Say Yes to the Death (25 page)

He's not just the biggest oil tycoon in the state, but he's a political heavy hitter, kind of like a wannabe Koch brother. And he comes with his own goon squad. They're probably armed better than the Dallas Metro Police.

I'd bet Dickens's goon squad was made up of military vets who'd gone into private security. I had no doubt that Pete the Cameraman wasn't a cameraman at all. He was former military with the tats to prove it. Did he work on Lester Dickens's crew? There were an awful lot of dots to connect, but I could see the picture they were painting pretty clearly already.

Why couldn't Allie and Brian see it, too?

I squeezed my eyes shut, recalling a remark Lester Dickens had made about Vernon Ryan at Penny's wedding reception:
Damned fool . . . a man can't reach his full potential when he's distracted by women and babies.

He hadn't been referring to Penny's baby, as I'd thought then, not entirely. He was talking about Olivia's pregnancy, too. Maybe Vernon Ryan's affair with the wedding planner alone wouldn't have kept Lester's candidate from aiming for the White House, but a baby born of that affair surely would have put an end to any presidential dreams. Once Olivia had given birth—­even if they'd stopped sleeping together—­that child would have been a constant reminder of the conservative politician's indiscretions.

And Lester couldn't have that hanging over Vernon Ryan's head.

Lester Dickens had Olivia killed. Of course, he hadn't gotten blood on his own hands. That was what guys like Pete were for.

Ugh.

I dropped my head into my hands, feeling sick to my stomach.

“Andrea,” my mother said, leaning forward, “what is it? You look nauseous. Is it morning sickness? You can have it any time of the day, you know.”

“Morning sickness,” Stephen repeated. “Andy, are you—­”

“No,” I said as my phone started playing AC/DC. I reached for my bag, which hung low on my hip. I didn't recognize the number but answered anyway.

“Oh, thank God!” I heard a voice that seemed vaguely familiar. “You have to help me. Terra told me to call if something went wrong.”

“Draco?” I said, recognizing the flat Midwestern twang interspersed with the mangled European accent, like he wasn't sure which one to use at the moment. “What's going on?”

So much for figuring I'd never hear from him again.

“It's Terra,” he said, and he sounded on the verge of tears. “She's missing.”

Chapter 30

“R
ight after you and your mother left the showroom, she started acting weird,” he began to explain before I'd even asked. “She seemed really nervous and said she had somewhere to go. When I asked where, she just kissed me hard and said that it was time to play the big money card. After that, we'd be set for life.”

“Set for life, huh?”

I got a big knot in my belly, sure now that Terra had known who Olivia's lover was all along. But instead of telling the police, she was going to get herself killed trying to scam a boatload of money from good ol' Lester Dickens. And I'd thought she was smart.

Hmph.

“You should call the cops,” I told Draco, wondering what he thought I was going to do about it. “You need to talk to them anyway.”

“I did call them!” he said. “They won't lift a finger, not until she's been gone at least forty-­eight hours. She gave me your number before she took off and said if anything went wrong I should call you.”

Why? Did Terra think I could do something the police couldn't?

“Have you tried her cell?”

“I've called and texted at least a dozen times in the last four hours. All the calls go straight to voice mail. My texts don't get answered.”

“Did you mention to the cops that she was Olivia La Belle's assistant?” I asked, getting up from the chair while Mother and Stephen looked on with concern. “Have they forgotten what happened to Olivia?”

“They think I'm overreacting.” He snorted. “They said she probably went shopping or out for a drink with some girlfriends, but she didn't. Terra hated shopping for herself, and she didn't have any real girlfriends here. She just had me.”

Considering how she'd treated me and Mother and her penchant for fashion circa 1980, I was convinced.

“Have you checked with Uncle Jasper?” I asked dryly.

“He hasn't seen or heard from her either, and he's worried, too. She borrowed his car again, and it doesn't have OnStar.” Draco paused, and I could hear him breathing heavily. I hoped he had a paper bag handy in case he started to hyperventilate. “I think she's in serious trouble, Andrea. I think she's meeting with Olivia's boyfriend.”

“What's his name, Draco?” I asked, tired of being jerked around, though I was pretty sure I knew who it was already.

“I don't know any more than what I already told you. I heard Olivia call him Frog, and Terra did, too. I figure she had something of Olivia's the police didn't find, something that incriminates the guy.”

