Adelaide Upset (22 page)

The next day was a Sunday,
and I woke up that morning feeling deflated. I sort of lumbered
around the house, my pity party carried over from one day to the
next. Smith was gone. The ghost dog was also absent. I made
breakfast, burning the bacon and spilling my orange juice. With
hours to kill before my shift at work, I was at a loss, knowing I
needed to find a distraction or things would get ugly. If left to
my own devices there might be more crying.

I flipped through my phone
book while I ate, skimming the pages for Bill Shrader. I found a
William Shrader, and tearing out the page, I decided to stop
sniveling and go borrow Luke’s computer.

He was already at work, so
the venture would require little courage. It wasn’t that I didn’t
want to see him, or that I was mad, or even that the minor spat
from yesterday was a problem. The problem was that Elaine had been
right, I
was
threatened by her. It didn’t make sense either, because I
trusted Lucas. I just couldn’t seem to trust the fact that he would
choose me over her, especially with her strutting around right
under his nose.

I got ready for the day,
taking my plans into account and dressing for yet another ride off
the island. My car’s idea of air conditioning was the fan blowing
warm air in off the engine, so I wore short shorts and a loose
T-shirt, slathering on the deodorant and popping my hair into a bun
so it would stay up off my neck.

Stepping outside through
the kitchen, I found a note stuck to my backdoor. It said only:
come over. Luke, always to the point. He had given me my space last
night, but I appreciated the message and its
encouragement.

I let myself in and
flopped onto the couch at his house, pulling the laptop closer as I
turned it on. As I waited for it to wake up, something shiny caught
my eye. Shoes, two little sandals, strappy and metallic, they lay
forgotten in the corner. Intentionally forgotten and certainly not
mine. Elaine’s little ruse, her excuse to come back. I wasted no
time in picking them up, carrying them to the kitchen, and dumping
them straight into the trash. I hope it was her favorite
pair.

After that my mood was
black, no cream, no sugar. I copied down directions to Bill’s
place, mentally calculating the time frame. It wasn’t looking good.
I would probably be late to work again. Oh well, there was nothing
for it. I went home and gathered up my things, stuffing the tape
and recorder into my purse.

“
Smith!” I called,
thinking I should consult him first. “Smith!” But he was really
gone, probably off haunting Stephen. Not wanting to wait, I wrote
him and note and left.

I drove with all the
windows down, wind whirling through the car, beating me in waves.
The tires thrummed a rhythm as I crossed the many bridges, the soft
sound dulling me slack as I sped over the blue water beneath me. I
was feeling better by the end of my journey, sort of refreshed
despite the pulsing heat.

Bill lived in a
subdivision, the cookie-cutter houses all rowed up nice and neat.
It was a neighborhood for families, but my impression of Bill had
convinced me he didn’t have one.

I parked in his driveway,
suspecting the swath of concrete would never be the same. My car
was known to leak, dribbling black goo. No matter, I planned to
make this quick, in and out before an oily puddle could form. I
rang the doorbell and waited.

A waft of cool air escaped
when the door was pulled open. Bill was there, and for once he
wasn’t sweating. With his thermostat set to arctic, I couldn’t wait
to get inside.

“
Do you remember me? We
met at the picnic. I hope I’m not interrupting,” I said, taking in
his dress pants and tweed jacket. “I need to speak with you. It
won’t take more than minute.”

He was concerned, even a
little put out by my arrival, but that’ll happen when faced with an
unexpected visitor. He covered it well, sweeping the door open.
“Come in,” he said politely. “And no, you aren’t interrupting. I
just got home from church.”

His living room was bland,
beige carpets and couch. No sports memorabilia. No mounted moose
heads. I guess it was true what people said, accountants really
were boring.

He lowered his girth into
a recliner, gesturing for me to sit across from him. I was talking
before my butt hit the cushion. I confessed my theory that David
Smith didn’t abandon his family, but rather my belief that some ill
fate had befallen him.

