Evil Cries

by Lala Corriere

  Rachel checked her watch again. If there was any meat in Marcus’s word, Gage’s cell phone should be ringing soon. Rachel pulled the half-bottle of champagne out from the mini-bar and carefully pulled off the foil and wire basket.

  Five minutes later, with the shower running and the door closed, Gage’s phone rang.

  “Right on time, bitch,” Rachel whispered. Then a throaty, “Hello” with a little more of her Irish brogue than usual.

  Pause. “Who is this?” the caller asked.

  “Who is calling?” Rachel said.

  Pause. “Is Gage there?”

  Rachel picked up the bottle of champagne and popped the cork near the receiver. Not an easy task with only one hand. “He’s in the shower right now.”

  Long pause. No response.

  “May I tell him who called?” Rachel asked.

  “I’ll call back.” Click.

  Although Rachel barely knew how to turn on her new computer, she did know how to delete incoming calls from a cell phone. And she knew how to remove the battery, stick it in the ice water in the bucket until the red dot appeared, dry it off, and insert it back into the phone.

  Chapter 26

  The Skull

  MARCUS SMILED AND waved as Sterling’s Lexus exited the ranch. When he turned back inside the smile had been replaced with knitted eyebrows and a stern grimace. He grinded his teeth in rapid movements. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  He stormed into his study, limp and all, and poured himself a hefty five fingers of Jack Daniel’s.

  “Give me the Jack. Give me the Jack,” he said.

  “I gotta go back. I gotta go back.” He had to go back to his boat. His Sarah.

  Damn! He had to move quickly if he was to be back in Tucson on Tuesday to see his White Goddess at Falls & Falls. He wanted to pick out the perfect diamond.

  Damn! He had a nip and tuck at eleven the next morning.

  “No time. No fucking time!” he said.

  Marcus never cussed, but he heard the vulgarity come out of his mouth.

  “Okay. Cool it, Sacrum,” he said. He started pacing.

  He could pass some time planning. Planning would help ease his pain. He swallowed three oxycodone and chased them down with more bourbon, just in case the planning didn’t go so well.

  The voice came from his crystal skull. “Here is your Jack. Here is your Jack. You can’t go back. Not now.”

  Marcus wandered into his second study. The one most persons would assume was nothing, but a large closet when looking at the door from the outside.

  He slowed his pace. The back was hurting him, but not as much as his mind. Still standing, he limped over to his cabinet and unlocked the doors.

  Planning. First things first. Time to dust off his precious toys. His cuffs and collars. His leg spreaders, chains and various clever little bone saws.

  Now, does he take them all to the torture boat, his beloved Sarah, or does he leave them right here? He had plenty of weapons onboard The Sarah to scare off five burly Mexicans. Still he had to think. Logistics. Should he distribute his wares between the locations, or should he take everything to the boat? More flexibility with the first, but the second option meant one less place to be discovered.

  The questions were too much for him. His brain hurt. His back hurt. He popped another Oxy and chased it with another shot of bourbon.

  He needed his White Goddess.

  Chapter 27

  The Weekend

  Saturday Evening

  I DIDN’T RECOGNIZE her voice, but I knew an Irish brogue when I heard one. There was only one person in Gage’s life that spoke that particular tongue, as far as I knew. The redhead, but she’d been out of his life for years. He loathed her, that’s what he said. I hadn’t seen any signs. Could I have been that naïve?

  I would be no fool. Not ever again. Even if I weren’t blind to any signs and she just turned back up in Gage’s life, she also turned up in his hotel room.

  I tossed and turned in bed, feeling like a load of jagged rip rap in a rock tumbler with no hope of being polished. Earl Harry, who always slept with us, took comfort in the stillness of the guest room.

  The issue of my lack of trust came at me like stingrays in the swimming pool surrounding me. Toss in a shark or two and some jellyfish. That’s how a felt about trust.

  I had a father that may have ditched his lesbian wife for a better deal. And that lesbian wife is now a bag lady turned into the mother who abandoned me and now appears to be an FBI Special Agent. Surprise. Surprise.

