ON The Rocks (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 3) (Redemption Thriller Series 15)

by John W. Mefford

  “No cars that I can see,” Brook said quietly.

  “Probably all in the garage, then,” I said, nudging my head toward the right.

  “Which means no visitors.”

  We walked a few more steps. I said, “Or maybe the visitors are like us, parking somewhere else and walking up.”

  “I didn’t see any parked cars on the road leading up to their house.”

  “True, but they could have gone to another home and walked through the woods.”

  “You think like a criminal,” she said.

  I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment. As we moved to the front door, we peered through clear windows.

  “See anything?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Maybe no one’s home.”

  “You could always call Earl and see. He doesn’t have to know we’re standing outside his house. You could be casual, say you had some follow-up questions and wanted to know when he’d be home so you could drop by. That might give us a sense of who’s here and who’s not here.”

  She walked away from me, continuing to peer through the windows. I wasn’t sure she’d heard me. Then she turned back. “Legally, we can’t just walk in.”

  “We could ring the doorbell,” I said, putting my finger on the button.

  “Wait. I like your first idea better.” She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen three times, and put it to her ear. A few seconds passed.

  Suddenly, she went still.

  “What?”

  She slowly moved the phone away from her ear. Then she ever so quietly padded toward the side of the house. I shuffled up next to her. She put a finger to her lips.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  She turned, spoke into my ear. “I hear a phone ringing. Sounds like it’s coming from around back.”

  We walked down a dirt path. AC units hulked along the side of the home. Everywhere else was lush vegetation. It was meant to look natural against the Austin hillside, but I could tell it was professionally landscaped.

  At the back corner of the house, we stopped. I leaned my head around the corner and then turned back to Brook. “I see the edge of a pool.”

  Nothing special about that. I looked again, leaning just a bit farther. I saw ripples in the water. I leaned forward some more. Brook grabbed my T-shirt just as a breath caught in my throat. “It’s Earl. I think he’s drowning,” I said and hurried in that direction.

  “What?”

  She started after me and gasped.

  Rosie was standing at the edge of the pool, a gun at her side. She was saying something, and my eyes went straight to her lips so I could read them. “No one else has the guts or know-how to kill you, so that only makes it more fun for me.”

  “Rosie!” Brook yelled, raising her gun to eye level.

  Rosie flinched, but then a calm smile came to her lips. I looked to the pool. Earl’s head was under the water, and then, a moment later, it popped back up. “Help me,” he garbled before disappearing under the water.

  “He can’t swim, can he?” I said.

  “Nope. Isn’t that ironic, Ozzie? The man owns a pool, and he can’t fucking swim.” She laughed.

  I took two steps toward the pool, but Rosie raised her gun and pointed it directly at Earl.

  “Gun down, Rosie. Now!” Brook said.

  I could feel the tension radiating off Brook…the entire scene. My eyes kept going to Earl. His head and arms were bobbing just above water, and then he went down again. He was in the deep end, about ten feet of water. It appeared he was drifting to the bottom of the pool and then pushing himself back up to grab a lungful of air.

  “You won’t shoot me,” Rosie said to Brook with a wicked chuckle. Her eyes were still trained on Earl.

  “Rosie!” I yelled. “Stop it. Put the fucking gun down, and let’s get him out of there.”

  She held up a flat hand in my direction. “You don’t exist to me. You rejected me. You rejected the best thing that could have ever been.”

  I shot a quick glance at Brook. “Rosie,” she said. “Earl is a bad person. With your help, we’ll have enough evidence to show that he had Stuart Benson killed. He’ll go to jail for the rest of his life.”

  Rosie licked her lips, readjusted her grip on the gun. I saw something wash across her face. Was it a thought…a memory? I wasn’t sure.

  “Rosie, it’s not your fault,” I said.

  “Ozzie…” It was like she was trying to warn me not to say another word. But I knew I could get through to her.

  “Okay, I admit it, Rosie. You were right. We had a connection. There was something there. I was scared, confused. I should have just gone with my instincts.”

  She glanced in my direction but said nothing.

  “Look, I don’t know what to do now. But I regret hurting you, I know that much. You are a beautiful, sexy, amazing woman. You should have never had to face the trauma or the torture that happened to you.”

  She looked at me and held her gaze for a second. The look of vicious revenge had dialed back some. I was now seeing a person who was in pain, begging for someone to hold her, to extricate all the bad things in her past from her memory.

  Just then, Earl’s arm cracked the surface of the water. His head never made it. I only saw bubbles and him slowly drifting downward in the water. My old lifeguard instincts kicked in. I ran four steps and dove through the air. Mid-flight, I saw a bullet zing into the water. What looked like crimson dye appeared in the water just as my hands broke the surface. I allowed my momentum to take me to the bottom of the pool. From there, I wrapped my arms around Earl’s legs and pushed upward, hoping to get him at least one good breath. Just as I pushed off the bottom of the pool, something slammed into both of us. My arms dropped, and I was pushed backward.

  “Rosie!” I yelled from under the water.

