Heads You Lose (22 page)

The next morning, Lacey slipped out of the house while Paul was still in bed. She drove past the police station, spotting Sheriff Ed’s cruiser in the parking lot. Then she moved on to her real destination: the Wickfield residence on the Emery city line. Lacey rang the doorbell, which chimed a few bars of the
William Tell
Overture. She thought it was the height of tackiness. Then she noticed that the doormat had a photo of Charlton Heston—in the spirit of honor, not debasement—and next to that was a gnome lawn jockey.
³²

Lila answered the door in a floral silk bathrobe. She had on full eye makeup, but her lips were bare, which meant Lacey had woken her. She cut to the chase.

“How long were you seeing Hart?” Lacey asked.

“Who?”

“Hart, my ex-fiancé, the headless guy who showed up on my driveway. Your memory coming back yet?”

“Lacey, I don’t want any trouble.”

“Too late for that. Listen, Lila, be straight with me and I’ll keep the sheriff out of it, but if you keep telling lies, I might have to pay him another visit. How long were you seeing Hart?”

“Only a few months.”

“When?”

“After you broke up with him.”

“The truth, Lila.”

“Okay, there was some overlap.”

“Did the sheriff know?”

“He was suspicious, but he didn’t know who. And he had no hard evidence.”

“You sure?”

“We were careful.”

“Who else was he seeing?” Lacey asked.

“What’s the point in dredging all this up?”

“Because it might have something to do with his murder. Who else?”

“I think he was spending time with that gimpy stripper from Tulac. You know which one?”

“There’s only one,” Lacey replied.

“That’s what I thought,” said Lila. “But there are, in fact, two strippers who got bum legs from freak pole-dancing accidents.”

“What are the odds of that?” Lacey replied.

“Just don’t go confronting the wrong stripper. You’re looking for the blond one, Brandy, not her friend Candi, who’s a brunette.”

“I guess that’s all,” Lacey said as she turned to walk away.

“I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything now,” Lila said, “but I think he loved you. I really do.”

“Yeah,” Lacey replied, not looking back. “Then why was he screwing anyone who’d have him?”

“It’s Mercer,” said Lila. “What else is there to do?”

Brandy was pulling out of her driveway in her canary-yellow VW Bug as Lacey pulled up. For lack of a better idea, Lacey followed her all the way back to Mercer and, oddly enough, to We Care Gardens. While Brandy pulled into the driveway, Lacey drifted past the entrance and parked her car in a shady turnaround by the side of the road. Then she threaded back through the dense woods that bordered the neglected facility.

A two-room bungalow that served as the administrative office was surrounded on three sides by woods. Lacey concealed herself behind a patch of pine trees that offered a direct view of the only entrance to the office. She assumed Brandy was inside and decided to wait her out. After twenty minutes, her cell phone rang. It was Paul. She pressed the mute button and then listened to the message as she continued her vigil. He was checking in, wondering what she was up to that day since she wasn’t scheduled to work. She could hear the suspicion in his voice.

What Lacey saw next genuinely took her by surprise, which is saying something for a person who’d found a headless body on her property twice in the past ten days. Brandy and Big Marv exited the office. As Brandy limped to her car, Marv lumbered right behind her.

“I’ll be in touch,” Marv said.

Brandy looked at her watch. “You better hurry. Verducci’s is at least a forty-minute drive.”

Lacey couldn’t fathom the connection between Big Marv and Brandy, but she decided that Big Marv’s appointment held a little more intrigue than the rest of Brandy’s day. Lacey waited until both cars were out of sight, ran to her Toyota, and headed after Big Marv, who was on his way to Birkton, home of Al’s gas station, the $1 to $5 store, and Verducci’s, the best Italian restaurant in a fifty-mile radius.

Exactly forty-two minutes later, Lacey was parked in the lot of the $1 to $5 store, which offered a decent view of Verducci’s parking lot. A few spots down from Big Marv’s Mercedes was her brother’s truck. Paul’s secret gimpy stripper girlfriend was one thing; a secret meeting with Big Marv was an entirely different monster. And now that the two were somehow linked, Lacey had to get to the bottom of it.