“Ya think so?” I replied, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice. “Was she the one who stole Olivia's laptop and phone?” I asked. “Did she have them this whole time?”

“No, she would have told me,” Draco insisted. “She even turned her office laptop over to the police. She's only had her old laptop these past few days. It was one she didn't use for business.”

Ah, yes, Terra's spare laptop, I thought, wanting to tear out my hair.

It's my insurance policy,
she'd told me, and I'd figured at the time she just meant it was her backup in case the office laptop crashed. I suddenly remembered where I'd seen that photo of the bone frog tattoo: in a file on Terra's computer labeled “Big Money Shot.”

I had a feeling that butt wasn't Draco's.

“You don't have a frog tattooed on your ass, do you?” I asked, only to get a befuddled, “What?” in response.

“Oh, man, that's it,” I moaned as the light went on in my brain, and, like Eliza Doolittle, I think I finally got it. Senator Ryan had been in the Navy. I'd wager it was his butt with the tat and the brown mole in the photograph. I was pretty sure that a forensics expert could compare the photo and the actual ass to confirm it.

Was that the evidence Terra had? Or was there more to it? Maybe she had emails or texts or sexts. Who knew? Technology was making it too damned easy to keep anything private anymore, and she'd worked closely with Olivia for months.

No wonder Terra had been so silent when I grilled her and Draco about Olivia's lover. It wasn't because she didn't know who he was. She just hadn't wanted to share. She'd been gearing up for a big blackmail attempt.

“Did she take that spare laptop with her?” I asked Draco.

He paused. “Yeah, I saw her carry it out. It's hard to miss with that stupid pink sticker.”

“If you know where she went, you'd better tell me now,” I demanded, and my face got hot. “Olivia's killer doesn't care about Terra. He'd just as soon get rid of her, too.”

“She said the meeting was at Alva's, but I don't know who that is, I swear.” He paused to sob then got ahold of himself. “I guess we'd both been keeping secrets.”

“Yeah, you've got a great marriage there, Melvin,” I murmured.

“Please, don't let anything happen to her. Can't you call your lawyer boyfriend?” he asked. “Can't you get him to do something if the police won't? Can't they ping her phone or the laptop and find her like they do on TV?”

“Does she have tracking software on the computer?”

“Does she need it?”

“Yeah,” I said through gritted teeth. “And if her phone's turned off, it wouldn't do any good to try to track it.” She wasn't answering his calls or texts. So that was probably the case.

“You have to do something,” Draco whined. “Nothing I have means anything without Terra, and I can't go anywhere. I don't even have a car.”

Oh, boy.

What was I supposed to do? Call Brian and tell him that Terra Smith had been gone a few hours and that her husband—­aka Olivia's phony-­baloney live-­in lover—­was afraid she was blackmailing Olivia's potentially homicidal baby-­daddy?

That would go over big, I was sure.

Brian and Allie had all but rolled their eyes earlier when I suggested Olivia was in bed with the oil tycoon and the senator.

So who did that leave? I mused, and my gaze settled across the coffee table on Stephen and Cissy.

“Please, Andrea,” Draco begged. “If anything happens to her—­”

Yeah, yeah.
I'd heard that part already.

He started to cry for real, and my chest clenched.

“Okay, okay,” I said, giving in.

Mother must have been right about my getting involved in other people's problems being a compulsion. Or else I just couldn't stand to hear a grown man sob.

“I'll see what I can do,” I told Draco. “In the meantime, call me if you hear from her.”

I hung up and met the stares of my mother and Stephen.

“Hey,” I said, tucking my cell back in my purse, “are you two doing anything special tonight? If not, could you possibly go on a rescue mission with me?”

“Oh, Andrea, no,” Cissy drawled, and started shaking her head. “Stephen just got back. I was thinking I'd order in dinner and we could relax.”

“We can order dinner later,” my future stepfather said, and he rubbed his hands together. “Who needs saving this time? At least I know it's not Malone or your mother.”

Hmm, I thought. It might not be bad having a stepdad who was a former Navy SEAL and ex-­IRS.

“It's Terra Smith,” I told him. “She was Olivia La Belle's assistant.”

“But she's the one who locked us in the dressing room,” Cissy declared with a frown. “I don't know if I like her well enough to save her.”

“Mother,”
I said in my best shame-­on-­you voice. “She left Draco to meet with someone, and she's been gone for four hours. I just need you to make one little phone call.”

“To whom?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

I drew in a deep breath then let it out again.

