by Merit Clark
Her body writhed and flexed, instinctively pulling away from the weapon. She screamed and choked and gasped. “Stop! No! I don’t understand!”
She moved around quite a bit, almost as much trouble in death as she’d been in life. Evan would like to find the woman who could lie still. Could his wife do it? He thought about bringing her to orgasm while she pretended to be asleep. She didn’t move or make a sound.
But he couldn’t think about Corie. Couldn’t.
He thrust with himself and the knife. Vangie’s body bucked beneath him. She screamed in earnest.
It was true that they went through stages. First anger: cursing, yelling, and fighting. Next, fear. Then sadness and tears. It was such a cliché. Finally she bargained, like they all did. She wouldn’t say anything, she’d do whatever he wanted, she’d forget all about it. He wondered if they ever reached acceptance. Maybe right before the end.
He remembered that he had to act fast. Blood changed once they died. It didn’t flow. It didn’t spurt. Even the color was different. While they bled out was the sweet spot. Nirvana. A sacrifice of the life force for his pleasure.
“Don’t.” Vangie’s voice grew faint. “Not too late.”
Evan, still hard, had to finish before it was indeed too late.
She grew quiet; maybe she was hallucinating. That wasn’t good. He wanted her to be fully present. “Say my name,” he demanded. “Say my name.”
A hoarse croak. “Evan.”
She didn’t deserve an expedient death. She deserved to be tortured for all the trouble she’d caused him. He hadn’t chosen her, she’d pursued him. And then she’d ruined him.
Her words slurred. “Did . . . ev’thing . . . you wanted . . .”
Slowly, her movements weakened and then ceased entirely. Time stood still. Evan shuddered, experiencing release, although he didn’t make a sound.
It was bad to linger. Carefully, he raised himself up and wiped off with a towel, paying special attention to the soles of his feet so as not to track blood everywhere. When he cut her ankles free her legs landed awkwardly on the bed. He put them together, then unzipped the mattress cover and pulled it up over the lifeless form. When he zipped the cover again it made a makeshift, waterproof container. Evan put that into a second, heavier bag, to be on the safe side. He gathered up the tarp from the floor and put it in with her.
Still naked, he carried the double-bagged package outside and loaded it into the back of the pickup. Savoring a moment of relief, Evan stood naked in the cold mountain air, spread his arms wide, and threw his head back. A bird cried—something big, maybe a hawk or a golden eagle. Another predator. Evan let out a loud yell, answering with his own primal shout of despair, rage, satisfaction.
Back inside he showered thoroughly, the hot water scalding. When he was finished, he sprayed the shower down with bleach and poured some down the drain. He dried himself off carefully and replaced the towel on the rod, folding it neatly. Attention to detail was critical. Evan inspected the bathroom and then looked at his reflection. Ordinarily, he had no problem looking at himself in the mirror. He never understood where that expression came from. But the man that stared back at him was haunted and Evan turned away.
In his usual methodical way, he’d stopped by the dry cleaners on the way up and picked up his tuxedo. Evan dressed and then checked the time again. He poured himself a glass of the Châteauneuf-du-Pape—only one, although he wanted more—before he headed back down to Denver. It wouldn’t do to get pulled over for a DUI. He closed his eyes and sniffed, picked up the acrid smell of the Mourvedre which instantly dried the surface of his tongue, the soft round notes of the Grenache, the spice of the Syrah, the crispness and structure from the Cinsault. It wasn’t that hard if you paid attention.
Shaun was waiting at the old Sinclair station with Evan’s car.
“I thought you said you were going to get it detailed?” Evan got out and left the pickup running. The exterior of the Mercedes was still dusty from the dirt roads. “I can’t show up with my car looking that way.”
“You said it was more important to focus on the interior.”
“That’s the best you could do? For five grand?”
“Short notice, bro.”
“One more thing and then you can go spend that money.”
Shaun waited, working his tongue around his teeth.
“I need you to make a dump run. There’s a bag in the back.”
