Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (39 page)

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“Are you Marie Jenner?” the big guy asked. To be honest, he was bigger than big. He was like a mountain dressed in a really expensive looking suit and Italian leather shoes. He made me nervous.

So nervous I said, “Yes,” instead of telling him to go to hell.

“You got something for me?” he asked. His voice sounded like it was coming from the centre of the earth or something. He held out a hand that was as big as a foot, and waggled sausage fingers at me.

I handed him the envelope, and he rammed it into his inside breast pocket. “We’ll be in touch,” he said. “Soon.”

James sauntered into the reception area, his nose still in the book he’d been reading.

“Look who Helen sent,” I said.

James looked up, and shrugged. “Make sure your contract’s iron clad,” he said to the big guy. “She’ll rip you off, just like she did us.”

The big guy’s forehead creased as he frowned. “Who are you talkin’ about?” he asked.

“Helen Latterson,” James said. “Don’t let her rip you off.”

He looked at me, smiling at his joke, then back at the big guy, who was staring at him, frowning hugely. Man, everything this guy did was huge.

When the big guy said, “Mrs. Latterson. Right,” sounding like he’d never heard her name before in his life, I knew we had a problem.

James turned to me as the big guy left, slamming the door shut so hard I was certain the glass was going to shatter.

“I have a question,” James asked.

“What?” I said, reaching for my sweater.

“Do you think that guy really works for Mrs. Latterson?”

I stopped, and turned to him. “No,” I said. “I really don’t.”

“Neither do I,” James said.

“That’s why I’ve decided to follow him,” I said.

James chuckled. “You?”

“Don’t you think I can follow somebody?” I asked. “I can do it.” I pulled on my sweater. “Watch me.”

“Good grief,” James said, taking me by the arm. “Nobody can take a joke today.”

“Maybe because you’re not funny,” I said.

“Yes, I am,” James said. “I’m hilarious.”

“How about if I follow him,” Farley said. “While you play the sexual tension game with Jimmy boy.”

I wished for just a second that I could touch Farley, because I would have slapped him for the sexual tension comment, but then I realized that Farley had actually come up with a good idea. He’d have much better luck following the big guy than I would. I nodded, and Farley dove through the door.

“Fine,” I said, to James. “You’re hilarious. Now, what are we going to do about the mystery man?”

“I say we call Sergeant Worth and let her know,” James said, pulling out his cell phone and pressing a button. He had Worth’s number on speed dial. “And then we go for breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” I’d forgotten the celebration breakfast.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.

“I’m starving,” I replied. That was the honest truth.

James’ smile faded as he obviously got the sergeant’s voicemail. He left a brief message telling her to call him back, then grabbed my hand and pulled me to the door.

“Let’s see what he’s driving,” he said. “My guess, a Lincoln Navigator.”

I shrugged. I had no idea what one of those looked like.

We opened the door, and the hallway was empty. We ran down the three flights of stairs and out into the street. The big guy was gone. So was Farley.

“Son of a gun,” James said. “He was fast.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “Worth will figure out who he is. Let’s go get breakfast.”

“Okay,” he said. But he didn’t sound like he was all that hungry anymore.

I wished I could tell him that I had a tail on the big guy, but I couldn’t.

More secrets.

As I followed James into the restaurant, I wished for the briefest of moments that I had no more secrets. None at all.

Farley:
Following the Mountain . . .

I’d never had the chance to ride in a Lincoln Navigator before. Nice ride, and the bruiser behind the wheel handled the car like a real pro. As he drove, he pulled out the envelope Marie had given him. Looked at the name scrawled across the front, snorted, and pulled his cell phone free.

“Yeah, hi,” he said after a long wait. “Is he in? I got an issue here.” Then he sat, a massive stone statue with a cell phone glued to its head, while he waited to be connected to whoever had sent him over.

So, Marie was right. This guy had not been sent by Helen Latterson. Who was the “he” this bruiser was waiting to talk to?

“Yeah, hi.” The mountain finally moved, shifting the cell phone and sitting straighter as he spoke. “I went to talk to Jenner like you told me to—but she handed me an envelope.” He glanced down at the envelope. “It’s addressed to Helen Latterson. Yeah. Latterson. L-A-T—yeah, yeah, that’s right. When I saw the name, I thought you’d want to see it. So, I booked.”

He tore open the envelope, obviously at the command of whoever was his boss. He stared at the papers for a long moment, then shifted the cell back up to his ear.

“Looks like a bill. $230.00. For services rendered. Plus photocopies of some bank statements.”

The big guy shifted uncomfortably. He had no idea what he was holding in his hand, and since there was no-one to beat up or squeeze the life out of, he obviously wanted to shift the thinking duties to someone else.

“You wanna see it? Yeah. I’m on my way.” He clicked off the phone, and heaved a sigh as he kicked the Navigator to high gear, heading to the good end of down town.

I crossed my fingers, hoping wherever he was heading was within my stupid ten block radius, and for once, I was in luck. At nine and a half blocks, we stopped in front of a glass and steel tower, and the bruiser shoehorned himself out of the Navigator. He entered the building, heading for the elevators. It didn’t take long before we were packed in that elevator with a lot of other people, and let me tell you, I was making many of them extremely nervous. We shot up to the twenty-first floor. It didn’t surprise me at all when I saw the name on the door as the bruiser pushed his way into the office. “C&R Holdings.” Coulda made money on a bet like that.

The bruiser barely glanced at the petite woman sitting behind the desk as he walked to a door to an interior office. As he reached out to put his hand on the door knob, the door flew open and Carruthers stepped through, acting a lot less cool, calm, and collected than usual. The big guy jumped back like a frightened girl.

