Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie (21 page)

T.
E. Heyworth, 1953

Strike Me, Spare Me

“Oh, God,” Max groaned. “I remember this one. It was so bad.”

Evie silently read it again. “Right. This is the one where the villain of the story was a professional bowler who met women at tournaments, then killed them. Bludgeoned them with a bowling pin.”

Max relaxed back into the buttery leather of the sofa. “I’m sensing a trend here.”

She laughed and handed back the clue. “I’ll admit, Thomas did have
a rather fill-in-the-blanks ap
proach to his plots.”

“Do you remember where
Strike Me, Spare Me
takes place?”

Evie rubbed her eyes, then looked over at him, sitting sprawled on the couch, in jeans a
nd a dark T-
shirt, pound for pound the sexiest thing she’d ever been in the same room with, let alone the same bed.

In a low voice, she said, “Before I answer that, can I ask you a question?”

His eyes grew serious, maybe even apprehensive. She knew that when a woman who was sleeping with a man said to him, “Can I ask you a question?” the man had to be thinking it was a question he probably didn’t want to hear and was in no way prepared to answer.

His eyes narrowed on her. “Shoot.”

“Do you know who killed Thomas?”

Ha, ha. Fooled you, she thought.

Something flickered in Max’s eyes, and for a moment it almost looked like disappointment. He pursed his lips and sat forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

“We have a theory.
”

“How long have you had this theory?”

“Several days.”

She lifted her hands in a display of confusion. “Then why haven’t you made an arrest?”

“It’s not that easy,” he said. “There’s no hard evidence, and until we can prove probable cause, we can’t do any searches or subpoena any records. The same laws that protect the innocent against false accusations are the same ones that protect the guilty. We have to work within the boundaries of those laws, or we risk losing a conviction at trial.”

“And this person is responsible for the attempts on my life, too?”

“Yes. Either personally or through a possible accomplice, possibly now deceased.”

Evie stood and picked up one of the trophies sitting on the coffee table. Running her fingertip over Max’s name engraved on the brass plate, she said, “I never figured you for track. Football, baseball, maybe even basketball.”

He stood and came around the table. “Not beefy enough for football. I played some baseball, but never won any trophies. Not tall enough for basketball. But track? I am very fast when properly motivated.”

Taking the trophy from her hands, he set it on the coffee table.

“Just now,” he said. “I thought there was something else you were going to ask me.” He looked into her eyes, and she slid her glance away. “Or was I mistaken?”

Oh, sure. I’m going to blow it now by asking if you have feelings for me after a handful of days and a little sex? Only a foolish and insecure woman would be stupid enough
…

“I’m falling in love with you,” she said softly. “Do you mind?”

He slipped his hands around her waist and kissed her. And, oh, what a wonderful kiss it was. Or would have been if she’d been able to keep her mind from wandering, wondering whether this was the kiss of death. The kiss-off. The long good-bye. It’s been swell. Hey, you were dynamite in the sack, but I g
otta keep my options open…

When he pulled back a little, he said, “Does that answer your question?”

She gazed up at him. “No,” she said flatly. “But it will do until you come up with a better one.”

He grinned down into her eyes. “Don’t take this
the wrong way, sweetheart, but we have to get to the next clue. We’ll have t
o finish this discussion later.
”

She nodded. “Yes. We will.”

“Okay,” he said, stepping away from her. “We’re at the southernmost part of Puget Sound. If we’re going down one side and up the other, as you suggested, our next stop
will be north of here, Port Or
chard, Bremerton, maybe Silverdale—”

“Bremerton!” she rushed. “That’s right. God, it’s been so long since I r
ead that one. The killer was re
tired from the navy and he owned a bowling alley in Bremerton.”

Max grabbed her hand and headed for the door. “I hope this clue isn’t out of our league.”

She scowled. “Is that a bowling pun?”

“Don’t you mean bowling pin?”

Evie rolled her eyes. “Like the man says, spare
me
…”

H
e pressed the button a second time, and the panel slid closed, sealing off this day’s work from prying eyes. It would be a long time, if ever, before this particular panel was discovered.

