1 Margarita Nights (33 page)

Ruth Ann’s Toyota was toast. The paint was bubbled and the right side tires had melted into the stones of the drive, leaving it sitting on a weird angle. Jimmy’s truck was unscathed but I wouldn’t let Ruth Ann inside until I’d started it, just to make sure it didn’t blow up, caution slipping into paranoia.

We swung by the Tropicana, took showers and dressed. My clothes hung on her but she took it well. Her only comment was, “You should wear brighter colors.”

Then we went out with a pair of scissors to get her transportation. We cut the drooping ceiling cloth away from the roof of the Green Puke and dropped the gray dusty material onto the floor in the back seat. I handed over the keys and Ruth Ann headed for the Crab Shack for her lunchtime shift.

She worked three shifts a week at the Crab Shack and five nights a week at Dutch’s.

Alone and out in the open, I felt vulnerable and small. Fear goosed me up the stairs two at a time. I slammed the door shut behind me and locked it, wishing I’d asked Ruth Ann to stay with me until I’d packed. How humiliating is that? Needing my momma to protect me and willing to put her at risk. Not the tough girl I thought I was.

Tiredness, fear and loss were catching up to me and I knew I was about to fly apart into a million pieces. It was time to hunker down somewhere safe and take a timeout, but first there were a few details to take care of.

I dug out Mr. Huff’s business card from the pile of unpaid bills. He answered on the first ring and filled in the particulars. Seems Jimmy had a small trust fund from an aunt. Turned out Jimmy had set up automatic payments from the trust fund account to pay for the insurance and never canceled the payments, another sign of Jimmy’s laziness. Or maybe this was his one act of unselfish caring.

I needed the policy. From the closet, I took down the cardboard box filled with tax receipts and canceled checks and removed the fake brown leather folder with the gold embossing. When I left Jimmy, I left behind the hand-me-down furniture and crystal wedding presents, taking only my clothes and this folder. It contained my birth certificate and our wedding certificate, something I figured I’d need for a divorce when I got around to it, which I never had . . . another sign of my laziness or maybe of a tiny iota of love that had been fatally wounded but wasn’t yet dead. I untied the ribbon holding the folder together and opened the envelope containing the policy. There it was. I was a rich young widow. At least until I was arrested for Jimmy’s murder . . . one more of life’s nasty little jokes.

I threw the folder in the bottom of a suitcase and raced around the room, piling clothes and shit in on top of it. Sooner or later someone was going to figure out that I was still alive and come back for me. I intended to be long gone.

I searched cupboards and closets for the can of mace I carried when a customer at the Sunset had been giving me unwanted attention. I found it at the bottom of a discarded handbag. I felt safer already.

I crept silently up to the door, listening for any sound to say someone was waiting outside the door for me. All I heard was the squawk of the scrub jays waiting on my balcony for their chance at the feeder. I tiptoed to the window and peeked out. No one was near the truck, and unless they were pressed tight against the wall, there didn’t seem to be anyone on the concourse either. I was ready.

My hand was reaching for the knob when I heard a small sound, perhaps a pebble rolling on concrete under the bottom of a shoe. I cowered by the door, sweat popping out in my hair and trickling down the nape of my neck. “Don’t be stupid. It’s broad daylight,” I told myself. But I couldn’t drive myself forward with harsh words. I’d already faced up to being a coward.

I considered the options. Could I do what Jimmy did and drop down from the balcony? Yeah, right, and anyone outside would die laughing and I’d be home free.

If I called the cops, would they get here in time? Take care of yourself was my family motto and my instinct. With shaking hands, I reached into my bag for the mace.

I pressed my ear up against the door, trying to hear. Down the hall, a door opened and shut. The nurse who lived on the other side of Evan called out to someone. There was a muted reply.

My scary piece of death outside the door was just someone waiting for a neighbor. I tucked the mace in a side pocket of the suitcase, picked up the handle of the suitcase and opened the door.

Wrong again, Sherri.

I tried to jump back in and close the door but he was too fast, shoving his way in and locking the door behind him while I turned and fled. Behind me, I heard him stumble over the suitcase, but still he was on me when I got to the bedroom. He grabbed me from behind and yelled, “Stop.” I kicked him. He turned sideways and my foot connected with his leg. And then he picked me up around the waist and threw me on the bed. Straddling me, Clay held my hands above my head and stared down at me. “What the hell has got into you?” I was breathing too hard to answer.

He searched my face. “I heard about the Shoreline on the radio. Heard about Andy. What’s going on?”

If I screamed, would anyone hear me? The nurse was long gone and everyone else was at work. “What do you want? I haven’t got the video.”

His hold loosened and he leaned back from me but still sat on my pelvis, impaling me to the bed with his weight. “Why would I want it?”

“I saw the file on Jimmy.” He looked confused, so I added, “The one in your desk.”

“Oh, yeah?” His obsidian eyes snapped and danced. “You accidentally looked in my file drawer?” If the romance hadn’t been over already it would be after this confession.

“Somethin’ like that.”

We grew still, staring into each other’s eyes and adjusting to a new reality. Then he gave a soft roll of his shoulder and a rueful smile. “Time to fess up, isn’t it?” He ran his hand over his face.

