Heads You Lose (15 page)

“Do you remember when my parents died?” Lacey asked.

Betty and Lacey’s mom had been close. Their friendship arose out of proximity rather than common interests, but what eventually tied them together was trust. Betty was a woman you could rely on. On occasion she used to babysit the Hansen children. After Sheriff Ed broke the horrible news to Lacey and Paul, Betty was the first person to bring a casserole to the house.

“Of course I do, darling. It was a terrible day for the whole town.”

“Was there an investigation?”

“I’m sure the police looked into the matter, but I don’t think anyone thought it was anything more than an awful accident. Nobody had those carbon monoxide detectors back then. Come to think of it, I don’t have one now. Do you?”

“Yes,” Lacey replied. “Paul changes the batteries twice a year.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Did my parents have trouble with anybody?”

“Everybody loved the Hansens.”

“Everybody?”

“I think Big Marv had some sort of scuffle with your dad.”

“What kind of scuffle?”

“Remember that fifteen-acre lot your family owned just on the city line between Mercer and Emery?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, Big Marv wanted to buy it. For years, he kept making offers and your dad always said no. Figured it would be worth something one day. ‘Once the suburbs ooze their way out here,’ he used to say. They still haven’t spread this far. Still, it’s a nice piece of property.”

“So what happened to it? We don’t own that land.”

“After your folks passed, your uncle wanted you and Paul to have some savings, so he sold it.”

“To Big Marv? That’s awfully convenient.”

“No. Marv tried to buy it, but Terry Jakes outbid him.”

Lacey’s head was swimming with inchoate clues. No matter how she twisted the facts, she couldn’t figure out how she and Paul were connected to Hart’s murder. She only knew that there was a connection.

Sheriff Ed’s cruiser was parked in the Hansens’ driveway when Lacey returned home. She sat in her car composing herself for a minute. While there were a number of questions Lacey wanted to pose to the sheriff, she would have preferred doing it on his turf. Lacey started to get out of the car, but remembered the gun in her purse. She stuck it in the glove compartment and then braced herself for whatever was happening inside the Hansen home.

The last thing Lacey expected to find was Sheriff Ed and Paul planted on the couch watching a repeat of
Brainfreeze
, a short-lived game show in which contestants ate a pint of ice cream and then had to answer reading and arithmetic questions.

“Hello?” Lacey said.

“Welcome home,” Sheriff Ed replied.

“What’s going on?” Lacey asked over the whimpering of a contestant trying to divide forty-nine by seven.

The sheriff picked up the remote control and turned off the TV.

“Have a seat,” he said.

“This sounds serious,” Lacey replied, following his instructions.

A glazed expression had taken over Paul’s face—the same one as when Paul first discovered that you could slice earthworms in half and they’d live. That was one long summer.

Sheriff Ed cleared his throat and said, “Lacey, we found some of Hart’s personal effects in our investigation.”

“Like what? Do you know who the killer is? Where was he living? I forgot to ask Hart’s mom, like a complete moron.”
²³

“I’m not here about that, Lacey,” the sheriff abruptly replied. “Did you know that Hart had a life insurance policy?”

“He was only twenty-eight. Why would he have that?” Lacey asked.

“I don’t know,” said the sheriff. “You didn’t know about this?”

“Well, we hadn’t spoken in six months.”

“He took the policy out two years ago, right after you got engaged. A hundred thousand dollars,” Sheriff Ed said, looking at Lacey for a hint of surprise. Whether he saw any was hard to gauge. Lacey had been working on her poker face since this whole business began.

“Oh,” Lacey replied.

“You’re his sole beneficiary.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just fill out the paperwork,” the sheriff said, handing Lacey a manila envelope.

With that, Sheriff Ed got to his feet, tipped his hat, and departed without another word. Once the sheriff’s car was long gone, Paul brought out the Purple People Eater and took the biggest bong hit of his life.

“Congratulations,” Paul said flatly. “You know what this means, right?”

“Yes,” Lacey replied. “I am now suspect number one.”

