The Cheater

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Anne refused to do the deed in a motel room, claiming she might get a disease. Actually, he’d picked up a case of crabs fifteen years ago from ravishing a wild redhead on top of a motel bedspread. But Vegas was the dirtiest place possible. In Vegas you either gambled, went to shows, shopped, or fucked. The lower class might not be able to fork over two bills for a show or drop a bundle at the tables, but anyone could have sex with their old lady or girlfriend. When a guy asked a girl to go to Vegas with him, he had only one thing on his mind.

  Where the hell was Anne?

  He was about to ask for another drink when he saw her out of the corner of his eye. As he spun his stool around, his tongue swept over his lower lip, and his dick stood at attention. He could see the outline of her body through her flimsy white dress. Christ, she was younger and prettier than he remembered. She was a fucking knockout. And she didn’t have goop caked all over her face like some of the other women he’d played around with.

  What was a girl like this doing with a middle-aged slob like himself?

  “Hi, baby,” she cooed, sliding up to him and giving him a peck on the cheek. “Let’s go, okay?”

  “What’s the hurry?” he told her, glancing over at the bartender. “What are you drinking today? Want a vodka tonic or a margarita?”

  “The valet is holding my car out front.” She coughed, then waved her hand in front of her face. “Sweetie, don’t you remember me telling you that I can’t be around cigarette smoke? I have asthma. Listen, my bar is stocked. We can even take a swim if you want. I called ahead and had the pool cleaned.”

  Bryce had no idea what she was talking about. Then he recalled her mentioning something about owning a house here. “How far away is this place?”

  “About fifteen minutes,” she told him. “I told you I was involved with someone else, Bryce. I can’t hang out at the bar with another man.”

  He was already itching for another drink. The traffic in Vegas was a bitch. The drive down the strip could take up to an hour, depending on the traffic. And except for high-rise apartments and condos that cost a bundle, there weren’t any houses that close to town. “You didn’t mind hanging out at the bar with me in Ventura.”

  Her face froze into hard lines. “That was different. Smoking is banned in California. I spend most of my time in San Francisco. I was just visiting my sister in Thousand Oaks. She works nights, so I got bored. I don’t make it a habit to hang out in bars.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, gesturing for the bartender. When he saw him talking to the blonde he’d seen earlier, he shouted, “Hey, you! Get your butt over here and get me a damn drink before I report your skinny ass to the management. Paying customers come before whores.”

  “Sorry, sir,” he said, rushing to pour Bryce another Maker’s Mark. He then asked Anne if he could get her something.

  “All I need is a plastic cup,” she said, resisting the urge to kick Bryce in the balls. She hated people who thought they were better than everyone else, that just because a man held a service-oriented job, they could treat him like trash. These were the people that kept things going. They drove the ambulances, arrested the criminals, put out the fires, and served bastards like Bryce his alcohol so he could drink himself into a stupor. They deserved respect.

  Bryce turned to her. “Where does this guy you’re dating live? I don’t want some bozo kicking the door down and shooting me.”

  “He doesn’t live in Vegas, but he comes here frequently to gamble. And no, he’s never been to my house. I inherited it from my mother last year. I’ve never even told him about it. That way, if we split up, I don’t have to worry about him coming around and bothering me.” She snatched his drink off the table and poured it into the plastic cup, then shoved it back into his hand. “Pay your tab so we can leave.”

  The bar had become busy. Fed up, Anne seized him by the arm. “Forget paying them. All you have to do is hang out by a blackjack table and they’ll give you drinks for free.”

  Bryce reluctantly followed her. “Is there a liquor store close to your house?”

  “Within walking distance,” she told him, steering him toward the front of the casino. “I’ve got enough Maker’s Mark to fill a bathtub. Is that enough for you? I even have a fifth on ice in the car.”

  “That’s my girl,” Bryce said, slurring his words.

  Anne elbowed her way through the throng of people in the casino, putting on her sunglasses before they exited through the wall of doors. Walking over to the valet stand, she slapped her ticket and a ten spot down on the counter. “I’m the white Escalade over there,” she said, pointing. “Just give me the keys and we’re done.”

  “Nice ride,” Bryce told her, stumbling into the passenger seat and fumbling around for the seat belt. Instead of heading to the strip, she turned down a side street. Smart lady, he thought, sucking up whatever liquid was left in the plastic cup. “You really got a bottle of Maker’s in this thing? Wouldn’t mind another drink, if you don’t mind.”

  “Would I lie to you?” Anne reached into the backseat and pulled a chilled bottle out of the cooler, unscrewing the top and filling up his cup. She smiled and said, “Finish your drink, baby, then try and take a little nap. You don’t want to fall asleep later and miss the best fuck of your life, now, do you?”

  “I’m . . . not . . . missing . . . shit.” Bryce gave her a lecherous glance as he tipped the cup to his mouth. Some of it dribbled onto his chin, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. “This tastes terrible. What the hell? . . . I’m not sure this crap is even alcohol.”

