The Real Mrs. Price (14 page)

*   *   *

Roman looked as stunned as Lucy was when Marlowe told her about Ed killing a man. “You believed her?” he asked, sitting across from her at the coffee shop.

“Mostly,” she said reflectively. “If you'd seen the look in her eyes when she said it, you might've believed her, too. Ed's a killer, Roman. He's a con man. And somehow, he's managed to get away with hurting so many people.”

Roman had been off doing his own investigation of that big black guy they'd seen on the news with Marlowe and then again at the restaurant the other night. His theory was that if Marlowe had killed Ed—or whoever that man was who had been found dead in Ed's car—she'd had help, and this guy had been the one to help her.

“Did you find anything on that man?” she asked.

“You dig deep enough, you can find anything on anybody.”

“Okay.”

“Osiris P. Wells,” he said proudly. “Acme LLC is the upper crust of a bunch of layers that eventually lead to him.”

“And who is he?”

He shrugged. “He's a professor. A traveling one, apparently. I managed to find basic information on him at various colleges and universities around the country, but he's never spent more than a semester at any of them.”

Whatever this guy had to do with Marlowe or Ed didn't matter because he was just another dead end.

“Are you going back to Denver?” she asked.

“I don't see why I shouldn't. I don't see why you shouldn't.”

Lucy didn't say anything.

“Unless there's something else you're looking for, Lucy.”

“What else would I be looking for, Roman?”

“I read people pretty good, and something tells me that you didn't just come here looking for a
possibly
dead husband. I'll make you a deal. Tell me what's really going on, and maybe I can help.”

There was a humanity to Roman that she hadn't expected. She'd seen it in him from the beginning, a vulnerability that came from someplace inside him that he worked hard to keep hidden. This wasn't just a case for him; it seemed to be something more, and she didn't quite understand what or why. She could trust him. At least, she hoped she could. The thing is, keeping this secret was becoming harder and harder, and she was starting to realize that she was going to have to tell someone—Roman—if she ever expected to get to the bottom of the issue.

“Before he died, Chuck Harris sent me some information.”

He quietly waited for her to continue.

“He sent me numbers to the accounts that Ed was using to launder drug money.”

He raised his brow. “Account numbers?”

She nodded. “Fake accounts with real money.”

“The forty-seven million?” He stared at her in disbelief. “Why would he send you that kind of information, and what are you supposed to do with those account numbers, Lucy?”

She took a deep breath before explaining. “The reason that Chuck Harris didn't turn Ed over to the authorities is because he was hoping to get the money, or some of it, for himself,” she finally confessed. Her eyes darted back and forth between Roman and the floor.

“I don't understand.”

“He gave me the account numbers in the hopes that I could somehow manage to get the PINs and banking information from Ed.”

“He wanted you to help him steal money from these laundered accounts?” He was stunned.

Lucy nodded. “He figured that maybe Ed kept the numbers on his computer or, I don't know, maybe in his wallet or on his phone.”

“And you looked for this information?” He probably didn't mean to look disgusted, but he did.

Reluctantly, she nodded again. “I never found anything, though.”

“So you were going through with this?”

She paused. Lucy wasn't a criminal, and she'd never planned on doing anything illegal. Her intent had always been to turn over everything she knew about Ed to the authorities as soon as she felt safe enough to do so. That money was criminal money used for illegal activities. Ed had been siphoning it off for months. “I can't do anything with it because I don't have the PINs or banking locations.”

“You just have a list of account numbers and no idea what they're account numbers to?” he asked.

“It's all Chuck had, but he said that he believed Ed had help, and he thought that that person might have the rest of the information.”

“You think Marlowe has them?”

“I thought she might.”

“What would you do if she did?”

For some reason, she hesitated. “Turn them over to the police with the account numbers.”

He looked as if he didn't believe her. “Really?”

Roman waited for her confirmation. The best she could do was shrug.

 

Life Got in Between

H
ER HOME HAD BEEN HER
sanctuary, and now it was anything but that. It had been violated by some unwelcome visitor. And it had been invaded by the last person she'd ever thought she'd let walk through that front door. Shou Shou's warning pressed down on her like lead. Marlowe had crossed a line she never should've crossed with Plato. And now that she was on the other side of it, she knew that she had given herself up to whatever fate held for her with this man.

“You kissed him, Marlowe?” Belle asked, stunned.

Her restaurant didn't officially open until four in the afternoon, but Marlowe had called and told her that she needed to get out of the house and that she could use a drink, and Belle met her there around two.

“He kissed me,” Marlowe corrected her. “And what part of ‘Somebody was in my house' didn't resonate with you?”

“But you let him kiss you. Damn, Marlowe. Shou warned you about him, the bones warned you about him, and you still let him in?”

What Belle didn't say, but wanted to, was “When is your dumb ass gonna learn, Marlowe?”

And she'd have been right to say it. Marlowe was a fool. She'd been a fool over Eddie, and she was being a fool over Plato, knowing full well that nothing good could come of this.

“I'm sorry, cousin,” Belle said sincerely. “Sorry that you have to go through all this, but it's got to be for a reason. God never gives us more than we can handle.”

“Ever think that sometimes he does?” Marlowe responded. “Because I can't take much more of this, Belle,” she said bitterly. “I don't deserve it. I really don't. I picked the wrong man to marry. Women do it all the time, but it shouldn't have to cost me my damn life.”

“I know, Marlowe,” Belle said softly. “I know.”

The poison of Plato's kiss was like a drug that she couldn't get out of her system. Marlowe hadn't been able to stop thinking about it since he'd left. She had been racking her brain to try to figure out what Plato could possibly want from her. It wasn't just Eddie that he wanted. It was her, something that she had or that she knew. The bones had warned her that he was coming for her, but why? If she knew she could give him what he wanted, then maybe he'd leave. It could be that simple. Marlowe desperately needed to know what it was, though.

