The Bequest

by Nancy Boyarsky

  Her hands were shaking when she started on the puzzle again. She listened intently for any stirring from Earl’s corner of the room. She wondered what had happened to Sue’s gun. Had Sargosian left it at the house? Or did he have it with him? Maybe it was in his pants pocket.

  She jumped at the sound of a vehicle pulling up in front. Then she realized it couldn’t be the killer Rice was dispatching. This place was five hours away from L.A., and he wouldn’t have had time to get here. A car door slammed, and a moment later someone knocked on the front door. Earl sat bolt upright in bed and said, “What the—” Still drunk and half asleep, he got out of bed and shuffled to the middle of the room. Meanwhile, Rick got slowly up from the recliner. The knocking on the door persisted, but neither man made a move to get it.

  Sixteen

  Whoever had been knocking at the door was now banging on it. At last, Earl seemed to pull himself together. He made an impatient waving gesture at Rick, indicating he was to take Nicole and stand against the cabin’s front wall, so they’d be behind the door when it opened.

  Getting up from the couch, Nicole picked up Earl’s gun. She held it at her side, slightly behind her, so the men couldn’t see it. Not that either was paying attention to her. They were both staring at the door where whoever was outside was calling, “Open up! I know someone’s in there.”

  Once Sargosian and Nicole were against the wall, Earl opened the door. “What can I do for you?” His voice was mild, conciliatory.

  “I’m Tommy Green,” the man said. “The residents association has me check these cabins for squatters. You the owner here?”

  “No,” Earl said. “I work with him. He told me we could use his place for a few days.”

  There was a silence and a rattling of papers. Then Green said, “Hey! It says here this cabin belongs to Robert Blair. Isn’t that the guy who got murdered? It’s been all over the news.”

  As the man talked, Earl reached for his holster. Realizing he’d left it hanging on the chair, he lifted his right pants leg and pulled a small gun from a leg holster.

  The man stopped talking. The next sound was a gunshot, followed by another. Earl disappeared for a moment, apparently checking to make sure the man was dead. Then he was back, the gun still in his hand. He looked at Sargosian, then he let out a little laugh. Sargosian had pulled Sue’s gun out of his pants pocket and was pointing it at Earl.

  “Don’t be stupid, Sargosian,” Earl said. “Put Minnie Mouse down. You don’t even know how to use it. I’m not going to shoot you. I need your help putting this guy back in his car so I can hide him somewhere.”

  Nicole had a flash of realization. Earl was planning to take them up into the foothills, make Rick help him dig a grave, then shoot them and bury them both with the man he’d just killed.

  Perhaps Rick was thinking the same thing. “You killed that man,” he said, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. He was still pointing Sue’s gun at Earl—but as Earl suspected and Nicole knew—Rick had no idea how to use it. The safety lock was on. The gun wasn’t going to fire even if he did try to pull the trigger.

  Earl raised his gun and pointed it at Rick. “I’m warning you, Sargosian,” he said.

  It was a standoff. Neither of them was paying attention to Nicole. She took several steps away from Sargosian before she raised the Glock she’d taken from Earl’s holster. Her only thought was that she couldn’t afford to miss. She aimed at Earl’s chest and pulled the trigger. The recoil was powerful, almost knocking her off her feet.

  The bullet hit Earl in the head just as he pulled the trigger. His shot, intended for Sargosian, went wild and struck the ceiling.

  “Holy shit!” Rick said, lowering his gun.

  Earl was now on the floor, a puddle of blood spreading around him. He looked dead, but Nicole, in a rush of adrenalin, hurried over and kicked the gun out of his reach. Then she turned and pointed the gun at Sargosian. Her hands were shaking, and her shoulder ached from the gun’s recoil. She tried to avert her eyes from the mess she’d made of Earl’s head, the wall next to him spattered with blood and bits of brain. Her mind flashed back to the year before when she’d been forced to bludgeon a man to save Reinhardt’s life. She was almost overcome by a wave of nausea. It took all her strength to hold the gun steady.