Shaun smiled. “Hunting out of season again?”
Evan smiled back. “Something like that.”
“My brother came sniffing around. A detective called from Denver. Something about a wellness check.”
“Really.” Evan shot a starched, white cuff and examined his hand.
“Told him I seen the bitch and she was fine.” Shaun’s eyes flicked to the bag. “I do the right thing?”
Evan reached into his pocket and peeled off a few thousand from a thick roll of cash. “You performed adequately. For your extra trouble.” He extended his hand, the money folded neatly between his index and middle finger.
Shaun licked his lips. “See, that’s what I told Chris. The Markhams always take care of us. That’s what I said.”
“As long as you do the right thing, we always will. Your mother is going up to clean in the morning, right? Make sure she gets something extra for her trouble. Tell her not to come until after ten.” Evan spoke slowly making sure the words sunk in, although Shaun was so stupid he couldn’t be sure. “My friend is staying there tonight. All by herself. She likes to sleep in.”
Shaun shoved the money into his greasy jeans. “You look nice. You goin’ to a party?”
“One must keep up appearances.”
Chapter 36
“Jack.” Aranda had seen him arrive from inside the art museum. She approached him wearing a form-fitting evening gown.
“Aranda, hey.” Jack tried his best to keep a lid on his urgency. “Thanks for your call.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “I wasn’t sure if I should call you or not.”
“You did the right thing. Where is she?”
“She said she was stopping at her place for a minute.”
Jack frowned. “But that’s—”
Aranda pointed toward the modern condos across the plaza from the museum. “Fifth floor.”
“And Evan?”
“Last I saw him he was inside the museum chatting up the luminaries.”
Aranda herself was pretty luminous. Like everything else she wore, the dress was well cut, expensive, sexy, and tasteful all at the same time. The top half of the dress was white and the bottom half a mocha close to her skin color. In the back the dress plunged, displaying what seemed like acres of flawless skin. Her makeup was subtle, lips tinted a deep rose color that was somehow exotic against her light brown skin.
“I like your handiwork,” Aranda said.
“My what?”
She touched her cheek under her eye. “His face is swollen and he’s got a cut.”
“Let’s just say he didn’t take kindly to my pointing out visiting hours at the hospital were over.”
“I’ll bet.”
“You look very nice, by the way,” Jack said.
“Now you’re humoring me.”
“It’s true.” Jack smiled. “I would much rather be here to taste wine with you.”
Aranda tilted her head to the side and looked at him with velvety brown eyes. “Well, if you have time when you’re finished you should stop in. The benefit tickets were five hundred but I’ll vouch for you.”
“Rain check.”
Aranda’s flirtatious smile made those eyes sparkle. “You always say that.” Then her expression grew serious and she lightly touched his arm. “I hope Corie’s all right.”
“Me too.”
The woman who opened the door of the condo was Corie, but Corie as if she were on the cover of a magazine. Glamorous makeup highlighted her full lips and made her eyes look even more enormous. Long
lashes, pale skin, a waterfall of luxurious golden-red curls.
“What are you doing here?” She sounded indignant.
Jack had his hand on his gun and his eyes swept the room behind her. He slid past her, and it wasn’t until he was satisfied the condo was clear and she was alone that he turned on her. “Corie, what the hell are you doing?”
Her answer was to glide across the living room on her strappy stilettos and walk out onto a small balcony. He gritted his teeth and watched as she casually picked up a champagne glass and leaned on the brushed chrome railing, looking down at the well-dressed people milling around on the plaza five stories below. Corie looked amazing. Her dress was silvery blue, with enough shimmer to be eye-catching but still on the classy side of Las Vegas showgirl. It was low cut, short, and tight, Jack’s three favorite attributes in a dress.
Behind her across the plaza, the Libeskind addition to the Denver Art Museum subtly gleamed. Its unique architecture looked like an intricate work of origami, only fabricated from aluminum and glass instead of paper. The condo was also sleek and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows and cement-clad pillars. A counter intersecting the living area and kitchen was wrapped in stainless steel. The overall effect was cold, dizzying, and impersonal. The opposite of cozy. The opposite of Corie.
