Retirement Plan (26 page)

“Well, hello again.” As if he had materialized from her thoughts, Sandy stood beside her.

“Hi.”

“What can I do for you today?”

“I, ah, I was hoping to see Chelsea.”

Sandy smiled and rather handsome crinkles appeared at the corner of his eyes. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“Don’t be coy with me. You’re looking for Chelsea because you find her attractive in a queer way.”

Morgan blushed. “That’s presumptous.” Even if she was attracted, that didn’t mean Chelsea was available, and if she was available, that didn’t mean Morgan wanted her in a queer way.

“Okay, it wouldn’t stand up in court, but I’m right, ain’t I?”

Shrugging, Morgan said, “Maybe.” And maybe not. She was confused.

Sandy nodded toward the rear. “Back room. Two of us work Saturday mornings.”

An unexpected current shot through her. “She’s here?”

“Her mom is out of town, so she brought her son with her. She finds it easier to keep track of him when she works back there.”

“Thanks.” Morgan took a few deep breaths and waited for her blush to fade. The place was too warm. She’d started to sweat. The damp ends of her hair were brushing the back of her neck. She slid out of her coat, laid it across her arm, and pushed through the door.

Morgan saw the kid first. With his dark hair and long dark lashes, he resembled Chelsea. Although if she was his mother, she wasn’t necessarily his biological mother. Did the puzzles ever end? The little boy knelt before a red fire truck, watching her cautiously. Then Chelsea stepped from behind a rack of dresses and the kid moved toward her.

“Hi,” she said. “You come back to get another pair of jeans?”

“Do you remember me?”

“Of course. We don’t get a lot of women in here.”

“The store’s full of them.”

Chelsea wrinkled her nose. “Most of them are straight.”

Morgan’s heart pounded. She couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. Did she look like a lesbian? Was that why the Chelsea in Texas had made a move on her? Say something, an inner voice screamed. Say anything. Her mind was blank.

“Oh, dear,” Chelsea said. “I’d swear I saw you once or twice at Tallulah’s.”

“You did.”

“Were you just doing research?”

Morgan shook her head. “Okay. I went there to meet other women.”

“I’m sorry,” Chelsea said. “It’s none of my business.”

“Mommy.”

They’d both forgotten the kid. Chelsea placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, “This is my son, Dominic.”

Morgan bent down and gave him a big smile. “Hi, Dominic.”

Suddenly shy, the little boy stepped behind his mother’s thigh. He was slender enough that he literally disappeared. Chelsea shrugged. “That’s how it is, sometimes. Ever since he turned two, I never know what to expect.”

“He’s two?”

“He’s almost four. It started then and hasn’t stopped yet.” They laughed together. “What can I get for you today?”

“I’m just browsing. Sandy said you were back here so I thought I’d come say hello.”

“That’s nice of you.”

Did she see a little light in Chelsea’s eyes? Morgan wasn’t sure. Then she noticed a brace on Chelsea’s wrist and asked, “What happened?”

“My wrist? Oh, just a sledding accident. Dom and I took a spill. He just sort of bounced into a drift. I got a sprain. Hurt like hell at first. It’s a little better now.”

“Where do you sled, which park?”

“No park. We have a nice hill on our property. Good for sledding in the winter and rolling down in the summer.”

“Rolling down?”

Dominic peeked around his mother’s hip. “I roll down the hill.”

Another puzzle. “How the heck do you roll down a hill?”

Chelsea shrugged. “You just lie down at the top of the hill and start rolling. You’ll have to come out and give it a try.”

“Come roll down my hill.” It was Dominic again. “You can meet Buster and Noah.”

“Who are they, your brothers?”

Chelsea laughed. “They’re a couple of old pit bulls we took in. We live in the country. Every once in a while, someone dumps a dog on our lane. What am I supposed to do, not feed them?”

Dominic held up both hands, his fingers spread. “We have this many dogs.”

“Ten?”

“Eight,” Chelsea said. “The last count I had.”

“Mommy, I got to go potty.”

Chelsea looked down at him. “You know where it is. You can go by yourself.”

He stomped one foot. “I want you to come.”

