Shorts - Sinister Shorts (26 page)

A small woman, Carol had blue eyes behind the specs that were blinking against some strong emotion right now. She tried to close the door, but Nina's six-hundred-dollar Manolo Blahnik boot heel was wedged between the door and its sill.

“Ah ah ah,” Nina said. “It's me or the cops. You'll do better with me.”

“Go away.”

“It's cold out here. Twenty degrees and dropping, I'd say. We can talk with the door open and run up your heating bill or you can let me inside and we'll both be better off.”

Carol looked once more at the boot in the door and gave up. “Come in,” she said ungraciously, opening the door and turning her back to Nina.

The house showed a lot of pride around its shined surfaces. On the walls, signed lithographs hung: a gaudy Peter Max, an English cottage scene by the guy who billed himself as the Painter of Light in his TV ads, and a Picasso scribble showing hands passing a bouquet of flowers. Showy knickknacks decorated the bookshelf.

“Lenny says he told you about Neal's plan,” Carol said. She was sitting on the white leather couch, bare legs crossed. Her robe gaped a little, exposing an angular bosom.

“How did you get involved?” Nina said.

“He was too worried to keep his mouth shut about this.”

“Lenny saw an opportunity in Neal's plan, didn't he? He could set his sister up for life and get rid of her troublesome husband, all in one stroke. Did he ask you for help, or was it your idea to buy the gas can and put it into the trunk? Neal had no idea it was there, did he? But you and Lenny had easy access to Neal's car, and you fit the description…”

“You're barking up the wrong tree. Lenny and I had nothing to do with it.”

“Short and blue-eyed. That's how the person who bought the gas can was described,” Nina said.

Carol Dole shook her head. “Have you taken a good look at your client lately?” she asked with a smile as wide as a half-moon. She tipped her head back so that Nina could follow the long line of her throat. It reminded her of Emily screwing up her eyes, closing them, leaning her head back…

Emily, petite, blue-eyed.

“Em was my best friend in high school,” Carol said. “That's where she and Neal met. Then just a couple months ago, after her husband died, she came across him again.”

Carol's meaning hit Nina hard. Emily had lied to her. Well, clients lied. She knew that. “So you know Caitlin,” she said.

“Who?” Carol said, and Nina felt like she was drifting off into some kind of space, only it wasn't calm and peaceful there. Supernovas were going off all around her. Through the distant chaos she heard her voice saying quite normally and correctly, “Emily Chuvarsky's little girl?”

Carol's laughter brought her back to earth.

“Em a mom?” Carol said. “You have to be kidding. She hates kids. It was Neal she loved after her husband died. Neal knew it, and he played her for a lot of money before she realized he'd never leave Juliette. She used to go listen to him when he was playing piano, before he got fired. Music is the way to so many women, have you noticed? Neal sure used it that way, when it suited him.”

“If it was Emily, then she was working with you or your husband,” Nina said. “Triple eights.”

“So she was the one who made up the story about our license plate? You really scared Lenny with that one. I thought it must be her. I remember one time she said we were lucky with the eights.”

“You're saying-do you realize…”

“All I'm saying is, I didn't do a thing to anybody.”

“Did you tell her about Neal's plan?”

“Just to show her she was better off forgetting about him. I didn't know she was the patsy.”

“Emily?”

Nina's client looked flushed and pretty, as if she had walked all the way to the office. “Yes?”

“I talked to Carol Dole about you.”

“Oh,” she said, all her prettiness falling behind a frown.

“You lied to me about Caitlin.”

“I always loved that name,” she said after a pause. “She's cute, too, isn't she? I found the photo stuck inside a book I bought at the Salvation Army.”

“You lied about knowing Neal, too.”

She tapped her foot, examined her fingernails, and didn't say anything for a long time.

“Maybe you need to find another lawyer, one you feel comfortable telling the truth to.”

“I just-everything I say to you is confidential, right?”

“That's right.”

“I guess you already figured out most of the story. Might as well know the rest. I did know Neal. He was a liar and a cheat. He gambled away a lot of my money. He hurt me… drew me in and made a fool of me.”

“You hated him.”

“No.” She breathed in short breaths, impatient to be understood. “I never hated him.”

“Carol told you that Neal had come up with a plan.”

Emily studied Nina awhile, then seemed to come to a decision. “When I heard about his idea for a crash scam, it set off something in me, something I didn't even know was there. I started thinking, wouldn't it be perfect if he should get his while trying to screw yet another unsuspecting victim? Almost a biblical justice.”

“You put the gas in his trunk.”

She shifted her body in her chair, looking uncomfortable. “I was over at Carol's when Lenny drove up in Neal's car. He had just had it in for servicing and was about to take it back to Neal, but we were all hungry, so he left the keys on the counter in the kitchen while they went out in Lenny's car to get us some food.

“It was fate, you see? I saw those keys lying there… I thought about Neal, how horrible he was to me. I felt such pain… and I picked them up. I didn't even think. I just took Neal's car and ran over to Chevron for the gas. Disguised myself a little. Then I hid the can under a blanket in the trunk before Carol and Lenny got back. It was cold and I wore gloves. If I thought at all, I guess I thought the car would be destroyed in a crash.”

“You wanted to kill him.” Nina was thinking about the fingerprint leading nowhere. A helper at the gas station? A previous customer?

“I loved him,” she said simply, as if even a child could see that explained everything. “But he hurt me so much. So I… engineered a little divine intervention. God rode beside him that day. If he had done nothing wrong, he would have lived, you see?”

“But you hit him, not someone else.”