He walked outside and stood next to her. Music, talk, and laughter floated up to them.
“Look at them,” Corie said. “They look like they don’t have a care in the world. I guess I do, too. It’s all a lie.”
Jack’s eyes swept the crowd below looking for Evan. “Whose place is this?”
“Ours. Evan thought it would be fun to buy one of these.” She took a delicate sip of the sparkling wine.
Fun. The place cost half a mil, probably more. “Why would you go to a party with Evan? He’s not supposed to come anywhere near you.”
“I’m not with Evan. Do you see him?”
“Are you sure you aren’t suffering from a head injury? One of the symptoms is impaired judgment.” He was so worried about her, it was all he could do not to scoop her up in his arms, load her in his car, and lock her up somewhere safe. For a brief moment he searched his mind for a reason to arrest her.
“This party”—she mimicked his sarcastic tone—“has been planned for a long time and it’s for a very worthy cause. Or don’t you care about children with cancer?” She walked back inside, picked up her cell phone off the sleek kitchen counter, glanced at it, and slipped it into a small, sparkly evening bag.
He trailed behind. “I read the agreement. You have every right to feel used. Which makes your presence here all the more inexplicable.”
She looked him up and down, took in his dark blue suit. “The invitation said black tie.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “So have you seen him?”
“Who?”
“Prince Charles. I heard he was flying in special from England. Who the hell you think I mean?”
“You’re not in a very good mood.”
Jack followed her down the short hall to the elevator and fought to get a handle on his temper. “I was abrupt earlier and I shouldn’t have been. My main concern is for your safety.”
“Abrupt?” He could see a quick flash of anger before she turned away.
“I don’t understand why you’re here.”
“It’s not all about you.” In her spindly stilettos she was almost his height. Even so, she didn’t make eye contact.
Inside the museum Corie swapped her champagne glass for a larger, more rounded one, filled with liquid the color of a ruby. “Don’t follow me around all night.”
Jack’s eyes sought Evan. “Why would you go to a wine tasting with someone who raped you? What kind of hold does he have on you?”
Corie froze for a second but recovered quickly. “Am I supposed to introduce you? As what exactly?”
She took a healthy swallow of the wine and he noticed, despite her defiance, that her hand was trembling. “I know you don’t want to be here.”
“Ah, but I always do the things I don’t want to do. It’s a bad habit.”
“What do you mean? What have you done?”
“Detective.” Evan’s silky voice came from behind Jack.
Corie’s eyes skimmed over Jack’s shoulder toward her husband. “In answer to your question . . .” Then she turned adroitly on one of those impossibly fragile heels and slipped away.
“Goddamn it, Evan. I don’t have a tape measure handy but I’m sure you’re within five hundred feet.”
Evan glanced at Corie’s retreating back. “You’re absolutely right. I’m going to get some more wine. Why don’t you join me?”
Without waiting for an answer, Evan walked away too.
Jack hesitated and then followed Evan, who walked to a bar set up on one side of the gallery. A bartender appeared instantly with two large, stemmed glasses.
“Surprise us,” Evan said. His tuxedo was impeccable. Not a blond hair out of place. Other than the cut on his cheek and the bruising around his eye, he looked bland and harmless.
“I’m on duty.” Jack watched the bartender pour.
“What marvelous self-restraint.” Evan swirled the contents of his glass a few moments and then lifted the rim to his nose. “That really is remarkable. Brown from age yet there’s still some ripe fruit. Cassis. Plum. Maybe even a hint of cherry.” He sniffed again. “Am I getting chocolate?”
Jack let the bartender see his badge. “It’d be a shame to shut this down while I make sure all of the permits are in order.”
The bartender slid away. Evan watched Jack placidly. “I didn’t take you for a common bully, Jack. It appears I was mistaken. I tell you what. Let’s play a game.”
