No Offense

by Francesca D'Armata

  “Maybe not for you.” He turned over. “But a cat five is about to hit near me.”

  The masseuse looked puzzled.

  “That’s all for now.” He slid down his aviators. The masseuse picked up a towel and left.

  Pierce Thibodaux threw a towel at him and settled in the adjacent chair. “Working hard?”

  “It’s about time you got here. Where’s Muffy?”

  “I can’t bring my wife when I’m on the lam.”

  “You’re not on the lam.” Nick chuckled.

  “Remember, I’m an officer of the court.”

  “We’re not in the court.”

  “Hey, did you hear Steely’s message?”

  “Yeah. I heard Keaton wet his pants. I didn’t expect them to deposit another two hundred thirteen million into the Swiss accounts.”

  “Four hundred twenty-six million.”

  “Too bad. He’s about to hit a recession.”

  “The feds say the money is clean. They’re not touching it.”

  “Fine. We got what we came for. If the feds don’t want the assets, it will be a bountiful year for various charities in Houston.”

  “Keaton wanted to be more charitable.”

  Nick rose up on an elbow. “Now who’s the bigger thief? Me or Keaton?”

  Thibodaux laughed. “You.”

  “Who’s going to jail? Me or Keaton?”

  “Keaton, if Chevoski doesn’t grind his coffee beans first.”

  Nick sat up and planted his feet in the sand. His disposable cell beeped. “Yes?” he answered.

  “Mr. Dichiara, this is Melvin at the bank.”

  “Yes, Melvin.”

  “He’s coming tomorrow morning, sir. Eight thirty.”

  “Well done, Melvin.”

  “Mrs. Farnsworth sends her apologies and wants me to relay again that we will fully cooperate with you and the Saint Stephen’s authorities. Our bank will not be involved in fraud.”

  “I understand. Please remind Mrs. Farnsworth about the importance of a flawless meeting.”

  “You can count on it, Mr. Dichiara. We’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

  “We set?”

  “Yep, our first guest is arriving tomorrow morning. Whoever doesn’t make it out in time will become a permanent resident in a US prison. I’ve got them this time…Or else they’ve got me.”

  Thibodaux nodded. “And me too.”

  “But it’s worth the risk.”

  Chapter fifty-nine

  Steely stared at the stained-glass door, wondering what Nick would think about her being there. This wasn’t a social call. It was personal. Anything Mr. Dichiara could tell her about the night her dad died would make the trip worthwhile. She knew what she wanted to ask but struggled with how to say it without sounding accusatory. Or insinuating something she didn’t mean to insinuate.

  The pondering time was over. She gave the doorbell a quick press. A shadow formed in the glass and grew increasingly prominent until the door opened.

  “Hello, Steely.”

  “May I come in, Mrs. Dichiara?”

  “Of course. I was wondering if you were ever going to ring that bell.”

  The wool carpet had the wear and tear of one thirty years newer. The decor from the seventies looked as if it had been preserved in a time capsule, the unworn, upholstered furniture as though no one had lain on it. Custom swag drapes covered every living-room window.

  “What can I do for you, honey?”

  “Mrs. Dichiara, may I please speak to your husband?”

  “Come in and sit down.” Nancy looked placid. She motioned to the sofa.

  Steely stayed put. “Mrs. Dichiara, I need to ask him some questions about the night my dad died. I only need a few minutes. May I please speak with him?”

  “Honey, his memory isn’t good. Talks in riddles most the time.”

  “Let him answer in riddles. I’ll figure them out. This is very important. If he could remember even the slightest detail, it might help.” She rubbed an eye with a closed fist.

  Nancy reluctantly called, “Vince, can you come in here?”

  Wheels began rolling toward them. Nancy rubbed her hands together at the sight of her husband in a motorized chair. He was sickly thin, with just enough muscle to direct the control stick. His hair was white straw. His undershirt hung well below his neckline, meant to fit a much larger man.

  “What is it, Steely?” His speech was shaky at best.

  It was understood that Steely’s time for questioning would be short. She gently quizzed him. “Mr. Dichiara, what happened the night my dad died?”