  Before he could put it together, his eyes rolled back in his head. She stopped at a light, and his head flopped forward, his heavy body pressing against the seat belt.

  Turning into an underground parking garage for one of the older off-strip casinos, generally frequented by seniors who came on buses, Anne’s cheerful expression disappeared and her jaw locked. She pushed Bryce’s head back against the seat, then slapped him hard in the face. She didn’t see anyone nearby, but even if she did, it wouldn’t matter. Dramas like this played out all the time in Vegas.

  Anne tried to get her wits about her and figure out what she should do. She couldn’t risk driving around with a guy who looked as if he were going to crash through the windshield. Anytime she was on the road, whether the guy was dead or alive, she was at risk. At that very moment, there were scores of men and women in Vegas who had drunk or drugged themselves unconscious. Regardless, she couldn’t afford to be stopped by the police.

  She decided it was time to ditch what she referred to as the meet-and-greet rental car. She pulled up alongside a black Ford Explorer with an Avis sticker on the windshield. Avis had followed her directions and left it in the parking lot. She reached over Bryce to the glove box where the paperwork was and confirmed it was the right license plate, then removed the key from the envelope. She always rented two cars, each from a different company. She transported the victim in one car while he was alive and used the other for the disposal of the body, or specifically, the garbage bags containing the parts that had once been a human being. To prolong identification, she removed the head, hands, and teeth, burying each in separate locations. She favored Vegas because there were miles of desert roads outside of town that hardly anyone ever traveled. It was also easier to dig in sand than dirt.

  The first time she’d dismembered a body, she’d become violently ill. It was amazing what a person could condition herself to. On the occasions when she performed her gruesome task, she thought of herself as an employee in a meatpacking plant. Humans might have worked their way to the top of the food chain, but they were still animals whose flesh contained nutrients. She jokingly referred to them as “the other white meat” and would have gladly eaten her bastard father if she’d had the opportunity. When she thought of the millions of people who died of starvation, as well as the overcrowding in the prison system, she thought of a way they should solve both problems. All they had to do was carve up all the pedoph
iles and child abusers and ship them off to third world countries.

  She hadn’t anticipated needing the Explorer until later that night. But things weren’t shaping up the way she had planned. Enraged, she balled up her fist and slugged Bryce in the face. When he still didn’t react, she put her fingers around his wrist and checked his pulse. “Fucking stupid prick,” she shouted, pounding the steering wheel with her fists. “If you hadn’t been such an asshole, I wouldn’t have overdosed you.”

  She got out and circled to the back, opening the hatch on the Escalade and removing a sack containing a box cutter that she’d purchased at FedEx when she’d picked up her tools. Opening the brown cardboard container, she pulled out a rope, then returned to the front and tied it around Bryce’s neck to keep his head from falling forward. His double chin almost concealed the rope, but to make certain, she removed her panty hose and wrapped them around his neck like a scarf.

  She was tempted to kick him out in the parking lot, but she wanted to make herself available to Lily during the waiting process. In addition, he’d made a spectacle of himself at the bar. If his body surfaced too soon, someone might remember seeing the two of them together. Although she’d worn a brunette wig, she had not disguised her facial features with makeup the way she generally did. She vowed not to make this mistake again.

  Closing the passenger door, she unlocked the Explorer, hopped inside, and positioned it as close as possible to the back of the Escalade. There were empty parking spaces everywhere, but she had to work fast, as the two vehicles were blocking the aisle.

  She reclined the passenger seat in the Escalade as far as it would go. Her intent was to roll Bryce’s body from one vehicle to the other. Nothing like this had ever happened before, where the guy had died before she’d taken him to the kill site. Her hands were trembling, her breath coming in quick bursts. She suddenly saw brown smudges on one side of her dress. Her eyes darted to the dust-covered Ford in the next row. She must have brushed up against it.

  A vision of the ragged, filthy clothing she’d been forced to wear as a child appeared in her mind, and she covered her ears to the children’s torments. Tears spilled down her face as she remembered all the afternoons she’d squatted in the knee-high weeds, peering through the slats in the dilapidated fence as she watched the children laughing and playing. She began to rip at the dress with her fingernails, panicked to get it off. On all fours, she climbed to the back and got out the clothes she’d worn on the flight from Los Angeles. As soon as she’d changed into the jeans and T-shirt, she rolled up the white dress in a tight ball. Unable to stand having it in the car, she pitched it out the window.

  Finally managing to get hold of herself, she tried to figure out how she was going to get Bryce into the Explorer. He was too fat. She couldn’t roll him if she couldn’t get him out of the front seat and turn him on his side. Not only that, she needed something she could use to cover him. All she had were garbage bags and she couldn’t very well wrap him in them, not while he was still in one piece.

  A young man came out of the back door of the casino, fiddling with his wallet. She scooted down in the seat, waiting to see where he was headed. When she saw him walking straight toward the Escalade, she turned the key in the ignition. As soon as the engine engaged, she roared out of the parking lot.