Lacey ducked into the store and purchased a ten-dollar lumberjack shirt, a two-dollar trucker’s cap, and a one-dollar pair of sunglasses. She tucked her hair inside the cap and donned the rest of the outfit. She looked like a wimpy serial killer. In Birkton, she’d blend right in.

Lacey crossed the road and circled the establishment. The windows were dark on the outside, so she had to get her face right up to one to see inside. She scanned the room and in a back booth saw her brother sitting across from the Babalato brothers. It clearly hadn’t been a table for three. Only Jay and Paul had plates of pasta in front of them.

A waitress taking a smoke break exited the building. She turned to Lacey and said, “Can I help you, sir?”

Startled, Lacey stepped back from the window.

“How’s the food here?” Lacey asked.

“It’s okay,” the waitress replied. “A hell of a lot better if you go inside.”

“Good to know,” Lacey said.

Lacey dialed Paul’s cell phone to see if he’d pick up.

“What’s up?” Paul said.

“It’s Lacey,” Lacey replied. She hadn’t expected Paul to pick up.

“Yeah, I know that.”

“What are you up to?” Lacey asked.

“Just . . . uh . . . running a few errands.”

“What kind of errands?”

“The kind that involve buying things in stores. What are you up to?”

“Nothing much.”

“You sure got out of the house early,” said Paul.

Lacey aimed for a better alibi than her brother.

“Just got my stitches out. Might run a few errands of my own and then head home.”

“See you later,” Paul said.

“Not if I see you first.”

The line was a standard part of their banter, but she noticed an edge in her voice as she said it. She’d already begun to wonder if she really knew her brother at all.

Lacey headed back to Mercer, intending to stop by Mapleshade. But when she arrived, Mapleshade was in lockdown—someone had pinched every last penny from the petty-cash box. The prime suspect was Sook. While the staff was searching his room, he snuck out the back. Lacey caught sight of him slipping into the woods and decided to follow. Sook was easy to trail; years of hunting without earplugs had rendered him half deaf, and his path was marked by tiny bits of ribbon hanging from trees. Eventually she caught him crouching down, unearthing a rock.

“
Now
what are you doing?” Lacey asked, exasperated.

Sook grabbed his heart and sat back on his heels.

“Damn, Lacey, at my age startling a man is tantamount to attempted murder.”

Lacey watched Sook slip a wad of bills into his pocket.

“I saw that, Sook.”

“Then I will ask you to keep your silence. They’ve got a three-strikes policy here at Mapleshade and I am not about to get kicked down to We Care.”

“So you’ve done this before?”

“Do the math.”

“You’ve stolen the petty cash three times?”

“You have no business judging me for illegal behavior.”

“What’s your plan?” Lacey asked. “Since clearly they’re onto you.”

“I’m going to slip these bills into Martha’s underwear drawer.”

“Martha doesn’t even know how to wear underwear anymore,” Lacey replied.

“Exactly,” said Sook. “They’ll forgive her. Probably won’t even count it as a first strike.”

Lacey followed Sook back to Mapleshade. As they approached, Yolanda was exiting the building, clearly on a Sook hunt.

“I told you to stay put, Sook,” she shouted.

Sook slipped the wad of bills into Lacey’s coat pocket and replied, “I needed some fresh air after the Spanish Inquisition.”

Yolanda shook her head in disappointment. She returned to the building followed by Lacey and Sook. In the lobby, all eyes were on the guilty party. Lacey sat down on the couch and stuffed the wad of bills under the cushion.

“Just tell us where the money is, Sook, and we’ll let it slide this time,” Yolanda said.

Lacey could tell she was lying.

“Yolanda,” Lacey said, “I’m sure it’s all an innocent misunderstanding. I bet the money will turn up any day now. You’ll find it just like loose change, under a couch cushion or something silly like that. In the meantime, while tensions are high, why don’t I take Sook off your hands this evening?”

“You want him?” Yolanda said. “You can have him, sweetheart.”

Yolanda then did the oddest thing. She approached Lacey and embraced her. Lacey was disarmed by the warm gesture until she felt Yolanda’s hands patting her down. Lacey pushed Yolanda away, pulled her pockets inside out for emphasis, and said, “I got nothing on me except my wallet and car keys. Now, if you don’t mind, Sook and I will be on our way.”

