Heads You Lose (27 page)

Lacey drove to Tulac and made a copy of the Moakler file on the ancient Xerox machine at the Slow and Easy convenience store. She’d have to figure out how to sneak the file back into Big Marv’s office, but she figured he wouldn’t notice its absence for a day or two.

At home, Lacey drafted a list of all the persons of interest who lived in Mercer, Emery, and Tulac, which basically consisted of all of Paul and Lacey’s friends and acquaintances. Lacey scratched Sook off the list and Doc Egan, since he had no motive; she also eliminated a few obvious non-suspects, like anyone legally blind or immobile, which included a large majority of the We Care and Mapleshade residents. At the top of the list she wrote
Doc Holland
in quotes. As far as Lacey was concerned, he was suspect number one. Although she couldn’t figure out how he could lug a grown man (minus head) on and off their property. But maybe he had a sidekick, some brain-dead local short on cash.

When Paul came home, he entered the kitchen and, against his better judgment, asked Lacey what she had been up to. Lacey split the piece of paper in half and handed it to Paul.

“You want this thing to end, don’t you?”

“What thing?”

“Living with your sister in a nowhere town, looking over your shoulder for killers. Maybe you even want to break up with that gimpy stripper and find a genius with a good leg and less history.”

“I love Brandy.”

“It was worth a shot,” Lacey replied. “Still, you want this investigation to come to end, right?”

“Most definitely,” Paul replied.

“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m merely suggesting you help me with this investigation. We do that, we’re free to move on. This here is a list of suspects. We’ve got a finite window now. All we have to do is ask a few questions, exonerate one suspect at a time, and eventually our suspect pool will be a puddle and the killer should be obvious.”

“I see,” Paul said, studying the list. “I’m on board. But can you do me one favor?”

“What’s that?” Lacey replied.

“Scratch me off the list.”

“Sorry about that,” Lacey said, striking a pen across Paul’s name. “Clerical error.”

The siblings sat in silence until the telephone broke it. Paul picked up on the second ring.

“Hello,” he said. “Hmm. Interesting. Well, I’ll have to discuss it with my sister and get back to you. Good-bye.”

“Who was that?” Lacey asked.

“Jay Babalato.”

“Did you call him like I told you to? I mean, like I casually suggested.”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He just upped the offer to eight hundred thousand dollars.”

NOTES:

Dave,

I hope you don’t mind me fleshing out the criminal activities of your Babalatos. Remember that suspicious interview with Mr. Portis? I thought our readers might like to be clued in about what was going on. I could trust that you would eventually handle the matter, but there’s still an unexplained plane crash haunting Mercer, so my trust is in the wind.

Since you’re committed to seeing this thing through, let’s try to see it through as quickly as possible. Quick refresher on murder mysteries: By the end, we know who killed everyone.

Lisa

Lisa,

Eureka. We’ve finally found our common purpose. Let’s finish this up so I can move on. Only one thing: You never responded to my coin-toss suggestion for who gets the last chapter. Until I hear otherwise, I’ll interpret your silence as assent. You name the time and place; I bring the coin.

Dave

CHAPTER 26

Perched on her stool in Mercer Airport’s radio booth, Wanda slid the little window back. Through the opening, Paul made the usual joke about the booth’s resemblance to a snack bar.

“I’ll have a corndog and a small Mr. Pibb,” he said.

“Good one,” said Wanda. “Haven’t heard it since yesterday.” She had sunken eyes.

He handed her a big cup of Tarpit coffee. The sun was halfway up.

“Rough night?”

“Online poker tournament. Around three a.m. I flopped a set and went all in. Some maniac caught runner-runner for the straight.”

“Bad beat,” said Paul, demonstrating a large percentage of his poker vocabulary.

“You too—I heard about your plants,” said Wanda.

“I didn’t know you played,” said Paul, re-changing the subject. “I should get back into that.”

“Oh yeah. In fact, I host a game every other Saturday night.”

“
Every
other Saturday?” Paul asked, perking up.

“Yep. Usually we’re done by four, but sometimes we go almost till six. You should join us sometime.”

“Save me a seat,” Paul said. “So do you remember who played last time?”

“The night after the plane crash? Sure. Let’s see. It was mostly ladies’ night. Deena was the first to show up. Then some cute brunette from Tulac, walked with a cane. She really owned it, though. Made it sexy. Who else? Oh yeah, Betty. One brownie too many—she folded a gut flush and then crashed on the couch.”

“My bad,” said Paul, reconsidering the optimal pot/chocolate ratio and feeling a little sad about the craft he might be leaving behind.

“Then a little after two, Tate from the Timberline showed up,” Wanda continued.

“Weird assortment of people,” Paul remarked.

“Weird town.”

“So who won?” he asked.

“Yolanda from Mapleshade. She came with Betty. Her first time. Had quite a few bills on her for a nurse’s aide. All small denominations. If she was built a little different, I’d say she was stripping on the side. Hey, why are you so curious? Sorry I haven’t invited you, but you said you didn’t like to socialize too much with your customers . . . ”

“Just scoping the competition. I should go home and start practicing. You heard about Harry Lakes, right?” he asked as he stood up from the stool.

