The Fallen Angels Book Club (7 page)

Every once in a while—actually more often than I like to admit—I am at a loss for words.

I mentally scrambled to get back my balance. For once, Richard skipped sucking his teeth and patiently waited for me take a sip of tea.

“What do you mean you
just
found out he was blackmailing you? You didn't know?”

“I didn't know for sure. I got written instructions to leave an envelope at a particular location. In retrospect, I should have realized it was Rory.” He took a slow sip of coffee. “It was stupid, of course, but I didn't know what else to do but pay.”

“How long have you been paying?”

Richard looked around the café. “I made two payments.”

“So the police told you he might be a blackmailer? How could he have found out where you live?”

“I don't know. Only a few people know about my past, but there's no one to make the connection to the life I live now.”

I thought a moment. If Rory had discovered Richard's situation, he could have found out about all of us. “Since Rory was the blackmailer, you have nothing to worry about. He's dead.”

“Yeah, except for one thing. I wonder if he kept records. You know how obsessive he was. If what he had on me gets out before they find the murderer, I'm toast.”

“I see your point.”

“Now, if we could quickly figure out who from the club was bold enough to kill him, there'd be no need to reveal our backgrounds.”

I had to nip his “we” thinking in the bud. I had only a few weeks to prepare for a hearing that would hopefully launch my new life. Still, Richard was right about one thing: if I could put an end to this murder investigation by finding out who killed Rory, I'd do it. Having my name show up on a murder suspect list wasn't in my best interests.

“I'm not convinced it's someone from the club.” The thought made me hopeful and depressed at the same time.

“It's got to be.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I have a new life and a new wife. Cristina's prominent in the finance industry. She can't afford any scandals, and I can't be seen running around trying to find out who killed Rory.”

“So, together we would …” I paused. “Ah, the ‘we' is me.”

“Are you married? Do you have a family?” He looked at me pointedly.

I didn't answer.

“I didn't think so.”

Fortunately, he was saved a sharp retort when he jumped slightly. He pulled out a smartphone. It must have vibrated. He motioned that he needed to take the call and walked outside.

I took a final sip of tea.

Returning, he slipped his phone into its case and sat.

“Richard—”

“My real name is Ryan—”

“Ryan.”
Okay
. “If you don't mind, I'll just keep calling you Richard. Why tell me any of this? I didn't think you even liked me. You act as if I annoy you.”

“Yes, sometimes, but I like the way you reason things out in the club. I trust your instincts. If anyone in our group can figure this out, it's you.”

“I—”

“Just let me talk. I'm taking this chance with you because I'm desperate. If the blackmailer was Rory, he was slime. He betrayed us all. He squeezed me just enough to keep me from howling. I didn't kill him and I don't think you did, either.” He leaned in across the table. “I've got a new career. I can't let my life go down the toilet again. Tell me about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. What did he have on you? Was he going to ‘out' you? We have to find out who killed him because whoever did probably took the files Rory had on us.”

“What files?”

“Earth to Hollis. How do you think he kept the goods on everyone? Rory had to have files or a book, or maybe a laptop that contained information on all his victims. Remember how he never let any of us touch his laptop? Maybe the files are on a computer thumb drive. The killer must have gotten tired of paying.”

“Rory's killer's a member? It makes no sense. Why would he or she pick a plot from a book we selected to read? There has to be more to it. We are all too smart to do something so stupid.”

“I know it's nuts. Except that the killer is likely a blackmail victim who wants the goods as much as we do.” He hit the top of the table with his fists. “You realize we may have exchanged one blackmailer for another. So, I'll ask again. What about you?”

“Richard, calm down. This is catching me by surprise.” I rubbed my forehead and took a deep breath. “Like you, when I got out, I changed my name. Jeffrey turned me on to the club so I wouldn't become a recluse. That's all there is. You can bet the police have found out about our prison records anyway.”

Richard's eyes darted back and forth as if watching a tennis match. “Wait a minute. Are you trying to tell me Rory wasn't blackmailing you?”

I looked him in the eye. “Richard, I'm telling you Rory wasn't blackmailing me.”

He clenched his jaw. “What are you trying to prove? You're better than me?” He pounded the table. “You got me to spill my guts.”

We were attracting a few glances. In a soft voice, I said, “I'm sorry, but no one is blackmailing me. What made you so sure?”

“He told me he had you over a barrel and you were helping him out of a mess.”

It was my turn to call out. “What? He referred to me by name?”

“Didn't have to. He pointed at you. It was at the meeting before this last one.”

I could only shake my head in denial.

Richard stood. “If you don't want to work together, fine. I've got to locate his ledger. I'm out of here.”

“Wait. I want to identify his killer, too. I can't stay on a suspect list. I'll see what I can come up with.”

He gave me a nod and a small smile. Then he left, along with his fake glasses and fake persona.

What the hell was going on? I could have told Richard why I wanted to find out who killed Rory. However, unlike him, I never would have trusted me, or anyone, enough to be so open about my past conviction, or my present situation. Did he realize he had given me his motive for killing Rory?

One thing was for sure, having a murder victim as an acquaintance was a little too close for comfort.

