For Your Love (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Heather was still shaking as she sat nursing a drink in a darkened lounge at the Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix waiting for her flight to Italy to board. Rather than call Salvatore, she decided to check into the St. Regis and surprise him. She wanted to think of her future with him, but her mind kept replaying the scene at her house.

She had slipped up somehow and triggered Orson’s rancor. Whatever it was had to be serious enough to get him to hire someone to kill her. How had he found out that she’d been trying to put his lights out?

Heather held the cold glass against her throbbing forehead. Over and over again, she sifted through her memory of the events leading up to Jessie’s murder, but she could glean nothing new. She had to be overlooking something, but what?

How she wished there hadn’t been such a long wait before take-off. Heather wanted to wrap her mind around Salvatore and his slow hands, but all she could think of was poor Jessie’s lifeless body.

* * *

Orson Hemmings sipped a drink in the cocktail lounge of the hotel hosting the convention with two other dealership owners. These two men were matching bookends from Texas dressed alike in their beige linen leisure suits and oversized white cowboy hats and spit-shined black boots. Their hearty laughs were loud and annoying, but they provided him with the perfect alibi. Hemmings hoped he’d never have to be graced by their company again. Besides, this one time would remain in his memory for a long, long time.

His cell phone vibrated. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled it out. One glance at the screen told him who was calling.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said. “I need to take this.” Attempting to remain calm, he rose from his chair and flipped open his phone as he walked toward the restrooms. When he was out of hearing range he answered, “Yes?”

“It’s done,” A tar-paper sounding voice whispered before the connection was broken.

Hemmings smiled to himself and returned to his chair.

“Good news?” Jonas, the older of the two men, asked.

“The very best. An adversary just went under.”

“Then let’s celebrate with another round,” Jonas suggested and waved at the waitress.

Hemmings could hardly keep his mind on the inane conversation. A nagging thought had wormed its way from the back of his mind toward the forefront. Why had he waited so long? When the blush had first left the rose and he’d seen Heather for what she really was—a cold-hearted money pit—why hadn’t he had her whacked then?

One of the bookends raised his glass and made a toast. Hemmings clinked first his glass and then the other man’s with his own before downing the rest of his drink. Another round had been ordered. He was going to be piss drunk, but he’d survive. Having a hangover the following day was all for the cause. Remembering Heather was no longer breathing the same air as he made him feel warm and toasty. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good.

* * *

Heather had always fantasized possessing enough money to afford staying in hotels like the St. Regis. She wanted to have money socked away for those times when relationships went south. This was the lesson she learned from her mother who had died penniless. Heather had money, but nothing nearly as much as she would have liked to possess. She loved Salvatore, but, she didn’t truly trust him. She didn’t trust men in general. Nothing was forever and she always wanted to be prepared.

Self-preservation trumped all other drives in Heather’s life. Another lesson learned. Right now she needed to protect herself from Orson—especially when he learned the wrong woman had been murdered. Being the cheap bastard that he was, she doubted he’d make any move against her in Italy. Besides, he didn’t even know she was there.

When she got to Fiumicino Airport in Rome she’d grab a cab after claiming her luggage.

Smiling, she couldn’t wait to see the look on Salvatore’s handsome face.

* * *

Jake paced the floor cutting a new path in the already worn rug of the motel room, chain-smoking until his throat was raw. His head was spinning with worry. Jessie should have contacted him by now. He’d tried to reach her by cell phone, but only got her voice mail. Something was wrong. Could she have gotten a flat? Those tires on her car were beyond bald. Or had she been in an accident and taken to the hospital—or worse?

He raked his free hand through his sweat-dampened hair. This was all because of him and the awareness cut him sharply like razor blades. She had identification with her. He would have been notified by now. A knot had formed in the pit of his stomach tightening around his guts with each passing hour. If he didn’t hear from her soon, he’d start calling the hospitals.

She had to be somewhere.

Suddenly, an awful thought stopped him in mid-stride. What if the bookie’s muscle grabbed her? Wouldn’t they use her as leverage against him? Or had they decided he’d been warned enough and needed the ultimate persuasion.

“Sweet Jesus, no!” he screamed slamming his fist into the wall, cracking the plaster. He didn’t even feel the pain in his hand over the awesome foreboding that had overtaken his body.

