The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (45 page)

"I found something," he said as soon as she answered. "An unsolved murder."

"The night Kimball and Dianne broke up?"

"Yes. Somebody killed a homeless man in one of the parks out by Lady Bird Lake. The man had been drinking, and it
appeared
he'd settled down for the night on a bench.
An unknown assailant
beat him to death with a rock. Weapon of opportunity. The murder has never been solved. The police had
no
suspects."

"That's the last piece of the puzzle," Charley said.

Amanda sank into the small desk chair and
gazed out the window, trying to wrap her mind around his latest atrocity.

"I have one more thing that may be of interest," Dawson continued. "I checked phone records, and Dianne called Kimball, for the first time since college, a week before she was killed. They talked three times, the last time being a call initiated by him at three minutes after ten o'clock on the morning of the day she was murdered. This would seem to verify your theory that he killed Dianne because she was going to confess to their murder. She must have warned him. I believe this
Roland Kimball is a
socio
path
. Perhaps you ought
to stay away from him."

"Probably. But I'm meeting him for lunch."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Amanda."

"Probably not, but it's the only one I've got at the moment."

"I have some information on Frank Sturgess, too." She listened as he told her what Sunny had already told her. "Is he still following you?"

"I don't think so. I talked to his lawyer, and she got on his case
about it
.
M
aybe you could get some information on her. She's a strange character. Sunny Donovan, a lawyer here in Silver Creek." Amanda dug through her pockets until she located the card Sunny had given her. "Looks like her real name is Suzanne. I guess everybody calls her Sunny because she's the self-appointed purveyor of sunshine in this town." She read off Sunny's office address, phone number and cell number.

"Got it. You haven't asked how business is going, but I am getting some work done in between my detective work."

Amanda smiled at her assistant's conscientiousness. "Thank you, Dawson. For everything. If I survive this, you're getting a raise when I get home."

She disconnected the call and turned to Charley. "What—" The word stuck in her throat. She swallowed and tried again. "What do you think?"

"I think we've landed in one hell of a mess."

"Of all the people you could have blackmailed, you had to pick Kimball. You couldn't blackmail a cheating husband or an accountant who was skimming money or a high school teacher with porn on his computer.
Oh, no, you had to pick a sociopath
killer to blackmail."

Charley shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Just
as
marrying Charley had seemed like a good idea at the time.

***

Amanda arrived at the Round Rock Country Club a few minutes  before noon. If this place wasn't ready for a leather jacket, blue jeans and motorcycle boots, they'd just have to get ready. She did remove the jacket in deference to the heat and carried it, along with her helmet, as she strode up the wide steps that led to the entrance.

"There he is," Charley said, pointing toward the top of the steps.

Kimball stood beside the door, waiting for her. The midday sun sitting directly overhead blinded Amanda and obscured his features. Instead of a broodingly handsome man, she saw only a tall, black, faceless shadow looming above…ominous, threatening. She hesitated halfway up the steps, Irene's words ringing through her head…
dancing with the devil.

She drew in a deep breath. If she could tangle with an amoral ghost, surely she could survive a dance with the devil.

Chin thrust forward, back
straight, she continued up the steps until she stood on equal footing with him. "Good afternoon, Your Honor." Then, because she was nervous and determined not to let him know, "Or should I call you
Roland
, and you call me
Amanda
like the other night when I visited you at your house?"

Kimball smiled tightly. "Please call me whatever you like."

Amanda restrained her impulse to say,
How about I call you Murderer?
She was here to get information from him, not to annoy him.

Kimball opened the door, and Amanda preceded him inside.

Charley came in with her. "I've always wanted to get inside this place."

Amanda gave him a
Really?
look. She'd grown up going to country clubs in Dallas, places far grander than this, and failed to see the appeal. But, she supposed, that told her something about Charley.

The dining room was cool and pleasant with elevator music streaming from the speakers. The waiter pulled out Amanda's chair. She sat obediently, then transferred her helmet and jacket to the empty chair next to her. Kimball sat across the table. Charley took the fourth chair, sitting properly erect.

Kimball ordered the steak lunch for both of them. Amanda didn't protest, but when he requested a bottle of wine, she requested a Coke.

They sat quietly until their drinks arrived and the waiter had disappeared. Kimball sipped his wine then leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "I've been doing some checking, Amanda. It seems you haven't been completely honest with me."

