Killing Streak

by Merit Clark

  “If you really saw the settlement offer, then you’d know it’s the truth.”

  “What’d you go back to your house for yesterday?”

  “Checking on Corie. I won’t bother expressing outrage at how quickly she resumed your relationship. Not very ethical, though, is it? How is it you have such little regard for your career?”

  It was Jack’s turn to smile. “How is it I’ve had both your sister and your wife?”

  Glass shattered. Red wine spread on the counter and dripped onto the floor; the spatter pattern reminded Jack of blood. So satisfying to jolt Evan out of his smug certainty. He’d worry about his ethics later.

  “Was Corie going to end up like Monique?”

  “Who?” Evan looked confused.

  Two bartenders rushed over with rags to clean up the mess. Ruby drops oozed, glittering along the gash outlining Evan’s thumb.

  “You’d better get that looked at, sir,” a bartender said.

  With delicate precision, Jack set down his own intact glass. “Two things Evan, pay very close attention: One, Vangie better show up at her arraignment all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Two, you and Corie are done. Take your settlement and shove it up your ass. If I catch you 499 feet away from Corie I’ll personally haul you off to jail. And I won’t be as gentle the second time.”

  Jack found Corie talking to an older couple. They looked up when he approached and Corie started to make introductions, but he took her by the arm and pulled her toward an exit.

  “Hey. That’s very rude.”

  “Call a cop.”

  “Cute. What the hell is wrong with you?” She tried to pull away but he held tight.

  “You want to nurse a grudge, fine, but I’m going to keep you alive. Although you’re safe for the moment. Evan’s going up to the cabin to be with Vangie.”

  “Nurse a grudge?” Her voice rose. “I think you’re enjoying this.”

  Jack walked her across the plaza toward her condo. “That was a cheap shot, I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, finally that word escapes your lips. It doesn’t look like it was fatal.”

  “All that matters is keeping you safe.”

  She made a sound like an outraged snort and pulled her arm free. “You think you have all the answers. You think you have everything under control. You’re as bad as Evan.”

  The comparison stung. “You can’t stay here. I’m going to take you someplace where you’ll be safe and then—”

  “Like hell.”

  “What did you mean before when you said doing bad things had become a habit?”

  “I didn’t say ‘bad things.’ I said doing things I don’t want to do.”

  “Like what?” Jack’s strong, slim fingers closed around her upper arm again. “What does he have on you? Tell me.”

  Corie glared at him. “Get your hands off me. I told you everything I know and you didn’t believe me. I’m going inside now. Away from Evan. That’s what you want, isn’t it? And Jack always gets everything he wants.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You’re an arrogant prick, Jack. And trust me, I’m rather an expert.” Her voice dropped, became low and malevolent. “Did you even know?”

  He wasn’t sure at first he heard her right. “Know what?”

  “About the baby.”

  “Oh God, Corie—”

  “No, don’t worry about me. I get it. Your little it-didn’t-mean-anything got pregnant. And then she asked me to go with her when she got rid of it. And I went!”

  Jack stepped back as if she’d shot him. “Corie, what the hell?”

  “Please. Spare me the surprised act.” She stalked into her building.

  After a moment of hesitation, Jack followed and caught up to her as she stepped into the elevator. They were alone and she turned on him as the doors closed.

  “I’m sick and tired of covering for everybody. That was the start, back then, covering for Hennessy. And it’s a bad habit I’ve continued to this day. I mean what the hell is wrong with me, huh? I go with her and hold her hand after she’s fucked the guy I was in love with. I must be a complete and utter moron.”

  “What did you say?” He would get answers. With one hand he reached out and pressed the stop button on the elevator. An alarm sounded.

  Corie’s eyes got wide. “What are you doing? Are you insane?”

  “I’m only going to ask you one more time what you’re talking about.”

  “She had an abortion. Are you slow?” Corie’s voice dripped with twenty years of pent-up pain and scorn. She didn’t care if she hurt him. She didn’t even see him. “Nice of you to pay for it, though.”

