Dead End (31 page)

“I have,” Wally whispered. “When Spike finds out he’ll put me in jail.”

“Hmm.” Cyrus knew better than to laugh. “Whatever you say to me will go no further.”

“Even if I’ve broken the law?”

“What was your crime?”

“Shouldn’t we do the stuff?”

“Stuff?” Cyrus asked.

“You know,” Wally said, wiping the back of a hand across his nose. “Bless me, Father, for—”

“On this occasion,” Cyrus said. “We’ll choose to dispense with all that in the interest of expediency—that means that since we’re pressured right now, we’ll keep things informal.”

Wally got up. “Maybe you don’t have time. Nah, you don’t have time. I’ll come back another day. It isn’t so important.”

“Sit down,” Cyrus instructed. He didn’t like the way Wally looked. “I always have time for you.”

“I’m a thief.”

Cyrus bowed his head and made sure he appeared suitably serious. “How many times have you stolen, my son?”

“Once.”

“When?”

“Um, two days after Bonnie died.”

Wally’s tone, and the connection he made, raised the hairs on the back of Cyrus’s neck. “You’re pretty exact.”

“I was scared.”

“Of course you were, but now you’re telling me about it.”

“No,” Wally said. “I mean I was scared
before
I stole it. I’d lost my bike, see, and I just wanted to get another one before Mama and Daddy found out, only I thought it would take too long to get the money.”

“Your bike was stolen,” Cyrus pointed out. “Not lost.”

“Maybe it was borrowed. You could say I borrowed what I stole, only I can’t put it back like the thief could put my bike back.”

He stopped talking and hunkered down again.

“You still have what you stole?”

Wally nodded. “It was for the money, not that there was enough. Then I couldn’t use it anyway, and I couldn’t give it back.”

“Why not?” Cyrus asked gently.

Wally’s shoulders shook. “Because Bonnie was dead.” He choked, and Cyrus gave him some tissues. From inside the raincoat he produced a cheap black plastic purse.

Cyrus stopped breathing. He sat beside Wally. “That’s Bonnie’s purse, isn’t it? The one everyone was searching for that day?”

“I went where she left her car and started walking back, trying to think what she might think—being scared and all. I don’t know why I cut into the trees, but I did. I wasn’t even looking, not really. The sun shone on this, see?” He touched the silver-colored clasp on the purse. “I knew it was Bonnie’s ‘cause I seen it before. All I did was look inside, and there was her wallet. There was money in there. Bills. They’re still there.”

Wally should have given the purse up at once, but there was nothing to be gained by saying so. “We’d better decide how to deal with this,” Cyrus said. “What do you think should be done?”

“I want you to decide.” He pulled Nolan’s bag beside him and rested a hand on top. “Poor Bonnie. She isn’t even in her tomb. That’s not right. They shouldn’t do anythin’ till they find her.”

The phone rang, and Cyrus frowned. Who would call at this time of night. He wanted to ignore it, but considering what was going on, he answered.

“It’s Reb. Cyrus, forgive me for interrupting but—”

“I understand. Just a moment.” He covered the receiver and said, “Wally, how would you feel about having Reb, and maybe Marc in on this?”

Wally’s eyes got huge. “Spike’s out there,” he whispered.

“We won’t invite Spike until you want to.”

“I don’t want to.” Wally thought about it. “Unless you say so.”

“Reb,” Cyrus said into the phone, “Come and join us. Wally would like you and Marc here. Hey, what about his leg?”

“It’s closed. Nothing too terrible.”

He cleared his throat. “Not Spike right now, okay?”

“Spike had to leave. We’ll be right in.”

Cyrus replaced the receiver. “Did you look through the wallet?”

“Yep. Thirty-one dollars. Sixteen cents in coins. A lipstick—”

A knock preceded Reb’s entrance. Limping, Marc was behind her.

Reb saw the purse at once and stood still. She turned around quickly and closed the door behind Marc. “Bonnie’s purse. Where did you get that?” she asked Cyrus.

“I stole it,” Wally said and pressed his lips tightly together.

“He found it.” Cyrus corrected him. “Then he got scared and didn’t know how to return it.” At least he wasn’t lying—yet.

“May I see?” Marc asked, taking the purse and scouring inside before handing it back.”

