Dead End (36 page)

“I’m her only relative.”

Cyrus jingled keys in his pocket. The guard came to attention and moved forward. Once he saw what had caused the noise he went back to lounging against the wall.

“Maybe we can talk more about all this when I come on my own.”

“I didn’t save her,” Pepper muttered.

The air grew absolutely still. Reb wanted, so badly, to ask Pepper what he’d been trying to save his grandmother from. The others had to be longing to do the same thing.

“She’s not taking Communion,” Pepper said. “I never did have a way to ask her myself. On her cards—she sends one each week—but she doesn’t mention getting any mail from me. I write regularly but don’t think she reads it.” He bowed his face. “I shamed her, anyway. I couldn’t shame her again, could I?”

Marc said, “You’d never deliberately hurt Mrs. Leach.”

“She thinks you’re the best grandson a woman ever had,” Cyrus added. He appeared to consider before saying, “In a way she’s grieving. That’s because she loves you so much.”

Reb knew the questions she wanted to ask, if only she could do so without causing more damage.

To her surprise, Marc said, “I think you should paint again. You took too much heat for not wanting to do anything else—when you were a teenager. Why stop now?”

Pepper shook his head.

“The guys picked on you because you were quiet, especially the jocks. You just walked right through ‘em. I admired you for that.”

“You weren’t around with the rest of the rabble,” Pepper said, but there was no bitterness in him. “There was a lot you didn’t see. Forget it, please.”

Cyrus scraped his metal chair closer to the glass. “If Marc agrees, I’d like to have him go with me to talk about the painting supplies—”

“Don’t.”

“Sure,” Marc said, already on his feet. “If you don’t want them, Pepper, don’t use them, but we’ll ask permission anyway.”

“Keep him company till we get back,” Cyrus said to Reb with a smile that was too innocent.

“I don’t want to attract any attention,” Pepper muttered. “If a man like me has any sense, he tries not to stand out around here.”

Cyrus and Marc didn’t hear. They were at the door, and when they’d been let out of the room, Pepper said, “I think you just got set up.”

Reb raised her eyebrows. “Looks that way, only I don’t know why. Could be they really think I shouldn’t be there while they do this.”

“There’s nothing I can say to you that I can’t say to them,” Pepper told her. “It’s nice of you to come, though. Why did you? Come?” He had an honest face.

What kind of thought was that? Not scientific, that was for sure. “I’m not sure,” she told him. “You’ve been on my mind.”

The ceiling was high, high enough to put two floors in there. Everything white. What was that for? Pipes running everywhere, also painted white. If she looked at the place through slitted eyes it would be surreal. Albino and angular, with the only colors being in the breathing things: one guard, one prisoner, one doctor who didn’t lie well.

“Cyrus and Marc? I’ve been on their minds, too?”

“Yes.”

“So the three of you decided you’d get together for a humanitarian outreach.” He sighed. “I’d take that and be happy, but I don’t think it’s the truth, do you?”

“No. I don’t and it isn’t.” She indicated the guard behind him. “Does he listen to what we say?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“How do we check it out?”

Pepper blinked repeatedly. “We don’t have to worry tonight,” he said. “The guard—the one behind me—he’s on ‘H’ deals inside. Everyone knows. He knows he has to stay on our good sides so we don’t say anything.”

She checked the man. He showed no sign of hearing a word. “Okay, so he can’t hear. What about the telephone? Is it bugged?”

“Who knows? You plannin’ to break me out, you?” Pepper laughed. “What do we have to say that the whole world can’t hear?”

“You never did confess to killing the first two women,” she said. “And they found no absolute proof it was you. Was it?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“For attempting to rape and murder May Lynn, not for murder. They couldn’t prove—”

“Leave this alone,” Pepper said. “You can only cause trouble.”

“I don’t understand that attitude. Why didn’t you do everything…no, why didn’t you do
anything
to defend yourself?”

He took the phone from his ear. The only power he had was over whether or not he chose to talk to her, or to anyone on the outside.

Reb pointed at him and tapped her ear. Reluctantly he lifted the receiver again. “Will you hear me out, please? Let me talk. If you don’t want to respond, that’s your choice.”

Pepper nodded.

“I don’t believe May Lynn. I don’t believe you dragged her into the park and tried to rape her, or that you intended to kill her.”