  Even after being impaired from a stroke, Vince remembered that night. “I don’t know. I never made it inside. HPD pulled up before I could get out of my car.”

  “What did you see?”

  “People passed out in the parking lot. Some throwing punches.” Vince suddenly appeared disturbed. “Nancy, has the newspaper come?”

  “Vince, you read the paper this morning.”

  His right leg shook erratically. “I did?”

  “Vince, I’m sure you forgot because you were in a hurry to get outside. I would’ve forgotten too.” In the gentlest way, Nancy U-turned her husband, rolling him toward the bedroom. “I’m going to set up the laptop Nick brought you. You can read the news in Sicily if you want. How about that?” She winked at Steely. “Could you excuse us for a minute?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Steely now understood Mrs. Dichiara’s apprehension. Any information coming from him would be unreliable at best. “Mrs. Dichiara?”

  “Just a moment, dear.” Nancy closed the bedroom door but soon came back in the living room. “He comes and goes.”

  “Mrs. Dichiara, do you remember anything he told you that night?”

  “I was a sitting state judge at the time. He didn’t even tell me he was going there. Sure didn’t tell me what happened.”

  Steely squeezed her lips together. She briefly closed her eyes.

  “There’s one thing I can tell you. Your father wasn’t a cheater, honey. He was set up. I can’t tell you anything else about that night, but I can tell you this. Bea said—”

  “Miss Bea?”

  “I told her not to tell me. She didn’t listen. Once something goes in your ear, the damage is done.”

  Steely nodded.

  “Your father called Jack and asked to meet, but he was out of town. Harry Keaton got involved and set up the meeting with your father at the cantina. He definitely planned on going. But Jack wanted Vince to go instead. Vince had been Jack’s personal attorney since he graduated law school. If it was business or personal, Vince would be the best choice; Jack trusted him. The meeting venue seemed strange. Why would they meet at a cantina? So Vince had Nick meet him there fifteen minutes early. The ruckus inside had ended before he and Nick arrived. This talk about your father fighting over a woman is nonsense. He was there to talk to Vince and nobody else. Someone stopped him from doing it. That’s all I know.”

  Steely agreed. “So Nick and Mr. Dichiara weren’t inside when the fighting started?”

  “HPD had the place sealed off. Vince told the officers that he was there to meet with your dad. But since he didn’t go inside and wasn’t a witness, he wasn’t much help. Almost everyone in the bar that night was as drunk as a tick. What kind of witnesses do a bunch of drunks make? The news said they were carried off in paddy wagons. Steely, I’m so sorry about what happened to your dad. It was a terrible tragedy.”

  Steely felt relieved by Mrs. Dichiara’s candor. “Nick and Mr. Dichiara weren’t inside.”

  Nancy folded her hands. “Oh, I see. You weren’t sure if they were involved.”

  Steely shrugged. “I’ve been told otherwise, but I didn’t believe it.”

  “I understand.” Nancy nodded, reassuring her. “I don’t blame you. It looks bad. Everybody’s all hush-hush.”

  “Mrs. Dichiara, where’s Nick?”

  “Since I can’t reach him, I’m sure he’s doing somet
hing that he knows I wouldn’t want him doing. He’s helping somebody who can’t help himself. He’s been like this all his life. I can’t get him to stop. It’s just in him. Maybe the cautionary part of his brain doesn’t work right. But the compassion part goes full speed. He’s always the one who stands up to the bullies. He just can’t sit back and watch an injustice. At one point, he was making a citizen’s arrest every week! Please pray for him.”

  “I do. Mrs. Dichiara, do you have a gun?”

  “Yes. And I know how to use it.”

  “Have you ever shot a roach?”

  “Is Bea doing that again?”

  Chapter sixty

  Bea rolled over in bed. Yawned. Clinically, she was still asleep since she didn’t hear the banging on the front door. The alarm clock hadn’t gone off yet.

  The back door creaked.

  Bea rolled on her back.

  The door was pushed open.