  I’ve been burned more than once by a man, but Gage?

  You bet I had trust issues.

  MY FATHER CAME to me in my dreams that night. He didn’t say a word. He just looked at me with those all-knowing eyes. The kind of look I loathed when I was hiding cigarettes and steamy novels under my mattress.

  GAGE HAD ALREADY sold more pieces there in that single gallery than he had all year. The activity was dizzying. He felt like a diamond in the rough in a rock tumbler, being polished and readied for the dazzling cut that would be his future.

  He realized Sterling hadn’t called, but he was at the show. He told himself he would call her when he got into the cab to return to the hotel.

  He forgot.

  Sunday

  IT WAS SEVEN IN the morning, Chicago time, but he had to call Sterling. Wake her up. They’d never once missed a call.

  Where was his cell? Pants pocket? Gage rushed over to find it. Not there. Blazer? Not there. He prided himself on not being attached to a damn cell phone like the enslaved limbs of a marionette. He also wasn’t one to ever misplace it. Where the devil was his phone?

  He searched the hotel room. Called both the front desk and the concierge to see if it had been turned in. Thought about the possibility of a maid that simply couldn’t resist temptation. That he even thought that sickened him. Gage always lived life believing in people.

  Collapsing in the nearby chair, he tapped at his temples while closing his eyes. Think! You’ll find it. And if you don’t it’s no big deal, but think!

  Slowly he opened his eyes when the fuzzy thought began to shine. The taxi! Call the cab company.

  “Yes. We did have a driver turn in a phone last night that matches your description. I handled it myself.”

  “And you wouldn’t try to call me? Dial any one number on speed dial?”

  “Sir. The phone is completely dead. We had no way of knowing.”

  “Dead? My phone is dead? I don’t bloody use it. It’s—never mind. I’ll come get it.”

  “No, sir. We’ll send a driver over to deliver it to you immediately.”

  “Damn,” he said to himself. Trust people. You really thought someone stole it? Leave the maid an extra healthy tip. She won’t know why, but you will. Tip the taxi driver. Tip the damn hotel.

  Not concerned about the time change, Gage grabbed the room phone again and called Sterling. No answer. He left a message. He was sorry for the first time ever that they hadn’t spoken in a day. He was worried. At least now he understood why she hadn’t called the night before, but would she understand why he hadn’t called her back. As for the forgiveness factor, a lost phone beats forgetting to call, and she was guilty of the later. It might tenderize the situation. Then again, maybe his phone was dead when she tried to call, but why? Damn!

  The cell phone, returned to Gage’s room, had no juice. No life and the only lifeline, the charger, proved fruitless. He opened up the battery compartment. The dreaded red dot appeared. What the hell? This phone did not get wet!

  It had been two hours. He called Sterling again. She answered on the first ring.

  “You sonuvabitch. You can delete my phone number from speed dial. Delete me from your life.”

  Click.

  I WAITED UNTIL five after nine and called Zoey. I begged her to steal some time and come over as soon as she could. A Sunday morning, I hoped she wasn’t dealing with too many Saturday night massacres.

  “What’s wron
g?” she shrieked back into the receiver while I heard her tires reel into position as she pulled off the surface street.

  “Gage is sleeping around on me. He’s either been doing it for a while or he’s pissed that I didn’t go with him to Chicago and this is his way of acting on his displeasure.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll come over. Have you called your—have you called Shirley?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you think you should?”

  “Why?”

  “Forget everything else, but maybe cuz she probably saved your white little ass life. Maybe cuz she wants to be a friend; and from where I’m standing it looks like you don’t have too many around here.”

  “Crap,” I sighed. “All right. Will you call her? You call me back and let me know when you can come? Let me know if she’s coming?”

  “Got it.”

  “Zoey, I really need you. You’re right. You’re all I have.”

  “Now I didn’t say that, did I?”

