The Killing Game (19 page)

“Fine. I’ve got some appointments to keep. More red tape with the county,” he said with a wave of his hand, telling her it was the same old rigmarole. “Tomorrow, let’s meet at the lodge. I want to go over some things with you and Emma.”

“Have you contacted Emma?”

“You mean because she never shows up for work? Not yet, but I will.”

“I could call her,” Andi offered.

“No, I’ll do it.”

Carter was good at complaining he was doing all the work but less so at delegating true responsibility, so she was pleased he was attempting to include both her and Emma. Oftentimes he had a tendency to think his way was the only way, no matter if there was evidence to the contrary.

He’d placed his cell phone on his desk, but now he swept it up again. “I’ll move a few things around and let’s meet at nine.”

“Great. Anything else you need before then?”

“Aren’t you meeting with Mimi?”

“Yes, but that’s not going to take up all my time.”

“There’s nothing specific, so do whatever you usually do.” He flipped a hand toward her office, as if her value as a company member was practically worthless. It burned her, but she didn’t want to fight with her brother-in-law.

As she turned to leave, he said, “Let me know how it turns out.”

“Sure,” she answered shortly.

As Andi was leaving his office she got another call. Luke. Her pulse quickened in spite of herself. Taking a deep breath, she answered, “Hi, there,” as she headed into the hallway, closing Carter’s office door behind her.

“Hi. Been a while since we talked.”

Gooseflesh rose on her arms at his warm tone. She could feel her cheeks heat and she shook her head at her own susceptibility. It was ridiculous. They were business associates and barely that. As soon as the Carrera problem was put to bed, her relationship with Luke would likely be over. Maybe they would be friends, but maybe not.

“I’ve finally got an appointment with Peg Bellows.”

“Great. When?”

“Two o’clock this afternoon.”

“She called you?”

“Yep. I’ve been checking with some of the other families who were pressured by the Carreras, but they say the same thing you do: everything’s quieted down. Maybe it’s the calm before the storm; I don’t know. But ever since that night at Lacey’s, nothing much has come out of their camp. Peg’s been MIA, but maybe she can shed some light on the situation.”

“Good. It’s kind of strange how little we’ve heard from the Carreras.”

“I know. How are you feeling about the protection thing?”

“I can’t believe they’ve just given up.”

“Oh, they haven’t. Not for good anyway.”

“But they don’t seem to be focused on me as much right now. I’m wondering if I misread the threat in that note.”

“No, no. That note was meant to scare you.”

“Well, then, it worked.” Andi took a breath and added, “I wanted to tell you that I’ve made a kind of decision. Remember Mimi Quade? We talked about her a little.”

“The woman your husband was seeing?” he responded carefully.

“That’s the one. Just before Greg died, Mimi and her brother, Scott, came to the office and broke the news about her pregnancy to Greg. Carter, Emma, and I were there, too. It was a scene. Mimi was crying and Scott demanded a DNA test, and then, before anything got resolved, Greg died.”

“You think there’s a connection?”

“Oh no. It was an accident. But he was driving away from seeing her when it happened. We had all pushed the ‘Mimi problem’ away. Nobody knew what to do. I’m not proud of that, but Greg and I weren’t getting along as well as we could at the time.... Anyway, now I want to know what happened. How she’s doing. If she’s pregnant with Greg’s baby, I need to know. I just had a talk with Carter about it again.”

“What did he say?” Luke asked curiously.

“He’s never believed she’s really pregnant. Thinks her brother put her up to it. I don’t know. But if there is a child, and it’s Greg’s, then he or she is a Wren. I just need to know, and so does Carter . . . and Emma.”

“Sounds like you’re putting things in order.”

“A little late, but yeah. We need to.”

The elevator doors suddenly slid open and Emma and Ben burst out as if they were being chased by wild animals. “Looks like I gotta,” she said.

“I’ll let you know what Peg says.”

“Good. Thanks. Maybe . . . why don’t you stop by the cabin afterward and fill me in?” she asked.

“See you then,” he agreed.

“Where’s Carter?” Emma demanded as Andi ended her call.

“In his office.” She inclined her head toward the door to the room she’d just left.

“What are you doing here?” Ben asked.