Without a look up—way up—Carruthers hooked a finger at the guy and turned back into his office. The bruiser followed, as meek as a lamb. He shut the door behind him, then stood, quietly, before the desk.

“I told you to take care of Marie Jenner,” he said.

“She’s not going anywhere,” the big guy replied, but he sounded nervous. Really nervous. “I think you want to see what she handed me.”

“Give them to me,” Carruthers said, and the big guy handed over the envelope, apologizing quietly for having ripped it. Carruthers paid him no heed, placing the sheets of paper before him on the desk and staring at them, going from one to the next very deliberately. If the vein on his forehead hadn’t started to throb, you would’ve sworn he was reading the Sunday funnies.

“That idiot!” he finally growled. “I told him to treat his wife with more respect. Look at this!”

The big guy obediently stared down at the pages on the desk top. They were upside down, and he had no clue what they meant anyway, but he stared at them all the same. “Just look at what that idiot has done,” Carruthers said again, his voice sounding strangled.

“Yeah boss.” The big guy hung there, staring at the pages, waiting for his next instructions.

“I have had just about enough of Miss Marie Jenner,” Carruthers said. “She has to go.” He tapped the photocopies of the bank statements. “So does Helen Latterson, unfortunately. Make her disappear. Make them both disappear. Understand?”

“Yeah, sure thing, boss.” He turned to leave, stopping when Carruthers rapped his knuckles, hard, on his desk. “This gets handled today. Both of them. Today! Understand?”

“Yeah. No problem.”

“Try not to hurt the kids.”

The big guy nodded, then his forehead knotted. “What about the guy the Jenner broad is hanging around with?”

“The caretaker? Eliminate him, too. He’s nothing to me.”

“Got it.”

So did I. I got it in spades. I needed to get back to Marie before the big guy found them and killed them. Killed them all.

Marie:
Breakfast, and What Happened After That

Breakfast was great, until Farley came back. I was slopping a piece of brown toast in the last of the egg yolk left on my plate when he burst into the restaurant, screaming his head off.

“Helen!” he yelled, flying through a number of patrons, and putting about half the breakfast crowd off their eggs and bacon. “It’s Helen!”

I was proud of myself. I didn’t jump when he exploded into the room screaming like a banshee. I wanted to enjoy the last of my breakfast, and nipped off a piece of the yolk-soaked bread, and rolled my eyes at him. So the big guy actually had been sent by Mrs. Latterson. What could possibly be the problem with that?

“It’s Helen!” he yelled again. Louder this time. As though he thought it would help.

“So, do you think Mrs. Latterson will pay that invoice?” I asked James. “Or will she try to stiff us for that, too?”

“Only if the big guy was really working for her,” James said. “However, Sergeant Worth can deal with that.” He turned back to his own piece of toast, which was generously slathered with strawberry jam.

I gave Farley my best “What’s your problem” look, and turned back to my meal.

“The guy who picked up the envelope wasn’t sent by Helen Latterson,” Farley said. “He was one of George Carruthers’ goons. Carruthers sent him to talk to you about the $50,000 cheque. You remember that? He hadn’t heard from you, and was making absolutely sure you were doing what you’d promised. “

I gasped. It was Tuesday. He’d been expecting a call from me, thanking him for the $50,000, and promising I would leave town, and stay out of his life forever. Instead, I’d sent him an invoice intended for Latterson’s wife, with photocopies of the bank statements that showed Carruthers had paid Latterson two days before Farley had been killed.

“He took one look at the bank statements and went ballistic,” Farley continued. “He said that you had just signed Latterson’s wife’s death warrant, and told the goon you both had to die. Jesus, Marie, the goon is going to Helen’s house right now, because of what was in that envelope. And he’s going to kill you next! So quit screwing around with the toast and call the fucking cops! Right now!”

I threw down my knife and fork and pushed my chair back so fast it slammed into the chair behind it.

“I have to go,” I said to James, who was staring at me, openmouthed, strawberry jam dripping from his toast. “I have to make a phone call.”

“Right now? You’re not finished with your breakfast —” Then he really looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Please pay the bill and come up to the office. I’ll tell you as much as I can when you get there. God, I have to go!”

I dashed for the door, more frightened than I had been in a long time. I could feel James watching me, a thoughtful expression on his face, but I didn’t have time for him. I had to phone the police.

I tried getting hold of Sergeant Worth, but her phone was still going to voicemail, so I dialed 911 instead. Explained everything as well as I could, and that Sergeant Worth should be informed. “Please send police to Helen Latterson’s house right now. She’s going to be killed, and it’s because of me. Something I did. You’ve got to save her. Please!”

I was still on the phone when Farley came in. I was impatiently drumming on the desk with my fingernails, then really had a look at them. They were ragged. The past few days had done nothing for my manicure.

“You and Jimmy boy are in trouble, too,” he said. “Did you mention that?”

No, I hadn’t. In my haste to try to save Helen, I’d forgotten that James and I were next on Carruthers’ kill list.

“I think I’m a target too,” I said. Saying it out loud like that frightened me so much, I started to cry. “Please stop him. Please.”

I grabbed an invoice sitting on the desk and read the address to the operator. “That’s where I am. Please hurry. Yes. I will. Yes I’ll stay on the line. Thank you. Thank you.”

I covered the receiver with one hand, and leaned back in my seat, suddenly too exhausted to move.

“Everything I do turns to shit,” I whispered. “I can’t keep going on like this.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Farley said, looking like he couldn’t believe he was going to have to give me the “Come on, buck up speech,” not when there was a hired thug coming to do major damage if the cops didn’t catch him first.