My cousin still looking 4 me. Stay w/ u?
Giving him the chance to man-up and play the protector. Presley expected an instant, affirmative response.
But no response came.
I can sleep on sofa. Just few days. Fabler went syco. I M scared.
Grim finally texted back.
Dial 911.
Safe 4 now. F made me put on weird outfit. Need place 2 change.
Not @ home. 90 mins?
She narrowed it down to two real choices. Wait. Or I leave Wichita without getting paid.
K. Where?
It took a few seconds for him to reply.
418 Spoonward Way Apt 203. C U in 90.
Presley considered changing into her street clothes, then dismissed the idea. If Fabler appeared, and became hostile, Presley would rather be wearing body armor than jeans and a t-shirt.
So she continued to walk alongside the road in full combat gear, waiting for her Uber, watching for Fabler.
GRIM ○ 12:46pm
<90 minutes? What the hell am I thinking?>
The apartment looked like a pigsty got hit by a garbage truck, and the worst smelling thing in the catastrophe was him.
That gave him an hour and a half to get the catfish set up in their new aquarium, clean his place, and make himself presentable. Grim found his old K-Bar knife, which he’d been using to spread peanut butter on stale crackers, and attacked the aquarium box, pulling out form-fitting Styrofoam packing, parts wrapped in plastic, and a thick instruction booklet as wide as his pinky finger.
Luckily, the manual had pictures, and the bulk of it was the same directions repeated in six other languages. After doing a quick scan of the diagrams, Grim realized the assembly was similar to his old aquarium, except for its cylindrical shape. So he filled a few bowls and pots with room temperature water from the sink, wrestled the tank and stand into their permanent spot next to the kitchenette, quickly put together the filter and aeration pump, dumped in some bags of included gravel, and filled it with water.
As the water settled, he did a mad dash around his apartment, throwing all the garbage he found into the empty box. He had no time to do dishes, so he threw the dirty ones into the box as well, then hauled it all out to the Dumpster next to his apartment building.
Next, he carefully transferred the Osmonds to their new home, one at a time, using a beer pitcher. Then he put on the top and beelined for the shower. Grim poured half a bottle of shampoo all over his body, scrubbing everywhere, rinsed, wrapped a towel around his waist, and attacked his teeth with his toothbrush to scrape off days of plaque and depression.
With ten minutes to go, he grabbed a can of room deodorizer and sprayed everything, while trying to figure out what to wear. Grim had some nice clothes, but dressing well would show Presley he was trying to impress her. He wanted to appear low key, not needy, so he chose a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a Hawaiian shirt and checked himself in the mirror.
He switched to jeans and an old Judas Priest shirt, and lathered on some deodorant when his buzzer rang.
Grim rushed for it, made himself slow down, and then answered in a calm, non-interested voice.
“Yeah?”
“Grim? It’s Presley.”
“Oh. Hey. Forgot you were coming over. Come on up.”
He buzzed her in.
Grim did a quick check of his reflection in the glass of a framed Nagel print, wondered if he should have shaved, at the very least his neck, did a quick tousle of his bangs, and checked his breath by licking the back of his hand and sniffing it. When Presley knocked, he waited a few seconds before answering.
When he opened the door, it wasn’t what he’d been expecting. When Presley texted that Fabler put her in a weird outfit, Grim had conjured up fantasy scenarios of latex catsuits and skimpy lingerie.
“Wow. If you’re here, who’s running the Death Star?”
Presley made a face. “Funny. Got a bathroom where I can change?”
“Right behind me.”
She walked past, lugging a duffle bag and a large backpack.
“Want something to drink? Iced tea?”
“Sure.”
She went into the bathroom, and Grim hunted through his kitchen cabinets for tea bags. Heather used to drink tea, and he recalled buying some years ago.
He couldn’t find any.
Presley took her time changing. It had been a long time since Grim had waited for a woman to get ready. Funny how it used to irritate him, standing around doing nothing while Heather dressed and put on make-up. But now he felt a wonderful anticipation.
After ten or so minutes, Presley came out, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. She didn’t have on make-up. Her hair was all over the place.
“You growing lemons?”
It took half a second for Grim to figure out what Presley meant.
“Downstairs neighbor. Overdoes it with the air freshener. Sometimes it drifts up here.”
“Makes perfect sense.”
Grim handed her a glass of water. “I’m out of tea.” He shrugged. “And ice.”
Presley took the water and drank half of it. Then she glanced away, her eyes focusing on the Osmonds. “Nice tank.”
