by Merry Jones
Harper headed inside, put the key back into her pocket. And kept her eyes on Lou as he embraced her mother and led her away.
‘What the fuck was that?’ Sty lowered the knife, letting out a breath as the woman left. ‘She thought she had a key? Why was she trying to get in?’
Evan came down the steps, peered through the blinds of the dining room to watch her walk away.
‘Shit, Evan. Our neighbor lady knows something. She must have seen you—’
‘What she saw was a bare-assed kid running outside in the snow. We already know that.’
‘If that’s all she saw, why is she here snooping around? She called the cops and they did their thing. So what is she doing? What’s with the key?’
‘Who cares? It isn’t ours. It didn’t fit.’
Sty stepped close to Evan, breathing into his face. ‘Are you absolutely certain she didn’t see anything? Willing to bet your entire future on that conclusion?’
Evan stepped away. ‘What if I’m not? What are you suggesting? That we eliminate her?’ He had no objection to killing her, was still pumped from the excitement of moments ago when she’d stood a door’s width away from death, the anticipation of the attack.
Sty stood still, brows furrowed, arms crossed, the knife still in his hand. ‘First things first,’ he finally decided. ‘We can’t allow events to spiral out of control. No tangential moves. Let’s finish upstairs; then we’ll decide.’
Evan disagreed. ‘But who knows what she’s up to. We’re wasting time—’
‘Then let’s get this done quickly. One task at a time.’
Evan muttered, ‘Who made you fucking king?’ But Sty was already on his way up the steps without listening, without looking back.
Harper hung her jacket in the closet and stood for a moment, touching Hank’s parka and overcoat, missing him. Thinking about how slowly time was passing. How long it would be until he came home. She listened to the emptiness of the house, chided herself for wallowing. Changed her focus back to Lou, his secretive excursions late at night. His theft of the package, his casual reaction to the gutted rat.
The man was up to something. She was sure. In moments, Harper was upstairs in the guest room, going through his things. She opened a drawer, felt around in his socks and sweaters. Found a wire leading from the drawer to a socket, attached to a cell phone. Odd to have a cell phone in with his socks, but not incriminating. She opened the closet. Checked the pockets of his blazer and suit jackets. Felt the shelf above the clothes.
Nothing.
She sat on the bed, frustrated. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Lou just wandered around at night, opened other people’s mail, indulged her mother and made malapropisms. Maybe he was simply what he appeared to be.
But she remembered the edge to his voice, the quick flash in his eyes. And her instincts insisted that no, Lou was not as he appeared.
Sitting on the bed, she gazed around the room. What had she missed? The nightstand? She reached over, opened the drawer. Found a flashlight, a novel. Things she’d put there. She got up, went to the other side of the bed, looked in the other nightstand. Her mother’s spare reading glasses. Earrings. Vials of pills – oh, her mother was taking cholesterol medicine. And Zoloft? Wow. Was Vivian depressed?
Harper pondered that, replaced the pills, closed the drawer. Looked under the bed. Luggage. Stepped into the guest bathroom, rifled through Lou’s shaving kit, the medicine cabinet. Found only what belonged there. Soap, toothpaste, razor and shaving cream. She shut the medicine cabinet door, stared at herself in the mirror. What was she doing? What was she looking for? She looked away. Walked out of the bathroom, through the bedroom. Stopped at the linen closet and, just to be thorough, opened the door. Towels and bed sheets.
Enough, she told herself. Go lie down and rest. She looked around, making sure the room looked untouched. As she smoothed out the spot where she’d sat on the bed, her foot bumped the suitcase. Harper hesitated, aware that she had no business looking inside. That there was probably nothing in there anyway. But it was the only place left that Lou could have hidden something, so she pulled it out and opened it.
And gaped at the contents. She’d never seen so much cash before. Thick wads of it. Hundreds, fifties, twenties. Harper couldn’t even estimate how much there was – or why Lou would have it with him. She started to count, and sat surrounded by money. She’d gotten to seventy-five thousand and hadn’t made a dent when she was interrupted by a soft musical tone.
It came from inside the dresser drawer. Lou’s phone had begun to ring.