  She was trying to hold Earl under. I lunged toward her, and Earl and I tried to push her off him. She hooked her arm around his neck and squeezed. The crevices in his face deepened. Tiny bubbles poured out of her nose, and it looked like she was grinning. Or maybe she was just gritting her teeth. Whatever, it was a damn scary sight. I grabbed her arm and pulled with everything I had. My strength wasn’t at my normal level. It seemed like she had the power of a thousand women—or at least one very deranged one.

  As I continued pulling on her arm, Earl’s body went limp.

  Had she killed the man?

  Suddenly the water around us exploded. Through the bubbles, I could see the red mane of Brook’s hair. She gripped her hand on Rosie’s shoulder. In about two seconds, Rosie flinched, let go of Earl. Brook must have pinched some type of pressure point.

  I grabbed Earl, brought him to the surface, and then dragged him out of the pool. The two women’s heads now bobbed above the water. Brook reached back and punched Rosie right in the nose, stunning her.

  I looked back to Earl, laid out on the pavement. His eyes were shut, blood seeping out of his arm, and he wasn’t moving. I put two fingers to the side of his neck. A faint pulse, so I started CPR. The females were still battling it out in the pool, apparently—screaming, water splashing—but I focused on counting the chest compressions.

  A moment later, I heard, “You fucking bitch!” It was Rosie’s voice. I glanced over and saw Brook pulling Rosie by a handful of her hair. She was at the steps at the shallow end.

  “Ozzie, is he going to make it?” she called out.

  “I don’t know.” I put my face to his. I could feel his breath. “He’s alive. Find a phone, call nine-one-one. Quick.”

  36

  For the third time in the day, I was surrounded by paramedics and law-enforcement officials. Earl was receiving oxygen, his arm bandaged up, as two paramedics wheeled him around the house to the ambulance. From what I could determine from my lip-reading, the medics thought he would live.

  Rosie sat on the stone steps of the back porch, her hands in cuffs, with a government-issued blanket around her. Flanked by two uni
formed officers, she stared in the direction of the setting sun that had peeked out from the clouds. I doubted she noticed the sun. She’d gone mute once Brook had finally yanked her out of the pool and had hardly moved once she’d sat down on the steps. Maybe she was finally coming to grips with everything she had done. Maybe she was plotting some new revenge.

  Standing on the other side of the pool was Brook, barefoot, hair and clothing soaked. Even with the chilly temperature, she had no blanket around her. She was using her hands a lot as she spoke to a plainclothes detective. I didn’t have the right angle to be able to decipher their conversation, but it definitely looked like an agitated one.

  A moment later, she joined me near the diving board, blowing out a deep breath.

  “Everything cool?” I asked.

  “Not really. But it’s fine. Nothing for you to worry about.”

  Her set jaw said otherwise. “Who is that you were talking to?”

  “Porter.”

  “Your captain?”

  She nodded.

  “Why is he so upset? You just caught a killer and helped save a man’s life.”

  She glanced at Rosie—who was still catatonic—and then back at me. “He’s just one of those guys. Never happy about anything.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  She held out a hand and starting counting off with her fingers. “First, he hammered me on protocol, the part about bringing you with me here to the Alvarado house. Second, he was harping on the fact that Rosie had driven right up to the Copeland crime scene and that no one from the team, as he said, ‘pulled their heads out of their asses to see the fucking forest through the trees.’”

  I opened my mouth for a quick retort, but she beat me to it. “And lastly, he reminded me that we still had an unsolved murder—the Stuart Benson investigation.”

  “What a hard ass. Check that, what a dumb ass.” I looked over at the guy. He was wearing a plaid sport coat, but he’d pushed back the jacket to set his hands at his waist as he dressed down some younger officer. He was chewing so much gum, it was impossible for me to pick up on what he was saying. “Man, he looks like a real prick.”

  She leaned in closer and put a hand over her mouth. “His name is Rick Porter. Most everyone calls him Rick with a P.”

  I snorted out a muted chuckle and then realized how much my head hurt.

  An officer opened the back door of the lake house and rapidly waved at Brook. “Detective. Need you inside ASAP.”

  Brook didn’t waste any time. “Stay here. I’ll be back.” She hurried inside.

  A moment later, out of nowhere, Rosie spoke up. “I could have killed you, Ozzie…when I fired the gun at Earl.”

  I didn’t even look in her direction. “You might want to wait until you get a lawyer.”

  My guidance wasn’t given out of concern, but more out of just wanting to steer away from hearing anything related to her weird obsession with me.

  “I don’t care anymore. I’ve endured more than one woman could in ten lifetimes.” She spoke in a monotone, as if her will to live had been completely deflated.

  I wanted to leave, or at least be far away from Rosie. I just had no energy left. The best I could do was ignore her.

  “Earl deserved to die, and you know it. You should have let me kill him, Ozzie.”

  I did not respond, just stared into the pool.

  “A bullet in the head wasn’t good enough for Earl. He needed something special. Why didn’t you just let me be and take care of things in my own way?”

  I continued to ignore her, my weight rocking left and right, like an antsy boxer.

  “Ozzie, I’m not trying to hide what I did. I know I’ll go to prison, maybe worse.”

  I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. “You fucking shot Summer Davis right in the head. Killed her, and for what?”