“Lester Dickens,” I said. Draco was mistaken. Terra hadn't gone to Alva's to meet someone. She'd gone to the house on Alva Court.

“He told you to call if you wanted a private showing of his Preston Hollow mansion, right?” I said, putting the pressure on. “And now's as good a time as any.”

Mother waved her hand dismissively. “No, no, no, I'm not going over to Lester's house alone. You think he had a hand in Olivia's death. Why would I put myself in danger?”

“I'll go with you,” I said, “and Stephen can come along, too. I'll make sure Lester keeps his hand off your butt.”

“Andrea,”
my mother scolded.

“Keeps his hands off your what?” Stephen asked none too happily.

“It was years ago at a party,” Cissy said, unfurling her legs from beneath her. “He'd had too much to drink, and he acted like a clod.”

“I'll clod him,” her beau grumbled, rising to his feet.

Mother blushed.

“Do you still have Fredrik's cap?” I asked, figuring Stephen could play chauffeur, wait outside, and call the police if things got dicey. “Is the Bentley gassed up?”

“Yes and yes,” Cissy said, scrambling up from the sofa.

“Will you do it?” I asked. I had a sinking feeling in my chest. “We have to get there before he does anything to Terra, even if we just distract him long enough for Stephen to convince the cops to come. If we don't, she's as good as dead.”

Chapter 31

I
don't know what my mother said to him, but Lester Dickens agreed we could come by the house on Alva Court for a very quick private showing. Apparently, he was impatient to fly off to his cabin in the Hill Country by nightfall.

Maybe I should write a mystery, like Janet had suggested, because I thought the Hill Country sounded like a very good place to bury a body.

Stupid, greedy Terra.

“What are we looking for, Andrea?” Mother asked as Stephen pulled the Bentley up to the gates and we were buzzed through.

“It doesn't matter,” I said, “we're just going in for a few minutes, long enough for Stephen to call the cops and tell them something's wrong. We need to get them out here to look around, and I don't think anything else will do it.”

“If they've got her locked up in a closet, it would serve her right,” Mother murmured.

I sighed, thinking maybe we should just turn around. I wasn't sure if we were the A-­Team or the Three Stooges. I just hoped we wouldn't need rescuing ourselves.

“I'll give you five minutes,” Stephen remarked over his shoulder as he drove the Bentley onto the grounds. “Then I'll dial 911 and tell them I heard screaming.”

“Fine,” I said and gazed out the window as we headed up the long drive toward the sprawling villa.

“I should have called Shelby,” Mother said, “and just asked outright if that husband of hers had been diddling the wedding planner. Sometimes the wife isn't the last to know. She's found a fair share of lipstick on his collar for the past twenty years since he entered politics, all explained away innocently, I might add.”

“No doubt,” I said. Excuses were the one thing that politicians did best.

Ahead I saw the sun setting behind Lester Dickens's Mediterranean villa, silhouetting the massive home. It seemed almost an island unto itself. I felt as if we were driving down a country road, far away from the city. It would have been a perfect setting for two lovers to meet, I decided. The Alva Court mansion fit all the criteria for a love shack. There was no doorman. No one was living there permanently although I was sure Lester came and went. The nearest neighbor was a few acres—­and one tall gated privacy fence—­away. What more could a cheating senator and his mistress have asked for?

“I'll bet they came here,” I said, voicing my thoughts out loud. “It's the perfect spot for a rendezvous.”

“I hate to think you're right about Vernon,” my mother said. “I'd like to believe that there are some good men left in the world and perhaps one honest politician.”

Stephen cleared his throat, and I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, my darlin', you're one of the good ones,” Mother cooed from the backseat.

“Thank you, ma'am,” he said and tipped his hat.

As we neared the house, I looked for Terra's borrowed car, but I didn't spy the old Mercedes wagon with the TSFA sticker. I didn't see anything suspicious, including Lester Dickens's private security hanging around either, not until we pulled into the circle around the fountain and the front door opened wide.

Out strolled a pair of Black Suits, one of whom stayed near the door. The other came forward to lean in the window as Stephen rolled it open.

“You can wait out here,” the Black Suit told him, glancing into the back where Mother and I sat. “I'll escort the two of you inside. Mr. Dickens is waiting.”

Cissy seemed reluctant to leave the Bentley. I nudged her, and she scooted out as the Black Suit came around and waited for us to emerge. He escorted us to the house, where a second Black Suit manned the front door.