“I work here.”
I could ask you the same thing,
she thought. Ben seemed to consider himself a fourth partner.

“You’ve been here all day?” Emma looked chagrined. Andi had to think hard to remember the last time Emma had come to the office.

Andi moved past both of them toward the elevator. “I just talked to Carter about Mimi Quade. I’m going to contact her to find out if she’s pregnant with Greg’s child.”

“You are?” Emma stared at Andi with consternation. “Are you okay with that?”

“Well, yeah. We have to be. Scott said she was pregnant with Greg’s baby and wanted a DNA test. I say let’s find out.”

Andi pressed the Down button and luckily, the elevator car was still on their floor. As she stepped inside, she added, “Talk to Carter. There’s a meeting scheduled at the lodge tomorrow. I’m planning to be there and Carter thinks you should be, too.”

The elevator doors whispered closed and Andi let out a pent-up breath.
No time like the present
, she thought. She pulled up the contact list on her phone and punched in the number Greg had given her for Mimi months earlier in a show of good faith about his commitment to their marriage. “Ask her anything,” he’d said. “It’s over.” Of course, she hadn’t made the call. Hadn’t believed she ever would, until now.

* * *

Scott Quade sat at the kitchen table inside the apartment he was currently sharing with his sister. He’d had to move in with her after the incident with the landlord at his last place. Could he help it if his date had gotten completely wasted and walked out of his unit naked? It wasn’t any kind of reason to kick him out, but hell, he was behind on the rent anyway, and it was kind of understood that if he just left, the skinflint bastard who ran the place wouldn’t come after him for October’s rent. The security fee, which was only about half the month’s rent anyway, would be used instead, and there would be no cleaning fee returned. Scott had made certain of that.

Now he was accessing the neighbor’s unsecured Wi-Fi from his grinder of a laptop. It was embarrassing that he had such an ancient piece of equipment, that he couldn’t afford a tablet. He was damn lucky to have a smartphone, although he was behind on that bill as well. He’d always crowed about being a master of the get-rich-quick scheme, but the shitty truth was none of his ideas had panned out yet.

Mimi was gasping on the phone, her eyes practically bugging out. Scott threw her a dark look. He was really over her histrionics, though this time there seemed to something else going on. The girl was damn near hyperventilating.

What?
he mouthed to her, but she turned away to look out the teensy, dirt-smeared window above the sink, her cell phone at her ear.

“Uh-huh . . . okay, yeah . . . uh-huh . . .” was all she was saying, but she looked about to faint. “Okay, then.”

“What?” Scott asked again as Mimi dropped the phone on the counter with a clatter.

“OMG! You know who that was? Andrea Wren! Greg’s
wife
!”

“She fucking called you?” Scott stared at his dim-bulb sister.

“Yes! What does she want? OMG,” she muttered again and began chewing on her thumbnail like a pit bull on a bone.

Scott held himself back from yanking her hand from her mouth. He also hated the way she verbalized texting shortcuts, but she was his meal ticket. She might not realize that fact, but he sure did. “Well, good. It’s about time they got back to us. That fucking Carter’s been refusing my calls. Goddamn Wrens.”

“Don’t say that. You know how much I loved Greg.”

Scott’s black mood slipped into further decline. “They screwed you over, Meems. All of ’em, not just Greg. And now you’re goddamn Ebola.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the plague, ding dong. The fucking plague.”

“But I’m not pregnant anymore,” she said in that little baby voice that made his teeth hurt.

“I. Know. That.”

It pissed Scott off to no end that Mimi had been out playing volleyball on the beach last summer and jiggled the damn thing free. Oh, he’d heard that it just happened that way sometimes, women miscarried all the time, but he didn’t believe it. If she’d taken care of herself, they’d still be sitting pretty. A little bun in the oven, the only heir to the family fortune. He’d wanted to crow with laughter when they’d gone into those expensive offices and let the Wrens know that Gregory stick-up-his-butt Wren had fucked his sister senseless and would now pay the price. Woo-wee! Scott had been on cloud nine. Couldn’t wait to twist the knife and cut out a hunk of that Wren dough for himself. Oh, he knew the Wrens. Had damn near grown up with Carter and Greg . . . well, at least during the summers, when the Wrens visited their lake place. He knew how rich they were. He’d seen them from afar and had speculated on their money even when he was a kid. Scott knew the value of a dollar, yessirree.

