Shoot the Woman First (21 page)

The house was set back from the road, the homes here spaced out, separated by undeveloped lots. Lights on the porch and in the front room. She parked behind a dark red SUV, shut off the headlights and engine.

The front door opened, and a woman came out on the porch.

“Go talk to her,” Crissa said. “I'll get your things.”

Claudette got the door open, slid across and out. She lifted Haley up to her shoulder. They started across the yard to the porch and the woman waiting there.

Crissa got out, stretched, touched her toes to ease her back muscles. The air was thick and smelled of nearby swamp, a faint sulfur scent in the air. The night was full of crickets. She thought of her own house, the smell of the inlet, the far-off sound of the channel buoys at night. The noise of the wind, the echo of empty rooms.

She opened the trunk, got out the black trash bag and the single suitcase. Roy had kept the other one. She carried them up the lawn to the slate path that led to the door, the bag slung over her shoulder. Claudette and the woman had stopped talking, were looking back at her.

Crissa tried to smile despite her fatigue, set the suitcase down, said, “Hello.” The woman standing next to Claudette was in her early forties, blond hair tied back. Crissa could see the resemblance in the eyes, the facial features.

“This is Crissa,” Claudette said. “Crissa, my sister Nancy. This is her house.”

Haley made a noise in her sleep, her head on Claudette's shoulder.

“Let me take her,” Nancy said. “I've got the downstairs bedroom made up already.” Claudette shifted Haley into her sister's arms. Without opening her eyes, Haley put her arms around Nancy's neck, her head on her shoulder. Nancy shifted her for a better grip, looked at Crissa.

“And what are you again?”

“Just a friend,” Crissa said.

“Well, y'all better come in, then,” Nancy said. “I guess we have some talking to do.”

*   *   *

“Do you have any idea,” Nancy said, “how many times I've been through this?”

She and Crissa sat in the living room, a single light on. Claudette was asleep beside Haley in the spare bedroom.

“I can imagine,” Crissa said, and sipped from her mug of herbal tea. It was a big living room, with a sloped ceiling and skylight, a brick fireplace. An old house, but plenty of space, and it would be full of light in the daytime.

“From the time she was fifteen,” Nancy said. “One thing after another. One man after another. With Larry, and then Haley, I thought she'd settle down. At least it seemed that way for a while. But I guess he had his issues, too.”

“He did.”

“But he's not coming back, is he?”

“No.”

“He paid for Claudette's rehab last time. Not long after she had Haley. He was a good provider when he was around. You think she's done with that Roy?”

“Maybe. Until the next time she gets high, decides he wasn't such a bad guy after all.”

“Will he come after her? Will he come here?”

“I doubt it, but you never know. He doesn't have a car, but that doesn't mean he can't get access to one. If it's all right with you, I'd like to stick around here a couple days, just in case.”

“And what would you do if he does?”

“I don't know. I'll deal with it if it happens,” Crissa said. “Anyway, I imagine he'd call first, ask her to come back. If that's what he wants. But who knows what he's thinking? He's a junkie, using junkie logic. He sees himself as the victim in all this.”

She drank her tea. “This is a beautiful house.”

“Thanks. Michael and I bought it right after we got married. It was bigger than we needed, but we figured we'd have kids before long, you know? Turns out I couldn't. Took me a long time to find out, though. We were looking into adopting just before Michael got sick. And after that … well, there was no after that.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I can't say I was happy to get that phone call tonight. But at least Claudette's here, and alive. I won't have to worry so much about her and Haley now. I can take care of both of them, for a while at least.”

Crissa set her mug on the coffee table. “Take a walk with me. I want to show you something.”

They went outside. Mist lay ankle-deep on the ground. Crissa opened the trunk of the rental. On the way up here, she'd stopped at a convenience store, bought a cheap nylon sports bag, transferred the money into it.

“What am I looking at?” Nancy said.

Crissa unzipped the bag, opened it, took out her penlight, and shone the beam inside.

“What is this?” Nancy said.