* * *

As the evening wore on Jake called every hospital in the vicinity. Jessie hadn’t been admitted to any. He’d gotten the same response from the morgue. It was time to go in search of her. He was well aware of the danger to himself if he left the motel, where he’d been hiding out. But if something had happened to Jessie, what difference did it make? His life would be just as worthless.

He sat down and reached for his shoes. As he slipped them on and tied their laces, he made a simple prayer that Jessie was all right. When she told him of her plans to ask Heather Hemmings for the money he hadn’t seen any danger in her doing so. However, something had happened to her on the way to the Hemmings’ house. And he had to find out what it was—no matter the cost. Grabbing his coat from the rack, he left the motel room. There was a taxi stand a block away.

As he stepped out of the room, he felt something cold pressed against the side of his head. His throat closed as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

“Move and you’re a dead man. Did you think we couldn’t find you?” The man asked, drilling the muzzle of a gun harder into Jake’s head.

“Who are you?” Jake asked. “What do you want?”

“Guess,” the man said as he snapped a plastic tie around one of Jake’s arms and roughly pulled it behind his back before repeating the process with the other. He shoved him out of the motel.

“Look, I’m not gonna give you a hard time. My wife’s in trouble and I’ve got to find her.” Jake tried to reason with the guy.

“She gambles, too?” the stranger asked and laughed.

“Let me go find her and makes sure she’s okay and then you can do whatever you want to me,” Jake pleaded.

The guy spun Jake around, slamming him into the side of a parked step-van. “Asshole, here’s a news flash. I can do whatever I want right now.”

“But—”

The gun slammed into the back of Jake’s head silencing him as he crumpled to the ground. Another stocky man, also dressed in black, got out and unlocked the two back doors of the van. Together, they tossed the unconscious man into the gaping black maw of the van before driving off.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Carla sat and watched the phone as evening slipped into night. She hadn’t expected it to do anything out of the ordinary—just ring. Whatever patience she’d still possessed had long evaporated. It had been days since she’d left the first message on Richard’s phone to call her. She’d have to be dense not to realize that he wasn’t going to return her call, let alone, meet her for coffee. He obviously didn’t want to have anything to do with her and had moved on.

The notion that Richard no longer cared for her, hurt Carla deeply. Now that she had discovered she loved him and not Martin, she couldn’t fathom how could this happen to her. It was like a nightmare, opening doors that hid waiting monsters, ready to pounce. This was one story she couldn’t write a happy ending to.

No matter what, she wasn’t going to be a coward. It would be easy to remain with Martin and believe that he would be true to her from now on. However, she’d already proven that she could tough things out.

Her weight loss had been the hardest thing she’d ever attempted. The very fact that she met her goal gave her the backbone to leave Martin. She was no longer the naïve woman she’d been before discovering his infidelity and now knew that the woman he’d been having the affair with was not his first. Being the consummate salesman, he was able to lie with a straight face. Perhaps he no longer possessed a conscience, as well.

It didn’t matter at this point. As far as she was concerned, nothing he could say could change her mind. Their marriage was over—kaput. The handsome prince had failed to make the princess happy.

And she’d tell him that night.

* * *

Martin found Carla sitting in the kitchen absent-mindedly nursing a glass of wine. She hadn’t heard him enter. He noticed that she hadn’t even begun dinner, which was odd because she didn’t mention going out. In fact, they hadn’t spoken since the previous night.

Now as he stood there watching her, he felt the wonder of the night before fade like the heat from a corpse. She wasn’t acting like a woman bubbling over with renewed love. Instead she looked miserable as if she’d just received the news of her best friend’s death. What was wrong? Hadn’t she behaved like a woman in love last night?

Carla sensed she was being watched and looked up. Their eyes met and caught. Martin felt the air swoosh out of him as if he were tackled by a linebacker. The expression on her face was not the look of love.

He walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of beer. Twisting off the cap, he sat down at the kitchen table the chair opposite her. He felt her eyes following his every move, yet she hadn’t said a word. That, in itself, was uncharacteristic of Carla. Whatever was bothering her was serious. And he had a distinct feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

The room was so quiet he could hear the seconds ticking away on the wall clock. He took a deep breath before asking, “What’s wrong, Carla?”

