by L C Hayden
Bronson squinted. “What are you doing with this?”
“It’s Ellen’s. She gave it to me to hold for her, and I forgot to give it back. Put it in the glove compartment, and I’ll give it to her later on.”
Bronson called Cannady as he put it away.
Cannady didn’t bother with the niceties. She got right to the point. “It’s over. You can bury your sister in peace and go on with your life.”
“What was Serafin’s motive?”
“He fathered Lorraine’s child. He loved her but she toyed with his feelings. First Wellington, then Devono, then back to Wellington. Now that Wellington is on his death bed, she spent a lot of time with him. Serafin’s jealousy doubled. He snapped and killed her. Like most murders, this was a crime of passion.”
Bronson shook his head. “The package is too neat. Somethin’ missin’.”
“What’s that suppose to mean?”
“Let’s assume that Serafin killed Lorraine. Who killed Serafin?”
“That’s our business.” Cannady’s voice came out dry and forced. “Stay out of it. You’re a retired cop and you have no jurisdiction here. This is Pennsylvania, not Texas, and I don’t think I need to remind you that interfering with an ongoing investigation is a crime.”
“It seems to me—”
“Drop it!”
The command came loud enough for Mike to hear through Bronson’s cell. Bronson and Mike eyed each other.
Cannady continued, “You’re no longer part of our investigation—not that there’s one, as far as you’re involved, and if we catch you harassing our citizens, I will personally prosecute. Is that clear?”
Shiiiit. “Perfectly clear.”
“Which funeral home should the M.E. call?”
“My wife, Carol, will arrive today at seven. We’ll make arrangements tonight or tomorrow. I will call in the information.” Without saying goodbye, he hung up.
Mike’s gaze temporarily left the road and landed on Bronson. “You okay, buddy?”
“Yeah.” Bronson shifted positions. “No.” He sat up straighter. “I don’t know. I think somebody is putting the heat on her.”
“Sounds like it.” Mike nodded. “You don’t think Serafin did it.” A statement, not a question.
“Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. For sure, he won’t be able to defend himself. What bothers me is if he did it, who killed him and why?”
“Good question.”
“Yep, and I’d also like to know if this paintin’ is connected to my sister’s death. And what of Lorraine’s child?”
“Lots of unanswered questions.”
“Yep, and if I’m going after answers, I need my gun.”
“Don’t go crazy on me.”
“Carol arrives tonight.”
“You’ve told me that.” Mike slowed down as they neared Miller’s house.
“That means the camper will also be here.”
Mike located the house and parked in front of it. “I see where this is going. Bronson, you don’t need—”
“But the gun’s already there, and I can legally carry.”
“True, but you shouldn’t be doing anything that requires a gun.” Mike turned off the engine and handed Bronson the keys. “Uh, oh.”
“What?”
Mike indicated Miller’s house. Its front door stood wide open.
“Shiiiit.” Bronson frowned, then relaxed. “He’s expectin’ us. Maybe he left the door open for us.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Still, wish I had my gun,” Bronson said.
They walked up the driveway and stood in front of the door.
The puddle of blood inside the house screamed for their attention.
Chapter 31
The man looked at the menu for the fourth time. He had almost memorized the damn thing. He rubbed his chin as he waited for his boss to show up. Late, like always.
The waiter approached him. “Ready for your order, sir?”
The man dropped his hand from his chin. “Not yet. I’m waiting for someone.”
The waiter nodded and turned his attention to a couple sitting by the window.
Twenty-seven minutes later, the boss walked in, nodded at his friend, and signaled for the waiter. They both reached the table at the same time. The waiter immediately took their order.
Once they were alone, the boss leaned forward. “What news do you have for me?”
“It’s done. The troopers found the rifle under Serafin’s bed. I made all the details fit. Cannady fell for it.”
Their drinks arrived and the boss moved back while the waiter set them down. The boss picked up the wine glass and raised it in a toast. “Well done.”