I
n the morning I decided to put aside all wishful thinking that things would work out on their own. The more I tried not to think about Bill's message or Rory's death, the more I obsessed about it. I'm not a big believer in coincidences, so the fact Bill knew Rory made me think the worst. It didn't take a big leap to conclude Rory's death and Bill's warnings were linked. On the other hand, while I still didn't believe Bill had what it takes to kill, I thought it more likely he risked exposure on some deal he and Rory had concocted.

I tapped numbers into my phone. “Abby, Hollis. I need to get out. Do you have you any plans after work?”

“No, let's get together. I could use the distraction.”

We agreed to meet at the Pause Wine Bar on Market Street in San Francisco. It had a small, healthy menu, well-matched with the best eco-friendly wine selection in Northern California.

Even on a weeknight the bar was relatively busy, and I parked a block away. Abby had already arrived. She waved at me from a far corner table near a window.

“I hope you're paying,” Abby said with a grin. “I'm on a strict budget. I'm saving up for a new car and it doesn't allow for midweek dinners.” She opened the menu.

“In that case,” I said, smiling back, “you can order anything you want as long as it's a salad.”

In fact, the salads looked tasty and we each ordered one, along with glasses of Sauvignon Blanc.

She took a sip of water. “Hollis, I want to apologize for giving you such a hard time. You were right to get the club together. I was wrong. We did need closure.”

“I'm not sure a lot got accomplished.” I caught the eye of our waiter, who motioned that we were next.

She shrugged. “We got it out of our systems. That was important.”

“Abby, what do you really think about Rory's killer? It has to be one of us, right? On the other hand, how stupid would one of the members have to be to commit murder in the same way as a book we just read? It would point the finger at him—or her—as well.”

“Yeah, I know.” Her forehead creased.

“Who do you think Rory was blackmailing?”

Abby reached for her purse as if to get up, then paused and reached inside. Pulling out hand sanitizer, she offered it to me before rubbing it on.

I shook my head, pretending not to notice her trembling hand.

“I don't know. It could be anyone. I mean …”

Our salads and drinks came at that moment, and I took the opportunity to rein in my impatience. I hadn't spoken about my past life to anyone except—in a sketchy version—Marla. My family kept their distance. Other than perfunctory Christmas and birthday calls, we never talked about the time I served. Still, I needed Abby to trust me, so I'd have to trust her. Anyway, all of our pasts were likely to be revealed all too soon.

“The police found my ex-husband's name in Rory's address book,” I said.

She looked up. “I didn't know you were ever married. How long have you been divorced?”

“My marriage was relatively short. I divorced him while I was in prison.”

Abby was silent. I waited for her to comment.

“Could you pass the … what is this, crostini at an Asian restaurant?”

I ignored the remark and passed the basket to her. “Rory was blackmailing Richard.”

Abby frowned and seemed to be deliberately avoiding my eyes.

“Richard thought Rory was blackmailing me,” I continued, “because Rory appeared to point to me at our last meeting. He wasn't pointing at me; I was standing and talking to you. Rory was pointing at you, wasn't he, Abby?”

She picked up a napkin and slowly dabbed at her mouth. Finally, she nodded. “I didn't know he was my blackmailer until the police told me. They say they have some kind of proof. Remember our meeting in January? When I went to my car? There was a letter under my wiper blade. The writer—now I know it was Rory—claimed to know about my prison record.”

“How did he—”

“I don't know. He didn't say. Worse, he somehow knew about my life now.”

“Why did you spend time in prison?”

Silence.

I picked at my salad until she was ready to talk.

She waited a moment more. “I used to be married, too. I still am. We never got a divorce. Even now, though we live apart, we're trying to make it work. I was the one who dragged him down. He was doing okay until he met me.” Tears began to glisten in her eyes. “I worked as an executive for a large pharmaceutical supply company. The charge in Sacramento Superior Court was ‘Misstatement of Services Rendered or Goods Provided.' ”

I must have looked confused.

“I went up for fraud,” she explained.

She went back into her purse. If I hadn't known her better, I would have sworn she was looking for cigarettes. I wanted one, and I didn't even smoke.

“I take it your current employer wouldn't look kindly upon a felony record?”

Abby's shoulders sagged. “When I got out, I wanted nothing to do with my past. I learned my lesson inside. Wallace got me a job as a museum assistant. That was okay for a while, but it paid peanuts. I was bored. I began going to school at night to get certified as a hospital administrator. It was … it was a career I knew something about and it was challenging. Early on, I worked in various positions in small local hospitals. I eventually caught the eye of a hospital board member in the East Bay and they offered me a fantastic position. I was off parole and, with the help of a friend who worked in personnel, I got around the background check, so …”

I smiled to give her reassurance as I said, “Hey, I may have left a line or two off my résumé, too.”

“Yes well, it was a little more than a line or two, but you get the idea.” She rested her forehead on her hands. “Every day I wonder how I could have allowed myself to get into this mess. I come from a straight-laced American family. My parents were loving people who taught their children to do the right thing. I married my college sweetheart.”

Our waiter came by to check on us and Abby stopped speaking. I was afraid she would change the subject.

She took a few bites of salad. “I guess it started to go bad when Paul, my husband, said he wanted children. Suddenly it was all he talked about. It was as if he had the ticking biological clock instead of me. I couldn't stand the thought of having someone dependent on me. I didn't want to share my time or money. Paul made a good salary, but not good enough to support my spending habit. To make a long story short, I ran through my money and his. Soon I crossed a line and started dreaming up ways to take other people's money.”