Tough Customer (14 page)

"How did ... how did you know he would call me?"

"You don't have to be a whiz kid to figure that out, Sally. It's Criminal Investigation 101. The first thing an investigator--in this case the deputy sheriff--would want to know is why I shot Ben Lofland last night. Berry would have told him that I am a spurned suitor. He would have asked if anyone could corroborate that, and she ... would ... have ... named ...

you.
"

He tapped the pistol against her head to emphasize each word. On the last, he pressed the barrel of it hard against her cheekbone. "Naturally the deputy would follow protocol and check out her story. What was his name again?"

"N-Nyland," Sally stammered. "I think that's what he said."

He shrugged with indifference. "Doesn't matter, really. What does matter is that you disputed Berry's allegations, leaving her with a lot to answer for."

"Despite what I said, this deputy might think she's telling the truth. Maybe I didn't throw him off track at all."

"Oh, I believe you did. You sounded very convincing to me, Sally."

"But law enforcement officers never take things at face value. He might have heard the nervousness in my voice. Even now, he could be--"

"Sally, Sally, you're getting your hopes up."

"My hopes up?"

"That you'll be rescued." He gave another sad smile. "Believe me, the Merritt County S.O. has more to do today than follow up with little, insignificant you."

Her lower lip began to tremble. He stroked it with the pad of his index finger. At his touch, she recoiled.

"Stop that!" He flicked his finger hard against her lip. Even though he had the upper hand, her rejection angered him. How dare she flinch when he touched her?

He was the one with the power now. Which she'd realized the instant she entered her house with a shopping bag of groceries. When she saw him standing in her kitchen, she'd given a startled cry, dropped the bag to the floor, and stumbled over it in her haste to escape.

He'd caught her and held on. To keep her quiet, he'd assured her that he meant her no harm. But of course she'd heard about what had happened in Merritt, so the implication of his ambush had been immediately clear. She'd struggled hysterically until he'd pressed the pistol to her head. That had made her considerably more cooperative, although she'd continued to blubber, asking what he wanted of her.

He'd told her that they would wait for some peace officer or another either to telephone or to appear at her door with questions about him. While waiting for that inevitability, he'd coached her on how to answer when those questions were put to her.

He'd promised that, if she complied with his request, she would live. If not, he'd shoot her in the head. Apparently she had believed him, because she'd answered the deputy's questions as though reading from a script written by Oren himself.

But now that the expected call had taken place, she seemed even more terrified of him than before. Probably because the deputy's questions had reminded her of how horribly she'd treated Oren. She'd rejected his affections and, adding insult to injury, had contributed to his dismissal from the job he'd loved and had been so well suited for.

No wonder then, was it, that she was trembling with fright.

He tapped the muzzle of the pistol against her temple, reminding her again that her fate lay entirely with him.

"Wh-what else do you want me to do, Oren?"

"I don't recall you stuttering like that before, Sally. You surely didn't stutter when you turned down my repeated invitations to dinner. Or when you returned my Valentine roses. You were articulate enough when you told our co-workers how you couldn't stand to be around me."

"I never--"

He struck her hard on the side of her head with the barrel of the pistol. Her cry of shock and pain was better than whispered sweet nothings. "Don't compound your cruel rejection by lying about it, Sally. Don't insult my intelligence."

She was crying in earnest now. Her face, which he'd always thought to be pretty, looked ugly, the features crumpled with pain and fear, snot dripping from her nose, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please, Oren."

"Please what, Sally?" he asked silkily.

"Please don't hurt me."

"But you hurt
me.
You damaged me personally and professionally."

"I never meant to hurt you." Her voice cracked on the last two words. She was shivering as though she had a palsy.

"Now, Sally," he said in a soothing voice. "No need to fall apart on me. Didn't I tell you that you would come to no harm if you did everything I asked you to?"

"Yes."

"Didn't I promise not to hurt you if you discredited Berry?"

"Yes."

"Well then. So far, I've kept my promises, haven't I?"

She nodded.

Holding the pistol hard against her temple, he wrapped his hand around her biceps and steered her about. "Unfortunately, one chat with a deputy sheriff doesn't reparation make. So, into the bedroom we go."

Her footsteps faltered. "What for?"

"Use your imagination."

She sobbed. "Please, Oren. I'm sorry. For everything, I'm sorry. Don't hurt me. I'll do anything."

He laughed. "Oh, I'm counting on that."

While Ski was redialing Sally Buckland, he heard his call waiting chirp. The incoming call took precedence. He clicked over. "Nyland."

"It's Andy."

"What's up?"

"The night attendant at the bait shop?"

"At the three-way stop on Lake Road?" Earlier that day, Ski had questioned the man, who claimed not to have seen or heard anything out of the ordinary last night. Impatiently he asked, "What about him?"

"He watches a lot of TV during his long shift. Seen every episode of
Law & Order.
Reruns on cable, too. You know how they play several episodes back to back every night?"

"Okay."

"He doesn't miss. He pays attention to how the cops crack the case. So he's been doing some amateur sleuthing today."

Oh, Christ.
Ski ran his fingers through his hair and wished he hadn't turned down the cheeseburger. It felt like his stomach was gnawing on his spine. Andy was still talking.

"He got out last night's sales receipts--"

"I went through those. None of the credit cards belonged to Starks, and he didn't fit the description of anyone paying with cash."

"Yeah, but this guy went
back
through his receipts, to see if something might've been overlooked. It's a slow day, he said. Anyhow, he ran down a guy who charged some gas for his bass boat late last night near the time of the shooting. And
that
guy, the bass boat guy, remembers seeing
another
guy while he was filling his gas can. Said he went into the men's room and it looked to him like the guy had a busted leg."