“Looks like somebody left the door open.”

The sound of his voice, low, smooth, and menacing, startled both women. Plato stood at the entrance of the dark restaurant, looking as ghostly as he sounded, until he stepped toward them and into the only light—over the bar—illuminating the space.

“You open for business?” he asked, staring at Belle.

She shuddered and shook her head. “Not until four.”

He shifted his gaze to Marlowe. “It's got to be four o'clock somewhere.” He smiled. “Right?”

“You need to leave,” Belle dared to say.

He didn't budge. “That's exactly what I need to do,” he said sarcastically and then looked at Marlowe. “Would you like to leave with me, Marlowe?”

Belle looked absolutely horrified. “No, she wouldn't.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Marlowe asked pensively.

“Because.” He paused. “I would like for you to.”

Did he really think that it was that easy? Was he so damn confident in his influence over her that getting her to leave with him and to go anywhere was as simple as asking her? The longer he stood there, the more pronounced that feeling expanded in her core. It was as if she were tethered to him, being pulled by him from her center. He had “commanded” her.

Plato held out his hand to her. “Please,” he insisted. “I have my reasons.”

She was a magnet to him, and the next thing she knew, Marlowe was placing her hand in his.

Of course Belle didn't understand. How could she? How could anybody? Even Marlowe didn't understand it, but she also was helpless to resist it, too. He graciously held the door open for her as they left.

“What do you want?” she asked, outside in the parking lot. Marlowe snatched her hand away and looked at him like he'd lost his damn mind, when in fact it was her mind that had fallen out somewhere inside Belle's place.

He casually scratched at the back of his neck. “I just wanted to check on you,” he said sincerely. “I stopped by the house, and you weren't home.”

That couldn't possibly be what he really wanted. “No,” she said emphatically. “I mean, what do you want from me? Tell me why you came to town—to me—and what it is that you want from me?”

Marlowe was desperate to cut her ties with him. Plato scared the mess out of her with the control and the power he seemed to have over her, and if she could just figure out what it was that he wanted, Lord, she'd give it to him just so he'd leave.

“Whatever it is, just let me know so this can finally be over, Plato.”

“I told you why I'm here,” he said, knitting his thick brows. “To find Price.”

“And what else?” she pushed. “What do you need from me? You came here for me, too. I know it.”

“No. I came for him.” All of a sudden, he looked irritable. “Does this have anything to do with that devil shit and possums?”

Marlowe was caught off guard. “What?”

“Your cousin.” He motioned his head toward Belle standing in the doorway of the restaurant, watching them. “She told me about it. Possums and bones and devils and me. Is that what this is about?”

Marlowe was stunned to actually hear him say that. “Belle told you all that?”

“She did. Is it true?”

“Is it true that you're the devil, or is it true that I believe you are?”

He thought for a moment. “That … yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, that you believe I am.”

“Are you?”

“Would the devil tell you if he was?” He smiled.

He was so damn devious and twisted the truth to make it ring true, just like the devil would.

“I'm not,” he said, reading the conflicted expression on her face. “To the best of my knowledge. I think I'd know if something like that were true about me. Don't you?”

She stared quizzically at him and decided that she wanted to end this conversation. “You wanted to check on me, and you have. I'm fine. So you can leave.”

He stepped closer to her. “I need to go to Dallas. Why don't you ride with me?”

Marlowe was stunned that he'd have the gall to ask her something like that. “Why would I do that?”

“You're mad at me,” he surmised, looking genuinely perplexed.

“What? No. I don't … I'm not.”

“Look, I'm going to be gone for a day, maybe two, and with what happened the other night, you feeling like someone was in the house, I just thought it'd be a good idea for you to ride with me so that I can keep an eye on you.”

Marlowe gave him a side glance. “You want to
protect
me,” she stated suspiciously.

“I feel compelled to.”

Coming from anyone else, she'd have felt flattered. Coming from him …

Her options were simple. Marlowe could stay home and hope that whoever had trespassed on her property wouldn't be crazy enough to come back, or she could ride to Dallas with him and spend the next few days worrying over what might possibly happen to her if she left town with this very dangerous man.

“And where will we be staying?”

“A hotel.”

She stared at him.

“Separate rooms,” he quickly added.

The thought of getting out of town for a few days made her salivate, but getting out of town with him for a few days worried her. “The police told me that I needed to stay here,” she suddenly said, reminded of that stipulation they'd put on her after questioning.

“You haven't been charged, Marlowe. You're not out on bond, and how are they going to know where you are?”

Marlowe gave his argument serious thought. “Why are you going to Dallas, anyway?”

“To drop something off, and because I need to get out of here. I'm starting to go small-town stir-crazy. A big-city fix would do me good right about now.”

Her, too.

“The offer's on the table,” he concluded with a sigh. Plato slipped on his shades, turned, and started to walk back over to his car. “I'll be leaving in an hour if you want to go,” he said over his shoulder.

Belle stood at the door staring at the two of them with wide, terror-filled eyes, mouthing the words, “No, Marlowe.”

But what Belle didn't understand is that the damage had already been done. She'd invited him to cross that threshold, and all Marlowe could do now was to let this thing run its course to the end.

Marlowe called to him just as he was getting into his car. “You'll pick me up?”

He smiled. “I'll pull up to your place in an hour.”

*   *   *

Rational thought had given way to desperation. Marlowe needed to get away. She needed to get out from underneath the catastrophe of her life here in Blink, Texas, and to disappear inside a city too big to give a damn who she was or what people believed she'd done. For all she knew, she might not ever come back to this town. Her life was so fucked up, what harm could it do to run away from home?