Amanda took a drink of her Coke. Flat and watery. She set down the glass and met Kimball's gaze. "While you, on the other hand, have been completely honest and up front with me?"

He gave her a smug, pseudo-smile. "Of course. I was completely honest when I told you it wasn't a good idea to threaten people who have more power than you do." He sat back, lifted his wine glass and drank slowly, never taking his eyes off her.

Amanda knew this was supposed to frighten her. And it did. But she wasn't about to show it. She sipped her Coke and made a face. "Too bad you don't have enough power to force these people to serve decent Cokes."

"Good one, Amanda," Charley praised.

Kimball set down his glass and again leaned toward her, his expression complacent and self-assured. "I have enough power to check the records on safety deposit boxes in Dallas. There isn't one in your name."

Charley swore.

Amanda echoed his sentiment silently.

"Tell him it's under a different name," Charley advised.

Amanda leaned back in her chair, folding her arms and trying to look smug instead of freaked out. "It's not important where the object of your desire used to be. What's important is that I have it with me now
, right here in Silver Creek
.
I took a little ride over to Dallas a few days ago. Surely your spy told you that. Now I have your little toy with me.
"

Kimball's features distorted, moving from complacent to fearful to angry, his eyes boring into hers, threatening and cold. Amanda's heart thudded into overtime. An angry Kimball was someone to fear. A frightened, angry Kimball was terrifying.

"And I want to give it back to you," she added hurriedly.

The waiter appeared with their salads. Kimball leaned back, his gaze holding hers.

"Amanda, I think you've got him hooked," Charley said. "Go slow and reel him in. Assure him you
're
ready to give him the gun."

"What do you want?" Kimball asked when the waiter was gone.
"I don't have
what you want. It's at the bottom of the Trinity River."

"
I understand," Amanda said. "That's unfortunate, but it can't be helped. I didn't realize the extent of your power." Amanda almost gagged at those words, but knew she had to say them to convince him of her change of heart. "All
I want
is
to never see you or hear from you again
.
I'm not Charley. I don't
want
your money. I just want this to be over.
Here's my offer.
I give back the item he took from you, and we go our separate ways."

Kimball studied her intently as if trying to determine her real agenda. Finally he lifted his fork and plunged it into his salad, lifting a piece of lettuce and shoving it into his mouth.

"Eat," Charley ordered. "Act relaxed. You need him to believe you're in control."

Amanda shot him a glare. She didn't like his peremptory tone, didn't like his giving her orders. Nevertheless, she conceded that it was probably good information, information gained from experience. Charley was, she realized, walking her through his formula for a scam.

She'd thought his assertion that he was going to take care of her was absurd. He couldn't fight for her. He couldn't block a bullet. But, amazingly, he was taking care of her using the only skill he possessed…he was teaching her to run a scam. Part of her wanted to slap him, but part of her was glad to have that expertise at this moment.

She speared a piece of tomato from her salad, put it in her dry mouth and chewed. With any luck, she'd
be able to swallow it sometime today
.

"Don't say anything else," Charley advised. "Let him be the one to speak next."

Finally Kimball finished his salad, laid down his fork and shoved the plate aside. Amanda had half of hers left, but was glad to lay down her fork and cease the difficult task of swallowing around the lump of fear in her throat.

"When?"

Good question. Amanda had to get possession of a gun before she could turn it over to him.

"Stand up," Charley said. "Pick up your stuff. Tell him you'll call him, then walk out."

Amanda scooted back her chair, stood, picked up her helmet and jacket and looked Kimball directly in the eye. "I'll call you." She turned and started toward the door, heart pounding, knees wobbly.

"See that you do," he said quietly. "Soon."

"Keep going. Act like you didn't hear him," Charley said.

She kept on walking, though Kimball's words had injected anger into her fear, and she wanted to turn back to him, tell him she'd call when she was damned good and ready, and he could
sit on his powerful butt and spin until then
. But Charley was choreographing this scene. Charley knew way more about dealing with lowlifes and criminals than she did.
In this situation, his field of expertise, she let him call the shots.

As she crossed the parking lot to her motorcycle, she caught a glimpse of a red-haired woman driving away
in a red sedan
. Sunny Donovan? Could be. It was lunch time, and Sunny was a lawyer. She would likely be a member of the country club so she could
entertain clients there. A
ssuming she had clients of a different class from Charley and Frank Sturgess. Too bad they'd missed each other. She could have used a friendly face while dueling with Kimball.