“Yeah, they’ve been loving it, for all of this time that they’ve been, uh, swimming around in there. Good call on the cylinder shape. It’s like they’ve been in there forever. Great suggestion. You, uh, look nice.”
Presley folded her arms across her chest. “I came here because I don’t have any other choice. Nothing else, so don’t get any ideas. I need my money, and a place to crash while I figure out things.”
“You want to tell me what happened?”
“You mean you don’t have cameras in the woods?”
Grim waited. They stared at each other for a little while, then Presley unfolded her arms. “This will take a while.”
“Sofa?”
He gestured toward the couch, hoping there were no beer cans wedged in the cushions.
“Okay.”
Happily, she didn’t sit on anything bumpy. He plopped down next to her, keeping about a foot of space between them.
After taking a moment to finish her water, Presley began.
FABLER ○ 2:25pm
He howled in pain, like a wounded animal.
Fabler didn’t want to look away to check his watch. He’d been kneeling before the tree, sitting on his feet, for so long that his legs had gone numb.
His eyes, once glassy, had gone dry from staring, from not blinking.
His throat hurt from moaning.
The tree b
efore him—the tree he’d been obsessively searching the woods for since his release from prison—had grown since he’d last seen it.
“Eleven years.” His voice sounded like he’d been gargling gravel. “I did this eleven years ago.”
Fabler’s eyes got glossy again, and he wept.
GRIM ○ 2:47pm
Presley talked for over twenty minutes about her time with Fabler. Some of it Grim knew, because he’d watched it on his phone app. Some of it was new to him. Nothing she said made Grim reconsider his staunch belief that Fabler was insane.
When Presley reached the climax, with Fabler’s weepy admission of guilt in the stream as they were chained together, Presley herself appeared on the verge of tears. Grim considered putting his arm around Presley, to comfort her, figured she might misinterpret it as sexual, and instead asked if she wanted more water. When Presley nodded, Grim got up, filled her glass, and found her standing next to the fish tank.
“What kind of fish are these?”
“Three of them are swimming upside-down.”
He nodded. “They’re upside-down catfish. They do that.”
“Why?”
Grim shrugged. “I guess they like looking at the world that way.”
Presley tilted her head to the side, trying to stare at Merrill at the fish’s eye-level. “Change your perspective, change your world.”
“Sometimes I lie on the couch and stare at them, upside-down. After a while, they seem normal, and the rest of the room seems weird.”
“You think they’ve found the answer?”
“I think they don’t care. And maybe that’s what the answer is.”
“Where did you get them?”
“My sister bought them for me. Well, she bought Donny, the orange one. I bought Alan, Wayne, Merrill, and Jay.”
Presley raised an eyebrow. “The Osmond Brothers?”
It made Grim happy that she knew that. “Yeah.”
“Big fan of bubblegum rock?”
“My parents played He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother so many times I think there’s a whole section of my brain permanently devoted to it.”
“You know that’s a cover version, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Hollies wrote it. They did it first.”
“Really? You’re sure?”
“My parents ruined me the same way yours ruined you. So much sixties and seventies music that I’m scarred forever. It was The Hollies. Elton John was on piano. The Osmond Brothers version came a few years later.”
For some reason, that blew Grim’s mind. To find out that his favorite Osmonds song was a cover version felt like his whole life got turned upside-down.
“I was sure the Osmonds did it first.”
Presley shrugged. “We all get things wrong sometimes.”
“Yeah. Look… I owe you a big apology.” He winced. “For not telling you about the cameras. I figured if you knew about them when I hired you, you wouldn’t have taken the job.”
“There was a lot you didn’t tell me.”
“I know. I was wrong. I put you in a dangerous situation, and didn’t warn you. I’ve been obsessed with finding out what happened to Lori, I didn’t think about the consequences. Big mistake. I’m sorry.”
“As I said, we all get things wrong sometimes. And it’s easy to start believing that the ends justify the means.”
“I agree one hundred percent on that.”
When Presley’s eyes met his, they’d softened a little. “Got anything stronger than water?”
“No. I… booze and I haven’t been the best of friends lately. We’ve been taking some time apart.”
“How about food? Taking time apart?”
He smiled. “I went shopping earlier. I can make something.”
“Let me cook. Least I can do for letting me stay here.”
Presley headed for the kitchen, a bounce in her step. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” She opened the fridge. “What’s wrapped up?”
Apparently, the question was rhetorical, because Presley took out the platter and peeled back the tin foil before Grim could answer.
“Pancakes?”
“Johnny cakes. My father has the best recipe for johnny cakes.” She picked one up and took a bite. “He uses…” Her eyes lit up. “Nutmeg. This tastes exactly like his.”