  Her eyes popped open. Bea had excellent hearing. She could tell the difference between outside noise and inside noise. Pressure applied to the floor made squeaking sounds. Every movement brought forth a reciprocal sound. There was no way to control it. An intruder could tiptoe and still make a sound on the rickety floor.

  Steely left hours ago. Pepe would have knocked. There was no way he would walk into the house unannounced. Whoever was there shouldn’t be there. Bea was certain. She was no longer alone. She tugged on the bedside drawer. Her pistol was there, if Steely hadn’t moved it as threatened.

  The intruder was moving slowly. The squeaks were several seconds apart. It shouldn’t take that long for him to get from the back door to the bedroom in the small house.

  The hinge on the drawer was older than Bea. Another tug inched it out. Opening it too fast could alert the intruder and send him running. Too slow and he could crawl to the bedroom before she had the weapon out.

  The barrel was in sight. Bea sighed in relief. Her big hands were useful when she was a teenager playing volleyball, but not when she was trying to fit her giant paw into a stubborn drawer. Someone was approaching her with bad intentions.

  Pepe would be there in half an hour. He had located Jack’s safety deposit box in a bank in Grey Canyon. They had agreed to check it out. He wanted to leave early. But the extra hour of sleep Bea insisted on had come with a high price.

  She twisted her hand inside the drawer. She clasped the grip and slowly moved the gun out. She opened the chamber and sighed.

  Empty.

  Steely had removed the bullets. The most likely spot for them was a dresser drawer a few feet away. Bea eased out of bed. The bedroom door was half open, enabling her to hear even the slightest movement. The bad part was the intruder would hear her if she made more noise than the rustling of the trees on the rooftop.

  She slid over to the dresser, never lifting her sock-covered feet. She opened the drawer and hoisted the narrow box out. She quietly filled the chamber, closed it. The safety latch was flipped off.

  “Nobody’s getting my TV,” she mouthed. With her back against the wall, she eased toward the hall, granting her a full view of most of the den. Whoever was out there would be facing her in a matter of seconds. Bea slid closer to the bedroom door. She took a deep breath and made the turn.

  “Mr. Qualls? You came for breakfast?”

  He had a knife in his hand. A gun stuffed in his waist.

  “You should answer the door when you’re home. Where is the agreement? Give it to me, and I’ll let you live.”

  Bea correctly assessed that he had no intention of letting her live, even if he got what he came for.

  “Mr. Qualls, you don’t take a knife to a gun fight. I’m trying to figure out how to shoot you so you don’t splash blood on my recliner.”

  He went for the gun.

  Bea squeezed the firing mechanism. Hit him in the shoulder. The gun fell out of his hand. He ran out the same way he came in. Bea fired again, striking his left side. He was hit but not down. He stumbled outside and down the driveway toward the street.

  Bea trailed behind him all the way to the sidewalk. Panned the street.

  He had vanished.

  Chapter sixty-one

  Steely heard nothing from Nick. He had been silent for the last twenty-four hours. If he were an enlisted man, he would be labeled AWOL. He was on an unapproved leave of absence. He had to come back successful or not bother to come back at all. The number of people wanting a piece of him was escalating. But his life wasn’t at risk yet—unless some loco did the dumbest thing ever and assassinated him before regaining control of the money.

  The assets, floating into oblivion, were leverage for Steely. Sergeant Donovan didn’t know it, but he was her backup. One call from her would draw him to the tower in minutes. Her plan, like Nick’s, could be a huge win—or a disaster. But one thing was for certain. It would be a turning point.

  The tower was virtually empty when Steely arrived an hour earlier than Ray allowed her to be there. She wasn’t concerned that the only person she saw in the building was a security guard. Getting to the tower before normal working hours was the least dangerous situation she’d be facing that day.

  Steely’s cell lit up. She almost didn’t answer, but it was unusually early for a neighborly call from Mrs. Yost.

  “Mrs. Yost, I really can’t talk right now. Is everything OK?”

  “No, it isn’t!” Yost said shakily. “Your mother-in-law is shooting up the neighborhood again! This isn’t the Wild West, you know!”

