A Gift of Time (The Nine Minutes Trilogy Book 3) (9 page)

“And you
believe them?” Uncle Will snorted. “Like I said, it don’t surprise me one bit
that you can’t get anybody to talk. They’re still afraid of him. Were you
raised here, Miss Cowan? In South Florida?”

“No. I’ve
been here two years. I was raised up north. Why?”

“Because you
go up to any stranger on the street, ask them if they lived here in the
seventies or eighties, and say the name ‘Grizz.’ They’ll remember. They may not
wanna talk about it, but they’ll remember.”

She rolled
her eyes. “Is there anything else, Mr. Jackson? Anything else you can tell me
before I decide whether or not it’s worth my time to follow your idiotic
suggestion that I interview strangers off the street?”

“Yeah,
there’s something else. Why don’t you go talk to the woman he used to be
married to? Oh, wait, that’s right. You can’t because you don’t know her name.
You’re not even sure she exists.”

Jackson sat
up to reach for his cigarette, which was smoldering in an ashtray on the coffee
table. Leslie stared at him without saying anything as he brought the cigarette
to his lips and inhaled. He blew the smoke out slowly, then leaned back.

“The new
husband used to be called Grunt. He worked at some fancy architectural firm but
quit after the trial. The trial you can’t seem to find. You must be one helluva
reporter.” He sneered. “I hear Grunt has his own company now. Dillon and
Something, somewhere in Fort Lauderdale.”

This caught
Nick’s attention. Dillon? He knew Keith “Blue” Dillon wasn’t an architect. They
must be related. Interesting.

Jackson
watched as Leslie stiffened at the insult and wrote something in her notebook.

“And because
I’m feeling mighty generous I’ll even throw you a bone,” he said. “Rumor had it
that when Grizz’s wife married Dillon, she was pregnant with Grizz’s baby.
Heard it was a girl. She’d be about what, fourteen or fifteen by now? If you
can’t find Dillon, maybe you’ll find something through hospital records. Who
knows.”

Leslie stood
to leave, but not before she asked one more question.

“Why, Mr.
Jackson? Why did you say you’d talk to me? Why are you sharing all this? If this
guy really is as evil as you say he is, why risk telling me if there’s a chance
he’ll send somebody after you?”

He looked at
her seriously. “I’ve got nothing better to do. And besides, I know you’re too
smart to let anybody know you actually talked to me. Aren’t you, Miss Cowan?”

The way he
said the last sentence sent a chill up Leslie’s spine. Had she been too casual
with this man? She’d interviewed worse criminals than him. How dangerous could
a shriveled-up old man attached to an oxygen tank be?

But what if
it was true and he had belonged to a biker gang? Just because she couldn’t find
anything didn’t mean they didn’t exist, and if she was going to be honest with
herself, she was even more intrigued now that she’d found out all of this could
really be true and someone had gone to extreme measures to make sure it was
erased. This could be one hell of a story if she could just get some facts to
substantiate even a few of the tales William Jackson had told her the last time
she was here.

The one
thing she hadn’t told Jackson was that she wasn’t being exactly truthful about
talking to newspaper or police contacts. She didn’t really have any. Leslie had
pissed off all the wrong people when she’d first started out in Fort
Lauderdale. She’d always been the type to not care. As far as she was
concerned, even bad publicity was some publicity. Yes, she was making a name
for herself, but not in a good way.

She’d find
out more about this Grizz person and she would write her article, have it
published. And they could all kiss her ass on their way to hell.

She nodded
at the man and headed for the front door. She was closing the door behind her
when she heard William Jackson’s voice call out:

“Don’t let
the oxygen tank fool you, Miss Cowan. Call me idiotic again, and I’ll strangle
the life out of that pretty neck of yours. After all, I’ve got nothing better
to do.”

Chapter Fourteen

Mimi

2000,
Fort Lauderdale (Five Months Before the Execution)

“
Yes, sir, that’s
a dozen white roses, and yes, I can
guarantee they’ll be delivered on Friday afternoon to your wife’s work.”

Mimi was
typing the man’s information into the computer and balancing the telephone
tightly between her cheek and shoulder. She paused as the man said something
else. She repeated the delivery address and message that was to be written on
the card, took his credit card information, and patiently explained for a
second time that the delivery was guaranteed for the date and time he
requested. She ignored his comment that the price for the roses was ridiculous
considering they would be dead and in the garbage in a week. Then they hung up.

“If you’re
worried about them dying, buy her something that won’t die,” she grumbled to
herself.

“Somebody
giving you a hard time?” a male voice asked.

Mimi whipped
around and came face-to-chest with a customer who’d slipped into the flower
shop unnoticed. She quickly looked away, embarrassed she’d been heard. Without
looking up, she said to the counter, “I think some people aren’t happy unless
they’re complaining.”

“Well, I hope
he wasn’t too nasty. If he was, you’ll have to ask your boyfriend to beat him
up or something.”

She raised
her eyes at the comment and found herself looking into the face of the cutest
guy who’d ever walked through the doors of the flower shop. She’d been working
there since right before Valentine’s Day, and she’d never waited on somebody
this young or this handsome.