  Sargosian appeared thunderstruck. “Nicole,” he said. “You don’t want to do this. I tried to save you.”

  “Drop the gun,” she said.

  He dropped it. She picked it up, pointed it at Sargosian, and tossed the Glock to the side, well out of reach.

  “I’m not going to shoot you, Rick,” she said. “Just do what I say.” She waved the gun toward the closet. “In there.” The inside of the door was unfinished and, from what she could see, made of wood composition. With a little effort, Sargosian could break it down, but all she needed was to contain him until she got away.

  Her hands had stopped shaking, and she felt calm enough to do what had to be done. After Rick was in the closet and the door securely latched, she went over to Earl. Trying not to look at the mess the bullet had made of his head, she checked to see if he had a pulse. He didn’t. It was a struggle to turn him enough to get the car keys out of his pocket. This done, she pulled the back of his shirt out of his pants and started to wipe his Glock clean of her fingerprints. As she was doing this, she could hear Sargosian hurling himself against the door. After several loud crashes, there was a distinct cracking sound.

  She got up, and with the gun in her hand, went over to the closet. “Stop that!” she said. Pointing the gun at the floor, she fired. After the gunshot died away, she added, “If I hear you try that again, I’ll shoot through the door. I’ll be gone in five minutes. Keep still until you hear me leave. I mean it!”

  “Let me out, Nicole,” he said. “I’ll do anything you say.”

  She went back to where Earl was lying and finished wiping her fingerprints off his gun. Still holding it with his shirttail, she put it in his hand and curled his fingers around it. Then she tucked his shirt back into his pants.

  She got up and went back to the closet. “Your friend Earl is dead,” she called to Sargosian.

  “He wasn’t my friend,” he said.

  “Look,” she said. “I’m taking the car. I’ll leave your phone by the front door. Once you get out of there, you should call the firm. They’ll figure out a way to make this look as if you were never here.”

  “I’m no threat to you, Nicole,” he said. “Take me with you. Please!”

  “Sorry, Rick,” she said. “I can’t afford to trust anyone at this point. But you’ll be OK. You did try to protect me, and I think Earl was planning to kill us both and get away before the man Rice is sending arrives. So, if the police were to show up, you could tell them this: When you realized Earl was going to kidnap me and kill me, you tried to stop him. So he took you prisoner, too. That makes you a victim. And he did shoot that caretaker guy. You can say that I escaped but was so hysterical that I left you behind. I’ll back you up. But it probably won’t be necessary. As I said, the firm will want to keep this quiet.”

  She put Sue’s gun in her pocket, went to the front of the cabin and, stepping over Earl’s body, dropped Rick’s phone near the door. Without another word, she walked out of the cabin, got into Earl’s car, and drove away.

  She pushed the car as fast as it would go toward route 395, the main highway running through the Owens Valley. Even on the 395, traffic was fairly sparse. She’d been driving a while, heading toward the freeway that would take her to L.A., when the car began to slow. She pressed the gas pedal, but the car just kept slowing. She looked at the fuel gauge, and her heart sank. She was out of gas. She managed to pull over to the side of the road before the engine cut out altogether.

  Now what? It seemed to her she’d seen a gas station a few miles back. She got out of the car, retrieved her backpack from the trunk, and checked to be sure Robert’s envelope was still inside. The only things remaining were the spare ti
re and Robert’s computer, which was now lying on its side. Leaving it to its fate, she closed the trunk and started trudging along the side of the road. It was bitterly cold, still threatening snow. Each passing car whipped up a frigid blast of wind that beat against her. In the distance a big rig truck was approaching. It slowed, then came to a stop about thirty feet beyond her. It backed up until the driver could see her through the passenger’s window. “Need a lift?” the man said. “Where you headin’?”

  She thought about it. She could ask to be dropped off at a service station. But, no. If this truck was headed for L.A., that would be faster. She wanted to be well away from here by the time Rice’s hit man arrived.

  “Los Angeles,” she said.

