Heads You Lose (14 page)

“I always liked you, Lacey,” she said, sadly. “I thought you were Hart’s best chance at happiness. I guess maybe I was right.”

She didn’t mean for the words to sting, but they did. Lacey never signed up to be a lifesaver.

“Well, I don’t know what to say,” said Lacey. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I can’t imagine how horrible this has been for you.”

“I know you cared for him deeply. You know, Hart had a lot of love in him once you got past the outlaw act. He just couldn’t quite seem to use it on himself, you know?”

Her voice was unaffected, but tears were streaming down her face.

“I want to show you something.” She got up and took a photo binder from the bookshelf. She started showing Lacey pictures of Hart as a young boy. When she saw little Hart on his dad’s shoulders on the family farm, Lacey gave in. It was the first cry she’d had since the whole mess had started four nights ago. In fact, it was the first cry for a long time before that, too.

When the sobbing subsided, Lacey asked, “So, does Hart’s dad know?”

“I doubt it. I haven’t heard from him since the day he left. He thought of himself as the last cattle baron. Went to Texas to become a bigger one. Last I heard he was in Argentina, running a big beef operation. If he never finds out, that’s fine with me.”

She turned the page to a picture of Hart as Darth Vader on Halloween, and another in a straw cowboy hat on the back of a big brown steer. Even the steer looked happy.

“After his dad left he started getting quiet,” Marybeth said. “One day a farmhand came to talk to me. Apparently he’d seen Hart running into the cattle fence. He’d get knocked off his feet, then get up and do it again. I looked in his drawer and the back of his shirt was singed. When I asked him about it, he admitted to it. ‘I don’t know, I just like it, I guess,’ he said. Like it was normal. He was twelve.

“He called me now and then over the last couple of years,” Marybeth continued. “He sometimes sounded sober, sometimes not. He worked construction for a while and then a few other odd jobs. I know he spent some time working for the Babalatos out on their old property, hauling old junk to the dump. A few months ago a lady called and said she had some mail for him under the name of some company. I forget what it was called.”

“Can you do me a favor and let me know if you think of the name?”

Marybeth gave Lacey a concerned, motherly look. “Lacey, promise me you’ll be careful. You don’t owe Hart anything. He was blessed to have you in his life, and now he’s gone.”

“Have you talked to Sheriff Ed yet?”

“I went down to the station yesterday. Sheriff Ed always seemed to have it out for Hart. I guess he figures he finally got what was coming to him.” Then she broke down again. “I’m sorry, I think I need to lie down.”

“Anything I can do?” said Lacey as they both got to their feet.

“Just pray for his soul. It was wonderful seeing you, Lacey. God bless,” she said as she hugged Lacey good-bye.

“Yeah, um, you too,” Lacey said.

On the drive back down the mountain, the driver’s side was the cliff side, where you were farther from the ledge yet more aware of it. The sun had burned off the mist, and all of Mercer was spread out beneath her: downtown, their place, the rest stop, Mapleshade, everything. But all Lacey could see was Hart running toward that fence, turning at the last second as he threw himself into it. Then picking himself up, walking back to where he’d started, and doing it again.

When she was halfway down, her cell phone rang. She put her headset on with one hand and answered it.

“Lacey, it’s Marybeth. I thought of that name. It was Merganser, Inc.”

“Mer-what? I missed that,” said Lacey.

“Mer
ganser
. Like the duck.”

NOTES:

Lisa,

I thought it was time to bring a couple of my characters back to reality, and to introduce a little more danger and intrigue. I figure you didn’t collaborate with me just to hear echoes of your own voice.

Dave

Dave,

I’m speechless. Wait, no I’m not. I just don’t know where to begin. Your whole chapter was like a headbutt. Did you just watch
Deliverance
? Might I remind you that we’re
collaborating
on a novel together, not playing a high-stakes poker game. What has gotten into you? What has gotten into Sook? Why in God’s name would you use the words “subfusc,” “asperous,” and “caliginous” in a freaking crime novel? Here’s a rule worth following: If the spell-check doesn’t recognize the word, don’t use it!

