Sins & Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1) (15 page)

Uncle Jim suddenly appeared in front of me.

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” I gasped, hand to my pounding heart.

He folded his arms across his denim shirt and lowered his head in paternal impatience. “Where on earth were you last night?”

“I told you, I was out. Applying for jobs,” I said, straightening out my tank top and avoiding his eyes. It’s not that I couldn’t lie to his face—I could lie to anyone’s face—but I didn’t want to see the disapproval.

“Without your car?”

“Er, yes,” I said, moving past him. I put my purse on the counter and opened the fridge. There was still only mustard.

“Ellie, I don’t care if you’re with that McQueen boy or not,” he explained with a sigh. “I really don’t. I know you know how to take care of yourself. You’re one of the toughest women I know.”

I rolled my eyes and was glad only the jar of mustard could see it. I didn’t feel so tough anymore now that the “McQueen boy” had admittedly gotten under my skin.

He went on. “I was just worried. I thought…maybe something had happened to you.”

I shut the fridge and leaned back against it to face him, blowing a strand of hair out of my face.

“I’m fine. See? And you just said I was the toughest woman you know.”

“I said you were one of them. And…I’m not worried about you and the Sheriff’s son. I’m worried about you. People from your past. About the kind of trouble you get in.”

I cocked my head. “People from my past? Like who?”

He waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Oh, no one. I don’t know who the people from your past are. I just know you have a past and that people’s pasts like to catch up with them.”

I had to admit, he was making me a bit nervous. It’s not that I wasn’t often thinking the exact same thing. When you lived your life scamming people, stealing from them and making enemies, you tended to have a giant case of paranoia and anxiety in your personal baggage. It’s part of the reason I got hooked on Ativan, but then my brain got too fuzzy and I lost a lot of my wits. I needed them.

But I couldn’t be afraid of everything all the time. I had always taken the right precautions. I did certain types of cons under certain types of names and certain types of personas. I had a revolving collection of realistic wigs, colored contacts, and self-tanning lotion. I knew tricks with makeup to make my nose look wider or slimmer; I could change my whole look just by manipulating my brows. No one knew Ellie Watt. Except for the people in this town, people like Camden, no one knew
me
. Even Javier didn’t know the real me; he knew me as a bronzed, blonde bombshell called Eden White. And yes, I chose to look, and sound, like a porn star on purpose.

“I’m fine, really,” I told him, wishing I sounded more confident. “Ellie Watt is a safe bet with a clean record.”

He furrowed his brow before walking over to the coffee pot. “Yeah, well I sure hope she keeps it that way. For both of our sakes.”

***

Later that day, I was walking around Joshua Tree National Park and planning the exact thing Uncle Jim was afraid of: trouble. To be fair, I’d only get in trouble, only tarnish my name if I got caught. And I wasn’t planning on getting caught. I wasn’t as impulsive as I used to be. I took chances but only when the odds were good. The odds here were in my favor. Camden liked me. He trusted me. He’d never believe I was the one ripping him off.

I couldn’t believe I was actually going through with the whole thing either. That had to count for something.

It was hot as fuck up at Joshua Tree and two in the afternoon was probably the worst time to go for a hike, but something about the surroundings soothed me. The sky was impossibly blue, like paint pigment. I’d seen a similar color inked on Camden’s arm. The boulders were smooth and round, like Camden’s shoulders. The scrubby cacti and sagebrush reminded me of the stubble on his chin. And the imposing Joshua trees, the way they rose up out of the earth…well anyway.  Suffice it to say, even though I came here to get some fresh air and clear my mind, my thoughts kept coming back to Camden.

Get through tonight and then you’re gone
, I told myself, kicking away a small tumbleweed. I had to keep telling myself that or I’d begin to lose my nerve. This was the whole problem with the “knowing your mark” thing. It made things easier and harder at the same time.

