Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 01 - The Trouble With Charlie (37 page)

“Okay, genius. There’s no gun here. So where is it?”

“I swear. It was right here. In the desk—”

“But he moved out. Didn’t it occur to you that he might have taken it with him?”

Using the walls to steady myself, I started for the front door. It was just across the foyer but seemed miles away. I took a labored step on legs of oatmeal, then another. The door seemed no closer. The voices faded. I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Until suddenly, Joel came into the hallway.

“Gotta piss like a racehorse. Where is it?”

Before Derek could answer him, I was out of sight.

As Joel hunted for a toilet, I lunged for the coat closet, closed the door gently behind me, pushed through the wall of coats, cleaning bags, and jackets, tiptoed over and around the jumble of storage, and slipped into the cramped cobwebbed triangle of space at the far end, under the steps. Huddling there, I realized that I’d been spending a lot of time in closets. Too much time. This one wasn’t as comfortable as Charlie’s had been; it lacked carpeting and air. And this time, I didn’t have even a hanger to make a weapon with. Damn. Why hadn’t I grabbed one from the coat rack? Or a nine iron from the storage compartment? Or even an umbrella? I had nothing to defend myself with. Didn’t dare go back to scrounge, couldn’t risk making noise.

Crouching, panting, I waited and listened. Out in the hallway,
Derek and Joel discovered my absence. They shouted at each other, panicking, searching for me. Scolding each other, casting blame.

“Damn you, Joel.” Derek was sputtering. “You said she was unconscious.”

“Don’t put this on me, Derek—you told me to look for the gun.”

“But obviously, you were supposed to secure her first. Can’t you think of anything by yourself?”

“No. Not a thing. This whole fucking thing was your—”

“Never mind culpability, Joel. Please try to stay on point. We need to take care of business. Let’s assess. She’s wounded, so she can’t have gone far. Unless—Did she manage to get outside?”

“I checked the kitchen door. Everything’s bolted from inside.”

“So she’s still in the house, somewhere. Start looking.”

“Hold on. Quiet. Let me try something.” I heard footsteps.

“What the fuck are you—”

“Derek, will you just shut up?” More footsteps on the hardwood. Then, “Elle?” It was Joel, calling out, sounding urgent and concerned. “Elle, honey. Where are you?”

Honey?

“I know you’re confused and scared. But, Derek’s gone. I think I broke his neck. So you don’t have to be afraid. It’s just me now, so come on out. You’re hurt. You need a doctor.”

The son of a bitch was trying to coax me out of hiding. Silence, as he waited for me to emerge. I huddled, listening to pathetic, transparent lies. Did he think I was stupid enough to believe him?

“Okay. I get it. You don’t trust me. But honestly, I was just playing along with Derek. Waiting for a chance to take him down. You know I could never hurt you.”

Joel walked as he called to me. The floorboards creaked
under his weight. “Derek lost it. He got way over his head in some real bad business. But he’s not going to hurt you now. No one is. We need to get you to a hospital. And we—you and I—need to talk.”

His footsteps came closer. Stopped outside the closet door.

“So why don’t you come out and talk, Elf?”

Oh God. Had he figured out where I was? The closet door opened. The lightbulb came on. My chest did a drumroll. Pounded like hooves of stampeding horses. I was sure they’d hear it, feel it shaking the walls. I curled into a ball, grabbed my knees, pressed my head against them, positioned for a plane crash. Held my breath. Armloads of coats got pulled from the racks. Boxes and suitcases got yanked from the storage compartment. Joel grunted and cursed, called my name again and again, repeating that he’d never hurt me. That we still had a dinner date at La Buca.

I pressed back into the underside of the stairs. Heard the blood rushing in my head. Watched a hand—Joel’s fingers reach through shadows back into the dark space where I huddled, groping blindly, touching the floor beside my feet, tapping slowly across the space. Resting not an inch from my hip. Would he feel my body heat? My fear? Would he crawl deeper into the closet and see me?

I waited. Wondered if my chest would explode from not breathing. If I’d lose control and mess my Capris. I watched the hand as it traced the underside of the lowest step, then the second. As it followed the riser to the third, I knew it’d find me.

This time, though, I wouldn’t go down easy. This time, I’d hurt them back.

I would become my own weapon. My nails weren’t long, but they were long enough to dig. And my jaw was strong. I made fingers into claws, ready to grab Joel’s wrist, opened my mouth, prepared to clamp my teeth into his flesh.

His hand crept up the riser, felt its way across the bottom of the third step. Millimeters from my face. I ached to breathe but didn’t. Swimmers could hold their breath for minutes. Surely, I could last a few more seconds and take him by surprise. My nostrils flared, teeth ached, ready to chomp and draw blood. Ready to tear skin and rip away meat. I was no longer a helpless victim. I was a beast, a predator about to strike.

Maybe Joel sensed danger. Maybe he just gave up. Either way, he suddenly withdrew his hand and backed away. The closet door hung not quite closed, but, finally, I drew in air. Closed my mouth. Relaxed my talons. Felt like heaving. Didn’t dare. Didn’t even move.

I don’t know how long they kept looking for me—an hour? Two? But my back was cramped and legs numb from crouching. I heard them arguing, slamming doors. I felt the stairs shake over me as they stomped up stairs and down. Pictured them opening cabinets and closets, tearing apart the attic, the basement.