“My rotten luck,” Emily said with a bitter laugh. “After that last DUI, I needed new insurance. Carol talked me into buying from Lenny, and he sold me a big fat new policy! So here I am driving home one night and suddenly Neal's in front of me. It happened so fast! I didn't realize it was him right away, but something struck me funny, so I followed close behind to try to see him better. Next thing I know, I'm stepping on the brakes, but the road's so slippery, I slide right into him! God-what a riot-isn't it funny? I can't stop laughing-the bad luck part-but you know, it's a small town-the bad luck part is, Lenny, who had me fresh in his mind and never liked me, must have picked me to be the mark! And I didn't know when they were planning the crash!”

“The triple eights…”

“Oh, Lenny was there that night, whatever he and Carol say, whether I saw him or not. He's the one who cut in front of Neal, wearing a mustache that hung crooked, just like everybody in that whole damn family, including my so-called friend, who never could keep a secret, even when we were thirteen. Oh, God. They'll never be able to keep quiet about this.”

“You realize you're in serious trouble now, Emily. The system doesn't forgive murder.”

“Yes, thanks for nothing! You could have just helped me, forced Juliette to settle within the policy limits instead of dragging up all this old business!”

She didn't really appreciate the extent of the calamity she had set off yet. Her first mistake had been a headlong, thoughtless rush into the fray, but her biggest mistake had been involving Nina.

Clasping her bag, Emily stood up. “I suppose I will get that new lawyer.”

“Good idea.” Nina also stood. “I'll sign the Substitution of Attorney as soon as it comes in.”

“Carol and Lenny have figured everything out by now, thanks to you. They'll hurry to protect themselves. No doubt the cops will follow close behind.”

They would, and they would get her, too. She should have forced her insurance company to settle with Juliette. She should never have put herself in front of the legal machine because now Nina had turned on the ignition and the wheels had started up. They would roll inexorably from here on out until they crushed her beneath them.

“Here's a check,” Nina said, scribbling one out and handing it to her. “Your retainer, less my expenses.”

Emily took the check, studied it, and frowned.

She went out the door. “Shyster,” she said, pulling it shut behind her.

When Nina got home, Hitchcock made a rush for her and began licking her stockings. “Get off me, you damn hound,” she said, making for the upstairs bedroom.

She lay down, imagining what the courts had in store for the impetuous Emily. She wondered if she'd ever feel the desire to get up again. She wondered if there was still a Peace Corps and if they had any openings in Gabon. Maybe the villagers there would thank her for doing a good job. Maybe there, passionate women did not plot against ex-lovers.

“Mom,” Bob said through the door, “I made a tuna casserole.”

“You're kidding!”

“In the microwave. It's steamin', Mom. Plus I poured you a glass of wine out of the bottle in the fridge. It's on the kitchen table. And the news is on.”

Nina opened one eye. White fell through the twilight outside the window.

“Mom?” At the same moment, Hitchcock barked. He wanted to come in, and he wouldn't take no for an answer.

“I'm coming,” Nina said. She got up and opened the door.

The Couple Behind the Curtain

Craig settled himself into the small, battered chair beside her hospital bed and punched his cell phone.

“I don't think you're supposed to use those here.”

He shrugged, put a finger up, and listened. He shut the phone. “There wasn't a sign around here. Maybe that's just for intensive care or emergency.”

“Water,” Gretchen said. “I'm going to need some.”

He set the phone beside his chair, picked up a miniature plastic pitcher on the table beside her, walked over to the sink, flipped a lever, and collected cold water. The pitcher spilled a few drops on the way back to her bedside.

“Better wipe that up,” she said, handing him a tissue. “Someone might slip.”

He took the proferred tissue, bent carefully after pulling up his slacks to protect the crease, and dabbed at the spots. He tossed the tissue into the can nearby while she drank. “You know when they call these floors dirty, they mean dirty with a capital
D
?” He shuddered. “I hate thinking what's been down there.” He picked up her book, her discs, her music player, and the headphones that lay littering the counter under the window and stuffed them into her overnight bag. He searched under the bed, and pulled out a hair tie and a sock, holding them between his finger and thumb, like dead rats. He zipped the bag shut, then looked hard at her. “Shouldn't you comb your hair? Start getting ready? You need to comb your hair.”

“My hair is fine, Craig.”

He found her comb, got behind her, pushed her shoulders forward, and began to comb it.

“Well?” Gretchen asked, wincing as he yanked through a tangle. “Talk, why don't you? You want to talk. You insist on talking. I'm a captive audience.”

“How's the leg?”

“When I move, it feels like it's in a meat grinder. The bones are loose inside. Don't ask me about it. I feel feeble at the moment, not myself. I want to cry.”

“Have you taken your pills?”

“An hour ago. I'm in my prime, in terms of being pain-free. Another hour and I'm going to be chewing the sheets. Then there's that final glorious hour, when I'll be murderous or in tears.”

“Another hour and you'll be home.”

“I don't think I'm ready.”

“The doctor said you're ready.”

“I don't believe other people anymore. I believe the evidence of my own senses.”

“Gretchen, don't be difficult. They kept you in one night and all day today. Now you can go home.”

“I have a temperature.”

“A low temperature is common after surgery.”

“Craig, they put a plate in my leg! This is not a normal situation!”

“You panic too easily.” He examined her hair critically, gave it another rough swipe, and put the comb away. “You overreact.” He sat on the edge of her bed, near her hurt leg. “I need you to be reasonable, here, okay?”

“What's going on?”

“It's about us.”

“You were trying to tell me something at the dance when I fell.”

“That's right. And that was a pretty severe reaction you had, falling like that, breaking your leg. I guess you knew somehow what I needed to say was very serious.”

“Maybe the anticipation was too much for me. You've been wanting to tell me for a long time. I thought you might never get up the courage. You're seeing someone.”

He moved away from her and took a breath. “You know?”

“Don't tell me about her, Craig, okay? I really don't want to talk about her.”