  Chapter 28

  The Powwow

  ZOEY AND SHIRLEY stormed my house in the foothills at 11:30 a.m. bearing fried chicken, white wine and chocolate.

  Zoey gave me a great big Mama Bear hug, and I guess Shirley did, too. I had decided I didn’t have room in my heart to harbor any animosity against Shirley. Not now.

  They both asked for the obligatory tour to break the ice and sidetrack my mind, I deduced. I readily acquiesced.

  “Our bedroom is a mess,” I said after showing them the majority of the house. “I kind of threw a hissy fit in here last night and it continued until—well, until about now. Do you know if you put your right hand on the wrong keys you’ll type losses instead of kisses?”

  Zoey ignored my pathetic discovery. “Beautiful. Just beautiful. And look at these views,” Zoey said for the umpteenth time.

  “It’s peaceful,” I concurred. At least it had been.

  “Wow. Get a load of this painting, Zoey!” Shirley said.

  The nude painting of me stood on a brass easel in the corner of our bedroom. I’m not sure why I took it from his studio, but I did. He had signed it which meant the piece was done. “Gage’s birthday present to me,” I admitted.

  “Bravo!” Shirley applauded.

  I looked at her and half-laughed. “Good god, now I know you’re not my mother. That girl is nude.”

  Ice breaking accomplished.

  We went outside and strolled past the pool, spa, kiva and cooking center.

  “Basically I live out here,” I said.

  Zoey pointed over to where a glass-walled building stood erect against a frame of giant saguaros. “What’s that?”

  “That’s Gage’s art studio. That’s basically where he lives. When he’s here.”

  They both seemed to understand there would be no need to include that as part of our tour. We walked back to the house and Zoey took over my kitchen, finding real plates and real utensils instead of the plastic ones in the bag. Shirley found the wine glasses. I sat down at the table. I might as well have been reading Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, Webster’s Dictionary, or Fifty Shades of Gray. I zoned out with no brain matter. The next thing I remember I was dabbing at a pile of coleslaw on the pottery plate set in front of me.

  Zoey jumped right in to the intent of our powwow at hand. “You don’t know anything for sure, Sterling. You said yourself that Gage called you this morning from the hotel’s phone. Maybe he lost his cell, or some bimbo stole it from him.”

  “She had an Irish brogue. An identifiable voice, even if taken from a recount of ancient history,” I said.

  “So you have heard from her before?” Shirley asked.

  “I’ve heard her voice on answering machines. In the beginning there were probably hundreds of calls and dozens of messages left, just like any other normal stalker.”

  “But that was years ago. You can’t be certain,” Zoey said.

  “Yes, I think I can be certain. I know it in my gut. It was her. And I sure as hell know the sound of a popping champagne cork. I just heard one yesterday. Only no one offered me a glass.”

  Shirley studied me. My face. My hands. My twitches erupting in bouts from certain stillness. I wondered if it was her FBI background or her mother-in-training mode.

  “Something else is going on with you,” she finally said.

  “Yeah. I was supposed to work today. I’m playing hooky from my own store. Monday is laundry day, but I think I can get a jump on it today.”

  “Something else,” Shirley insisted. “Something more positive than possible cheaters and dirty laundry.”

  Zoey munched on a chicken leg mumbling something about it not being as good as her mama’s.

  I thought a moment. “Something positive in this mayhem? Oh. I guess so. Maybe something more relaxing, anyway. I had a great horseback ride yesterday up on Reddington Pass.”

  Zoey spat out a piece of gristle. “The lands of the rich and famous,” she said. “Don’t tell us you were riding with Paul McCartney?”

  I cocked my head in sheer amusement at the very notion. “Just another nice guy with an extra horse and the land to ride.”

  “Who?” The Z asked point blank.

  I could feel my back arch under the sudden scrutiny of four eyeballs staring at me. “A potential customer of mine. I know I shouldn’t mix business and pleasure and I don’t. It was just a horseback ride.” It might have been more if I knew what Gage was doing.

  Shirley asked, “The doctor at your grand opening? Plastic surgeon, I think?”