ALLOW ME." DODGE CLICKED ON HIS DISPOSABLE LIGHTER.

"Thanks." The woman smiled around the cigarette held between her lips and leaned forward to touch the end of it to the flame. She took a few drags while Dodge was lighting his cigarette. She exhaled. "Things have come to a sad pass when you can't smoke in a bar."

Dodge sighed. "I hear ya."

He'd been flirting with her through one beer, which he'd drunk slowly in order to give himself time to assess the place and its clientele. After gauging all the customers who'd come in for happy hour, he'd decided that the woman pouring the drinks was probably his best prospect.

She was forty-something and looked every day of it. Her face had lived through some hard times and harsh disappointments, and in her eyes was a sad resignation. But she had a naturally warm smile, and she was generous with it. Everyone who came in, men and women alike, addressed her by name, and she seemed to know their preferred drinks and everything else about them. He'd overheard her asking about a new job, a fishing expedition, elderly parents, a child in crisis, and a lame horse.

When she'd turned the bar over to a younger man so she could take a break, Dodge had followed her past the restrooms, down a short hallway, and out a back exit.

Now that their cigarettes were smoldering, she lifted the hair off the back of her neck and held it up, creating a provocative pose and extending an open invitation for Dodge to enjoy the view, which wasn't bad.

"I'm Grace."

"Dodge."

"Hi, Dodge."

"Hi, Grace."

They smiled at each other. She lowered her arm and let her hair fall back into place. "If you lived in Merritt, I'd know it."

"Atlanta."

"Texas?"

"Georgia."

"No fooling? You're a long way from home then. What do you do there?"

"A little of this, little of that."

She gave him a smile that said,

I've got your number.
"A man of mystery."

"Me? Shucks, no, ma'am."

She laughed at his b.s. "What brings you to southeast Texas?"

He embroidered a story about possibly relocating to Houston. "My brother is pressuring me to partner with him on a business deal. It's a good opportunity, and there's nothing keeping me in Atlanta, so I'm giving it serious consideration. But I can't take the city--or my brother, for that matter--all the time. I figure if I make the move, I'll need a getaway. Nothing fancy. Just a place to escape to on the weekends. Get in some fishing. Commune with nature." His smile would have melted butter. "This town looks like a good place for kicking back."

"Well, you're right about that. The population triples just about every weekend, but particularly in the spring and summer."

"What's the second-home market like? Is it favoring sellers or buyers?"

"Hell if I'd know," she said around a smoker's laugh. She dropped her cigarette butt to the pavement and ground it out with the toe of her shoe. "I can't afford a first home, much less a second."

"I've seen a lot of For Sale signs around. Green. Little crown."

"Caroline King. She's the big-shot realtor around here."

He held a light to her second cigarette. "A big shot sounds too rich for my blood."

She exhaled, shaking her head. "She handles big, small, whatever. Nice lady, too."

"You've done business with her?"

"Maybe if I won the lottery." She guffawed. "I know her to speak to, though. She comes into the bar occasionally. Sometimes with clients to have a glass of wine while talking over a contract. A few weeks ago she had a younger woman with her that she introduced as her daughter. I'd heard her daughter was staying with her for the summer, but that's the first time I'd seen her in town. Ms. King's house is out at the lake. They had some trouble out there last night."

"Trouble?"

"A shooting."

He pretended to choke on his smoke.

"Some guy the daughter works with. Love triangle kind of thing is what people are saying."

"Wow. I thought this was a sleepy little town."

"We've got our scandals, believe me," she said, rolling her eyes. "But you could've knocked me over with a feather when I heard about that business with Ms. King. Neither she nor her daughter looks the type."

"What type is that?"

"Man-trouble type. But I guess it goes to show you never know what goes on behind closed doors."

"Isn't that a song?"

She grinned up at him, pleased. "You like country?"

By the time Dodge had finished his first cigarette and lit another, they'd exhausted the subject of country music, at least to the extent that he knew something about it. Trying to steer the topic back to Caroline, he frowned. "I guess this realtor will be too busy to take on any new clients, considering the mess her kid is in."

"I don't know. You can try. Ms. King is a businesswoman right down the line. I heard she made a killing in residential real estate in Houston. She moved to Merritt to retire."

"When was this?"

"Few years ago. Two or three."

"Her retirement didn't take?"

She laughed. "Guess not. She no more had settled in than she linked up with a property developer and--"

"Linked up?" He bobbed his eyebrows. "One of those closed- doors things?"

Grace nudged his arm, and somehow in the process his elbow made contact with her full bosom. "Ms. King is at least twenty years older than the developer."

"That's in fashion, isn't it? Older woman, younger man?"

"Maybe. But he's got a gorgeous wife and three perfect children. His partnership with Ms. King was strictly business. He enlisted her to sell the houses in his development. She sold them all in record time." Grace shrugged and dropped her second cigarette butt to the asphalt. "She decided retirement wasn't for her. Not yet, anyway. She's got even richer off all the development going on around here."

"She must have savvy."

Grace nodded. "And she works at it. She's got my respect and everybody else's. At least, I've never heard a bad word said against her. Of course the gossips will be all over what happened out at her place last night." She glanced at her wristwatch. "They're gonna think you kidnapped me." There was a trace of hopefulness in the smile she cast over her shoulder as she reentered the bar.

Dodge took one final drag on his cigarette, then dropped the butt and followed her inside. She'd been so unwittingly generous with information, he felt obliged to buy one more beer, but he didn't finish it before signaling her to tally up his tab.

"How long will you be in town, Dodge?"

He told her the unvarnished truth. "I don't know."

"Drop back by."

"I will."

"Do you have a wife?"

"Not lately."

She laughed. "Are you lying?"

"No."