
The woman looked defensive. “What’s this about?”
“My parents shared a cabin with your … with the Sundstroms.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
“Wait,” said Paul. “My parents are dead. I’m just trying to figure out what happened to them.”
Ilsa shot him a hurt look. “Hang on,” she said. She closed the door and parked the kids somewhere in the house.
When she opened the door again, her tone had turned frosty. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I can’t help you. My parents had their problems, but they didn’t kill anyone.” She started to close the door.
Sook perked up. “Had their problems?” he asked.
“Halloween 1999,” she said. “They drove off a cliff. Freak accident.”
“Jesus,” said Paul. “So that means—”
“That we’re both orphans,” said Ilsa matter-of-factly. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Listen. I just found out that the night my parents died at the cabin, your parents were supposed to be there instead. And the car crash was only, what, two months later.”
“What are you saying?” Ilsa stammered.
“I mean, are you sure your parents’ death was an accident?” said Paul. Ilsa’s face went stiff.
Sook chimed in again. “What if someone was trying to kill your folks, but killed Paul’s by mistake?”
“This conversation is over,” Ilsa said, her voice trembling as she closed the door.
Paul and Sook were silent on the drive back to Mercer. Paul had forgotten all about getting Sook’s take on Lacey’s recent behavior, his initial motivation for bringing him along. While he still wasn’t quite ready to clear her as a suspect in the plant sabotage, now she was just his sister again. Paul was starting to
feel that maybe everything that had happened since they found Hart was connected somehow—maybe Rafael was right. Maybe Lacey was right. In any event, their parents might have been accidentally murdered. And the murderer could still be out there, wondering if anyone would ever find out.
“Drop me at the Tarpit,” said Sook when they reached town. “I could use some coffee—and some time to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with myself.”
“Sure,” Paul said. “But don’t tell Lacey about the Sundstrom stuff, okay? She doesn’t know anything. I’ll tell her when I know for sure what happened. Or maybe she’s better off not ever knowing. I’ll figure it out later.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” said Sook.
As he drove the few blocks from the Tarpit to the Timberline to look for Rafael, Paul’s phone rang—“American Woman,” Terry’s ringtone.
Paul pulled over, startled. “Hello?”
“Paul, my brother. Harry Lakes, Esq., at your service.” The man pronounced it “esk.”
“Uh …”
“Terry’s cousin. The one he left his house to.”
“Oh, hey, Harry … I take it you’re out at Terry’s already?”
“Yep. His phone ain’t been cut off yet and I been meaning to call you since I got in yesterday. I’m havin’ a bit of a private send-off over here since I missed the official memorial.”
“I actually was just on my way to meet a—”
“You sound a little shaken up, my friend,” said Harry. “You okay?”
“It’s just … you sound exactly like Terry.”
“Man, we been getting that since we were fifteen. I used to make dirty phone calls to all the moms of Terry’s friends, acting like I was him. One of them called him back. That’s actually how he lost his cherry. If you don’t count hookers.”
Paul didn’t know whether he counted them or not.
“Come on, brother. Terry would have wanted us to get together mano y mano. He told me you were the smartest dude he knew. Other than himself and me, of course.”
Heads You Lose Page 17