“Terry’s cousin? I hear he’s just like Terry.”

“Was,” Paul corrected.

“Aw, no way,” she said. “When?”

“Yesterday afternoon. Bullet in the head.”

“Shit, no one tells me nothin’ out here. This shift is killing me. Six in the a-goddamn-m to two in the afternoon every day.”

“Stay safe,” said Paul. He started for his truck, then stopped and turned. “Hey, about that plane—” he started.

“No idea,” said Wanda.

Back in his truck, he took a look at the suspect list Lacey had assigned him, then crumpled it. He wasn’t doing this just for Lacey. He was also doing it so he could start his new life—just him, Brandy, Irving, and either a valuable new property or a suitcase full of Babalato cash. In a pocket notebook, he made his own list of the poker players:

POKER NIGHT

Betty
Candi
Deena
Tate
Wanda*
Yolanda

The poker game gave all six a strong alibi for the night Hart’s body was moved back to their property. The star after Wanda’s name indicated an additional alibi, for Wednesday’s Harry Lakes shooting, during which she would have been at the airport. It wasn’t exactly watertight, but he reminded himself that he only had to satisfy his sister’s
Scooby-Doo
–caliber investigative standards, not his own.
⁴¹

And by anyone’s standards, all the women on the list were extreme long shots anyway. Only Wanda would be strong enough to move a large body on her own, and none of them, with the possible exception of Candi, had a shady past or an imaginable reason to mess with him or Lacey. They also lacked a motive to kill Hart, Terry, or Harry (though that trio was hardly known for smooth relations with women). His friend and colleague Rafael also seemed beyond suspicion.

Among the poker players, that left only Tate for the Jakes–Lakes killings. Paul had arrived at the Timberline around four p.m. on Wednesday, just as Tate was getting off his shift. That meant Tate had been on the afternoon shift and would have been seen by at least a few customers. So Tate, too, was in the clear for both finite windows. The sky was still brightening, and Paul had already knocked off a half-dozen suspects. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

Paul drove back home to pick up his remaining stash. It was Senior Circuit Friday, and he still had bills to pay.

Irving came jogging up to his truck with a sorrowful look on his face and, as usual, something in his mouth. When Paul got out of the truck, Irving dropped the grisly item at his feet. Paul picked him up.

“What’s the matter, mister?” he asked.

Irving meowed.

“Senior Circuit today. Want to come?”

No response.

“Suit yourself, but it might be the last one ever.”

Paul looked down at the stringy offering.

“What’s that boy, a clue?” he said, his standard Lassie joke.

The bloody little pile didn’t look like something Irving had brought him before. The digestive tract of a bird, maybe? Did birds even have digestive tracts? Paul put Irving down and poked it with a twig. It wasn’t animal at all. It was medical thread and blood-soaked gauze.

Two thoughts crossed Paul’s mind: 1. Lacey had lied about her stitches. She’d removed them here, not at Doctor Egan’s office. Which made her visit to his office Wednesday afternoon suspicious. 2. Irving had brought him the one item on their property that was tied to Doc Egan.

Paul didn’t believe in assigning human traits to animals, but Irving was a highly intuitive cat. And didn’t all animals have incredibly sensitive mechanisms for sensing danger? As Terry liked to point out, almost no wild animals had drowned in that massive flood in Indonesia a few years back. They’d all headed to higher ground. Maybe Irving was just trying to help Paul do the same.

“Good boy,” said Paul.
⁴²

Paul called Rafael and explained his alibi project. Rafael promptly offered up his Wednesday whereabouts.

“For lunch I had a burrito up at Taco Bout Delicious in Emery. Hang on a sec,” he said. “Yep, I still have the receipt in my wallet. Buck-fifty for extra guacamole. Time stamp says 13:12.”

“Awesome,” said Paul. “So how about late Saturday night two weeks ago, say two to three a.m.?”

A long moment passed.

“Shit,” Rafael finally said. “I hate to kiss and tell.”

“Who is she?” said Paul.

“Oh boy,” said Rafael. “This is just between you and me, okay?”

“Of course,” Paul said.

“All right, think MILF.”

It took Paul about two seconds. “Lila Wickfield.”

“Uh, a little higher up the age range.”

“Wow. Deena Jakes?”

“Higher up, in every way.”

Paul was stumped. “Come on, man. Who?”

Paul heard Rafael exhale before he gave the answer: “Marybeth Monroe.”

“Jesus,” Paul exclaimed. “Hart’s mom?”

“I went up there looking for Hart to see if he’d seen Brice. She was having some wine and I joined her. It got weird. Afterward she wanted to make me a sandwich and stuff. Not my finest hour, okay?”

“Did you at least find out anything about Hart?”

“Just that his mom—”

“Okay, okay,” Paul interrupted. “Want to help me out later?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“A ride. Egan knows my truck.”