“Us,” she replied in a weak voice. “
We’re
all wrong.”

Martin massaged the bridge of his nose. “What’s that supposed to mean? I thought everything was okay—what about last night?” All the words tumbled out of his mouth as if he couldn’t say them fast enough.

“Last night was a mistake. It never should have happened.”

“You’re confusing me, Carla, and I don’t like it.”

“Sorry,” she said and let out a deep sigh. “I’ll make it simple. I don’t love you, anymore Martin.”

Martin felt as if the ceiling had come crashing down on top of him. Nothing could have prepared him for that.

“I want a divorce. We can just split everything down the middle. I don’t care.”

“Whh…why? Is it because I cheated? It was a mistake—and it only happened once. I told you,” he replied, his voiced sounding thin and shrill. “I said I was sorry—”

She cut him off, ignoring his blatant lie. Every time he opened his mouth he lied and his whining was hurting her ears. “That’s only part of it—”

In disbelief, he practically shouted, “There’s more?”

“I’m in love with another man.”

Anger chased away the look of shock on Martin’s face. “Who’s the son-of-a-bitch?

I’ll—”

Carla waved a hand to stop him. “Don’t bother; I doubt if he loves me. Besides, he doesn’t even know how I feel.”

The expression on Martin’s face transformed into one of sheer astonishment. “Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? You’re telling me you’re dumping me because you love someone who has no idea that you love him?”

She nodded.

“And you’re going to throw our marriage away because of it?” His tone was accusatorial and filled with hurt.

Carla knew Martin would try to shift the blame toward her and didn’t care. All she wanted was for him to go. She’d wasted enough time lying to herself that all was well when his love for her had been so shallow. Maybe not in the beginning when they were first married, but definitely now. There was little room for her in his life alongside his ego.

“You’re sure you want to split?” he asked her again.

“Yes. I’d like you to take your things and leave.”

“Now?”

“There’s no use for you to hang around. I won’t change my mind.”

“I can’t believe you’re fucking doing this!” he said, banging the beer bottle down on the table before stomping out of the kitchen.

Carla heard drawers slamming in the bedroom.
Good
, she thought. This meant he was going to leave tonight. She knew this was for the best and what she wanted, fearing that if he stayed she might waiver. It was always easier to try and mend things, but trying to save her marriage would be like putting a Band-aid over a broken heart. She’d wasted enough of her life with a self-centered, selfish man and wouldn’t shed any more tears. It was time to move on.

Martin appeared before her with two bulging suitcases. Knowing Martin, he probably tossed the stuff into the luggage from across the room. “When you come to your senses call me,” he snapped.

Carla said nothing as she looked into his angry blue eyes one last time before he stormed out of the house and hopefully out of her life. All she wanted was for the phone to ring and hear the sound of Richard’s voice.

* * *

Lynne and Haywood had just ordered. They were having a late supper in a quiet, Italian restaurant near her last house showing of the evening. He’d driven over to meet her still feeling the elation of being with her, which he likened to the smell of a new car. Things couldn’t be better for them. After drifting from job to job, he’d finally found one he enjoyed and did well. It was all because of Lynne, who believed in him.

The fact that she loved him was the most fantastic thing to happen to him in a long time. Before she’d entered his life, he’d already reconciled to the fact that he was a loser. Of course the feeling had been nurtured by loving help of his mother. However, that was old history he didn’t want to dwell on —especially now with such a rosy future ahead of him.

He looked at the petite raven-haired woman who had the power to make his heart bubble over with happiness. Though her hazel eyes changed color with her clothing, they were always full of life and insatiable warmth—except when they were making love. Then they glittered like precious jewels. Though she was short and only came up to the middle of his chest, she possessed the love of an Amazon. And she gave all of that love to only him.

“What?” Lynne asked, noticing his stare.

“I love to look at you—but you already know that,” he said reaching over to take her hand in his.

“I’m glad. You’re kinda cute yourself,” was Lynne’s reply, which caused him to blush.

“You’re blushing.”

“I guess you could just about make me do anything.”

Lynne gazed at her watch.

“What’s wrong?” Haywood asked concerned.