  “Shooting?”

  “She ran out the back door. Bang! Bang!”

  “Is she OK?”

  “OK? Zipped down the driveway like she was running track. Didn’t you call the exterminator? You know I’ve tried to be patient because of her mental condition. But I had to call HPD this time.”

  “I warned her. I’ll call her right now and take care of it.”

  “She’ll have to explain to Officer Montgomery when she gets there.”

  “Mrs. Yost, I’m so sorry she troubled you.”

  “Troubled? Me and my granddaughter are held up in the bathtub like we’re under a tornado warning!”

  “Stay put. I’m calling her now.”

  Steely ended the call. She pressed in Bea’s number as fast as she could move her fingers.

  It rang only once before Bea said, “You wouldn’t believe what just—”

  “Miss Bea, are you OK?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you trying to get arrested?”

  “Just defending myself. It was a five-foot-ten rat!”

  “A man?”

  “Yes, although calling Thomas Qualls a ‘rat’ is an insult to the rodent.”

  “He broke into the house?”

  “I had to shoot before he climbed in my bed.”

  “What’s he doing there?”

  “He rambled on about some agreement.”

  “An agreement?”

  “I told him he couldn’t have it. Then I shot his old, ugly self—twice. Oh no! I hear Pepe outside. We’re going to the bank in Grey Canyon. I’m not even dressed.”

  “Miss Bea, listen to me. Get out of the house now and go to Grey Canyon. Don’t come back until you hear from me.”

  “I don’t even have my makeup—”

  “I don’t care if your face is bone-dry. Get out now!”

  “Not until I’m fixed up.”

  “Officer Montgomery is on her way. Get out now before anyone else comes back!”

  “All right, I’m going! I’m going!”

  “And don’t come back until I call you.”

  “I’m going!”

  Click.

  Bea was now safe with Pepe.

  Chapter sixty-two

  Steely focused back on Keaton. For two hours, she strode around the closet debating how to approach him. All scenarios were covered.

  Total denial.

  Blaming Jack.

  Nick.

  Mr. Dichiara.

  Her dad.

&nbs
p; And even herself.

  She memorized counterresponses, and then she dialoged in her mind. She played Keaton. Then herself. She’d be ready for whatever he tossed her way.

  Steely checked her cell. Five missed calls from Erin. She redialed. Erin promptly answered. “Steely? I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday. Where are you?”

  “In Nick’s office. Service here is spotty. Sometimes it rings and sometimes it doesn’t. My mind has been on lockdown all morning. What do you need?”

  “Cricket has gone nuts. I heard her on her phone.”

  “More than normal?”

  “She ordered a hit on you, Nick, and Mrs. Ray. I’ve never heard anyone order a hit.”

  “A hit?”

  “You have to get out of there. She wants you all dead—I’m mean really dead! Not just a figure of speech. She wasn’t joking. You’ve got to get out of there!”

  “I’ll go. But there’s something I have to do first.” She hovered in a corner and whispered, “I can’t explain now.”

  “I’m coming down to you. I’ll be there in a few minutes. We’ll leave together.”

  “No, don’t wait for me. Go on.”

  “I’m not leaving without you. What do you have to do? I’ll do it with you.”

  “No. Please go.”

  “Are you trying to test my loyalty? I’m not leaving.”

  “OK, Erin. You can wait in Nick’s office. Use the combo on the door and let yourself in.”

  “Got it.”

  Steely ended the call. She redialed Nick. Got his voice mail again, but it was no longer full. His messages had been retrieved. “Nick, I’m ready to meet up with you.” Her perfectly worded prose should get both his attention and anyone else who was listening. It didn’t make sense that she hadn’t gotten a response from yesterday’s talk with the deer.

  She circled the closet, stopping to set her view on her cell. Then the deer. The time of sitting and waiting was over. Donna hadn’t given her the nod that Keaton was free, but she could no longer wait.

  It was also time to give Donovan his invitation to this party. Calculating every second for his arrival was critical. If he got there too soon, she wouldn’t have time to confront Keaton. Too late and well…Who knows?