Heads You Lose (29 page)

“Are you hunting for my alibi, Lacey?”

“Just being thorough, Sheriff,” Lacey innocently replied.

Ed sighed. “The wife and I were driving home from our vacation lodge in the Sierras. You can call Lila and verify.”

As soon as Ed was out the door, Lacey called Lila to confirm, which she did after consulting her calendar. Lacey crossed Sheriff Ed and Lila off her list.

During the mid-morning lull, Darryl Cleveland showed up. It seemed like ages since Lacey had spied on him while he watched TV, but it was only two weeks ago. The scar on her arm would always make her think of that sad sight of Darryl sitting alone, watching a repeat of
Cudgel.
It would also make her think of slicing her arm open.

“What can I get you, Darryl?”

“Decaf double espresso,” Darryl replied.

“Are you sure?” Lacey asked.

“Yes,” Darryl sad.

Lacey couldn’t figure half of the town’s beverage choices. While Lacey firmly believed in freedom of choice, more often than not she wanted to tell them that they were ordering wrong.

“Long time no see,” Lacey said as she prepped Darryl’s drink. “Where you been?”

“Turtling.”

Lacey held her tongue again. She served Darryl his beverage and got to the point.

“So, Darryl, do you remember where you were the Sunday before last between two and three a.m.?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I’m helping the sheriff with his investigation of Hart Drexel’s murder.”

“Why would I kill Hart?”

“Not interested in motive right now. Can you provide an alibi?”

“My stepmom,” Darryl mumbled.

“She’ll corroborate?” Lacey asked.

“Uh-huh. Do me a favor, Lacey.”

“What?”

“Keep it to yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need the whole town knowing that I spend my Saturday nights watching TV with my stepmom.”

A few hours later, Lacey’s cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“It’s Brandy.”

“What can I do for you?”

“We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“In person. The Timberline. Two o’clock,” Brandy said.

The next thing Lacey heard was a dial tone.

Lacey arrived early. Rafael was drinking a beer and doing a crossword puzzle. Lacey sat a few barstools away from him, hoping to avoid any kind of conversation. Just seeing Raf made her think of him with Hart’s mom, and there wasn’t enough booze in the world to erase that image.

“Tate, can I get a drink?” Lacey asked, hoping to at least blur it.

“What’ll it be?” Tate asked.

“Whiskey with a beer back,” Lacey replied.

“At two in the afternoon, Lacey?” Tate asked.

“How are you planning on staying in business with an attitude like that?”

Tate poured the shot and pulled the pint. Rafael looked up from his crossword and nodded at Lacey.

“How are you doing, Lace?”

“Okay,” Lacey replied, without making eye contact.

Rafael slid over to the stool next to hers and rolled up his sleeve. “Your fomenting trick worked,” he said.

“Good,” Lacey said, downing her shot. “Can I get another?”

“Sure you’re okay?” Rafael asked.

“Uh-huh. Just got a lot on my mind.”

“He told you, didn’t he?”

“Rafael, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I swear, nobody in this town can keep a secret.”

Lacey was thinking he got it all wrong. Everyone was keeping secrets. That was the problem with this town.

Rafael finished his beer in one swift gulp and headed for the door. A triangle of daylight entered the Timberline and left with him. When the light returned, Lacey swiveled on her barstool and saw Brandy’s unmistakable silhouette limping in her direction. Brandy hooked her cane on the edge of the bar and seated herself next to Lacey.

“What can I get you, Brandy?” Tate asked.

“Easy Jesus,” Brandy replied.

“Refresh my memory,” said Tate.

“Brandy and Dr Pepper.”

“You got it, sweetheart.”

Lacey waited until Brandy’s drink was served and Tate was out of earshot before she launched into her usual questioning.

“So, Brandy, where were you the Sunday before last, between two and three a.m.?”

“You mean the night before your brother asked me to serve as his alibi?” Brandy asked, looking a little too smug for Lacey’s liking.

“Yeah, that night.”

“I was home all evening. Doing my nails, I think.”

“No one can verify your whereabouts?”

“Nope,” Brandy replied. “You’re just going to have to take my word for it.”

Lacey finished her whiskey and looked Brandy in the eye.

“So what are we doing here?” Lacey asked.

“Big Marv just upped his offer to one million.”

“How do you know this and I don’t?” Lacey asked.

“Paul will tell you when you get home.”

“Then why trouble with this secret meeting?”

“You need to take the offer. Now,” Brandy said.

“Well, if he’s up to a million, who says Jay won’t go higher?”

“When you’re buying land, you have to pay cash. Jay can’t access more than that. Neither can Marv. They won’t work together and pool their funds. It’s their final offer.”

“So maybe someone else will join the bidding war.”

“You don’t want any professional surveying that land.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s worth
nothing
, Lacey.”

“What?”

“It’s worth about a hundred grand, in a good economy. There’s nothing valuable on the property besides the potential for development and, let’s be frank, that urban sprawl isn’t happening anytime soon.”

“So why do the Babalatos think it’s worth something?”

“Terry was playing a long con on them. He hired a phony surveyor, mocked up official-looking documents that made it look like the soil was loaded with rare minerals. Then he outbid them when your parents were selling and they were low on cash. Jakes always planned to sell to the brothers, but chickened out. Too afraid of what the Babalatos would do when they learned the truth. He knew if he sold, he’d have to skip town right away. And he was never ready to leave. I think part of him always hoped he and Deena would get back together.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this the last time we talked?” Lacey asked.

“This stuff is strictly need-to-know. You didn’t need to know. No offense,” Brandy said.

“So how did you even get involved?” Lacey asked.

“I hacked into Terry’s computer.”