“Seventy-three thousand dollars, more or less. It belonged to Larry. I had to spend some of it.”

Nancy was silent for a moment, then said, “Am I not supposed to ask how he got it?”

“Gambling,” Crissa said.

“I didn't know Larry was a gambler.”

“In his way. But there's nothing to worry about. It's all clean. No one's going to come looking for it. It belongs to Claudette and Haley.”

“Does Claudette know about this?”

“She knows there's money. She doesn't know how much. And I'm not going to tell her. I'm leaving it with you.”

Nancy looked at her. “And why would you do that?”

“Like I said, it's for Claudette and Haley. And you're the best person to decide how it should be used.”

“You trust me that much? We just met.”

“I don't have any choice, do I?” Crissa said.

“Let's go back inside. I think I need a drink. Something a little stronger than tea.”

“That,” Crissa said, “sounds like a good idea.”

*   *   *

She woke on the couch with a start, not knowing where she was. The comforter Nancy had given her slipped off, fell to the floor. She was fully dressed, had fallen asleep almost as soon as she'd lain down.

She sat up. Haley stood a few feet away, watching her. She wore Minnie Mouse pajamas, carried the stuffed squirrel.

“Hey,” Crissa said. “What are you doing up?” Dawn was a pale glow in the living room window.

“I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“That you'd left. Without saying good-bye.”

“I wouldn't do that.”

“Daddy did.”

“Come here.”

Haley stepped forward, and Crissa took her in her arms, squeezed her for a moment, then let go. “I'd never leave you like that. How's Sammy the squirrel holding up there?”

“That's not his name.”

“What is?”

“He doesn't have a name. He's a squirrel.”

“He looks sleepy,” Crissa said. “You should both go back to bed. It's early.”

“I was worried.”

“Don't be,” Crissa said. “I'm not going anywhere.”

*   *   *

Crissa unzipped the sports bag on the table, opened it. Sunlight streamed in through the big kitchen windows. The backyard ran down to a small stream, with woods beyond. Claudette and Haley were walking along the creekside, picking up stones and examining them, looking for arrowheads. Every few steps, Haley would crouch, look intently into the water as if watching something below the surface.

“All that money looks different in the daylight,” Nancy said.

“You have a safe in the house?”

“No.”

“Then your best bet's a safe deposit box at a bank. Take what you need as you need it. Leave the rest where no one can get at it besides you.”

“Can't I just deposit it in an account?”

“Not unless you want the IRS knocking on your door the next day. Banks have to report every cash deposit of ten thousand dollars or over. If you do make deposits, keep them lower than that, and not too frequent. Even better if you spread it out into smaller accounts, CDs, money market funds, whatever.”

“You sound like you've had some experience with this.”

“A little.”

“I've never seen this much money at once in my entire life.”

“It goes faster than you'd imagine. I have something else for you, too.”

She took a cell phone from the bag, set it on the table.

“What's that?” Nancy said.

“A disposable. For emergencies. There's only one number in it. This one.” She took out a second phone, identical to the first. She'd bought both on the drive there. “After I leave, you need to reach me, or anything happens—she hears from Roy, whatever—you call me. You'll be the only one with this number. So if it rings, I'll know it's you. Show Claudette and Haley, too, just in case.”

“I will.”

Crissa zipped the bag shut again, hefted it. “Where can we put this for now?”

“My room's best. Upstairs. There's a panel in the ceiling of the closet there. I'll show you. Is it heavy?”

“Heavier than you'd think,” Crissa said.

*   *   *

She stood at the kitchen window, watched the sun setting over the woods. Claudette was at the sink, doing the rest of the dinner dishes. After they'd eaten, Nancy had left for her night shift at the hospital. Haley was in the living room, stretched out on the carpet, watching television.

“You really think he'll come?” Claudette said. She was drying her hands with a dish towel.

“I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe he'll just call, try to get you to go back to him.”

“I needed to get away from him, from that life. I knew that. But it's hard sometimes, you know? You get used to things. It's like you say you'll never become a certain type of person. And then one day you wake up, and that's who you are. And you're not sure how it happened.”