“I found it, then I didn’t tell anyone I had,” Wally said. “There’s money in the wallet and I was going to use it toward getting a new bike, only I didn’t. But I did steal it; then I didn’t know how to give it to someone.”

Marc Girard smiled at Wally and said, “We all get into tough corners sometimes,” but, as Cyrus observed, his attention quickly returned to Reb. Cyrus wasn’t over worrying about these two getting involved—intimately involved and too quickly—but he was relieved to see Marc’s slavish preoccupation with Reb.

“What’s in it?” Reb asked, and Cyrus listed the contents as Wally had described them.

“No driver’s license and no credit cards,” Reb said, thinking about the photo, the one of the man with a baby. “Who knows what happened to the license. Not much to go on, but what there is needs to be with Bonnie’s effects.”

Oribel walked in without knocking, and Cyrus came close to getting angry with her. Instead he kept his voice steady and said, “You know better than to walk into my study when the door’s closed.”

“I’m in such a muddle,” she said, and began to cry. “Spike didn’t make it out of Bonanza Alley before one of those part-time deputies of his showed up. They’ve found Madge, and they’re bringing her back.”

“Madge?” Cyrus frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“She went to see to Reb’s dog and didn’t come back.”

Cyrus sprang to his feet. “And you didn’t say anything to me?”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

“You didn’t want—”

“
Cyrus.
”
Marc stood in front of Oribel. “This is all one goddamn mess. Let the woman explain.”

He didn’t feel like letting her explain.

“She’s all right now,” Oribel said, peeking around Marc. “But she’d had a horrible time. They found that woman’s van, and Madge was in back.”

“She was what?” He broke a sweat. “What are you talking about?”

“There was a bag over her head, and she was tied up—and gagged. She got taken from Reb’s place—out front. Never did see who did it. She’s worried ‘cause she didn’t get to feed Gaston.”

“Do you notice something these events have in common?” Reb said.

“Yeah, no one ever really sees anyone.” Marc said. “This joker knows how to sneak around.”

Cyrus wasn’t in the mood to analyze the criminal. “You didn’t
tell
me, Oribel.” He had an unaccustomed need to get violent with someone.

“I didn’t know anythin’ had happened,” Oribel said, her voice shrill. “I thought she would come back and I shouldn’t give you more worry than you’d already got. That’s where your trouble is”—she pointed at Reb—“that one. Whoever done it to Madge must have thought she was the doctor getting home. What haven’t you told us?” she asked Reb. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“That’s enough,” Marc said. “It’s fine for you to be a fool as long as you don’t upset good folks along the way. Why don’t you get back to the kitchen. We’ll go talk to Spike.”

“I want to get Madge,” Cyrus told him, and he didn’t care if someone wanted to make something out of his concern for her. She was more than an assistant to him, but he knew how to handle any stray thoughts or feelings.

“Oh!” Oribel rushed from behind Marc, pointing as she rushed Cyrus. “Oh, that poor dear girl. Where did you get that? Tell me now.” She screamed and tried to grab Bonnie’s purse.

“Calm down,” Reb said. “It was just found.”

Oribel was chalky. She wore no lipstick, and her mouth matched her face. “What’s in it?” She made another attempt to take it from Cyrus. “Is there something to help find out why she was out there like that? Why she went to the church? Oh, everyone I care for leaves me. If things keep going the way they are, you’ll all leave me, too. That’s if they don’t get me first.”

“She’s hysterical,” Marc said. “Can you help her, Reb?”

Reb had no chance to respond before Wally said, “This was in there, too.” He held out a clip for a small handgun.

Not one word had been said about efforts to find Amy’s body. Marc wouldn’t have expected to be so cut up about something like respect for the dead, and the sister who had been lost to him before he ever really knew her.

If he didn’t have Reb to think about, he might start ripping this molasses-paced village—who could call it a town?—apart.

Did he have Reb?

She and Attack Poodle were settling into the one Clouds End guest room that was habitable again. The Conch Street house wasn’t safe. Cyrus had offered her a room at the rectory, but both Madge and Oribel were staying there, and Marc had pointed out that Reb was without wheels and he was in a position to get her to the clinic first thing in the morning.

He hadn’t missed the sharp disapproval in Cyrus’s eyes.