His good
looks and wide, bright smile caught her off-guard, and she didn’t know what to
say. He must’ve realized he made her uncomfortable, because he quickly added,
“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. I mean, I’m sure you have a boyfriend,
and what he does or doesn’t do isn’t any of my business. I’m just saying I
wouldn’t let anybody talk to my girlfriend like that. Not that you’re my girlfriend!
I mean, of course you’re not my girlfriend. I don’t even know your name. Not
that knowing your name would mean you’re my girlfriend. I don’t know what I’m
even saying. I’m shutting up now.”

Mimi just
smiled at him. She realized he was even more nervous than she was. She couldn’t
take her eyes off the deep dimple in his left cheek. The cheek that was turning
bright red along with the rest of his face.

She extended
her hand over the counter.

“I’m Mimi.”

He breathed
a visible sigh of relief and accepted her outreached hand.

“Elliott.
I’m Elliott. It’s nice to meet you, Mimi.”

After a
brief and uncomfortable pause, Mimi asked, “What can I help you with?”

“Oh, yeah,
flowers. I need some flowers for my grandmother’s eightieth birthday. I want
something special, but not too much money.”

He looked
away, embarrassed.

Mimi almost
sighed out loud. Oh, my gosh. How cute was this guy, and he’s buying flowers
for his grandmother? She had to stifle a nervous giggle.

To prevent
herself from turning into a full-fledged idiot, she kicked into professional
mode. It took about thirty minutes for him to finally decide on a spring
arrangement in his price range. Mimi was grateful nobody had come into the
shop. She couldn’t be certain, but she was pretty sure he’d been flirting with
her and actually dragging out the time it had taken to select such a simple
arrangement. Her employer, Maggie, was out making deliveries, and Mimi was in
the shop by herself. She was only fifteen, but she’d proven herself to be a
trustworthy and competent employee. Maggie was relieved and grateful Mimi could
manage the shop alone when Maggie had to make deliveries. They’d recently lost
two full-time employees.

Elliott
almost seemed reluctant to leave after paying for his flowers and watching Mimi
carefully wrap them.

“It was nice
meeting you,” he said as she handed him his bouquet. He walked slowly to the
door.

“Nice
meeting you, too,” Mimi called out after him, an annoyed look on her face as
the telephone interrupted their goodbye. She wondered if she would ever see him
again.

It’s
probably just as well. This was probably the first and last time she’d ever lay
eyes on Elliott.

“Maggie’s
Floral Designs, this is Mimi, how can I help you?”

Listening to
the caller, her demeanor immediately changed. Gone was the girl who was still a
little high from flirting with a cute boy. She stood up straight, and in her
best business voice replied to the woman on the other end of the phone.

“I got your
message, Leslie. I’ll be there.”

She hung up
unceremoniously and walked to the window to see if she could catch a glimpse of
Elliott driving or walking away. She was too late. He was already gone.

Mimi spent
the rest of the afternoon keeping busy and reflecting on the first time she’d
met Leslie. It was right after New Year’s. Mimi had been walking around the
mall asking some of the smaller shops for job applications. She’d taken a break
to sit down on a bench and sort through the paperwork she’d collected when
Leslie sat down beside her and struck up a casual conversation. Mimi hadn’t
wanted to appear rude by completely ignoring the woman, so she only
half-engaged in the conversation. Her friend Lindsay would be meeting up with
her in less than twenty minutes to give her a ride home. Lindsay had no
interest in working, so she used the afternoon to shop while Mimi gathered
applications.

“You don’t
even have to work,” Lindsay had said when they’d first arrived at the mall.
“Why do you need to get a job? Your parents are making you, aren’t they?”

“Yes and no.
I don’t have to work, but my parents think it’s a good idea, and I do, too.”

Lindsay
stopped in her tracks and stared at Mimi, mouth agape. “You want to? Are you
serious, Mimi?”

Mimi kept on
walking. “You act like work is a death sentence.”

“It is a
death sentence. You are nuts!” Lindsay quickened her pace to catch back up to
Mimi. “I’m going to marry the richest guy that comes along. He doesn’t even
need to be good looking. I don’t care. I’ll have a cute boyfriend on the side
if I need to, but I am not working. Besides, I can’t think of anything I want
to do that could earn the kind of money needed to keep me in designer clothes.
Nope, I’m not going to even try to get those things by earning them. Well, I’ll
earn them all right, but not with a regular job.” She laughed at her own
innuendo.

Mimi shook
her head and smiled. She knew Lindsay wasn’t teasing. And she was certain her
friend would have no trouble at all finding a man willing to take care of her
and finance her expensive tastes.

Lindsay was
runway model beautiful. Tall and slender, with caramel colored skin and exotic
almond shaped eyes, she was a natural beauty. But while she was a sweet girl,
she had no ambition—or at least not the same kind of ambition as Mimi’s.
Mimi was going to be a journalist, and even though her parents thought it was
their prompting that had motivated her to look for a job, she was more than
happy to do it. She wanted to put herself out there, get some interaction with
people outside of her comfort zones, which were school and church. Retail would
be the perfect opportunity. She’d be exposed to all different kinds of
characters, and she actually looked forward to it. She’d already applied for a
work permit since she wouldn’t be sixteen until next year, and had submitted
applications to a local ice cream shop and florist, but she hadn’t heard
anything. Yet. When Lindsay had suggested a trip to the mall, Mimi decided to
shop for a job instead.

