Deadly Intent (6 page)

Her next step had been to go to the firing range and learn to shoot the damn thing. She had been awful at first. And scared to death. But she hadn’t given up. returning to the

range day after day until she was able to consistently hit the target. She had even surprised herself once or twice by hitting the bull’s eye.

She let the PPK sit inside her palm for a moment, conscious of its weight, glad she could look at it without feeling as if it was going to bite her. When she felt calmer, she put it back, went through the ritual of locking the drawer and hiding the key, then closed the armoire.

If anyone came after her or Ben, she was ready.

Six

Well, well, well. Look who’s finally decided to drag his miserable tail in.”

Rose stood in the middle of the motel room, her fists on’ her hips and an angry scowl on her face. In spite of the; late hour, she was fully dressed in lime green slacks and a white, oversize T-shirt with the words Elvis Lives printed on the front. On the table beside her, a dozen tarot cards were spread out, predicting inescapable gloom or great happiness, depending on Rose’s mood and interpretation of the
 
moment. These days, the gloom won out every time.

She had been a looker once, but hard times and a fondness for chocolate cannolis had taken their toll on her looks. At forty-two, she was twenty pounds heavier than when Ian had first met her, and the bags under her eyes made her look closer to fifty than forty. Her hair had changed over the last two decades, going from black to a brown to blond before finally settling on red—not a subtle red, but a bright carrot color you could spot from a mile away.

She was also tougher than she used to be. The docility Ian had once appreciated had been replaced by an “I don’t give a shit what you think” attitude that had taken him by surprise. He wasn’t totally turned off by those changes. He a liked a woman with a little backbone, but there were times,

like now, when he wished she’d just keep that big mouth of hers shut.

“Not now, Rose, okay?” He walked to the Styrofoam cooler, which he had stocked with beer, lifted the lid and took out a Coors.

“Yes, now,” she replied, coming to stand in front of him as he drank from the bottle. “I’ve been cooped up in his damn room for the last eight hours and I’m sick of it. Hot to mention that I’m starving.”

“You should have gone out to dinner. You knew I’d be while.”

“You had my car, Einstein. How could I go anywhere?”

He pointed a finger toward the window. “There’s a Burner King just down the road. Why didn’t you walk there?” He was about to add that a little exercise wouldn’t hurt her, but realized he’d be asking for trouble.

“I don’t want Burger King, dammit!” She gave the cooler a savage kick. “I financed this gig and I expect a little more than a greasy hamburger and a container of fries, which is all we’ve been eating since we left Toledo.”

“And I explained that until my sister comes through with the loan, we’ll have to be frugal. If we start spending what’s left of our money on fancy meals, we’ll be broke by the end of the week.”

“Money should be the least of your worries.” She threw a meaningful look toward the tarot cards. “You’ve got more serious problems.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Not that again, Rose. Please.”

“Look at the cards, Ian. Just look at them for a minute.” She pointed a finger. “This one is called the Lovers. That’s is. The reemergence of an old relationship.”

Ian brought the bottle to his mouth. “What’s so bad about that?”

‘ ‘We are surrounded by negative forces, such as partings,

the end of an affair, an impossible choice. Even a wrong choice. And this one—“ she picked up a card and shook it in front of his nose “—is from the suit of Wands. It spells disaster, loss, separation.” She paused and fixed him with a dramatic stare. “And death.”
   
I

“Stop it, will you? You know I don’t believe in that! bullshit.” The truth was, all that psychic stuff gave him’ the willies, but he would never tell her that.

“The cards don’t lie, Ian,” Rose continued. “I had bad( . feelings about this trip before I even picked up a deck of cards and I still have bad feelings.”

Ian went to sit in the easy chair by the window. “You’re just spooked because of Arturo Garcia. I shouldn’t have; told you about him.”

“You didn’t have to.” She picked up another card. “The: Four of Swords. This represents violence and battle, people with an attitude all coming to a nasty end.”
   
&

“You may want to get yourself a new set of cards, sugar, because Arturo is nowhere in sight. All is well and going according to plan.”

That last remark seemed to pacify her. “You saw your sister?”

“That’s right.”

“She agreed to give you the money?”

“She agreed to loan me the money.”

Rose gave him a suspicious look. “This woman hasn’t seen you in twenty-eight years. Until tonight, she didn’t even know if you were alive or dead, and just like that,’ she’s going to loan you money.”

“That’s my sister, generous to a fault.”

“I find that hard to believe. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Rose was a lot smarter than she looked. That’s why he had to be careful how much he told her. “I don’t keep

anything from you, Rose. Not anymore.” He took another pull of his beer. “I admit Abbie was reluctant at first, but when I told her I was turning over a new leaf and would pay her every cent, she agreed to help me.”

“The woman must be a saint. If I were her, I’d have given you a swift kick in the ass and told you to hit the

road.”

“Really, Rose?” He yanked her onto his lap and slid his hand under her T-shirt. “The way you told me to hit the road when I showed up on your doorstep last week?”

Apparently, she wasn’t in a playful mood, because she slapped his hand away. “When exactly are you going to get this loan?”

“In a few days.”

“And what are we supposed to do in the meantime? Or did you forget that my credit card is maxed out.”

“How can I forget it when you keep reminding me every minute of the day?”

But Rose was like one of those mechanical toys—once she was wound up you couldn’t stop her. “Maybe we should look for jobs.”