I brought you into this endeavor to improve it, not sabotage it. I just know James Patterson doesn’t have to put up with this shit. In the next chapter, I’m getting this book back on the rails. I hope we can keep it there.

Lisa

P.S. No, I wouldn’t remove my own appendix. But I wouldn’t let you do it either.

CHAPTER 13

Another idiotic duck reference was all Lacey had to show for her visit with Marybeth Monroe. Lacey thought for sure Hart’s mom would have a little more information. In fact, on the drive home she had to wonder why she’d even bothered with the visit, which was an utter waste of time. It was as if some outside element were at work, temporarily putting the brakes on her investigation.

There were questions that needed asking. For instance: Who were Hart’s known associates? Where had he been living these past six months? Were there any conflicts she knew of? Was he dealing meth again, or even using his product? Was he having money troubles? Marybeth, from what Lacey recalled, was always good for a few grand. These questions would have to linger for a while. Lacey couldn’t bring herself to return to the Monroe household just yet. Instead, she dropped by Mapleshade for a debriefing.

Once again, Lacey had enlisted the cuddly badass Sook in her investigation. Against her better judgment, she’d asked the old man to invite himself on an early-morning hunting trip with Tate—a reconnaissance mission, of sorts (though not the wisest activity for a man who had his driver’s license revoked due to poor eyesight). After Lacey’s dead-end visit with Marybeth Monroe, she hoped that Sook might offer some new revelation.

“My, it was cold out there. I’m afraid I don’t have much to report,” Sook said, looking a bit haggard. “You might want to steer clear of the Timberline for a while. You’ve really gotten under Tate’s skin.”

“Could he be the killer?”

“Lacey, he’s not your killer. He was talking too much. Your murderer would keep his trap shut. Besides, Tate’s basically harmless. Everybody knows that. Hell, he can’t even get his wife to give him his clothes back. He’s been wearing the same pair of pants for a week now. When he wears pants.”

“He should just buy another pair,” Lacey said.

“Agreed.”

“I still think he’s hiding something.”

“We’re all hiding something, Lace. But sometimes when you’re foraging for mushrooms, you find wild nettle instead.”

“I used to do that with my mom,” Lacey said, recalling afternoons spent on their property while her mother showed her the difference between the King bolete, an edible fungus, and its close relative, Satan’s bolete, poisonous until cooked. But still, who wants to tempt fate?

“Do what?” Sook asked, as Lacey’s mind wandered.

“Do you remember when my parents died?”

“No. I was turtling hard back then.”

“I thought we talked about that.”

“Sorry. I was keeping to myself, mostly. It was around the time Loretta got diagnosed with cancer. I wasn’t paying attention to much else.”

“Sorry, Sook. I forgot it was around then.”

An awkward silence started to take shape, but Lacey put it out of its misery.

“So, if Tate’s a dead end, where should I look next?”

“Maybe nowhere. You ever think about giving this thing a rest? Why don’t we play a game of gin rummy,” Sook suggested.

“I regret spilling my drink on Big Marv,” Lacey said, ignoring Sook’s suggestion. “It would be nice to have a friendly conversation with him. I guess there’s no turning back. Maybe I can break into his office in the middle of the night.”

“Lacey, you’re talking crazy. It’s one thing messing with no-pants Tate. But Big Marv is
all
bite. That man don’t even bother barking.”

While Lacey was lost in thoughts of breaking and entering, Sook walked over to his bureau, withdrew a shoebox, reached under a mass of old photos, and pulled out a handgun. He passed it to Lacey, holding it by the barrel.

“You know how to use this, right?”

Lacey’s uncle Duke had taught her to shoot during a visit right after their parents died. But when Paul started growing pot, he established a no-guns policy. It was the one part of Terry’s advice he’d ignored as he set up the business. There’d been enough death in his life already. Lacey hadn’t held a revolver in her hand since she was seventeen. But she most definitely knew how to use it.

“I remember,” Lacey replied.

“For emergencies only,” Sook said, returning the shoebox to the drawer.

While Lacey cradled the gun and imagined herself in a movie-style shootout, Sook rummaged through the other drawers of the bureau, tossing socks and faded T-shirts onto the floor.

“What are you looking for?” Lacey asked.