“It’s my own fault.” He rubbed his forehead with the fingers of both hands and said from the cover of his hands, “I’m out of control.” He lowered his hands and said, “You have to believe this has never happened to me before.” Ashamed and embarrassed at this admission, it seemed important to him that I believe he wasn’t always this crazy. “I just don’t understand what happened, but I was lost from the get go.”

He smiled wistfully down at me and said in soft amazement, “From the first moment I saw you, I wanted you.” His face said he still couldn’t believe this unfortunate turn of events. “You lit a fire in my belly and it was consuming me. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stand to be around you and couldn’t stand to be away from you. I would have done anything to have you but I had no idea what to do.”

Well, this was a new and interesting twist. For a moment I forgot to be afraid of him.

“You and Jimmy . . . well, you kept us entertained with your godawful husband stories but it was torture watching you go back to him. And you always went back. No matter what he did.”

He swung his leg off me and rolled onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “As long as Jimmy was around, I didn’t stand a chance, nobody did.”

His words sent a chill through my body. Was I listening to a murderer’s confession? “What did you do?”

“I hired a private investigator” He looked at me. “In my business, knowledge is power and money. It’s all about what you know and who you know. I thought I might find something out to make it easier for you to leave Jimmy.” He looked away and stared up at the ceiling as if he were looking for answers in the fine veining of cracks. “Dumb. It didn’t take me long to realize you knew every bad thing about Jimmy. There was nothing to add.”

“There were lots of pictures of Jimmy and women. Why didn’t you show them to me?”

He snorted with disgust. “I hadn’t fallen quite that low. Besides I soon realized those pictures wouldn’t tell you anything about Jimmy you didn’t already know, but they’d tell you a whole lot about me I’d rather keep to myself.” He looked into my eyes and said simply, “I’m sorry.” His black eyes tempted me to forget but I’d been charmed by the best. I was immune.

I rolled off the edge of the bed and stood looking down at him, “And Lynch?” He looked confused.

“I read the file on Gridiron. Then I went to the library and read everything I could on Hayward Lynch and the King Ranch Development. I found a picture of one of the guys on Jimmy’s tape, a county commissioner. There’s a tie-in,” I counted them off on my fingers, “. . . Jimmy, King Ranch, Lynch,” I pointed a finger at him “. . . and you. You’re the key, the one that ties it all together.”

He was on his feet protesting, “I didn’t have anything to do with Jimmy’s death. Nor with Andy’s.” “Did you break into my apartment?”

“No.”

I blew a raspberry. “You almost had me convinced. Only four people knew about the tape. You mean to tell me one of the others, for some unknown reason, broke in here?”

He thought about it, rolling it around in his mind and then he said, “Oh, shit.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “I told Lynch. In the bar the night you told us about the tape, I told Lynch who you were, told him about the tape.”

And I remembered turning on the blender to block out his words.

“Hayward is in deep shit. He came into the Sunset to get me to buy into Gridiron. He owns a thousand acres of the King Ranch and he’s been trying to get a zoning change to develop it. He’d have had it already but for cutting down that tree to get rid of the eagles. The city didn’t like his end run. He’ll get the change, but the question is will it come in time to save his ass.”

“So Lynch stands to make a lot of money if the zoning changes?”

“Yes. Lynch has about seventeen million of his own money into that property already, everything he and his family owns,” Clay told me. “If that zoning change doesn’t go through quickly he will lose it all. He’s desperate. Each day the decision is held up just brings him closer to bankruptcy. His creditors are already in court to seize his assets. He’s as thick as thieves with most of the commissioners—Dunton and that lot— that’s why he thought the zoning change would be a shoo-in, but a couple of county commissioners are being sticky. This will set a precedent. All hell will break loose and they won’t be able to close the floodgates on development out there. Until they solve the sewage and water problems even I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“What if there was a scandal involving a member of the county commissioners?” A worm of an idea was digging its way out of my brain.

Clay shrugged, “I’d say he was shit out of luck if it involved this piece of property. The county would put off making any commitment for months and that would screw him.”

“Would he be willing to pay someone to make it happen?” I asked. “To get the approval?” “What are you saying?”

“Would he pay off one of those guys who were being difficult?”

“Definitely. They were only shy one vote the last time it came up. If someone hinted that they’d be willing to stop dragging their feet and vote yes Hayward would grab at the chance.”

“Well, say Jimmy saw Lynch paying off one of those guys, perhaps when he was trying to fix the camera, and say Jimmy knew what it meant when he saw those guys together.” I was going slow, thinking out loud. “He taped it. And say Jimmy demanded . . .” I shrugged my shoulders and picked a number out of the air, “. . . a hundred thousand dollars. Would Lynch pay up to keep anyone from knowing?”

“He would if he had the money.”

“Surely he could raise that amount?” Clay looked doubtful. “I bet he’s maxed out every piece of plastic, every overdraft and every friendship. Do you know how much it costs to finance his debt?”

“Fortunately not, my own is enough to disturb my sleep.”

“But he might give him something and offer him a small piece of the action when the zoning went through.” Now it was Clay’s turn to ask a question. “Would Jimmy try blackmail?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes. But why kill Jimmy? Why not just pay Jimmy off?”

“He might once. But Hayward is all about being in control. He wouldn’t be at anyone’s mercy. He plays to win . . . all or nothing. Plus it’s my guess he wouldn’t trust Jimmy. Wouldn’t trust him not to come back again and again.”