For the next few hours, Evan and Sty attended to the noxious mattress, cutting it into chunks and neatly depositing them into green plastic trash bags that they lined up at the rear door of the fraternity house. Then they made sure Rory’s floor and walls had been scrubbed clean, scuffing them up again to make them look pretty much the way they had at semester’s end.
Finally, there was just one more item to dispose of.
Sty sat on Evan’s box spring, staring at the body.
Evan squatted, examining it. Poking the stiff and rigid muscles. ‘We could do the same with him.’
Sty rubbed his eyes, sighing.
‘Seriously,’ Evan continued. ‘We cut him up, throw him out. The bags are in the junkyard. Nobody finds him. No sign he was ever even here.’ He stood, suddenly enthusiastic about his idea.
Sty pursed his lips, took a few breaths before answering. ‘And how do you propose we clean up the mess that would make?’
‘We do it in the shower. Use some bleach.’
Sty lay back on the box springs. ‘It’s unnecessary—’
‘So what’s your idea?’
‘As we planned originally. We deposit the body—’
‘Where someone might find it within hours. This way, there’s no chance of that.’
Sty sighed. ‘Do you have any idea how much gore we’d have to deal with? The mess?’
‘It’s meat, that’s all. No different than dressing a deer.’
‘As if you’ve ever hunted a deer. Besides, he’s still in rigor. We’d need a damned chain saw.’
Evan thought for a minute. Tried to move one of Sebastian’s arms. It was fixed, hard as steel. ‘We could go buy one—’
‘Great idea. And they could trace the purchase to us.’
‘Not if we pay cash. Besides, why would anyone care if we bought a saw? We could be cutting firewood or a Christmas tree—’
‘Dammit, Evan. We can’t keep improvising. Haven’t you listened to a single word I’ve said? We need to stick to the plan. We follow it step by step, meticulously. That way, we won’t make careless mistakes like Leopold—’
‘Fine,’ Evan snapped. ‘Whatever you say.’ Sty was being irrationally inflexible, but Evan couldn’t bear another Leopold and Loeb lecture. ‘But we better dump him soon, or we’ll never get the stink out of here.’
Sty got off the bed. ‘Right. We should get him out of here. You take the shoulders.’ He reached for Sebastian’s feet.
Together, they carried the body down the steps. As they reached the second-floor landing, Evan grunted, ‘Dammit.’
‘What?’ Sly stopped.
‘We’re giving my mattress to Rory. So where am I supposed to sleep?’
‘I’ll lend you my inflatable.’ Sty flared his nostrils. Sometimes, for a smart guy, Evan was shockingly, annoyingly oblique.
Harper opened the dresser drawer and pulled out the phone, held it and saw the name on the screen: Rita.
Rita?
Slowly, she raised the phone to her ear and pressed the button, answering the call but saying nothing.
‘Ed?’ The woman was breathless, urgent. ‘Ed? Why the hell haven’t you answered my calls? What’s going on?’
Harper waited while saying nothing.
‘Okay, don’t even answer. Don’t talk to me. I guess I don’t blame you after what happened. Still, I wish you’d understand the position I was in. I had no choice. It didn’t mean�
��’ She stopped, lowered her voice. ‘Anyway, I owe you. So I’m letting you know: I’m pretty sure Wally knows where you are. For the last few weeks, all he’s talked about is: “Where the fuck is Ed?” Now nothing. Now, he’s restless, not sleeping, jumpy as shit, and you know what that means.’
The woman stopped talking. Waiting. Harper waited, too; she had no idea what it meant.
‘Ed?’
Harper didn’t dare breathe.
‘Ed? You still got nothing to say to me? Not even: “Thanks, Rita”? Not a word?’
She paused, giving him a chance.
‘Okay, well, fuck you. We’re even now, and you can go to hell. But Wally’s waiting to hear that you’re dead, so take my advice and watch your fucking back.’
Rita hung up, and Harper repeated her final words. Wally, whoever he was, was waiting to find out that Ed, who was obviously really Lou, was dead. Had he arranged for someone to kill Lou? Harper recalled the package, addressed to Ed. Had the dead rat been a warning? A message saying that Wally knew where he was, had his address, could get to him? Could make him as dead as the rat?