“Wait a sec… is this my recipe?”
He sighed, knowing that confessing would kill the slight chance he had at getting on Presley’s good side.
“Every day, for the past three weeks, I’ve watched you cook. And the food looked amazing. So I started copying you. I made your johnny cakes, your quiche lorraine, your shrimp scampi, your stuffed green peppers, your chicken pot pie.”
Presley raised an eyebrow. “You made my chicken pot pie?”
“I’m sorry. Wasn’t trying to be creepy stalker guy. It looked good.”
“How did your crust turn out?”
“Flaky. Moist. Good.”
“Bullshit.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Bullshit you made it and it came out flaky. I’ve wrestled with that crust for years. Half the time it comes out soggy.”
“Mine was flaky.”
“You got all the ingredients?”
“Yeah.”
She folded her arms. “Show me.”
Oddly thrilled by the challenge, Grim preheated the oven. First, he raided the pantry, gathering the dry goods, and then he hit the freezer.
“I thought you were out of ice.”
“I am.” Grim grabbed a frozen stick of butter. “You can make a flaky pie crust without ice.”
Presley shook her head. “I’ve tried the frozen butter hack. It’s impossible to cut into cubes.”
“Who’s cutting?”
Grim hunted through his dishwasher and found what he needed.
“A cheese grater?”
He grated the butter into the bowl of flour, sugar, and salt, kneading the dough by hand as it came together, making sure he didn’t overwork it.
“Where did you learn this?”
“My mother. Her chicken pot pie was mediocre, but her crust was great.”
He wrapped the dough in plastic, stuck it in the freezer to stay cold, and cut the veggies.
Without being asked, Presley washed her hands in the sink, and then stood next to Grim, slicing chicken.
The last time Grim had cooked with a woman had been decades ago, with Mom. Heather wasn’t the cooking type, and didn’t appreciate the occasions he prepared dinner for her. One time she even ordered a delivery pizza after he put a roast into the oven.
Cooking with Presley felt comfortable. Homey.
“You really know the recipe.”
He searched Presley’s face for sarcasm, but instead she seemed to be impressed.
“It’s a terrific recipe.”
“I know.”
“For the most part.”
She grinned. “For the most part?”
“You’ve got the peas, carrots, and potatoes, but you’re missing the best veggie.” Grim took an ear of corn out of the fridge.
Presley appeared dubious. “Corn is like the chocolate of the vegetable world. Nothing but empty calories.”
“Why are you worried about calories?”
“All women worry about calories.”
“You’re like, what… a size four?”
“Not that it’s your business, but I’m a
size eight.”
“Maybe you were a size eight a few weeks ago, but at Camp Psycho you shed a size or two. Your biceps are bigger than mine.”
Presley’s eyes gleamed. “Are you intimidated by that?”
“Everything about you is intimidating.”
“Is that so?”
“You’re smart. You’re strong. You can shoot. You can fight. You can cook. And…”
“And?”
Grim didn’t answer, going back to cutting the corn off the cob.
Presley nudged him. “And what?”
“You know.”
“What do I know?”
“You know.” Grim shrugged. “You’re attractive.”
Her enthusiasm dimmed. “Right. Men have always liked the way I look.”
“I’m not talking about the way you look. It’s not your body, or your face.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“What I mean is, you have charisma. The way you hold yourself. The way you deal with things. The way you’re looking at me right now, like I’m nuts. I’m not trying to hit on you here. It’s not a line. Not every compliment has to have ulterior motives.”
Presley appraised him. “That sounds like a line. With ulterior motives.”
Grim stopped cutting the corn. “Okay, let’s clear the air.”
“The air needs clearing?”
“For the moment, let’s set aside the undeniable mutual attraction between us.”
Her eyes crinkled. “Oh, is that what this is?”
“We have some chemistry, Presley. Your job may be conning guys into thinking you want them, but I can tell the difference.”
“All men think they can tell the difference.”
“So tell me I’m wrong.”
Grim waited for it. Presley didn’t say anything.
“Okay. Let’s get beyond our undeniable chemistry for now. We used each other. I hired you, sent you into a dangerous situation without briefing you, and then spied on you without you knowing. It was shitty. I’m sorry. I did it to find out what happened to my sister. But you’re not entirely innocent, either.”
The smile lines in her eyes gave way to angry brow ridges. “Go on. I’m anxious to hear how I’m to blame for this.”
“You knew I needed you, and demanded triple our agreed upon price.”
“The price went up because new factors came into play.”
What Happened To Lori - The Complete Epic (The Konrath Dark Thriller Collective Book 9) Page 21