“
What makes you say that?
You would have been what, ten, eleven,” Bill pressed. “Just a child
when all of this was happening.”

I tried to be vague, but
he was insistent, curious to know what’d precipitated my search. I
pulled out the tape recorder just to distract him, knowing I would
lose all credibility the second I started to ramble on about
ghosts. Sure enough, the tape did the trick. He was totally
surprised and I had his full attention, curiosity sparked and
flaming. He listened without speaking, and when the tape was
through I warned him about my Marks encounters, well, the first
one. I needed to impress the seriousness of the situation, because
his emotions weren’t registering in as somber. And if anything
could do it, crushed fingers would.

“
I’m bringing this to your
attention because you remember David,” I said. “And as an SL&S
employee you can easily report this to your boss and the
authorities. Marks knows who murdered David Smith, of that much I’m
sure.”

He was thinking hard, a
blend of thoughtful distraction. Underneath all that was vigilance,
which I thought was a good sign. At least he was taking me
seriously.

“
I hope you won’t think
badly of me,” he said, “but I need a drink.” Bill grabbed an
armrest and wrenched himself upright. From behind me I heard
brittle clinking, and turning I saw him use the decanter to fill a
glass. “Can I pour you something?”

I shook my head and turned
back around. “I know this all sounds out of left field,” I
admitted. “SL&S, the victim of corporate espionage, and the
murder of David Smith—somehow the two are tied together. I just
can’t figure out how,” I said in frustration, talking to myself
more than anyone. “And what I really don’t understand is why Marks
taped himself. Why would someone do that?”

From behind me I heard him
guzzling it down, his gullet gulping thickly, audible from across
the room. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke his voice was
winded and scratchy.

“
Maybe he didn’t,” Bill
offered. “I mean, a guy like that does hard labor. He doesn’t have
access to company decisions. A higher ranking office guy could have
cut him into the deal, got him to take care of the leg work, even
taped him doing it just incase it all went south, because then he’d
have someone else to take the fall.”

“Oh shit!” I breathed, bolting out of my
seat.

I spun around, seeing something fisted in
his hands, the blur of it bearing down before it all went
black.

I woke up in a dream, everything blurry and
muffled. My mind drifted, the only thing sharp and certain was the
pain in my head. It throbbed, luring me into awareness. Voices, I
heard them murmuring from behind me. I couldn’t recall what had
happened, but instinctually I was afraid of the noise. I didn’t
move, holding myself still as my mind flashed forward, snapping
from the remnants of lazy lassitude.

I took stock, feeling
myself sprawled out unnaturally in a way I would never lay. My
shoulders not quite flat, hands pinned behind me, crushed by my own
weight, as I rested on one hip with my legs curled back. And the
pain, the pain woke up with me, increasing as I became coherent. My
head was a living drum, the aches beating out a steady rhythm. But
my hands, wrists, spine, and hip rebelled as well, begging to be
moved into a more comfortable position.

It flooded back to me
then, all of it. The knowledge that Bill Shrader had cracked me
over the head, knocking me into unconsciousness. I should have seen
it coming, but I’d been lulled by his flat emotions, assuming his
interest stemmed from good intentions. And now... now I was, well,
fucked.

That did it. Wide awake,
enough to know my hands were tied behind my back and that I was
outside, the distant birdcalls finally registering in my brain, all
of my concentration was suddenly snared when the voices picked up
again.

From a few yards away one
man said, “Don’t blame me. This is the second time I’ve cleaned up
your mess.” It was Bill.

“
I never asked you to hurt
Smitty!” another exploded, his deep voice recognizable.
Marks.

“I shouldn’t have had to,” Bill said, his
voice quiet but biting. “He caught wind of the deal, made the tape,
and almost ruined us because you were indiscreet. A tape you said
you destroyed,” he finished, the last an accusation.