Tugging his gloves on more securely, he looked around. Christ, but he hated doing the dirty work himself, yet ever since he killed Sam, he’d had no choice, and that pissed him off even more, because he hated having no choices.

He’d been at it for hours, and his temper had worn threadbare. The seventh clue just had to be on Heyworth Island, inside Mayhem, but so far no place he’d thought to look had reaped him any rewards.

And now this. Goddammit. Here he’d thought everyone was gone
, but no. Well, that’s what hap
pened when you turned up at the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d hoped not to have to kill anyone else—not that he minded the killing, but when he had to do it himself it was just so messy.

His freshest victim already forgotten, he headed for the hallway. Mayhem was huge, three stories, a score of bedrooms, maybe more, three parlors, two offices, and an enormous library, not to mention a variety of bathrooms and other incidental rooms. However, as a kindhearted lover had once said to him ages ago, size doesn’t really matter—and in terms of Mayhem’s enormity, at least, it didn’t. He knew how Heyworth’s moronic mind worked. Tommy would hav
e hidden that envelope in an ob
vious place just to taunt him. It was a mind game, pure and simple, but one
he
intended to win.

In spite of the challenge finding that fucking envelope posed, he was a smart man, smarter than all of them. All he needed to do was second-guess Tommy Heyworth, and hell, he’d been doing that for years.

His stomach burned. What he should do, what he should
really
do, was pack it in right now, cut his losses and head for Canada. But he had a life here, a place in the community. He was well-respected, and he was loath to give it all up until he was good and ready.

That Randall bitch. He’d still love to get rid of her. Her mere existence had screwed everything up for him. She should pay, she really should.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small
bottle of blood pre
ssure medication. This whole fi
asco was infuriating, and his health was suffering for it. Just one more thing he should make Evie Randall pay for.

As he went into a bathroom and filled a glass with water, downing his medication, he thought about finding a way to end the game. But with the butler and that nutso Russian woman off somewhere, and the poet and the secretary gone, not to mention Galloway and the bitch, he had to wait until they all came home to roost, and then
…
well, wouldn’t it just be awful if they all died somehow? What would happen to the treasure hunt then? Time would run out, and he’d take control of the funds, just like he’d always planned. He’d make sure to destroy whatever clues they had found, effectively ending the game. The last clue would never be discovered. Tommy could point his dead finger straight at him and it wouldn’t matter.

He ran his shaking hand over his meager strands of hair. This was all getting too, too complicated. He wasn’t thinking straight. He could never pull something like this off.
Go back to town, grab what you can, and get the hell out.

Setting the empty water glass back on the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest. Yes, what he needed was a good, solid mass murder.

As his medication kicked in and he began to breathe normally once more, his gaze meandered around the room. Crystal mirror, imported Italian tile, marble floor. Such opulence was disgusting. Turning to flick off the light switch, his gaze came at last to rest on the water glass, and he smiled.

* * * * *

B
y six o’clock, they had hit every bowling alley in Bremerton. Nobody had any envelopes, and most had never
even heard of T.
E. Heyworth or his shitty mysteries. Max was dead on his feet, and Evie looked like she could curl up in a corner and nod right off.

“Maybe we should head back to Mayhem,” he said as they returned to the car. “This isn’t getting us anywhere and I’m fresh out of ideas.”

Evie slid into the passenger seat and let her head fall back against the headrest. Closing her eyes, she said, “This is Sunday night. Six days left. Three clues to go. Thomas’s original intent was for us to have fun, so he couldn’t have made the clues s
o hard we couldn’t follow them.
”

Max fastened his seat belt and turned the key in the ignition. A ste
ady rain had begun to fall some
where between visits to Barney’s Bowl ’n’ Grill on Devon Street and The Alley Katz on Meeker, leaving fat raindrops on the windshield. Flipping on the wipers, he checked out the view. Across the wide road, the naval shipyard hosted an array of magnificent vessels. Closest to the docks, an aircraft carrier lay at anchor, its sharp angles in contrast to the plump clouds rolling across the sky.