  “Why, that’s just where I’m going,” the driver said. “Hop aboard. Wait! That step is pretty high up. I’ll come ‘round and help you.”

  Up close, she didn’t like the look of him. He had a goatee and his hair was cut short and shaved around the sides like a marine. His neck and hands were covered with tattoos in a way that made her think they probably continued down to his toes.

  He stooped, put out his two hands and joined them, interlocking his fingers so she could put her foot in them and hoist herself up. “That’s a pretty steep step,” he said jovially, “and you’re such a little thing. At first I thought you were a boy.”

  She didn’t think this required an answer. Once she was inside the truck, he closed the door and headed around the vehicle to the driver’s side. The interior stank of cigarettes and body odor. She already regretted accepting the ride. As the trucker opened his door and climbed in, she reached into her pocket for the gun and released the safety lock, keeping her hand on the weapon. After what she’d already been through, she knew she could handle this guy.

  As soon as the man closed the door, she noticed the smell of whiskey. She was quiet, and he seemed to feel a need to fill the silence. He told her about the weather they’d been having. How they could expect snow pretty soon. He wondered why anyone would want to live in L.A. “where all those gangbangers live” when they could just be in the Owens Valley where “things aren’t so danged expensive, and it’s all nice and peaceful-like.” They weren’t too far from the freeway when they approached a side road buttressed by trees on either side. He made a wide turn onto the road and pulled to a stop between the rows of trees.

  “You don’t got a lot to say, do you?” he was saying. “I thought we could stop here for a bit and get to know each other a little better.” He turned away from her to reach for a bottle of whiskey in a storage compartment behind him. She pulled out her gun.

  When he turned back to her, she pointed the gun at him. “This is loaded and ready to fire. I want you to start the truck and get back on the road. Then you’re going to drop me at the first truck stop we come to.”

  He lunged at her, trying to grab the gun. In the struggle, her finger pulled the trigger, and the gun went off. The bullet shattered the window next to him. He put up his hands.

  “Now drive,” she said.

  No longer talkative, he backed the truck onto the highway. Half a mile later, they merged onto the freeway, and it wasn’t long before she saw a huge truck stop ahead.

  “Here,” she said, waving the gun. “I want you to head down this off-ramp and pull up to the restaurant. Then you’re going to give me your phone, let me off, and get out of here.”

  He didn’t answer, but he did follow her directions, taking her right to the entrance of the sprawling restaurant, which was surrounded by big rigs.

  “Your phone,” she said as she got out, still pointing the gun.

  Wordlessly, he handed it over, and she relaxed the gun to her side, watching him drive away and get back on the freeway. When he was out of sight, she dropped the gun into her backpack and tossed his phone into a trashcan standing next to the restaurant’s entrance.

  She adjusted her baseball cap, making sure her hair was tucked in. Inside the restaurant, she paused to pull out her last two twenty-dollar bills. She tucked one into her pocket for later use. The remainder of Sue’s money—$7,000—was still in its envelope at the bottom of her backpack.

  She asked the woman at the cash register to change her twenty into ten dollars worth of quarters and a ten-dollar bill. She also asked where the restroom was, as well as the public phones. The woman was tall with brassy blonde hair that looked as if she dyed it herself. Her nametag identified her as Trudy, and she had a kind face. She gave Nicole the change and the directions she’d asked for.

  Nicole went into the hallway leading to the restrooms and darted into the women’s room. She was still hoping people would think she was a boy, but she wasn’t willing to venture into the men’s room. She locked the door, washed her face, and took off the baseball cap. In the mirror, she took stock of her appearance, the disheveled state of her hair. She located a comb in her backpack and did her best to smooth out the tangles. Spotting a rubber band on the floor, she rinsed it off, dried it with a paper towel, and used it to pull her hair into a ponytail. She put her baseball cap and sunglasses back on and examined herself in the mirror. During the ride to the Owens Valley, while Sargosian was asleep, she’d taken off the scarf she’d used to flatten her chest. But the windbreaker was big enough to disguise her figure, and she thought she could still pass for a boy. In any case, it was unlikely anyone here would recognize her. They were too busy driving big rigs from one side of the country to the other to pay much attention to TV news, newspapers, or tabloids.