“I don’t play games.”
“No? You can have me subpoenaed but that will take some time. Or, you can talk to me right now and find out whatever you want to know.”
“Go fuck yourself.” It took significant restraint not to grab Evan and throw him through one of the plate glass windows. Anything to break through that glib exterior.
Evan had the gall to glance at his watch. “In that case, I have important people I really should talk to.”
“How’d you get her to come tonight?”
“It’s the other way around. Corie wanted to come. She’s been looking forward to this for months.”
“That’s crap. I know about the settlement. Tell me what you have on Corie.”
Evan held his glass up to the light. “Good legs. That means the streaking down the side of the glass. When a wine does that it’s an indication of—”
“High alcohol content. Let’s go.” Jack had Evan by the arm.
“You really have no questions? It’s all right with me, I found jail rather fascinating.”
Jack noticed that Evan’s eyes, even when he was staring right at you, seemed to be looking somewhere else. “I’ll take your little quiz if you tell me what’s going on with you and Corie.”
“You waited too long. You guess correctly, you get Vangie. Corie’s off the table.”
“You don’t own her, Evan.”
“Humor me. What do you smell?” Evan swirled his wine and took another sip.
Jack moved the base of his wineglass on the bar in a violent circular motion, sending the liquid inside into a mahogany-colored whirlpool.
“Ah. I see you’re going to play. I’ll make it really easy. All you have to do is guess the vintage. It’s a Burgundy,” Evan added helpfully.
Jack picked the glass up by the stem and took a whiff. He was struck by the earthiness of the wine, combined with a distinctive spiciness: clove, anise. “1990.”
Evan watched him with those vacant, icy blue eyes. “Very good guess.”
“I don’t guess. Where is she?”
“At my cabin.” Evan stared at his glass for a long moment. “I’m heading up after this to join her. I won’t be anywhere near Corie. What about you?”
“Call her.”
“There’s no cell
phone service at the cabin and we don’t have a landline.”
“Convenient. Why’d you trade cars with your lawyer?”
“The road to the cabin has deteriorated. My Mercedes wouldn’t make it.”
Jack watched Evan through narrowed eyes. “Bonus points: You tell me how you got Corie to come tonight if I tell you the estate.”
Evan arched a pale eyebrow. He looked amused. “All right. I’ll play.”
For a moment, Jack was back in his grandparents’ dining room at their house in Paris. He’d sit terrified and transfixed while his grandfather held up a glass and lectured Jack on the proper way to evaluate and consume wine. Almost nothing was taken more seriously in his grandfather’s elegant home. Servants slipped in and out unobtrusively, while at the other end of the long, linen-draped table his mother chatted amiably in French with his grandmother.
“Terroir, Jacques. The life of each man that touched those grapes, that tilled the soil, is in that glass. It must be treated with respect.”
His grandfather’s voice quavered as he pronounced names for ten-year-old Jack to repeat: d’Yquem, Lafaurie-Payraguey, Lynch-Bages. The names sounded like music. Jack sat patiently while the old man lectured—as if he had the nerve to do anything else.
Jack thought about answering Evan in French but figured that would be overkill. He knew he shouldn’t let a suspect bait him, but he couldn’t resist showing off a little.
Jack swirled the glass again, closed his eyes, took a sip, and swallowed. Took a second sip. Thought about it for a minute while Evan watched with that insufferable smile. Jack drew the moment out with a third sip and then reluctantly set his glass down. “Since you go for flash instead of class, I’m gonna guess a La Tache and not a Richebourg.” The names rolled off Jack’s tongue as if that lesson in his grandfather’s dining room had been yesterday. He called the bartender over and asked to see the bottle. Took it, grinned, and set it back down on the bar.
Evan’s smile faded as he stared at the words “Annee1990” on the distinctive white label of the Domaine de la Romanée-Conti La Tache. “I told her I wouldn’t contest the divorce if she’d put in this one last appearance for me.”
“Right.”