NOTES:

Dave,

Back to you. I tossed in a few fancy words to illustrate how unnecessary they are. I am sanguine that you will agree. For the record, I took three years of Latin in high school. Still, I managed to keep it out of my chapter.

I don’t want to harp on the insanity of your last chapter, but we’re supposed to be building on each other’s work. When I make a suggestion, please take it seriously. I know what I’m doing here.

Lisa

Lisa,

Three years of Latin, wow! Do you mean Latin Dance?

I can’t help but admire your skill in turning all my ominous revelations into jokes so the reader wouldn’t be distracted from another chance to watch Lacey flirt with Doc Egan.

As for the vocabulary, I’ll try to turn it down a notch.

Dave

CHAPTER 14

Terry was cutting the pretty plants.
Cut, cut, cut,
went the scissors.

Paul was visiting his friend Terry.

“Terry, why did you not tell me this before?” asked Paul.

“Do you mean about the teeth?” asked Terry.

“Yes,” said Paul. Paul was watering the pretty plants.

“I did not want to scare you,” said Terry.

Paul was scared. He rubbed the bump on his forehead.

“Do not be scared of Marv,” said Terry. “Your sister’s new friend is more scary.”

“Who is my sister’s new friend?” asked Paul.

“I will give you two clues,” said Terry. “Clue number one: He lived in a large city, but now he lives in the country.”

Paul thought and thought.

“I will give you another clue,” said Terry after a while. “He is a doctor.”

Paul thought some more. “Is it Doctor Egan?” Paul asked.

“Yes,” said Terry.

Paul had solved the riddle!

“Doctor Egan seems nice,” said Paul.

“He may seem nice, but he has not been telling the truth,” said Terry. “The new doctor has many secrets.”

“What should we do?” asked Paul.

“I am going to visit the doctor,” said Terry.

“Good,” said Paul. “Let us visit the doctor.”

“I must go alone,” said Terry.

“Okay,” said Paul. “I will talk to you after your visit. Good-bye, Terry.”

“Good-bye, Paul,” said Terry.

The two friends shook hands.

Paul felt tired. He drove his truck to his house.

Irving the cat was on the porch. He was eating a dead bat.
Chomp, chomp, chomp,
went Irving.

Paul petted Irving. “Hello, Irving,” said Paul.

“Meow,” said Irving.

NOTES:

Lisa,

Here you go. Hope you were able to follow along without pictures.

Dave

Dave,

My thoughts, in chronological order: 1. Fuck you. 2. Seriously, fuck you. 3. I wonder what John Vorhaus is up to these days. I never did call him. 4. What was I thinking collaborating with an unpublished, narcissistic poet? 5. We’ve sunk three months into this and there’s still a mystery to solve.

I am reminded of that standoff during
The Fop
over whether Claude Hindenberg would smuggle the bomb in his tuxedo jacket or a loaf of pumpernickel. You conceded to my logic—who brings bread to a catered ball? But every scene you wrote after that featured a loaf of fresh pumpernickel. You’re wasting our time mocking me instead of getting the job done.

I had always hoped this project would provide some kind of reparation for the slight you felt over that thing I did without you, but I have to question at what cost. I think we’ve sunk enough time into this project that it might be worth it to keep going, but you need to be on board with that.

If chapter 16 is replete with more Dick and Jane nonsense, then we’ll call it a day. Until then, I’ve decided to overlook this snag in the creative process and get back to work. We will repair it during revisions. Along with the repeated cat references and “subfusc.”

I do hope we can get past this.

Lisa

CHAPTER 15

When Terry was seventeen, he fell out of a tree, hit his head hard, and was never the same again. No thought that issued from his lips could be trusted as sound. That said, occasionally one of Terry’s paranoid theories would land in the general vicinity of the truth. But it was always a gamble with Terry, and Paul was happy to stay out of the whole business.

Because Terry had never visited a doctor without an appointment, he made one for four p.m. the same day—the only available opening. Perfect, he thought. An afternoon nap, a stiff Bloody Mary, and he’d be at the top of his game.