Several times, I heard my cell phone ringing just a few feet away in the foyer. Once, I heard the doorbell ring. Becky, probably. Maybe Susan or Jen.

I sat in the darkness until, hearing no sounds, I dared to straighten out my legs, gently, slowly, letting them lengthen into the cubby. I bumped some shoes and boxes, and knocked an umbrella, which fell against the wall. I froze, expecting the door to fly open and Derek or Joel to drag me out. But the door didn’t open. I waited, listened. Wondered if they were still in the house. If they’d heard the thump.

The numbness in my legs became pins and needles. Sharp, painful. I shifted my weight. Heard nothing.

My head ached. Whole body hurt. How long was I supposed to cower in the closet? How long would they wait in the house? Hours? All night? Into the morning?

My stomach growled. The doorbell rang again. And cobwebs
tickled my neck. My skull throbbed. I closed my eyes, let go of a tear.

“No, don’t cry, Elf.”

I jumped, startled. The lump on my head bumped against the bottom of a step.

Charlie? Really? He hadn’t talked to me since I’d told him to go away and be dead.

“Charlie.” Thank God. I wiped tears away with the back of my arm.

“I’ve been thinking, Elle. You had every reason to tell me to get lost. I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

Yes. It was.

“At least I got him out of here.”

“You? How?”

“I told Joel that you weren’t back here. He thought it was his own thoughts. But it was me. I’m finding I can do all kinds of things. Like suggest ideas.”

Really? Had he suggested ideas to me?

“That’s how I bought you some time to hide. I wanted them to leave you alone, so I told Derek that the gun was in my desk.”

The gun? “What gun, Charlie?” He wasn’t making it easy for me to be grateful. “You had a gun? Here, in the house?”

“Elf. Can we please not fight? I just saved your life.”

I knew that he wasn’t actually there. That I was alone in the dark. Hallucinating. Nonetheless, I had to ask.

“Saved my life?” Was he claiming to be a hero? One minute apologizing, the next wanting credit. Would he never stop twisting the truth?

“Yes, of course I saved you. I love you, Elle.”

“You love me.”

“Always and forever.”

God, he was good. Convincing. I wanted to throttle him. “That’s nice, Charlie. You love me forever.” Sherry McBride
came to mind. Not dead. Taunting me at the viewing. “Why would she do that, Charlie?”

“Oh, come on, Elle.” He sounded beaten. Persecuted. “We’ve been over that a hundred times.”

We had?

“I’ve told you—”

“Was she your girlfriend? Because that’s what Derek said, that she was your girlfriend.”

“Derek’s a psychopath.”

“She said it, too. She told me she was your girlfriend. So? Was she?”

I felt his breath on my face. Smelled Old Spice. “You’re the only woman I ever loved, Elle.”

So. It was true. He’d had an affair with her. Otherwise, he’d have insisted, No. Of course not. She was crazy, obsessed. She made it up. But he didn’t say any of that. Didn’t even try to deny it. Even now, when he was dead, my gut twisted with betrayal. The air got sucked from my lungs.

“Damn you, Charlie.”

“You’re right. If I were you, I’d have killed me. I was a shit.”

Wait. He was agreeing with me?

“You were right about all of it. I lied. I cheated. I did shady business deals, got involved in things that even I thought stunk. I was a skunk, Elle. I didn’t deserve you. I’m sorry.”

He sounded sincere, but I wasn’t convinced, had long since steeled myself against Charlie’s charm. But my shoulders tingled as if enclosed by a soft warm cloud. As if Charlie was there, en-folding me. Embracing me. And for that moment, while he held me, I was comforted. Not afraid of dying. Willing to be dead as long as he would be there with me.

“I wasn’t a good man, Elle.” His whisper was a caress. “I wasn’t always good to you. But I loved you when I was alive. I still love you. I always will love you. That’s really all that matters in the end.”

In the end, he was probably right. But was it the end? I pictured the grassy plot of ground, twin headstones. Charlie lying encased beside me. Suddenly, none of our problems—money, secrets, lies, infidelity, even murder—none of that seemed important. In the end, facing eternity, all that was important was that the two of us would be together.

“I love you, too, Charlie.” I said it out loud. I meant it, too. But I don’t know if he heard me. Because just then, something in the hallway crashed or exploded. Men were shouting. Somebody screamed. Somebody cursed. Footsteps pounded, fast.

Maybe they’d found the forty-five.

It didn’t matter anymore if I made noise. Whatever was going on in my house was loud enough that no one would notice anything I did, chaotic enough that no one would care. I crawled into the storage compartment to grab a nine iron.

“No, not that.” Charlie stopped me. “Take this.”

I looked in the corner, on the shelf. Noticed a small black case.

“Open it.”

I took it down, unfastened the clasp. So, they hadn’t found the forty-five. It was here, in the closet.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” I’d been hiding there all that time, could have used a gun.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t need it.”

But now I did?

Footsteps stampeded down the hallway. Something shattered. Someone yelped. I turned on the closet light, looking at the thing. It was ugly, dark blue, dangerous. Smelled oily. Weighed a ton. I wondered how to load it. Had no idea.