  FIFTEEN

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 28

  VENTURA, CALIFORNIA

  Lily finished reviewing a stack of motions and stood up from behind the antique desk in the library. It was only a few minutes past eight and she’d already done everything. She had even cleaned out her briefcase, something she hadn’t done in months.

  Carrying her cell and the house phone with her, she set them down on the edge of the Jacuzzi and stripped off her clothes. She was amazed at the abundance of time she had without Bryce around. It might be nice if he traveled more often. He always made meals such a time-consuming ordeal. They had to decide if they were going to cook at home or go out. Then they had to agree on a restaurant, order their food, wait for it to arrive, eat, and pay the check. They seldom got home by eight, sometimes later. Before getting any work done, Lily had to spend time with Gabby, open the mail, straighten up the house, and put in a load of laundry. A cleaning crew came in once a week, but Bryce was a pig and she always had to pick up after him.

  It was strange that she hadn’t heard from him by now. He was probably drinking. She picked up her cell and pushed the autodial. His phone rang six or seven times, then his recoding came on and she hung up. Leaving lame messages was not her style. In reality, she would have preferred not to talk to him at all. She had seen him just that morning, so it wasn’t as if they had anything important to say to each other.

  Lowering herself into the swirling water, Lily thought about her emotionally wrenching lunch with Chris Rendell. Bursting the bubble of fantasy surrounding a handsome, intensely desirable man was depressing. When she was in college, she’d been attracted to the stereotypical guy—tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious. She’d later determined that a lot of these men were simply stupid, just somehow smart enough to keep their mouths shut so no one would know. Rendell, of course, wasn’t in that category. He was genuinely brilliant.

  The contradiction with Rendell was that he had appeared so together. She had to hand it to him. He had everyone fooled. The man was a great actor. Eventually he would get over his wife and daughter’s deaths. Even though it sounded trite, time really did heal wounds. A person might have to learn to deal with bad memories, but they no longer held the power to cripple you. Although she’d revisited the past again, Lily had handled the afternoon session without a problem.

  She called Tessa. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the club this morning. Was Anne there?”

  “No, neither one of you brats showed up. I knew you’d like Anne, Lily. People always get along if they have something in common. Besides, she’s young and beautiful. How could anyone not like her?”

  “She’s interesting,” Lily said, hoisting one leg onto the side of the tub. “We had a long chat the other day after you left. I don’t agree with everything she says, but she has a—”

  Her friend cut her off. “I guess I’m not as interesting as Anne.”

  Lily pulled her leg back from the edge of the Jacuzzi and sat up. “Jesus, Tessa, you always find a way to make me feel guilty. Of course Anne’s more interesting right now. I just met the woman. Why are you so moody? Did something happen today?”

  “Yes,” Tessa told her, crying. “When no one showed up, I bought a dozen brownies from the snack bar and ate them all on the way home. I weigh a hundred and fifty-three pounds now. None of my clothes fit me.”

  “Did you throw up the brownies?”

  “No way. I’m not bulimic. If I barfed everything up, I wouldn’t be fat, would I?”

  Lily got out and reached for a towel, concerned for her friend. “That’s not true, honey.”

  “Then I’ll starve myself.”

  “You’re a teacher, Tessa. You should know these things. If you don’t eat regular meals, your body will think you’re starving and start to store fat cells. It’s the same thing with bulimics. Why are you so obsessed with your weight? You have a good job and a husband who adores you.” Lily’s phone beeped and she saw Bryce’s number on the caller ID. “I’ll call you back. Bryce is on the other line.

  “Hi, baby,” she said, wrapping the towel around her and heading to the bedroom so she could get dressed. Tessa and her problems were getting tedious. When her husband didn’t say anything, she heard some kind of noises in the background. “I can’t hear you, Bryce. We must have a bad connection. Go somewhere else and call me back.”

  Lily hit the off button on her cell phone and tossed it onto the bed. Walking over to the bureau, she dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top. She waited ten minutes and then carried the phone with her to the kitchen, where Bryce had left his itinerary. Picking it up off the counter, she flipped through the pages that listed his various airline f
lights until she came to his hotel information. He was staying at the Embassy Suites Hotel in Lexington, Kentucky, tonight. She chastised herself for not checking out his travel plans before he left, but then again, he hadn’t given her much notice. The Embassy Suites had free cocktails at happy hour, the last thing Bryce needed.

  Assuming he wasn’t in his hotel room, she took the papers to the library and sat down in a green leather recliner that had belonged to Bryce’s father. She loved to sit here and watch the evening sun filter through the stained-glass windows.

  Lily knew she should call Tessa back and explain what had happened, but she didn’t want to miss Bryce’s call. There was something about the background noises that bothered her. It wasn’t the sound she generally associated with a poor connection, more like some type of equipment. She called his cell phone again, but he didn’t answer. This wasn’t like Bryce. Even when he was drinking, he always checked in with her.

  She picked up the house phone and set her cell down on the desk, so the line wouldn’t be busy if Bryce called back. After thirty minutes clicked off, she dialed the number for the hotel.