“Of course. So why didn’t you tell Paul?”

“He needed to believe he was holding all the cards. You ever see him play poker? He’s got a tell for every Shady Acre of land.”

“You sure about this?” Lacey asked. Suddenly, the Babalatos shot to the top of her suspect list.

“Yes,” Brandy replied. “Close the deal tonight and sign those papers as soon as possible.”

Lacey dropped by Doc Egan’s office on her way home from the Timberline. The new doc was sitting on his stoop, wearing some lame leather jacket from the eighties, and smoking a cigarette.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Lacey said.

“I bet there are a lot of things about me you don’t know.”

“Menthols, really?”

“They’re refreshing,” Egan replied, blowing out a minty stream.

“You make contact with Holland yet?”

“Yeah. I just got an e-mail from him. He wants to meet day after tomorrow at some Italian restaurant in Birkton.”

“Verducci’s? That’s a bit of a drive.”

“Yep. What’s in it for me, Lacey?”

Lacey pulled a dime bag from her purse and tossed it on the stoop next to Egan.

“That work for you?”

“For now,” Egan replied.

“I wouldn’t smoke it all at once,” Lacey said. “We’re closing up shop soon.”

“What’s new?” Lacey asked Paul the second she walked through the door.

“Irving is still missing,” Paul said.

“Sorry to hear that. Anything else new?”

“Yeah, Big Marv upped the offer again.”

“To what?”

“One million.”

“He sure wants that land,” Lacey said.

“Enough to kill for?” Paul asked.

“Don’t know,” Lacey replied. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“You think he killed our folks?”

“Maybe. But I’m gambling on another suspect,” Lacey replied.

“What are you talking about, Lace?”

“There’s something I should tell you.”

“More secrets. That’s just what we need.”

“Ilsa Sundstrom called a few days ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I met with her. Did you know her parents were filing a malpractice suit against Doc Holland? But then her father started negotiating with Holland without an attorney. I think Holland tried to kill them because he couldn’t risk being exposed and he had no other place to go.”

“And you think he accidentally killed our parents?”

“It makes sense. The Sundstroms were supposed to be at the cabin that night and then two months later they die in a car accident.”

“Then why did Big Marv say something to you at the bar?” Paul asked. “What would he know about it?”

“Maybe he was just trying to scare me. I’m not saying Marv’s innocent. I’m just not sure what crime he’s committed,” Lacey replied.

“So do we take his offer?”

“I don’t know. Do we?” Lacey asked. She knew better than to tell Paul what to do. Somehow it had to seem like his idea.

“I don’t want the land. Do you?”

“No.”

“If they’ll pay a million, they’ll probably pay more,” Paul said.

“Maybe. But how long do you want to strategize against the Babalatos?”

“Just the other day you were pushing for more. What’s changed?” Paul asked.

“Five hundred thousand is enough for me,” Lacey casually replied. “Just remember that the offer is only good as long as both brothers are alive. People seem to be developing a habit of getting themselves murdered lately. Either way, the decision is yours.”

“Really?” Paul skeptically replied.

“Really.”

The next morning, Paul took the deal. Irving was still nowhere to be found.

On Monday afternoon, Lacey reprised her Verducci’s disguise and followed Egan to Birkton. She parked across the street at the $1 to $5 store and then scoped the Verducci’s lot for Doc Holland’s Oldsmobile, a tan clunker from the early nineties. It wasn’t there.

Instead of waiting outside and raising suspicion, Lacey sat at a table in the corner where she could spy on Egan’s booth in the glass mirror that crossed the length of the restaurant. She figured if her own brother couldn’t recognize her, how would old Holland?

Egan ordered a soda and waited. Lacey chose a burger, trying to stay in character with her trucker disguise.

An hour passed and boredom set in. Egan eventually ordered a sandwich and Lacey was on her third refill of Coke. She picked up the
Birkton Bee
, a flyer-sized newspaper, and dove into their crime blotter. Birkton had a little more action than Mercer. Just last week there was a hit and run, a nude drunk-and-disorderly, and a UFO sighting by three separate individuals. In fact, the UFO sighting also made the front page.

When Lacey glanced up from her paper, she noticed that Egan was gone from his booth. She figured he was in the restroom and waited. When fifteen minutes passed and he didn’t return, she checked the parking lot for his car. It was still there.

Lacey approached a waitress and asked if she had seen the man who’d been sitting in the corner. The waitress said she thought he had gone to the restroom. Lacey waited another minute and knocked on the men’s room door. She knocked again. She shouted Egan’s name. Then she checked the handle. The door was open, so she entered.

Inside, Egan was sprawled out on the floor in a thick pool of his own blood. His throat had been slashed; his lips were already blue; his eyes stared frozen at the ceiling.

Lacey screamed for help, but no one could help Matthew Egan. He was most definitely dead.

NOTES:

Hi Dave,

I bet that was a surprise. I’d like to say that I was planning on killing him all along, but we both know that’s not true. You put the idea in my head, so I guess I should thank you. I’m assuming Egan got beat up in the casino parking lot because of a gambling situation. But now we’ll never know. Let’s be honest, even if I let him live, we’d still never know.

Lisa

P.S. Keep Irving missing, if you know what’s good for him.

Lisa,

You’re right; I am surprised. I never thought you’d sacrifice one of your own. But I guess when you find one tool that feels good—in your case, killing anything that presents a problem—there’s no impetus to consider other tactics. What happened to you? Your previous books didn’t hint at this brutality. But I’m done complaining. If you really want to become the Pol Pot of mystery writing, I can’t stop you.

As for the reasons behind Egan’s casino beatdown, let’s just say your predictable assumption is nowhere near what I had in store. But as you noted, you’ll never know.