His expression became fixed.

“Her story’s so simple, but there are little things. Why would you go home afterward—to your grandmother’s house—and wait for them to come for you? What did you do with the wetsuit?” She took a deep breath.

“Rubber can be burned,” he pointed out.

“So they said. It stinks and makes a big mess. Where did you burn it? You didn’t, did you?”

“No.”

She thought about Bonnie’s purse before she said, “Do you know how hard it is to get rid of something without trace? There was never a lead on what you did with it. Did you give it to someone else? To your grandmother?”

“No, dammit. You know my gramma, she’d never…I’m listenin’ because I was brought up to be polite.”

“Thank you. But you won’t tell me what you did with the suit and the gas mask?”

“Dive mask. No.”

“May Lynn called it a gas mask. If it wasn’t you, it was someone else, and he’s still out there. Eventually he’ll kill again. It’ll exonerate you, but it won’t help his victims.”

“We’ve talked enough.” With the phone still to his ear, he stood up.

She was losing him. “Pepper, this is between you and me. If you don’t want me to say anything, I won’t. You didn’t do what May Lynn said, did you?”

He closed his eyes.

“You didn’t even see her that night.”

“I saw her.” Pepper looked straight at her.

“But it wasn’t the way she said.”

His eyes lost focus, and his throat moved sharply when he swallowed. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I’ve used up any courage I had.”

Dante’s shoes squeaked on the gallery boards. “Precious? Hey, Precious? You here?”

She raised the gun. “I’m here,” she called. He knew she was, why else would he be here? Chauncey had given him the money to get his glasses prescription updated and had loosened up enough to let Dante drive one of his own cars, a pickup with a canopy. And he’d found her. That had to be beginner’s luck accident.

So what was taking him so long? “What’s keepin’ you? You fall in or somethin’?”

He knocked on the door. “I don’t want you mad at me, sugar. I only did what I was told to do.”

“Get in here.”

He came, opened the door, and poked his head inside—saw her gun and made to withdraw, only he shut the door before he was all the way out and slammed his head into the jamb. The large, black-framed glasses fell to the floor.

“For god’s sake, Dante. I’m just bein’ cautious, like I’ve been taught. Come
on.
”

“I’ve hurt my head.”

Why was it her lot to be surrounded by fools? “I’m sorry. Get in here and sit down.” This was the man who held her future in his hands.

Dante picked up his glasses, repeatedly looking at her gun while he did so. “Chauncey ain’t gonna be a happy man,” he said.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Precious snapped, and closed her mouth. They might not be talking about the same thing, and she’d learned the evils of loose lips a long time ago.

“It ain’t mine, neither.” Dante sat in a chair facing Precious. He turned his head one way and the other, checking the cabin out. “You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. Ain’t that the way it goes? With two of us telling the same story, we’re in the clear.”

Precious shifted uncomfortably. So he could tell Amy wasn’t here and felt scared in case Chauncey blamed him for letting her get away. “You were too late is all,” she told him, averting her eyes from the owl glasses that no longer sat straight on his nose. “How could you know what she’d do, any more than I did?”

Dante had found a handkerchief to mop his brow. “Thanks, Precious. You are one straight-up person.”

“Thank you.” Amy would be wandering now, trying to find a safe place to hide. A new and horrifying thought struck. “Did you check in the boathouse? Was my Honda still there?”

“Yeah. I followed you as far as that place where you leave the Jag. Almost missed you when you left in the Honda. It’s still there—with the keys in it.”

She would not be defensive of her actions. “Yessir, I believe in being ready to roll. So you just got here?”

“Hour and a half ago.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose.

That was before…“You couldn’t have.”

“Did. That’s what Chauncey said I should do. Wait in the boathouse and give you a chance to get over there. I hid my wheels and sat in your Honda.”

“Chauncey doesn’t know…You called and told him you’d found this place? You told him?” Of course he had. “I don’t hold it against you. I’d have done the same in your shoes.”

“Wish I hadn’t,” Dante said. “The way I figure it, we gotta move fast, and talk fast. We need a story.”

Precious stared at him. “What do you think Amy did?”

“Got away from you,” he said promptly. “Fooled you and made it to the boat without you knowing. She must have got to the other side before you knew you’d lost her or you’d have tried to shoot her. I didn’t hear no shots.”