They clinked glasses and each sipped their drink. The man set his drink down and rubbed his chin. “I’ve done my part. Now do yours.”
“And what’s that?”
“Get the troopers to drop all investigations.”
“One call will take care of that.” The boss played with the rim of the glass. “What of Bronson? Do you think he’ll continue on his own?”
“I hope he’s smart enough to drop it.”
“I hear he’s stubborn and determined.”
The man reached for his chin and pulled it. “He’ll be a problem, then.”
“A problem you can take care of?”
“It’ll take a bit of doing, but yes.”
*****
Bronson and Mike stared at the puddle of blood. “We better call Cannady,” Mike said, reaching for his cell.
Bronson stopped him. “No, not yet. Let me go check it out first.”
A puzzled look crossed Mike’s eyes. “Why? This could be a murder scene. You can’t go in and contaminate it.”
“I’ll be careful. I know what I’m doing.” He took out a handkerchief and covered his hand.
“Damn it, Bronson, what are you doing?”
“You’re forgetting that I heard Cannady’s tone. We or rather just me—I’m not allowed to continue investigating anything, and I have a feeling neither does Cannady. She made it very clear that I’m to bury my sister and leave town.” Bronson looked deep into Mike’s eyes, hoping for understanding. “I need to do my sister justice. I let her down once. Never again.”
Mike shook his head. “I can’t talk you out of it.”
“No one can.” He paused for a few seconds. The silence hung between them like a rope around their necks. “All I’m going to do is check on Miller and erase my phone message. No use looking for the painting. I’m sure if it ever was here, it’s gone now, so mainly, I’m just going to simplify things and erase that message.”
Mike’s eyes opened wider.
“Cannady will listen to them. She’ll know we were coming to see him.”
“You don’t plan to tell her we were here or tell her what we know?”
“Not yet.”
“Damn you, Bronson. This isn’t right.”
“I know that, but I have to follow this through and I know Cannady won’t—or can’t.” He stepped in and turned. “You have a career to worry about. I don’t. Go back to the car. You have nothing to do with this. I’m on my own from here on.” Bronson turned and walked into the house.
Chapter 32
“And what if you’re wrong?” The curly-haired blond man leaned forward so that his twin could hear him.
The other twin’s gaze momentarily left the road and glanced at his brother through the rearview mirror. “Relax, will ya? We know how Bronson operates. He’ll be at Miller’s at 3:00, like he said he would.” He looked at his watch. “He should already be there.” He stepped on the accelerator.
The Raven, the beauty with long, black hair, sat on the front passenger seat. “I bet Bronson brings his partner with him. What’s his name?”
“Hoover,” the driver answered. “Mike Hoover, and it’s his ex-partner.”
The Raven waved her hand dismissing the topic. “Whatever.”
The twin in the back ran his fingers throu
gh his hair. “Think that’s going to make a difference?”
“None what-so-ever,” his brother assured him.
“Just to make sure we’re all on the same note,” The Raven said, “let’s go over our plan one last time.”
The twin in the back threw his weigh against the seat. “Come on. It’s such a simple plan. It doesn’t need going over.”
“I want to hear it aloud, make sure we all know our parts and that it flows smoothly.”
The driver executed a left turn. He let out a long sigh. “About a block before Miller’s house, we stop and let my brother out.”
Without breaking stride, his twin continued, “I get down, walk to Miller’s, and position myself behind the bushes just like we rehearsed.”
“In the meantime,” the driver continued, “I park the car in front of Miller’s house where Bronson can see us.”
“While Bronson’s attention is glued on you,” the twin in the back passenger seat said, “I come from the side and shoot him.” He frowned. “We may have a glitch.”
The Raven pivoted, wide-eyed. “What?”
“You mentioned Hoover might be there. What if he is?”
“Your job is to shoot. If Hoover gets in the way and ends up getting shot, then that’s just the way it goes. Bronson will get the message either way. As far as I’m concerned, we have a perfect plan.”