Even though I kept thinking back to our love-making, to the beautiful things he said to me, to the way he knew the person I had been and didn’t seem to care, it was fruitless to even humor the idea of making something out of us. Camden might have known me as a scared little turncoat in high school, but he didn’t know me as a criminal. He didn’t know the things I’d done and he could never know. What was I supposed to do then? Shack up with him and live a lie? I had done that with Javier and barely got out of that alive.

It was too hard living a lie. I didn’t think I could share it with someone too.

In the sweet shade of a boulder, I parked my ass on a rock and brought out my notepad and pen. I needed to think hard and think smart. I didn’t want to pack up my car to leave tonight since my original plan had me hanging around town for a few more days. After all, it would look terribly suspicious if I happened to leave town the same time as the robbery. But, I had to take precautions and that meant hightailing my ass out of town if it came down to it.

I wanted to get in the house in the middle of the night. I knew Camden was tired from our early rise that morning and from the wine hangover we were both feeling. He’d probably be sleeping soundly by two in the morning, so I chose four as the best option. Only sordid things happened at four a.m.

I’d go in through the front door. Picking that lock would be easy. Then I’d get into the office and hit up the safe. I had come up with several number combinations that I thought were a good start. If they didn’t work, then I could either choose to bail or test my luck and try safe-cracking. Listening for those contact points took an awful lot of time, however, and time was something that wasn’t on my side.

But I’d listened to Camden a lot last night, even when I was drunk. My brain was always reeling stuff in. After trying 007, 311, 911, 411, 187, and 666 (some of the more easily remembered three-number codes), I’d try his birthday (6/11), his son’s birthday (10/03), the area code (760), or the last three digits of his license plate (299). Then I’d work through combinations of his lucky number (5) and his phone digits. Yes, I found out an awful lot of trivial information about Camden during our day of fun. Luckily he was the type to just talk and let me ask the questions.

Which, in retrospect, I did find a little weird. He hadn’t seen me since high school and aside from asking how Uncle Jim was doing, what song was tattooed on my arm, and that whole “I’ve been doing odd jobs” excuse, he hadn’t asked me anything about myself. Wasn’t I a bit of a mystery to him? Wasn’t he at all interested in what I’d been up to in the last eight or nine years or so?

Perhaps he was just being polite. He knew how defensive I could get over the smallest things. I decided to forget about that and be thankful that he had left his questioning out of it. As I said earlier, I’d have no problems lying to him—but it didn’t mean I liked doing it.

I had filled up the notepad with a rough map of his house and potential hazards when my phone beeped, breaking through the sound of ground doves and cicadas.

I fished it out of my pocket. It was a text from Camden. Oh boy.

Hey, was wondering if you wanted to catch a show with me tonight in San Bernardino. I know it’s kind of far but this band is really good. I think you’d like them. It starts at 10PM.

I pursed my lips, somewhat delighted at this chain of events, and texted him back.

Aw, sorry! I can’t, I’ve decided to go catch up with my friend in San Diego. Just about to leave now. It’ll just be for the night though, so maybe we can catch up for drinks tomorrow night? Have a great time at the show!

I pressed send and waited. The air seemed to get hotter by the second and soon my jeans felt like a sauna prison for my legs.

It wasn’t long before he replied back.

Wow, San Diego. That’s a long drive. Hope you’re careful. Bring back some of that sea breeze for me. Talk soon. Camden.

I thought it cute that he signed his name and exhaled a sigh of relief, tilting my head up to the sky. He was going to be out in San Bernardino all night. That was at least an hour away which meant he’d be gone by nine p.m. and wouldn’t be back until midnight at the earliest. I had three hours to do this.

I was going to rob Camden McQueen.

CHAPTER NINE

Unfortunately, lying to Camden also meant lying to my uncle. Their stories had to match because when the sheriff’s son was robbed, the whole town was going to know about it.

When I got back home from Joshua Tree, I packed my bags and left a note for him. He was somewhere out in the date groves and I didn’t have the time to hunt him down. Plus, I felt better lying on paper than to his face.