“Terry Jakes?” Doc Egan asked on the threshold of his waiting room.

“The one and only,” Terry Jakes replied. “At least the one and only in all of Mercer . . . and probably Emery.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jakes,” Doc Egan said, extending his hand.

“Wish I could say the same,” Jakes replied, sizing up the doctor as a crafty adversary.

Terry never trusted educated men. He read constantly to overcompensate for his own lack of formal education, but his reading comprehension was, to be polite, quirky. For instance, Terry had once read that the bathroom was the most dangerous room in one’s home, so he had his own bathroom knocked out and built an outhouse instead. The project was one of many grounds cited for his second divorce.

When Terry entered Egan’s office, instead of planting himself on the exam table, he sat down on the doctor’s rolling stool. Egan had heard rumors about Terry and so he took the move as an innocent mistake rather than passive aggression.

“You might find the exam table more comfortable,” Doc Egan suggested.

“I might,” Terry replied. “But I’ve never gone in much for comfort.”

“I see,” Egan replied.

“I see you see,” Terry replied.

“What can I do for you?” Doc Egan asked.

“It’s what I can do for you,” said Terry.

“Oh. You’re not here for a medical concern?”

“No, sir. Terry Jakes is fit as a fiddle.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Are you now?”

“Yes, I am.”

“We cannot enter into alliances until we are acquainted with the designs of our neighbors. Sun Tzu,” Terry said, sliding the chair right up to Doc Egan. But Doc Egan was standing, so Terry was in a supplicant pose. He quickly straightened up to compensate.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Doc Egan said.

“I know about your side business,” Terry whispered.

“I don’t have a side business.”

“We’re not being recorded, but I understand your concern. I’ll do the talking.”

“Oh good.”

“Secrets are a man’s only hope for survival.”

“Is that a saying?” Doc Egan asked.

“I just said it, so it is.”

“Fair enough,” Doc Egan replied, searching the room for an escape route.

“I can keep secrets,” Terry said, knocking his index finger on his head.

“Good.”

“Think of me as a double agent.”

“That sort of contradicts what you just said,” Egan replied.

“You know what I’m here to talk about?”

“I don’t.”

“I understand you had to say that for the recording.”

“You said there is no recording.”

“No. There isn’t. But you think there is.”

“What are we talking about?” Egan asked.

“We’re talking about one hand greasing the other hand.”

“Whose hand is greasing whose hand?”

“Let’s call one hand the Falcon and the other hand the Snowman.”

“Okay.”

“I know all about it. You’re the new Falcon.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“What does that mean?” Doc Egan asked.

“You know what I’m going to do about it?”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Okay.”

“Make sure you tell the Snowman.”

Lacey drove to the Mallard Corp. address in Emery, where Doc Holland had been sending all those inflated malpractice checks. As she expected, it was just a mailbox depot combined with a pet supply store. Lacey knew that the proprietor would refuse to divulge the name of the owner of box 483, so she went in with a plan.

“Is box 483 available?” Lacey asked.

The clerk opened a file and reviewed the spreadsheet. Lacey tried to read it upside down, but the clerk snapped the file shut before any information registered.

“It just freed up,” the clerk replied.

“It did?” Lacey asked, briefly stumped.

She’d planned to ask the clerk to contact the owner to see if they could work out a swap because Lacey just had to have that box—483 was her lucky number, or something. But now her next move was much simpler.

“I’ll take it,” she said.

She paid the seventy-five dollars, took her key, and left. On the way home she devised a new plan.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Lacey drew a simple diagram. All the random clues and duck references were starting to jumble in her head. Paul looked over her shoulder and asked her what she was up to.

“I’m organizing my thoughts,” Lacey replied.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Paul said.

Lacey ignored Paul and brainstormed out loud: “It appears that someone using the name Mallard Corp. was blackmailing Doc Holland. It also appears that a corporation called Merganser was somehow employing Hart. Do you think Mallard and Merganser are connected?” Lacey asked.