Winter Break (34 page)

Vivian was in Mexico, a small town on the west coast, not far from Puerto Nuevo. She was perfectly safe, learning bits of Spanish. And the happiest she’d ever been. She’d met her soul mate. An expatriate who’d made a fortune and retired young. Named Oliver Hines.

What? Harper stared at the name. It was Lou’s alias.

But Lou was dead.

‘Oliver?’ Hank was also puzzled. ‘Remember – wasn’t it Lou’s name?’

Harper pictured Lou kissing her mother goodbye. The new gold chain around his neck. The duffel bag in his hands – had Lou somehow survived?

But how? And, if he was, then the dead guy hadn’t been Lou or Sty. So whose body had been in the Camry? Whose ashes were in the urn?

Harper had no idea. But, somehow, Lou had pulled it off. He’d stolen half a million dollars from the mob, and faked his death so they wouldn’t come after him. He’d gotten away with it. Nobody – especially not Wally Cobretti – had a clue.

‘You think it’s him?’ Harper stared at the card.

Hank nodded. ‘Don’t know how, but yes.’

‘Me, too.’ Harper picked up slices of provolone, layered them on the rolls. ‘It’s got to be him.’

‘Hard to believe.’ Hank munched a pickle.

‘What?’ Harper looked up from the tomato slices.

‘Oliver already,’ he smirked. ‘Never thought she’d. Get over Lou.’

Hank tossed the Best Baby Names book onto the coffee table. It landed on his plate, crushing the uneaten crust of his hoagie roll. ‘How about you name. Girl. I name boy.’

Harper frowned. ‘How about not? How about we pick a name together?’

‘But you don’t like my names.’ He crossed his arms, pouting.

‘I like some of them.’

‘Name one.’

Harper stalled, moved closer to him on the sofa, leaned against his shoulder.

‘Go on. Waiting.’

‘Well, you don’t like my names either. You nixed Gabriel and Gideon and Burke—’

‘I like Billy. Normal.’

Someone knocked at the door. Neither moved right away, but their eyes met, sharing a thought. It had to be Rivers again. With yet more bad news. The knocking continued. Finally, Harper pushed herself up.

‘No, I’ll go.’ Hank reached for his crutches.

‘It’s all right.’ Harper was already on her way, but Hank got up, too, and was standing behind her when she opened the door.

The person knocking wasn’t Detective Rivers. It was a skinny redhead with smeared mascara. And behind her were two huge men, each of whom dwarfed Hank, standing ready like bodyguards. Or thugs.

‘We’d like to talk.’ The woman’s voice was high and scratchy. Almost childlike. ‘Can we come in?’

‘Sorry—’ Harper had been about to say that they must have the wrong house but she stopped, recognizing the black SUV in the driveway.

‘You guys wait on the porch, okay?’ The woman left the thugs at the door and headed right past Harper and Hank into the living room, took a seat on the sofa. Pulled a tissue out of her sleeve. Blew her nose.

‘Let’s not bullshit,’ she said. ‘These guys have been watching your house, so I know you know Lou. I know he was staying here. I know he had money that didn’t belong to him. And I know—’

‘Lou’s dead,’ Hank said.

‘Look, whoever you are, Lou was our guest.’ Harper crossed her arms, remained standing. ‘That’s it. We know nothing about his money or his work. So, unless there’s something else . . .’ She gestured toward the door.

‘No, you don’t understand. I’m not here about Lou. I know he’s dead. And I don’t care about the money.’ Her voice cracked and tears washed mascara down her cheeks. ‘Please, sit down. I can’t talk with you standing. Just – please.’ She sniffed, dabbed her eyes.

‘Who are you?’ Harper sat on the easy chair. Hank stood beside her.

‘My name’s Rita. I’m an old friend of Lou’s. And I’m trying to locate a mutual friend – Wally Cobretti.’

Harper felt Hank’s eyes on her, but she didn’t waver, didn’t let on she’d heard the name before.

‘Wally had plans to visit Lou Christmas Eve.’

Which was the day Lou left. The day the Camry crashed and burned.

‘They were going to meet at noon, but Wally came down early, to surprise Lou.’

‘I don’t see how we can help you,’ Harper said. ‘We were here Christmas Eve, but didn’t see anyone.’ Except that, no, wait. They hadn’t been there – she’d just escaped from Sty and they’d gone to the hospital.

‘You didn’t see a black SUV? Like the one out front?’

Had she? From the gurney? Harper wasn’t sure.

‘No,’ Hank said. He sounded definite.

‘See, we don’t even know if he ever arrived here. All we know is he left to see Lou. And ten days later, nobody’s seen or heard from Wally. And we can’t ask Lou if he ever got here, because Lou’s dead.’

Harper let herself look at Hank. His eyes were steady, somber. ‘Not in papers,’ he said.

‘No. We don’t want anyone to know he’s missing.’

Harper raised her eyebrows, trying to seem baffled. ‘Did your friend have enemies? Would anyone want to hurt him?’ Other than, say, Lou?

Rita’s eyes widened. ‘That’s just the thing. He had a lot of . . . rivals in business. And some people hold grudges. So I’ve – we’ve been asking around. Nobody admits to knowing anything. But the strangest thing – his car turned up the other day. All the way in Arizona.’

Arizona? Not Mexico? Harper wondered why Lou had dumped it. ‘You think he was carjacked?’

Rita shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ She let out a loud sigh. ‘Well, you were about my last hope. I believe you don’t know anything.’ She met Harper’s eyes. ‘Honestly, I’m afraid something terrible happened to him.’

Harper didn’t know what to say. Certainly not the fact that Wally Cobretti’s body had been mistaken for Lou, that his ashes were sitting right there on her mantelpiece.

‘I guess this is another dead end.’ Rita stood and sashayed to the door where the thugs waited to escort her to the car.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Hank said, ‘Lou killed him?’

Harper shook her head. ‘Not possible. Lou’s dead.’

Hank didn’t smile. ‘Lou killed this guy.’

‘I know.’ And her mother was living with a killer. Not that there was anything to be done about it. Who knew? It might have been self-defense.

‘Big guys.’ Hank came over to the easy chair. ‘You okay?’

She nodded. ‘You?’

‘Could have. Taken them.’ He smiled and kissed her neck. He hadn’t shaved; his whiskers tickled, gave her gooseflesh.

Harper stood and met his lips. Wrapped her arms around him. Slowly, almost predictably, a contraction took hold. Without ending the kiss, Harper dug her fingers into Hank’s back, closed her eyes and hung on.