Thanks to the people he’d hired to spend their lives working at Clouds End for the foreseeable future, Reb—and AP—would be comfortable. Just about anything Reb might want to eat was in the much improved kitchen, and major areas of damage had been shored up. Minor avalanches from the ceilings no longer occurred. Cletus’s spruced-up quarters had impressed him so much that now he rarely appeared. He did enjoy secretive, apparently humorous conversations with the work people.

Marc had poured himself a Scotch and decided to try out one of the new tufted green velvet chairs in his mother’s sitting room. He hoped his parent would decide to visit before too long and wanted her to be comfortable. The interior designer who was helping him said she just knew Mrs. Girard would be
thrilled
with the old-world opulence she’d obviously enjoyed when she lived at the house.

The furniture was too damn small.

For what it cost, the silk rug should be fabulous, and it probably was to someone with different taste. Peacocks and purple plums weren’t his thing. Green silk on the walls might be okay, he supposed.

There were plans to be made. Unfortunately, attempting a cozy chat in Reb’s room—or, better yet, in his own—probably didn’t have a great success potential.

He didn’t hear her approach until she was in the sitting room—with AP under her arm. She wore a white cotton jumpsuit, and Gaston sported a red bow on top of his head.

“Oh, to be your dog,” Marc said.

Gaston smiled.

“I came to apologize for being a pill,” Reb said. “You’re opening your home to me because you’re concerned for my safety, and you’ve agreed to the irritation of my answering service ringing at any hour—and to driving me where I need to go. I should have shown more gratitude. Thank you.”

He indicated a green velvet couch and said, “I think I should come clean about something I did in one of the bathrooms at the rectory.”

She blinked, and blushed, but he felt no guilt.

“I was there with a lady, and…well, to be blunt, we got it on in the tub.”

Reb held Gaston so tightly he yelped. “Don’t talk like that.”

“I only tell the truth, and I have to, because the lady and I got as close as a man and woman can get, but now she’s treating me like a kindly stranger.”

“Sorry.” Reb looked at the floor.

“I might think you wished what happened never happened.”

“Like hell.” Her green eyes skewered him. “I loved every second. But we’ve got business going on here, and you know what they say about business and pleasure.”

He shook his head, got up, and backed her to sit on the couch. Gaston made what sounded like a growling noise through his teeth. Marc held his muzzle in one hand and kissed his nose soundly. Then he let go and waited to be demolished. Gaston looked at him quizzically, turned several circles on Reb’s lap, and flopped down—keeping his eyes on Marc.

“You’re going to regret that,” Reb said. “And don’t ask me why. You’ll find out.”

“I’m terrified.” Marc returned to his own seat. “I loved every second in that bathroom, too, and I think business goes a whole lot better if there’s something personal mixed in to make the parties care about each other.”

She ignored his comments. “You said we have moves to make and fast. I think I know what they are, and I’m volunteering for one operation. I’m going to May Lynn’s beauty shop. She likes me, and I think she’ll talk to me.”

“That was number one on my list, but don’t kid yourself she’ll spill her guts about anything she thinks might get her into trouble.”

She leaned back. “You disappoint me. And I thought she’d want to do a Wally and confess her sins to me.”

“You’re prickly,” he told her.

“And you’re insulting.” The front of her jumpsuit was unzipped to a pleasingly low point. Unfortunately, she caught him concentrating on the middle of her chest and raised the zip with a snap. “Ow, ow,” she said through her teeth.

Marc was on his feet and advancing. “What is it, Reb?”

She smiled a little. “Caught some sensitive skin in the zip,” she said.

He made a sympathetic noise. “Boy, I know how that can hurt.” A poker face could come in handy. “Let me get you something to drink.”

“No thanks.”

“Okay. But you don’t look relaxed. How can I help you with that.”

She scowled. “Some things a woman has to do for herself.”

“Cyrus might have something to say about that.”

Reb leaned forward over a complaining Gaston and wagged a finger. “Have I ever told you how disgusting you can be, Marc Girard.”

He tipped up his glass and smiled while he drank.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” she said. “You had a nasty fall, and you’ve got a wound. Get some good sleep.”

“I will—later. You had a bad shock, Reb. You may think you’re invincible, but you’re not.”

“I don’t think I’m invincible. At the moment I feel like an abused rag doll. I’m stiff all over, and I’ve already got spectacular bruises.”