  “No. That’s not—”

  “You paid for it and I held her hand and she used both of us. I stood there in that awful room with those sounds and all of these women in the waiting room, half of them angry and defensive and the other half crying—guess which group Hennessy belonged to? She lay there on the table while they sucked it out of her and tried to make jokes. I was crying and she was cracking jokes.”

  “Stop it!” Jack couldn’t bear to hear anymore. “You’re lying.”

  “No, I’m not. Why the hell would I lie about this?”

  He backed her up against the wall, his grip hard on her arms.

  “You son of a bitch. Let me go!” She broke free and groped for the stop button. The elevator lurched upward. Corie lost her balance in her heels and fell against Jack but straightened up instantly. “You know, they have security cameras in these elevators.”

  When the doors opened on the fifth floor, Jack didn’t move. Corie took a few steps and then turned in time to get a good look at Jack’s anguished face before the panels slid closed again.

  Chapter 37

  His mother was home but she wasn’t alone. Evan had forgotten she had company, and now he felt like he’d caught Jessie and her new friend in the act. They were both fully clothed but looked at him with sheepish smiles.

  Jessie was wearing a kind of long tunic, white, over a longer skirt in a deep red color. On her bare feet were sandals in a strappy gladiator style. For some reason it was sexy.

  Evan felt slightly ill and abruptly looked away from his mother’s feet toward her younger man. Maybe not so young after all. He had a wrinkled, weather-beaten face going ruddy. What was this new one’s name?

  “Evan, you remember Lennon.”

  Ah. That was it.

  “Len, this is my son Evan. You met the other day when he brought the—”

  “When I worked on the project in Jessie’s garage. I’m not sure we were formally introduced at the time.” Evan interrupted his mother and belatedly stuck out his hand, although he was loathe to actually touch the other man.

  Len reached for Evan’s outstretched hand and Jessie noticed the bandage.

  “What happened to your hand, darling?”

  Evan yanked his hand back and shoved it in his pocket. He wanted to turn around and bolt. Instead, as if drawn by an irresistible force, he allowed Jessie to take him by the arm and lead him into the kitchen. There was a six-burner Wolf stove on one side and a wall of windows opposite. Two sets of atrium doors opened onto a deck. The large island and kitchen counters were covered with colorful tiles and the floor was paved with large terracotta squares. Brightly colored, high-backed wooden chairs pulled up to the island; they’d been painted by another young artist friend of his mother’s. A previous, female incarnation of Lennon.

  “Have you been to a party?” Jessie asked.

  “The benefit at the museum.” She tried again to examine his cut but Evan resisted.

  “At least let me make you something to eat. They never have much except snacky things at those wine tastings.”

  Evan stood and watched Jessie pull food out the refrigerator.

  “I wasn’t sure if you would go with everything else you have on your plate.” Jessie took the lid off of a small round container, sniffed it, and placed it on a wooden board. “Mmm. I got this from the
farmer’s market. Artisanal goat cheese.”

  She added paper-thin slices of prosciutto, hard salami, and wedges of cheese to the board.

  “Was Corie there?” Jessie added it offhandedly, as she scooped a mound of quince paste into a small square dish.

  “Yes,” Evan said.

  “That must have been awkward for you.” Jessie reached into a cabinet and pulled out a jar of Marcona almonds. “For both of you. Would you mind if I called Corie?”

  “Of course not.” Evan watched Len slice a large, round loaf of bread into thin slices for the cheese. At the sight of the knife Evan’s hand tingled. “I’m sure Corie would like to hear from you.”

  Jessie’s eyes glittered with tears and she blinked them back. “I can’t imagine what it’s like for her. Losing her friend and then . . . all of your other difficulties.” Her voice trailed off.

  Len opened the refrigerator and retrieved a jar of mustard. “J, where did you put the olives we bought?”

  “Look on the bottom shelf.”

  J? “Mom, I should go.”