Basically, I told him the same thing I told Camden; I was going to San Diego for the night to see my friend Cindy. I know, I know. Cindy is totally the name of the girl you make up in your alibi. But I actually did have a friend called Cindy in San Diego, and she was one of those people who owed me big time. Let’s just say I did a lot of eco-terrorism on her behalf and her house is now overrun by the rabbits and dogs we liberated from an animal testing clinic.

I left the note on the counter and made myself promise that as soon as I had any extra money, I’d make sure that the mustard in Uncle Jim’s fridge would never be lonely. The man worked too hard and—in his own way
—was far too generous to be missing the finer things in life. He may not have wanted charity, but I was sure he was going to get it somehow.

At about four p.m. I revved Jose and peeled out of the cul-de-sac. If my uncle heard my wheels out in the groves, then the timing would make sense. I took a left onto the highway and headed for the outlet mall in Cabazon. I had a few hours to kill and that place was as good as any to get lost in a crowd. It would have been more fun if I had a few spare dollars to spare, but with my last twenty going to dinner and gas, I was flat broke.

I wasted my time walking around the stores and peeking in the windows, battered by the relentless wind that swept down the I-10 and kept the giant turbines turning. Considering I was forever consigned to pants or leggings, I’d never been too interested in fashion anyway. I wore what I had to and was comfortable with my uniform of jeans, pretty/edgy tops, and boots. When I grew bored of window shopping, I went and sat in my car with my dying Kindle, its battery flashing CHARGE ME for the next hour. Then, when the time was right, I popped a few Kava pills to kill my flaring nerves and headed back into Palm Valley.

This time my soundtrack was the album
Sunset Mission
by Bohren & Der Club of Gore, a German horror jazz band that was all instrumental. As silly as it sounds, listening to it not only calmed me down, but it made me feel like a femme fatale in a film noir. It was part of my pre-con ritual. It made me play the character of the grifter. It made me own my lack of morality. Of course when I saw it all in my head, my black hair was curled in a sleek bob and I wore red lipstick. I also drank scotch on the rocks while safecracking. Hey, whatever gets you ready for the job.

A few blocks before Camden’s, I pulled down a side street and went down two blocks. Then I went up another block and parked my car beside a small dog-walking park. If I headed across the street and went through a vacant lot, I’d be on his street and his house would be three doors down. It was a joyous day when Google Maps Street View came into our lives.

I cut the engine and spent a few moments scoping the darkness. The street was totally empty and very quiet considering it was only 9:15 at night. That could either work for or against me. When there weren’t many people about, if someone saw you, you were easier to remember. That said, you had a greater chance of
not
being seen.

I was prepared though. I reached in the backseat and stuck on a blue baseball cap and a pair of thin gloves. The rest of me was dressed in black jeans and a long-sleeved black basketball jersey to hide any sign of femininity. I tucked my notepad into the back pocket of my jeans and removed my car keys from the ignition. On the end of the keychain I had my trusty tiny Allen wrench I had ground down, plus a straightened out safety pin and paperclip, both strong enough to handle the five-pin tumbler lock that kept Camden’s house safe. The only other thing I had was a reusable Safeway bag that was tucked into my boots. I traveled light. It was easier that way.

After taking one more pill and a few deep breaths, I left Jose as casually as possible. The last thing you wanted was to be sneaking around and have someone see you sneaking around. I acted unpremeditated, like I lived around here, but still closed the door quietly. I walked easily across the street and crossed the vacant lot full of sand, rock, and dried out brush. Just…taking a stroll. Nothing to see here.

Once I reached Camden’s street, I walked with the same purpose. I was just a friend, just a friend paying him a visit and oh look, he wasn’t home. Sounded simple when you said it like that but one house away and I was starting to get really nervous. Puking my guts out kind of nervous. Second-guessing everything kind of nervous.