Chelsea sighed, took Dominic’s hand, and started toward the bathroom. Over her shoulder she said, “I’ll see you again, either in the store or at Tallulah’s. We’ll set something up.” Then mother and son disappeared.

Morgan considered staying and exchanging phone numbers. But after a moment she decided to quit while she was ahead.

*

When Lois Burnett returned her phone call, Celia Morning said she needed the job done as soon as possible. Ben Curry was stalking her and had broken into her house at least once. So she’d taken her children out of school, closed her house, and was currently staying out of town, at her mother’s home. Celia rushed on to explain that all three of her kids were sharing a guest bedroom, and she and Curry’s daughter were sleeping on a sectional couch in the basement family room. She’d tried to help the kids keep up with their homework, but after a couple of days of fighting them, she’d given up. In the end, their grandmother sat each of them down at the dining room table for an hour a day. Somehow they wouldn’t push her as far as they did their own mother.

Thinking that was more detail than necessary, Lois said, “Well, that’s quite a mess.”

“The bottom line is—I can’t go home until this guy is gone, and we’re all getting restless.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Lois said. “But I’ll need at least a week to watch his routine and decide on the best place to get him. Plus, it’s turned cold again. Well below zero.” She was thinking, but didn’t say, that if she had to take the shot from a roof, she’d suffer from the biting cold. She’d actually had frost form on her glasses in the past.

“If you can do it by Friday, I’ll throw in a bonus.”

Don’t let her rush you, Lois thought, but asked, “How much?”

“An extra ten thousand.”

Lois sighed. The additional money would help them get to Florida sooner. “I’ll do my best,” she said. “But I can’t promise. I have to consider several things, and if I’m not going to get caught, and neither one of us wants that, I can’t do it until I’m in the best position.”

“I understand. I’ll deposit the money when I hear from you. Is it the same account?”

“It is.  Remember, cash only. No paper trail.”

“Right,” Celia said. “And if you call me on or before Friday, I’ll add an extra ten thousand.”

*

Monday morning, Lois passed through the portals of the Leland Apartments with ease. Although an intercom to call an apartment dweller was next to the door, she’d watched several people go in without buzzing. The lobby was long and narrow. A single elevator was out of order, so she started up the steps.

Ben Curry lived on the third floor, apartment D, toward the back. The corridors were dimly lit and smelled of cigarette smoke and curdled milk. After climbing the narrow winding stairs, Lois caught her breath. The floor was covered with a threadbare carpet, and wood creaked beneath it. Near Curry’s door, she stopped and listened. She could hear the television going. Then a toilet flushed. Someone was inside.

Quietly, she made her way back to the stairs and continued upward. On the fifth floor, the door to the roof had a sign tacked on it that read, Emergency Exit Only. Lois extracted a pair of gloves from her pocket and pulled them on. She turned the knob. A dark, narrow stairway ascended before her. At the top, light shone around the edges of a solid door with a shank and padlock. She patted her pants pockets and drew out a flat-head screwdriver. The shank was rusty, but the screws to its hinges were loose enough that she had the door open in minutes.

After the poorly lit building, the sun, almost directly overhead, caused her to squint. Cold wind stung her cheeks. The temperature had been three below zero the night before, but in the early afternoon it had warmed to the mid-teens. Making tracks in the unmarked snow, Lois trudged from side to side. The closest buildings weren’t as high as the Leland. Cover from their rooftops wouldn’t work. She could get him from below, but if Curry’s apartment was above her, he’d be able to see her. If he could see her, others probably could too. With the extra monetary incentive, she’d considered taking her shot in daylight. She walked to the back of the roof and looked down. Several feet below her a rickety fire escape was loosely tethered to the old building. She leaned out farther. Each apartment had a large window next to the unsteady contraption.

Behind Curry’s building was an abandoned, boarded-up warehouse. She studied the layout. A pigeon lit on a windowsill and then was gone. The warehouse was a better choice than the old apartment buildings next door. That is, if a window in the back of Curry’s apartment faced the warehouse. She’d have to go over there and break in. She’d need a flashlight and probably a crowbar, so she’d need to make a trip home.