  “She screwed my husband just to get even with me.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  A smile tugged at the edges of her lips. “She thought I was flirting with her dad at a charity function last year. Real mature, right?”

  She was laying judgment on a girl she’d killed in cold blood. I didn’t want to hear her sob story. I should have just kept my mouth shut.

  “So this is how she gets me back. She sleeps with Earl. I’m surprised she didn’t make a sex tape and sell it to one of those sleazy websites. She would have fit right in. Once a sleaze, always a sleaze, I say.”

  I just shook my head.

  Brook came out of the house in quick order and approached me.

  “Thanks for saving me,” I said.

  “What?” She was distracted, her eyes looking over to Captain Porter. She tried to run her fingers through her hair, but the damp tangles made that an impossibility.

  “Just Rosie,” I said under my breath. “She’s offering some lame excuse why she killed Summer Davis.”

  “Well, add another one to her kill list.”

  “Who?”

  “Lyle Pierce.”

  “Snake? The fucker who beat the crap out of me?”

  “The one and only. Gunshot to the back of the skull. They found him in the back bathroom.”

  “Damn.” I glanced over Brook’s shoulder. Rosie was staring right at me.

  “I did you another favor, Ozzie,” she said, upping her volume. “Snake was slime. Did all sorts of illegal crap for Earl. But he was pretty gullible in the end. He actually thought I wanted him, or at least I let him think that. Then I ended his life. Chalk that one up to the good guys.”

  Brook grabbed my shoulders and turned me, so I would not be looking at Rosie. “Ignore her, Ozzie. She thinks she still has you wrapped around her finger.”

  That comment sent my pulse skyward. “What did you just say to me?”

  “Oh, sorry. That didn’t come out right.” She wiped a hand across her face. I noticed a cut on her cheek.

  I immediately felt badly for jumping on her shit. I pointed at her cheek. “Is that from…?” I nodded in Rosie’s direction.

  “Who knew that black widows had nails?” She popped an eyebrow.

  After another conversation with Porter, she and the captain had a private discussion with Rosie. Then, finally, officers ushered Rosie around front, taking her on a path right past me.

  “Ozzie, as you go to sleep tonight and every night after, just know how much I care about you. I could have killed you; you realize that, don’t you? But I didn’t. I didn’t want Mackenzie to grow up without a father.”

  I turned my back to her.

  “Ozzie. I’ll never forget about you,” she yelled out as they led her away. “And you know what? I know you’ll never forget me.”

  37

  A night at home with limited worries was good for the soul. And it certainly wasn’t bad for healing an ailing body.

  After picking up Mackenzie from Ariel’s place—and thanking Ervin for his assistance—we spent the evening writing. Not drawing or painting, but writing. Her English teacher had assigned the class a homework assignment: write a first draft of a paper that describes the favorite things you do with your family.

  We ate Mackenzie’s favorite meal—yup, Hamburger Helper—with a healthy dose of “trees” as a side item. “Trees” was Mackenzie’s pet name for broccoli. Whatever works.

  Following two scoops of chocolate ice cream for dessert, she sat on her knees at the coffee table with a pencil and stared at a blank sheet of paper. Initially, I’d considered jumping online and working through some remaining questions surrounding the world of Rosie. Not just the unsolved Stuart Benson murder—although her claim that Snake had killed him seemed more likely than not—but also the mystery person who had picked up Rosie after she’d pistol-whipped me. But by the time I logged in, I was reminded of Ervin’s words from the previous day, about living in the moment, cherishing them.

  I’d completed the job Rosie had hired me to do, albeit with some assistance from Nicole. I’d proven that Earl was cheating on h
er, and I’d been paid. I wished that I had just left it at that. The aftermath of Rosie was not a good place to dwell. As much as she was a victim, my client had turned out to be the perpetrator of many crimes. It made me sick to think how I’d been suckered in, how my relationship with Nicole had been punctured further, and how I’d put my daughter in danger just by being around Rosie. But that was in the past.

  Live for today, Ozzie. This moment. Be present. Cherish it.

  I closed my computer, turned off my phone, and propped my socked feet on the coffee table. I could see Mackenzie shift her eyes toward me without turning her head. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” I picked up a random magazine and started flipping through it. “I’m just enjoying being at home with you.”

  She didn’t respond. She went into the kitchen to get some water and returned to her spot on the floor. All the while, I pretended to read a magazine—one of Tito’s old art magazines that he’d given to Mackenzie. Lots of information on art shows of all varieties in Austin and throughout the state and more than a few ads on courses where “just about anyone can learn to paint like the late Thomas Kinkade.” Nice. Someone profiting on a dead man. The idea of an average Joe like me thinking he could paint like Thomas Kinkade was hysterical, if not absurd.

  A few more minutes passed, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mackenzie prop her chin up with both hands. Then she dropped her head onto an arm. She wiggled and squirmed—a kid’s form of procrastination—for a good twenty minutes. I figured she’d been put through enough pain and suffering, so I finally jumped in.

  “What are you writing about?”

  She flapped the blank sheet of paper in the air, her eyes as round as ping-pong balls. “Nothing, that’s what.”