“If Heyworth had wanted us to have fun,” Max said, frustration adding bite to his tone, “why in the hell didn’t he just hand over the money and let everybody go shopping at the Mall of America?” Turning toward Evie, he took in her profile, her long lashes fanned across her flushed cheeks. He reached for her, running his finger along her jawline. She rolled her head in his direction and opened her eyes. Sleepy as they were, those big blue eyes nailed him to the wall. Every time.

“Maybe we’re in the wrong town,” she offered. “Maybe it wasn’t Bremerton.” Releasing a long sigh that must have started at her toes, she said, “I’m so tired, I just can’t think.”

Max shifted into first and cranked the wheel, taking them out onto the busy highway. “Before we give up, let’s drive around a little. Maybe something will jump out at us.”

For the next hour, they drove up one street and down the next until all the single-story businesses and post-WWII bungalows began to look alike.

As he headed back down to the highway, he said, “Okay, we gave it our best shot. Might as well—”

“There!”

He glanced over at Evie. She was sitting straight up, her arm pointing at something on his side of the street.

“I’ve been to that house,” she rushed. “I
…
my mother
…
we lived there when I was really little. I’m almost sure of it.”

Max pulled to the curb and studied the tiny home. It was an old house in sorry shape, a single story, gray clapboard with a small chimney poking through the haphazardly shingled roof. The yard was overgrown with weeds, and the white picket fence that had once surrounded the miniature patch of grass was now sticks of blistered wood barely hanging together.

Something inside Max’s heart caught, and he swallowed.

“You lived here?”

Her eyes still glued to the run-down cottage, she said, “We lived in lots of places. I don’t remember most of them, but I remember this one because I had my own room. The, uh, the sailors wh
o visited my mom, they, uh…
”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said as gently as he could. “How old were you when you lived here, Evie?”

Finally, she pulled her gaze away, concentrating on her fingernails a
s though they held some new fas
cination. “I was five.”

He glanced back at the obviously vacant house and frowned. “Clue Nu
mber Five. You don’t think…
Heyworth couldn’t have
…
”

“If he did, he must have had a reason, though how he knew about this place, I can’t imagine.”

“Do you want to wait here?”

She shook her head as she reached for her door handle. “Nope,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’m a big girl now. And if the clue’s in this house,
I
think I know where it is.”

T
o a child of five, the house had been small. To a grown woman who’d seen something of the world, the house was too dinky to be believed. She stood in the doorway, Max right behind her, his hand on her back, warm, gentle, steady. If she collapsed into a puddle of tears, he would be right there to offer his shoulder.

She wasn’t going to collapse, but for his gallantry, and for the many
intoxicating things she was dis
covering about him every day, she slid into love with
him a little more truly, a little more madly, a little more deeply.

It had taken all of two seconds to pop the lock at the back door. Ignoring the general state of wretchedness in the kitchen, she moved into the living room and stopped in front of the fireplace.

She pressed her palm against the bricks. They felt grainy and rough. Running her gaze over the eroding mess, she said, “ ‘He paced in front of the fireplace
…
he crumpled it into a tight ball and tossed it into the flames.’ ”

Stepping around her, Max said, “Let me check. This masonry is old and crumbling. If the thing falls, I’d rather it fell on me than on you.” He waggled his brows. “Sometimes I
need
a brick wall to fall on me.”

Evie eyed him for a moment, then said solemnly, “I suspect that’s true.”

While she watched, Max slowly ran his fingers along the outside of the fireplace, testing each dusty brick. When his hands froze, she knew he’d found it.

Pulling on the brick, it came away easily, revealing a hidey-hole. He pulled a penlight from his pocket and shined it inside, clearing away the cobwebs. With two fingers, he reached in and tugged out an envelope identical to the others, with Thomas’s familiar scrawl plain to see.

Evie—I wanted you to come back here to face your demons. What once was, will never be again. I bought this house
—
it’s yours now to
do with what you will. Your past is past. It’s time to move on, my dear.

When she lifted her gaze to Max, he looked blurry. That was probably because of the tears brimming in her eyes.

Okay, maybe she was going to collapse after all.