  “Do tell!” Zoey said.

  I paused. I was out of steam. Out of stories, but not out of wine. I cupped the balloon and lingered over a sip.

  Zoey pulled back her cane chair. “Wait a minute. Plastic surgeon up on Reddington Pass? Could be a coincidence. What’s his name?”

  “Marcus Armstrong,” I said.

  “Oh, lordy, lordy. I did a cleaning job for that guy a few years back.”

  From the editor’s desk:

  Get Over It Magazine Draft

  Title: Freedom Tears By L.C.

  Editor’s notes: REJECTED

  I need the following from you:

  More information on your subject’s family. Facts on where her siblings may be. Find her mother.

  More in-depth personality profile. Who are her friends? Men? Women? What were her dreams before she found herself cleaning up crime scenes? What are her future dreams and goals?

  You need an ending that pops with hope. If this subject of yours isn’t happy than your editor isn’t happy.

  Chapter 29

  Ancient History

  ZOEY TAMED DOWN HER STORY considerably when she told us she didn’t exactly remember what the job was up on Reddington Pass. Of course, by then, Shirley and I were pouncing on her for information.

  “I don’t think it was a murder or anything like that. Those jobs I tend to remember. Just that I don’t get called up to Reddington Pass much. As in never before and never again. That’s what I remember. And I always remember who pays my friggin’ bills. Dr. Marcus Armstrong, I’m sure.”

  “Do you remember the house? A citadel of wood at the front courtyard and the house, the interior? It’s all done in whites.”

  “Bingo,” Zoey said.

  “You were at that house?” Shirley asked.

  “I was never inside of it, but if by citadel Sterling means mammoth heavy gated doors, after the already gated driveway, then this was the house, but I only got a glance at those doors. I was instructed to drive straight to the stables. Acres of white fencing. Right, Sterling?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Police had come and gone on another matter. I don’t know what. I don’t think they told me. Vic Romero called me in.”

  “What was the job, Zoey?” Shirley pushed.

  “Let me think. I keep judicious records up here,” she thumped her fleshy finger to her forehead. “Let me just pull that file out of my mind.”

  We waited as Zoey rol
led her head back and closed her eyes, and a rarity—her mouth.

  “Oh, yeah. The mess was in the stables, all right. Looked like a bobcat or two had gotten in. Tore up a couple of those little fainting goats. You know, the real cute ones. Armstrong found the mess.”

  “Why were the police called?” I asked.

  “Romero told me it standard procedure because of his missing wife.”

  I felt the lump in my throat. Marcus hadn’t told me he had a missing wife, let alone that he was ever married. Then again, a man his age would not likely be a bachelor and it’s not as if he had to reveal something like that to me. We had no relationship to merit that kind of disclosure.

  Finally I asked Zoey, “What happened to the wife?”

  “I don’t know when the missing person report went out. You’d have to ask Detective Taylor or Vic, but it was no biggie. You can ask around. That woman would disappear if her zodiac sign told her to, or if Mercury was in retrograde, or any other goofy astral thing. I never met the woman, but I saw her around town. She was freaky into astrology.”

  “Where is she?” I whispered.

  “Totally vanished. Everyone around here believes she just took off. Her bank account was wiped out. All her jewelry and personal items were gone. Her purse. Her Mercedes Benz. Even her horse, Virgo. Everybody said she just up and rode away.”

  “You certainly remember those details, Zoey,” Shirley mumbled.

  “’Cuz that stuff is interesting. A couple bobcats on a kill aren’t so much.”

  “But they did try to find her?” I prodded.

  “Sure, but like I said, all her personal crap went with her. I remember Vic telling me that the list of missing items included her birth control pills, some sort of weird veggie-vitamins, and her new age bible.

  “Think about it, Sterling,” Zoey continued in her rapid speech. “I mean, what kidnapper would know to take that kind of stuff? She had a history of disappearing, and there was no ransom demand. End of story. It’s no crime for an adult to run away.”