Harper replaced the phone where she’d found it, thinking about what she would do. Whoever this Lou or Ed guy was, he was staying in her home. And, if people were trying to kill him, then her mother and she and the baby were also in danger. And that, she would not allow.
The gun was hidden under the mattress. A Colt .45 with a box of ammunition. And a bunch of papers, a handful of passports, drivers’ licenses with Lou’s picture and different names: Frederick Lowry, Peter Flemming. Oliver Hines. Damn. Who was this guy? A spy? A con artist? And how dare he bring a gun into her house? Harper sputtered, lifting the mattress to see if other weapons had been stashed there, remembering too late that she wasn’t supposed to exert herself. A startling stab shot through her abdomen, and she dropped the mattress, cursing. Flopping onto the bed in a fetal position, waiting for the pain to pass. Wondering what it was – it hadn’t been a contraction. Maybe a pulled muscle? Whatever it was, she had to take it easy. Couldn’t lift things. Lying on the guest bed, she looked around the room, identifying hiding places. Was anything behind the vent? Taped under the dresser? Inside the toilet tank? When she got her breath back, she took her time, moving from spot to spot, feeling and reaching and looking, but finding nothing more. She was examining Lou’s pockets, when she heard her mother’s car pull into the driveway. Quickly, she closed the closet door, surveyed the room to make sure it looked the way she’d found it. Stepped into the hallway just as Vivian called from the foyer.
‘Harper? Are you awake?’
Harper leaned over the railing.
‘Come downstairs and see what we got!’
Oh Lord, Harper thought. They’d already brought in a monster tree. What now? An inflatable Santa? But she had bigger issues than awful Christmas decorations on her mind. For example, the identity of the man standing beside her mother. And the possibility that someone named Wally had put a hit out on him and was, at this minute, waiting to hear it had been carried out.
Vivian was sitting beside the still undecorated tree while Lou hauled packages in from the car, beaming at Harper.
‘You won’t have to buy a thing for the baby – by the way, have you thought more about Louise? Such a beautiful name.’
Harper didn’t answer.
‘Anyway, we got everything – diapers, onesies, teething rings – look at this.’ She held up a tiny T-shirt with the slogan MY GRANDMA SPOILS ME.
Harper sat on the sofa, stunned. ‘Ma, I told you not to buy stuff—’
‘Listen to this, Lou,’ Vivian interrupted as Lou walked in, arms loaded with more shopping bags. ‘She’s complaining that we shopped. She thinks it’s bad luck to buy anything until the baby comes.’
‘Ma, I didn’t say it was bad luck—’
‘Isn’t that ridiculous? How’s she going to shop after the baby comes?’
‘—I just said that, with my complications, I wanted to wait—’
‘Don’t be superstitious, Harper.’
‘She’s right.’ Lou set the bags beside the tree. ‘Besides, your mother got great pleasure shopping for her grand-baby.’
And her mother’s pleasure clearly superseded her own.
‘Somebody’s got to get supplies for poor little Louise, or Louis. And, obviously, you can’t.’ Vivian made it sound like she was doing charity. As if Harper were a dire failure for having to rest.
‘You know, you should be grateful you have a mother willing to do all this,’ Lou chided. ‘Not everybody’s so lucky.’
Harper wanted to smack him. How dare he tell her how she should feel? He who’d brought a gun into her home, who wasn’t even really named ‘Lou’? She glared at the packages; some were huge. Good God, what had Vivian bought? Or rather, what had she gotten Lou to buy? Harper had wanted to shop with Hank for the baby. Pick out a high chair, a stroller, a mobile for over the crib. But, from the look of the boxes, Vivian had taken over, made all the choices for her.
Assert yourself, she thought. Explain that this is your child, your home. That your decisions need to be honored. Go on. Tell them to take the stuff back to the store.
But, as usual with her mother, Harper swallowed her anger and said nothing. She sat watching Vivian arrange boxes around the hideous imbalanced tree. What’s the matter with you, she scolded herself. You fought insurgents, you commanded armed soldiers in combat, but you can’t tell a spindly-legged middle-aged woman to back off? Speak up.
‘Ma,’ she began, her voice too soft.