He’d planned to find a way to be just like the Wrens, though some of his money-making plans hadn’t quite worked out. Like that alfalfa farm . . . shoulda been a gold mine, but his own shitty luck had held out and he’d lost every dime he owned on that venture. He’d been toying with becoming a marijuana grower. Hell, they were making bank in Washington, and now Oregon was about a year behind and he could get in while the getting was good. But meanwhile, dear little Mimi had been growing into a woman. A real woman at that. With her long legs and perky tits—a little small, perhaps, but they stood up nice—Mimi had stepped across Greg and Carter’s paths . . . with only the smallest push from Scott.

Carter hadn’t shown much interest, but Greg’s eyes had followed little sis in a way that had made Scott chortle. He’d arranged for Meems to be in the same building with Wren Construction, telling her to pretend she was visiting one of the law firms. And then Greg had headed out to lunch and she’d literally run into him, the oldest trick in the book, just dumb, little old Meems accidentally falling into his arms, spilling the contents of her purse. One thing led to another and they were meeting for a drink or two. Happy hour spilled into happy evenings together, during which Greg had admitted his marriage was all but dead. He’d been ripe for the picking and it hadn’t taken long at all for Mimi to wangle him into the sack and then
ka bam!
Bonanza! A new Wren in the nest!

He’d hustled her down to the Wren offices and it had been perfect. Just perfect. The best day of his life. They’d all been there: Carter and Emma and Greg and
Andrea
Wren, the poor, misunderstood, cheated-on wife. It was such a coup! Andrea had been weirdly contained: no hysterics, although her face had drained of color. All the drama was from Meems, who was crying, swearing she loved Greg, the stunned idiot, and making a damn fool out of herself, which was all the better. Neither Carter nor Greg acted like they even remembered Scott, though he knew they did. As far as they were concerned, Scott was just dog shit on the soles of their shoes they’d scraped off years earlier.

In that one moment, Scott had been triumphant.
Bet you don’t forget me now
, he’d thought smugly, even while he’d been jealous of the man for being married to such a sophisticated beauty. How had he given that up to
shtup
Meems? Libido was a bitch sometimes, he guessed, though he, Scott, would never let a woman’s vagina get between him and his goals.

But then, Jesus, the guy
died.
Just like that. One moment Scott was in the catbird seat. The next he was scrambling around to keep the remaining Wrens aware that they had a new heir on the way. Scott had tried to contact Carter almost immediately, but he never got past the receptionist, who kept coolly putting him off. Cunt. Who the hell did she think she was? No minimum wager was going to keep him from getting to Carter and Emma and the ice queen widow.

And then . . . the fucking volleyball game during which Mimi lost the baby. He’d nearly lost his mind. What?
What?
Unbelievable. Mimi had still been weepy over Greg’s death and had gone to the beach with friends to feel better. Scott had warned her to be careful, but had she listened? God no. When did Meems ever listen? The only saving grace was that the Wrens didn’t know the baby was gone. So, okay, the big score was no more thanks to stupid Meems, but there had still been time to devise a way to get a slice of Wren cash. Maybe they’d like to pay for an “abortion,” say. He doubted any of them was going to want to share with Greg’s bastard. He’d been just getting ready to make the first move on his new plan, a tearful Meems saying she couldn’t keep the baby and a late-term abortion was sooo expensive and dangerous, and probably not even legal, but there were ways . . .

But he didn’t want Andrea Wren to be the one to make the first overture to Mimi. How had that happened? Fucking A. He was pretty sure she’d nix the idea of an abortion at this late date. She’d just had a miscarriage herself, hadn’t she? God. Maybe she would want to keep the baby! That was no good. No good at all.

He needed to deal with Carter or Emma, the true Wrens. They would be more likely to fork over the dough. If he played it right, he might be able to squeeze ten thousand out of them, right? A promise of discretion might go a long way. Or . . . maybe even twenty, if Mimi could be any kind of actress and pretend she was seesawing over losing her precious unborn child.

Andrea Wren, though . . . she had to hate Meems and, by association, him. She couldn’t get in the way now. Scott wasn’t going to let it happen.