“I'll stay here another day, just in case,” Crissa said. “Then head home.”

“Where do you live?”

“Up north.”

“You don't give much away, do you?”

“You'll need to find a school for Haley here. The sooner the better.”

“I know. And I need to thank you. For everything you've done.”

Crissa locked the back door, touched the light switch beside it. The yard lit up all the way to the woods.

“Let me tell you something,” she said. “From experience. The tough part hasn't started yet. You'll be in a strange environment, doing unfamiliar things, and doing them clean. It's like you said, you'll want to go back to what you know, what's comfortable, even if it's killing you. That's the way it works.”

“I don't think I could ever go back,” Claudette said. “Not after what's happened.”

“You caught some bad breaks along the way,” Crissa said. “But it doesn't have to be that way for Haley. She has a chance. Don't fuck it up for her.”

“This isn't all my fault, you know, everything's that happened.”

“No one said it was.”

Crissa went out to the living room. Haley was still on the floor, crayons and coloring book spread out in front of her, the television blaring. Crissa stood in the doorway, looked down at her.

She's not yours, she thought. And she's never going to be. She's got her own family, her own life, and you're no part of either. You're stalling, because you don't want to go back to an empty house, and a town full of strangers.

Claudette came into the living room. She sat beside Haley on the floor, said, “Hey, sweetie. How you making out with that?”

Haley slid over to make room for her. Neither of them looked up as Crissa walked past them, out the front door and into the dark.

 

TWENTY

Burke parked at the curb, looked at the house. It was the right address, the one he'd gotten from Black's rap sheet. He read the notice on the door, said, “Son of a bitch.”

All this way and no one here. It had taken him a day and a half to drive to Florida. He'd stopped in Kentucky the night before, then driven the rest in one shot. He'd left the Impala in a parking garage in Orlando, rented the Buick from a local agency, not wanting his Michigan plates to attract attention. He'd transferred the two tac bags to the trunk.

It was almost dusk. He got out, went up to the door, rang the bell, heard it echo inside. He tried the knob. Locked. The window, too. He went around back, and the door and windows there were boarded. But the plywood on one window hung loose at an angle. He slid it aside, saw a dark empty room inside, trash on the floor, a bare mattress and a camping lantern, a crack pipe. The room smelled of sweat and pot smoke.

He let the plywood swing back, saw the two nails on the ground. He picked them up. The heads were weathered, but the shafts shiny. It hadn't been long since they'd been pried loose from the wood.

He went back to the car. He'd go find a room somewhere, get something to eat, come back later, see if anyone showed up. It wasn't much to go on, but he'd come this far. He'd play the cards he was dealt.

*   *   *

At nine o'clock, he was back at the house, watching from across the street. The ashtray was full. He'd slept an hour, eaten, and felt better now. It was too warm for the coat he'd brought, so he'd bought a zippered jacket at a store nearby.

At first he thought it was just fatigue, his eyes playing tricks on him. A glow of light in the dark window of the house, bright for a moment, then dimmer.

He lit another cigarette, saw a shadow pass by the window, someone moving around inside there.

He got the Browning from under the seat, tucked it into his belt, zipped the jacket up over it, pulled on his gloves.

He'd wait, let them get their smoke on in there, if that's what they were doing. He finished his cigarette, then got out of the car, went up the side yard of the house. He could hear TV noise from an open window of the house next door, caught a glimpse of a living room, a gray-haired woman eating a bowl of ice cream, intent on what she was watching, not noticing him as he went by.

The plywood still hung loose. He could hear whispers inside, the hiss and sizzle of a pipe. The lantern was on low, lighting up the floor and the man and woman sitting on the edge of the mattress. He had a ponytail, wore a torn flannel shirt with the sleeves buttoned. The woman was thin and blond, in a dirty tank top and cutoff jeans. When the man handed her the crack pipe, Burke saw the star tattoo on the side of his neck. She fired the bowl with a plastic lighter, drew on the pipe.