‘I got you a few things, too.’ Vivian placed a package under the tree. ‘But, Harper. Don’t worry about shopping for us. I don’t want you to go to the trouble, not when you’re supposed to be resting. Don’t bother. I mean it; I’m serious.’
Harper felt a stab of guilt. Just when she was about to stand up to her, Vivian had to say something to make her feel inadequate and indebted. Obviously, Harper hadn’t shopped – hadn’t even gone to the grocery store. But now, by bringing it up, Vivian made it clear that Harper should have managed somehow to get her mother something for Christmas. After all, she’d sent something to Hank by shopping online. Lord. Why hadn’t she done the same for Vivian? She hadn’t even thought of it. The truth was she hadn’t wanted to have Christmas this year. With Hank away, she didn’t feel like celebrating. But Vivian would expect a gift. And Christmas was just days away. Harper’s mind raced through the house, the closets, the attic, making an inventory of items that could pass for presents – and she thought of the cozy slippers her friend Vicki had given her before she’d left on her cruise. Damn. She liked them. But never mind. She’d re-gift them. Her mother would never know.
Meantime, the living room was a hodgepodge of decorations and wrappings and boxes and a big, tall lopsided tree. Lou, having brought in the last of the packages, began hanging more glittery Styrofoam balls as Vivian sorted gifts and hummed carols. Out of place in her own living room, Harper stood to go, stopping in the foyer to watch them. Focusing on Lou. Thinking about the gun he had upstairs. Watching him flick specks of glitter off of his shirt.
On impulse, she called out, ‘Hey, Ed!’
Reflexively, Lou’s shoulders tensed and his head jerked up. His eyes met Harper’s with a flash of danger. He recovered quickly. ‘You say something, Harper?’
Vivian looked from Lou-who-was-really-Ed to Harper, a question on her face.
Harper didn’t reply. She headed to the kitchen to cool her temper with a tall glass of two percent.
Sure enough, by the time she’d closed the refrigerator, Lou had joined her.
‘Who the hell are you?’ She set the carton down, facing him.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Lou lowered his voice and looked over his shoulder, making sure Vivian hadn’t followed him.
‘You tell me, Ed,’ she poked him in the chest. ‘And while you’re at it, explain why you have a gun and a ton of money upstairs—’
‘What –
you went through my stuff?’
‘Damn right.’
‘Where’d you get the nerve . . .?’
‘Seriously? Where’d you get the nerve to bring that stuff here?’
Lou sputtered, opened a cabinet. Took out a bottle of Scotch.
‘That package with the rat,’ Harper kept after him. ‘It was addressed to Ed Strunk.’
‘So?’ Lou turned, facing her. ‘Oh wait – you think I’m Ed Strunk?’ He smiled, almost convincingly. ‘No – Ed’s just a guy I know. Not me—’
‘So why’d you open his package? Why’d someone send a dead rat to him here, where you’re staying?’ Her voice was hushed so Vivian wouldn’t hear, but it rumbled like a threat, and she stepped closer to him, her head tilted up to hold his gaze.
Lou blinked. ‘He’s a business associate, that’s all – a guy I’m helping out.’
‘And the money is his, too? And the gun?’
Lou took out a glass.
‘First, the guy gets a package here. Then a phone call.’
Subtly, Lou’s eyes bulged. ‘A phone call? Here?’ He poured Scotch. ‘When was that?’
‘While you were out shopping.’
‘Really? Who was it?’ He lifted the glass to his mouth.
‘She said her name was Rita.’
Lou swallowed too fast. Coughed. ‘Rita? She called your phone?’
‘No. Yours. I heard it ringing upstairs and I answered it. Ed.’
Lou put up a hand. ‘Look, Ed’s a friend. I’m holding his stuff for him, that’s all. The phone, the gun, the money – that’s all his . . .’
‘Don’t bullshit me.’
He poured another a finger of Scotch. ‘Okay. Here’s the honest truth. Ed was doing stuff he shouldn’t have done for a client he shouldn’t have taken on.’ He finished the drink. Poured another.
‘What the hell does that mean?’
Lou’s eyes darted left, then right. He lowered his voice. ‘He was hauling illegal substances. And cash. And I guess he . . . borrowed some of the cash.’
Christ. Harper ran a hand through her hair. ‘You stole from a drug dealer?’