She jumped up and went to pick up a newspaper she had lleft at the classifieds page, and turned it so he could see what she had circled in black ink. “I already checked out a few ads. Lucky for us, there’s no shortage of work in this town.”

Just the thought of work of any kind gave Ian the chills. I can’t look for a job now. I don’t have any clothes.”

“Strickland Orchards on Cold Soil Road is looking for help. They don’t care how you’re dressed. They just want imeone to repair the fencing, weigh and pack strawberries, that sort of thing. They pay six dollars an hour.”

“Christ, Rose, that’s barely minimum wage.”

“It’ll pay for the room and a couple of decent meals. Not to mention what it’ll do for our selfesteem.”

Propping his feet on the other chair, Ian picked up the TV remote. “Look, Rose, if picking strawberries for a pittance is your idea of self-esteem, you go right ahead, girl, I’m not stopping you.” He turned on the TV, wondering if they had Baywatch in this burg. “Personally, I’ve done enough hard labor to last me a lifetime.”

A storm front had moved in from the Delaware Valley; overnight, leaving the roads wet and the air heavy with morning dew. Abbie left the house as soon as Ben’s bus pulled out and was now driving north on Route 27, heading for her mother’s house in neighboring Kingston. Thanks to Brady’s offer to go to the produce market every morning,; Abbie was free to visit Irene for an hour or so each day without feeling as if she was neglecting the restaurant.

These private moments with her mother were more precious now than ever. Last year, Irene DiAngelo had beer diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and although the symptoms were still mild, Abbie had begun to notice longer periods of forgetfulness and confusion and greater mood swings So had Marion, the devoted housekeeper who cared for her

Abbie had been warned that a progression of the disease no matter how slow, was inevitable, but for the moment. Abbie was grateful for any quality time she spent with her mother. Her only regret was that Irene, who fiercely valued her independence, had turned down Abbie’s offer to come and live with her and Ben.

“I may be a little forgetful,” she had told Abbie in a tone that left no room for argument, “but I can still take care of myself. And under no circumstances will I become a burden to my daughter.”

Maybe in a few years, when her condition worsened, she

would feel differently. For the time being, Irene still lived in the house she had occupied for the past twenty-seven years, a modest but well-kept two-story on Shaw Drive. As a compromise, she had agreed to let Abbie hire a companion, someone who could watch over her, run errands and do light housekeeping duties. So far. neither Abbie nor Irene had regretted the arrangement. Marion, a widow with two grown children, was a gem in every way.

“Mom!” Abbie called as she let herself in. “Marion! Anybody home?”

“In the kitchen!” her mother replied.

Abbie found her wiping the kitchen counter with a dish towel, while on the stove a partially covered cast-iron pan let out a delicious aroma. Petite and delicate, Irene looked more like a dainty southern belle than a woman of Italian descent. Her eyes were a startling color—a blend of gray and green—and her skin was as flawless as a twenty-year-old’s. This morning, she wore the pretty blue dress Abbie had bought her for her sixty-fourth birthday last week. She looked lovely in it.

Knowing how much her mother appreciated compliments on her cooking, Abbie made a big deal of sniffing the air. “Lamb meatballs?”

“Polpette d’agnello,” her mother corrected. “Have you forgotten your Italian?”

“And risk your wrath? Never.” Abbie kissed her mother on the cheek. “It smells wonderful, Mom. Can I have a taste?”

Beaming, Irene handed her a wooden spoon. Abbie dipped it into the rich brown sauce, scooped up a little on the tip of the spoon and brought it to her mouth. “Mmm.” She closed her eyes. “This is incredible. Are you sure you won’t come to work at Campagne? I’m willing to pay top dollar.”

Irene laughed, looking delighted. “No, thanks. You’re too bossy.”

Abbie shook her finger. “You’ve been talking to Brady, haven’t you?” She dropped the spoon in the sink and looked around her. “Where’s Marion?”

“She went to the store for some milk.”

Abbie nodded, glad that her mother was still at a point! where she could be left alone for short periods of time,! especially on a good day, as she seemed to be having now. How long that stage would last no one knew. Not even the! doctors. The course the disease took and how rapidly changes occurred varied with every patient.

Abbie waited until Irene had turned down the heat under’ the simmering pot before taking her mother’s hand. “Come sit down, Mom. I need to talk to you about something.”

She led her into the familiar living room with its beige tweed sofa and chairs and brown wall-to-wall carpeting. Through the large picture window that overlooked Shaw Drive, Abbie could see old Mr. Winters bending down, with some difficulty because of his arthritis, to pick up the debris left in the wake of last night’s brief storm.

Abbie remembered the day she and her mother had moved into this house as if it were yesterday. She had been; wild with excitement, running from room to room, trying to decide which one would be hers, while her mother beamed as she admired the well-equipped kitchen. Life hadn’t been easy in those days. In order to support herself and her daughter, Irene had had to work two jobs—one at the local hospital as a daytime nurse’s aide, and the other cleaning office buildings at night while a friend watched Abbie. Despite the fact that she was an attractive woman, Irene had never remarried.

“From now on, it’s just you and me, pumpkin,” she had)

told Abbie that first night in their new house. “And that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

Abbie often thought about those days, and the many sacrifices her mother had made for her, the nights she had come home exhausted but smiling, never too tired to read Abbie’s favorite bedtime story to her. Oh, yes, there had been some wonderful moments spent in this house. It was up to Abbie now to make sure her mother stayed happy here as long as possible.