I looked hard at the second man as we approached. Something about him seemed familiar. It wasn't until I'd passed him, stepping into the foyer, that I realized it was Pete, only he was clean-­cut and shaved. What a difference that made.

“Hey—­” I started to say but quickly clamped my lips shut.

I must have stared, as he gave me a look and not a friendly one either.

“This way,” he said and took over as our escort from that point forward.

Why did I feel like this was a very bad idea? The knot in my stomach tightened, and I reached for my mother's hand.

Only I didn't hold it for long.

As we stepped into the two-­story living area with the folding doors that opened to the patio, Lester Dickens rose from a chair and opened his arms. “Cissy, darlin',” he said, like they were long lost pals. “You look as pretty as ever.”

“Lester,” my mother said stiffly, turning her head when he tried to plant a kiss on her lips. He caught her cheek instead. “I know you don't have long so let's get started. Andrea's anxious to see more of the place.”

“That's right, you were here for the wedding, weren't you?” he remarked, giving me a squinty-­eyed stare.

“Yes,” I replied and wished he didn't give me the heebie-­jeebies.

“You sure you're interested in my place?” he asked and took a step away. “It's eight thousand square feet so we could be here all night. Is there somethin' specific you're looking for?” he asked, wandering over near a big round marble coffee table. “Something like this,” he said, and he practically pointed down at a laptop with a hot pink smiley face sticker.

My heart nearly jumped from my chest. I knew instantly the computer belonged to Terra Smith.

She's here
, I thought and looked at my mother. She was here, and Lester knew that was why we'd come. Oh, man, we were so screwed.

“Something wrong, ladies?” Lester asked, smirking the way Olivia used to when she was sure she'd bested me.

I hoped to hell that Stephen had called the police already 'cause Plan A had gone out the window, and we didn't have a Plan B.

“You know, on second thought,” I said, trying hard not to panic, “this place is way too big. It's not really what I'm looking for at all.”

“Are you sure? Because I could swear I've got what you're after. Hold on a sec,” Lester remarked, and nodded at the clean-­shaven Pete. He disappeared for a few minutes only to return carrying a woman in his arms. Her head hung slack, her two-­toned hair swaying. I could see her hands were bound behind her back and her mouth was duct-­taped.

Pete deposited her on one of the plush sofas.

It was Terra Smith.

And she wasn't moving.

“Good Lord, Lester!” Mother said. “What have you done? Is she dead?”

“Not yet,” Dickens said. “She's still breathing for now. When she realized I wasn't gonna go for her tricks, she told us you'd be coming. She also spilled quite a bit of detail about how you've been sniffing around trying to save that cake baker's neck.” He shook his head, rubbing his jaw. “This low-­life girl who was so desperate for money she would've given up her own mama.”

“What's wrong with you, Lester?” Cissy said, and her voice shook. “Are you just going to keep hurting people until there's no one left?”

“If I have to,” he replied, walking up to my mother, his hands on his hips. “I really hate to do this, Cissy, 'cause I like you. I truly do. But you should have left well enough alone.”

“You're out of your mind.” Mother turned to me, her pale eyes scared. “Andrea,” she said, “we should go.”

“No, ma'am, you should stay,” Lester said and grabbed her arm. “In fact, I insist.”

“Andrea, go!” my mother shouted, and I turned to run.

I raced like a bat out of hell through the foyer and got to the front door, only to fling it wide and find a Black Suit on the other side. Before I knew what hit me, he grabbed me and put me in a chokehold I couldn't break.

I couldn't breathe. I clawed at his arms, struggling for air, but his grip didn't ease. What would Nancy Drew do? I wondered, but my mind was going black. I started to pray, and my last thought was:
Dear God, don't let me die and leave Brian to Allie.

Then nothing.

 

When I came to, I heard their voices even before I could force my eyes into slits.

“Cissy, darlin', I had no choice,” Dickens was saying, his Texas twang sounding mournful. “My back was against the wall.”

My mother sounded way too calm. “We always have a choice, Lester, and you've got more than most.”

My cheek pressed into the floor and my mouth was so dry I couldn't have gotten a word out, even if my lips weren't wearing duct tape. I tried to wriggle my hands, but the tape around them was wrapped so tightly. I quickly realized my ankles were bound, too.