  Jessie dabbed at her eyes and tried to smile. She knew better than to try and hug Evan. In fact, Jessie understood him better than anybody.

  “Don’t be silly. Here. You can carry this for me.” She handed Evan the large board with the cheese and meat. “Let’s eat over in front of the fire.”

  While Len got the fire going, Jessie poured each of them a glass of wine from a bottle of Sancerre. “It’s a shame it’s gotten too cold sit outside in the evening. I’ve thought about putting gas heaters out on the veranda.” She raised her glass. “What shall we drink to?”

  “I’m not feeling very festive, Mother.”

  “How about drinking to all of this bounty?” Len suggested.

  “Bounty. I like that.” Jessie touched each of their glasses with hers.

  Corie’s voice floated through Evan’s mind, describing the project with Brice: ‘I put a dining room table in the model loaded with food, a symbol of bounty and sharing with those you love.’ Corie told Evan Brice’s contribution to the house was scenes from his childhood in North Carolina. Scenes. Was that a slip? Had she meant to say “crime scenes?”

  “A symbol of bounty,” Evan said. Len and his mother stared at him curiously so he motioned with his glass toward the fruit and cheese. Where was Corie now? With Jack? Evan drained his glass in one swallow.

  “I didn’t think you liked Sancerre.” Jessie refilled her son’s glass with the straw-colored liquid and then sat down next to Len on the loveseat facing the fire. Evan remained standing.

  “It’s one of the few white wines I can abide.” Evan watched his mother cut herself a sliver of manchego and top it with a dab of quince paste. He’d hoped for a chance to talk to Jessie alone.

  Len attempted conversation. “Evan, tell us about the benefit you attended. Did you get to taste some interesting wines?”

  “I didn’t stay long.”

  “My son is rather shy.” Jessie’s green eyes lingered on Evan, then she turned toward Len and leaned close. A white hand rested on Len’s knee. “Unlike his mother.”

  Evan stood transfixed, as if watching a slow-motion accident.

  “Evan, what are the latest developments in your little mystery?” Jessie asked. “Tell us: What do the police know so far?”

  “It hardly seems relevant, with all this bounty before us.”

  She sat up straight. “Are you mocking me?”

  “Not at all. You were planning an intimate evening and I’ve spoiled it.”

  Jessie held Evan’s cold gaze. “Yes. I suppose I’m being terribly selfish but I really don’t want to talk about it. This is what I want to focus on. Now. This moment. I think the Buddhists are right. Don’t you, Len?”

  Len didn’t answer and Evan watched them curiously. “Everything all right?”

  Jessie sighed. “Those dreadful police interrogated Len.”

  “Jessie, he doesn’t want to hear this,” Len said.

  “Hear what?” Evan felt a surge of energy. The evening was suddenly very interesting.

  “They dragged him down there.” Jessie’s green eyes blazed. “He didn’t even tell me he was going because he didn’t want me to worry. Terribly brave but terribly foolish. I told him you have the best lawyers on retainer. Tell him, Evan. You know how to handle these things. Len doesn’t realize it but the Markham name means something around here. They can’t treat him that way.”

  “It was no big deal,” Len said.

  “You see?” Jessie looked at Evan as if requesting his assistance with a dull child.

  “I’m sure they’re only doing their jobs, Mother.” Evan’s lips twitched from the effort of resisting a smile. “Len doesn’t seem to be upset.”

  “I told him you’d help.” Jessie glared at Evan.

  “I’m hurt, Mother, that you’re more worried about your friend than about Corie and me. If Len has any information that can help solve this awful crime, I should think he’d be happy to cooperate. Isn’t that right, Len?”

  “How dare you!” Jessie stood and brushed crumbs off her skirt. “How dare you insinuate that Len could have anything to do with this? How dare you take the cops’ side!”

  “But I do support the police, Mother.”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. I don’t know you at all anymore.” With as much dignity as she could muster Jessie turned and stalked from the room. As she passed the granite counter in the kitchen she set down her wineglass with a sharp clink.