“Good, ’cuz we’ve reached our destination,” the driver said. “Little Brother, this is where you get out.”
“Little Brother?” He semi-smiled, shook his head, and opened the door. “You’re only a few minutes older than me.”
“That makes you my little brother. Now, get out and be careful.”
He stepped out and watched his twin drive away. Taking a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, he positioned himself behind the bushes where he had a clear view of Miller’s house. Soon Bronson would step out, exposing himself to him.
Chapter 33
Mike slammed his open hand against the steering wheel. In all the years he’d been working with Bronson, he had never seen him out of control. Sure, Bronson took needless chances and often played the wild card, but never like this. Bronson had gone over the edge.
As his best friend, his ex-partner—hell, as his almost brother, Mike should have never allowed Bronson to get involved in his sister’s murder case. He knew better. Hell, Bronson knew better.
At least Carol would be arriving later on tonight. That should keep him occupied. Get him thinking about something else.
Through the rearview mirror, then through the side mirror, Mike saw a compact green car approach. He’s driving slowly because he’s almost home, Mike reasoned.
His thoughts turned back to Bronson. Carol will talk sense into him as only she can. By this time tomorrow, everything will be fine. Bronson will be his old self.
The green car—a Toyota Camry LE—why did that sound so familiar? Mike squinted, trying to clear his mind, trying to remember, his attention focused on the approaching vehicle.
The driver stopped and parked the car against the flow of traffic, parallel to Mike’s car. A woman with long, black hair sat in the passenger seat and a blond-headed man in the driver’s seat. Both stared at Miller’s house.
Like a picture flashing in his mind, Mike remembered Bronson telling him about a green Toyota Camry LE that had followed him and then disappeared before Cannady arrived. Now, here it was again.
Mike didn’t like being sandwiched between the Camry and Miller’s house. He scooted down and adjusted the rearview mirror to watch the blond man and the black haired woman. Neither paid attention to him. They both focused past him toward Miller’s house.
He had to warn Bronson.
*****
Amazing how a gun gave Bronson a false sense of security, something he currently lacked. Here he was entering a possible crime scene and for all Bronson knew, if Miller had been murdered, the killer could still be here, and Bronson had no gun. Fortunately for him, other than Miller’s body, no one was home.
Bronson found the artist sprawled on the kitchen floor. Based on the trail of blood, the best Bronson could piece together was that Miller had been shot in the living room then he either dragged himself to the kitchen or the killer took him there. Why? He looked around the kitchen, opened all the cabinet drawers, and looked for something that didn’t belong. Nothing stood out.
The back door lay only a few feet beyond Miller’s reach. He had hoped to escape, but failed.
Bronson returned to the living room, spotted the phone, and the answering machine. Being careful not to step on the blood trail or puddle of blood, Bronson saw that Miller had three messages. One from his doctor reminding him of his appointment tomorrow morning, another from the owner of Art Supplies and More, wanting to know if he should include the oils as well as the acrylics with this month’s order. The last message was from him. Bronson erased it.
His cell rang. Bronson checked caller I.D. Hoover. “I haven’t even been here for five minutes. I’ll be—”
“We’ve got company.”
Bronson frowned and headed toward the front window. “I see it. Green Toyota Camry LE, same as the one that followed me before. Do you have a visual on the driver?
“Blond curls, male. On the passenger side, female, long, black hair.”
“I’m willin’ to bet that the blond is the same person who followed me. Wonder what he wants?”
“Without a gun, I’m not about to ask them.”
“Miller’s dead. Think maybe the blond is the killer?” Bronson returned to the kitchen.
“Doesn’t make sense. Why would he come back?”
“For the paintin’? I didn’t see it anywhere. Maybe they didn’t find it either. Maybe they think we have it.” Bronson rummaged through the kitchen drawers, found two sharp knives, and pocketed them.