Lester sighed and walked across the room. I could just see his cowboy boots and a little of his cuffs. “I didn't do it just for me, or even for Vernon. I did it for the country,
my
country,” he said and then turned around. He sounded chockful of self-­righteousness. “We're going to hell in a handbasket here, if you haven't noticed, and I want to do something about it. If I can get Vernon in the White House where he belongs—­”

“You killed a girl,” my mother interrupted. “You murdered her in cold blood, and you're going to kill another.”

“For God's sake, Cissy,
I
didn't do the killing.”

“No, you hid behind your money,” she told him, and her voice trembled, not with fear but with fury. “You had one of your goons do it for you, just like a mobster, and you framed a lovely, kindhearted woman so you wouldn't get caught.”

“It's called collateral damage,” Dickens insisted, and those cowboy boots turned around and headed back to the chair where my mother sat. “It's a by-­product of war. Ask any vet who's ever served.”

If I rolled my head slightly back, I could see him get down on his haunches to look her in the eye. Her ankles were bound to the chair legs with duct tape, and I'd wager her arms were bound, too.

“Oh, Lester, you've never been in the military,” my mother scolded in the same tone she'd used when I'd done something to disappoint her. “This isn't a war you're fighting, not one for this country anyway. You were doing this for yourself. You were protecting Vernon from his own weaknesses. He cheated on Shelby and got Olivia pregnant—­”

“And she was going to blab it on her damned show!” Lester sprang to his feet, and I winced as he pounded a fist against the wall. “She was going to blow everything to smithereens so she could get more press. That damned girl didn't care about anything but herself. Why else would she have used her wiles on Vern to get him in the sack?”

My mother sniffed. “Oh, yes, I'm sure it was all her doing,” she said.

“You're not seein' the big picture here, Cissy!”

“Oh, I see it just fine.”

And so could I, even with my brain still half foggy and my throat aching like someone had karate-­chopped it.

If Olivia had made her affair with Senator Ryan public knowledge—­if she'd gone through with the pregnancy—­the senator would never have survived the scandal. Maybe Shelby would have stood by her man, but his party would have forced him to bow out of the election. And Lester Dickens could kiss his chance at getting a president in the White House good-­bye.

“It's going to all come out anyway,” Mother said. “They're going to use DNA to find the baby's father. They can do that stuff, you know. It's not just made up for
Law & Order.
”

“We'll see about that,” Lester chuffed. “I have friends in high places, darlin'. Reports can be changed. Lab results can be fabricated.”

I tried to squirm like an inchworm but I hardly moved. It was more like the futile flapping of a dying fish. The best I could do was angle my head to better see them.

My mother kept talking. “Are you just going to keep murdering anyone who gets in the way of your grand scheme, Lester? Shame on you! If Adelaide were still alive, she'd be appalled at the man you've become.”

“Don't you bring Adelaide into this,” Dickens said, and he came away from the window to bend low over my mother.

“You already did,” Cissy said in her
I'm so disgusted
voice, “when you used Stayman to mask your dirty deeds. You know how Adelaide loved that pup, and now you've sullied his name, too.”

“I did what needed doing,” Lester said, “and I'd do it again. In fact, I think I'd better see if we can fit two more bodies on the heli to Austin tonight—­”

The door came open and Lester Dickens froze.

I tried to turn my head to see who'd come in, praying like heck it was the cops. But I could only see a pair of legs in dark denim and a pair of tailored loafers with tassels. They looked like the Bruno Maglis my father used to wear on weekends.

“Les, you have to let them go,” a man said, and I realized it was Vernon Ryan.

I closed my eyes and thought,
Thank God
.

“I mean it,” the senator said, taking a few more steps in. “This has to stop now.”

“Get out of here, boy,” Lester railed at him. “You've made a mess enough, and I'm just trying to clean it up. Let me handle things—­”

“I called the police,” Vern announced, and he walked over to the chair that held my mother. “I'm going to tell them everything about me and Olivia, about the baby, about you. I can't keep pretending I don't know what's going on, Les.”

“You called the cops? Son of a bitch!” Lester fumed, and his cowboy boots stomped straight up to Vernon Ryan. They had to be standing nose-­to-­nose. “What the hell'd you go and do that for?”

I heard a soft grunt. Lester must have pushed hard as the senator fell back into a standing lamp, knocking it over. It clattered to the floor near my head, and I winced.

Ryan bent to pick it up, and he saw me watching. He gave me a vague nod, as though to reassure me everything would be okay.

Slowly, he righted the lamp and then he stood.