“I’m worried about Carla. She must have told Martin she wanted a divorce by now.”

“He’s violent? Seemed like a wuss to me.”

“I’d say somewhere in-between. Either way, he wouldn’t be happy about it.”

“He wouldn’t hurt her, would he?” Haywood frowned.

Lynne shook her head.” I doubt it. Though the blow to his ego would be severe. I doubt he’s ever been rejected by a woman before.”

* * *

Like most cities, downtown Phoenix had a seamy underbelly where drugs and sex were sold. Old abandoned warehouses and factories housed the disenfranchised and misbegotten souls that society had left by the wayside. That night as the prostitutes were plying their trade to score enough to appease their own habits and keep their pimps happy, a step-van pulled behind a vacant lot where a landfill had grown from strewn garbage and rusted car skeletons. Two men got out of the van’s cab and walked toward the back. Each took an end of a large, black plastic bag and carried it to the open trunk of a car. They placed it inside and closed the trunk. Without a word, they got back into the van and drove off. None of the denizens of the night took any notice.

* * *

Richard had fallen into a fitful sleep. At some point he began to dream. In it he was chasing after Carla who was, in turn, chasing after her husband. Around and around they went until someone was hitting a gong ending the round. As the dream receded into the back of his mind, he became aware that the phone was ringing. He turned toward the night stand and lifted the receiver. It was 4:30AM. Who would call him at such an ungodly hour?

As he lifted the receiver, he already knew it wasn’t going to be good news.

“Richie, meet us at General. It’s Mom. Maybe a stroke.” His sister’s voice trembled.

“Be there as soon as I can,” he said, already out of bed.

It was happening all over again. First Dad and now Mom. His father hadn’t survived. As his gut clenched, he’d prayed the outcome with his mother would be different.

* * *

Richard sat by his mother’s bed in intensive care. She’d had a stroke. It had been a bad one that left her entire left side paralyzed. He and his sister, Ellen, had remained in the hospital hoping for the best.

Sam, Ellen’s husband, had gone down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. Neither Richard nor Ellen had an appetite. Instead, they both sat at their mother’s side lost in their own private thoughts and prayers.

Suddenly, Ellen began to sob. “I don’t want to be an orphan.”

Richard got up and put his arms around his older sister and held her close. “Shh, shh. She’s going to be all right.”

“No, she’s not. She’s going die just like Daddy,” she wailed.

“Things are different today. And Mom’s a fighter—way too stubborn to let go,” Richard reassured her, trying to believe his own words. “Besides, she’s not going anywhere until she sees me married.”

Richard watched his mother’s chest slowly rise and fall. Ultimately her fate was now in God’s hands. This was absolutely nothing Richard could do to change the fact he was merely a bystander. In fact the only life he could influence was his own and yet here, too, he was acting as a bystander.

It was time for him to take an active role in his life. There was a lesson in his being in that hospital room. Life could be fickle, but was definitely short. And he was wasting his. He had to stop watching the events of his life unfold from the sidelines. He had to be more proactive.

If he wanted Carla in his life, he had to fight for her. He would do whatever it took to open her eyes to that worthless husband and make her his own. She cared for him and he’d transform that caring into love if it was the last thing he ever did.

* * *

Gilda Stein opened one eye and looked around her. Then she opened the other and tried to focus her eyes. Finally she looked directly at her children. Ellen noticed she was awake and nudged Richard.

“You were right. She is too stubborn to let go,” Ellen said.

Through a lopsided mouth, Gilda said, her speech slurred, “I heard that.”

Both of her children got up and kissed her.

“I want to go home,” Gilda said.

“What else is new, Ma?” Ellen said, tears of joy running down her face.

* * *

Hours later, Richard and Ellen left the hospital laughing. Now that their mother was out of the woods and expected to be okay, she was already driving the staff crazy. All that was left was the assessment of the damage done by the stroke and then rehab.

“I have to go back to work this afternoon. Can you stay with Mom later so she’s not alone?” Richard asked.

Ellen put her hand on his shoulder. “Of course. I know how important that case is. I’ll tell her you’ll be there after dinner.”

“Thanks, Sis.”

“Just win the case and make partner. Then Mom can really brag.”