Now on the
bench with the random woman who wouldn’t stop chitchatting, Mimi stifled a
yawn.

“So, looks
like you’re applying for jobs. Is that what you’re interested in? Retail?” the
woman, Leslie, asked.

“Nope.” Mimi
scanned the shops, not looking at the woman. “Just looking to get some
real-world experience. I’m going to be a journalist.”

This was too
good to be true, Leslie thought to herself.

“Why don’t
you try to get a job at a newspaper or something? That’s what I did when I was
starting out.”

Mimi looked
over then. “You’re a journalist?”

“Yep. I work
for a little magazine called Loving Lauderdale, and I freelance for other,
bigger publications. Right now, I’m working on a story for Rolling Stone.
You’ve heard of them, right?”

“Uh, yeah,
I’ve heard of them. Everybody’s heard of them. You write for them?”

“Working on
a story for them right now. It’s a rough story, though.” Leslie shook her head.
“I had to take a break from writing and just do something different. That’s why
I’m here. Taking a break to do some people-watching. It helps me relax. So why
aren’t you trying to get a job with a newspaper or something?”

“I tried.
They flat-out told me they weren’t hiring, and if they were, it would be
college-age applicants with a little more experience than me,” Mimi said, the
disappointment in her tone unmistakable.

“What?
You’re not in college? I took you for someone much older,” Leslie lied. She
knew Mimi’s age.

“No,” Mimi
smiled. “I’m still in high school. I thought a job in retail would at least
give me some experience dealing with the public.”

“Oh, so
you’re smart and ambitious. You’ll be a great journalist.” Leslie looked at her
watch, feigning mild disinterest and trying to provide a subtle hint that this
conversation would soon be over. It didn’t go unnoticed. She had the girl’s
attention.

“So what’s
the rough story you’re working on?” Mimi asked. “What’s so awful that you
needed to take a break from writing?”

“Oh, I’m not
sure I can tell you. It’s pretty serious, and I’d have to be able to trust you,
and I don’t even know you. I mean, we just met.”

Mimi sat up
straight and looked at Leslie with wide eyes. “You can trust me. I won’t tell a
soul. Nobody. Not my friends. Not my parents. Especially not my parents.”

“You don’t
like your parents?”

“I like my
parents. I love my parents. I’m just not sure about them. I’m not sure I really
know them. I don’t feel like they’ve been truthful with me about some things.”

Leslie
wasn’t sure what she was dealing with here. Mimi didn’t seem like a rebellious
teen, but from her body language and the comment about her parents, who Leslie
had already learned were Tommy and Ginny Dillon, she seemed to have some kind
of trust issue. This could help Leslie or hurt her. Tread lightly.

“Well, I
don’t know anything about your parents, but with most parents I know who aren’t
truthful, it’s usually because they’re trying to protect their children. Trying
to prevent them from being hurt by something.”

“Yeah, maybe
you’re right. Either way, I’m not going to tell them or anybody what your story
is about. I’ll probably never even see you again after today. Please tell me.”

“Okay,”
Leslie said finally. “You want to be a journalist, so you’ll understand the
need for secrecy. I don’t want anyone scooping my story.” She gave Mimi a
conspiratorial wink. She leaned in and whispered, “I’m investigating biker
gangs. Apparently, there was a real bad one back in the seventies from right
around this area. Rolling Stone is dedicating an issue to celebrity bikers and
asked me to write a story about real bikers.” Leslie glanced around like she
was making sure she wasn’t overheard. “There’s a biker guy sitting on death row
right now who’s supposed to be executed this summer. I’ve been told he’s a
pretty bad guy. I’m trying to get an interview with him before he dies.”

Leslie
smiled inwardly. She’d laid the foundation, and now all she had to do was
suggest that Mimi would like to cut her journalistic teeth helping with
research. She didn’t think the fifteen-year-old could offer any real help, but
Leslie would use the time with her to learn everything she could about the
Dillons. Of course, she’d tell Mimi they’d have to work together in secret.

But before
Leslie could say a word, she saw Mimi’s body language change, watched the girl
transform before her eyes. Gone was the admiring and naïve interest. Leslie's
heart skipped a beat and her confidence started to wane as she tried to figure
out what had caused the sudden change in Mimi.

Mimi stood
up and glared down at Leslie. “You are some journalist. Wow. Almost had me,
too. You never told me your name.”

Leslie
stood, too, and pretended ignorance. She quickly reminded herself that she'd
stared down hardened criminals. She could certainly handle a teenage girl with
an attitude. Her confidence restored, she extended her hand. “I don’t know what
you mean. I’m Leslie Cowan.”

Mimi ignored
the outstretched hand. “I’m Mimi Dillon, but I suspect you already know that.
And if you wanted me to help you get an interview with my biological father,
who I refer to as the evil sperm donor, you could’ve just asked me.”