“My teeth,” Sook replied.

“Excuse me?”

“This might surprise you, but these alabaster marvels are dentures. My real teeth I keep in a bag in my dresser. Only they’re missing.”
²²

“Why would you keep your old teeth?” Lacey asked.

“I don’t know,” Sook replied. “Maybe I was hoping for a windfall from the tooth fairy.”

On the road back from Mapleshade, Lacey’s mind cycled through the grab bag of useless information she’d acquired. Tate had only one pair of pants. Sook saved his old teeth and lost them. And, of course, there was that one juggernaut of a clue—Merganser, Inc.—courtesy of Hart’s mom.

It occurred to Lacey that this crime was keeping her tethered to Mercer. She’d have to step up her investigation if she was ever going to get out. Without any other ideas up her bandaged sleeve, Lacey decided to pay another visit to the new doc, angling for more information.

“Lacey,” Doc Egan said. “How nice to see you.”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

Lacey strode directly into the office and parked herself on the examination table.

“Are you feeling all right?” Doc Egan asked.

“I’m fine. I’d like my stitches out now.”

“It’s too soon.”

“It looks like my skin is sticking together just fine.”

Lacey ripped off the bandage to show the doc his handiwork.

Doc Egan swabbed the stitches with alcohol and said, “Eight days. That’s the rule. You have six more to go.”

“Okay. Whatever,” Lacey replied, quickly giving up.

There was another reason for her visit. Unfortunately, she was too worn out to orchestrate a subtle transition to the point of it.

“I accidentally got a piece of Doc Holland’s mail.”

“How did that happen?” Doc Egan asked.

It was a fair question, since they lived miles apart. Lacey had to think hard and fast for an answer.

“Hansen. Holland. I think we’re the only H’s in town,” she said, surprised by her skillful prevarication.

“I see,” Egan replied.

“So, maybe you could give me his forwarding address and I’ll pass it along.”

“Or you could leave the letter with me and I’ll forward it to him.”

“I’d feel more comfortable taking care of this matter myself,” Lacey said.

Egan found Lacey’s persistence equal parts bizarre and amusing.

“Maybe we can come to some kind of understanding,” Egan said.

“I don’t see why not. What did you have in mind?”

“I have some patients who could use a certain kind of medication.”

“Why don’t you write them a prescription?”

“The closest compassion center is a three-hour drive. Most of my patients can’t drive. I need another option.”

“Are you a cop?” Lacey replied.

“No, I’m a doctor.”

“Sorry. I had to ask.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“I’ll comp the first batch. After that, you need to pay.”

Doc Egan re-dressed Lacey’s wound while she provided a complete price list. When he was done, he returned to his desk and on a prescription pad wrote out an address and passed it to Lacey. She looked it over.

“Wait a minute,” Lacey said, “I thought he’d at least left the state. This is just a P.O. box in Tulac.”

“I doubt he’s living in Tulac. He probably has his mail forwarded to wherever he went.”

Lacey hopped off the table. “Nice doing business with you, Doc.”

Egan walked Lacey to the door.

“Want to catch a movie sometime?” he asked.

“Did you know that the closest movie theater is a forty-minute drive?” Lacey replied.

“I didn’t.”

“You should have looked into that before you moved here.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Sure. Why not?” Lacey replied.

“This week sometime?”

“I’m busy this week.”

“Doing what?” Egan asked. As far as he knew, she had all the time in the world.

“Solving a murder. I thought my brother would help me, but he’s totally useless. It’s kind of taking up most of my time.”

“Why don’t you leave that business to the cops?”

“It’s personal,” Lacey replied.

On her way home, Lacey dropped by Betty’s place. She wanted to check on the address of Mallard Corp., the apparent provider of Doc Holland’s supplemental malpractice insurance. If that’s what it was. Lacey couldn’t articulate a connection, but two operations named after ducks couldn’t be a coincidence, could they? Betty still had Holland’s accounting data in her computer and had no problem accessing the address, a mailbox in Emery, just north of Mercer. Betty served Lacey a mug of hot tea. She was itching for the latest town gossip, but Lacey was more interested in old news. She hoped Betty’s memory was better than Sook’s.