“I’m sure they see me.” Mike looked at them directly as he spoke. “But they haven’t made any moves. Still, I don’t want you coming out of that house and exposing yourself.”
“I could go out the backdoor.”
“And I can stay here, making them think you’re still inside.”
“I don’t like it, buddy. You’re a sitting duck.”
“Like I said, they haven’t made a move. I’m okay.”
“But as soon as you move, you’ll become the target. I won’t allow that. They want me, not you. I’m comin’ out the front door.”
“Bronson, no!”
Bronson disconnected, stepped out, crouched, and ran in a zigzag pattern.
A shot, coming from Bronson’s left hand side, rang out.
Chapter 34
Devono shoved the gun deeper into the soft flesh of Edward’s chin. “I tell you, ‘Mario needs to learn a lesson.’ You say, ‘Don’t worry, boss. I’ll take care of it.’ I say, ‘Okay.’ You know I want Mario roughed up. I said nothing about killing him. Capisce?”
Edward’s lips trembled, his eyes cast downward, trying to see the gun that at any minute could end his life. “I . . . I s-s-swear. I-I d-didn’t d-do it.”
“You didn’t, eh?” Devono nodded as if in disbelief. His gaze shifted from Edward to the two bodyguards stationed at each side of the door leading to Devono’s office. They shrugged.
Devono signaled the guards with a slight tilt of his head. The guards positioned themselves so that one stood by Edward’s right side, and the other one by his left. They grabbed him under the arm pits and held him up.
Devono lowered the gun, stepped away, and sat behind his messy desk. He rested his head on the palms of his opened hands. “If you didn’t do it, then please enlighten us as to why Mario is dead.”
“S-some-body sh-shot h-him.” Edward ran his tongue across his parched lips. “Wh-when I g-got to his h-house, I s-saw th-that th-the pl-place was surr-surrounded by po-police. Uh, troopers—I m-mean. Mario w-was al-already d-dead. I-I s-swear. Pl-please be-lieve m-me. I-I d-didn’t k-kill him.”
“So your story is t
hat he was already dead when you got there.”
Edward swallowed hard and nodded.
Devono picked up a pen and drummed his desk with its point. Each tap made Edward jump up. Tap, tap, tap. Then silence. Tap, tap, tap. Devono threw the pen down. It bounced twice, each time giving off a clatter that made Edward jerk. “Okay. So you’re innocent. Now tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”
“I h-have . . . a l-little girl. Sh-she’s on-only fif-fifteen months old. Sh-she . . . needs her d-daddy.”
Devono stood up with such abruptness that the chair under him rolled away, bumping against the wall. “Yeah? I had Lorraine, and now she’s gone, but I still had Mario. Now Mario’s gone. I feel like taking it out on someone. You’re a handy target.”
“No, please.” Edward barely mouthed the words. “Pl-please.” Tears gushed out of his eyes.
Devono walked around his desk and faced Edward. “I’m a fair man. I don’t kill for pleasure.”
Edward let out an audible sigh of relief.
“But I’m angry,” Devono continued, “very, very angry, and when I get like this, I have to quench my thirst. There’s only one way to do that.” Devono pulled the gun and shot Edward between the eyes.
Chapter 35
Bronson dropped to the ground and squirmed his way to the car. No other shots followed. Mike had the engine running and the front passenger door opened. Bronson threw himself into the car, slammed the door shut, and Mike peeled out. The tires screeched in protest.
Bronson noted that sometime between the time he stepped outside and now, the Toyota had disappeared. Bronson leaned back on the seat. “That was an adventure.”
“Is that what you call it?” Mike cast him a side glance. “Because I’d call it a suicide mission. What were you thinking?”
Bronson shook his head and looked out the window. “Not sure.”
“You better start being sure. Put your head back on and from here on, think.”
“Yes, Dad.”
Mike eyed him speculatively and then smiled. “Dad?”