  She left the women’s room and headed for the phones. Her first call was to the phone she’d sent her sister. Stephanie picked up after the first ring. At the sound of Nicole’s voice, Steph broke down and cried. “We’ve been so worried,” she said. “XHN is saying you were killed and buried in the desert.”

  “Look, Steph,” Nicole said, “I’m not out of danger. Do not tell anyone I called. Most especially not the police or anyone from the law firm. Not even my lawyer. No one. Pretend to be upset because you still think I’m missing. Oh—I am going to call Josh, so you can talk to him, if you want. I’ll be in touch soon. OK?”

  Steph snuffled and said, “But—”

  “Listen,” Nicole repeated. “I need you to promise to keep this conversation secret. You can’t even tell your boyfriend.”

  “I promise,” said Stephanie. “But I have to tell you—”

  “I’ve got to go, Steph. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

  Nicole hung up.

  She walked back to Trudy, the cashier, and asked how someone coming from L.A. could get to the truck stop.

  Trudy gave her directions. Then, taking a closer look at Nicole, she said, “Why you’re a girl, aren’t you?”

  Nicole looked at her a moment and said, “Yes, but I think it’s better if we keep that to ourselves.” She paused for effect, then added, “Truckers.”

  They both laughed.

  “And what’s the name of this restaurant?” Nicole said.

  “Why, it’s called Mom’s,” Trudy said, gesturing to the wall behind her, which displayed several T-shirts with “Mom’s” in flowing retro-style script under a cartoon of a steaming cup of coffee.

  “Mom’s?” Nicole said. “Seriously?” She thought of the Nelson Algren quote Josh had recited on their first date.

  “Why, that’s always been our name,” Trudy said, “going back to the forties. It’s famous among truckers.”

  Nicole’s next call was to Josh.

  When he heard her voice, he said, “Nicole! My god. I’ve been so worried. Are you all right? Where have you been? What happened?”

  After he was done with his questions, she said, “I’m fine. Can you come and get me? I’m about five hours away.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Just tell me how to get there.”

  She gave him directions, and when she told him the name of the restaurant, his reaction was the same as hers. “Mom’s?” he said. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Swear
to god,” she said.

  Almost as an afterthought, she told him that she’d already called her sister and that he couldn’t tell anyone he’d heard from her, not the police or even her lawyer.

  “Why not?” he said,

  “Because this isn’t over. I’d like to stay with you and just kind of—well—hide out until I’m sure it’s safe.”

  “Nicole, this doesn’t sound good. We should call the police.”

  “No!” she said. “Don’t tell anyone—especially the police. Promise me. I’ll explain the whole thing on the ride back to L.A.”

  “OK,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  After they’d hung up, she sat at the counter and ordered a full breakfast—bacon, eggs, sausage, hashbrowns, and pancakes, all for just $7.99. The food was delicious, but she barely made a dent in the heaping platter the waitress placed in front of her. When she was done, she left a tip, then went over to the cashier to pay.

  “You’ll be waiting a while if your ride has to drive all the way from L.A.,” Trudy said.

  Nicole nodded. She was looking around. She’d planned to buy some newspapers and find an unoccupied booth. But the place was packed, and there were few empty seats.

  “Tell you what,” Trudy said. “We have a break room. I’ll show you where it is, and you can wait there. It has a couch, a TV, and a shower. Sometimes the waitresses have a split shift and need a place to rest and clean up. You don’t want to be sitting around here half the day.

  “Thanks,” Nicole said, touched by Trudy’s kindness. “That would be wonderful.”

  “Tell me what your friend looks like,” Trudy said, “so I’ll know to come get you.”

  “Well,” Nicole said. “He has dark blond hair, and he’s tall and good looking. He’ll stand out because he doesn’t have any tattoos. And he doesn’t look anything like”—she gestured around them—“these guys.”

  “Lucky you,” Trudy said, somewhat wistfully.