“
I got rid of all his
stuff,” Marks said, voice agitated. “I thought it was
gone.”

“
Yes, that is what you
assured me. So imagine my surprise when the girl showed up on my
doorstep, tape in hand.” Bill relentlessly continued. “If you had
destroyed the tape, she wouldn’t be dead. And if you had kept your
mouth shut, then your friend David Smith wouldn’t be dead, either.
But here I am, helping you bury another mistake, so don’t complain
to
me
.”

When compared to a giant
like Marks, Bill was a small man, but of the two, he was supremely
dominant. He’d easily beaten Marks into a sullen submission,
verbally cowing him into line. Marks only response had been a dull
grunt, barely audible over the ominous sound of shoveling, the
background noise that had been going on under their
dialogue.

My mind was a jumble,
thoughts tumbling together, mixing and unintelligible. He was
lying!

I’m not dead.

I’m not dead.

I’m not dead.

I tried to stay still, but
my breathing hitched up, bits of dirt stirring around my mouth from
the heavy huffs. My heart was going too fast, I was going to die. I
was dying. The panic attack took over, claiming my better judgment,
stripping me until I was nothing but one giant reaction.

Something gripped my ankle and I screamed,
the shrill sound slapping me back to reality. I kicked out,
trapping my tied hands as I rolled to see who’d grabbed me.

It was Marks standing over
me, stunned in place. I had a chance to convince him, he wasn’t
without guilt or remorse. I had felt it.

“He’s lying to you,” I cried, panic making
my voice shake. “Smith didn’t make the tape, he did!” I said,
jerking my head at Bill. “He was going to use you as the scapegoat
if the plan fell through! Smith stole it to protect you,” I said,
begging for him to believe me.

“She’s lying,” Bill said, angry for the
first time. “She’ll say anything to save herself.”

“No! No, he said I was dead. He would have
let you bury me alive. If anyone were to find my body, then he
could say you were responsible, that you had buried me! He’s just
using you,” I rambled.

“
Nonsense,” Bill said,
ripping the shovel away from Marks. “I’ll prove it by killing her
myself.”

He came for me, moving
past Marks with a steely determination. I jerked upright, yanking
my hands in frenzy, but they were stuck fast behind my back.
Digging my heels into the ground, I pushed myself away, struggling
to escape him and the newly dug pit.

He stalked me down in no
time, swinging the shovel. I screamed, scuttling away at the last
minute. But I couldn’t avoid it completely, the metal tip clipping
my shoulder as I tucked my head back.

It sliced into my skin, tearing another
scream from me.

Bill moved forward,
stepping on my ankle to hold me in place. He raised the shovel
again, grasping it like a bat. He brought it down, but was bowled
over at the last minute.

Smith was a blur, there one minute and gone
the next.

“What was that?” Marks asked, face
furrowed.

“It’s David Smith,” I answered, feeling
immense relief. I sniffed, only then realizing that my face was
covered in tears. “His ghost has been restless since the day you
murdered him,” I said, glaring at the two of them.

Marks snapped, guilt and terror breaking him
in half. “Shut up!” he growled, lunging for me.

Smith jumped in front,
catching the brunt of it. I curled into a ball as they went down,
and cringed as they rolled over me. They grappled on the ground,
straining muscles pulled wire tight.

Bill used the distraction
to come for me, his hands closing over my throat. I tried to buck
upright, but he pinned me easily. My eyes bulged, my limbs
twitched, and in a last act of desperation I folded up one leg,
wedging a knee into Bill’s fat gut.

He grunted, losing his grip.

I sucked in air while the image of his
sweaty, red face imprinted on my brain. But he wasn’t done yet, and
while Marks was busy battling his ghost, I remained helpless.

Bill shifted, kneeling
beside me, his hands slipping under my skin as he flipped me over,
dropping me down into the ditch. It was deep. Deep enough to knock
the wind out of me when I hit bottom.

“Ugh,” I moaned. “Smith.”