“Oh my. Oh lordy.” She had to try to think straight. “You were in the boathouse when Amy got over there?”

“Yeah. Thought it was you coming. Kept on calling, and when you didn’t answer, I thought you’d decided to give me a nice surprise. Jump me, maybe.”

“Jump you?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He leered at her. “Why else wouldn’t you say nothing? I got ready and waited in the car where you wouldn’t see me. I was going to give you a surprise, sweets. Heard you come in and, boy, was I ready for you. Only it wasn’t you, it was Amy.”

“You’ve killed her.” A stony hardness blocked her throat. “Just like I keep on reminding myself, that woman never did have any luck. Chauncey won’t be mad. He’ll pin medals on you.”

“I couldn’t get to my gun,” Dante said, turning a dull shade of puce. “It was under my clothes and I was lying on them. She grabbed the Honda keys and whipped out of there.”

The picture he painted would be real funny if her life wasn’t on the line. “But you caught her.” Mad replaced sad. “After all I did for her, she tried to take advantage of me.”

“I didn’t have no clothes on.”

“Uh huh.” She wasn’t going to like any of this. “So?”

“By the time I got my clothes on—thanks be I didn’t take my shoes off—well, by the time I was out of there, I couldn’t see a thing ‘cause it was dark.”

Precious held up a single finger. “Shush, you. You said my Honda
was
there. She tricked you and got it after all, didn’t she? Shee-it, she’s got too big a lead on us. She could be anywhere by now. Come
on,
Dante. We’ll think of what we’ll say to Chauncey while we drive.”

“Can’t do that,” he said, drawing himself up. “The Honda’s still there—without the keys. She stole my truck. I left my keys in it so I’d be ready to roll. Guess we think alike.”

Cyrus pushed open the Pepto-Bismol pink door at All Tarted Up and walked into the crowded, almost silent shop. What he felt in the warm, fragrant bakery was anger and suspicion. Even Jilly Gable’s cheerful patter wasn’t relaxing the atmosphere.

The problem was Marc, who sat at a table with Madge. Cyrus decided he’d better take the other man aside and explain how the folks in Toussaint didn’t change their minds easily and that his glowering presence would only make them more convinced he was the enemy.

“Madge,” Jilly called. “You two only want the coffees? Nothing to eat? A poppyseed and date muffin? How about you, Marc? You had breakfast?”

“No,” Marc said. He had already gotten to his feet. “Two of those as well, please.”

Marc was too busy simmering—apparently at closed-faced customers waiting to be served—to notice it was Cyrus who had made the shop bell jangle. From her seat at the table, Madge saw Cyrus and smiled, and the next deep breath Cyrus took relaxed him. Madge was sanity in the midst of madness. Kidnapped and treated roughly enough to leave scratches on her neck, arms, and hands, she’d been in shock for several hours but made very little fuss and brushed any concern aside. He was a lucky man to know her and have her as his right hand.

“Don’t you work for me?” Marc demanded of a man who got to the head of the line and picked up a bag with what must be his name written on it.

“I’m with LeadWorks, me,” the fellow said, flushing all the way through his fine sandy-colored hair. “Working on the conservatory at Clouds End, Mr. Girard.”

Marc frowned, and Cyrus waited for him to explode. Instead he said, “I thought so. Good morning to you.”

The man muttered, “Good morning,” and scuttled from the shop.

“All right,” Jilly Gable said. Her coffee-gold skin glowed, and her clever, light hazel eyes filled with amusement. “This is a lovely morning. I’m glad to be alive; how about all of you?”

A low wave of assenting noises came from the dozen or so customers in line.

“Good,” Jilly said. “How many of you have met Marc Girard? Clouds End belongs to his family. So does this shop—or the property it’s on—and a lot of shops and businesses in Toussaint. Marc’s come home to do up the old house and to check on the Girard holdings. Now I think it’s just wonderful of him to deal with that in person, and I want to thank him right now. Thank you, Marc.”

Marc picked up two coffee mugs with one hand and a plate of muffins with the other. He said, “Thank
you,
” and went to the table he was sharing with Madge.

At 7:30 on a weekday morning Jilly’s customers were mostly on their way to work. Heavy-eyed and not moving too fast, they responded to Jilly’s cheery grin with sullen faces. Marc and Madge got frequent hostile glances.