  The smile escaped. Evan couldn’t help it. He grinned at Len. “Sorry about that. My mother has never been able to tolerate conflict of any kind.”

  “I should go to her.” Len stayed seated on the couch looking down at his hands.

  “I can see you’re very fond of my mother, but I know her much better than you do. Let her go off by herself for a little while and then she’ll come back out and be her old self again. You’ll see.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Absolutely.” Evan picked up the bottle. “Here, let me top off your glass.”

  “Thanks.” Len relaxed and unclasped his hands.

  “How long have you known my mother?”

  “A couple of months.”

  “I can find out, Len.” Evan said it conversationally.

  Len’s hand reflexively reached up and fidgeted with his necklace. “We met in North Carolina. I’m not sure exactly how long ago, a couple of years maybe. I don’t think it’s very nice of you to accuse me of lying.”

  “I’ve never heard her mention you before.” For the first time all night Evan was enjoying himself.

  Len took a long drink. “Do you know all the people your mother dates?”

  “Are you originally from North Carolina?”

  “I’ve already had one interrogation today.”

  “And Lennon’s your real name?”

  Len looked away again. “It’s going to sound silly.”

  “I have an excellent sense of humor.”

  “The name on my birth certificate says Leonard, but I always felt a spiritual bond with John Lennon. It’s no crime changing your name.”

  Evan laughed. “Of course not. When you were at the station, which detective did you talk to?”

  Len seemed surprised by the question. He retrieved a card from his wallet and handed it to Evan, who stared at Jack’s card.

  “Why do you want to know?” Len asked.

  “No reason.” Evan took the card and tossed it into the fire. “Len, I think it’s time for you and me to have a nice, long chat.”

  Chapter 38

  “Hi.”

  Jack opened his door and found Corie on his doorstep with a sheepish smile on her face. She seemed tentative, shy, uncertain.

  He’d removed his jacket and tie but was still wearing a white dress shirt with the top buttons open and slacks. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t say hello. He didn’t invite her in. He wasn’t going to make it easy for her.


  She held up a bottle of La Tache. “I brought a peace offering.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “I know. I just can’t leave it like . . . I just want to talk to you. I won’t stay long.”

  Her eyes were imploring. Bad idea! a voice shouted in his head. Jack ignored the voice. He stepped back and opened the door wider. Her eyes swept his living room, the Craftsman furniture, the Oriental rug on the floor, the stained glass panels at the top of the old windows. Was she surprised?

  “No beer can pyramid. Sorry to disappoint you.” God, he sounded bitter.

  “I’m not—what? Sorry, I’ll keep my eyes averted. I should have asked if there was someone else here.”

  “I’m alone.” There was something in her eyes he couldn’t read—fear, hope, longing?

  She leaned against the back of the couch, almost as if for protection. “Do you want to open that?”

  “Not really.” He was still angry.

  “Well can you give me a glass of something? I need all the help I can get.”

  He walked toward the kitchen and she followed. Eighteen years. His child would have been a teenager, practically grown. Bile rose in his throat and Jack realized he wanted the wine. Needed the wine. He wouldn’t look at Corie; instead he examined the label. “This should really be decanted. Surprised I know a word like decanted?”

  Why was he mad at her? It was Hennessy who’d done it. No. He and Hennessy.

  “Let me see your hand,” Corie said.

  Without warning, she grabbed his free hand and he looked at her, surprised.

  Just as quickly she dropped it again. “Nope, no scrape marks. Now that we’ve determined you’re not a Neanderthal can we move on to a new topic?”

  He turned away and reached for a decanter on the top shelf of a cabinet, his thoughts racing. She should have tried to stop Hennessy. They were best friends. She should have done something. Corie was always so goddamned passive. Jack carefully emptied the bottle, noticed the color of the wine—a brownish tinge, as Evan had observed—and marveled at the amount of sediment at the bottom of the bottle.

  “What should we drink to?” He handed her a glass and forced himself to look at her.