On the car ride back to the Hansen home, Lacey debriefed Sook on her day’s adventure with Brandy and Big Marv. While they agreed the new evidence was certainly incriminating, neither of them could name the precise crime.

Lacey made Sook a grilled cheese sandwich, which he called the best meal he’d had in months. Lacey felt a twinge of guilt for not having invited him over before.

“You keeping the gun in a safe place?” Sook asked.

“In my nightstand, like your average American.”

“Good girl,” Sook replied.

“I need a shower,” Lacey replied. “Can I get you anything else?”

“I wouldn’t turn down a glass of whiskey,” Sook replied.

Lacey pulled the bottle from their meager liquor cabinet. She poured Sook a stingy glass, trying to be responsible, and then started to put the bottle away.

“Leave it,” Sook said. “There’s no booze at Mapleshade. I’m on vacation today.”

Lacey nodded and left the room.

In the shower, she remembered her lie. The stitches had to come out before Paul got home. She dried off and doused a pair of nail clippers with rubbing alcohol. She cut the first stitch and tugged it out of her arm. She wished she had taken a slug of whiskey beforehand, but continued. By the time she heard Paul’s truck in the driveway, her arm looked as good as an arm with a fresh five-inch scar can look.

Paul entered his home to find Sook sitting at the kitchen table, cleaning his gun and drinking whiskey.

“Sook, what are you doing here?” Paul asked suspiciously.

Sook served Paul a drink and refilled his own glass.

“Sit down. Drink with me,” Sook said, snaking a cloth through the barrel.

Paul sat down and took a tentative sip. Sook checked the clip of the gun and stuck it in the revolver. He smiled in a way Paul had never seen before. It made the younger man uncomfortable.

“What’s new?” Paul asked.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Sook replied.

NOTES:

Dave,

This book isn’t big enough for two gimpy strippers, so forget about Candi. She’s dead to you and me. And if you don’t think she’s dead, she will be.

While I’m on the subject of death, I should point out that taking my creative advice now and again wouldn’t kill you. In fact, my advice in general often contains life-preserving properties. Case in point: Thanksgiving 1998. Your refusal to put the turkey back in the oven risked not only our lives but also those of your ninety-year-old grandparents. Notice how I’m not mentioning another near-death experience that could have been avoided if you’d listened to me.

Let’s not neglect the Babalatos. You came up with them, so let’s use them. Ideally, incriminate them in Hart’s murder. It’s always good to have a few spare suspects in a murder mystery. And who knows, maybe they did it.

I hope Sook’s not too cute for you in my chapter. Remember who’s holding the gun.

Lisa

Lisa,

As I’ve explained repeatedly, after I’ve had salmonella once, I’ll happily endure cardboard turkey every year. The real question is, what are we aiming to provide here? A surprisingly delicious bird bursting with flavor, or a safe, chalky-dry one?

We didn’t die, did we?

Dave

P.S. I’m curious about all these other writers who are so eager to work with you. Specifically, I wonder why you didn’t extend that opportunity to them in the first place. Or did you?

CHAPTER 22

“Heard you have a roomful of hermies,” Sook said, shaking his head.

“News travels fast,” said Paul from the easy chair across from him. The two had already settled in for some leisurely commiseration.

“Well, that just about tears it for me,” said Sook. “Maybe the Army will take me back. Or maybe We Care wouldn’t be so bad.”

“I don’t know, man, do you really want Big Marv breathing down your neck?”

“Just trying to see the bright side.”

Paul took a drink. “Speaking of the Babalatos, I saw them today. I was supposed to meet with Jay, but then Marv busted in.”

“Lacey didn’t mention that,” said Sook. “Please describe the conversation in detail. Really. Don’t leave anything out.”

“I had a lunch meeting with Jay, but before we really got talking Marv came tearing into Verducci’s. He sat down and said, ‘Jay, baby, let’s not lowball the kid.’”

Sook laughed at Paul’s Big Marv impression, a hybrid of Orson Welles and Hulk Hogan. “Lowball the kid on what?”

“Jay wants to buy Shady Acres from me. They both do.”

“How much?”

“We didn’t even get to that. Marv said, ‘Whatever my brother offers you, add twenty percent. My way of putting the other night’s incident behind us.’” Paul pointed to his forehead bruise, which had settled down into a pretty amaranthine color.