Lois sighed and returned to the roof door, which was still open. She squeezed back through the opening and went to work putting the screws into the lock shanks again. This was harder than taking them off, and by the time she managed, despite the cold air seeping through from outside, sweat was running down her forehead. She sat on the steps for a few minutes to catch her breath. For the first time she noticed that snow had come over the top of her boots and her socks were wet.

Over a quarter of an hour had passed by the time she stood and trudged to the door that opened onto the fifth floor. She listened carefully, then pushed it open. Her wet boots left marks on the carpet, but they’d dry long before anyone started looking for a sniper. By the time she was in the lobby, she was feeling fairly confident that no one had seen her.

On the street a cold wind stung. As she approached the truck she noticed that the meter had expired. She dug in her coat pocket for the keys and approached the driver’s- side door. That’s when she saw the parking ticket.

*

All the meters were full, so Morgan Holiday backed the unmarked police car into a loading zone. Redick was out of the car and waiting as she shut off the engine. The cold didn’t seem to bother him. He didn’t pull his jacket closed or shove his hands in his pockets. He stood next to a security door rereading a description of Ben Curry.

The path to Curry was a strange one, zigzagging from Tia Johnson, to Ruby Burnett, to Chris Moon the drug dealer, to Eddie Meyer in Vice, to Phil Schmidt the Juvenile officer working on an Internet sting, who gave them Ben Curry. For the first time on the sniper killings, they might be doing more than treading water.

Pulling her stocking cap down over her ears, Morgan stood on the sidewalk and scanned the street and the building. Icicles, glistening in the sun, hung from a torn canvas awning. The sidewalk was an empty glaze of ice. Something bothered her. It had struck her as soon as she stepped out of the car.

Morgan’s cell phone chirped. She dug it from her coat pocket, unfolded it, and put it to her ear. “Holiday here.”

“Is this Morgan Holiday?”

“It is.”

The voice at the other end was female, and she sounded nervous. If this was work-related, the call would have come over her radio. Morgan asked, “Who’s this?”

“It’s Belle Trees, Ms. Holiday, from Prairie Flower.” The phone crackled as Belle hesitated, then went on. “I have some bad news.”

“Hold on a minute, you’re breaking up.” Morgan tried the door to Ben Curry’s apartment building, and, when it came open, she stepped inside to the relative warmth and quiet of the lobby. “Are you there?”

“Yes, Ms. Holiday,” came Belle’s voice. “I’m here.”

Thanksgiving dinner was still fresh in Morgan’s mind as she asked, “Well, what’s happened now?”

“I’m afraid your mother has been injured. The executive administrator asked me to call you. You should come as soon as you can.”

“Is she all right?”

“All I can say is that the doctor is with her now.”

“I’m on my way.” Morgan folded the cell phone and dropped it into her pocket. She charged through the door and headed for the car.

Redick startled her by catching the sleeve of her coat and shouting, “What’s wrong?”

“That was the nursing home. It’s my mother. You can drop me off at the station, and I’ll take my car from there.”

“Nonsense. The station is several miles out of your way. I’ll just ride along.”

Morgan didn’t argue. She pulled the unmarked car out of the parking space, sped north, and took the turn at the next cross street. Screeching tires and a car horn startled her.

Redick was hanging on to the dash. “You want me to drive?”

“I’m fine.”

“At least turn on the lights and siren.”

“Right.”

Patches of snow and ice made the trip treacherous, but the flashing lights and siren kept most other motorists out of their way. It seemed like forever before they turned into the horseshoe drive at the Prairie Flower. An ambulance was parked under the awning. It was empty. Morgan remembered the night her mother escaped and the impossibility of getting an ambulance. She recalled the dispatcher saying, “If it’s a matter of life or death…”

Morgan didn’t remember getting out of the car or entering the building. Suddenly Belle Trees was next to her, guiding her toward the section of offices.

“Can I see her?”

Belle said, “Not now. The doctor is working on her. Mrs. Vaughan will be with you shortly. You and your friend can wait in her office.”

“What do you mean, working on her? How bad is she? What’s happened? I want to see my mother.”

Belle opened the door to a rather sterile office with salmon-colored walls. A couple of matching chairs faced a clean desk, and behind it a window overlooked the snowy landscape. “Have a seat here,” Belle said. “Would you like some coffee?”

“I’d like some information,” Morgan said.